#watching It Chapter Two @ the mirror scene this poor kid & I have to remember some people actually /want/ to fuck Pennywise the clown

[ziracona]

I am absolutely saying everyone full-on into a straight up vile-ass serial killer is a weak little bitch. sorry for your having no taste; get well soon

#watching It Chapter Two @ the mirror scene this poor kid & I have to remember some people actually /want/ to fuck Pennywise the clown #yeah I am judging you that’s disgusting & you have no taste like come on man. you can’t help what you’re attracted to but you can help what #you choose to be into and that shits /nasty/ like why would you /want/ that. it’s ugly /and/ it murders kids sadistically for shits #get well soon like there’s a whole cast of funny tough and/or cool adults right here #Eddie the king is right there get well soon mofos #that one post the whole ‘not always proud of what my libido wants but at least I never wanted to fuck Pennywise’ — it lives rent free in my #heart. anyway I haven’t seen chapter two bc I was waiting to watch with a friend so I know spoilers but haven’t actually /seen/ and it’s a #good time but I’m /so/ sad. for the kids and the losers... #it hurts. #we on intermission for a phone call rn but it’s been fun so far

[bastillia]

Loyalties Lie

AO3 Mirror

Summary: You're a bartender in a Lothal cantina, living a quiet life in the Outer Rim after the fall of the Empire. You can't help but wonder what more might be out there for you. One dangerous guest in particular keeps catching your eye. Unfortunately, you've also caught his.

Rating: E

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: possibly mild dubcon, threats with a weapon, rough sex, verbal degradation, mentions of alcohol, cumplay, Boba Fett has a 24oz monster can dick and he knows how to use it.

A/N: Remember when I said I had a Boba Fett WIP laying around like, months ago? Well guess who showed up in Mando S2 with a sexy dad bod and the fattest dick in the galaxy to overhaul my dreams and make them a reality. Fuck me. Yes this is the first thing I’ve written in months hi I’m still here. No I don’t know how many chapters this will be. I live in hell. Welcome. Thank you to @kylorengarbagedump​ for graciously beta reading and listening to me literally scream about this man all the time. Love y’all so much PLEASE ENJOY.

**

It’s the kind of night that hums. 

Like a moonlit Lothal prairie, quiet and alive somewhere beyond the outskirts of town. Except that in here, the crickets swoop past your bar to buy shots, and the stars fall steadily to become the lovely tink of credits in your tip jar. The twin moons are shifting hues of neon light, and time seems to stroll by, like it has nowhere better to be.

Tonight has been steady. 

It’s not busy enough tonight to challenge you, but not slow enough to let you rest. Your guard is up, as it always is when you’re behind the bar. But your hold on it can afford to be loose. 

Tonight has been…

Boring. 

No brawls, no assassinations, not even a drunken paw fumbling across the bar towards your tits, attached to some overly rowdy patron who you then get to watch with quiet glee as they’re dragged out by the ears. No, in fact, it’s hard to remember the last time something remotely interesting happened around here. So much for the Outer Rim’s rugged reputation. You hate to say you miss the Empire’s occupation from time to time. But at least it brought nightly intrigue.

Tonight, your guests are especially calm and happy, lulled by liquor and the easy flow of conversation, murmurs blending like a stream through the grassland. And you suppose you shouldn’t complain. You’ve more than earned your keep for the night, and then some. Best of all, your boss has no reason to be breathing down your neck. 

In fact, he’s happy, too, you note when the Lasat’s bellowing business-laugh resounds overtop a few flutes of spotchka, glowing inside a booth across the room. You pass a cloth around the rim of a clean glass, feeling a tickle of interest as to who he might be schmoozing this time. When you glance up, you can just make out a pair of well-dressed Rodians seated across from him through the leisure-thick air of the cantina, nudging each other and laughing at whatever witty, schmoozy thing he just said. 

A soft snort puffs through your nose. At least Dakk is a predictable man, if nothing else. Must be rich folk, probably well connected. Good. You’ll get no help tonight, but at least he will be occupied for a while.

In fact...

Flicking a quick glance around the room, you take your chance and shrug your outer tunic off your shoulders, quickly smoothing down your much more revealing undershirt until it clings to the shape of you. You know Dakk hates when you do this, always goes on about keeping the place “classy.” But he’s not looking, and if it puts a few extra credits in your jar by the end of the night, it’s worth it. Anyway, you’re in a good mood tonight. Bored nonetheless, and the combination always forges a mischievous kind of boldness in you; a tiny spark that glows just bright enough to cast the idea of consequence in shadow.

You scan the bar for an empty drink, a flirtatious urge rolling off of your freshly bared skin and filling your ribs with air. It’s not long before you hone on your target-- an unsuspecting guest sitting alone, head turned away. Probably eavesdropping. A smirk curves your lips and you sidle over, plink a glass down between you, leaning your elbows on the bartop. 

“Something else for you, sugar?”

His head whips around with a guilty swiftness, but you just offer an easy smile, shifting your weight through your hips to coax his eyes down your body. It works like a charm.

“I, uh...“ The young Mirialan stammers directly at your tits. “Yeah, c-can I, ah…” 

As you wait out his struggle, an idea sparks in your freshly emboldened mind. Maker’s sake, might as well help the poor thing out. 

“Got a ruge liqueur in stock, last shipment off Alderaan. Rare these days.” Your lashes flutter, tongue just barely playing your along your lower lip as if teasing some unspoken promise. “I just couldn’t help but notice, you seem like a person of exceptional taste.”

