#wait do people drive cars in the animal crossing universe???

[donteatmyfingers]

me shamelessly merging my obsessions

#l4d2 #my art #acnh #dont look too closely you'll notice all the little oopsies #theyre cuteeeee #acnh au #Left 4 Crossing? #Left 4 New Horizons?? #Animal Dead???? #wait do people drive cars in the animal crossing universe??? #or are they just props #whatever ellis still fixes them #passionately

[softspiderling]

baby, you down? | j.h.s.

summary: “-insane. The throttle sits extremely well in my-hey, are you even listening?” “Yeah, ‘course. The adverse yaw was so cool and the empennage knocked the wind out of you, totally.” Bradley scoffed. “You’re a little shit, toots. You know you could learn a thing or two if you would actually listen to what I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up on a date with a naval aviator and you could impress him with your knowledge.” “Never. Having one as a best friend is more than enough.”

or, your best friend is a naval aviator, but apparently so is the guy you've been dating? Yeah, funny how life works.

OR, 5 times Bradley was blissfully unaware of who you're dating and the 1 time he wasn't

pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x reader , besties!bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

warnings: contains talk about sex, but no actual smut, minors DNI

word count: 6,4k

author's note: whoop whoop! the fic you all have been waiting for! where all things will be revealed. hope you enjoy!! no beta, we die like goose. PS: this fic is part of the wingman's best friend universe, but can be read as a stand-alone!

-5

brad brad: i’m outside, u coming?

“See you guys tomorrow!” you called to your team, waving into the round before you headed outside of the office, where Bradley’s bronco was standing by the sidewalk, engine still running. He was diddling on his phone when you climbed into the passenger seat. 

“You know I’m still in touch with my old colleagues from the SDPD, I could have you arrested for being on your phone with the engine still running,” you commented mildly and Bradley put his phone away, kissing you on the cheek, his mustache tickling your face. 

“Nah, you wouldn’t. I am your favorite law abiding citizen.”

“Shut up. I can’t believe the Navy still lets you keep that god awful mustache,” you muttered, rubbing your cheek and Bradley only laughed. While he drove to the restaurant where you tended to get lunch, you packed your badge and gun into your purse, not wanting to flash your credentials around when you weren’t on the clock. Especially not around Bradley. Fishing out your phone, you checked the messages you had missed at work.

jake: it does look great. I’ll look into it and book a table.

jake: you got any plans tonight?

jake: thinking of you

Grinning you tapped out a message, catching Bradley glancing over out of the corner of your eyes. God, he was so nosy.

“Eyes on the street, Brad.”

Bradley rolled his eyes. “You know I fly a million dollar plane for work, right? I can drive my bronco down the street and look at your phone. Who you texting?”

“Just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you replied, sending the text before putting your phone away, as the car pulled to a stop at a traffic light. Bradley raised an eyebrow at you over his aviators, clearly not satisfied with the answer.

“I didn’t know that you were seeing someone.”

Shrugging with your shoulders, you pursed your lips. “Well, now you do.”

“Anyone I know?” he asked, returning his eyes to the street when the traffic light turned green, you knew however, that his attention was still fully on you. 

“Nah. I met him at a bar while I was out for dinner a few weeks ago,” you gave him a look, squinting your eyes while you thought hard. “Honestly, I am not sure if you’d get along. You’re either gonna love him or hate him.”

“... That’s not reassuring. At all.”

Which, fair. 

Considering you put actual bad guys away as a living, you had a tendency to put other, arguably not as bad, but still bad, people in your bed. One of your exes gave you an STD, one literally stole your thesis and received a scholarship for it, and another one resetted your 5 star animal crossing island that you’ve lovingly curated for a year. 

Yeah, you weren’t proud of your dating history. 

But - and this was going to sound cheesy as hell - Jake was different. He never really put up a nice guy act, actually he kind of was a cocky asshole. Beneath all those layers you’ve peeled back, he was surprisingly soft. Of course he was hot as hell, but there was also something behind his cockiness. 

“It’s going to be fine, don’t worry. How was your day?”

Bradley launched into a story of how someone from his squadron, Hangman, pulled an insane move on a hop, that even Maverick was shocked. You barely understood a word he was saying, Bradley tended to get a little overexcited when he started talking about flying and would use very specific terms like camber and whatever the fuck aileron was It didn’t help that you didn’t know a single person he was talking about, except for the infamous Maverick, of course. Usually, Bradley was deployed somewhere far away and the friends he made during that time were strangers to you. 

“-insane. The throttle sits extremely well in my-hey, are you even listening?” 

“Yeah, ‘course. The adverse yaw was so cool and the empennage knocked the wind out of you, totally.”

Bradley scoffed. “You’re a little shit, toots. You know you could learn a thing or two if you would actually listen to what I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up on a date with a naval aviator and you could impress him with your knowledge.”

“Never. Having one as a best friend is more than enough.”

-4

Yawning, you unlocked the door to your apartment. You really wanted to spend the night at Jake’s but going to work from his place in the morning was just going to be a pain. You hadn’t brought a change of clothes and you were definitely not showing up at work with clothes from the day before. 

Shutting the door behind you, you kicked your shoes off and headed to the living room. It was dark, but the hairs on your neck rose immediately as you stepped over the threshold. The streetlights barely illuminated your room, but you could make out a shadow of a man by your couch. You weren’t sure if you’d make it to your safe in time, but you had to try. Throwing your purse at his head, you dove to your cabinet, only pausing when the grunt of pain sounded all too familiar to you.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Bradley!?” you yelled, standing up to switch the light on, just to see your stupid best friend sit on the couch, holding his nose, doubled over in pain.

“Jesus, sorry! I forgot to text you I was coming over,” Bradley whined, his voice nasal. “I think you broke my nose.”

“How many times have I told you to not pull these damn stunts anymore? I could have shot you in the face,” you snapped, grabbing some water from the kitchen and a pack of ice, wrapping it in a kitchen towel. 

When you used to be younger, Bradley always snuck up on you, trying to scare you or make you jump. And he was good at it, too. That was why he kept doing it. You joked that his jump-scares were the reason why you always were so aware of your surroundings when you were out in the field. 

Habits were hard to break. 

With a scowl, you picked his hand off his face, gently wiping the blood from his nose before pressing the ice pack on it, glowering as he winced. 

“What were you even doing sitting here in the dark?”

“It was still light out when I arrived. How was I supposed to know that you’d take so long to get home?”

“How about turning the lights on like a fucking normal human being?” you sneered. Bradley’s shoulder slumped, a crease in his forehead and you sighed, your voice softening. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Getting better,” he muttered, gingerly placing his hand on the ice pack so you could let go. Bradley squinted his eyes at you. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“With whom?”

“Did we switch jobs? What’s with all the questions?”

“Just curious, you’ve been out a lot lately.”

“You know I am seeing someone, since when are you so interested in my love life?”

“Love life?”

Cursing under your breath, snapping the water bottle open to take a sip. Bradley was frowning at you, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I am listening.”

With an eye roll, you leaned back on the couch. “He’s… Good. I really like him. He’s so charming, but not like in a gross way, you know? He’s actually charming. It’s kind of annoying. But he’s also like, really fucking hot? He’s not like anyone I’ve ever dated before. Thank fucking god. I kind of want to see him every day, which is so dumb. I guess he makes me really happy.”

“Bleurgh. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Bradley pulled a face at you and you scoffed.

“What are you, 12?” 

“I’m literally older than you. Respect your elders.”

“Respect is a two way street, old man.”

Bradley glared at you, putting his ice pack on the coffee table. He carefully ran his finger along the ridge of his nose. “Well, are you in love with him?” 

You tutted at his insistence, shrugging dumbly with your shoulders. Love was a big word. It wasn’t easy to find, especially with your and Bradle’s line of work. Most people Bradley dated found his job exciting at first, until they eventually got upset with all his time away and the odd working hours. It was hard enough being his friend, you couldn’t imagine how hard it was dating a naval aviator.

But then again, your job wasn’t a cake walk either. 

Suddenly, you regretted doing the “secret job” thing with Jake. Honestly, you hadn’t expected feeling about him the way you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have done it. What if telling him about your job now would scare him off? 

“Toots, you still with me?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, smiling crookedly at Bradley. “I don’t know. I guess I could see myself falling in love with him? He’s… Kind of perfect, actually. He made me come with his tongue.”

Bradley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he stared at you, wincing in pain as his nose twitched involuntarily. “Oh shit. You gotta lock that man down right now. A summer wedding sounds nice. Obviously, I’ll be your best man.” 

“Maid of honor, you mean.”

“That, too.”

“God, you’re stupid. All of that missing oxygen in your brain really is starting to show.”

“You literally just whacked your purse in my face, I’m pretty sure I have brain-damage.”

“Yeah, self-inflicted brain damage.”

“So when do I get to meet the guy?” Bradley asked and he really was not letting go of that topic, was he?

“Oh man, hell if I know. Introducing you to him kind of makes things serious.”

“Didn’t you just say that you could fall in love with him? Sounds pretty serious to me.”

“Stop making sense,” you groaned, flopping on your back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s just perfect right now the way it is, you know? I don’t want to fuck it up by rushing into things.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that makes perfect sense,” Bradley snorted. “Just going wherever it takes you instead of talking about the direction of your relationship. Definitely not a recipe for disaster.”

“Like you’re the one to give relationship advice. I can still remember the Jules fiasco.”

“Please don’t remind me. I was young and stupid.”

Snorting, you stretched your arms back. “I’m headed to bed. Got an early morning. You wanna sleep here?” 

“Definitely staying, I need your coffee in the morning, the one on base sucks ass.”

“You know you could just get yourself a good espresso machine right?” You pointed out, narrowing your eyes at him. “You don’t have to drink the one on base, nor do you have to mooch mine.”

“Nah, it tastes better when I bum it off of you. You owe me anyway.”

“What do I owe you for?”

Bradley pouted, pointing at his face. “You destroyed my money maker.”

“I swear to god, Bradley.”

-3

The next morning Bradley still wasn’t awake by the time your alarm rang. Which wasn’t unusual, despite his stupid callsign, you always had to kick him out of bed when you used to live together. So you headed to the kitchen to make yourself an espresso and downing it, before you went to grab a shower. Your muscles relaxed, as you were still surprisingly sore after getting back from Jake’s, and after a good five minutes, you stepped out, wrapping a towel around your body, just as your phone started ringing. 

Jake’s name flashed over the screen and you sighed with a fond smile, leaning your phone against the mirror before picking up. You picked up your toothbrush as the video chat loaded up, squirting some toothpaste on. 

“Miss me already?” you teased, barely recognizing anything as his phone was shaking wildly, though you could hear Jake’s laughter through the speakers.

“And what if I was?”

There was loud rustling coming from his side, before the phone finally stood still, the camera focusing on a very shirtless and very sweaty Jake. You nearly choked on your toothpaste. 

“Jesus, give a girl a warning,” you wheezed, spitting out the toothpaste, your toothbrush clattering against the sink as you picked up your phone. You were staring, shamelessly, but Jake clearly didn’t mind as he only smirked at you. 

“I am not the one picking up a phone call while I was only in a towel,” he pointed out. “I could’ve been in public.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

You picked up your face cream as Jake made his breakfast, apparently, probably some disgusting weetabix protein, judging by the sounds of the box. 

“You trying to make me regret going home last night?” 

“Is it working?” Jake chuckled, glancing at the camera. “Just came home from a run and had some time on my hands, figured I’d call you.”

“You’re sweet. And I wish I could’ve stayed last night, but it was a good thing I didn’t. My best friend was sitting in my apartment like a creeper and waiting for me to come home. I thought I was fifteen again, god, he had so many questions.”

Jake leaned on the counter, looking at you. “Brad, right?”

“Right. He’s kind of annoying, actually. Pestered me about meeting you and everything,” you said, purposefully lightly, your eyes flickering to the camera. 

“Yeah? Gonna show me his gun collection and threaten me not to hurt a hair on your body?” 

You snorted. If only he knew.

“No, he’s just nosy as fuck.”

“You know, I’d like to meet him. He sounds like a character,” Jake admitted and you smiled, looking up. 

“You do?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay,” you said, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling so hard. You jerked in surprise when there were loud bangs against the bathroom door. 

“Jesus, B! I’m busy!”

“Is the espresso machine on?” Bradley asked, his voice muffled through the door. 

“Yes, you dipshit. Don’t break it!” 

“I’ll get you another one if I do.”

His steps retreated and you turned back to your phone, Jake was rising an eyebrow at you through the phone. 

“He stayed the night?”

“Yeah, he keeps forgetting we don’t actually live together anymore,” you sighed, pinching your nose and Jake rumbled out a laugh. 

“Should I be jealous?” he asked with a teasing tone, but it was obvious he was joking. People usually got miffed when they found out how close you and Bradley actually were, but Jake didn’t sound like he cared. Which was a relief. You had to break things off far too many times because some people started being outright hostile towards Bradley and you couldn’t have that. You were glad that you didn’t have to break things off with Jake. 

“God, no. I promise, there’s nothing to be jealous about,” you told him with a honest smile, cringing when you heard a crash from the kitchen, fearing for your espresso machine. 

“You should go. I have to jump in the shower anyway before I head into work,” Jake told you and you bit your lip, nodding. 

“Okay. I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jake uttered, winking at you. “Have a good day, sweets.”

“Bye Jake.”

The video chat closed and you rested your phone against your chest, before slipping into your robe, padding into the kitchen, fearing the worst. Bradley was squinting at the coffee grinder, holding the portafilter in his hand. 

“What did you break?” you asked, toweling your wet hair and Bradley frowned at you.

“Nothing. I dropped the milk can. I was trying to froth up the milk but I didn’t know how because you barely let me touch this thing.”

“For a good reason!” you huffed, pouring some milk into the can and shoving it under the steamer, pressing the button. As the steamer got to work, blubbering on, you peeled Bradley’s finger from the portafilter to fill with coffee grounds. 

“Were you talking to him?” Bradley then asked, his voice high, as if you were back on the playground, whispering about your crushes. 

“Yeah, before you rudely interrupted me.”

“You’re so in love,” Bradley needled and you stomped on his bare foot, making him yelp. 

“I’m literally holding a can of hot milk, don’t annoy me,” you threatened him, fixing the portafilter on the machine. “You want to drink your coffee here or take it to work?” 

Bradley glanced at the clock, his eyes widening. 

“Oh shit. Can you make it to go please? I still need to brush my teeth.”

With a sigh, you ushered him out of the kitchen, so you could finish up his coffee. Grabbing one of the portable coffee mugs, you let the espresso drip in there before topping it off with milk foam, twisting the lid on. Sometimes you really forgot that Bradley was a highly skilled naval aviator with the way he was behaving. Said naval aviator skeeted back into the kitchen, where you pressed his coffee into his hand. Taking a sip, he sighed in content and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hey toots, you promise you’ll still make me coffee when you move in with tongue guy?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Bradley.”

Bradley cackled as he walked to your front door, slipping into his shoes. 

“Hey, don’t die at work!”

“You too!” he called, before the door fell shut behind him. 

“Like a fucking child,” you muttered to yourself, turning back to your espresso machine to make your second cup of coffee.

-2

Narrowing your eyes at the refrigerated section, you were looking for the brand of mozzarella you always got. Jake had decided to cook dinner for you, but conveniently forgot to go to the grocery store, so there you were, picking up groceries. And while you were already there, you figured you’d pick up some things too. Which would’ve been an easy feat if he had taken you to your usual spot. So now you were scanning the racks for the cheeks, rubbing your arm absently, the cold air hitting your bare skin like on a Winter night.

Suddenly, you felt something cover your skin, glancing to the side as Jake gently draped his jacket over your shoulder. 

“Hey, where’d you get this?”

“Just grabbed it from the car, you looked like you needed it,” Jake hummed, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. You flushed, squeezing his hand. This man. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to. You find what you were looking for?”

You shook your head, a bit petulantly and Jake bit back a laugh. “You need help?”

“No. I’m fine. I can find cheese on my own. You go ahead and pick up the rest of your stuff.”

Jake eyed you for a second, like he was scared you’d get lost, lingering, before he went off to find the rest of the ingredients to cook dinner. You turned your attention back to the cheese racks in front of you, your eyes lighting up when you finally spotted it. 

“Yes!” 

Grabbing two pouches, you gently tossed them into the shopping cart, pulling up your grocery list on your phone when a call from Bradley came in. 

“Hey, I just dropped by to bring you the oranges from Penny’s backyard, where are you?”

“Whole Food’s.”

“What are you doing at Whole Foods?” Bradley snickered and you frowned, deliberating whether you should hang up. “Oh, since you’re already there, can you bring me a Coconut Protein shake?”

“First of all, ew. And second of all, no. I’m not going home after.”

Bradley ahhed, as if he just realized and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Can you pick up some ice cream sandwiches then? Tongue guy has a freezer, right?”

“Can’t you go to Whole Foods yourself? You’re so lazy,” you accused him, already moving to the frozen section, pushing the shopping cart in front of you. “What kind do you want?”

You stopped in front of the ice cream section, your eyes widening at the assortment from ice cream sandwiches alone. This was definitely not your last time here. You didn’t know why, but you never really came to Whole Foods, which you definitely regretted. Their selection was insane.

“I don’t know, I had them at Hangman’s once, they were really good.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know what kind of ice cream sandwiches Hangman buys? Why don’t you ask him to get you some?” you bitched at him. “Were they square?”

“No, the normal ones.”

“Okay, I’m all done. What are you looking for?” Jake asked, dumping a whole lot of stuff into the shopping cart. You muted Bradley, not even listening as he tried to describe the ice cream sandwiches to you.

“Uh, ice cream sandwiches?”

“Oh, I always get these,” Jake said, opening the freezer doors to pick up a package of Organic Ice Cream sandwiches. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, thanks babe,” you hummed, unmuting Bradley again as Jake added the pack into the shopping cart. “We got you a pack. If it’s not the right one, then tough luck.”

“You’re mean. Thank you.  See you later, toots.”

“Bye, B.”

You pocketed your phone and Jake raised his brows at you. “You ready to go?”

“Yep,” you said, curling your hands around his arm. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

-1

“You’re still down for my birthday party, right?” Bradley asked, 

Usually the two of you would just get dinner at the weirdest restaurant you could find, when he was around, it was kind of a tradition. But this year, when Bradley got this permanent stint at Top Gun, he decided to throw a little get together with his team and you. It’d be the first time you’d meet anyone he was working with.

“Eh. Who’s coming again?”

“Just my team, probably Mav and Penny. One of the guys, Hangman; I did tell him to bring his new girl around, but he said she was busy. But I think he was lying, because he doesn’t want us to meet her.”

You paused at that, turning to suspiciously glower at Bradley. Why would anyone in the team be nervous to bring around their new girlfriend? God, you hoped that there wasn’t some weird hazing ritual for meeting new people.

“... Why?”

Bradley shrugged, taking a sip from his coke. It was nearing twelve am, but you suddenly craved In-N-Out, so you made Bradley take you to the nearest location. It was full off people inside and you didn’t really feel like getting out of the car, so you just got your food from the drive through, eating in his car in the parking lot.

“Probably because he knows that we’ll give him shit. But I think it’s nice, him being all lovey-dovey on that girl,” Bradley chuckled, eyes lingering on you. “Kind of like you, actually.”

“Oh fuck off,” you huffed, chewing on some fries. 

“Just saying. Never seen you like this before.”

And he was fucking spot on. Things have gotten kind of serious with Jake. When you had caught a particular bad case, the outcome not the one you had hoped for, Jake came over with take out, just eating with you instead of pestering you with questions. While you did like not having to talk about your job, you wished you could’ve, and it did make you think that it was time to stop with the charades. It was getting exhausting and if Jake really didn’t want to be with you because of your job, you’d rather know now than even later on. 

You just weren’t sure how to bring it up, though.

“I know, I know. Been trying to set up a play date for you, but work’s been shitty. Sorry,” you sighed and Bradley wrinkled his mustache. 

“It’s okay. The FBI's not as breezy as you thought it would be, hm?”

You gave him a look. “I knew it wasn’t going to be. SA Brenner said it would be hard work when he first approached me. I knew that going in and I don’t regret it. It’s just that some cases are like, really fucking hard.”

“... Which is why I’m even more glad that you found someone who makes you this disgustingly happy,” Bradley interjected and you rolled your eyes, grinning. 

“Guess so. After your birthday I’ll get you guys together,” you told him and he gave you a thumbs up, pressing his lips together. 

“So… You are coming, right?” He asked, realizing you never gave him an answer. You frowned, stretching your arms, careful as to not spill over your drink, purposefully drawing out your response time. 

“I don’t know… You Navy guys are kind of pretentious.”

“What?” Bradley spluttered between laughter. “You literally work for “The Bureau”,” he mocked, quoting the air. “If anyone’s co-worker’s are pretentious, it’s yours.”

“Name one.”

“Avery.”

“You like Avery,” you snickered and Bradley huffed. 

“Yeah, I do. They’re funny. Anyways, the guys are pretty cool. And the girls, too. I think you’ll hit it off with Halo and Phoenix. The team’s kind of chaotic, but you’ll like them. And you don’t have to stay long if you don’t,” he added quickly and you sighed, nodding.

“Fine. I’ll come. Do you want a cake?”

Bradley perked up at the mention of baked goods. “Yes. Please.”

0“So, you’re the infamous best friend,” Phoenix, Natasha, said, holding a plate with a slice of cake in her hand. The cake you brought seemed to be a hit with Bradley’s squadron and you were glad. You’ve been nervous all day for his birthday and getting to know his other friends, but when you found out they were Jake’s friends, too? Your nerves about skyrocketed into the air.

“Infamous?” you snorted. “Whatever Bradley told you about me was probably a lie.”

“Nah, it’s all true. You remember the first day of Top Gun, when I barely made it through the door before the instructor came? Well, this genius turned off my alarm clock after it didn’t wake me, and instead of waking me up, she went back to sleep. I only made it just in time because Toots actually used her lights and siren to get through traffic.”

“Jesus, stop telling that story, you make it sound like I’m abusing my power,” you muttered but Natasha only laughed. 

“I like you already, toots.”

You rolled your eyes at her for using Bradley’s nickname for you, though the corners of your lips were curling up. 

“Here’s your drink, sweetheart,” Jake said, pressing a red solo cup on your hand, when he came back from the cooler, because of course Bradley brought fucking red solo cups as if this was his 18th birthday. Natasha did a double take, frowning as she blinked at you, standing between Bradley and Jake. The three of you did wonder how long it was going to take for the others to figure it out.

Jake was grinning, bouncing back and forth on his heels as you laughed into your cup. 

“Wait, you’re Hangman’s girlfriend?”

That seemed to catch everyone’s attention, as the squadron crowded behind Natasha. You merely glanced at Jake, who was taking a suspiciously long gulp of his beer, his cheeks red, eyes hard on Natasha. You could tell he was embarrassed, however you barely had time to analyze him. All the attention suddenly made you a bit nervous, but this was no different than answering reporters’ questions about an on-going case right? Act confident enough, and they would eat out of your hands.

“We actually haven’t had that talk yet, but assuming we’re both on the same page, I guess so,” you stated, looping an arm around Jake’s waist. The tension bled from his shoulders and he sent you a smirk, while his eyes remained soft. 

“Wait-” “Did you-?” “This could not have been a coincidence.” 

“Okay, wait, hold up,” Javy cut in, waving his hands around. “Just so there are no misunderstandings whatsoever. You’re Rooster’s best friend?”

You nodded.

“But you’re also Jake’s girl?”

“She’s my girl, Javy,” Jake replied instead, gripping your waist tightly. 

Next to you, Bradley rolled his eyes, fake retching to the side. You elbowed him in the side, hard and he winced, glaring at you. Everyone thought you were hilarious apparently, Javy however, offered his hand. 

“Javy Machado. Coyote.”

Amused, you clasped his hand with yours, shaking it. He seemed nice enough, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. By now you knew what was coming.

“Pleasure. You’re Jake’s best friend, right?”

“That would be me. I’m assuming Rooster gave Jake the shovel talk?”

“It’s the 21st century man, I don’t need a man to protect me. Jake knows not to mess around.”

“Yeah, Coyote, get with the times!” Callie heckled him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him so violently, you were afraid he’d get whiplash. This bunch seemed extremely chaotic and you kind of loved it. 

“It was about time we met,” Callie then said, her arms still around Javy. “We’ve been dying to finally get to know the woman who turned Hangman into someone who blushes on the regular. But seeing that you’ve been managing to be friends with Rooster for so long without killing him, I am not surprised. You must have the patience of a saint.”

“Hey!” Bradley and Jake exclaimed in unison, deeply offended. 

“Aw, no you give me way too much credit. I like to think that Bradley and I balance each other’s stupid, I wouldn’t be where I am without him.” You might have dug a bit too deep into the emotional box, but it was his birthday after all. “And Jake’s been pretty amazing. He really knows how to make a girl feel special.”

“Awwww,” Billy said, leaning onto Mickey, his arm around his neck. “That’s so adorable. I might just vomit.”

“Please, I’ve heard you say cheesier things about your partner, Fritz.”

“Proof?”

In the midst of the conversation, Bradley peeled away from the group, disappearing into the back of the hangar. Gnawing on your lip, you blew out a breath. 

“I’m gonna go check on him really quick, okay?” you whispered into Jake’s ear. He nodded, his brows furrowing, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek before you took off after Bradley, trying not to get lost in the unfamiliar building. 

“Hey. You okay, B?”

Bradley grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, before shutting the door, leaning against it. 

“Fine.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you heaved yourself on the counter. Bradley has always been the kind of person to shut himself off and bottle up his emotions.  When you were younger, you had to probe and annoy him until he eventually relented and told you what was bothering him. Sometimes, you still had to do it. 

“Wanna try again?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he popped the top of the beer bottle and took a gulp, staring ahead and you pressed your lips together, your patience wearing thin. 

“Is this about Jake? You and him used to have problems, right? But aren’t things better since you got back from the mission? I thought you got along now.”

You remembered how he used to bitch about Hangman this, Hangman that. But his tone changed ever since he got back from his mission, stating that they had talked things out, how saving his life had changed their dynamics. And you were glad. Contrary to belief, while you were an independent woman, who didn’t need anyone to protect you, you wanted Bradley to get along with Jake. Be it professionally or privately. Bradley’s been by your side, in times where even your family wasn’t and it was important to you that he approved of your partners.

“It’s not about him.”

His voice was even, neutral. Also, absolute bullshit. With all the training you’ve had, it was easy for you to read a person, but it was especially easy to read Bradley. You’ve known him for almost twenty years now. And something was clearly bothering him. 

“Fine, I’ll leave it alone for today, because it’s your birthday,” you sighed, jumping off the counter. “But I promise, you’re not getting out of this conversation.”

“Did it have to be a naval aviator?”

You paused in the doorway when Bradley spoke up. Turning on your heel, you looked at him, his face scrunched up in worry. 

“It’s not like I was actively looking for a naval aviator, B. I didn’t even know that he was one, remember?”

“I know,” Bradley sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I just wish it would’ve been anyone else. You know how dangerous my job is. I wanted you to have someone with a less dangerous job, so if anything happened to me, you’d have someone. But now you’re dating a naval aviator? And one from my squadron, on top of that? You could lose both of us, just like that.”

Your mouth opened, but there were no words coming out of it. You never realized this was something Bradley was worried about, and you were overwhelmed by a sudden fondness for your mother hen of a best friend, even if he was dumb. 

“Bradley,” you started, fondly. “I am an FBI agent. Do you know how high the chance is that I get shot or hurt or worse, while on duty?”

Bradley glowered at you.

“You and Jake could lose me just as easily as I could lose you. But we won’t. Because we’re all very good at what we do.”

“That’s debatable.”

You gave him a look and Bradley sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess you’re right… Guess I just didn’t expect you to get with a naval aviator.” He took another sip of his beer, looking at you. “You love him?”

Taking a step back, you looked out to where Bradley’s squadron was still standing, apparently pouring out shots. Jake was already looking back at you, raising an eyebrow questioningly. With a smile, you gave him a thumbs up before he nodded, turning back to the others. You turned back to Bradley, cheeks flushed, your chest warm.

“I do, yeah.”

+1

A few days after Bradley’s birthday party, you had decided it was time for your boyfriend to officially officially meet your best friend. You didn’t realize how exhausting it was to keep your job hidden from Jake until you didn’t have to anymore. But you only had yourself to blame for that, huh? You hadn’t even realized how much pressure you had put yourself under, and the heavy weight that lifted off your chest, especially after seeing Jake react the way he did. And it was honestly comical how easily your job invaded your daily life as soon as you dropped the“secret job” ploy.

Jake and Bradley got out of their car, both dressed in their khakis and your mouth ran a little dry. You’d seen Bradley in his uniform probably countless times, you never understood the appeal of a man in uniform. 

“Hey lieutenant,” you greeted him with a teasing lilt in your voice, looping your arms around his neck. Pressing your lips against his, Jake hummed into the kiss, his hands splayed against your back. 

“Hey, yourself… Agent?” 

“It’s actually Special Agent.”

“God, I am already sick of you,” Bradley sighed and you frowned at him. 

“Don’t be mean, B,” you teased, but let go of Jake to hug him nonetheless, kissing his cheek. “Let’s go in.”

You grabbed Jake’s hands, pulling him inside the bustling coffee shop, Bradley hot on your heels. Two naval aviators and an FBI agent enter a coffee shop… There had to be a joke in there somewhere. You and Jake slid into one side of a booth while Bradley sat across from you, picking up a menu. 

“Oh, they have those blended frappes you like, the chocolate chip ones look great,” you told Jake, flipping through the pages and Bradley snickered, looking at his wingman. 

“You drink frappes?”

“They’re the only sugary thing I allow myself,” Jake said defensively, his ears turning red. “I like ‘em, okay?”

“Leave him alone, B,” you scolded Bradley lightly, though you were grinning too. You quickly ordered when the waitress came up to your table, before you settled back into the cushions of the seat. 

“I can’t believe that you’re her best friend,” Jake then sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulder and Bradley pulled a face. 

“Well, I can’t believe that she talked about your sex life with me.”

“Yeah, what’s with that?” Jake asked, glancing at you. “The two of you share everything about your life with each other?”

“Basically, yeah,” you shrugged. 

“Oh good, that is totally not going to bite me in the ass in the future.”

“For the record,” Bradley started, lifting his index finger threateningly. “I do not want to hear about any of your sex-capades in the future. I already feel like bleaching out my ears.”

“Oh please, I literally saw your bare ass when you decided to fuck that one guy on our couch. Even though we agreed on communal spaces being off limits for hookups. Can’t believe you spit on our rules like that, especially with that son of a bitch.” 

The waitress tutted, giving you a dirty look when she placed your drinks on the table, and you only rolled your eyes at her, reaching for your coffee. Jake hid his snort in his frappe, spooning the whipped cream into his mouth. Bradley smiled sheepishly at the waitress, his cheeks reddening, waiting until she was out of earshot until he turned back to you.

“I don’t even know how you found out that I got back together with Lucas. I didn’t tell anyone and yet, there you were, ready to cock-block me as soon as we got naked.”

“Guess I am just that good, huh?”

“Yeah you are,” Jake smirked and you laughed as you glanced at him, leaning further into his side.

Bradley rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. His hands dropped into his lap, as if into a prayer. “God, how did I never see how similar the two of you are and what did I do to deserve this?”

author's note: whoop whoop!! hope you guys liked it! REBLOG! SHARE! COMMENT! I LOVE YOU!