The words are warm summer air on your tongue, practiced and enticing. You can see them go to the kid’s head like spice smoke, his cheeks immediately flushing deep emerald beneath diamond-shaped tattoos. 

“Y-yeah?” He straightens, runs a hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly. “I mean...yeah! I, uh, I am. That s-sounds great, yeah. Um. Please.”

You smile. Too easy. 

Now, it’s not technically a lie. You do have the ruge in stock, it’s just that--well, it’s definitely nothing this kid can afford. But you’d bet a week’s worth of tips that you can slip him a cheap offworld varietal instead. Charge him triple its price, pocket the excess. Poor thing wouldn’t know the real stuff if it bit him.

You swell with the thought. That amount might even let you buy something nice for yourself for once. It might be a little slimy, but... fuck it. Kid seems well off enough. Decently nice clothes, cologne, that misplaced air of belonging that comes with sheltered entitlement. Surely he won’t miss a few extra credits. Anyway, you deserve this, right?

Moving to speak again, you prepare to lay the flirting on thick, really sell the gambit. But before you get the chance, a loud bang snaps your attention upward just in time to see the cantina door slam open. 

You straighten where you stand, irritation and curiosity pricking your ears in equal measure. But then a slight hush cuts the ease of your buzzing meadow, and your chest squeezes with it.

Boba Fett.

The hunter takes up almost the whole doorway, a broad tower of matte green beskar catching the soft neons of the cantina. The distinctly cold gaze of the Mandalorian helmet scans the room, stirring murmurs and averting eyes until it comes to rest, finally, upon you.

It feels like two cold weights set down on your shoulders, being the focus of that stare. 

Even as the energy picks back up around you, as conversations cautiously resume, it’s like you’re trapped in it, breathless under its weight and unable to look away. You vaguely register the Mirialan turn back to your tits and ask them something about when your shift ends. But you’re still transfixed, watching the armored man take a few deliberate steps towards the bar and straddle a stool, the visor trained like a crosshair upon you as his forearms settle on the bartop.

You’ve seen him here before. Heard his name whispered in weighted ripples ever since news spread through the Outer Rim that Bib Fortuna was dead. Since then, he’s come through maybe once every few dozen cycles, each time with a couple new chips in the paint of his armor. He comes here on business--or at least you assume that’s what it must be, since he always meets someone, speaks in hushed tones enshrouded by the dim corner booth in the back. He’ll toss a few credits on the bar when he leaves, but has never uttered a word to you, never ordered a drink.

Never even glanced your way, for all you know. Until right now. 

You swallow. Fucking hell, if there’s anything you’re used to, it’s being looked at. So why is this gaze kicking your pulse up into the base of your throat, making you feel exposed? A prickle of heat is already settling in your cheeks.

And then the visor cocks, and just barely tilts down the length of your figure. 

A tight breath snaps into your lungs, and your eyes dart to the bartop, across the room, back to the Mirialan still babbling dumbly at you, your face now hot. Kriff, what is wrong with you? Since when are you outright flustered by some stranger copping an eyeful? You try to breathe, ignoring how the hairs stand on your neck.

But you can still feel his attention like the heat of a sun warming your bare shoulder, and it makes something start to coil in your belly and glow there.

“I’ll have that ruge right up, sweetheart.” 

You’re pretty sure you interrupt the kid, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just calls out a stammered thank-you as you pivot away towards your new guest, your heart kicking against your sternum. Your feet almost feel weighted to the floor, and by the time you reach him, your pulse has an edge like a blade. 

“Something I can interest you in?” 

There’s a breathlessness to the warm air of your voice now, and you pray to the Maker that it doesn’t betray you. You lean against the bar, hoping that the solidity of the wood will somehow teach your nerves to follow its example. It doesn’t. 

He seems to study you for a moment, motionless. And then his shoulders shift, his elbows widen, and he leans in towards you.

“Information.” His voice is low and direct, barely above a graveled whisper, the single accent-laden word dragging through your belly and sparking like metal on stone.

Fuck.

Of course he’s after the one thing you’re not willing to sell.

Your heart stalls while your mind starts to race, eyes searching the dark visor. Of course you’d be a fool to deny him, and he knows it. That’s why he’s asking you. Why would you risk rousing a scene in your own bar, especially when the night is so mercifully calm? Easier to give him what he wants. Tap into your collection of liquor-loosened secrets, and knowledge of the local crowd.

The thing is, you’ve built a good rapport for your discretion. You think. Not to mention the number of cutting warnings Dakk has laid on you about the consequences for selling secrets in his bar. Is it really worth risking? Fett intimidates you, no doubt. But he’s also banking on the assumption that you won’t make this difficult for him. He has to be. And now unease and excitement are starting to play a game of catch between your ribs with that tiny, dangerous spark of boldness.

“Fresh out.” Your fingers drum the wood beneath them, trying to ground your reflexes through the rush of adrenaline that accompanies your words. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you stare into the blackness of the visor as you let the tiniest, playful smirk flit over your face.  “Perhaps something to drink?”

Slowly, achingly slowly, Boba Fett settles back on the bar stool. Unease lances you, splintering with the immediate question of whether you just made the right choice. You don’t want to think about how many he’d manage to kill before you could even blink, if he decided to do something extreme. His hand starts to shift back along his thigh, drawing a path towards the blaster at his hip. You swallow, panic pricking your neck.