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tagging moots: @gretagerwigsmuse // @sunderlust // @stilinskiderek // @veraocruel // @seresinhangmanjake // @greenorangevioletgrass

#jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #hangman #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw

[not-a-space-alien]

K&J x MMSS 4: Valen & Jim Part 4

Part four of the fourth crossover with @whumpsday!

K&J masterlist

MMSS masterlist

K&J x MMSS crossover masterlist

To be added to the taglist, contact @whumpsday

Warnings for this chapter: Burns, “it” as a dehumanizing pronoun, mentions of/fear of sexual assault, brief talk about eating disorders 

In this chapter: The joy of Jim's homecoming is soured by an incident with vampire hunters that suddenly reverses the roles between Jim and Valen.

***

The movie-watching is oddly serene after years of constant fear and torment. Jim cozies up with Valen while they watch, finishing his apple. He's quiet at first, just like with Kane, but slowly starts to open up as it goes on and he remains safe.

Valen reciprocates the cozying up, wrapping the both of them in a blanket on the couch. Valen has never been happier to have his own little haven, with its soft lights and quiet lack of anyone to bother him. He's delighted to hear Jim start talking more and more, acting like a person and not a neurotic prey animal.

When the time to leave gets nearer, Valen asks if Jim wants to stop at the store again for more food, knowing humans need to eat so frequently.

"Nah, I think I'm good," Jim declines with a nervous laugh. He is pretty famished, having only had one meal in three days, but he can wait. Last time was harrowing enough. Next time he eats, it’ll be in his own kitchen at home. "Maybe I could call my sister to meet us, especially since it's during the day and it'll be safe for her? Then I won't have to trek."

"Of course, that's a splendid idea. Tell her to meet us somewhere, and you'll have a nice smooth journey back. I'd love to meet her, as well."

Jim calls, letting Liz know they're leaving and she can meet them near the signs loudly proclaiming the dangers of crossing the border.

“Tell him I said thank you for saving my brother,” Liz says on the other end. There’s no need– Valen’s hearing is good enough to hear it from where he sits.

"I'm just happy I was able to help do a good deed,” Valen responds. “Hopefully the karma will come back around to me." Valen has always struggled with feeling like a monster, so that feeling being alleviated is enough of a reward on its own, to know he wasn’t universally hated among innocent humans.

They won’t be out for so long, but Valen gives Jim a water bottle anyway, just in case, before wrapping himself up thoroughly for going outside.

The streets and sidewalks are once again empty, cleared in the face of the impending sunrise. Valen hands Jim the car keys in the rising light. "Here, you should drive. In fact, if you wanted to keep this wretched contraption, that would be fine with me. I hardly ever use it, and it's more trouble than it's worth."

Jim grins. "Seriously? Oh man. You are the best. Free car, that rules. Liz probably started using mine when she learned to drive, so that's perfect, now we'll both have one." His smile wavers at the thought that he missed Liz learning how to drive. "Well, buckle up, beaks."

He drives out to the border with little issue, the streets deserted. What had caused him so much grief, years of wanting, nearly dying in his desperate attempt to make it home… it’s like nothing, now. Jim almost feels like he’ll wake up any second, the whole thing a too-pleasant dream.

Liz is there–Liz, in the flesh, so much more grown-up than when he last saw her–with three other people. They all wear vampire hunter’s gear: including Liz, to Jim's surprise. The blue-haired hunter by her side looks the calmest of them all, while the two men look a bit on-edge.

Liz runs forward, and Jim gets out of the car to embrace her.

"Oh my god, Jim!" she cries.

Valen watches Jim hug his sister with a smile on his face. None of the humans can see it, of course, because he's wrapped up head to toe, they can barely see his eyes. He squints against the light to see who all is here. There are four humans, which is more than he expected. It makes him a little nervous, especially since they all appear to be vampire hunters. But Jim's sister seems kind, so he doesn't worry overmuch.

He opens the passenger's side door and gets out of the car, leaning on it to watch Jim and Liz crying with each other. He glances nervously at the sign demarcating human territory from vampire territory, knowing full well if he crosses it, he's put a target on his back.

"Hey, why's it getting out of the car?!" one of the hunters snaps, hand itching toward his weapons.

Jim interrupts his tearful reunion, pulling away from Liz. "Don't fucking call him that! And obviously he has to get out of the car, what's he gonna do, get home from the passenger seat?"

He realizes too late: he's being defiant, again. Kane would beat him to a pulp for this. This is why he’s supposed to be silent, so he doesn’t run his stupid mouth. He immediately shrinks back, eyes cast down, trembling. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"Cool it, man."  The blue-haired hunter elbows their companion.

Valen gets nervous. "I intend to come no closer, sir. We can talk like civilized individuals, I assure you." He holds his hands up deferentially. 

The words go right over the head of the hunter, who can only focus on Valen’s hands moving and gets spooked. He is clearly a novice hunter, his hands shaky and unpracticed as he draws his pistol and shoots at Valen.

The shot just barely misses Valen, but it does graze his head. It rips his mask from his face, taking most of his hood with it as well, exposing him to a faceful of direct sunlight.

He erupts into an earth-shattering screech at the indescribable pain, sharp and animalistic. The windows of the car wobble with the sound, and the one closest to him shatters and spills glass shards everywhere. He would have never gone outside during the day if he'd known he was risking this. He's instantly blinded by the white-hot light, like two searing branding irons stabbed directly through his eye sockets straight into his brain, and he curls his arms above his head and drops down, fumbling for the shadow of the car to save himself.

"Fuck!" Jim dives for Valen, shielding him with his body. He grabs Valen's mask off the ground and clumsily shoves it back on his face, then strips his own shirt and throws that on top for good measure, ensuring that Valen is fully covered.

"What's wrong with you?!" Liz screams. "He saved Jim! You were just supposed to come ‘cause it's the border!"

"I'm sorry! Shit!"

"Get him out of here," the blue-haired hunter says.

"Got it," the other man agrees. Valen can make out a car driving off.

"Valen? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Jim sounds like he's crying. "I'm sorry, I never meant for you to get hurt."

"Jim," Valen weeps, groping forward. He opens his eyes, but the topmost layer of skin on them has been burned, and they're crusty and sightless. "Jim, am–is he–what's going on?"

Jim holds him. "He's gone. He knocked your mask off, he's an idiot. You're safe now. No one here's gonna hurt you. I'm sorry. You're–you're gonna heal, right?"

"I–Yes, I should–I've never felt..." It still fucking hurts, so so bad, even though the sun is gone. He will heal, right? He's never gotten a sunburn before, and he knows they theoretically heal, but damn is the lingering pain overwhelming, far more than any other injury he's sustained. "Jim, please don't leave me here, I can't see, please don't leave me alone out here."

"I'd never. Don't worry, I've got you. I've got you. You wanna come back to my place to heal up? Let's get you back in the car, huh? We'll get some burn cream on you, and you can rest up back home." Jim helps him back into the passenger seat. "Liz, we've got burn cream, right?"

"Yeah, I, I think so. Yeah." Liz is shaken. "You can follow us? That wasn't supposed to happen. I told them Valen was on our side."

"I'll follow you," Jim agrees. He pats Valen on the shoulder. "We're gonna take care of you. Like you took care of me."

"Thank you," Valen sobs. He's utterly shaken by how thoroughly and quickly the sun was able to completely destroy his confidence. He feels like a kid again, lost and scared and helpless. He'd do anything to avoid feeling the sun again. "I wasn't trying to attack, I swear." He's still shaking a little as he settles into the passenger's seat, and he folds himself down, below the window.

Jim will help me. I helped him, he'll help me back. His sister is a hunter, but she's nice, the other hunter is nice, they know I'm not trying to attack. And I can use persuasion on them if I need to. Oh god, he definitely couldn't use persuasion over a group of three humans at once, though, and his superior speed and strength would be useless if he couldn't see to know how to direct them. This must have been how Jim felt, at the mercy of someone he just had to trust would help him, unsure of if he should make a run for it and take his chances. The idea of going deeper into human territory, further into the domain of the vampire hunters, like this was terrifying.

"We know, buddy." Jim says, starting the car up again and following Liz's- well, his car. "Fuck, this is a mess. You're gonna be okay. Kane and that asshole we ran into last night got into it once a few years back, and Kane was all better by the next night. Um, I dunno if you might take a little longer, 'cause you looked pretty bad there. But I'm sure it'll still be fast."

Valen starts to calm down a little at Jim's reassuring words, just like Jim did at Valen's. He cautiously unscrunches himself, sitting upright in the seat. "Yes. Yes, thank you. Um, are–we're going into–into human territory, are you quite sure your neighbors won't–won't take notice and, and call more hunters?" He is far more afraid of vampire hunters than he'd thought he'd be–they'd always been a distant bogeyman for him, and one of them had just ruined his week with a single pull of a trigger.

"No one can tell you're a vampire when you're all covered up like that. And if anyone tries to fuck with you, they'll have to go through me. And Liz, and probably her friend. Plus, it... it seems like Liz is a hunter." Jim is not a fan of this information, but he's glad it at least makes things a little safer for Valen. "So she'd be the one who's called anyway. I won't let anyone get at you. Promise."

Valen sobs when Jim says Liz is a hunter, not finding it as comforting as Jim does. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Jim. Are we going to your house?"

"Yep, that's where we're going. Home. Holy shit, I'm going home." It still doesn't feel real. "It's gonna be okay. And, look, you can feed on me when you get hungry, 'cause I know it'll take a bit for your face to heal right. I'm used to it. Happy to do it when it's for you. I'm sorry it sucks right now. But I won't let anything else happen to you, swear to god. I've got your back."

Oh no. Jim expects Valen to feed on him. Valen has never fed from a human before, he doesn't want to, he's terrified of opening that door. Feeding straight from a human is supposed to be one of the highest luxuries a vampire can have. What if he doesn't want to stop feeding that way? What if he gets addicted and can't go back to blood packs? He doesn't trust himself. He can't. He goes spiraling back into the times where he went days without feeding, crushed under the weight of his depression and guilt and self-loathing. He can't go back to that.

Valen swallows. Maybe they can just avoid that for now. Maybe Valen will get better before he needs to feed, and he can just go back home and sidestep the whole thing.

"Thank you, Jim." He feels safe around Jim in a way he hadn't before with other men. Is it because he's a human, and Valen could overpower him? Then why does he still have this warm feeling when he's helpless and dependent on him? "And I'm glad you get to go home. I'm very happy for you. It's still a wonderful day overall.”

"Thank you. You gave me my life back. I'm sorry it turned out shit for you. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess." Seeing Valen so hurt and scared, because he was trying to help him, no less, breaks Jim's heart.

They arrive at Liz's place after a little while, Jim chattering soothingly to Valen the entire time.

"Alright, we're here. I'll lead you inside." He holds Valen's hand, leading him into the house, where Liz and her hunting partner wait.

Liz tosses Jim a container of burn cream while Laken, quickly introducing themself, goes around closing all the blinds. Liz smiles, despite the situation. "We did have some. And hey... welcome home."

"Thanks. Here, come, sit." Jim leads Valen over to sit on the couch. "You can take that stuff off. You're in the clear."

Valen sits on the couch and gropes at his head to remove the coverings Jim had tossed over him. He also removes his outermost cloak and his gloves. Despite the relatively short contact time, Valen's whole face is red and blistering, and the thin, delicate skin on top of his ears has peeled away to reveal bleeding rawness. His eyes have a gray, opaque layer over them.

"I'm glad to meet the two of you and be in your home, despite the rough start," Valen says. "Thank you for having me. I'm glad to see Jim finally reach safety after his ordeal."

"Thank you for bringing him home. Thank you,” Liz says emphatically. "Sorry the new guy’s a fucking dumbass. I'm gonna kick his ass."

"You're very welcome. I couldn't just leave him there, knowing what fate was in store for him. And I suppose your colleague had good reason to be wary, knowing what my kind is capable of. Although, I obviously do wish he'd had more restraint." 

"Oh please, he didn't have shit." Liz says. "It's daytime, you were bringing Jim home, he was being an asshole."

"I'm gonna put burn cream on you, okay?" Jim says gently. "It okay if I touch? Kinda gonna have to."

Valen reaches out and finds Jim's hands. "Yes, you are welcome to touch me, Jim, I don't mind it at all. Thank you."

"Alright, just hold still." Jim starts slathering burn cream over Valen's face and dabbing it on his ears. He tries his best to be gentle, but touching the burns is bound to hurt at least a little, even if the cream is soothing.

Valen clenches his teeth and lets out an occasional hiss of pain, but when Jim is rubbing the cream on the less painful parts of his body, he leans into the touch, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling. He hadn't realized how touch-starved he'd become, despite it being only a few months since his separation from Priscus, although Priscus had also been his main source of touch before that. He was very much enjoying the touches that didn't have the subtle warning written under them, the hint that later the touching would lead to more things whether he wanted them or not, a reminder that things were expected of him. It felt nice.

When it seems like Jim is done, he pulls away. "Thank you very much. It's already starting to feel a bit better."

"There you go. You're doing awesome." Jim gives him a little side hug and yawns, still on a nocturnal schedule. "I'm gonna grab something to eat from the kitchen and then probably hit the sack. Are you getting tired, too? If you can get to sleep, you'll probably heal a lot while you're out."

Valen jumps at the opportunity. "Yes, please, that sounds wonderful." He secretly hopes that Jim will sleep in the same bed as him. He feels like it would be the first time he'd sleep in a bed with a man and not have to be on guard to fend off unwanted advances. Jim is so very sweet and considerate, and seems like he would take no for an answer if it came down to it, which makes Valen not want to say no. Maybe there will (in)conveniently only be one space where they can sleep, and Jim will apologetically offer to sleep elsewhere to let Valen have it, and Valen will be able to coyly offer to share it. That will give him what he wants: Being able to sleep in the same bed as Jim without looking too eager and inviting, to have plausible deniability about wanting it later if he changes his mind and wants away from Jim, and to make Jim feel just a little bit like he is imposing and therefore needs to be extra polite and considerate to make up for it.

He takes a minute to step back from the insane mental gymnastics he'd just done. Living with Priscus had really done a number on him. Maybe he should just sleep on the couch.

"Er, I've been using Mom and Dad's room for storage,” Liz says. “Your room's all set, though. I kinda didn't touch it. Kept hoping you'd come home. And I was right, you did, so there!" Liz proclaims defensively, like someone's going to argue with her about it. "Even cleaned it yesterday 'cause I knew you were coming home. But yeah, the other bed is covered in boxes. I can go clear it, but it'll take a bit."

"You can use my bed, Valen." Jim says. "Lemme lead you up there. Your eyes are still all funky." He takes Valen's hand.

Valen blushes. "Thank you."

He lets himself be led upstairs, into the bedroom, he presumes. "How large is your bed? Where will you sleep?"

"It's a full. I guess I'll help Liz clear off the other bed, or take the couch if that turns out to be too much of a hassle? Unless… you wanna double up." Jim can’t deny Valen’s subtle hint, asking about the bed’s size, and being with Valen makes him feel safe. Like if Kane showed up to take him away, he would be protected.

"Only if you want to," Valen says shyly. "I wouldn't mind. I don't snore." He sits down on the edge of the bed and starts fumbling to take his shoes off.

"Cool,” Jim says, with a huge smile Valen can’t see. He helps Valen take his shoes off. "Here, you can borrow some pajamas,” he adds, pressing the first ones he sees in the closet into Valen’s hands. “I'll come back up and join you after I've eaten something."

He quickly changes into some himself, since he's currently shirtless and the clothes Valen loaned him are too small anyway. "I'll be back up soon. Yell if you need anything."

"Thank you. Enjoy your meal." Valen takes the time to undress himself, stripping off his many, many layers, suddenly realizing how sweaty he is under it all. He figures a bathroom might be nearby, trailing his hand along the hallway wall and getting lucky when it’s the first doorway he blindly stumbles across. He takes the time to find the faucet and splash some water on himself, drying his skin on whatever towel is nearby. He doesn't dare to clean up more than that for fear of accidentally getting himself into an embarrassing situation he can't get himself out of without calling for help.

He strips off his binder next, slipping into the pajamas. He doesn't know what pattern is on them, but they feel soft and warm. He sighs contentedly, slipping into the bed and fumbling to pull the blanket up over himself. When he finally settles in, he feels very cozy and safe despite the burns, and closes his eyes, already starting to fall asleep.

Jim comes back up about twenty minutes later, trying not to disturb Valen as he slides into bed next to him. "Thank you," he murmurs, finally feeling safe for the first time in five long years.

Valen sleepily rolls over. "You're welcome. I'm glad I could make a difference for someone in this wretched world. Sleep well. Tomorrow you will wake up for the first time safe in your own home among people who care about you."

The words touch Jim to his core. That's one of the kindest things anyone's ever said to him. "I care about you, too," he says softly, snuggling up to Valen in the small bed.

Valen curls up against Jim. It's very comfortable, and he wants this kind of touch so badly, but something is bothering him, and he won't be at ease until he broaches the subject. Despite his earlier thoughts, he's starting to get concerned about waking up to Jim trying to have sex with him. Unlike when Priscus did it, Valen is strong enough to just throw Jim off, but the thought is the only thing ruining the otherwise perfect atmosphere. If he could just clear that, he'd have the nicest night he's had in decades, he's sure.

"Um," he says, voice cracking with nervousness despite his attempts to control it. "To, to be clear, I-I'm very comfortable right now, b-but I'm, I'm not interested in having sex tonight."

The nervousness in Valen's voice gives Jim pause. He recalls the way Valen cried when his husband called, the way he called him sir so miserably. "Hey. You're safe, okay? I'd never do anything like that. You're alright, Valen."

Valen perks up, immediately more at ease. "Thank you, Jim. I know it will be a wonderful night. Sleep soundly. You've no need to worry anymore, either. You're safe, too."

Jim smiles, feeling warm. "Wonderful day, you mean, but I know you're on mushroom time and you can't see shit. You sleep good, too."

Oh this is wonderful. Jim is a human, and Jim feels safe around him, and that must mean he’s not a bad person. Valen feels safe, at ease, and validated in a way he never has before. Jim feels safe and protected in a way he never has before.

They both fall asleep and have the best rest in years, for either of them.

***

@barebarb

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#whump #K+J #angst #whumpblr #hurt/comfort

[dondake-senpai]

『 𝔽𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕪 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕖 』 ᴾᵃʳᵗ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʷᵒ

ɢᴏᴊᴏ sᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ x ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🄶🄴🄽🅁🄴 Fluff

🄲🄾🄽🅃🄴🄽🅃 🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶 None

🅂🅈🄽🄾🄿🅂🄸🅂 Nobody knew what Gojo Satoru had been doing after his sealing. Nobody knew what had been going inside that Prison Realm. Unknown to others, the Prison Realm had teleported him into a whole new universe where they all were nothing but just some anime characters.

'Oi why are you crying?' Your bestfriend Ume had been grieving from the past few days but today she decided to show it externally.

"It has (fake sniffs) been nearing about 3 years and Gojo Satoru ain't out of the box. That brain rot Kenjaku!!!! I SWEAR TO GOD GETO SHOULD HAVE A FUKING MIND BATTLE WITH HIM AND KILL THAT BASTARD. Moreover FUCK YOU GEGE-"

The few students in the lab who were trying to complete their semester assignments turned their heads to us. Yahiko had been volunteering them all from the past 30 minutes, not a trace of irritation crossed his face untill now.

A heavy sigh escapes Yahiko's lips as his fingers massaged the tensing temples, "You know, Ume, we are not kids anymore and in the coming 6 months we will be out, seeking for a high pay job. There are burdensome of things to worry about rather than crying over some non-existential being."

He got a point. "Just finish off with your assignment before the deadline. I need to report the stats to Professor Souta also." The door bursted open with Yamashita panting hard. His brown eyes were widened with a confused frown on his face. His words slipped in cracking voice.

"She....is no more....d-died...." Slight tears were forming at the corners of his hurtful eyes. Yahiko stiffened a bit. The rest of the students gasped and muttered some words here and there, we were worried for him.

It was known to most people at the campus that Sato Yahiko, son of the most promising Business Man Sato Himura, had been stressing over his mother's illness. Doctor gave a word of consolation that she will live to see her grandchildren but they knew otherwise.

"They....they said....she will live, right?.....The fans"

'Wait what? fans-

"THAT ISAYAMA- YAMASHITA GET THE CAR, WE'RE DRIVING TO KODANSHA TOWER" And he left without further word.

A round bottom flask had rolled and crashed to the ground, spreading its pointed pieces yet no one was bothered to notice it. The room had gone silent.

People arranged their belongings quietly, the poker expression never leaving their faces and slowly everyone filtered out in silence. It's long forgotten that the deadline is in 2 days-

A wave of laughter echoed in the living room as you brewed coffee in loose trousers and a blue t-shirt. You shouldn't have told him the story, he wouldn't stop bragging about how stupid people are at your university.

'Come on Satoru it was not that funny. We knew he had a thing for Hange.' You kept the coffee on the table and prepared yourself for the banters to be thrown. Satoru's long and veiny hands reached for the cup handle, bringing it near his lips to gently blow over the coffee.

"Inside out. Two faced guy, I loved it. Who would've thought that he will go live for throwing his hands on the assistant of Isayama the great." You had face palmed when the news aired live, it was then that Gojo was made aware of the ruckus. God knows how Mr.Sato is going to compensate for the cause.

"And more over- he threw his arm on the back of the couch, crossed his legs and gazed at you with squinted sinister eyes -you haven't told your buddy Ume bout me huh? If she's such a lovesick fan then why not bring her over? Planning to keep me all to yourself?"

It didn't go unnoticed by the almighty Gojo Satoru. It had been over a few weeks, roughly around a month, that he got himself teleported in here. Since time works differently in Prison Realm, everything got mushed up. Maybe it was the effects of space-time that merged with his curse technique which is to alter things at atomic level.

It was like yesterday only he got sealed and today he's here. For others, 3 years have passed but to him it's merely around a month. No matter how much he tried to contain the information from the ongoing jujutsu kaisen manga, his brain refused to remember it. As if some spiritual laws were flouting him from accessing the unknowns.

Your face cringed at his words but internally your heart was drumming against your chest. Your favourite had been Geto over Gojo, tho he got those ocean like blue eyes and charisma in the anime but you fawned over Geto more. To have him sit beside you in black oversized t-shirt and grey trousers that you ordered online, made your mind go crazy.

'You think she would believe something soo impossible? She'd take you for a cosplayer' You had knowledged him nearly about everything related to the otaku world.

He gave you a shit eating grin (cause he knew nobody knows of his reality) before continuing with the coffee. You silently appreciated his presence in your life, although it's momentary. And he is more mature than what is been shown by Gege.

Seems like I am falling for him

You both savoured your coffee with some exchanging words here and there before getting back to complete your assignment. It aches your heart to be around Satoru like this. He was forcing you to wish for something, for something not to end too soon.

It was Sunday and everything felt so refreshing but then, your brain did a flip. Where's Satoru? Yes. He ain't in the house. Not at the terrace also. Dialled for his number (of course you gave him your spare phone) and it ringed in the living room.

Your face twisted as you stood at the middle of your house. Eyes dropping to the floor as you refused to shift your body. Did he returned back to his universe? Everything felt swirling as your body heavily plopped on the couch.

Was it just a dream?

#jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #anime #manga #manga spoliers

[argylemnwrites]

Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 3

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: PG-13 (brief language)

Summary: A trip to meet the newest Beaumont isn’t off to the greatest start.

Author’s Note: So, since it has been ages since I updated this story, I feel like a quick recap is in order. Drake and Riley are in Cordonia to meet Savannah and Bertrand’s new baby girl, Caroline. They just met Liam’s new girlfriend, Iris, and her innocent questions about their postponed wedding made it clear that Drake is very frustrated by the fact they aren’t married yet. To catch up/jog your memory fully on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Drake groaned as Riley reached forward to start scanning across the radio stations.

“What?” she asked. He noticed her give a tiny shrug out of the corner of his eye as she leaned back after settling on a Greek Top 40 station.

“I knew it. I swear you pick this one just to annoy me, Liu.” Drake had made the mistake of complaining about this particular station on one of their first trips back to Cordonia, right before she’d gone back to university. It was all over-produced and sugary, and the DJs were just fucking obnoxious. Of course, that last point probably didn’t actually bother Riley, since she couldn’t understand a word they said.

“Maybe I just like this station.” 

Drake glanced over and took in the giant shit-eating grin plastered across her face and just rolled his eyes. “Uh huh, sure. Let’s ignore the fact that this station plays a ton of songs in Greek.”

“I’m just trying to broaden my cultural horizons.”

“Says the woman who refused to watch Parasite because it has subtitles.’”

“If I wanted to read something, I would pick up a book,” she said, but she did lean forward again to flip over to a different station. 

“Thank you,” Drake said, clicking on the turn signal as he switched into the right lane.

“You make it too easy sometimes,” she said, Drake noticing that she shrugged a little out of the corner of his eye. “If you didn’t act like that station was pure torture, I probably wouldn’t enjoy it so much.”

All Drake could do was shake his head. “You know, some people might not be so open about liking something out of spite.”

“No, it’s not spite.” Drake glanced over and raised his eyebrows at that, so Riley elaborated. “Spite is mean-spirited. I know you like my teasing too much for it to be spite.”

“Really.” Drake deadpanned, although he wasn’t able to hold back his grin and fully play along.

“Uh huh. What other explanation is there for you hanging around me after all these years?”

“I can’t think of a single one,” he said, earning him a flick of her fingers against his shoulder.

“Well I guess I will have to keep teasing you then. Otherwise I might have to settle for a guy who would have made me get up before six this morning.”

Drake looked over at her at that. Even after years together, her ability to jump from intensely sarcastic to gently sincere in an instant still amazed him. Last night, Maxwell had called and offered to pick them up from the palace after dropping off Mom and Aunt Leona at the airport, but they had a very early departure time. Drake had turned him down, feeling like it would be a shitty move to force Riley to wake up early on vacation, particularly since she never complained about using her limited vacation days to visit his family. Yet here she was, appreciative of his gesture that cost him nothing.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to spend two hours in the car with Maxwell.”

She let out a laugh at that. “Well, at least I rank as better company in your book.”

“Always, Liu. Always.”

“Seriously though, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Her left hand settled on his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze at that, but she didn’t say anything else, just glanced out the window as Drake turned off the main road and onto the smaller one that led to the Beaumont’s estate. Within a few minutes, they were pulling onto the driveway. As they climbed out of the car, they heard an excited little voice calling from the direction of the estate’s entrance. 

“Uncle Drake!”

Drake closed the driver’s door and pivoted around quickly, crouching down and extending his arms. Bartie ran across the drive and threw his little arms around Drake’s neck, laughing as Drake scooped him up and hugged him tightly. 

“We saw your car diving! I wanted to go out. Say ‘hi’ like Mommy or Daddy. Uncle Maxwell said I had to stay inside. Had to stand still ‘til you stopped,” Bartie rambled off, barely taking time to take a breath. 

“Thought that a little toddler darting in front of the car might not be the best start to your visit,” added Maxwell, strolling over to their car. “Hey, little blossom,” he added as he hugged Riley.

“Oh, you don’t get to just ‘little blossom’ me after you convinced Liam to keep me away!” she chuckled as she gave him a playful shove. “What happened to me being a Beaumont and always welcome here?”

“He told you guys?” Maxwell asked, turning to glance at Drake.

“Of course he did!” Riley said, drawing Maxwell’s attention back to her. She laughed a bit and shook her head before walking around the car to Drake and Bartie. “Hey, Bartie! Wow, you’ve gotten so big!” Drake passed Bartie over to her, watching as she gave him a squeeze, but Bartie started squirming in her arms, clearly wanting to be released from the obligatory hugs.

Riley placed him down, and he turned right back to Drake, grabbing his hand and tugging on it. “Uncle Drake, come see my new playhouse!” he said, attempting to drag Drake along after him as he started moving back towards the estate.

“Hey, my favorite dude, do you remember why Aunt Riley and Uncle Drake are here?” Maxwell said, crouching in front of Bartie. 

Bartie kicked his foot against the driveway before he answered. “Everyone wants to see Caroline. But she’s boring. She doesn’t do anything!”

Drake was trying to figure out the best way to deal with his nephew’s clear jealousy, but Riley stepped forward and bent down next to Maxwell. “I would love to see your playhouse, Bartie.”

“What do you say?” added Maxwell. “Why don’t we show Aunt Riley while Uncle Drake goes to see your mom and dad and sister?”

Bartie was silent for a few moments, but then nodded, grabbing Riley and Maxwell’s hands and heading inside without a glance back. Maxwell chuckled, twisted around, and called out to Drake, “You remember where the nursery is, right?”

Drake nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgment, taking the time to pop the trunk and grab their luggage before venturing inside himself. He went straight upstairs, pausing only to place their bags in their usual room, before heading down the hall, turning to the left and entering the private quarters, making his way to the small room located all the way towards the end of the hallway, the last door on the right.

It seemed like just yesterday he was building a crib in there for Bartie when Savannah was moving in. The room looked much the same, the walls still a pale grey, the furniture all pure white. The layout hadn’t changed much, with the crib placed against the far wall beneath a painting of stars shining over a lake with a squid waving a tentacle in the air, the changing table right next to it, and the dresser next to the rocking chair in the corner. The only thing that looked different, as far as Drake could remember, was the sheet tucked around the crib mattress. Back when this had been Bartie’s room, the sheets were covered in a variety of zoo animals, the only splash of color in the otherwise greyscale nursery. Now, they were a black and white check, much more subdued.

Laying in the center of the crib, wrapped tightly in a light pink blanket, was a sleeping baby. Drake didn’t have a lot of experience with infants, but even he had heard you never wake a sleeping baby, so he stepped further into the room carefully, trying not to make a sound. When he reached the crib, he couldn’t help but stare. This was Caroline. His niece.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just taking her in, but eventually Savannah’s voice caught his attention.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s a bit creepy to just sneak into someone’s home and watch their child sleep?”

Drake turned his head to look over his shoulder. His sister was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, an eyebrow cocked. “Hey, Sav. Maxwell sent me up here.”

“I should have known,” she said, walking over to join him by the crib, wrapping an arm around his waist as she gave him a half-hug. “I see you’ve met Caroline.”

“She’s beautiful,” Drake said, looking down again at the little baby in the crib, a few fine brown hairs covering her head. His niece. She was so tiny. It was kind of overwhelming, seeing her like this. When he’d met Bartie, it had been such a total shock that he even existed. Plus, he had been so much older than this. “Congratulations.”

“You can pick her up, you know.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to disturb her.”

Savannah let out a few little chuckles. “She is the one who disturbs everyone most of the time. Besides, she’s just about due for a feeding.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, Drake. Just go wash your hands, and then you can hold her.”

And so a minute later, Drake found himself being handed his niece, so small and fragile-seeming. “Is this okay?” he asked, trying to make sure he walked the fine line between being gentle and holding her firmly as he tucked her against his chest.

“You aren’t going to hurt her!” Savannah laughed out.

“I just… I’ve never held a baby this little before. I don’t want to mess this up,” Drake said. Caroline felt so light in his arms. She was blinking, slowly becoming more alert after being shifted from her crib. Her bluish-grey eyes finally seemed to lock on his. “Hey, Caroline,” he said, “I’m your Uncle Drake.” But before he could think of anything else to say, she opened her mouth and let out a piercing wail.

Drake glanced over at Savannah. “What do I do?”

She laughed again. “God, what is Riley going to do with you when it’s your kid? She’s a baby, not an alien. She’s either hungry, sleepy, or has a dirty diaper.” But before she could poke fun at him any further, she reached over and shifted Caroline into her arms. “And since she’s hungry, I’m really the only one who can handle that.”

“Oh, do you want privacy or should I…”

Savannah shrugged. “I use a nursing blanket since Barthelemy walked in on me and made things real awkward.” And with that she settled onto the rocking chair, adjusting her top, positioning Caroline, then tugging a little cover over herself.

“What did Barthelemy do?” Drake asked as he moved to the side wall, leaning against it.

“Just acted real weird about the whole thing, talked to Bert about reminding me how a duchess should comport herself.”

“What a jackass.”

Savannah let out a sigh. “Bertrand was very apologetic when he relayed the message. But using a nursing blanket is not a big deal, and if it makes things easier for Bert with his dad…” She trailed off, staring down at Caroline, reaching under the nursing blanket to adjust something before she spoke again. “Having him around here has not exactly been some big happy family. I don’t know if his illness changed him, or if my memories of him were just fuzzy, but he’s an odd duck.”

Drake glanced over to the doorway. “Uhh, Sav. Not that I care, but the door is wide open and-”

She laughed and shook her head. “He’s at his rehab and physical therapy appointment this morning.”

“Ahh, gotcha. Any more talk of him trying to regain the title of duke?” Back when Barthelemy had returned to the estate, Sav had confided that it seemed like he was hinting that Bertrand should renounce his title and return it to his father. But since their wedding, it had seemed like most of that talk had died.

“No, he and Godfrey laid on the pressure after the honeymoon, but as soon as we announced the pregnancy, he backed off. His new mission seems to be to convince Liam that either Bartie or Caroline should be appointed as heir to the throne, which is crazy to think about, but it keeps him busy, so…” Savannah tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, letting the thought just hang there in the room. 

Drake was bothered by the implications of that statement, but he knew that pressing Savannah on it would not really get him anywhere. As inappropriate and concerning as he found the implication that Savannah and Bertrand weren’t shutting Barthelemy down completely with that shit, he knew voicing his objections now would not solve anything. Discussing this all with Liam would make much more sense. So he just filed the statement away and moved to change the subject.

“Is it easier this time around, knowing what you are doing?”

Savannah smiled before glancing down at Caroline. “I think it’s more that I have a support system. And yes, I know it was my choice to not have one before,” she added before Drake could interject. “I guess in some ways at least I know what to expect, but Caroline is way more cranky than Bartie was at this age. Besides, I don’t think any parent ever really feels like they know what they are doing.”

“Nah, you seem to have it down.”

“It’s just a lot of trial and error. You’ll see when you guys have a baby.”

Drake ran his hand across his jaw, glancing down and watching his toes nudge into the baseboard. “I have a feeling that’s gonna be a while for us.”

“Oh come on! Don’t you want your kids to grow up with their cousins?”

Drake swallowed before taking a breath. “Of course I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Well, getting married to start.” Shit. “Not that I think people have to be married to raise a kid or-”

“Relax, Drake,” Savannah said, cutting off his apologetic ramble. “It’s not like Bartie was a planned pregnancy.”

“Neither was Caroline,” he thought, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to risk offending his sister or make her feel like he was judging her and her family. 

“I know you have an old-fashioned streak-”

“Hey!” Drake interjected, but Savannah just kept on going.

“-but I think you guys should think about having kids soon. You were going to be married by now anyway! And isn’t that the modern, New York thing to do?”

Drake didn’t know where all this was coming from. Why she was so insistent about something that didn’t involve her. But man, he wished she would move on to any other topic of conversation. Because what could he say? That he was ready to be married with kids? That he would have no problem starting a family with Riley tomorrow? He couldn’t share that with his sister, at least not without sharing things about Riley he was pretty confident she would never want Savannah to know.

The fact that she had decided on a birth control option that would last for three years made it pretty clear where her head was at with the whole kid thing. She wasn’t really ready, not by a long shot. And until she was ready, there was really nothing he could do about it. Drake was just going to have to wait until she felt like the time was right, whenever that might be.

Maybe it was just that he was four years older than her. Maybe that’s why he felt so ready to take those next steps when she seemed so unbothered, so willing to just roll along. And to be fair, it’s not like they were ever going to be a couple like Hana and Catherine, who had timelines and life plans and five year goals. But deep down, Drake couldn’t help but wonder why Riley seemed so ambivalent about them getting married and starting a family. Was she unsure about something in their relationship, unsure about something with him?

It’s not that she didn’t want kids ever, as far as he knew. She’d mentioned wanting kids before. And they’d planned that first wedding without issue. But now it seemed like she was stuck. No rush to get married. Not thinking about having kids for years. And Drake didn’t know how to approach the whole topic without seeming like he was demanding things. Putting pressure on her. He was happy. They were happy. It was something his younger self would have never thought possible, and it should definitely be enough. But maybe he was selfish, because there were times where it just didn’t feel like enough.

Maybe it would be helpful to talk to someone about this, but that would feel like violating Riley’s trust. He knew Riley had her therapist she talked to, and he was sure their relationship was a topic of conversation there, but that was different. The therapist wasn’t someone who knew Drake, who was his friend or family. Anyone Drake would feel comfortable talking about this with knew Riley. Knew her well, quite frankly. 

So for now, he was just going to have to keep moving forward. Keep hoping that Riley would start to feel ready soon. And at the moment, that meant sidestepping his sister’s questions and prodding.

“Geez, Sav! We haven’t even been here for an hour, and you are laying it on really thick.”

“Sorry, sorry! I know it’s not my business! If it makes you feel better, it’s not just with you. Kiara also told me I needed to back off when I started asking her about when she and Oliver were going to have kids right after their wedding.”

“Wait, when did Kiara get married?”

“Oh, Drake! At least you have an excuse for not knowing all the news now that you live abroad.” she said, shaking her head. “They eloped maybe… four months ago?”

And then Savannah was off, filling Drake in on tons of gossip he didn’t give two shits about. But it made her happy, and it was a safe topic of conversation, so who was he to complain?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Riley sat crossed legged on the floor in Bartie’s room at a little table, Maxwell seated across from her. Meanwhile, Bartie was hard at work at his toy kitchen set, organizing pieces of plastic food on plates. He wanted to show off and make “lunch” for them. Riley supposed that this was probably a common way for a three and a half year old to want to play, not that she had any such memories from her own childhood. What wasn’t common, she was sure, was the formal table setting Bartie had carefully placed in front of each of them, the perfectly pressed white apron he’d asked Maxwell to help him tie on, or the fact that he was arranging his plastic lettuce, eggs, and meat on actual china.

“Looks excellent, my favorite dude,” said Maxwell as Bartie carefully carried over several plates to the table. “What’s on the menu?”

“Steak tartare with a fresh greens salad,” he said before turning and heading back towards his little kitchen.

“Wait, aren’t you going to join us?” asked Riley, trying to keep from bursting out in laughter at the thought of a preschooler preparing such a meal.

“Aunt Riley, no aprons at the table!” he said his eyes wide as he turned back to face her.

“Yeah, come on Aunt Riley, where are your manners?” Maxwell winked before twisting to look over at Bartie. “You need any help untying your apron there?”

“No, I can do it,” Bartie ground out, tugging on the ties without much luck.

“Okay, well I’m right here if you do need help,” Maxwell responded. Within five seconds, Bartie was back, standing right next to him.

“Thanks, Uncle Maxwell!” he said, happily pulling the apron off and jogging over to hang it up nicely once Maxwell had it untied.

“You’re working hard to maintain your title as best uncle.” Riley said.

“Every time you guys come to visit, he suddenly wants to go fishing and camping instead of having dance parties with me.”

Riley laughed at that. “We’re new and exciting, what can I say.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the favorite aunt by default.”

“What does default mean?” asked Bartie, plopping down on the floor next to them.

“It means no other choices, dude.”

“Oh,” Bartie said, nodding before picking up his silverware, pretending to cut into the plastic in front of him with surprising coordination.

“So has Uncle Maxwell been hanging out with you a lot since your sister came home?”

Bartie shrugged. “I guess.”

“We’ve definitely been seeing some jealousy,” Maxwell said with a nod. “I kind of thought this might happen, so I made sure to clear my schedule for a handful of weeks around the due date.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

Maxwell tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Hey, I’m favorite uncle for a reason.”

“Uncle Drake is my favorite,” said Bartie, causing Riley to burst out laughing.

“Dude, that wasn’t the deal! You’re gonna pay for this,” Maxwell said, leaning over and wiggling his fingers. “The squid’s about to attack.” With that, Maxwell started tickling Bartie, triggering wild giggles and Bartie rolling backwards on the floor.

“Bartie!” Bertrand’s voice cut across the room. Riley twisted over to find him standing in the hallway, his eyes scanning over the scene in front of him. “We don’t make our guests sit on the floor, do we?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Bertrand, it’s fine-” Riley started, but he held up a hand, cutting her off.

“What do we say, Bartie?”

“Sorry, Aunt Riley.”

All Riley could do was nod, accepting an apology from a toddler that felt entirely unnecessary.

“Good,” said Bertrand, “Now go wash your hands and get cleaned up for lunch.”

Bartie scampered out of the room, turning to his left in the hallway.

“I offered to play with him, Bertrand.”

“Well, he was told that you were coming to visit Caroline. He should have known better than to monopolize your time.”

Riley opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Maxwell grabbed her wrist and shook his head. 

“How are you, by the way? I apologize for not being there to greet you and Drake.”

“I’m good, Bertrand,” she said as she pushed herself up on her feet, walking over and giving him a loose hug. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Yes, thank you. Drake and Savannah have Caroline in the private lounge if you want to go meet her. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check and make sure Bartie isn’t making a complete mess in the bathroom.”

And with that, Bertrand was off, following the path down the hallway that his son had just taken.

“Yikes,” said Riley as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Maxwell, looping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her in the opposite direction. “That is another reason I made sure I didn’t have any need to be on set or in LA for any writers meetings for a few months.”

“He’s more of a tight ass than ever.”

“I think he’s very anxious because he missed this part of Bartie’s life. The amount of research he did and the number of parenting books he read is insane. But any time any little thing isn’t what he expects, he flips out.”

“What does Savannah think about that?” Riley asked, following Maxwell down the stairs.

“Either she’s too sleep deprived to notice, or she’s just pretending not to see it. I decided to give him two months to settle into things. If he’s still snapping at everyone then, well… I guess I’ll have to stage an intervention or something.”

“Wow. Well at least you’re here to look out for the kid.”

“Yup, figure I can keep things normal-ish for him. Though I will say between watching Bertrand spiral and hearing Caroline’s shrieks, any faint consideration I might have given to parenthood has gone straight out the window.”

Riley laughed, prompting Maxwell to keep going. “I’m serious! I know I told you I was pretty sure I was good being the fun uncle, but these past few weeks have really locked in that decision. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Bartie is right - Caroline is boring. And loud. And I am so glad she is not my responsibility.”

All Riley could do was laugh more. “Do you need me to make up an excuse for you so you don’t need to be in the same room with her?”

Maxwell nudged her with his shoulder. “Oh, laugh it up! I don’t have any issues with her. She just confirmed that fatherhood is not for me, no matter how cute she is when she isn’t screaming her head off.”

At that point, they entered the lounge, so Riley dropped any further teasing she had for Maxwell. “Hey, Savannah. Congrats!” she said, walking across the room and giving her a hug.

“Thank you, Riley. It’s so good to see you!” Savannah replied as they pulled apart. Riley moved to sit down next to Drake on the couch, who was cradling a baby against his shoulder.

“This must be Caroline,” she said, watching as Drake tapped his hand against her back lightly.

“Either that or I have a lot of explaining to do,” Drake said, glancing over at her. Riley just smiled and nudged him lightly with her elbow.

“Drake, why don’t you let Riley hold her?” Savannah asked. “She should get to meet her aunt, too.”

“Do you want to?” Drake asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” said Riley, reaching over and helping him peel the tiny little girl off his chest, nestling her into her own arms.

Caroline was awake, her eyes roving around as Riley shifted back onto the couch more fully to try and get comfortable. After a few seconds, they seemed to settle on Riley’s face. All she could really do was stare back, taking in this child, this baby girl who might not have been planned, but would certainly be loved by so many.

“Yeah, I know I’m a stranger right now. But in a couple of decades, I’ll be the one you come to when you want nightclub recommendations in New York City.”

“Hey, I want in on that invite,” said Maxwell as Savannah let out a few chuckles. Riley glanced over at Drake, expecting him to be rolling his eyes or shaking his head, but instead was caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. He was staring at her holding Caroline with such passion, such longing, she felt almost exposed. All she could think to do was drop her eyes back to the baby, not wanting to dwell on what that meant at that moment.

Unfortunately, Savannah must have noticed Drake as well, because she said, “Oh, I see that look. ‘A while’ my ass. I bet you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year.”

Drake let out a sort of sputtering cough at his sister’s comment, but before he could say anything, could so much as get a word out, Riley felt her own mouth opening. Her own response spilled out so glibly, without a second of thought. It was almost like she heard someone else saying the words, even as she knew she was the one speaking.

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

She felt Drake stiffen beside her, saw Maxwell shifting in his seat, and heard Savannah mutter out a little apology, but all of that was just background noise as her brain screamed at her. How could she have been so fucking stupid? What possessed her to say that? Or at least to phrase it like that? There were ways to shut down Savannah’s prying without implying that Drake had baby fever and she wanted no part of it.

The uncomfortable silence in the room was broken as Bertrand and Bartie entered. “Lunch is ready in the dining room,” said Bertrand, gesturing to the door behind him. Bertrand then stepped over to Riley. “I can go put her down,” he said, gesturing at his daughter still in Riley’s arms.

“Oh, sure thing,” said Riley, passing him Caroline before standing up. Savannah, Maxwell, and Bartie had already left the room, but Drake was still seated, his eyes locked on his knee that was bouncing up and down.

“Drake, I-” she started as soon as Bertrand had stepped out, extending her hand to help him to his feet. But Drake ignored the gesture, pushing his hands into the cushions of the couch instead.

“I’m hungry. Let’s just go eat, Riley.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-.”

“It’s fine, Riley, Really. We can talk later” He nodded at her and started walking towards the door, leaving Riley to follow after him. And more than the brush off, more than his refusal to hold her hand, the fact that he’d not called her ‘Liu’ let her know that she had made a huge fucking mess.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @twinkleallnight @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff  

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know  @iplaydrake

ICWAM: @thequeenofpixels @sunnyxdazed @sammie0220​

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr au #trr au fanfic #trr fanfic #choices fanfiction

[stray-kids-react]

Polaroid

Han x Fem. Reader Soulmate au

Warnings - Swearing, mentions of sex, and Fluff that'll make you cry.

Masterlist

...

Y/n's pov, November 27 2020

My mother once told me that I will know when I'm in love, she never specified what hints will cross my path... She just said I'll know.

As a young adult now, sharing an apartment with my close friend Yeji. I'm starting to become impatient with this whole game of love, why can't I just get told who is my perfect match. I'm so tired of having my hopes risen up and then crashed down onto my heart... Breaking it each time.

"Any plans today?" Yeji asked from the kitchen, making me cringe at the word plans.

I just was still recovering from a terrible break up, where I caught the supposedly love of my life slurping the life out of his assistants pussy. I won't forget the feeling of my heart completely stopping for a few seconds, as my mind told me to run and not look back.

"Yes actually, I have a date with Netflix and the leftovers in the fridge." I replied, slyly smirking as she stared at me like a worried mother.

"Well Netflix isn't going to have to wait for his turn. Because I have this guy who is really interested you and is a total sweetheart." She sighed, showing me a photo of the guy she was trying to set me up with.

"Yeah... No." I replied, beginning to retreat back to my room.

"Y/n! JISUNG TOLD ME!" Yeji announced, catching my attention from the front of my bedroom door.

"I-it's still a no Yeji." I whimpered, shutting the door harshly behind me as she sighed in defeat.

Yeji's pov

She needs to get out of this place, it's been two weeks now. All over a guy she barely even knew, I know the true reason she is hiding and she will never admit it.

Y/n is scared to see his face again, our best friend Han Jisung. The best friend that she happened to fall in love with, and moved away from after she got accepted into the university of her dreams.

They were never just best friends in anyone's eyes, not even there own. Yet they both tried to fill in the whole in their heart with other people, never realizing that all they had to do was just say three difficult words.

Y/n was in a hurry to find her perfect partner after I found mine, the man next door with the matching tattoo on his wrist. Your tattoo shows up when you are over the age of 19 and are near your soulmate, it shows up on your wrist, neck, or shoulder blade.

She didn't want to see Jisung in case that tattoo never came, they both wouldn't be able to handle the realization. But it is a part of life, and I'm not going to let my best friends live alone when they could have a chance to be in love and happy.

Han wanted to see us both while he was visiting the city, even though he knew the risk of utter devastation. That fake profile was just a set up so that she would finally meet up with Han, and she probably already knew about my plans.

I walked up to her door cautiously, gently brushing my knuckles against her door.

"Y/n... I know why you are actually upset."

Y/n pov

"Because of Han Jisung." I answered, brushing past the old childhood photos saved on my phone.

"I know that's what you were going to say Yeji, and you're right. I know I won't be able to take it if the guy I love isn't the one for me, and that all of those nights alone with him that are coded into my brain are worthless. I'm scared Yeji, I'm scared that I won't be able to think of most of my life without tearing up." I explained, as she plopped down on my bed next to me.

"You're fear will just get worse until you find out, you'll never know the result until you actually try." She replied, placing my head on her shoulder for comfort.

I let out a shaky breath as a couple tears streamed down my cheeks, she was right as usual. But I still needed at least one day to prepare myself.

"Fine, but let me rest today. I'm not going to fancy restraint with puffy eyes and bed head." I remarked, watching as a sly smile spread across her lips.

She slowly began to exit my bedroom, delighted that she finally got her way with me. Not even explaining who that fake date even was, probably just a random guy from Google. It was 11:30 at night, and all of my crying really wore the energy out of my body and mind.

So eventually sleep crossed paths with my mind and hooked up, completely losing consciousness as my memories flashed like a polaroid camera.

December 15th 2018

"I can't believe we're graduating this year, seems like we only started high school yesterday." Jisung sighed, carrying both of our bags while walking home together.

"Don't worry quokka, you'll still carry my bags for me even after high school." I teased, pinching the reddened skin of his cheeks.

"Oh very funny, and you'll still put crackers in your mouth and pretend to be a walrus." He remarked dodging the snowball that came his way.

He set my bags down on my front yard as he gathered his own army of cold fluff balls. I tackled him to the ground as we both drowned the silence in laughter, I traced my frosted mittens across his face. Gently crossing his lips as he brushed the snow chunks from my hair.

The close warmth of his breath against my face sent my heart into a frenzy, I secretly craved the closeness of him... But I never wanted to admit it in case I'd lose him.

His now glossed lips looked so kiss able, the way they pouted as he focused on my hair. And how they stretched into a warm smile that left a fuzzy feeling in my heart for years, made it only harder to stop myself from interlocking them with mine.

"I better get going bun bun. I'll see you tomorrow at school though." Jisung reassured, lightly booping my nose as he left his trail from my snowy front yard. Waving one last time to catch my attention as I was at the front door.

"Farewell loser!" He shouted, showing off that bright smile of his.

"Farewell to you as well, asshole!" I retorted, giggling as I walked into my empty house all alone.

November 28th 2020

Y/n pov

"Wake up! Time for bubble tea!" Yeji screamed, jumping on top of me as she consistently hit me with my own pillows.

"I thought we were meeting Jisung later." I sighed, looking at the red numbers of my alarm clock reading 7:30am.

"Yes we are, but I want bubble tea and to talk with you about some stuff I found out." Yeji replied, pulling me out of bed to soon push me into the washroom.

I complied to her excited energy, understanding it is pretty exciting for her.

The steaming water swallowed every inch of my skin, blocking out all of the noises outside. Only leaving me and the blank wall to stare at, droplets of water racing against each other. A flash of the mirror and sunlight clashing, sending the flash of a polaroid to my memories.

August 16th 2018

Yeji squealed as her boyfriend threw her into the pool, soon joining her in a large cannonball jump. All of his friends danced around with liquor drenching their breath, as their bodies clashed together in ways they didn't fully understand.

It wasn't my style of fun, it instead gave me a wave of fear and stress. Not recognizing any of these people, while they danced around half naked. Yeji's boyfriend decided that she had enough fun for one night, and took her home to rest.

I hurriedly gathered my belongings and rushed out the door, just as excited and horny shouts came from the pool. I was okay to walk home alone, it felt nice to be surrounded my silence for once. Even if my conscious tortured me about every bad possibility.

"Need a drive home party animal?" a familiar voice called from across the road, that voice of the man who has always had my back.

"I'd actually really like that." I replied, feeling a wave of comfort when I entered the car.

"I can tell your a bit freaked out." He sighed, throwing his bad into the backseat.

"That party was just... A lot. A lot more than I expected." I whimpered, still a bit overwhelmed from the experience.

"How about you stay at my place for the night. We'll even watch some American horror story..." Jisung suggested, even though he was shit terrified of anything remotely scary.

"I'm holding you to it quokka." I giggled, slapping his thigh teasingly.

We drove to his home as the car filled with a random playlist of songs, one landing on my favorite 'Turning Page'.

"I didn't know you liked this song." I commented, blushing softly at the tone of the song.

"I want this to be the song that represents me and my soulmate. It sounds cheesy, but it's true." He revealed, glancing my way as the car stopped in the from of his home.

The whole topic of soulmates use to be humorous to me, remembering when me and Han drew matching docks on our palms as 'our' symbol. Even taking a polaroid photo of the amazing art we drew, I still have it in my phone case.

Then it hit me, how much it would hurt to see him destined with someone other then me. That moment when he glanced back into my eyes with a shy smile, is when I admitted to myself for falling madly in love with my best friend.

November 28th 2020

I walked along the streets of our home town, hanging my mask off my chin when sipping my bubble tea.

"You know what's crazy." Yeji started, catching my focus immediately.

"I remember the moment you started crushing on Jisung. You didn't even have to tell me, I already knew." She admitted, gazing at me with only a soft warmth in her eyes.

"It was obvious by how many photos you had of him and you on your wall, and the way you looked at him as if he were your dream person." She continued, texting something on her phone that I couldn't quite see.

"Or how when he caught you staring he'd reply with 'take a picture it'll last longer'... And you always did to get revenge. I will never forget the day I saw you two as more then best friends, that was the same day when I bought you that polaroid camera for Christmas. " She replied, taking a short break as her hands nervously fidgeted with her skirt.

"That's why I want a 'thank you' later on." She mumbled, before running off and leaving me completely stunned on the bench.

"Y/n..."

September 14th 2018

"It's crazy that this is your last day here." I sighed, trying my best not to cry.

He nodded trying to smile the pain away like me, but soon caving in once his arms met my body. I nuzzled into the crook of his neck, hoping I could capture his scent one last time.

"I'll still visit. I can't cope without seeing your face, asshole." He chuckled lightly, sniffling quietly when he retracted his arms away.

He stared at my features for a few long seconds, as if he was contemplating on doing something. Jisung shook his head, smiling brightly once more as he pulled me into one last hug.

As he put his palm on the door knob, I shouted his name one last time. Running across the room towards him, he turned around immediately dropping his bangs on the ground.

He instantly knew what I was going to do, since his lips molded with mine without one ounce of hesitation. His hands lost in my hair, pulling me closer and closer until there was no space between us. Jisung's lips were so much sweeter and softer then any other kiss I've had.

The sweetness was sprinkled with the salty taste of our mixed tears. Only creating more as the kiss began to end, both of us realizing we should've told each other so much sooner.

"I love you." We both sighed at the same time, smiling sadly at the bittersweet sting in our hearts.

November 28th 2020

"Jisung..." I gasped, turning around quickly to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

"W-wow... You've really. Wow." He stuttered, cautiously inching closer towards me.

"You too." I chuckled airily, swallowing back my tears. I missed him so much, but it hurt too much to see him at the same time.

"Y/n... I know it's been a while. But I honestly came here because I needed to see you. I still love you, and I don't care if we're soul mates or not. I'll sharpie our own symbol on us everyday if I have to." He revealed, grasping my hands between his own.

"I'm sorry that I was being so selfish." I sighed, caving into my own tears. Regretting my fears of seeing him again, feeling terrible for torturing him just as much as I tortured myself.

"We are both scared. It's not our fault, but I just want us to accept that things may not go our way. But that won't stop us from being together." He reassured, lightly brushing frosted his mitten across my features. Glossing over my lips gently, his eyes warm and gentle as they fluttered shut.

I molded into his kiss immediately, lacing my fingers through his silky hair. Soon pulling him closer to my so there was no space between us, making sure no one could try and ruin this moment for us.

His lips still were as sweet as the first time they molded into mine, and his fingertips could still make my legs give out by how gentle they were against my skin. Every emotion flashed through my mind, all my regrets, confidence, love, lust... It all flashed just like a...

"Polaroid." He gasped, tugging my palm next to his as the ink slowly traced the same picture into my palm. The picture of the camera that captured all the moments I treasured with my soulmate, the soulmate that was everything I could've asked for.

#stray kids #kpop #skz scenarios #stray kids reactions #han jisung #han jisung x you #han jisung x reader #jisung oneshots #skz jisung #skz oneshots #han jisung icons #han jisung imagines #han jisung oneshot #skz imagines

[seasonsofeverlark]

Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding. 

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict. 

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre​, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge. 

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday! 

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

  Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep. 

  I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband. 

  Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service. 

  “I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier. 

  I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod. 

  Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood. 

  Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color. 

  “Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah. 

  There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody  is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah. 

  “Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles. 

  “There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back. 

  This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family. 

  The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky. 

  The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half. 

  Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable. 

  First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights. 

  Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,” 

  He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.” 

  His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced. 

  My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

  Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.” 

  Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

  Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night. 

  “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.” 

  He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second. 

  My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night. 

  I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together. 

  When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

  I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should! 

  Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah. 

  The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

  Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!” 

  “I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room. 

  Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun. 

  Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece. 

  The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

  When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick. 

  I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

  “So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

  There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

  “That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

  “Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair. 

  “Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

  “Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?” 

  “Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins. 

  “Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys. 

  “I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

  “I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

  “No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

  “Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

  “Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

  “We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

  “It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud. 

  “Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

  I almost choke on my cookie. 

  Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

  “Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

  “Not to…” the twins mumble contritely. 

  “Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!” 

  The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

  Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

  “Haymitch…” I ground a low warning. 

  It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between… 

  Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell. 

  “Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!” 

  I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

  But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

  When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

  I giggle at the memory. 

  I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.” 

  I happen to agree. 

  I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in. 

  Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other. 

  My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

  “But, Mamme…we know the story!” 

  Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?” 

  I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM! 

  “Yes, Mamme.” 

  I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has? 

  Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude. 

  I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

  There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

  I was 11 then. 

  That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army. 

  Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected. 

  Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

  Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments. 

  Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others. 

  “Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

  I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes. 

  “Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!” 

  “Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot. 

  The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

  Prim takes a deep breath and nods. 

  Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically. 

  “Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages. 

  Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

  “Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

  “‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

  “Purified!” 

  “Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

  Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring. 

  Aspen continues the narration after a second. 

  “At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

  Hushed voices comment their approval. 

  The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

  “Eight days…” corrects Thom.

  “Eight days straight!”

  “It was a miracle!”

  Everyone claps, excitedly. 

  “The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

  “That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

  “And won back the Holy Temple,”

  “And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!” 

  The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration. 

  After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces. 

  The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

  Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made. 

  “Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

  “For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.” 

  My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

  Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!” 

  My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?” 

  I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

  “I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.” 

  My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?” 

  “I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early. 

  Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children. 

  My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results. 

  Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman! 

  Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse. 

  Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

  I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!” 

  Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair. 

  “Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes. 

  I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

  Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat. 

  “Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own. 

  “I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek. 

  It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way. 

  We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

  Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund. 

  Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents. 

  Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did. 

  Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can. 

  While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet. 

  I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles. 

  Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg. 

  It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in. 

  I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.” 

  Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

  Peeta and I survived against the odds.

  It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming. 

  It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.  

  It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for. 

  “Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on. 

  “Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

  My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!” 

  “What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly. 

  Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!” 

  “Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

  “Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip. 

  He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

  Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor. 

  “Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

  Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.” 

  I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob. 

  Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week. 

  “Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

  “Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

  “Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle. 

  I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn. 

  Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago. 

  My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff. 

  My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully. 

  Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays. 

  After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

  But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!” 

  “Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!” 

  “Together?” My voice wavers.

  “Together!” he vows. 

  “Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

  I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back. 

  “Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears. 

  “It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

  The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape. 

  Peeta is crying. 

  I’m crying too! 

  My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her. 

  “Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

  “Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it. 

  Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

  “Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief. 

  “Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?” 

  “No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

  My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

  “We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table. 

  We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!” 

  The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

  Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s! 

  “Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim. 

  “Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

  I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!” 

  The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess. 

  After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her. 

  Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag. 

  Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely. 

  I fall asleep after a while.

  When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light. 

  Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not. 

  “Peeta?” I call softly.

  My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,” 

  No, I wouldn’t. 

  I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family. 

  I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect. 

  “Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

  “Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between. 

  My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah. 

  Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

  I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift. 

  I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange. 

  “Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

  Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle. 

  He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy. 

  I nod, accepting his explanation. 

  Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly. 

  “Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!” 

  I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

  We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

  Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically. 

  He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on. 

  I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow. 

  We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah. 

  Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby. 

  Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

  “I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.” 

  I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

  “I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

  “Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

[pxrkjihxxn]

under my skin - part 3

summary: "you know," you say, aware of how close your faces suddenly were, feeling your heart speed up again. "i can't keep patching you up forever. you're gonna have to learn to use your words properly soon."

"yeah, i know," he says softly, getting even closer to you than you thought was possible. your lips were mere centimeters apart as he smiled at you, a soft stretch of the lips you've only seen directed towards the likes of doyoung or yedam, but never at you. "thankfully, until i do, i have you to nurse me back to health, right?"

you know he's teasing, he always is, but you can't help but wonder if his question holds another meaning. "yeah, i guess you do."

tags: park jihoon x reader, gang!au, nurse!reader, brother!junkyu

warnings: mentions of violence, recreational drug and alcohol use, swearing, unedited

parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine

three

“so he was silent the entire time?”

if there’s one thing you appreciate about hamada asahi, it’s his no bullshit attitude. he’ll listen to what you have to say, take a moment to process it, and then, in no more words than necessary, tell you exactly what he thinks. and then not tell anyone unless directly asked about it. it’s refreshing - no matter how much you loved yedam, you couldn’t trust him not to rat you out to doyoung, who will definitely rat you out to hyunsuk who will tell both junkyu and jihoon and then proceed to tease you for what you and asahi are currently discussing until the day you die.

so, asahi it is. nobody else can know. 

“completely silent, i didn’t think he could go five minutes without talking,” you exclaimed, taking a bite of the food in front of you. asahi and you had a tradition to meet on wednesdays during your lunch break, which was conveniently right after his painting class at the local community center. you were currently in your student cafeteria, both of you eating from your overflowing food tray, as asahi wasn’t a student at your university.

the cafeteria workers knew about the two of you, though - the smartest thing you’ve learned throughout years of having to take care of yourself is to get as friendly with the school staff. you knew each of the cafeteria ladies by name, what their kids did and which drama they were watching at the moment. it was that knowledge that always got you extra food you could sneak out for asahi. the fact that all the cafeteria ladies found the kid incredibly handsome always helped.

it was a nice tradition, one the both of you needed - with asahi being very quiet by nature, and you being overworked to the point of exhaustion on a daily basis, you enjoyed each other’s company very much. as much as the both of you loved your friends, this agreement of yours was mutually beneficial because you got to talk about things that are bothering you without your brother and his best friend’s yelling making it hard to listen to yourself think.

speaking of your brother’s best friend…

“he didn’t even look at me when we were driving to my place, nothing,” you explain further, shoving another spoonful of kimchi stew into your mouth. “and then, he waited in the car while i took a shower, was silent the entire way to the hospital and only told me to text junkyu when i’m inside. it was so fucking weird.”