Just as your muscles are primed to dive behind the bar, convinced you’re going to have to evade his quickdraw, his palm just takes a lazy rest on the hilt. The helmet levels, and then leans slowly to the side. 

“No.” 

Dizzied, you blink. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking through that helmet, and he’s offered you all of two words. But was that… amusement, you heard? No. Anger? Fuck, now you’re really imagining things.

Still a little breathless, you straighten, sensing that you’re dismissed. The thought of flirting with a killer was a much-needed rush, but you need to take his indifference as a mercy after that little stunt and get on with your job while he’s giving you the chance. What little you apparently have left of a survival instinct is at least telling you that much.

You shrug. 

“Suit yourself.”

It feels dangerous to take your eyes off of him. But you force yourself to do so anyways, turning your back on the hunter and making your way to the dim doorway at the end of the bar, his attention still heating your spine. 

It’s a fucking relief to slip through the door to the storage room, ease the door shut behind you, and for the first time in what feels like moons, you let a long breath fill your lungs. The familiar scent of dust and wine-aged wood floods you, and something like disappointment tugs at your heart.

Maybe that stupid, adventure-craving side of your imagination took things too far, fueled by your boredom and the prospect of something exciting finally happening. You suppose you projected that naive hope onto Boba Fett, if nothing else just because he’s the first person to come through here in a long time that actually intrigues you. That confounds your prized, finely-calibrated radar for reading people without having to speak a word to them.

Fuck, he really wouldn’t give you much more than a word, would he? Guess he’s determined to keep scrambling your sensors. It shouldn’t deject you as much as it does. But...  come on, the least the son of a mudscuffer could do is flirt back if he was gonna fucking undress you with his eyes like that. 

Or maybe that was just your imagination, too. 

You sigh, scanning a shelf on the back wall for a ruge that will make a convincing enough dupe. A synthetic varietal, perhaps. No--too cheap. You’ve got something from a Naboo vineyard in here somewhere. Anyways, whatever, since when are you desperate for any man’s attention?

No, okay, it’s... you know that isn’t what this is really about. 

It would just be nice to feel important, is all. Like the secrets you’ve gathered might be worth something. Could someday give you a place in something bigger. Or at least like anything about you might be worth more than equivalent to a shot of shitty spotchka. 

Forget it. As if that will ever happen.

Your finger absently traces the dusty label of a bottle, and then a soft clink of metal behind you freezes your blood. 

You whip around to meet a wall of beskar, inches from your face.

You start to scream, but the sound catches in your throat when a big hand seizes you by the back of the neck and wrenches you around, bending you at the hips and slamming you chest-down against the stale wood of a storage crate. Cold metal presses your thighs and your heart smacks your ribs, your body completely trapped under Boba Fett’s mass in one motion. 

“I said I need information, little one, and you’re going to give it to me.” His voice scrapes over your body, sliding through the dim room like the shadow from a candle flame. You quail beneath him, brain racing with shock.

“I d-don’t—ugh!” The weight of his forearm comes down between your shoulder blades, pressing breathy little grunts from your lungs as you squirm. “I don’t sell out my customers.”

You freeze when the distinct click of a blaster registers right at your temple. 

“Never said I was buying.”

Panic zips down your spine, your chest heaving against the wooden crate as heat slams your core. Somewhere, your rational brain is scrambling to parse the threat, but something about the sheer filth and danger of it is setting your whole body on fire, making far more primal nerves come alive. Trying to shake the feeling, you squirm.

“At lea--ngh, least nothing’s changed there.”

Fucking hell, what are you doing? Besides sassing the known murderer with a blaster currently trained at your head, alone in a dark room. Yet somehow that very fact is making arousal bloom so wicked and fast that you can already start to feel your cunt throb against the fabric of his pants. 

“Willing to die to protect a few spineless slime crawlers who don’t even know your name?” Boba rocks his weight against you, powerful and lazy in the way he simply leans into his hips, grinds them up hard against your ass to keep you flattened over the edge of the crate. “Boss man lines his pockets while his good little pet works for scraps.” Air feels more scarce to your lungs by the second. “Interesting, how your loyalties lie.”

Indignance flares up your spine.

“I w-ouldn’t expect you to understand.” You try to put venom in the words, but it’s difficult between your breathlessness and the sheer eroticism of this position you’re in. “Small price to pay, f-for a good life.”

Through your annoyance, you can’t help feeling a twinge of enjoyment at his solidity, at how you can just discern the outline of him through his pants. An excited thrum of your pulse snaps to your core like a fuse.

Above you, Boba Fett chuckles.

“Is that what he gives you?” There’s a mockery to his tone that heats your blood, and you start to squirm in defiance before remembering the blaster at your temple. Fett simply crushes you harder, drawing your attention back to his crotch. “Seems to me like you’re the mouse in his attic.”

“I suppose you’re better than him? Than any of them?” you immediately bite, not wanting to acknowledge the truth behind his words. Instead, you grab that spark of bravery and crank the voltage until it drowns your doubt, throwing your caution to the stars faster than punching an airlock in hyperspace. “Do you even know m-my name, Mando?” A tiny giggle ripples your chest. “I know yours.”

“Might be the last one you know,” Boba growls, but you’re becoming fixated on his cock now, the way you could swear that it’s growing more distinct by the second.