“he can be nice when he wants to,” asahi shrugs, reaching forward to take the spoon out of your hand. he wipes it on the napkin next to the tray, dipping the cleaned spoon back into the stew and spreading it over his side of the rice.

“not to me, though! that’s what’s weird!” you exclaim, wincing when you realize how loud you were, turning around to apologize to the people around you. you bow a couple times before turning back to asahi, the two of you giggling to yourself. “but no, seriously, it was weird. the man has never been nice to me in his life and suddenly he’s driving me to work and respecting my personal space. what the fuck is that about?”

“god, your standards are low,” asahi jokes, chuckling to himself when you send a glare his way. “maybe he's finally decided not to be a dick to you anymore.” 

“that would require him not being a dick at all, and that’s easier said than done,” you retort, picking the chopsticks off the table to wrap a piece of kimchi around bulgogi meat and place it in your mouth, a satisfying smile spreading across your lips as you chew. 

asahi smiles as you place a piece of meat on his side of the rice bowl, spooning it up and eating it. “i don’t know,” he says as he chews his food. “he’s always had a soft spot for you, though, maybe he’s finally learned how to express it properly.”

you lean back in your chair you send him a deadpan look. “you can’t be serious, sahi.”

“it’s true,” asahi says calmly as he eats. “you really haven’t noticed?”

“what is there to notice?” you ask.

“well,” he starts, taking a spoonful of rice and dipping it in the stew. “all i’m gonna say there’s a reason any guy that has ever given you trouble hasn’t given you trouble more than once.”

you just sit there, arms crossed across your chest. “that makes zero fucking sense, asahi. why the fuck would he do that?”

“ask him,” he only replies, finishing off his food and wiping down the spoon to place it on your side of the tray. “wanna buy cake and watch anime at yours?” 

you ponder the proposal for a couple second before you pile all of the leftover meat on the spoon and shove it in your mouth. “yeah, sure, let’s go,” you say through a mouthful of food as you gather your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder, asahi’s words still lingering in your mind.

**

“HONEY WE’RE HOME!” you yell as you enter your apartment, asahi following closely behind you. the two of you knock your shoes off and make your way to the living room. “junkyu? asahi and i bought cake and wanted to know if - oh, hi,” you stop in your tracks as you walk in and take in the sight in front of you - your brother, sleeping like a baby, curled around a stiff-looking park jihoon.

“help me,” jihoon pleads through a whisper. “he got a bit too baked and started clinging to me like a koala. i haven’t moved in at least half an hour and i can’t feel my arm,” he says quietly, pleading eyes begging for you to move junkyu off of him. when you stay put, arms crossed across your chest and an amused smile on your face, he whines quietly and you don’t wanna admit it, but he looks kinda cute. “come on, kim, help meeeeee.”

“fine, but i need to take pictures first. asahi, get the cake ready, i got this,” you say through a quiet chuckle, giving the box to an amused asahi, fishing your phone out of your pocket as you approach the two cuddling on the couch. you crouch down and get your phone as close to your brother’s face as humanly possible, snapping at least fifty pictures from ten different angles.

“okay, you’ve had your fun, now help me,” jihoon mutters through gritted teeth as you take a picture of his annoyed face, junkyu’s puffed cheeks in the bottom corner of the frame. you try to contain your laughter as you move closer to your brother and start massaging his scalp, knowing the action was going to start waking him up slowly, but not completely.

“hey, honey,” you murmur softly once junkyu starts squirming, knowing you have about ten seconds to communicate what you need him for before he either goes back to sleep or fully wakes up. “hi, let’s get you to your bed, okay?” you say as you run your fingers through his fringe. junkyu nods, eyes still closed as he unwraps himself from jihoon and moves to stand up. you grab him by his forearms and help him to his feet, stumbling as he drapes himself over you, dropping all of his weight on you. jihoon stands up immediately when he notices you stumble and grabs onto junkyu’s waist, moving some of the weight off you.

you flash him an awkward smile as you wrap junkyu’s arm around your shoulders, slowly starting to walk towards his room. the two of you waddle to his bedroom, jihoon trailing behind you with his hand on junkyu’s back. “hey, i got him, can you open the door?” you whisper to jihoon when you reach the door. he makes eye contact with you and you nod, stomach churning at the way he softly smiles at you before he lets junkyu go and moves to open the door.

jihoon walks in first, moving the blanket off junkyu’s bed. you carefully walk your brother to his bed, putting your hands on his shoulders. “i’m gonna need you to lie down for me, okay, baby?” you coo as you push junkyu to sit down on the bed, helping him lie down. he immediately curls up around his pillow when he does, whining when he realizes he doesn’t have a blanket.

“hey, hey, here it is, it’s okay,” you quickly shush him, covering him with the blanket and tucking him in. you chuckle at how childish he looks, and you can’t help but remember all the times he used to be the one to put you to bed when the two of you were younger - it feels nice, being able to do this for him, even though it’s because he smoked a bit too much weed. 

“thank you.” you hear junkyu murmur as he snuggles under his blanket. you smile again, running his hands through his fringe so it doesn’t get into his eyes.

“of course, kyu,” you whisper, moving the hair up to peck his forehead. “you need anything?” you ask softly as he settles into a comfortable position. he shakes his head no, face scrunched up as he smushes it into his pillow, falling asleep in the blink of an eye.

you sit and watch him for a bit, running your fingers through his hair as his breathing slowly levels out, soft snores muffled by the blanket. for the first time since coming home, jihoon’s words run through your mind again - what was junkyu doing getting extremely high so early in the afternoon? he has never been the type to smoke during the day unless he knew he didn’t have anything to do, and from what you remembered, hyunsuk was talking about needing him that evening the last time you talked over the phone.

“hyunsuk hyung cancelled the evening meeting, it’s okay,” you hear jihoon say from behind you and you turn around to find him leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, looking at you with that soft look again. you hate that it doesn't make you want to vomit the moment you see it.

“how did you-”

“you just seem worried. don’t be, i wouldn’t let him if i knew he needed to be fully capable,” he explains, not moving from his spot at the door frame. you brush your fingers through junkyu's hair again lightly as you look up at jihoon, careful not to wake your brother up again. 

“it’s just… i know there’s things he wants to do with his life outside what you idiots do,” you start off quietly. you don’t really know why you’re telling jihoon this, opening up to him with things you haven’t really told anyone out of the blue. jihoon moves to sit down on the floor next to you and you look away from him immediately, focusing on junkyu’s sleeping face. 

“he has such potential and i just hate to see him wasting his twenties away for me… i’m fine now. the hospital pays for my tuition and i’ll have enough time next semester to actually get a job but i just can’t get to him sometimes. i know he has this protective older brother complex which is ridiculous because he’s only a couple minutes older, but i just want him to start doing things for himself for once, you know? like, actual things. i hear him sing in the shower, jihoon, and he’s good. i know he has a notebook full of song lyrics hidden somewhere in his room that he doesn’t want to show me because he doesn’t want me to feel like he’s not pursuing it for me, but i can’t help it when i know he has dreams and aspirations and i just want him to put himself first, you know?” you explain, trying your hardest to be as silent as possible as you thread your fingers through your brother’s hair. you feel warm when jihoon enters your personal space, subtly moving closer to you. you sigh, drawing your knees close and resting your hands on them, dropping your chin on your palms. “i don’t even know why i’m telling you all this.”

“you want me to talk to him?” jihoon asks, letting out an amused chuckle when you turn to face him, confusion on your face. “he’s my best friend, y/n. if you’re worried about him, i should be worried about him. if you want me to talk to him about music or whatever he wants to do, i’ll do it.”

you maintain eye contact with him, looking for any signs of him teasing you, but all you can see in his eyes is sincerity. “you’d do that?”

he smiles, and it’s that confusing smile again, the one that makes you warm all over and you have no idea what it actually means. “don’t get your hopes up, kim, i’m only doing this with my best friend’s intentions in mind,” he teases, getting a bit closer to you with his face to smile cheekily at you. 

you scrunch your nose at him, scoffing as you turn away from him. “whatever, park. that’s the last time i open up to you about anything.”

jihoon chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. “oh, come on, y/n,” he whines quietly, smiling as he hooks his chin onto his shoulder, getting even closer to you. “you know i’m just fucking with you. if it helps, i don’t think you should feel bad about junkyu “giving his dreams up” for you. you’ve always been the more level-headed out of the two of you, i think we all expected you to figure your shit out first and junkyu to help you along as he figures his out. he’s had a couple years to fuck around, we just gotta help him to start doing what he actually wants to do. and we’ll be there for him until he does,” he explains softly, nudging you again so you’d look at him.

you turn your heads towards him again. “we?”

jihoon smirks, nodding. “yeah, we. as i said, he’s my boy. i’d do anything to help him out. and if helping him out also means helping you out, then so be it.”

for the first time since he sat down, you suddenly become aware of how close you two are. shoulders touching, faces mere centimeters from each other’s. you look down instinctively, breath hitching as he pulls his now-healed bottom lip through his teeth and when you look up, it’s obvious he’s staring at your mouth. breathless, you start to panic when jihoon slowly starts leaning in, your eyes closing on instinct. you sense him hesitate as he gets really close, lips almost brushing against yours, as if he’s waiting for you to make the final choice. and you want it, you really do, so much it actually scares the fuck out of you because you never thought you would ever voluntarily put yourself in this position, but not here. not how. not like this. not while you have no fucking clue what all of it actually means. 

panic swirls in your chest and you pull away slowly, careful not to make too much noise as you clear your throat, opening your eyes. “i, uhm,” you start off, not wanting to be too loud as you move away. “asahi’s probably worried if junkyu’s okay. we should probably head back.”

jihoon presses his lips together, chuckling as he leans back on his hand. “yeah, asahi. maybe we should.”

you move to stand up, brushing off the nonexistent dust off your pants, trying to make this as painless as possible. “we’re probably gonna watch anime and have cake, you wanna join us?”

he locks eyes with you, holding his gaze on you for a couple excruciating seconds before he moves to stand up too, shaking his head. “i gotta get to hyunsuk hyung’s. you and asahi have fun.”

the have fun leaves a weird feeling in your chest and you don’t know what to do as he makes his way to the door. “jihoon,” you call out quietly and he stops at the door, turning around and leaning back against it. “thank you. really.”

he smiles, an empty type of smile you know isn’t really genuine, but you don’t want to push it, already knowing you fucked up. “anything for junkyu, right?” he says through a hollow chuckle, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him no, this isn't just about junkyu.

but you don’t, not sure what exactly to say other than, “yeah. anything for junkyu.” so you do, not able to look him in the eye as his lips drop slightly and he nods his head to himself, bidding you goodbye and walking out of the room. you hear him greet asahi in the living room, the two making awkward small talk before he leaves.

you turn to look at junkyu again, the sight of your brother sleeping peacefully making your chest hurt as you lean down to kiss him on the forehead again before tucking him in a bit more and leaving the room.

fuck.

***

a/n: i’m not sure if i’m rushing it but i hope you like this chapter! i’m still busy this week but i finish my last exam on monday and then i have a week off before classes start, which means updates won’t take as long! i have a lot of things planned for this fic and i hope you’re ready to embark on this journey with me. i apologize for the mistakes, i’ll beta it when i have the time! once again thank you for reading and all feedback is much appreciated! <3

taglist: @jjikyuu @m1ieu @lolibaaae @skittles2429 @remedyonrose  @najxemins if you want to be added just let me know!

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#park jihoon x reader #treasure aus #treasure au #treasure imagines #treasure imagine #treasure #yg treasure #yg treasure box #park jihoon imagine #park jihoon imagines #hamada asahi #choi hyunsuk #asahi #hyunsuk #bang yedam #yedam #kim doyoung #doyoung #kim junkyu #junkyu #undermyskin

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Black Hole | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 1529

A/N: My last Galaxy fic didn’t do so hot notes-wise... but I’m still out here writing more installments because I write what makes me happy!

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 07x03, descriptions of anxiety/panic attack, mentions of therapy, car accidents, weather.

GALAXY MASTERLIST (not needed to understand the plot but there’s similar content here if you liked this fic!)

You were aware that Spencer knew something was wrong, his tells were as clear as you assumed yours were. Even immersed in your own turmoil, it amused you to see the way he hovered near you as you wrapped up things at the office. It was only a matter of time before he voiced his concern.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t until you were in your apartment eating takeout that he finally said something.

“Are you ok?”

“It was a heavy case,” you deflected, shoving a couple of fries in your mouth.

“Usually after heavy cases you order a milkshake,” he countered, “something about this one is different and I want to make sure you’re ok.”

You knew there was no use lying to your best friend, “he got into a car accident. He killed all of those people, including people he loved, because he hit his head in a car accident.”

You could see the gears turning in his genius mind as he put down the styrofoam container he was holding, “there were a lot of factors that contributed to his spree. Like I said earlier, it was the perfect storm.”

“Even so, nobody could have predicted that he would get in a car accident and set the storm in motion.”

“Actually, on average 3 million people per year get injured in car accidents, it happens more frequently than you would think. The chances of getting into an accident during a 1000-mile trip are 1 in 366, and 77% of drivers have been in at least one car accident.”

“Spencer,” you spoke softly, “it’s a totally real possibility that it could happen to me. I could wake up one day and not recognize you because I hit my head while tackling an unsub or driving to work. That’s terrifying.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve only ever had to tackle two unsubs. That’s less than one per year since you’ve been with the BAU.”

“It’s still more than zero,” you groaned, “I tell you all the time I’m not going to leave you, what if I don’t have a choice?”

“Then I’ll understand-”

“Not if you’re dead!” Your hand instinctively went to the bracelet on your wrist when you felt your heart rate increase as your thoughts spiraled.

“(y/n), hey, look at me,” you struggled to make eye contact with Spencer, but eventually your eyes met his. Even an action as simple as finding his gaze gave you temporary relief from your thoughts. Spencer was the most familiar thing in the universe to you. His kind eyes were full of compassion as he waited for you to ground yourself, “you don’t need to blame yourself for something that hasn’t happened. Do you remember the first case we worked on together?”

“The one where the neighbors were infatuated with each other and teaming up to murder young women? Please don’t compare our relationship to theirs, Spence,” you sighed.

Spencer chuckled, “not your first case with the team, I mean the first case Hotch paired us up in the field for.”

You knotted your eyebrows together in thought, “it was the one where Hotch had that really uncomfy interrogation with the necrophiliac,” the memory made you shudder.

“That wasn’t the part I was referring to, but yes.”  

“We also got to talk to that really nice man at the graveyard,” you recalled, forehead still scrunched as you tried to fight the anxiety.

“Do you remember,” Spencer’s voice was low and gravelly, giving you something to find traction, “what happened after the case was over?”

“We got on the jet and came home?”

He shook his head, “before that.”

You tried to think back all those years, focusing all of your cognitive strength on the memory.

You remembered feeling the material of your FBI jacket against your skin. It was wet, why was it wet?

“It rained.”

Spencer nodded, “you stayed outside in the pouring rain before we got on the jet. Do you remember what you said to me when I found you?”

You closed your eyes to fixate on the memory. Your jacket was completely soaked through, your hair wet and plastered against your face. Spencer had approached, hunched over and squinting from the rain, and asked if you needed an umbrella.

“It’s only rain.”

“It’s only rain,” Spencer repeated, pulling you back to the present.

“It doesn’t feel like rain. Rain is the one thing that makes me feel human, that’s why I like it so much. This… this feels like fog. Thick, dense fog that makes you feel closed in but also like there’s this… vastness, where it feels like there’s something on the other side but you don’t know what it is.”  

Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully, then wiped his hands on a napkin and stood up, “let’s go for a drive.”

You weren’t sure what his plan was, but if there was one thing you were certain of in this moment it was trusting Spencer Reid. You took a step towards the bowl where you kept your keys, but Spencer’s long stride beat you there.

“I’m driving,” he addressed your confusion casually, keys jingling slightly as he stuck them in his pocket. You silently followed him out of your apartment and down to where your car was parked on the street. It was strange, letting him get behind the wheel of your car. Not because he was a bad driver, but because during cases he preferred to navigate and you preferred to drive and those preferences overflowed into your personal lives as well. Even when he was surprising you with something, you usually drove and he would tell you where to go.

“Where are we going?” you waited to ask until he had pulled onto the highway.

“Delaware,” you were surprised he told you right away, the two of you had a habit of letting the other guess where you were going on spontaneous adventures.

“What’s in Delaware?”

“Something that I think will help you.”

You didn’t press further, honestly too tired to think of any more questions that could clue you in to what was going on in his head. Instead, you watched the blinking lights of the city pass in silence.

Spencer spoke once you had crossed over the state line, “did you catch the news at all today?”

“A little bit. Emily turned on the radio when we were driving to the M.E., it was all about the case we were working on, though.”

“Not all of it,” he corrected, “did you hear them talk about the weather?” You shook your head, waiting for him to explain what he had heard. Instead he pressed the lever to turn on the windshield wipers, causing you to notice the light drizzle that had started.

A small smile played at Spencer’s lips as he drove a little farther, droplets of rain becoming larger and larger as he did so. After a few minutes he put on his blinker and pulled off onto a side street, finding a deserted parking lot to stop in. Once the car was in park he spoke again, a little louder so that you could hear him over the rain and the constantly moving wipers.

“The forecast was for heavy rain on the coast, I think they got it right.” You cracked a smile at his joke, and in turn he gave you a nod of encouragement.

You opened the door and stepped into the rain, letting the drops soak your clothes. Every single droplet that hit your frame reminded you that you were alive, that you were standing in this parking lot with your best friend, that your feet were firmly against the pavement. You closed your eyes and tilted your head up towards the sky. When you opened them again, Spencer was standing in front of you.

“Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” he asked, shoulders held uncomfortably as his dress shirt stuck to his skin.

“Human.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “I feel it.”

You stood in the parking lot until the downpour eventually let up. When you got back into the car, you thanked Spencer.

“You’re welcome, but you really don’t need to thank me. I’m just glad you feel better, you were spiraling faster than I’ve ever seen you spiral before.”

“I do need to thank you, because it helped. I’m still going to have to do some exercises I learned from my therapist when I get home, but I’m in a much better headspace to do so. Not every best friend would willingly stand in the rain just because I’m having an anxiety attack.”

“There is no one I’d rather stand in the rain with more than you.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere without you,” you confirmed, reaching towards the temperature knob and turning up the heat.

“Are you ready to go home?” Spencer asked, putting the car in reverse.

“Only because you’re driving. I can see why you like navigating so much, this is so relaxing. Maybe I’ll take a nap,” you joked.

“Actually, polyphasic sleep is completely natural and highly beneficial. You should try it, it’s very common in the animal world.”

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[theotherackerman]

Carry on My Wayward Son

Summary: 

Grisha Jaeger disappears leaving his sons, Zeke and Eren, to pick up where he left off in the family business: hunting things, saving people. They soon learn not everything is as simple as they think. The world isn't as black and white as their father led them to believe. There are things more complex than just humans and monsters. Includes: monsters, classic cars, classic rock, and two brothers against the world.

an Eremika romance, very loosely based on the tv show Supernatural.

RATING: MATURE

Ships: Eren x Mikasa

Other Tags:  References to Supernatural (TV), demifae, references to a court of thorns and rose, references to throne of glass, i didn't want to deal with angels so i used fairies instead, F/M, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong either to Supernatural, Throne of Glass, A Court of Thorns and Roses, or Attack on Titan.

CHAPTER ONE: PILOT

Lawrence, Kansas

22 years ago

Grisha Jaeger was enjoying a peaceful night at home. His second wife slept soundly upstairs. He looked over at the picture of his first wife on the wall.

Dina had died four years ago of cancer.

It had been hard for Grisha. He had to deal with the loss of his wife along with raising his son by himself. Being a single parent wasn’t easy.

But then Carla came into his life.

Carla had treated Zeke like he was her own. She absolutely loved the boy.

Now they had a son of their own.

Grisha drifted off to sleep as the tv played.

What felt like a few moments later, a scream came from upstairs, waking Grisha. He made his way towards the direction he had heard the scream. The nursey, Eren's room. He leaned over Eren’s crib, where the baby boy was crying.

“You’re okay. Where’s your mom?” Grisha asked.

A drop of blood landed on his arm.

He looked up to see Carla pinned to the ceiling.

“Carla?” he asked, confused by what was happening.

Fire sprung from Carla’s chest, filling the room.

“CARLA!” Grisha yelled before scooping up Eren from the crib.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?” Zeke asked as he came into the baby’s room.

Grisha handed him Eren.

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back! Go! Now, Zeke! Listen to me!” Grisha yelled.

He wasn’t giving up on Carla.

He would save her somehow.

But in the end, he didn’t.

Grisha didn’t know but the events of that night had long been put into place.

A moment frozen in time, the beginning of something much bigger than he could possibly understand.

Grisha sat in the driver's seat of his car, Zeke in the passenger with Eren in his arms. They watched as the firemen tried to put out the fire.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stanford University

Present Day-October 31st, Sunday

A picture of Carla and Grisha sat in the living room of Eren Jaeger’s small apartment that he shared with his current girlfriend Mikasa Ackerman.

“So you’re not going to call your dad and tell him how you scored on the MCAT?” she asked as she pulled on her nurse’s costume.

“No, he won’t care,” Eren asked as he shook his head at her. “Why are you wearing that?”

“It’s Halloween! Who are you going as?”

“A psychopath, they look like everyone else,” he scoffed as he crossed his arms across his chest. “Besides, you know I hate Halloween.”

“You never told me why. I guess that’s a part of the Eren Jaeger mystery. You know if this is ever going anywhere, you’re going to have to open up.”

"After my interview Friday, I'll tell you everything. I promise," he said as he ran a hand through her long brunette hair.

"Why don't I believe that?" She asked him.

"Let's skip the party. Stay in tonight."

"Eren, come on. Floch will be waiting for us. You know how he gets."

Eren sighed as he pulled on his jacket. "Fine," he muttered as he walked towards the door.

She slipped her hand into his. "Just a few drinks and then I promise, you can take this costume off with your teeth."

"I'll be holding you to that. You know...have you ever thought of being a nurse because of this costume.."

Mikasa gave Eren a playful shove.

"SHOTS! SHOTS!" Floch screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" Eren muttered.

"Because you got a 522 on the MCAT! There's no way Stanford's Medical School is not going to take you," Mikasa said as she leaned into Eren's embrace. "Your interview Friday is just a formality. We both know that."

"You can't be sure of that," Eren said as he rolled his eyes.

"So I'm gonna go home with Hitch. You two...nice costume Mikasa...go play doctor," a drunk Floch remarked.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Eren said before he patted Floch on the back.

"He is going to pass out as soon as he gets in her apartment," Mikasa replied.

"Probably."

"Let's go home, Halloween hater," Mikasa smiled as she took his hand into hers again.

It was around midnight when Eren got out of the shower. He walked into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweatpants pants.

Mikasa was sound asleep in bed.

Eren didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky with her. He worried about telling her the truth. My family fights demons, werewolves, and the forces of darkness didn’t have a good ring to it. She’d think he was crazy or worse.

He heard a noise coming from the kitchen.

Eren ready himself for whatever was in the kitchen. He took quiet steps. Damn, he hoped it wasn’t a ghost. He hated dealing with them.

No, whatever this was had a corporeal form.

Eren attacked and made every hit. The problem was the thing hit back.

What could it possibly be?

Vampire?

Maybe it was just a break in.

Either way, it wasn’t leaving alive.

Eren tackled it to the ground, one hand holding both of the man’s wrists about his head while the other went for the throat.

“Whoa, easy there, tiger,” Zeke’s voice cut through.

“Zeke? What the fuck? I almost killed you!” he said as he released Zeke’s hands and throats.

“I let you win.”

The lights turned on to reveal Zeke.

“Everything okay?” Mikasa asked as she stepped into the kitchen, wearing a tight fitting shirt that had the logo for the anime Sailor Moon and very short black shorts.

“Mikasa, this is Zeke. Zeke, this is my girlfriend Mikasa.”

“Mikasa, hey. Has anyone ever told you that you’re out of my brother’s league? Because you are. I,on the other hand….”

“Alright, asshole. Knock it off,” Eren said before shoving Zeke.

“I’ll go put some clothes on,” Mikasa said as she started to leave the room.

“No, don’t. You should stay this way. Sailor Moon is a classic, right, Eren?”

“Ignore him, I do,” Eren said before making his way over to Mikasa and wrapping his arm around her.

“Anyway, I need to borrow your boyfriend for a moment. Very private family stuff, you know? I’m sure you understand,” Zeke said.

“No, anything you have to say to her, you can say to me,” Eren stated.

“Okay. Well, Dad hasn’t been home in a few days,” Zeke explained.

“So what? He’s probably getting drunk on Jim, Jack, and Jose. He’ll stumble in drunk like he always does.”

“Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days.”

“Mikasa, can you excuse us?” Eren said before taking his brother by the arm and dragging him outside. “Why are you here? I told you I was done hunting.”

“Because I have no one else to go to. Are you coming with me or not?”

“I’m not coming with you. I swore I wasn’t hunting anymore and I meant it. Do you not think about the way we grew up? When I was a kid, I told Dad was afraid of the dark and what did he do? He gave a nine year old a shotgun!”

“What was he supposed to do?” Zeke asked as he crossed his arms across his chest. “Tell you not to be afraid? We know what’s out there in the dark!”

“That’s exactly what he was supposed to do! The way we grew up...after Mom died...Dad’s obsession with the thing that killed her. It’s not normal. None of this is normal!” Eren exclaimed before running his hand through his hair. “And we can’t find it! So we kill everything we can find instead.”

“And we save people!” Zeke argued.

“Okay but do you think Mom would want this?”

“I don’t know because I got to lose my mom twice.”

Eren looked down.

He knew losing his mother had been hard but Zeke had to go through it twice.

“What are you going to do? Live some apple pie life?” Zeke asked before crossing his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, a safe life.”

“Dad’s in trouble. I can feel it. I can’t do this alone,” Zeke pleaded.

“Yeah, you can.”

“Well, how about I don’t want to?”

Eren sighed, “what was he hunting?”

Zeke walked over to the black 1967 Chevy Impala and popped the trunk. He then opened the spot where the spare tire was supposed to be. Inside was a variety of weapons. Swords, guns, syringes, machetes, a toolbox, rock salt, knives, bows, and arrows were just among a few of the things that one could see when the trunk was open.

“Let’s see..” Zeke said as he dug around.

“Wait, why weren’t you with Dad?” Eren asked as he peered over into the trunk.

“Because I had my own hunt,” Zeke answered, still digging around.

“By yourself?”

“I’m twenty-six!” Zeke exclaimed. “Oh! There it is!” He pulled out a file folder and papers. “So going back twenty years, Dad found this pattern. Men driving this strip of the highway, keep going missing.”

“Okay, so?”

“And this I get this voicemail,” Zeke said as he pulled his phone out and put it on speaker. Grisha’s voice played.

“ Zeke...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Zeke. We're all in danger .”

“EVP is on that,” Eren pointed out.

“Kind of like riding a bike, right?”

Eren rolled his eyes. “So what does it say?”

“It’s a woman saying can never go home.”

“Never go home?”

“Yeah. Look, in three years, I’ve never bothered you. Never asked you for anything. But Eren, I need you for this.”

Eren threw his arms before sighing. “Fine. I have to be back by Friday though,”

“Why Friday?” Zeke asked before he closed the trunk.

“Job interview.”

“For what?” Zeke asked before they headed back into Eren’s apartment.

“Medical school,” Eren stated.

“Medical school?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll bring you back in time for your interview.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mikasa hadn’t been thrilled about Eren leaving. No matter how many times he reassured her. He promised that he would explain everything after the interview. So Eren and Zeke went on their hunt. Their father was nowhere to be seen. They did, however, save people from a woman in white and find their father’s journal.

All that was left was to return Eren home.

Eren saw how Zeke wanted him to return to hunting.

But Eren couldn’t.

Eren wanted a safe, normal life. He had already been shopping for a ring for Mikasa. He knew he wanted to make her his wife. But first, he had to tell her everything which he would right after his interview. Hopefully she still wanted to be with him after that.

They returned to Eren’s apartment on Thursday.

Eren had just got inside. He laid down on his bed and suddenly, there was a drop of blood from the ceiling.

Eren Jaeger saw his dad for the first time in three years. Eren reached for him but it was too late.

Then the fire was everywhere. It was inescapable.  

Then Eren saw something.

A demon with Yellow Eyes was right there.

“NO!” Eren screamed as he got out of bed.

Another demon with black eyes appeared, he grabbed a hold of Eren, burning his flesh. The fight with the black eyed demon began.

Just then Mikasa rushed into the apartment, ready to take on whatever.

Eren couldn’t lose her. He prepared himself.

“Mikasa! Get out of here!” he yelled as he continued to wrestle with the black eyed demon.

But what Eren hadn't prepared himself for was the green glow of Mikasa's eyes or the black feathered wings that sprouted from her back.

"I thought your kind was all dead," the Yellow Eyed demon teased.

"No."

"What host do you have? What is your real name?"

"I don’t need a host. This body is mine."

"You fell. Wait much longer and your eyes will be black."

“Didn’t fall either. I'm not an angel,” Mikasa replied.

Zeke rushed into the apartment.

“We need to get out of here!” Zeke yelled as the fire raged. The fire was beginning to surround them .

“Well, my time is up. See you around, boys,” The Yellow Eyed demon said before disappearing.

Mikasa pulled out a knife from seemingly nowhere that neither Eren or Zeke had seen before.

She plunged it into the black eyed demon's chest. He let go of Eren, throwing Eren to the floor before the demon burst into flames.

"We should get out of here," Mikasa said. Her wings went back into her body, leaving two slits in the back of her shirt.

“Great, any idea how? We’re kind of surrounded,” Zeke pointed out the fire all around them.

Mikasa closed her eyes. The fire began to part.

“Go!” Mikasa yelled.

Eren was frozen until Zeke dragged him out. Mikasa followed them out.

Eren didn’t understand what was happening.

What was Mikasa?

“Eren, you got burnt,” Zeke pointed out.

There were singe marks on his arm where the demon had been holding him. He hadn’t even felt it. Mikasa reached out. Her eyes glowed again. Eren’s arm was healed. Not only that, it was as if the burn had never occurred.

Then Mikasa collapsed to the ground.

Zeke picked Mikasa up and put her in the backseat of the car. He walked around to the trunk and pulled out a pair of special handcuffs. There were devil traps engraved in both of them.

“Just in case,” Zeke said as he attached them to each of Mikasa’s arms. “Come on, let’s take her to Levi’s. If we drive through the night and into tomorrow, we’ll make it to Levi’s before you know it.”

Twenty five hours later, they arrived at Levi’s house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Mikasa hadn’t even stirred the whole time that they had been driving.

Eren didn’t speak hardly at all. Zeke had let him take over the driving while he slept but even then, Eren hadn’t said much.

Levi was like a second father to Zeke and Eren. When Grisha had days he spent drunk, Levi had taken care of the two of them. Levi was a hunter just like them. He had lost someone he loved too. That was the way most people entered life. Something awful happened to someone they loved.