Fear and pleasure wrack your brain, the combination intensifying so deliciously with the pressure of his groin against your ass that you can hardly think straight any more. In a moment of sick indulgence, you arch your back and shift just slightly, wanting to feel that pressure against something now pulsing and sensitive. 

The grip on your neck locks tight, and your breath stops. 

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, princess.” 

He kicks your legs apart and crushes his hardening bulge against your pussy. And, fuck, you moan. You don’t even mean to, but the thrill of helplessness has you so mindlessly turned on that you can’t stop the noise from squeezing out of your throat.

“Filthy little thing you are.” 

There’s a shift in his tone now. The vice hold disappears from your nape just before your pants are wrenched unceremoniously over your ass and down to mid thigh. You gasp at the feeling of air brushing your bare lips. He takes a moment, and you think he must be looking at you. Heat blossoms from your face all the way down to your chest, and then he’s against you again, a palm coming down between your shoulders as coarse fabric presses flush with your cunt. 

You can really feel the outline of his cock now, hard enough to rival his armor but warm and thick against you, and you whimper. It’s only a click that snaps your awareness back to the weapon pointed at your head. 

“Let’s try this again, little mouse.” Boba’s voice comes lower and airier through the vocoder now in a way that blazes right through you. “You give me what I want, and perhaps you’ll inspire my generosity.”

In emphasis of his intent, he rocks his erection against the cleft of your pussy. Your eyes snap wide, an almost painful stab of arousal making you immediately whine louder than you intend to. “Fuck--oh, please!”

“Careful.” His hand slides up your neck, angling your face so that he can see it twist in shame and pleasure. “Wouldn’t want anyone finding you like this.”

Your cheeks blaze. Shallow breaths stutter in your lungs as his thumb tugs the pillow of your lower lip. And then he releases you, his hand moving back somewhere you can’t sense. The pressure against your ass shifts for a moment, just before the wide, hot shaft of his bare cock caresses your cunt.

“Last night there was a man here, Mon Cala, middle aged.” Your body is on fire as he speaks, the skin to skin contact dousing your brain in blind want. You grit your teeth, screw your eyes shut, trying hard to focus on what he’s saying while your pussy twinges around nothing. “He talked to the owner here, then he met with someone. Tell me who.”

A reluctant whimper leaves your lips, and the noise might just be one of the most pathetic you’ve ever made as your tongue still stubbornly refuses to slip. But Fett’s words ring again through your head with a resentful pang: the mouse in his attic. Is that what you’ll die as?

At your temple, the blaster’s safety disengages.

“Fuck! Okay, okay.” Your breath comes heavily, brain uncertain and lust-addled, fumbling for the details. “He um. Met a--mmh, a woman, I d-didn’t catch her name. Please--” Your voice trails off in a soft whine, your hips shifting back, trying to find the means to swallow his cock where it teases your tender core, entice him with the diversion now that you’ve given him a crumb.

“You must be dumber than I took you for, sweetling.” His hips retreat slightly, evading you. The sheer display of restraint is infuriating, electrifying. It shallows your breath with need. He stills again, a rough, gloved hand running firmly up your spine, pushing your shirt up to bare more of your skin to his view. “Tell me the rest.”

Your teeth set with a final, feeble whine of hesitation. More instinct than anything. But then a cold ring of metal presses your temple, and fresh fear unbinds your tongue in a deluge.

“S-she had, ah--civilian clothes, but, um… an Imperial s-standard issue blaster.” Your eyes screw in concentration, details flickering like a glitchy holocom through your brain. “I heard them talk about, uh. A shipment. For… Fuck, uh. Th-three cycles from now.”

Boba hums, a sound that makes your eyes roll back as you feel yourself nearly dripping against him, your slick coating his cock where it just barely parts you.

“Smart girl.” His hand drags indulgently down your back, coming to rest on your hip and squeezing. “Where’s the shipment going, princess?”

Torture. This is some kind of galactic war crime, you’re sure of it. Pleasure surges from your teased cunt and his grip on your flesh, and his voice is almost soothing now, coaxing you further towards complacency. It’s all too much. Your head rests against the crate, defeat washing in a gentle tide over you. 

“Going... to Hosnian Prime.”

A soft, satisfied puff of noise comes from the modulator. The barrel retreats from your temple. 

“Now, there’s a good girl.”

Warmth crashes through your lower belly, a strange and exhilarating sensation that suddenly makes you want to... purr? No one has ever spoken to you like this, and it’s tickling a part of your brain that feels far, far too good. But then his cock glides thick and heavy along your folds, obliterating your thoughts, and all you can think about is having that inside of you. 

“Fuck,” you whine as he slowly aligns himself, teasing up and down the drenched, tender flesh of your pussy. He takes his time, massaging the blunt head over your clit and sending little shocks through your muscles, making you shiver and clench. “Please, please…” 

“Tame little creature when you want to be,” he grits, pressing against your entrance with an exhaled groan. “Keep being good for me.” 

Slowly, he starts to push. And, oh, fuck.

You’re not ready. 

You’re wetter and needier than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re still not fucking ready to take a cock like this one when it crushes in and stretches you, setting an ache through your hips that tells you whatever happens, you’re bound to feel him for days. 

A cry sticks in your throat and you will yourself to breathe, to relax as he sinks in further, forcing your walls to flutter and part around him. It truly feels like being broken open, and your fingers have to dig into the wood beneath you when he pulls out an inch and then pushes again, sinking deeper this time as a choked noise pulls through the vocoder.

By the time he finally bottoms out, you swear you can feel him shifting your guts. Every muscle in your pelvis is straining to take him, the intensity mind-numbing already. You’re nearly choking on your own attempts to breathe while he pauses, sheathed like this for a few moments, seeming to concentrate on his own breathing at the same time. 

And then his voice comes again, a growl, pitched even lower and more ferocious than before through a clutched breath. 

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” 

Stars.

This is different.

It’s so hard to think, you’ve never felt more full, but something in the back of your mind is unfurling, turning hot and primal with a roiling kind of need that burgeons and begs at the feeling of his cock rooted so fucking deep inside of you. You’ve had sex before, sure, but this…

You’re about to get fucked. 

“Please…” you mewl. Desperation pierces you when you feel his fingers flex strong and firm around your hip in response. You turn your head, trying to glimpse him--only to realize that the blaster is still right next to your face, its angle nonchalant, close enough to brush your lips. 

Your mind is so drenched in lust, the first urge that strikes you is to stick out your tongue and wet the metal, its sharp alloy piercing your senses and making your pussy seize with the shudder of danger.

In your periphery, you see the visor snap to attention, like he wasn’t fully looking at you before, lost in his own pleasure. But now he is. And he gives the weapon an experimental twist, allowing for your lips to wrap, delicate and wet, just around the tip of the barrel.

“Fearless little mouse.” There’s something dark and charged in his voice. “You look good like that.”

A slight wiggle to open your jaw, and the blaster shoves past your lips, resting thick and cold on your tongue, lighting your spine with a new thrill. Your voice swells on a muffled moan around it, such a soft and lovely sound to accompany a thing that’s orchestrated countless deaths. 

“There we are. Nice and quiet now.” 

Finally, finally, he starts to thrust, slow and measured, forcing your body to yield around the width of him. Something burns hot in your belly with each steady stroke, wiping your brain of everything but his presence.

The rough material of a glove smothers one of your asscheeks, grips and pulls at the pillowy flesh, spreading you open as his thrusts take up a steady, powerful rhythm. Boba Fett lets out a long groan, and you can only imagine the view he has right now. It sears you alive, the knowledge that he likes looking at you like this, pitching and whimpering with his rhythm, the sight of your pussy stretched, helpless around his cock and your mouth wetting his blaster. 

Your spit slicks the barrel more with every thrust, and you can feel the mechanics shifting dangerously between your lips. But his trigger finger is steadier than death, and his control gives you the nerve to let your tongue lick out along the barrel, bathe in the electric wash of fear that sets all of your nerves into overdrive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he snarls as his pace starts to kick up wilder. 

Intense pleasure cracks through you now, visceral in a way you’ve never felt, and it’s all you can do to keep relatively quiet. The barrel on your tongue is a sharp enough reminder, yet it fuels your arousal to burn hotter and wetter all the same. The more you concentrate on the powerful bliss coiling in your core and rippling outwards, the more you can feel yourself starting to tighten around him, your body yearning vaguely towards a release it can’t seem to center on.

You hear him groan as you squeeze him, his grip on your flesh flexing and shifting. A few more strong thrusts, and then his cock pulls all the way out of you with a woeful pang, the blaster vacating your mouth in the same motion to leave you empty, dizzied and clenching. But before you can unscramble your brain, the blaster slots back into its holster and he’s moving you. With an effortless kind of control, he flips you over, shifting you until the solid wood of the crate supports your ass.

He hikes both of your legs onto one shoulder and in one swift, easy motion, whisks your pants over your shoes and off of your ankles, tossing them carelessly into the darkness of the room before hooking your legs around his armored waist.

“Going to watch you cum, princess. Nice and pretty.”

Your mouth opens on a gasp at his words, and a gloved thumb immediately presses your tongue, the taste of leather and plasma residue grounding your senses enough to register that he’s lining his cock back up at the heat of your entrance. You whine around his thick digit, and he growls somewhere low in his chest as he pushes the thick head back in, this new angle making you see stars all over again. 

He doesn’t bother letting you adjust this time, just uses your wetness to his advantage to start railing through your tightness, burning and stretching you as that warm swell starts to crest again. It’s such a deep, full feeling, spreading a delicious ache from the spot where he hits you deep in your tummy. 

Your brows draw together, your whines pitching higher as you search the visor. It’s a wordless plea, your vision swallowed by the power of him fucking you deep, your body now screaming to cum but needing something you can’t quite pinpoint.

The hunter’s thumb slips out of your mouth, his hand forging an eager path down your body. He palms your tit over your shirt, before grabbing the low collar and yanking it down, baring your nipples to his view one after the other. His whole hand spans your torso as he hooks the lower hem with his thumb, bunching the material until both your belly and tits are bare, your shirt like a handle at your diaphragm that he uses to pound you even harder, watching your body jolt, overpowered by his thrusts.

Airy little wails brush through your lips, the pleasure all too intense and not enough at the same time. You can’t take it anymore, you need something on your clit, and your fingers twitch to seek out that precious target. But he’s already moving, his hips slowing to a lazier pace while his free hand finds some destination at his belt, and what he produces freezes you in your tracks.

“Steady now,” he breathes as he slips a long blade out of his belt and spins it by the hilt, his fingers almost too quick, too tactful for such a brute. 

Instinctual panic grips you at the sight of the weapon, making your legs try to close. But he’s pushed too deep in you, his frame has you pinned open, and there’s nothing you can do against the sheer breadth of his body. Powerless, you simply whimper.