Zeke had carried Mikasa into Levi’s house. She stirred in Zeke’s arms.

“Oh. Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Zeke said before he put her down on the couch.

“This her?” Levi asked. Zeke had sent a text to Levi explaining everything to him.

“This is her,” Eren replied as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“Alright, let’s see what you are,” Levi said before splashing holy water in Mikasa’s face.

She didn’t even move.

“So she’s not a demon,” Levi replied. He pulled out a silver knife from his pocket and cut Mikasa’s arm. “Not a Revenant or a shapeshifter either.”

Mikasa’s cut began to heal.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Levi noted.

“So you’re not human?” Zeke asked.

“No, I’m not,” Mikasa said before she looked down.

"What are you?" Zeke asked.

"A demi fae," Mikasa explained.

"What the fuck is that? I've never even heard of this. Levi, have you heard of this?" Eren asked.

"It means she's half fairy, half human. A cousin of mine was said to have had a baby with a fairy. They both were killed and the baby went missing. I just thought they were crazy and wanted out of the family business. That's you, isn't it?"

Mikasa didn't answer.

"Interesting. I didn't think it was real. What’s your name?" Levi asked before he sat down at his desk.

“Mikasa Ackerman was my name. I’ve been going by Mikasa Zoe.”

"You lied to me!" Eren shouted at Mikasa.

"I had to! People were looking for me! I didn't know you were a hunter. I just wanted to be normal for a bit," Mikasa muttered before looking down.

"So how do we kill her?" Eren asked.

Mikasa was hurt.

"We're not going to kill her, Eren. She saved both of our lives. Besides, she doesn't even seem evil," Zeke tried to reason with his brother.

"She lied to me for three years. She’s not human. That makes her a monster! Isn’t that what Dad taught us? Didn’t you want me back in this life? So here I am. She’s just another job. Another monster, right?” Eren asked.

"I didn't know you were a hunter like me! I didn't know you had a yellow eyed demon after you! I just wanted to be normal! I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for wings or my parents to be killed by demons. I didn't ask for anything. You don’t understand what I risked by using my power like that! It sent up a beacon! I was going to tell you when the time was right. I was going to tell you after your interview."

"So that’s what you were disappearing to do all the time? Hunting? Whatever. You got on me for not telling you about my past. I guess we're both even now. Thanks for saving my dad by the way," Eren stormed off and slammed the door as he left Levi's house.

Zeke and Levi both looked over at her. Zeke walked over as he pulled a key out of his pocket. He unlocked the handcuffs as he took them off of her.

"Now what?" she asked as she stood up.

"What was that knife you killed the demon with?" Zeke asked her.

Mikasa waved her hand and the knife appeared.

"It's a demon killing knife. I took it off a witch who was working for a demon. It's charmed to show up when I call for it," she informed Zeke before handing the blade over to him.

"I'm guessing it kills you too?" Levi asked.

Mikasa shrugged. "I don't know. Haven't tried it."

"Could I wield one of these?" Zeke asked as he examined it.

Mikasa nodded again.

"You don't happen to have a spare?"

Mikasa shook her head. Zeke handed the blade over to Levi.

"Can we summon it?" Levi asked.

Mikasa shook her head again.

"Did you become mute all of sudden?" Levi asked as he tossed the knife up and down.  

She shook her again before speaking. "No, I just...I'm not sure what you're going to do. And if I die, I'd rather die with dignity."

"We're not going to kill you. You're clearly not evil. Can I see your wings?" Levi asked as he handed the knife back.

Mikasa took it before waving her hand again. The blade disappeared. She closed her eyes and two black feathered wings popped out of Mikasa's back.

"Can you fly?" Levi asked.

"Not in the way you think. I can fly short distances. Anything else requires teleportation that only fairies can use. Flying also makes me sick because of being half human,” Mikasa explained.

"What good are wings if not for flying?" Zeke asked.

"It's a curse for those who are half human. A reminder that we should not be."

"Interesting," Zeke remarked.

"If you have no more questions, I should leave," Mikasa said as she stood up.

"Why? It's not going to be safe out there. You did just say you put a beacon on yourself. Besides, these two could use a healer on their side. You said you're a hunter too? Just not in the traditional sense? Well, my house is open to hunters. So sit your ass down on the couch over there. Eren will get over it," Levi told her as he motioned to the couch again.

Mikasa allowed her wing to fold back up before she sat down.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t save your dad,” Mikasa said to Zeke. “It was too late by the time I got there.”

“It’s not your fault. We knew that was a possibility. My stepmom, Eren’s mom, died the same way. Did he feel any pain?” Zeke asked her before he sat down in one of the mix matched chairs in Levi’s living room.

Mikasa shook her head. “He was dead before he was on the ceiling.”

“That’s why you said it was too late. What do you know about yellow eyes in a demon?” Levi asked as he pulled out a notebook from his desk.

“Not much. I know they exist. There are four of them. If you’re going after them,” Mikasa stopped speaking and waved her hand. The knife appeared again. “You’ll need this. You’d have better luck though if you can find The Colt. Good luck though.”

“What’s the Colt?” Zeke asked as he took the knife from Mikasa.

“A legend. It’s said that Samuel Colt created a gun that has thirteen original bullets that can kill anything. It’s not real. There’s no proof of it. Besides, who knows how many bullets are around?” Levi said as he wrote something down in the notebook.

“It’s real. And you can make more bullets. You just have to know how,” Mikasa explained.

“And you do?” Zeke asked.

Mikasa shook her head. “No, but the person who raised me does. They’re a hunter too.”

“Wait, you said you used the last name Zoe. Is Hange Zoe the one who raised you?” Levi asked as he dropped his pen.

Mikasa nodded.

“Zeke, go get your brother calmed down. She’s not evil at all,” Levi said before he stood up.

“Wait, you still thought I was evil?” Mikasa said as she watched Levi.

“Always a chance,” Levi replied as he exited the room.

“To be fair, I didn’t think you were evil,” Zeke said as he flashed her a smile. “My brother’s a dumbass but he’ll come around.”

Mikasa nodded but she had a sinking feeling that Eren wouldn’t come around.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eren laid in the back of the Impala.

Mikasa wasn’t human.

That made her a monster.

It was that simple.

His father had even said it was that simple.

Then there was the whole thing about fairies being real. Just what he needed. Why couldn’t things be simple?

He hated to think he had been spending the last three years of his life with a monster.

But the way that Mikasa had looked at him.

The fear that she had had in her eyes when she looked at him was something that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

Eren wasn’t allowing himself to feel the pain from Grisha’s death.

He had finally seen his dad.

Three years later and the last thing Grisha had said to him was ‘don’t come back’. Eren had hoped that he would have found him with Zeke. Then maybe Grisha’s last words wouldn’t have haunted him.

“She’s pretty upset, just so you know,” Zeke said as he pulled out a cigarette while leaning up against the Impala. He lit one as he looked at Eren, still laying in the backseat.

“Good,” Eren said before looking away.

“Eren, you know Dad did really lov..”

“Can we not? I don’t want to hear the ‘Dad always loved you’ speech right now. The last words he’ll ever say to me were ‘don’t come back’. Then I see him on the ceiling of my apartment and find out that my girlfriend is part fairy. So spare me,” Eren said before he sat up.

Zeke took a drag from his cigarette. “And how would you have reacted if you would have known about Mikasa? Probably the same.”

“How are you so fine with all of this?” Eren asked as he threw his hands up in the air.

“Because at nine years old I saw the woman who raised me like I was her own on the ceiling of my little brother’s bedroom. I saw her, Eren. It’s implanted in my brain. It’ll never leave. Sometimes at night, I’ll look up and I still see her there. So trust me when I say I get what you’re feeling with Dad. Because I miss Mom too. Because I feel it too. But you’re right. Dad was awful to both of us. He raised us to be mirror images of himself of the hatred he felt. But we don’t have to do that,” Zeke said before taking another drag of his cigarette.

“What do we do now?” Eren asked as he got out of the Impala.

“Well, I think we go do what Dad taught us to do. We track down that Yellow Eyed Demon and we kill him. In the meantime, we take down any monster we can find. Hunting things, saving people. We take over the family business,” Zeke said as he walked around to the trunk. He opened the trunk and then the spare tire area. He pulled out their father’s journal before handing it over to Eren.

“We’ve got work to do,” Eren replied before pulling down the lid to the trunk.

#comwws

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and vilains

Virgil Anker: Hard won victory

When you make progress through hard work, the fruits are oh so sweet. Though, sometimes, bittersweet is more accurate.

Virgil was actually relieved when Janus texted him that he wanted to skip the first day. There was an assembly and a ceremony planned and Janus did not feel like going.

This meant that Virgil could postpone being confronted with him just a little longer. It hurt a little that Janus hadn’t figured out there was something wrong yet. Virgil hadn’t really talked to him since the whole elective incident. He’d sat with him during lunch and their shared classes. But he hadn’t come by his house or hung out after school like they used to. He’d made it a point to be more animated in his conversations with Roman. He’d stopped berating him for picking fights and simply dragged him away while apologizing on his behalf. During the summer he had made sure to always be busy or away. Picani had helped him sign up for a summer camp to work on his assertiveness. Virgil hadn’t been sure at first, but he knew that Picani wouldn’t suggest it if he didn’t truly believe it might help. And it did. By the time Virgil got home he was ready to go through with his plan. He asked his dad to come along to the session right after camp and told Picani he could tell him all about Janus. He’d spent the hour curled up on the couch as he observed his father sit with a stoic expression, impeccable posture and fists clenched dangerously on his knees. Picani expertly avoided putting labels on the situation, knowing Virgil still felt very uncomfortable acknowledging those. He also managed to summarize Virgil’s 20 minute long rant about how he hoped that it would only have to be a wakeup call for Janus. That he’d get his act together and that they could go back to being friends once he did. His dad had seemed calm and collected on the surface, but Virgil could tell he was horrified to learn that Janus had become such a problem without him noticing and had been more than happy to drive Virgil straight to his principle’s house to explain the situation and ensure that Virgil would have to spend as little time as possible with Janus for the next two years if necessary. Virgil convinced him to at least call ahead. Principal Stokes was very understanding. Apparently the other teachers had talked to them on several occasions about Janus but they had been unsure what to do about it. It was their intention to figure out a policy regarding troubling signals of toxic behavior between friends in the upcoming year. Virgil fidgeted during the whole conversation. His teachers had been planning some kind of big intervention? Had it been that obvious to everyone else? “Virgil, don’t you dare blame yourself for this situation,” Stokes insisted. “It is not easy admitting that someone you care about is no longer good for you. You wanting to see the best in Janus is not weakness. It’s admirable.” Virgil glanced at his dad who was looking at his principle and nodding firmly in agreement. Then he turned to Virgil with a proud smile. “Your parents would be so proud of you Virgil,” he assured him. And he wanted to ask for a name, a memory, but he wasn’t ready to open that can of worms again. Especially not in front of his principal. “For which part?” he asked, hoping this was okay. It was, or at least, his father gave him a straight answer for once. “Both. Your father believed that fighting for yourself was just as important as fighting for others. And your mother knew that caring about others didn’t mean you should stop caring about yourself.” Virgil couldn’t help but smile at that. His parents sounded like they would’ve been awesome. He wished he had a memory of them. Any memory at all. But he didn’t want his dad to think he wasn’t enough. Between his anxiety and the situation with Janus, he already felt self-conscious. Luckily there was Patton. He and dad were nearing their one year anniversary and they had moved in together. Dad had ‘subtly’ brought up all the practical reasons why it made no sense for him and Patton to have to commute to work separately and such as summer approached. Somehow he’d been surprised Virgil put it together. Now they had a house they would all move into over the next week. Patton had already moved his stuff into their current over the summer. The idea of change still made him nervous, but if that change included more Patton in their lives then he could live with it he supposed. It had been great so far. Patton was kind and patient and caring and completely smitten with his dad. On top of that he seemed not to see Virgil as competition for his dad’s attention but an extra person to love. Patton had a lot of love to give the world and not enough people to spend it on. He also seemed to know when to leave Virgil be and when to push him to come out of his room. He knew when Virgil needed complements and when he just needed to know that it was okay if he wasn’t alright. He was also protective. When dad explained the Janus thing over a ‘family dinner’ with Patton, they had those every Sunday nowadays, he’d almost stormed off to the Bullard house. “No one makes my son sad!” he’d told Dad. That was the first time Patton had referred to Virgil as his son and… Virgil had been okay with that. So he now had two dads. Pretty much. When he came back from camp, his escapades as the invisible vigilante changed. His dad was out late a lot and promised to let him know when he left the university. Virgil told himself that he was ‘getting a room’ with Patton. Patton had taken Virgil out for Papton-son bonding time a few times over the past year. Patton taught him to bake, and learned to cook alongside him and took him on trips to the park to fly a kite or kick a ball around. Virgil liked it. But apparently both his dads had signed up for a project of some sorts. One that required a professor Biochemistry and a professor Moral Philosophy… Yeah. No. At least he no longer had to worry that his dad was getting involved in anything dangerous or illegal. Not with Patton there. Anyway, when his dads were out on a project, Virgil was babysitting a startup hero. He’d noticed him by coincidence one night as he was sitting on a roof overseeing one of his usual streets. He’d arrived to find the gang members he’d been shadowing had already had a victim in their grasp. Virgil had acted impulsively. He’d hidden his presence with all of his might and tossed a rock at one of their heads. It had momentarily distracted them, especially considering another rock hit the leader from a different angle. This had allowed the victim to escape. Virgil followed the path of the other rock and spotted the dark clad figure on the roof, ducking away to hide. And if he could see him surely those buffoons could see him too. Which was awful because the leader sent some of his goons in Virgil’s direction and some other’s in the direction of the roof. Wanting to help out a fellow well-meaning gifted, Virgil pushed himself and willed the goons not to see either of them. It was hard to cloak two people in different locations from two different groups of people who were looking for them. But if that idiot newbie- though he wasn’t much more experienced- hadn’t helped then Virgil might’ve had to make a bigger distraction and risk being noticed for real. So he owed him one. He hid behind a dumpster and waited with baited breath, hoping this would work. It took him a moment to notice, but he could kind of feel this guy under his cloak. He felt, like fireworks. It was cheesy but that was the best way to describe it. He’d never hidden anyone other than himself and Janus. Jan felt cooler, more smooth. He didn’t know if he had a distinct presence, but this was an interesting discovery. The goons got really close at one point, probably would have spotted him if his cloak hadn’t been working overtime and he hadn’t been wearing dark clothing all over. He could feel the fireworks intensify for a bit before they calmed down and the  energy felt more like a bonfire. Still intense and warm but les, prickly. He took this to mean that newbie had been nearly spotted as well but was successfully kept safe by the cloak. When the gang members regrouped Virgil heard them whisper about changing their hangout. Damn it. He needed to follow them now. Would idiot follow them as well? Virgil listened closely as he snuck trough the alley after his prey trying to look casual, almost as if he was part of the group walking ahead. He heard someone muttering in a frustrated tone. Virgil relaxed a little at that. This guy was a real hero, possibly in training, but still. So he had people who would have the sense to not send him after criminal organizations. Virgil had no such restraints. He followed the gang for a few blocks, his phone ready to record, trying to forget about the well-meaning moron. Which would be a lot easier if he hadn’t ran into him as he did whatever it was he tried to do about a car accident the very next time he went out. Virgil acted on reflex and threw up a physical protective barrier he normally used to catch blows from bullies. He’d never used it to protect someone else before now. He didn’t know he could. From idiot’s body language he could tell that he was being scolded for being so reckless. Again. Good. Maybe he’d learn his lesson this time around. Virgil didn’t seek idiot out, their path’s simply crossed and once they did Virgil couldn’t not keep an eye on him. And now, idiot was. Virgil wasn’t sure how he knew that this hero was his idiot. Maybe it wasn’t. He’d have to actually meet him and cloak him to see if he had that same energy. It was the last day before summer and he’d just read Janus’ message about skipping the first day and where to meet up to hang out. Too bad for him, but Virgil wouldn’t show. Or at least he hoped he wouldn’t give in to this feeling in his chest that made him think that he should at least let him know because if he didn’t then maybe… “Virgil, breathe. You are doing the right thing,” his dad told him calmly as he looked away from his tablet. There was a local television station playing on the tv as background noise where Virgil had heard about the appearance of a new masked hero. Each time he wondered if it was idiot or someone else entirely. He seemed government sanctioned from what he could tell. The amateur footage didn’t show much, but Virgil couldn’t help but think that this hero was about his age.

Normally his dad would roll his eyes at heroes that ‘basked in the spotlight’ as he called it, and get on with his day. But now every time an update came he seemed to pause and listen. Weird. But maybe Virgil wasn’t the only one who thought this new hero was a minor like him. Maybe his dad was worried on behalf of this guy’s parents. Parental empathy. “Maybe you should just block his number? Or get a new one?” his dad suggested pulling him from his thoughts. Right his own little crisis. “He’ll definitely come over then. At this point I don’t think he’s expecting a reply. I barely texted back last year even before I made my decision. Don’t know when that started, I just…” It was disturbing every time he realized that the upcoming… ‘break up’ for want of a better term had already happened. It just needed to be said. Suddenly the ‘breaking news’ jingle cut through the living room and both he and his dad paid attention. “I’m standing here at ‘Universe banking’ where just moments ago our town’s newest superhero stopped an armed robbery. With me Ashley Greene, an employee at this office who saw it all. Ashley, you said you were shot at?” The young woman was still in tears as she told the story of how she, bravely but foolishly, had angered the would be robber with a gun, when she was caught sounding the alarm. And then out of nowhere, the ‘dashing, kind, modest hero,’ -according to her -was there to save her. Dude caught a bullet for some stranger? Definitely idiot. Idiot reminded Virgil of Roman in a few ways to be honest. Except, there was no way that his dramatic idiot of a crush could do stealth missions for even a night, let alone a whole summer. Not even with Virgil’s constant supervision, and idiot didn’t even have that much. And no way would Roman hide that stupidly handsome face he was so proud off. And if he did, he’d wear something better than whatever that thing was the vague camera footage showed idiot wearing. From what he gathered the woman had probably drawn the comparison to a prince from the outfit. What whit the sash and all.

But on the whole it seemed like a plain white jump suit. The costume designer in Virgil was disgusted by the uninspired choice. Also, Roman would tell everyone at school and their moms if he decided to become a hero. Virgil smiled a little to himself on his way to school, imagining Roman recounting his daring rescue if he were idiot… Or ‘dream prince’ as the media dubbed him. His dads had been more nervous about him going back to school where he couldn’t avoid Janus any longer than he was. He was nervous, but he had made a decision, and he was going to see it through. As he’d expected Janus was nowhere to be found the entire morning.

He did see Roman entertain his usual group of friends during the assembly. He wondered if that offer to sit with them was still standing. He almost joined them, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to assume and if Roman was going to reject him, he preferred for it to be in private. So he sat alone and let his thoughts drift to possibilities. Mostly worst case scenario’s, but even in the ones where he ended up spending the next two years completely alone as Roman finally chose himself a princess to be his prom queen, completely forgetting Virgil even existed and where Janus hated him for standing him up this morning, he felt at peace with that. Because even that was better than spending another day in the constrictive dynamic he’d been putting up with for the past two years. Lunch came around and by the time he entered the cafeteria Roman and his group were sat at their table talking excitedly about something. Dream Prince no doubt. Once again he imagined Roman standing on the table declaring himself to be a real hero. He’d be wearing something dramatic, something stylish. Something maybe not entirely practical. Roman took care with how he dressed, but Virgil had seen him sacrifice function in favor of form plenty of times over the past few years. He was definitely not shy about pushing the boundaries of what was considered ‘masculine’ when it came to clothes or even make up. Virgil could respect that. He liked experimenting with his make up too, though he wasn’t comfortable enough to break out his lighter pallets for going out in public yet. Virgil walked to his usual table to eat his lunch and wait for when Janus would show up, demanding to know why he didn’t show up that morning even though he never indicated in any way he was planning to do so. He took out his sketchbook and made an outline of a standard male figure and started adding clothes to it. A cape was a must for Princey. If only to look good for the camera during interviews. Though he would look so cool taking it off in order to fight his opponents. Probably saying some cheesy one liner with a confident smirk. He decided he’d draw a ‘pretty’ version now and a practical one later. So he added heals, lined the whole thing with gold details, put in buttons, a belt to store a sword or any gadgets Princey might be using and a sash, even a crown. He was just about to start a new page for the practical outfit and considering designing a stealth version of it so he could come along on Virgil’s stake outs when suddenly… “Is that a Dream Prince superhero costume?” Virgil immediately slammed the book shut and looked up. He wasn’t supposed to see that! Roman’s wide eyed awe turned to a shocked pout. “Don’t hide it! It’s gorgeous!” he insisted. Virgil felt a whole swarm of butterflies set loose in his stomach. He really thought so? Was he just being nice? “That hero dude wishes he had something that amazing.” Hero…? Oh… Only now did Roman’s initial remark fully register. He thought this was inspired by the new hero. Of course he’d assume that… “Um… Thanks,” Virgil muttered. What else was he supposed to say? “Oh no this is actually meant for you because I can’t go an hour without thinking about you and with all that superhero talk I couldn’t stop myself from imagining you as a hero and designing you a full hero wardrobe”? Nope, that was not going to happen. “I’m serious,” Roman insisted, not impressed by Virgil’s attempt to dismiss his complement. “You’re super talented.” Why did he have to say that? Virgil felt his cheeks heat up and tried to hide it by focusing on the last bits of his meals. Why was he here? Why was he talking to him? He never came over. Was this because J wasn’t here right now? Roman couldn’t be here when Janus came. That would end badly. Not to mention the fact that Jan would never believe this was Virgil’s own idea if Roman was anywhere near him when he explained his decision to him. Wasn’t he busy dazzling his fangirls minutes earlier? “Is there a reason you abandoned your girlfriends to talk to me?” Virgil knew Picani would say that he was confusing assumptions with facts. Or something like that. He didn’t like that he snapped at Roman. He’d done nothing wrong. He couldn’t help it that the thought of him with some girl made Virgil’s stomach drop. Roman frowned visibly confused as he looked back to his table. Suddenly he gasped and turned back to him rubbing the back of his neck flustered as he started ranting. “They aren’t… I mean they are my friends who are girls. Not… I thought that was rather obvious. I’m the ultimate gay disaster,” he laughed awkwardly. “Sorry, I just… I’m rambling. I’m not used to saying it yet,” he admitted. Virgil just stared at him. “Oh.” Gay. All this time Roman was gay. Not even vaguely interested in any of the girls in school. He stood a chance? Judging by the uncharacteristic nervousness, Roman was uncertain how Virgil would take this news. Well, this was one of those times where this information was relevant. “Don’t worry, I get it,” he assured him, gesturing to his signature purple patched hoodie and magenta hair. Roman looked him up and down for a moment and then his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, that’s clever. Maybe I should start doing that too.” And just like that he got his confidence and flair for the dramatic back. “You know, since it’s not as obvious as I thought. Don’t want any awkward conversations where I have to tell a lovely maiden she’s just not the right gender for me.” He struck a tragic pose and sent Virgil a wink that made his heart jump. This was not out of the ordinary for Princey, but now that Virgil knew he was gay, he couldn’t help but wonder… “So… You came all the way over here to come out or…?” Is he going to ask me out? God what do I say? Should I say yes? Or play it cool and pretend I need to think about it a bit first? Wait, no, he won’t ask me out. He would’ve done so already if he was interested right? But what if he assumed I was straight all this time as well? Just keep breathing V. Keep breathing and listen to what he says. Roman shook his head as if to get his thoughts back on track that way. “No, I just… I’ve been having trouble keeping up with schoolwork and I wondered if we could study together?” That… What? “Don’t you have friends for that?” Virgil asked dryly as he got up. His lunch was finished and he needed an excuse not to look at Roman right now. He was disappointed. But… Was Roman trying to ensure they’d spend time together this year? He still wanted Virgil to be his friend? He really didn’t know what ‘giving up’ meant did he? Roman chuckled. “I do and they are lovely. There are few challenges we can’t conquer. But homework seems to be one of those few. We distract each other,” he admitted. Virgil thought back to every time he’d seen Roman with his friends. To his one conversation with André, and he understood what he meant. “You won’t let me get away with slacking. You lack the patience.” Virgil put his now empty tray on the dishrack and looked back at him. Spend time with Roman at least once every week? Just the two of them…? “Sounds good,” he smiled. It sounded really good. “Great… Friday works for you?” Roman asked with that brilliant smile of his. Virgil just shrugged and nodded. “My plans got canceled so you’re in luck.” He hadn’t visited Janus for any of their normal weekend plans since… early spring, come to think of it. He hadn’t had the energy. And now he definitely wouldn’t go back.

And when it came to his family, other than for Sunday family dinners he could do whatever he wanted with his spare time so long as he let his dads know. And this was technically school time. Suddenly something in his peripheral caught his attention. Before he consciously registered the falling ceiling lamp he launched himself at Roman. “Princey get down!” he shouted. ‘Save him!’ was the only thought in his head. He’d never believed any of those stories about time slowing down in a moment of crisis. But he swore he saw every minimal change in Roman’s expression as his happy smile turned to confusion. He could feel every cell of his body that touched Roman’s as they crashed to the ground. He moved to cradle Roman’s head to shield it from hitting the ground too hard. Once the impact was absorbed he pushed himself up but not too far. He checked Roman over while he tried to not have too much of a gay panic. Which wasn’t easy. He was laying on top of Roman Castile. He was close enough to smell his collonge. That or he smelled really good all by himself which of course he would! The near death experience was completely forgotten as he was just a breath away from kissing Roman and God did his classmate’s eyes just drop to his lips? He had to have imagined that. He could not handle this! And at the same time he felt like he could not bear to move. Then time snapped back to normal and everything seemed louder and brighter than before. He already knew that just the past ten minutes would take up most of the hour he’d spend with Picani next Saturday. For various reasons. “You okay?” he managed though he found most air was pushed out of his lungs by the fall already. Roman just nodded, seemingly not quite catching on to what had just happened yet. Knowing that any moment now they’d be swarmed by concerned bystanders Virgil rolled off him and helped him sit up. Roman glanced from Virgil to the smashed lamp. By some miracle neither of them had been cut by flying glass. Then again, maybe Virgil had shielded them. “You saved my life,” Roman whispered in awe, still processing everything.

“Well. Anxiety. Makes me hyper aware of everything around me,” Virgil said dismissively as they stood up. He blamed the adrenaline coursing through him for the way he’d just casually admitted to having a disorder he had been reluctant to tell even his father about. “I’m glad,” Roman joked softly. Frick that smile. “Yeah… Well…” Luckily he didn’t need to reply. They were quickly overrun by worried people and guided to the nurses office and then to the hallway in front of the principal’s office where they were told to wait for their parents. Great. Logan was going to lose his mind. After a few moments of debating with himself he decided that taking his meds in front of his crush was less embarrassing than potentially have an anxiety attack in front of him. So he dug through his backpack to find his pills. “Thanks again,” Roman offered, scratching at the back of his head. “Well,” he muttered as he finally found both his water bottle and his pill bottle. Picani had prescribed him something to help him manage his anxiety in high risk situations. He wasn’t supposed to take it too often, but after the morning he had he kind of needed it to deal with his dad. Virgil didn’t like taking pills in general, so this was a last resort coping tool. Talking to Roman, knowing he kind of sort of stood more of a chance than he thought he did was nerve-wracking enough on its own.

But then there was the whole Janus thing and what happened in the cafeteria and then his dad and... God he needed his meds. “I needed to get out of the way too. Might as well take you with me right?” Virgil hurriedly took his pill, hoping that it would go ignored. It didn’t. “You cool?” Roman asked worriedly. He couldn’t bear to look at him right now. He could feel his face heating up and prayed his thinner foundation was enough to hide it. “For my anxiety,” he admitted as he shook the pill bottle before shoving it back and taking another swig of his water. “My dad is going to freak. He’s protective.” It was so important to him that Princey understood that whatever he’d see today wasn’t how his dad normally acted. “And if he freaks I freak. And if I’m going to freak, I better take my meds.” Please don’t ask more. “My parents are the same,” Roman offered sympathetically. “They forget I’m not Remus at times. And honestly I think they go a bit overboard with him as well… I could look out for him.”

Part of Virgil wanted to talk about Remus with Roman. He could hear the hurt and longing in Roman’s voice. But he was still tense about showing how broken he was. What was he thinking telling Roman? Now he’d never want to be around him again… No, he couldn’t think like that. He’d worked on this with Picani, with the camp counselors. “Hey, don’t stress it,” Roman’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “If they didn’t give me massive headaches I’d be on meds for my ADHD.” Virgil looked up in surprise. Roman was broken too? Or, not broken. Broken didn’t fit Roman. But still. Roman had something he needed meds for like him. Only he couldn’t take those meds because his body hated them. He had to just deal. Roman found his surprise funny it seemed. “What? It’s almost more obvious than the rainbow in my soul,” he chuckled with a dramatic pose. Virgil couldn’t help but laugh along. Thinking back to… Well everything Roman ever did, he was right. “I suppose you are right. You always seem to own every single moment. I guess I assumed you were extra by choice,” he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed that he missed that in his blind admiration. “Don’t worry about it. We all have our own challenges. And hey. If not for your anxiety, I’d be a stain on the cafeteria floor. And if not for my ADHD I wouldn’t have crushed it on the stage four nights in a row during last year’s production!” Virgil couldn’t help but smile as he saw Roman light up at the memory. “Yeah, you were pretty alright,” he allowed casually. He did not expect Roman’s eyes to widen and his grin to be quite so blinding at that. “You were there?” he gasped. It looked like he was trying, and failing, to hold back the extra. Virgil shrugged casually, hoping he did a better job at hiding his true emotions. “I mean, I helped out with some of the set and costume designs,” he admitted. He might have put a little extra care in the Prince costume. As he had with all Roman’s roles.

“They gave me a ticket. I was just seeing my work brought to life,” he explained casually. He glanced back at Roman and saw the young theatre enthusiast look up at the clock.

“Hey can I have your number?” he asked suddenly. Virgil’s heart stopped. Roman Castile just asked his number… Did he hear that right? His confusion must’ve been very clear because Roman quickly added: “For Friday, I mean.” “Oh, sure,” Virgil nodded, silently berating himself for thinking for even a second that he’d meant it any other way. Roman gave him his phone. He swiftly put himself in as ‘guide to hell’. His dad had taught him about his namesake and the meaning of his name near the end of middle school when he’d felt embarrassed by it. And a Roman poet who actively ridiculed the emperor was a pretty cool guy to be named after as far as Virgil was concerned. And then he’d read Dante’s inferno over the summer and he was completely sold on it. He hoped Roman would get and appreciate the literary reference. And if not, it fit his aesthetic well enough. He handed Roman his phone back and smiled to himself when he saw him grin when he checked his new contact. He looked down in his own contacts. Roman had just put his name with a ;p next to it. He could do better. He grinned, feeling daring as he changed the contact name. Suddenly a loud voice startled him out of his mischief. “Mi hijo!” He looked up and saw a Latina woman, dressed in a kitchen uniform, stride through the hallway. He could see Roman stiffen and then the prince of junior year was mercilessly dragged into a soul crushing hug. Obviously dying of embarrassment. It was kind of endearing though. “Mom, please, I’m fine.” Roman groaned, though the chuckle took away from the complaint. “Fine?” Mrs. Castile scoffed. "The principal told me what happened Roman!” She stepped back, gripping her sons shoulders tightly, sharp eyes looking him up and down to see if there was any sign of damage. “I could’ve lost you! Rest assured the city will hear from us about proper maintenance of the school buildings!” She had a point, Virgil supposed. It could have ended badly for them. But, as Picani said, living your life on might haves, was exhausting and pointless. “It was a freak accident mama. Please don’t make a big deal out of it. I don’t even have a scratch,” Roman argued. This was met with another nod. “I heard.” Suddenly her eyes met Virgil’s and she lit up. He had to resist the urge to step back. Roman definitely had inherited his mother’s eyes. And if he read the woman’s expression right, she was about to show how much of his energy came from her as well. Before he could brace himself for whatever she had in store for him, he was looking at Roman’s white Varsity Jacket. “Mom, this is Virgil, he was my lab partner last year,” he introduced them, mostly turned towards his mother and his body still blocking her path. Virgil saw her give a nod, prompting Roman to step to the side. “Virgil, this is my mother, Alicia Castille.” Virgil could not begin to express how much he appreciated this. Roman knew for all of maybe 20 minutes that he had anxiety and he was already trying to accommodate him.