“Wh… what are y--”

“Hush, princess.” 

A flick of his thumb and the vibroblade springs to life, its hum filling the quiet air. He starts to bring the blunt hilt of it down where your body yields to his. Alarm pierces you one final time, but then he touches the pommel, just barely, against the tender swell of your clit.

You want to fucking scream. As if in anticipation of this, he claps his hand over your mouth just in time for you to bite down on his glove while your eyes roll back in a powerful wave of ecstasy. The vibrations surge through the sensitive nerves, lighting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure bliss, and then a low, long growl slips through the helmet’s modulator at the feeling of your walls pulsing tight, strangling his cock. 

His thrusts deepen again, powerful and steady, stroking some devastating spot deep inside you. Your muffled wails get lost in the breath-dampened fabric of his glove while the intense pleasure crests from your clit, higher, higher, lasering in on that intangible cusp and barreling you straight towards it.

You suspend at the peak, all senses failing, and then your orgasm takes you in a riptide, surging through your nerves like liquid fire. The magnitude of it rends you, stronger than you’ve ever felt, dragging you under and forcing you to ride it out while it just pulls and pulls. By the time you regain your sight you’re shaking, waves of bliss still pulsing and crashing through your body in time to the strong rhythm of his hips, the glowing epicenter that unwavering vibration at your clit. 

Sobs wrack your chest, pour out high and lose themselves somewhere in the meat of his hand, and you think you try to catch a few breaths, but you can’t even come down. Boba’s voice cuts through the rush in your ears.

“Good. Good girl.” 

He holds the buzzing hilt of the blade impossibly steady against your clit and that glow is still so bright, twitching, starting to spill through your nerves again and holy shit you think you just might--

“Again.”

Your second orgasm shreds you like a plasma cannon.

You’re blind, numb to everything but the intense pleasure, nerves now as raw and sharp as the edge of the blade itself. His hand is tight over your face and you feel your cunt convulsing and gushing around his cock, slick cum spilling to wet your asscheeks, and it must be your own because his pace hasn’t let up. 

A clatter resounds on the edge of your consciousness and when your eyes come into focus, Boba’s hand is locking into your waist, the blade discarded somewhere in the room. His hips piston hard with a few vulgar slaps of flesh, the head of his cock crushing against your deepest parts before he wrenches out of you and spills over your bare stomach with a strangled roar, gripping himself at the base and thrusting against you as warm, thick ropes paint your skin.

His release is long. Grunts distort into rough static through the vocoder as he rides out the last pulses, until finally he braces himself on the crate beside your head, hunched over you like a beast, his chest plate rolling with heavy breaths. You can only blink at him through hazed, damp eyes, your body feeling weak and utterly fucked dumb. The hand over your mouth slowly unlocks its grip, dragging downwards and leaving you to take shallow gulps of air while he gives your tit a deliberate squeeze. 

And then he drags himself off of you, straightening with an almost-concealed groan as he adjusts himself and leaves you to blink at the dark ceiling, still letting oxygen find your brain. 

When you shakily manage to sit up, you just glimpse him slipping the discarded vibroblade back into his belt and turning towards the door. Even through your dizziness, you scoff. Figures. Bastard is just going to fuck your brains out and then leave you like this.

“You know,” you sigh, watching him and lazily trailing your fingers in a circle on your tummy, enjoying the lingering buzz of your skin and gathering a bit of his spend where it coats you, still warm. “I’d say that tip-off was at least worth a handful of credits in my jar on your way out.”

He turns and looks at you then, the helmet cocking in consideration for a moment. As soon as his attention is on you, your fingers move from his mess on your belly to your mouth, where you slowly suckle him off of your fingers, never once taking your eyes off the visor, a tiny ripple of playfulness wiggling your shoulders and curling your lips.

His shoulders square to you, and that hunter’s stance still makes your chest seize, sends a pulse to your exhausted pussy.

Metal clinks softly as he walks towards you, stepping between your knees until you’re forced to drop your hand from your mouth and look up at him, heart fluttering again. He brushes the knuckle of his forefinger under your chin.

“Fresh out.”

His back turns as you stare, speechless. And then the door swings on its hinges, and Boba Fett is gone.

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett smut #star wars fanfiction #smut #loyalties lie #my works #masterlist

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Eight (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, murder, HEAVY GORE, mentions of FORCED PROSTITUTION.

wc; 12k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If it weren’t for the irritating sun rays landing right on your face and into your eyes, you’d bask in this warm feeling forever. It’s like receiving an embrace from spring, herself. Bright sunlight, tolerable temperatures, bees, flowers, sundresses, picnics and comfortable afternoons in the park with your family. You can’t count how many good memories you have from grass fields and playgrounds in District Four.

Watching Alyssum run around the park, making friends and being a kid while she can is the most satisfying part. You can watch her for hours, lose yourself in her carelessness. Your sister hasn’t got a worry in the world to think about, it makes you envy her. A nice house, warm meals, a loving family. None of you are perfect, but you try to be for her.

There’s a lot she’s going to be missing out on already when it comes to parents. She has you, Reed and Mox to fill those roles for her. You’d like to say she can’t miss something she’s never experienced, you’d be lying, though. You miss a regular teenage life that you never got to live, thanks to the Hunger Games. The Capitol is always ruining something, even if they’re not actively trying.