All he could do with that for now was give him a smile and try to make a decent impression on his mother. “Pleasure to meet you ma’am,” he offered as he held out his hand. Formal and with respect for other people’s personal space, like his father had raised him, was clearly not the Castile way. His hand was grabbed in two warm, soft hands and pressed against a chest as he was met with an earnest look that told him that if not for Roman he would have been on the receiving end of one of this woman’s hugs. “First you help my boy discover a love for science and then you save his life. You are a marvelous young man,” she gushed, making Virgil blush. Wait… Had Roman talked about him? To his mother? In a positive way? His hand was released and he struggled to find something to say in response. “Ah, well…” But then it was his turn to be embarrassed by his parent it seemed as the sound of his name being shouted cut through the hallways. He couldn’t help but shrink back. He hadn’t heard his father sound so distressed since he thought he was having an attack last year. Logan appeared around the corner and quickly locked eyes with him. Relief starting to replace the worry right away. Moments later Virgil was hugged tightly.

“You are alright.” “Dad, please, I’m fine,” he pleaded. The one time he wanted his dad to stick to his slow and steady method when it came to physical affection. Then again he’d expected this. It was like whenever his dad was overwhelmed emotionally he looked for a life line. Usually, that was him. Finally, his dad let him go. “What happened?” he asked as he looked him over to see if there was any sign of a recent panic attack or injury. Once he was satisfied with his inspection he glanced at their audience, as if he was suspecting them of having caused this crisis. “Who are these people?” “Roman Castile and his mother…” Virgil explained, confused that he hadn’t figured that out himself yet. Wait… He couldn’t have… “Dad, did you even let the principal finish his explanation?” he asked already filled with dread at the most likely answer. “I… Well, I’ve never been called to school before. When he said something happened… I didn’t want to waste time. It was only logical.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t head straight to the ER,” he huffed. His father did not appreciate his attitude. “Forgive me for caring about the only family I have.” Virgil immediately felt bad. He felt nervous and embarrassed, but that was no excuse to take it out on his dad. He truly meant well. Most likely he’d been just as nervous today, if not more so. Getting that call, he must’ve assumed Janus had done something bad for the staff to call him in. “I know you care dad. But you can overdo it a little,” he muttered. That was true as well. Whenever his dad did get emotional, he got really intense. “Pardon me sir.” Virgil and his dad looked up in surprise when Roman’s mother spoke up. “But you are this fine boy’s father, correct?” she asked pleasantly. His dad straightened his posture “Logan Anker, I apologize for my behavior. I…” He was immediately stopped by a warm smile and careless wave of Mrs. Castile. “Oh, don’t mention it. You should have seen me the first time mi principitto came home with a bruise. I was this close to murder,” she chuckled good naturedly as she held her fingers a hairs width apart. “I can relate I belief,” his dad chuckled as he looked back at him in that way he would sometimes. A strange mix of happy, proud, sad and worried. “Alicia Castile,” Roman’s mother introduced herself. “Your son has helped my boy in class last year and now he’s saved his life. I feel like I owe your family a great debt. If you ever have a party that needs catering I’ll give you family prices. No questions asked,” she promised. “You run Magical Kitchens. I have had the pleasure of sampling your work before, I might hold you to that,” dad smiled politely. Then his eyes returned to Virgil. Oh no. That was his ‘firm parent’ look. “We’re heading home, you are going to rest up.” Yep he was right. He made a thing out of showing off that he thought he was overdoing it, but allowed a small smirk to show it was in good humor. “So I won’t get a lecture on playing hero?” he asked teasingly before waving Roman goodbye, giving his mother a polite nod and heading off towards the parking lot at a steady but swift speed. He wasn’t willing to risk staying around much longer and risk any more embarrassment. “Not today,” he heard his father reply behind him.

Very soon they rounded a corner and Virgil could hear his dad’s phone buzz. “Patton, I’m sorry, I overreacted. Virgil is fine,” he said as he ruffled through Virgil’s hair. Much to the latter’s dismay. What was his dad thinking? What if Roman saw? He quickly stepped away and tried to fix his hair as best as he could. Looking back to make sure there were no witnesses. Luckily the hall was still empty. He decided to walk a bit faster though, just in case. “I see.” Oh no. Virgil didn’t like his father’s tone at all. “Thank you Patton. I’ll see you later.” A moment later he hung up. “Patton did talk to the principle didn’t he?” Virgil guessed, deciding to get this over with as fast as possible, as he got in the car. Just then he caught sight of Roman and his mother arriving at the parking lot. Roman was talking to her about something. Gesturing wildly with his hands, his face alight with enthusiasm. He really liked seeing him like that. He was looking forward to seeing it more often over the course of the year without having to worry if it somehow upset Janus if he spent time with him. “He did…” Right… His dad heard he had almost gotten hurt. “It’s not a big deal dad. It was a freak accident and we’re both fine. I promise,” Virgil assured him. He could see Logan steady his breathing and focus. He knew better than to interrupt while his dad was thinking this deeply about something. Virgil relaxed as his father finally started the car and left the parking lot. Now there was no chance of Roman spotting them, or Virgil subsequently doing something embarrassing.

“I am sorry if I embarrassed you back there.” Virgil flinched. Had his dad noticed? God was he that obvious? No. It’s fine, just play it off. Maybe he meant, embarrass you in front of your classmate, not crush. “It’s whatever,” he mumbled, desperately searching for a change of subject. Suddenly it hit him. “You don’t have to take me back home you know. You have like two more classes to teach right? I can sit in the back and draw some,” he looked back to Logan with a small smile. “I’d like to see my flashcards in action.” His dad frowned thoughtfully. “You didn’t hit your head at any point?” “No,” he stated. “If either of us hit our head it would’ve been Roman.” And he had made sure that he didn’t. “Well, okay then. I don’t mind showing of my son to my students,” his dad smiled fondly, making Virgil almost change his mind about going home. At his father’s instruction he texted Patton. “Coming over to campus. See you soon.” “My students have probably gone to study in the library or taken an extended lunchbreak due to my absence,” Logan explained as they entered the empty auditorium. Virgil looked around imagining himself in a room like this in a few years. “They’ll be informed that I have returned soon. We’ll see how many actually show up in-” “Where is my brave angel baby!!!” Virgil looked up, fight or flight instincts fully engaged. Patton was rushing towards him. And before he could decide how to respond he was being hugged.

“Oh, kiddo. Are you okay? Were you scared? Why aren’t you at home?” Virgil couldn’t be annoyed at him when he sounded so distressed. “Pops, I’m fine! Not even a scratch on me,” he assured him, gently hugging Patton back. “Aside from ‘Gay Panic’ his emotional state was not compromised.” He did not just do that. “Dad I swear I’ll move in with uncle Thomas!” Virgil threatened, deciding that this was enough hugging and stepping away from Patton “What do you mean? Was it a boy? Was he cute? Tell me!” Patton squealed. “Don’t you have a class to get back to,” Virgil huffed, very done with being publicly humiliated. Dad’s students were already arriving. He regretted his tone a little when he saw how confused Patton was by it. Luckily Logan was there to be ‘moody teenager translator’. “Don’t take it personal. He’s just a little embarrassed.” He didn’t have to look so pleased by it though. “Ugh, I’ll be in the back,” he stated as he made his exit. By the time he had settled in and took out his sketchbook and pencils, Logan was addressing his students. “Take your seats everyone. I apologize for my tardiness, but rest assured we won’t fall behind first day of the semester. We’ll start class in 10 minutes so your classmates have a chance to join the lecture if they want.” Virgil heard the students filtering in, but was focusing on the drawing.

He had just finished the body, when his dad started class. “Hello everyone. Apologies for the delay. Today is not… Vibing with me it seems.” Virgil looked up and saw his dad hold up one of his flashcards. He chuckled along with the class. “Welcome back to all of you. I look forward to having another productive year. Please be on your best behavior. My son Virgil is joining us today.” Virgil waved at the many turning heads when his dad motioned in his direction. “So I’d like to get some cool dad points today.” Again a chuckle rippled through the room. “But now, without any more stalling. Let’s get started.” Virgil dove back into his sketch. He hadn’t given much thought to the color scheme for the suit, other than gold detailing, but for the real one he was thinking red, white and gold. That seemed to fit the heroes tastes. No full on white jumpsuit. Red pants, gloves and cape, that would make the white shirt pop out more. He stood by the cool factor the cape would add to the complete look. Though he noted down that it was meant for formal functions. He toned down the gold details. He’d been having a bit too much fun with those. Then he worked the crown he’d designed into the mask. He considered the boots and decided to give the mannequin normal white shoes. But, as a joke, added a heeled version in the margin. He observed his work, it looked cool. He had some more place on the page and put down a few ideas for a cool logo they could put on the cape. Like a coat of arms. A family crest. Something to complete the prince aesthetic. He really liked it. He had to admit, he first thought he’d just make the design, show it to Roman and then leave it be. But… What if he really sent in a copy of this to the GTH… He wasn’t going to think about that right now. Maybe later… “Hey!” Virgil looked up in surprise. One of his dad’s students was talking to him. He looked to the front of the room. It seems like his dad was busy setting something up. “You are Anker’s kid huh?” They asked. Virgil nodded. “Cool. What’s it like to have him for a dad? Like, he’s a stick in the mud but he’s also pretty funny. What’s that about?” Virgil quirked his brow, not sure if his dad just got insulted or complemented. “I don’t know. He can be strict, but that’s cause he cares a lot. He’s mainly very supportive,” Virgil explained. “You’re not really what I imagined his kid would look like,” the student in the next seat mused. “Um… I guess, not? I’m more of an artsy kid I guess,” he admitted. “Is it true you got him and professor smiles together?” Professor… “Patton you mean? Uh, yeah. I gave them a little push.” Both students nodded in approval. “They are so cute together. Good job,” the second student praised. Virgil smiled, he had to agree on that one. “Thanks,” he nodded. Then his dad called everyone’s attention again. Virgil turned the page and started working on something else. A costume for him should he have the funds to get one professionally made. The class continued like that. With him working out several designs for himself, occasionally interrupted by either his dad pulling out the notecards, or one of his students asking him something during a quiet moment. Before he knew it he and his parents were heading back to the car. “So what happened?” Patton wondered, making Virgil tense up at once. Well there went all his progress in relaxing. “Nothing! Can we just drop it?” Virgil pleaded as he got in the backseat and fastened his seatbelt. “It’s pretty much as you said. Virgil pushed Roman to safety, both boys are fine.” Virgil was grateful for his dad’s factual and neutral summary for about one second. “Wait… Roman… The Roman?”

Virgil felt all his muscles lock in place. Patton should not know that there was a ‘the’ Roman! “I… I never mentioned Roman during family dinners…” And he hadn’t talked about him the past summer. Which could only mean… “Dad!” he exclaimed accusingly, only making Logan chuckle. Was this payback for back when he first met Patton or something? “Oh, don’t be embarrassed kiddo. Logan, tell me you didn’t say anything too bad in front of him,” Patton pleaded. “Not to my knowledge. I didn’t even bring up that I recognized him.” Virgil felt all color leave his face. No… No. Why!? “What do you mean?” Patton asked curiously adding to Virgil’s horror. He wanted off this ride, now! “Well, I’m pretty sure he was the charming Prince Virgil couldn’t tear his eyes away from during the play.” Ok. Time to panic, and/or cry. He was leaning towards the ‘and’ option. “That’s not… I worked hard on the costume. That’s all.” He knew it was a very poorly executed exit strategy. If his dad had noticed how he kept a special eye on Roman’s Prince, then he might’ve noticed… “And the shepherd from the winter play. And he was the crazy scientist and the minstrel in the plays of your freshmen year,” Logan added. Virgil was ready for the universe to swallow him now. “It’s not like that,” he insisted. “What were you two talking about anyway?” Patton wondered. And Virgil was grateful for the slight change of subject. Virgil shrugged. “We worked well together last year. Roman suggested studying together once a week,” he explained. And that was the truth. And luckily, that seemed enough to put an end to the conversation. Just in case though, Virgil escaped to his room the second he got home. No sooner had he taken out his phone to put on some music to drown out everything else, or he got a call. Normally he would hate that. But the idea read “My DreamPrincey”

“Purgatory. Satan speaking,” he smirked as he picked up. “Hello there my chemically imbalanced romance.” Of all bands, it had to be that one? And again with the possessive pronoun. It should be illegal to affect someone this much in a single sentence. Virgil didn’t miss a beat though. “Hey there sir Singalot.” His heart stuttered when Roman chuckled at that one. “I just realized that we got extremely rudely interrupted.” “You could phrase it like that,” Virgil laughed. “So… when and where do you want to meet Friday?” Your place, the park, the mall… No… Homework. It’s for homework. “Let’s head to the library after school. We can grab some pizza from across the street after if it’s late,” he suggested, trying not to cringe as he pretty much asked his crush out to dinner. Sure, it could be interpreted as a platonic thing. But still. These were big steps forward to him. “Sounds great,” Roman agreed happily. Virgil didn’t want the conversation to end there though. Luckily he had a good question about the subject at hand. “Yeah. Hey, about that. Are you cool with helping me out with Spanish? I know you take French, but…” His mom had greeted him with a Spanish pet name right? But maybe they weren’t raised with the language beyond that… “I mean…” Had he just offended him?

Before he could spiral too much, Roman answered. “My parents raised us bilingual. Me encantaría ayudarte a aprender el lenguaje de la passion, mi caballero oscuro.” Holly… He had no idea what he just said. He spoke way too fast for him. Apreder… that was teaching or something. And he thought he caught passion in there. God what was it with this guy? “That better be you saying you’ll help,” Virgil huffed. “Of course mi amigo sombrío. It’s the least I can do por mi Salvador,” he teased. Virgil blushed. He understood Salvador. Savior. Roman had called him his savior. “Virgil? Who are you talking to?” Virgil suppressed the urge to curse. Really dad? Now?

“Roman dad! We’re talking about going to the library on Friday!” he yelled back, holding the phone away from his face. He really hoped his dad would leave it at that, but he wasn’t so lucky. “For homework right?” Of course homework! Was he being serious? “Yes dad. He’ll help me with Spanish,” Virgil replied with an exasperated eye roll. “Alright. I’ll leave you boys to it. Dinner at six.” “Noted…” he called back, waiting for a few seconds to make sure he heard him go down the stairs. “He’s gone,” he sighed in relief. “Sorry about that. He is… He means well, but sometimes…” He was lost on how to explain his dad’s intense reactions to his safety honestly. Usually he was very calm and collected. But bring in a scraped knee, or a bruise and Virgil could feel the fear come off him. Even when Logan tried to hide it. “I get it… I’m sorry about your mother,” Roman offered. Oh… Oh yeah his dad had said something about their small family. Roman really paid attention huh? “Oh… Right… Um… I never.” He took a breath. It was fine. Roman wouldn’t judge right? “I don’t remember either of my birthparents so…” “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t…” Roman hurried awkwardly. It made Virgil smile a little.

“It’s alright… I don’t advertise it, but I don’t really care if people know.” Except he cared a little that Roman knew and would think badly about it. Which made no sense, but his worst thoughts rarely did in hindsight. “Logan is my dad in every way that matters. I’m sure they were awesome and everything… Dad seems to miss them anyway. And sometimes he’ll say that I’m like them, or that they’d be proud and stuff… But yeah. He’s protective of me. Hence his whole ‘don’t be a hero’, rule.” God he was rambling. Someone stop him. Roman chuckled. “Well, too late for that. You might as well pick up your tights now.” Roman meant to brighten the mood. But god no. That would be an actual nightmare. “As if. I wouldn’t be caught dead in something like that. I’d be more into the Midnight Mirage aesthetic,” he confessed. Already thinking up a design. “Shut up! That’s totally my celeb crush!” Roman gushed. Now Virgil really wanted to try putting something together inspired by Mirage. “You? Prince of theater, have a crush on LA’s vigilante?” He asked incredulously. “I wouldn’t have picked you for the type to like bad boys,” he teased, while he wondered if he counted as a ‘bad boy’ in Roman’s eyes. “I like the mystery,” Roman replied casually. And then, as Virgil could have expected, he turned the tables on him. “Well since you know my big secret, it’s only fair if you tell me your crush. Spill Doctor Gloom.” His crush… Celeb crush. Roman was talking about crushes on celebrities that were too old for them to start with and unlikely to ever meet them. Still he needed to buy himself some time. “Um…, well for a girl… I’d say Blaze.” She was really cool and intense and criminally good looking. At least if you asked Virgil. “And guy?” Roman pressed. Virgil felt his throat close up, his heart skip a beat. What to say? “Come on. Which prince tickles your fancy?” You. “Who may sweep you into his arms-” you “-and ride off into the sunset with you?” You, you, you 100% you. “DreamPrince,” he blurted instead. Why? No clue. But it happened. And it was the least credible answer. Dream Prince didn’t even have an official picture released to the public yet. There was only one witness who had gotten a decent look at him and talked to him. “I didn’t see that one coming,” Roman’s surprised voice pulled him out of his panic. Was he buying it? “So our resident edge lord fancies himself a literal prince charming as a romantic partner huh?” he teased. Apparently he did. Well maybe it wasn’t that bad. He’d basically just told Roman that he was his type, right? What little anyone could gather from the Prince fit Roman as well. Still he felt the need to backpedal a little. He could not pretend to be swooning over that guy too much. “Don’t look too deep into it. I just admire his guts. Gifted or not, it takes nerves of steel to face a guy with a gun like he did.” Or to face bullies, and to be friends with him while Janus gave you the death glare. “And to go outside in that crime against fashion.” He shuddered as he recalled the jumpsuit. He might have to send in his design. For everyone’s sake.

“I’ll probably be over it next week,” he huffed dismissively. Showing that he was not too invested in this ‘crush’. Roman hummed in response, seemingly distracted. Virgil felt butterflies in his stomach as a hopeful thought crossed his mind. What if he was building up to… He had just said that Virgil’s preferred aesthetic matched with his celeb crush… And then he was pressing for his type… What if he did want to ask him out? “Any reason why you wanted to know?” That was nowhere near as casual as he’d wanted to be. But it was out. And Virgil was holding his breath in anticipation. “Stacey!” Virgil had to pull back from the phone due to the sudden loud exclamation. Who? “My friend. She’s been pestering me for your number since I mentioned I had it and I obviously wasn’t going to betray your trust and do that. So…” Wait… No. “Stacey wants to go out with you, would you be up for that?” Oh…. “Stacey?” He thought back. He remembered her. “Seen her in the art studio a few times. She’s got style.” And she was very pretty. If he was completely honest with himself he was kind of flattered that he had apparently caught her eye. He supposed he should give it a chance. “Sure. Text me her number,” he decided. “Awesome,” Roman replied, unaware of the stinging in Virgil’s heart.

They talked for a long time after that though. About school, summer, Disney and theater. It was easy talking to Roman. It always had been, but now… It was just different. Suddenly Virgil heard Roman’s mother call out, almost instantly followed by his dad. “Man… time sure flies,” Virgil mused, his cheeks hurting from all the times Roman made him laugh.

“Si. Nos vemos mañana!”

Virgil chuckled. “That means… See you tomorrow, right?” Virgil verified.

“Si!” Roman exclaimed. Virgil chuckled. “Bye Princey,” he said gently before hanging up. He checked his messages before heading down. Roman had texted him Stacey’s number and he had a message from Janus. He decided to call Stacey now. Get it over and done with. “… Who is this, and how did you get this number?” Virgil smirked. She had spunk. He kind of liked that. Maybe this would be not so bad. “I’m the devil dear. Someone you considered a friend just sold me your soul,” he said in his best imitation of a demon voice. “OMG… Virgil? Virgil Anker?” she asked, seemingly flustered. “That’s my name,” he acknowledged. “Roman said you wanted to go out with me?” “I’m going to kill that pompous…” “So you don’t want to hang out at the gallery tomorrow?” he asked playfully. “Wait really!?” she asked shocked. Virgil chuckled as he got up and started going down the stairs. “Well, it’s not a date exactly. Consider it a vibe check. We’ll set up a new canvas, have some fun and get to know each other. Then after we can see if we really want to go out together. What do you think?” he offered. He didn’t want to deal with the pressure of a first date right away.

“Oh, yeah. Awesome!” she agreed. He made his way into the kitchen. “Kay, so tomorrow after school. See ya later Stacey,” he bid before hanging up. “Who, was that?” his dad asked from his seat at the kitchen table. “Stacey. One of Roman’s friends…” the thought of Roman, and how he’d played wingman for her hit him in the chest. “He… Told me she liked me and asked him for my number. I got hers and we’re going to hang at the art gallery to see if we click. I haven’t really hung out with anyone other than Janus or Roman, so I don’t… Know if I’d like any of my other classmates. I figure I should give her a shot. She seems fun,” he said. Mostly to remind himself as he took his seat. “It’s like I said… Me and Roman… It’s not like that.” No matter how badly he wished it was “That’s really sweet of you Virgil,” Patton offered. Virgil gave him a small smile. After dinner he opened Janus’ text. “Sry bout what happened 2day. Will U B @ schl 2mrw?” Virgil was taken aback, and a little hopeful. So Janus had come to look for him and heard what happened? And he actually asked him for his plans? Maybe, maybe he didn’t need to lose his best friend after all… No. This is why it took so long. When not around others Janus was almost always great to hang out with. He was fun and smart and weird in a cool way. But at school he would be around other students. Around Roman. That would be the test. He texted back. Hoping it would help somehow. “M fine thx. C U there.”

confrontation

Masterpost

@cirishere​ @hestianerd1​ @moonlightshow00​ @naturallyunstablegamer​ @alias290​ @meowthefluffy​ @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​ @theblackveilinreverse​

#sanders sides #ts sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #tw food mention

[arse-crack-thistle]

rwrb winterfest - day 10 - snowflakes

@rwrb-fests

in which firstprince goes to a middle school dance bc i love little alex and henry so much!!

Alex knows tonight is going to be awesome! Normally, he wouldn’t be excited for a lame middle school formal, but he’s going to ask Nora Holleran to slow dance. She’s way too smart for him, but he can make her laugh like no one else can. It sounds like a bird, and being twelve, Alex can’t resist. If she says yes, this Winter Formal nonsense will all be worth it.

Outside, the D.C. air is chilly but bearable. Alex, his lacrosse friends, and their parents stand in front of his house, about to take pictures. His mother adjusts his red striped tie as he fusses with his black curly hair. June waits inside; she’s a high school volunteer tonight—much to Alex’s protests.

He shoos his mother away, slings an arm around his friend Liam, and smiles. His parents ready the camera, and Alex thanks Jesus they never fight in public.

Just behind closed doors when they think he and June aren’t listening.

The white Christmas lights shine behind the boys. His father tells them to focus and takes the picture. It catches Alex laughing at some joke Liam told, his eyes scrunched closed.

•••

Henry wouldn’t go to this thing if his mother weren’t forcing him. She reminds him it’s good practice for his future as he heads out the door to Bea’s car.

He hates these kinds of functions and having to socialize with people he doesn’t know and couldn’t be bothered to know. Because his mother is the British Ambassador, he’s gone to a few, but he doesn’t want a career in public office like the rest of his family. The Mountchristen name means something back home—they’ve had a few MPs, secretaries, and prime ministers—but that’s not Henry. He wants a quiet life away from the fuss.

A life in which he can finally be himself. And tell the truth. The Fox side of him.

Henry misses his father more than ever as Bea drives. Thank god, she’s here and playing Sufjan Stevens to match their moods. If his mother had been appointed any later, Bea would’ve been an ocean away like Philip—not that Henry misses his posh, Oxford brother all that much.

The buttons of Henry’s Burberry suit reflect the soft yellow glow of the streetlights outside. He knows he’s overdressed and that this will be the most expensive suit in the room, but it’s what his mother picked out. Yet another thing his classmates will pick on.

Especially Alex Claremont-Diaz.

Bea wishes him luck, and Henry groans as he gets out of the car. He really doesn’t want to be here.

•••

Alex dances in the center of the gym floor with his buddies to an Imagine Dragons song. Blue and white lights shine down on them. The whole place is covered in fake snow and light blue fabric. Shimmery snowflakes dangle from the ceiling. It’s cheesy, but Alex doesn’t care because he’s having a blast.

He just hasn’t been able to talk to Nora yet.

She’s been huddled with her friends from Tech Club all night. They’re watching something on a dude’s phone, and Alex knows that’s his in. He just has to make himself move in that direction.

An eighth grader, Pez, starts a dance circle and busts a few moves in his fluorescent clothes. Alex watches and cheers him on because everyone loves Pez. But they don’t love his best friend.

Ugh, Alex can’t stand that British guy, Henry. They may not be in the same grade, but they do Model UN together, and everything he says in that dumb accent riles Alex up. Partly because the girls—and some guys—swoon over him, taking some of the spotlight from Alex, and partly because Henry’s existence just irks him.

His perfect blonde hair. His judgmental blue eyes. His rich-boy wardrobe. The fact that he gets the right answer to every question asked of him. And the fact that he rides horses—like, riding outfit and everything.

Alex hates it all.

When a slow song comes on, he goes for Nora. She looks beautiful in a pale pink dress and with her hair done up in a bun. Alex feels stupid in his black church pants and white button-up.

Why didn’t he get June to help him pick out his clothes?

He asks Nora what they’re watching, and she tells him it’s an anime and laughs at something on the screen. After an awkward pause, he stutters out an invitation to dance. Thank Jesus, she says yes.

On the dance floor, he puts his hands on her waist, and she puts hers on his shoulders, and they sway to the music. A disco ball from the center of the gym casts sparkles all over them. This is their moment.

Which is why Alex asks her to go out with him.

Nora won’t meet his eyes, and Alex knows he screwed up. They’re just friends, she tells him.

His stomach hurts.

Alex misread the situation. He could puke right now. Nothing has felt this embarrassing. Not even last year when he dove for a volleyball in P.E., smacked his face on the floor, and chipped a tooth or in second grade when he called his teacher “mom” and the entire class laughed.

Nora comments on June’s dress to move the conversation forward, but Alex just nods. They finish the dance in silence, avoiding eye contact.

Alex’s face is hot and red. He doesn’t want his friends saying anything, so as soon as the song’s over, he thanks Nora and runs out of gym to the bathroom.

•••

For the most part, Henry is ignored by his classmates, which is good. He’s left to sit by himself at one of the tables. Someone sprinkled glitter all over the tablecloth, and flecks cling to his jacket sleeves. The speakers blast him with music, and the whole event is rather annoying, especially when chaperones bother him to ask if he wants anything or to encourage him to dance. Luckily, the high school girl serving punch just gives him a cup and tells him there’s only a few more hours left until they’re free.

Pez checks up on him every once in a while, but he craves a good party wherever he goes and only stays for a few seconds. Henry doesn’t mind. He scrolls on his phone, catching up on social media and eventually settling on a new Wolfstar fanfic. He peaks up from time to time to watch Pez try to impress the punch girl, but his eyes always end up on Alex.

He moves so easily. Whether it’s shaking his hips or fist-pumping to the beat or letting his head fall back in laughter, he just seems to handle everything so carelessly, so happily.

Henry envies him—can’t stand him because of it. There’s a ping in him every time he sees Alex.

Those curls. And soft brown eyes. The undeniable charm.

He walked into a Model UN meeting in glasses once, and Henry had a coughing fit and had to leave the room.

Don’t even get him started on the Spanish.

God, Henry cannot deal with these feelings right now. And he can’t find Alex in the crowd.

He stands up. Maybe he will dance. Maybe if he tries, he can think about something else. His father would want him to try. He’d give him a pep-talk and a hug that smells like his cologne and send Henry on his way. It’s how he convinced him to try polo and ask a girl to dance at his first gala.

Maybe this is good practice. To try to do things on his own.

But as Henry approaches a girl in his English class, someone scoots out their chair and trips him.

And Henry falls face first into a pile of fake snow.

The music still plays, but the students and chaperones are silent as Henry comes up covered in white clumps. It’s worse than the glitter on his suit, and it sticks to the gel in his hair. He feels the very last thing he wants: everyone’s eyes on him.

Henry excuses himself and leaves as fast as he can, stumbling into Pez and shirking him off on the way out.

•••

Alex finally feels cool again. He splashed some water on his face, unbuttoned his top button, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He looks impossibly chill considering he was just dumped.

Okay, not dumped. But he definitely feels better. Like Rafael Luna, his dad’s best friend. Luna carries himself with a swagger that Alex can’t resist.

After he tousles his hair one last time, Alex walks out of the bathroom, only to find Henry covered in faux snowflakes, looking like the abominable snowman from Monsters Inc. But he’s not cheerful like the yeti. He furiously swipes at his pant legs with one hand and curses at his phone in the other.

“Oh, man! Rough night, huh?” Alex says.

Henry freezes. He sizes up Alex and scowls. “Could you not?” He goes back to his phone, “Bea, just come pick me up when you get this, all right? Please,” and then hangs up.

“You’ve never looked better, honestly. I dig the winter chic vibe,” Alex teases. This is best thing that could’ve happened; his friends aren’t even going to mention the Nora thing when he gets back in the gym. For once, he’s not upset Henry has upstaged him.

Henry mumbles something and shrugs off his suit coat to wipe it down. Snow flurries from his clothing onto the cream linoleum flooring.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Unbelievable!’ As in, ‘Of course, the universe hates me enough to put you here right now!’” Henry’s face reddens.

Alex can’t believe this guy. He’s practically a prince! What could be wrong with his life? Well, his father’s death, but that was a few years ago. 

Alex googled Henry once or maybe twice—it’s irrelevant—and read about his famous father, who is Alex’s favorite Bond, for sure.

“So you messed up your suit? Big whup. I’m sure you have hundreds just like it. If not, the Fox-Mountchristen estate could probably cover it,” Alex says, crossing his arms. He’s surprised no adults have come to check on Henry. He’s not really sure what happened, but it was probably hilarious and well-deserved.

“You insufferable prick!” Henry shouts and throws the jacket at Alex. Before he can duck, it thwacks his face. He tastes the bitter snow in his mouth.

Alex scrunches it and throws it back. “You dickish, little drama king! You can’t handle the slightest bit of imperfection, can you? Heaven forbid, you’re knocked from your pedestal, and the rest of us mortals crack up!”

He knows this is stupid; he wouldn’t want people laughing at him either, unless it was intentional. In fact, he fled before his charismatic reputation was tarnished. Henry just brings something out of him—not the worst of Alex exactly, but the fight in him. Many a Model UN debates can attest to that.

Henry turns around and slams his fist against the black lockers. He flings the coat to the floor and leans on his forearm. “You haven’t got a clue, Alex,” he says. He sounds tired.