Which brings you back to reality. As much as you’d like to lay here in the soft blankets and keep to your warm spot on the bed, you’ve got to get moving. If the sun is in your eyes already, it only means that your time is up when it comes to sleeping. Like a natural alarm clock, only somehow more annoying, even if it’s not loud and in your face.

You turn onto your back, slowly opening your eyes. You’re met with a white ceiling, smooth and crack-free. Back home in your room, your ceiling has plenty of cracks. When you don’t feel like getting up immediately, you’ll play a game with yourself. See which ones will start on one side of the room and make it to the other. You’ve gotten good at it, and confidently say that there’s a few that go beyond that, they go to the windowsill. 

With a gentle sigh, you sit up on the bed, turned toward the window, stretching your arms above your head. It feels good to get the blood pumping through your arms and shoulders again. You can’t really help it when the stretch extends down to your legs. A low moan leaves your lips, and stops dead in your throat when your thighs begin to hurt.

You hum, standing on your feet. It hurts at first, but the more you move around the room, the better you begin to feel. You stare out of the window for a couple of seconds to see that the Capitol is already alive. It’s definitely past noon at this point. So much for a rotating schedule with Finnick, you’ve already ruined it.

You look over the room you’re in, which definitely isn’t your own. It’s Finnick’s, with the bamboo bed frame, white sheets and the hammock across his room. You used to hear him say how much he enjoyed your room over his, something about the ceiling to floor windows that you have. Takes up an entire wall, gives you a great view of the city. Better than the tiny windows he has lining the wall.

The clock says that it’s a little after two. You two really have got to start moving before you miss out on anything inside of the arena. Not to mention, poor Gloss is sitting down there alone. He hasn’t had a friend to sit with since six this morning. A whole eight hours can be boring as hell, and quite frankly, lonely. He might have resorted talking to the sponsors, at this point.

Finnick is still sleeping on the bed, of course. His back is turned to the sun, explaining why he hasn’t woken up just yet. It’s not going to stay that way for very long. You’d leave him sleeping up here if it weren’t for the fact that it’s entertaining to see him hungover. It’s not often you get to see him like that, and you’re not really willing to pass up an opportunity. Plus, you might as well keep him around as company so it doesn’t get awkward later.

Before you wake him up, you find and put on your bra. He got to see all of you last night, there’s no reason to continue to walk around shirtless. You pick up your pants, and tank top, as your shoes are kicked off by the door. You begin to pull on your jeans, having to bounce slightly to pull them up all the way, when Finnick rolls over.

He groans, throwing his arm over his face to keep the sun from getting in his face. You’re satisfied to see that he’s about to get the same unpleasant wakening that you got, until you realize that his arm completely blocks out the light. What a shame, you were looking forward to watching him come to life like a zombie.

“Hey,” your voice is soft, not really wanting to disturb the peace. He doesn’t seem to hear you, or maybe you’re too quiet. You speak a little louder, “We should probably get down to the betting room, check on our tributes.”

Finnick freezes, and then jolts upright. His wide eyes land on you easily, face twisting as he slowly thinks over the scene in front of him. You pull on your tank top, raising your eyebrows as you wait for him to come to the conclusion himself. After a couple more seconds, he hums out a small tune and falls back onto his pillows, closing his eyes.

“I thought I was still at a client’s house for a second.” he breathes.

“Good morning,” you muse, “How are you feeling?”

“Besides the pounding headache, my back’s pretty messed up.” his eyes open, giving you a sly smirk. You grab one of his shoes, which aren���t as close to the door as yours are, and chuck it at him. Finnick laughs loudly, catching the shoe before it makes a hole in the wall, “I’m fine, considering that I finished half of your drink last night on top of mine.”

“One of us had to be responsible, and I figured that you wouldn’t want to be the one.”

“The next time we go out, I’m going to make you loosen up.” Finnick says.

“If you’re calling me uptight, I’ll shove a stick up your ass so you can see how it feels.” you lean against the wall.

He rolls his eyes, getting out of bed. He’s got a pair of boxers on, so he’s not completely naked either, “How are you feeling?”

“Well rested, actually. Your bed is pretty comfortable.”

“You’re welcome to sleep here any time.” Finnick says, kicking yesterday’s jeans into the corner, as well as the shirt.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” you snort, collecting your shoes, “I’m going to take a shower and get ready. I’ll see you in the dining room.”

“Sure.”

You leave his room, shutting the door behind you. In your own, you quickly change and throw the dirty clothes off to the side for easy collecting when the avoxes come around later. It’s not as hot inside of the Tribute Center as it was yesterday, but the heat is still apparent enough to be one of the first things on your mind. You settle for a pair of shorts, sandals and a white tank top.

You throw the pile of clothes onto the bathroom countertop. The door whooshes shut behind you, sending a cold breeze of air straight to your back. Much like yesterday, you turn the shower water to cold, just on the verge of being warm. You decide to skip getting your hair wet, since you don’t really have time to mess around. It’s a quick wash with sweet smelling soaps before you’re out again.

As you’re drying yourself with the cyan blue towel, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. And with what you see the first time briefly, you have to go back to check that you saw correctly. A scowl appears on your face when you get closer, fingers gently brushing against your collarbone. Little dark marks litter your skin. 

You press your lips together, staring for a couple of seconds longer. You have no choice, you have to cover these up. So, you pull on your clothes and get to work with the makeup, trying to find colors that’ll cancel out the hickey colors. You spend a good ten minutes blending, color correcting, and starting over when it’s too obvious. When you’re finally done, you can still tell that they’re there, but it won’t be the first thing anyone sees when they look at you.