The muffled music from the dance echoes down the hallway. Posters on the walls and lockers advertise the dance, midterm tutoring, and the school-sponsored Spring Break trip to Peru. Alex watches Henry’s back go up and down with his breaths. A toilet flushes, and the sink is run before a girl walks out of the bathroom, past the boys, without a second glance.

Henry is right: Alex doesn’t have a clue. He knows people can hide their home lives. He hasn’t even told Liam about his parents fighting. How he’s heard the word “divorce” from both of them more than once.

And he’s pretty sure losing your father is worse than that; he wouldn’t know what to do without his own, no matter how much time had passed. And then to be moved across the sea to a new school, let alone a new country.

Damn. Alex sucks. And now he has to do something that would’ve made him throw up yesterday.

“Henry,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

•••

Henry can’t believe this—any of it.

Firstly, Alex Claremont-Diaz comes out of the bathroom as if he knew his nemesis was out there and wanted to catch him off-guard with his beautifully disheveled look. Henry blushes at the thought.

Secondly, after a row of which no teacher heard apparently, the aforementioned Alex Claremont-Diaz apologizes for the things he said. “Even though some of it was true,” he clarifies. Henry knows he’s right.

Thirdly, he and the godforsaken Alex Claremont-Diaz have been sitting next to each other on the floor for the past five minutes, just talking. Occasionally, Alex’s arm brushes against his and sends a tingle up his back.

If Henry didn’t know he was gay after consuming hours of Drarry and Wolfstar content, he knows now. As in, he finally realizes why he always looks for Alex in every room and why that boy gets under his skin so easily. 

He definitely cannot go to a lacrosse game, ever. He might die.

The bright bulbs from the bathroom and the blue hue from the gym doors’ windows light the otherwise dim hallway. Henry can make out the Coldplay song coming from the dance and plays the piano chords on his knees. The smell of old sweat and cleaner lingers in the air.

Henry likes that Bea insisted on a normal American education for the two of them and that his mother actually agreed; he just doesn’t enjoy the smells that accompany the experience. Or the horrid cafeteria food, for that matter. He tells Alex as much.

“Totally,” Alex says. “It must’ve been hard moving here. Even if I think you and your uppity family are ridiculous, leaving your home behind would suck for anyone.”

“Yes, it does. But Mum got this great job, which she wasn’t going to take until my grandmother and my brother Philip encouraged her to. ‘You need a fresh start,’ they said. She agreed, though I think her attitude is more about survival rather than actual happiness,” Henry says. “I, for one, would prefer to be home where Dad taught me to play cricket on the back lawn.”

He sighs. Alex doesn’t need to hear this, and giving him more information to use against him or to poke fun of is a disastrous idea. But it does feel good to talk about his father with someone who doesn’t know him and barely knows Henry.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Alex says. “I looked him up once, and he seems pretty cool.”

“He was, yes.” If Henry lets himself get too close to the cliff of grief, he’ll jump off and never be able to recompose himself, so he looks at Alex. “You looked me up?”

Alex sits up straight. “No, no! Your father!”

“You looked me up.” Henry smirks. His stomach flutters, and he doesn’t know what that means.

“I wanted to know what your deal was!” Alex says. “It’s not weird like that! I wasn’t stalking you or whatever.”

Henry laughs hard for the first time in a while. “I can’t believe I have enchanted you this much, Alex. What must I have done to peak your interest? Was it the defeat in during the foreign aid debate?”

“Okay, one, don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” Alex says, holding up a finger to silence Henry’s laughter, which it doesn’t. “And two, you were arguing on the behalf of an imperialist, asshole country. How was I, the humble yet fiery Mexican delegate, supposed to get you off your high horse after you started barking about your country’s economy?”

“Accept that I am the better diplomat.”

“I accept that you’re the bigger—what’s that British word? Wanker.”

Alex shoves him, but Henry shoves him right back. The two laugh together, and as it fades, Henry thinks that maybe they can finally get along—be friends, even. Though, he doesn’t know if that’ll make his heart race more or less when Alex is around.

“Want to go back in there?” Alex asks. “I know you’re still covered in fluff, but it’ll add to the ambiance.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Just then, Henry’s phone rings, and Bea’s name flashes on the screen. When he answers, she tells him she’s outside. Henry looks at Alex. While he has relaxed since the incident because of him, he’s not quite ready to face the rest of the school.

But the hesitation is duly noted and will be thoroughly examined tonight as he tries and fails to fall asleep.

He tells Bea he’ll be out in a minute and hangs up. “My sister’s here,” he says.

Dare Henry say Alex looks a little disappointed? The space between his dark eyebrows crinkles, and he shoves his hands in his pockets after they both stand up.

“Well,” Alex says, “maybe you and I could prepare for the meeting on refugees together when we get back from winter break.”

Henry blinks. “All right. We could do it at mine if you like.”

“Sure. I’m dying to see the palace,” he says. “Let me just get your number.”

After they exchange phone numbers, Henry watches Alex walk back into the gym. Thank god, he isn’t wearing better trousers, or Henry might’ve blushed. Actually, it doesn’t matter; Henry feels his checks get hot.

Outside, real snow dusts the school’s steps. Henry spots Bea’s headlights and walks to the car, enjoying the cool night air. He slips inside as his sister asks what the hell happened.

He knows it’s not the question she meant, but in his head he answers, “Alex Claremont-Diaz.”

#okay so i actually loved writing this au a ton! :) #i just love little alex and henry so much!!!!!! #and i know it's a day late but it was worth it right?? #my writing #rwrbwinterfest2020 #rwrb fest #rwrb fanfic #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince #bi disaster #gay as a maypole #red white and royal blue #june claremont diaz #nora holleran #pez okonjo #princess bea #president ellen claremont #oscar diaz #rafael luna #casey mcquiston #mlm #queer books #snowflakes #winter formal #middle school #rwrb au #fanfic

[lauwrite1225]

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria’s life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : Happy Finan Friday dear readers!! Last chapter I have never had so much comments on this fic! Thank you so much!! And I guess I should add more people pointing a gun at Vicky? Lmaoo

Warnings : blood and death (it's back dudes)

Chapter 5 : I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice

Victoria gasps when she sees the man, his threatening eyes studying her briefly, searching for a weapon.

“Victoria?” Finan calls her from the entrance, alarmed by her sudden silence. 

She’s petrified, swallowing hard as her gaze jumps from the gun to the man’s face. She opens her mouth to warn Finan but the man moves quickly, his free hand grabbing her wrist and pulling her against him and instead she lets out a frightened scream. Her back hits the man’s chest and she shivers when she feels the edge of the silencer on his gun on her temple. In a second, Finan appears in the doorway, his eyes widening at the situation. Her gaze locks with Finan’s, her breath shaking in fear while she can feel the man’s breath against the side of her face.

“Don’t move or I'll shoot her.” He barks while the sound of steps coming from behind the Irishman resounds, and Vicky can barely distinguish two other armed men. Finan tilts his head slightly while raising his hands in a sign of peace, just enough to make her understand he has the control over the situation. She would have gladly replied that it looks far from it as they are encircled by three men with guns and are both unarmed. “Good.” The man mutters. 

But Finan doesn’t stay still, instead he turns around and in a swift move he punches one of the two men behind him in the face. He stumbles back, his gun falling on the floor. The other immediately shoots Finan in the shoulder, making him grunt in pain and fall on the floor head first. Vicky gasps his name as she sees the blood spreading around Finan, motionless. The punched man rubs his nose in pain, crouching to take back his gun that had been dropped on the floor. “Fucking idiot.” He grumbles but before his fingers could reach the weapon, Finan’s hand has grabbed it.

The man makes a noise of surprise, about to step back, but the Irishman rolls on his back, holding the weapon above him. He pulls the trigger and the second after, the man’s face is ornamented by two holes, falling dead onto the ground. Victoria wants to scream, but it’s strangled in her throat as her eyes try to follow Finan’s movements. The man holding her tosses her to the side to attack Finan, making her stumble until she grabs the edge of the counter. She tries to calm her breath while she hears the sounds of the fight, other shooting muffled by silencers. When she eventually dares to look at what is happening, there's only Finan and one last man. The stranger shoots in her friend’s direction while he stands up after stabbing another with his Opinel, but Finan avoids the shot and instead of ending its course in his body, it pierces Victoria’s. 

She cries out in pain, her hands letting go of the counter to press again the wound on her flank, sitting heavily on the floor. The pain is sharp and resounds in her whole body. She pants in panic at all the blood slipping through her fingers, her vision blurred by tears. She barely hears Finan calling her when he kneels in front of her, so his hand cups the side of her face to have her attention. 

“Calm down, it’s goin’ to heal.” He reassures her, his eyes trying to keep holding hers as she tries to calm the jerky rhythm of the rise and fall of her chest. His thumb brushes her cheek gently and she feels the bullet slowly leaving her body by itself until she can feel the cold metal piece in her hand. The pain disappears as well and she starts to breathe more calmly, looking down at her wound and noticing there’s no more blood coming out of it. When she looks up to Finan, he is smiling. “See? As if nothin’ happened.”

Vicky doesn’t answer, her mouth agape as she finds her composure again but when her eyes fall on the three dead men she feels weak again and Finan has to catch her before she falls. She grabs his shoulder, sobbing in his neck while he rubs her back. She can’t look away from the men, their face pale as they were laying in huge puddles of blood. She can’t even feel relieved that she is safe, all she can think of is those lifeless men. 

“We have to leave.” He says softly, but non less urging. 

Victoria pushes aways from him immediately, her hands resting on his shoulders, his sweatshirt pierced multiple times and stained with red. “What? No! No, we’ve got to call the police… To find out why they were here!” She exclaims, gesturing toward the men and her head shaking as she tries to explain her opinion. 

But she’s stopped in her rambling by Finan’s hands clasping at each side of her face, forcing her to look at him another time. She swallows when sees how serious his eyes are this time and she understands that whatever could be her opinion, she’ll have to follow him anyway. “And ya’ll tell them ya did this all by yourself?” Finan raises his eyebrow interrogatively and she only looks down resignedly. “They were well trained men, Victoria, it’s not just burglars.”

“Why were they here then?” She asks even if she doubts him having the answer already. 

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out.” He assures her, his palms sliding to her shoulders. “But now, I give ya ten minutes to take your things and we get the fuck out of here, alright?”

Victoria takes a deep breath and nods. Finan stands up, stretching his hand out to pull her up. She walks out of the kitchen, her legs shaking and trying to keep her away from the dead to avoid increasing her sick feeling. Once she’s in her bedroom she’s petrified again, not knowing what to do, images of the fight troubling her mind. She shakes them off by a quick movement of her head and grabs a bag, stuffing clothes in it randomly. She also puts all the cash she has, guessing it could always be useful. As she does it, she doesn’t notice the tears streaming down her face. What she has been expecting to happen only in years is now happening: she’s leaving everything behind.

She can’t even think of the consequences properly, Finan coming in with one of the small guns stuck in his trousers. “I’d gladly accept a clean sweater.” He says, the lightness of the sentence not matching his tone. She points to a drawer and he steps towards it, removing his dirty hoodie and t-shirt in the process.

“Where are we going?” She asks, holding her now closed bag against her as if she’s a child hugging her teddy bear to find reassurance.

He briefly turns around, and she can notice there’s no mark of the bullets he took during the fight on his skin. “I don’t know.” He puts on the new sweater. “The farthest away possible for the moment.” His hand grabs her shoulder and after a light squeeze he pushes her forward. “Now we go.” 

She takes her coat in the living room, looking around one last time, this isn't how she thought things would go. She pinches her lips tightly to not let out a sob and she walks to a shelf to take a photo album, the one her mother gifted her for her eighteenth birthday with pictures of her since she was a baby. She turns around, Finan waiting for her in the entrance with an apologetic expression. She swallows, trying to look stronger than she's actually feeling and joins him after a few determined steps.

“We can go.” She declares. 

Finan's car isn't parked far, and in less than ten minutes they are on the road, taking the direction to where Finan has been sleeping for the past weeks. From time to time she looks at him, his fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel while she is feeling drained of energy, so much so that she only realises she fell asleep when she hears the slamming of the car's door, startling her.

“Hey! Easy, t'is me.” Finan says raising a hand peacefully as she abruptly moves back instinctively. 

“S… Sorry.” She mutters, looking down. 

And they take the road again, a heavy silence reigning in the car. It's past midnight now and Victoria simply tries to not think too much, focussing on the streetlights. If she trusts the signs they cross, they are driving North in Sheffield's direction. She doubts Finan has any particular intention to go there, all he wants is to go the furthest away possible from London. When she rests her eyes on him, she can't help the thrill that runs along her spine, he has killed them in cold-blood, not even thinking twice. She knows he is a warrior, he has killed countless men and until now it never really bothered her. But seeing it, it's something else.

She looks to her hands, there's still blood on them, her own. She knows she couldn't have died, but it totally disappeared from her mind when she felt the gun against her temple, fear taking control. She has always made herself minor wounds, nothing serious and seeing she was healing faster than anyone felt more like a good trick than something life changing. But now, after taking a bullet, she realises the real burden of immortality: there's no end. And weirdly, when it's that end that scares people, Victoria wishes she had one. Something to give her a reason to enjoy her life. 

“Are ya alright?” Finan asks her when they stop at an old rest stop, Victoria coming back from the toilets with her hands now cleaned of all the blood.

“I don't know.” She sighs desperately, leaning against the car next to him. She frowns when she notices he is lighting a cigarette before bringing it to his mouth. “You smoke?”

He shrugs, breathing out the smoke. “When I'm nervous.” He admits and raises his eyebrows when Vicky gives him a disapproving look. “What? It's not like it's goin' to kill me.” He wryly replies. 

She rolls her eyes, grimacing at the tobacco smell tickling her nostrils. Finan searches something in his pocket, catching her attention. He hands her a folded paper, stained with blood, but when she opens it, most of the information is still readable. She widens her eyes when she recognizes a picture of her, her number, her address, and in fact all the most important information regarding her life. 

“T'was in one of them's pocket.” Finan explains after a long exhale. 

She raises frightened eyes at him, her fingers flexing on the paper. “They were searching for me?” She asks, though the answer was obvious. Finan nods and points a finger to a particular sentence : ‘Immortal.’

“They knew.” A long silence carries away his words, Vicky not realising she’s holding her breath until he moves to crush his cigarette in the ashtray further.

“How’s that possible? I… I spoke of it to no one!” She exclaims in panic, fearing Finan could blame it on her but he simply rubs his eyes with his thumb and index. 

“I’ve got no ideas, Victoria.” He sighs and opens the car to sit on the driver’s seat sideways, his face buried between his palms.

Vicky’s stomach squeezes as she reads the paper again, some information is related to her family and friends and she suddenly fears for them. If there’s others, she has left her phone in her apartment and Finan threw his in a trash in her street, the only things that could permit them to find her again. So what if they try to seek information through them? And she doubts whoever they are that they’ll be kind to them.

“They are all in danger… My family… Rebecca.” She whispers, new tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “We have to warn them! Or take them with us…”

“No we won’t.” Finan replies, stretching his legs and before she can protest, he continues. “They’ll soon enough report your disappearance, they’ll be interrogated by the police and under their protection.” He says, confident. “They’ll be safe.” She knows Finan is probably right, nothing will happen to them, so she nods silently. “Well, we should sleep a little. We’ll take back the road in the mornin’.” He says after yawning. 

Sleeping in the car is far from being comfortable, but they manage to find a way to, Vicky laying on the backseats and Finan on the front passenger leaned seat. However, she can’t find sleep, tossing over and over again, trying to stay covered by the coat Finan has lent her as a blanket. When she closes her eyes, she sees the fight again, her heart racing and her guts twisting. So she just stops to try and stares at an invisible point in the car. She wonders how everyone will react when they’ll learn she disappeared, by noon she guesses a neighbor will have found the opened door of her flat and the three men. She supposes Rebecca will immediately think it is Finan who’s responsible, though she doesn’t even know his name. She’ll feel responsible for being the one organizing their meeting. And her parents, they’ll be devastated. 

She feels terribly bad to be the reason for their pain, to not be able to just send them a message, just to tell them that she’s fine and will be. She’s been such a hard child and teen, too stubborn to listen to her parents. She wasn’t Charles, nor Rebecca, a calm and studious person and still isn’t. She has never felt like she could be a source of pride for them, only a source of worry. And once more, she’s going to be the reason for their troubles. 

She can’t prevent the way her throat tightens and the tear that trickles down her cheek in silence. But one is joined by another and she now can’t prevent the hiccup of pain that escapes her as she sobs. She’s tired of crying, her eyes swollen and aching but she has nothing else to do. Until a hand reaches out to hers through the dark, taking it with such kindness that it stops her cries for a brief instant. She wipes her eyes with her other hand and then meets Finan’s gaze. He is still laying on the passenger’s seat, quite awkwardly so his left hand could hold hers. She can’t read his expression, his face lightened by the road’s light further, he isn’t sorry, nor sad. He stares at her so softly, she finds it reassuring and doesn’t even think of her anger towards him anymore. 

“I know the feelin’, when you lose everythin’.” His thumb rubs her fingers tenderly, making her melt, her eyelids suddenly heavier. “But it will be alright, Vicky.” He promises her, holding her gaze once more and she can see how confident he is.

It’s also the first time that he says her nickname, she doesn’t object, and even if she did, she’s too sleepy to protest. So she smiles tiredly, tightening her grip around his hand, and whispers: “Thank you.”

A/N : Finan with a gun: H O T

Tag :​ @for-bebbanburg ​ ​ @naps4bats ​ ​ @osferth ​ @maggiescarborough ​ @finansarms ​ @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby

#the last kingdom #finan #finan the agile #tlk #fanfiction #finanxoc #the old guard #somebody to die for

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Lost or Lying

The original request: “Hi if you’re still taking requests, can I request a one shot with Bo thinking reader escaped and gets  really angry with reader which leads into a screaming match between the two.”

Pairing: Bo Sinclair x Reader

Warnings: yelling/fighting(non-violent), language, angst and a little fluff

A/N: Sorry this took forever! I just re-watched House of Wax and it sparked the inspiration I needed to do this right. Hope it’s okay! Listened to Slow Down-Poolside // Devil in Paradise-Cruel Youth // A lot of Thom Yorke while finishing this up.

You had been wanting some time to yourself lately and the universe had decided to give it to you in spades.

A simple stroll down what had looked to be a well-worn trail had turned into an all day hike was now morphing into admitting to yourself that you were lost. And dead, if you ever found your way back to town.

Bo had been the last of the Sinclair brothers to trust you being out and about on your own and even then, he would not so subtly keep an eye on you. Like you might disappear if he even so much as blinked.

So this, being gone for hours, would probably land you in hot wax. Literally.

Stopping for the millionth time to try and recognize your surroundings, a thought popped into your head. What if you didn't go back? What if you just kept walking, you'd eventually either come to some road or wind back up in Ambrose.

The thought left a sour taste in your mouth.

Sure you and the boys had gotten off to a less than great start, Lester not included. You had liked him the instant he'd offered you a ride to the nearest town for help with your car dead on the side of the road.

He was a talker with not many people to listen to him, which you understood on some level, and now looking back on that first conversation it was almost obvious how clearly unsettled he was about letting you walk unawares into Ambrose.

Too little, too late and all that you guessed.

Sighing, you looked up, glancing through the leaves to watch heavy, dark clouds slowly spreading themselves across the sky. Great. Just what you needed, a storm.

You kept going, trying to leave signs that you'd been past a certain place with broken branches. It made you feel better for a while, until you ran into them, stomping by the snapped wood like it had personally offended you.

When it started to rain, you resorted to yelling. Hair dripping wet, clothes soaked through and shivering like a chihuahua as you were pelted by rain. You simply kept yourself from running into trees and screamed out Bo, Vincent, and Lester's names like a broken record.

Eventually that became difficult with the way your teeth were chattering, your lips feeling more numb by the minute. You must have stopped at some point because all you could hear was the far off roll of thunder and barking.

Barking? Barking meant dogs which meant-

"Mite!" the voice that left your throat made you wince, hoarse and hopeful at the same time.

The barking got louder, so you shouted again, planting your feet in the slippery ground and waiting for the little barrel of black and white fur to come shooting out of the underbrush as the barking got closer.

She nearly knocked you over when she appeared, paws muddy and looking as soaked as you felt. But her tail was wagging and you'd never been so happy to smell wet dog in your entire life.

"Let's go home! Go home Mite!" you told her and she just about herded you all the way back.

The streets were slightly flooded but the whole town was lit up. Like a lighthouse on the shore, a warning and a safe haven. The gas station was empty as you jogged past it, trying to keep an excited Mite in your view. The yellow tow truck was gone too. Shit.

The house was the same, all the lights on but no one home. Once inside Mite shook off, giving the walls a good spray of dog water before she pranced off in search of someone to show what she had found. The muddy paw prints she was tracking around were the least of your worries.

You peeled off your shoes before trekking over to the kitchen, leaving a trail of puddles in your wake. Still shivering, you wrung out your hair over the sink and pulled out what few rags you could find and went in search of Mite.

When you reached the foot of the stairs you heard an engine pull in the drive. You couldn't be sure who it belonged to with the noise of the storm so you braced yourself, shivering and no doubt looking like a drowned rat caught holding stolen food.

No amount of bracing would do you any good though, not when the door practically flew open to let in Bo.

You don't think he even saw you at first with the way his eyes darted around the room, ghosting right over you as he slammed the door shut behind him, pacing around like a caged animal. You wondered if you just stayed still enough, maybe he wouldn't notice you.

You had never been that lucky.

You knew it was bad when he didn't immediately begin yelling. He just stared at you, blue eyes burning a hole straight through you. Jaw clenched so tight you worried he might crack a tooth. It was a miracle you didn't run purely out of instinct.

"Where the hell have you been."

Oh yeah. This was a new level of mad. His low, even growl of a question sending goosebumps up your already chilled skin.

"I just g-"

"Where the fuck did you think you were gonna get to?" he crossed the space between you two in less than three steps, each one raising your hackles further.

"I wasn't going anywhere" you held your ground even as he came to a stop right in front of you, giving you no space.

"Bullshit! You were gone for hours, had all of us runnin' around lookin' for your ass! And you were off doing what?! Leaving!"

Ah, there was the yelling. You dug your heels in just a little deeper.

"No, I went out for a walk and got lost and it started raining and-"

"Don't you fucking lie to me, I knew the second we let you out you'd run. The second you got a chance! Gone!" Bo had stepped even closer, pushing you back until you could feel the sharp corner of the wall dig into your spine.

"I wasn't trying to run away! I took a trail, I got lost and Mite found me. That's it!"

"So I'm jus' supposed to believe you were out there, no one to keep you from running and you didn't huh? You just walked in circles 'til you realized you couldn't find your way out!"

"I got fucking lost! Okay?! I. Got. Lost!" you had properly lost all energy to stay calm, Bo wasn't, so why should you? "I've been locked up in this house or at the station for months! No time alone, like a fucking dog! Hell, the dog has more freedom than me! Can you blame me for wanting some time to myself?!"

"Freedom! You shoulda' been dead the second you set foot in this town!" you could feel the hot puff of his breath across your face, foreheads nearly touching.

"That's not my fault! You're the one in charge around here aren't you? Just kill me now and you won't have to worry about me anymore!"

You had barely gotten the last word out before you felt the sharp tug of Bo's hands tangling themselves in your stringy, wet hair. It almost felt tender, like he was cradling the base of your skull, about to kiss you. Except the hold was too tight, stinging where blunt nails scraped your scalp and held you in place with the pressure on the back of your neck.

The rags you had clutched in your hands dropped silently to the ground when you curled your hands around his forearms, not that you could pry him off you.

A small droplet of water fell onto your face from Bo's damp hair.

You thought he might take you up on the offer right then and there. The set of his shoulders, the way he could so easily shift his hands and wrap them around your throat. But you'd spent plenty of time around Bo Sinclair, enough to be able to see what he was hiding behind all the rage and yelling.

He was worried. Maybe even scared.

Lester had told you, albeit hesitantly, how nice it was to have you around, to have someone to talk with.

Vincent had taken longer to express the same to you, and not in so many words, but it was there all the same. You had a collection of small wax figurines to show for it.

Bo treated you like a kid that needed to be watched, like you were going to stick your hand on a hot stove if left alone too long. He complained when you asked too many questions about what he was working on when you were in the station with him but he usually answered you.

He was a lot of bark, with an equal amount of bite, when it came to taking care of this town. Even his brothers, in his own messed up way.

"You really think I'd leave?" the words finally manage their way out of your mouth, rasping and quiet in the wake of the shouting match.

"That's a stupid question" Bo snaps.

"Would you miss me?"

"No."

"Liar."

Bo gives no warning before pulling your face up to his and kisses you. It's not soft, it's angry and suffocating and you can feel it in your gut when he bites your bottom lip, tugging none to gently until you finally part your lips enough to get a taste of him.

He tastes like rain and cigarettes.

You lean into him, standing up on tiptoes, and hum at the way he tugs you back far enough for your lips to be a hairs breath apart.

"I should get lost more often" you say a bit breathless, trying not to smirk.

Bo simply glares at you for a moment before crushing his lips back to yours.

You weren't going anywhere for a while.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax (2005) #house of wax #request #horror imagine #house of wax imagine #bo sinclair imagine #slasher x reader #slasher #duck did it #duck quacks

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a sequel.

chapter one: genesis

word count: 5.8k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, religious blasphemy, cults amok, massively canon divergent (if you’re here then like...you know), body horror and horror in general, brainwashing, manipulation, you know the drill. john is himself, and thus: deserving of a warning. in this chapter specifically, brief mention, in passing, of mass suicide.

notes: hi friends! yes, i'm aware that this is a week early. i apologize. i wanted to get this chapter out while i had the thoughts in my head; not a lot of exciting stuff happens, most of it is just... setting things up for where we're going and where we're going to be, but i hope that you enjoy it nonetheless! thank you, of course, to my beta reader @starcrier​; this chapter was in a lot rougher shape before she got to it. if you have the chance, please check out her writing--she is just absolutely incredible! 

and thank you to everyone who did me the GREAT blessing of reviewing and supporting ancient names. i really can't believe i'm out here!! with people interested in what i have to say about this fucking nutso canon-divergent universe i am building! gosh i just hope y’all enjoy it. fun stuffs to come.

summary: —to fall like a wounded animal into a place that was meant for revelations.

there are many injustices that john seed will tolerate. the betrayal, and subsequent departure, of his wife and child is not one of them.

or: elliot honeysett just wants to live her life in quiet seclusion, and there's no way in hell that's happening.

“This is a very old story.”

It was cold, and dark, and the night stayed cloudy and moonless. As Helmi picked up the gun clasped between the two corpses, she glanced furtively in the brunette’s direction. Her gaze was impossible to read, the severe lines of her face accented only by the dim, flickering light of the neon sign; Kajsa had always looked like this, though, sharp like broken glass was, reflecting only and not taking anything in. Protected.

Helmi lifted her gaze back to the dead pair at her feet, up to the neon sign that blinked The Spread Eagle, and then down and stopping at the words written in dried blood on the paneling.

WRATH, DO YOU WANT TO BLOOM IN ME?

“You and me,” Kajsa murmured, and now it was her turn to watch. “Them. Eden’s Gate, and the Mother. All of it has happened before and will happen again.” She sighed, as though it troubled her, the dark arch of her brows pulling together to knit at the center of her forehead. With the only source of the light being the bar’s sign, her skin was an eerie, pallid red-and-blue, darting and worming across her expression. “We’ll turn this world into winter, Hel. The two of us.”

Helmi watched her for a long moment. “Kajsa—”

“Douse them.” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her sweater, turning and stepping over the two other dead bodies they had dragged from where they had been propped up against the wall. “I want this place in ashes by sunrise.”

“Yes.”

Kajsa didn’t wait for her to begin walking to the car, idling still a safe distance away. Helmi preferred it that way. For a few minutes—and that’s all it would take, really, to unlatch the canister lid and toss the gasoline over the bodies, against the paneling of the wall, atop the roof—she could turn her brain off, forget the way Kajsa’s eyes see straight through her, forget the bodies of her brothers and sisters as she tossed the match on them and watched the flame eat through the fuel.

Hungry. A beast. Like me, Helmi thought absently, as the flames licked at the sky, reaching reaching reaching. Watching them felt like watching the souls of her brothers and sisters reaching for the stars, carried away in wisps of foul-smelling smoke. She wondered, do they feel it now? Do they feel the sting, the burn? When their bodies haven’t been given to It, do they feel it all after?

“Come, Helmi,” Kajsa called from the car. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

They had been at it for hours, this methodical and clinical extinguishing of bodies. Every spot that they had agreed and picked out on the map in such an instance was now blacked out. Burned. Their brothers and sisters had done what was expected of them, and for that, they would not be forced to rot—they would be turned to charcoal, to ash, only blood and bone spent.

Her feet carried her back to the car as the flames began to devour more than just flesh, crawling along the rooftop of the Spread Eagle and popping in the still, quiet night. Kajsa’s hand came up to her face and cradled her cheek, fixing her with those eyes: dark eyes, shades of gray and glassy, like a shark.

“Ingenting under solen är beständigt,” she said, the pad of her thumb brushing across Helmi’s cheekbone. For a second, the older woman almost looked like—well, looked like something, an unknown flicker of emotion crossing her face—but then it cleared.

Hel watched her curiously, waiting until the hand against her cheek dropped before she said, “I know, Kajsa.”

Kajsa nodded. Only once, short and brisk, the gesture as sharp as the lines of her face. “Make sure you do not forget.”

I won’t, Helmi thought, but did not say. Kajsa had never believed words before, and she would not start now. Helmi would just have to show her that she had not forgotten.

She looked back; the singeing of flesh fizzing in the air, the crackle of devouring flame whispering to her. A cleansing fire. Their bodies weren’t given to The Father, but they had given in another way, with their lives—in a way that still mattered.

“Kajsa,” Hel said, bringing the woman’s attention back to her, “do they feel it, still? The fire, when they’re gone?”

“Perhaps,” Kajsa replied, jaw absently working something wadded just in the hollow of her throat; words she wanted to say, and could not. Or would not. It was always hard to tell, with Kajsa. “It’s not for us to know. The after belongs only to the dead.” The dark-haired woman opened the driver’s side of the car, pulling her gloves off of her hands and tossing them inside. “Get in the car, Helmi. I want to keep track of that interloper.”

Interloper. The kinder of the words that what remained of them had been using for John Seed and his merry band of fuck-ups and patience-testers. Heretics, zealots, apostate—

The list was unending. Helmi wished she could run out of disdain, but she knew that she would not be able to. Sorrow and mourning for those they had lost came in absolutes, in fixed amounts, but the bitterness persisted. She swung into the passenger side of the car, shutting it against the smell of burning skin, and exhaled slowly through her nose.

Kajsa pulled the car away from the sight. Hopefully it would be just as the harbinger wished—by sunrise, Hope County would be leveled by fire and flame, nothing but ash and ruined structure left. If the scraps of Eden’s Gate didn’t try and douse it out. If they didn’t continue to interfere.

She glanced out the window to the sky. The tires of the car hit the highway, and Kajsa clicked the cruise control on, and as tendrils of smoke clung to the stars, the clouds parted and the light of the new moon filtered down. Just a sliver of her light, but cold and cruel and reliable all the same.

“It’s pleased,” Kajsa said lightly.

Hel made a low noise of agreement, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against the glass. “Are you?”

“Not yet,” the older woman murmured. When Hel glanced over at her, her eyes were fixed on the road; the headlights switched off, and in the far distance, she could see the tail lights of another vehicle glowing red as blood in the darkness. Seed, Hel thought through the haze of her exhaustion.

“But very soon, I will be.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

One Week Later

“Are you warm enough? Where’s your scarf? Elliot?”

The door was only inches away, and yet—somehow—she’d managed to not make it out without the barrage of questions that typically accompanied any of her departures. Taking in a soft breath, Elliot closed her eyes for a moment, leaving her hand on the door handle.

“I am sufficiently bundled,” she promised, turning to regard her mother, standing in the foyer. “I don’t need a scarf between the front porch and the car.”

“Scarf, please,” her mother murmured, deigning to set her martini glass down in order to pluck it off of the coat rack. Elliot watched the movement curiously—not because she had never seen her mother set aside an alcoholic beverage before, but because these days it seemed more often than not that she was beginning to slow down on them; a thing which Elliot never thought she would see. Part of it might have been the sudden upheaval of having her grown, child-carrying daughter and dog suddenly move in with her, and part of it may have just been, well, time—but either way, she didn’t think she could ask.

There were some things that were just better left unsaid.

“Okay,” Elliot relented tiredly. “I’ll wear the scarf.”

“It’s not just about you anymore, bunny.”

“I know, mama.”

“So wear the scarf—”

“I am,” she insisted irritably, making a great show of flinging the scarf around her neck. I know it’s not just about me, something prickly inside of her said, I fucking know, it’s never been about me, and it’s especially not about me now.

Scarlet eyed her for a moment, wary. This had been happening a lot more now, too—these odd, lingering looks her mother had begun to favor her with. It was the same way Sheriff Whitehorse had looked at her, and the same way Burke had looked at her that last time before she—

Well.

Forcing her tone to lightness, Elliot said, “Happy?”

“Hardly,” her mother replied tartly. “No reason to be spending time around horses in your delicate condition. And you’ve been so irritable as of late—”

“It’s supposed to be good for anxiety.” Elliot glossed over the additional barb blithely, years of muscle-memory kicking in now.

“Getting some sleep would help your anxiety.” Jab, jab, duck, her mother’s tell-tale movements, skittering across their conversation like so many little spiders. It had been so long before this that she’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be engaging in a constant verbal battle with someone who was supposed to love her.

That wasn’t necessarily true, either. She had plenty of experience ducking and parrying verbal punches from someone who claimed to love her, as of late.

“I don’t—” Puffing out a sharp breath through her nose, Elliot passed a hand over her face. Sleep had not been her friend, not before and certainly not now. Too many strange, unnerving dreams about handsome, blue-eyed men with flowers blooming out of their eyes for her liking. “I’m not taking medication that’s not prescribed to me, mama. Sorry. But it’s like you said, it’s not just about me anymore. Right?”

Scarlet picked up her martini glass, waving her hand as she turned to head back into the living room where the fire still glowed warm and hungry in the hearth. Yes, there was nothing she would have preferred more than to give in to the despair and apathy welling up inside of her, curl up under the blankets in her bedroom, safe and tucked away in a perfect bubble; but she couldn’t, because stronger than that apathy was an uneasiness, anxiety that vibrated just under her skin.

Not safe, it told her, during the day when she was trying to relax and at night when she was trying to sleep. Not safe, not us.

That was the real gut-punch of the whole thing. Before, the paranoia, the anxiety, the hyper-sensitivity—they had all been things that served a purpose. Her body had been ready for constant assault because she had been under constant assault. But now? Now, she was in bumfuck-nowhere Georgia, with no bills to pay, no job to maintain, only one task: be healthy, for baby. Be happy, and healthy, and do it for baby, because that was her only responsibility. She could no longer function as a single autonomous unit because she was not, by all intents and purposes, a single. Autonomous. Unit. And yet?

And yet.

And yet, the off switch was broken, somewhere in her brain. Broken, or locked behind bars, or somewhere that she couldn’t reach it. Her brain still liked to think she was under constant assault. And if Scarlet’s verbal fencing skills were anything to go by, maybe it was a fair judgment of the situation.

“...standing there for?” Scarlet asked from the couch, her voice filtering in through some strange fuzziness that had erupted in her brain.

“Just—thinking,” Elliot managed, forcing a smile onto her face. She could tell it fell flat from the way her mother regarded her, but she cleared her throat quickly and glanced at Boomer, waiting patiently by the door. “You gonna take care of mama, Boomer?”

“He certainly will not.”

“Protect the homestead.”

“Elliot—”

“He can’t come with me to the barn,” Elliot informed her mother primly. “He’ll be well-behaved here, I promise.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. It was something that couldn’t be argued, Boomer’s manners, and so finally she said, “Just don’t be gone long, then.”

Nodding, Elliot opened the front door and slipped out, keys clutched in her hands. The first snowfall of the winter had hit; it was still fresh and powdery, crunching underfoot, and by the time she was carefully pulling out of the driveway, she had nearly forgotten about the strange static fuzz rattling around in her head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot lifts the glass of champagne to her mouth. Here, John can see the wedding band on her finger—gold and simple, for now. He’d promised her something nicer after things quieted down. She’d said, of course, that she didn’t need anything nicer; she was happy with the one she had. With him.

He thinks that she has never looked so beautiful, bathed in the romantic glow of fairy lights, hair pinned back and the white of the wedding dress dappling lace across her skin. And wearing the ring, of course.

I love you, he wants to say, but cannot. I love you so much, he wants to say, but does not; he watches her set the flute down on the table and he opens his mouth to say it. He has to tell her—she has to know, all of those things he had said, he didn’t mean them. He loves her. He has to tell her so that she can know.

John reaches for her and opens his mouth. She lets him take her face, lashes fluttering closed; when he tries to say it, when he wills the words out of his lungs, he is choking, choking, choking, the sickening scent of flowers rushing over him and he heaves.

The petals spill from his mouth. They tumble to the ground between them. You’re mine, he wants to say, I love you, but the petals choke him on their way out, billowing out from his lungs and tripping on their way out of him, blowing out in gorgeous baby-soft puffs that leave his throat shredded from the inside out.

His hands find her shoulders. He clutches her, because he can’t breathe—there are too many of them, these flowers, each labored attempt at breath making it worse. He’s choking, and Elliot grabs his face with her hands as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

She shoves her fingers into his mouth, packing the petals against the back of his throat, and he can’t breathe, and she says—

“I told you that you couldn’t have both.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John jolted awake, the sound of the alarm on his phone echoing in the tight space of his car. The dream lingered, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat and on his ribs like a heavy meal yet to be digested. It took a few blinks for him to really gather himself, remember where he was, who he was, what it was he had been doing. It felt like he could still taste the petals in his mouth.

Wicked devil, he thought tiredly, the image of Elliot looking down at him—wretched, and unyielding, as he choked to death—burned behind his eyelids. Even in my dreams, you’re ungrateful.

On his way out of Hope County, he’d dropped the Eden’s Gate truck for some poor shmuck’s sedan. It certainly wasn’t the kind of car he was used to driving in, and not for long periods of time, but he couldn’t risk a cop tagging his plates and finding out that the car was owned by him.

Not that he thought news of what had happened in Hope County had reached anyone yet. The government had their hands full as it was, he was sure—if the news on the radio had anything to say about it, anyway—so he imagined that the extraction of a few “criminals” out of Hope County, Montana had hit the backburner.

Passing a hand over his face tiredly, John tossed the book he’d fallen asleep reading onto the passenger seat and shut the alarm off on his phone. The book joined a collection of others, the titles including but not limited to Unconditional Parenting, The Whole-Brain Child, and other such riveting pieces, set to guide him along the path of parenthood.

He had been in Weyfield for three days; finding Elliot’s ancestral home hadn’t been hard, considering there were only a handful of houses that said rich by their exterior, and fewer less of those that looked to have been constructed so many years ago. In fact, the house that he had narrowed down looked the epitome of a wealthy Southerner’s ancient household; big front columns binding the two-story structure together, a sweeping front porch, and what he could only assume was a painstakingly-maintained garden when it wasn’t covered in a healthy foot of snow.

But more than that—more than the house, and the snow, and the stupid, shitty car he’d been living in for the last week—was Elliot.

His sleep schedule was fucked up because her sleep schedule was fucked up. He’d only caught glimpses of her through the windows, on occasion, and as much as he wanted to go charging into that house and demand she come back to Hope County with him, John knew he had to go about this very carefully. Elliot had willfully left him to be arrested, and she had willfully lied to him, and she had willfully and spitefully informed him of her pregnancy, and that meant that there were too many factors for him to think he could just breeze in and out. He was going to have to be diligent about everything—and that meant learning as much as he could before she figured out he was there.

It made him feel psychotic. It made him feel like a madman, but he supposed that was to be expected. That’s amore.

He had figured out precisely three things since his arrival in Weyfield: Elliot was staying with a woman he could only presume to be her mother, she had yet to make any friends, and she wasn’t sleeping. Every single night—or morning—she was up, moving around on the second floor and sometimes the first. It was nearly Christmas, now, which meant that she had to be at least nearly five weeks. What was she doing, up and about all hours of the night?

Now, watching Elliot haul herself into the jeep, bundled up and puffing hot air onto her hands, he thought, where are you going without the beast, huh? Haven’t seen you spend a second away from him.

John watched the car pull carefully out of the driveway and then head down the road. He’d been parked beneath the cover of a snowy row of cedars, the air inside as cold as outside by the time he’d woken out of his tenuous sleep. Now, as the sight of the dark Jeep disappeared down the residential lane and turned onto the street that would take her out to the country, he turned the key in the ignition.

The car came to life with a shuddering groan. It took a few tries to dig himself out of the fresh snowfall, tires skidding and the orange light reminding him—time and time again—that the tires were having a hard time. Thanks, you piece of shit, he thought tiredly, finally pulling out of the little ditch and setting off down the road. He let a few cars go ahead of him before he turned down the same street Elliot had, driving until the houses became fewer and fewer and it was more pastureland; three cars ahead, he saw Elliot pull down a long drive that wound for an eternity until a...barn?

A fucking stable?

“What the fuck,” he said under his breath, sighing. He should have known—of course she’d find some reason to spend her afternoon around stinking animals. Was that safe for her to be doing? Being around horses?

He pulled a slow u-turn and found a turn out at the top of the hill—close enough to see when she was leaving, but not close enough that he could be seen if she was pulling out. As soon as he shut the car off, the engine ticking as it cooled, John settled back against the seat and let out a long, suffering breath.

Well. He supposed that she should have been grateful she wasn’t leading a particularly exciting life, but he wouldn’t have minded something a little more exciting than this. Something more than staying holed up in her mother’s home—something which he was sure she did not enjoy, if the way she had spoken of her mother before had been any indication—or the occasional walk down the lane with the hound.

It didn’t matter, in the end. Once he felt confident he knew what was going on, once John had figured out what exactly he was up against when it came to fetching Elliot from this Stepford nightmare of a back-water-nobody-town, he’d get a couple of extra resources gathered and snag Elliot hook, line, and sinker.

But first, he would just have to wait.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was pretty easy to find a place that wanted someone to come and brush their horses for free. Elliot had called around to a few places at the behest of her doctor, who had been displeased when she explained no, she did not want to speak to a therapist, but yes, she would take the suggestion of seeking out other avenues of emotional healing.

I’m going to be frank with you, Miss Honeysett, the doctor had said, her voice stern, you can’t keep going the way you are. Stress is bad for babies, let alone post-traumatic stress.

Elliot had fervently nodded her head and explained that yes, she understood, and yes, she would make sure to find a place to relax and destress. And that was how she ended up here the first few times, and now standing in a stall, bringing a brush slowly over the shiny gold coat of a palomino that stood by idly while she fumbled herself through the motions. She had spent a lot of time around horses before, back when she was a kid—back when her grandfather still had his own little mini stable. After he’d died, the horses had of course been sold, even though Elliot had begged her mother to let her keep just one of them.

“They’re racehorses, Elliot, not show ponies,” her mother had snipped, all those years ago. “What are you going to do with a racehorse?”

Run, she’d thought then. Run and run and run, as far as he’ll take me, and we’ll camp out under the stars and then we’ll run some more until no one can find me ever again.

That had been a dream, of course. Now she only had her two legs to carry her wherever she wanted to go, and they had served her pretty well.

“Been around horses before?” someone asked lightly from the stall door. “Before the last couple of times you’ve been here, I mean.”

Elliot’s gaze flickered, snapped out of her thoughts—out of that girl she had been so many years ago—and landed on the same young woman that had gone through all of her paperwork and given her the run-down. Her name was...Sarah? No, it was something else. Something with an S. She was pretty; dark honey-blonde hair swept up into a ponytail, her face pretty enough to be woman and round enough to make that woman look angelic.

“A long time ago,” Elliot admitted sheepishly, her fingers braided into the palomino’s mane as she worked the kinks out of it. “When I was little.”

“Ah,” the woman said, smiling. “It’s sort of like riding a bicycle. How come you aren’t riding?”

“My doctor said not to.” She paused, because that sounded suspicious, and then said, “And anyway, I’d be making a fool out of myself.”

“Everyone makes a fool out of themselves the first time around, even after a long time. But of course, we want you safe,” the blonde replied somberly, but a smile still ticked the corners of her mouth. When she shifted, Elliot could see that her name tag said Sylvia W. “Hey, you’re Honeysett’s kid, aren’t you?”

Ellliot stifled a groan. She had made it through precisely two interactions without someone bringing up her mother in the entire time that she’d been back in Weyfield, and she had been hoping to make this a third. Glancing over at Sylvia’s curious expression, Elliot managed out as politely as she could, “Yes, that’s me.”

“Your mama called,” Sylvia explained amusedly. “Wanted to make sure you got here without problems.”

I’m twenty-six. “Ugh.”

“It’s cute, but she’s...” Sylvia’s gaze flickered while she tried to come up with a word. And then: “Strong.”

A quick, sharp laugh billowed out of her, unexpected, because the idea of someone calling her mother strong was absurd—not because she wasn’t, but because so many other words came to mind before the word ‘strong’ did. Elliot stifled the second laugh that tried to bubble up out of her, and Sylvia grinned.

“Take it that’s not the first impression people get of your mama?”

“No, Sylvia, it certainly is not.”

“Via is fine,” the blonde corrected, not unkindly. After a second, of quiet introspection, she continued, “If you ever wanna get out of your house, my brother and I go to that bar in town—you know, the uh.... Wild Rose? They do trivia night every Thursday. Winner gets fifty bucks.”

“Wow,” Elliot said without thinking, “a whole fifty dollars? To split between the three of us, huh?”

Via flashed a grin. “I knew you had a sense of humor.”

The words caught something funny in her chest, hooking into her all of a sudden. Reminding her that once, she had been funny—once, she’d had friends. Once, she’d had this kind of rapport with—

Shut the fuck up, she thought to herself, viciously, if you wallow every time you think about that fuckface you’re never going to get anywhere.

“So?” Via prompted. “What do you think? Want to be our third?”

“I’m—that’s really nice of you,” Elliot managed out. “I think this week I’ll have to pass. If you think my mama’s strong over the phone, just imagine her in person and five drinks in.”

The blonde grimaced. “Fair enough. But, invite’s always extended, alright?”

“Thanks, Sy—Via.” Elliot corrected herself, earning a quick, playful wink from Sylvia before she disappeared down the hall to resume her duties. She finished brushing the old brute; on occasion he’d twist his head back to bump the dark velvet of his nose against her side, reminding her that he was there and appreciated her.

She finished up the last of the brushing and then dumped her things in the bucket before she carried it out. The last few times she had been here had passed in much the same way—and now that she thought about it, hadn’t Via offered the trivia night thing to her before? Or was she just imagining things?

“Need sleep,” she murmured to no one in particular, depositing her bucket and brushing her hands against her jeans before sliding her coat on. When she had signed herself out on the sheet and stepped out into the late afternoon, the sun had already gone down; it left the world terribly blue, the sky blue and the snow blue-tinted, like someone had slapped a dim neon light over the sun.

Elliot puffed a hot breath of air out, fishing around for her keys and unlocking the car. As her gaze swept absently over the landscape, she spotted a car parked at a pull-out just up the hill. From where she was, it was hard to see—perhaps nearly impossible—and she wouldn’t have noticed if—

If she wasn’t so concerned about seeing a face that was too familiar. Burke, even, would be an unwelcome addition to her life in Weyfield. She tried to stuff down her paranoia; someone was surely just parked while they were sending a text, or making a phone call, or...

Or, they’re watching you, something inside of her said. She ducked into the driver’s side of the car, cranking the heater, but no amount of hot air washed the voice away. Maybe they’re watching you and waiting to arrest you. Or, maybe it’s—

But it couldn’t be. Because the Seeds were in Federal custody, and that meant they weren’t her problem anymore.

Elliot pulled out of the yard, and then carefully onto the highway, checking her mirror every now and then as she drove the short distance home. Just to be sure. Just to be safe. Someone else pulled out of the stable yard, behind her, and then cresting over the hill came a car that might have been the same one that was parked, and maybe wasn’t, because she hadn’t been able to see the make and model, but if it was, then she would have to make some extra turns on her way home, and...

“No,” she said, firmly. “It’s no one. It’s nothing. Just traffic. Other people live here too, you idiot.”

The remainder of the drive was spent forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road and only checking her mirrors when polite driving protocol called for it. After all of that fussing she’d done, she was the only one pulling down the road to her house, and even when she waited in the driveway for a few minutes, nobody followed. No headlights. No strange, dark cars. No monsters to haunt the corners of her vision.

“You’re late,” her mother called from the kitchen when she stepped inside, shaking the snow out of her hair and shrugging out of her coat.

“Traffic,” Elliot lied without thinking. God, had she always been such a wretched liar? Surely not, right? “Smells good, mama.”

“I should hope so. I slaved over it.”

Elliotshot her mother a dry look, taking a bowl out of the cupboard and beginning to scoop the stew Scarlet had made into it. Boomer waited patiently in the doorway of the kitchen—no dogs allowed rule vehemently obeyed—and when Elliot picked two pieces of bread out of the basket on the counter, still warm, her mother said, “How were the horses?”

She paused in the doorway. The stairs to the second floor, and the subsequent peace and quiet, were just there. “Good,” she replied after a moment, inching toward the doorway. “Polite. I—made a friend.”

Scarlet looked up from the book she’d been reading, eyes narrowing. “A horse friend?”

“No, a—a person!”

“Mm.” Scarlet looked back at her book. “Just be careful who you associate with, Elli, you never know who has a reputation here.”

“But you do.” Elliot’s foot hit the first bottom stair. “I’m relying on you to watch my back. Thank you for dinner.”

Before her mother could ask her where she thought she was going—“Taking food up to your room, Elliot? What are you, nine?”—she had fled up them, Boomer trailing after her until she had the bedroom door safely closed and locked with a breath of relief sweeping out of her. Every interaction was like that; wondering if she was going to make a misstep, drag herself into an argument that she didn’t want to have and which she would only be able to escape if she acquiesced and admitted that her mother was right.

Splitting one of the pieces of bread in half, she tossed it to Boomer and kicked her shoes off. He chomped happily, tail brushing against the floor. Elliot ate her dinner with the dim, low volume of the TV playing in the background, until half of her soup was gone and she had curled up under the blankets. It wasn’t until the Heeler burrowed into the blankets next to her, pressed against her side, that she finally felt the dredges of exhaustion begin to pull at her.

The sleeping pills her mother had given to her sat on her bedside table, still untouched. I don’t need them, she thought, shutting the tv off and the lights with it. I don’t need them to sleep.

I’m just fine.

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Night fell heavy, quiet and cold. By the time the late hours had passed and early morning was beginning to roll around—the kind of early where the world still slept—Elliot found herself standing in the hallway.

She blinked tiredly. She was still in her jeans; she’d neglected to change. Her hands were on the banister, and below her the living room stretched, long and only dimly lit, effused by the glow of the night lights peppered throughout the house. How did she get here? Had she slept walk? What had woken her?

Slowly, and then all at once, the sound of static drifting from the cracked door of her bedroom registered in her brain. The television was on; that must have been what had woken her. Elliot stood for a minute longer, trying to collect herself, trying to see if she was still dreaming, and then pushed the door to her bedroom open.

Boomer was snoozing quietly on the bed still. The telvision’s channel flickered static once, twice, and when Elliot reached for the remote, the static flipped again and the screen went black.

Not powered-off black. Just—a black screen, still backlit, empty.

White text blinked onto the screen.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

Elliot felt her stomach flip. The text blinked out, and then blinked back on, and then stayed. Her heart thudded aggressively against her rib cage, demanding—out out out, it said, desperate for a reprieve from this sudden chill spilling down her spine. She reached blindly, no longer sure where the remote was, when the text blinked again.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

No, she thought furiously, even though she knew it wasn’t true and that it didn’t matter. Whatever kind of strange late-night programming this was—and that’s what it had to be—wasn’t going to give her a response and certainly wasn’t waiting for one. She would just need to—

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

Elliot’s fingers gripped the remote and she pressed her finger feverishly, missing the power button once, twice, and then a third time before she finally hit it and the television clicked off. Her hands were shaking; her whole body was shaking, and she quickly crawled back under the covers until Boomer was whuffling, tired and inquisitive, against her face. Her fingers knotted in his fur and she closed her eyes tight.

Even when they were closed, she saw the words, burned behind her eyelids. The inner strength to stay like that only lasted for another few minutes before she grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills and took one, swallowing it down dry and then dropping the container back on to her nightstand.

She would sleep. She would sleep, and forget about the strange commercial, and she would get her fucking life together.

In the morning. After sleep.

No strange dreams, she thought, not for me.

Not anymore.

#fic: witching hour #my writing #far cry 5 fic #john seed/f!deputy #fc5 fic #john seed x f!deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #i really do be out here dropping the first chap a week ahead of schedule #i'm sorry #my posting is unreliable #i can never stick to a schedule #pls forgive me #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy

[thedeviltohisangel]

When The Day Met The Night//2

Every day went by slower than the last ever since her night with Ron. Her days were spent tending to the men who were still managing to injure themselves and her nights were spent longing for his company. Ever since word had come down that the Allied invasion of the Japanese mainland was imminent, he was training men all hours of the day to be ready for it. All they had were quick glances and smiles. They hadn’t been close enough to touch in days. She felt like a flower wilting without the sun

masterlist is my url/writing or on ao3

accepting one shot requests for these two

TW for kidnapping & attempted assault

Every day went by slower than the last ever since her night with Ron. Her days were spent tending to the men who were still managing to injure themselves and her nights were spent longing for his company. Ever since word had come down that the Allied invasion of the Japanese mainland was imminent, he was training men all hours of the day to be ready for it. All they had were quick glances and smiles. They hadn’t been close enough to touch in days. She felt like a flower wilting without the sun. 

Tonight she decided she had had enough. She pulled on her pants and jacket that fit as well as a burlap sack and started to make the trek towards where she knew he was staying. In hindsight, it was one of the worst decisions she had ever made.

“Violet! Where you going late at night?” She smiled as Chuck Grant and two others pulled up beside her in their Jeep.

“Going for a walk. Looking for some strapping men to play cards with.” 

“Hop in. Sure you can find some in the direction we’re headed.” The one in the back shuffled to the side so she could fit comfortably and then they were off. She waved at Dick as he passed, laughed at their jokes and felt happier than she had in awhile. She loved the opportunities being a nurse had provided her. But she loved the people she had met along the way even more. Her entire life had circled around her ability to be social. Her ability to thrive in conversations and interactions. Being amongst felt like being a part of one big family. They didn’t treat her like she was made of porcelain. They treated her like she was one of them. She never thought she’d dread going back home.

“What the fuck?” One of them whispered as they pulled up to what looked like the aftermath of a battle. A soldier was standing over two bodies with a gun. Without thinking, Violet got out of the car and scurried over to the bodies in the hopes she could help them.

“They should have given me some gas,” the soldier said plainly. He sounded drunk and the way he was waving the weapon made her nervous. Her fingers searched the side of their neck for a pulse but she couldn’t find one. She looked up at Chuck, who had followed her, and shook her head. They were dead.

“How about you put the gun down and let us give you a ride back to your billet?” he offered. 

“If they had only given me some gas.” The gun went off and for the first time in a while, she flinched. She had gotten used to the sound but her guards were down. She was with friends. She was on her way to see Ron. She was safe. Or so she thought.

“Chuck!” She stood to run to his side but was pulled back, something cold pressed to her temple. 

“Not so fast, cupcake.” She froze as she was thrown in the back of his car, the two men she had been riding with chasing after them fruitlessly. “You make one sound or move an inch you get shot in the head too.” She swallowed and closed her eyes. Praying she could just make it through the night.

----

Ron ran into the makeshift medical clinic as soon as the word reached him that some replacement had shot Sgt. Grant. 

“What happened?” he asked as he moved quickly to his bedside.

“We were out for a drive, getting some fresh air when we came across what looked like a car accident,” one of them explained. “He had killed two civilians. We were with a nurse and she went to see if she could help, Chuck following and then he shot him and ran off with her.”

“Which nurse?”Ron asked, suddenly quiet. He could only think of one that would be out with the men getting fresh air. Could only think of one that would run into a dangerous situation in the hopes that she could help. But he was begging the universe that he was wrong.

“Violet, sir.”

----

Violet continued to walk a straight line deeper and deeper into the woods. The replacement had a gun and his happiness to pull the trigger earlier told her he would not hesitate to do it again. She just had to survive the night. Everything would be better in the morning.

“Stop.” She froze as his voice came out. “Go wait by that tree while I get myself ready.” Violet swallowed thickly as she heard him unbuckle his pants and his meaning became abundantly clear. She turned away and began to look around at her surroundings. There were no landmarks that she recognized that would tell her where she was or how far off her course he had pushed her. Violet knew there was no running away. She had no idea where she would end up and if it could end up worse than her current situation. As far as she could tell, she had two choices. Hope it was quick and painless or fight. “Don’t scream.”

As soon as she felt his presence behind her, she whirled around with a rock that had lay at the foot of the tree. It came crashing down on top of his head with a thunk and he hit the ground hard. Her body carried her down too as she brought the rock back down onto his face once, twice, three times more. A hand circled her wrist and dragged her backwards as two men she recognized from Easy dragged the perpetrator away and towards the road. 

“Let me kill him! He shot Chuck!” she screamed even though she was struggling to breathe.

“We’ll take care of him, Violet. Promise.” It was Malarkey. She recognized his voice and she slumped against him once she processed that he wasn’t a threat. “Did he…”

“No,” she answered. That was the last thing she wanted. The men walking around thinking she had been raped. That she had been some helpless little lamb with a hungry wolf all night. That she couldn’t protect herself. “Is Chuck gonna be okay?”

“Captain Speirs was taking him to a Kraut doctor. We don’t know yet.” Gosh. She had almost forgotten about Ron. If he knew she had been taken. How he would react when he saw her bloodied hands. Heard she had cracked a man’s face wide open. Would he think she was now soiled? Damaged goods? Finally feel the same way about her everyone else did? 

----

After he was sure Chuck was in the best medical hands he could find, Ron stormed his way back to the house where he heard the replacement was awaiting judgement. He had been so torn on what to do, where to go first. Did he go and offer Violet his love and comfort? Or did he deliver nature’s justice to the man who had tried to take her from him? The animal inside him had won which is why he stood with a gun in his hand shaking. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to pull the trigger and make him an example. Show everyone what happened when you turned on your own. When you betrayed the men around you. When you betrayed your brothers.

But there was a voice in the back of his head. It was Violet’s. She was begging him to not do it. Not pull the trigger. Not end the replacements life. There had been too much violence within the ranks for one night for Ron to add to it. For Ron to add to his conscience. It whispered that he should put the gun down and come be with her. That they were only safe when they were together. So that is what he did.

----

He wasn’t nearly as polite as he had been the last time he visited her. He knocked to announce himself then barrelled into the place with a call of her name. Now that the fog of taking care of Chuck and the replacement was gone, the adrenaline was fueling him towards her.

“We just settled her enough that she was going to try for some sleep. She’s in her room,” one of the other women popped out of the kitchen to direct him down the hall. He stopped in front of the door and gathered himself. She was probably coming down from her own rush of fight or flight and he didn’t need to go stirring her up again. The door creaked ever so slightly as he pushed it open, the moonlight illuminating her body where it was curled up under a blanket.

“Did you kill him?” The words came out as soon as he had shut the door behind him. 

“No. I didn’t think you’d want me to.” He had wanted to. And if she asked, he would tell her. There would never be a lie between them.

“I almost did.” He went to her bedside and knelt down. 

“You were protecting yourself. You have nothing to feel wrong about.” 

“Everyone already looks at us girls like we are less than. Like we don’t belong. After tonight, I’ve proved them right. I put myself in a vulnerable position and almost didn’t make it out.” Tears were slowly leaving tracks down her cheeks as she expelled the heavy feelings from her heart and into the open air. She had been scared. Still was. That somehow her ending up okay was the sliver of dream in the nightmare. That she was still just waiting to wake up. 

“What happened tonight was not your fault. Wasn’t Grant’s fault. No one but that scum bucket replacement.” Talking to her now and seeing how it affected her to her bone, Ron wishes he had pulled the trigger. 

“You don’t think I’m…I’m too damaged to be your wife?” He thinks his expression transitioned to one of horror. The fact that those thoughts had even crossed her mind. 

“No,” he said breathlessly, “I would never…” He couldn’t even get the words out because his brain was still processing what she had said. Instead he acted. He cradled her head under his chin and kissed the top of her head until she melted into him. “All I care about, Violet, is that you’re here with me and safe. He had come too close to losing her tonight. It only solidified what Ron already knew. That he couldn’t live without her.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked quietly. Not only did she not want to be alone but, more specifically, she didn’t want to be without him. She wanted the rest of their lives together to start tonight. But, she thinks, all that could wait until the morning. For now, she just needed to sleep.

----

Waking up in his arms was all she had hoped it would be and more. She felt safe and warm and loved. She felt valued. 

“I wish I could stay here with you all day,” he whispered as she slowly rolled over to face him.

“I know. Duty comes first,” she responded with complete sincerity. It was the tightrope they had been walking ever since they first laid eyes on each other. The desire to let the walls down and behave the way a man and woman do vice the need to keep things professional. She had never felt worse than she did in those months of suppressing her feelings for Ron.

“When I’m done for the day, I’ll be right back here.” He swallowed. “And we can talk about...what we said the other night.” She read between his difficulty in forming the words. They could talk about marriage. About their desire to leave this place as one even if they had to go their separate ways.

“I’d like that very much,” she said with a smile. She thought it was endearing how nervous he got when they discussed anything related to emotions. Maybe that was what made him such a good soldier. His ability to exist differently depending on his surroundings. However, it also made him a very complicated man. For every layer he exposed to her, she also learned that there was another underneath it. And the butterflies in her stomach were thrilled at the notion that she could spend forever trying to uncover all of them. 

“I love you, Violet.” Ron had always known that any day could be his last. That any moment could be the last one he had on this earth. But until last night he hadn’t thought about how every moment with Violet could also be their last. How he couldn’t just worry about his life and his men’s anymore. She has a bigger part of him than anything and her well being was even more important than his own. He couldn’t let moments with her just slip through his fingers anymore. They all had to mean something. 

“I love you, too,” she whispered back. They both leaned closer at the same time, their eyes slipping shut and lips pressing together. It was the simple moments of bliss like this that put everything into perspective. And she knew if she was ever confronted with her mortality again, she would not need to worry. Because she would have him by her side.

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