You’d just wear a regular shirt if it weren’t for the fact that you’re already sweating with the tanktop on. You put on the sandals on your way out, making sure your ring is secured on your hand. Finnick is already sitting at the dining room table when you get out there, hair wet and he’s dressed in pink and white.

“Took you long enough.” he says, stabbing his fork into a pancake piece and placing it in his mouth.

You glare as you sit down on the chair, “I had a problem. Actually, you gave me a couple of problems and I solved them.”

His face twists, eyeing you now, trying to find the difference. When a plate of pancakes is served in front of you, plate hot to the touch, you cut up the pancakes, slightly amused by his determination to try and prove you wrong. Does he really think that he’ll be able to? You’ve gone through this plenty of times before with Anchor.

Finnick shrugs, “Whatever you say.”

At least now you have insurance that you did a good job. Finnick might be some type of moronic but that doesn’t mean he misses details. It’s the small things that you have to look out for. Another skill that you need when you’re mentoring, another thing to add to the list that you’ve gotten good at after these years. From what you remember, Finnick’s not too bad at it, himself.

The avox turns on the tv without either of you asking, but you thank him anyway. As you go for fruits instead of syrup this morning, you catch up on the arena with Finnick. Sanguin is in the cornucopia, a fire going in front of her. She’s got some sort of animal skewered using her sword, roasting it over the fire. She looks pissed, staring into the fire, letting the flames flicker in her eyes. 

You’d like to say that she finally lost her mind, but she lost it a long time ago. Way before Bauhinia. Maybe while she was being strategically trained to think that the other tributes in the arena were animals? Or maybe when she volunteered for the Hunger Games like it would be a walk in the park? It’s hard to say exactly, there’s a lot of moments in these past few weeks where she could’ve gone wrong.

At any rate, she’s got enough water to last her a while. You can confidently say that she won’t be leaving the cornucopia unless it’s to get more food. There’s no way that the sponsors are going to cough up any money just for her to eat. Especially when she’s supposed to be trained for the arena. She should know how to hunt and gather. Besides, you’re sure that Gloss would want them to wait until it’s something important, like that healing cream. Even then, it took a couple of people to pitch in. The prices are getting amped up, it’s harder to pay for things now.

You have a feeling that she’s sitting down there for a reason, instead of going off and trying to hunt down any other tributes. She’s healed by now, you watched her put more healing cream on her body last night before she decided to call it a night. Which means that this morning, the entire wound has got to be gone. She’s still going to be sore when moving around, but that’s an obvious nuisance. She technically should be able to work through it.

So, if she’s not interested in hunting Tekla, that means she’s waiting for Annie to come out of the village. And you’d say that’s a pretty big problem, except for the fact that it’s not. Annie’s got plenty of food and water from her raid on the career backpacks and whatever Marsh was holding before he died. If she doesn’t want to, she won’t have to leave the house unless it’s for some sort of Capitol-generated emergency.

After yesterday, you can’t see them doing something like that. You don’t even think that both tributes dying were intentional. They like to watch the last couple of teens fight it out, since they’re the ones that are either: one, completely trained for the arena and know how to take another tribute out with a simple tree branch and a rock. Or, they’re completely lucky and know how to blend into their surroundings and stay there until the Capitol is forced to step in. They only do it when there’s been several days without any interaction between tributes and the Capitol citizens are starting to riot.

Those tributes are the ones that can go days without food. Water, not so much, but they’ll find a source nearby and stick with it as long as they can without getting suspicious. It’s not an impressive feat to go days without eating, it just goes to show the horrible living conditions inside of the other districts. Fortunately, your family hit rock bottom, but you never had to keep digging.

As for Annie, she’s still looking pretty dead inside of her house. She’s moved to a different corner that gives her a better look to see. It looks like she’ll doze off for a second before jerking upright, hand tightening around her sword. You saw her sleep last night, it was the whole reason why you and Finnick decided it was acceptable to leave the betting room in the first place. With the peace of mind of knowing that Annie was finally getting the rest she needed.

When you were at the bar, you didn’t really keep track of what was going on inside of the arena. Which, looking back on it, probably wasn’t a brilliant idea in the first place. If there was an emergency with Annie, knowing as soon as possible would’ve hypothetically saved her life. But you also just wanted one moment for yourself, with Finnick and a drink. It wasn’t much to ask for, and you’re sure that it was well-deserved. If it wasn’t, Annie would be dead in a ditch right now.

To some extent, she might as well be. While Sanguin is fueled with hate-fire right now--literally. Annie looks like her soul has been ripped out of her body. She’s pale, the previous kind girl light in her eyes is gone. She looks like a corpse, freshly pulled out of the coffin. You wish you’ve seen this before, because maybe that would make it easier to understand why she isn’t grieving like normal. Normally, tributes cry for hours, sometimes days until they have to pull it together to win. Annie is just… she’s completely lifeless. Actually, she looks like she’s given up with trying to survive inside of the arena. Which is a dangerous mindset to adapt, especially now.

Just two more tributes to burn through, all she has to do is hold on. Let Sanguin and Tekla fight it out, hope that one kills the other, and the one gets severely injured enough to bleed out and die. It would make the whole thing a lot easier on her, you know that. The last thing she’d probably need on her plate right now, is another death. She’s already got two genuinely impressive ones--taking out the male careers? You’re the only other person who has done that in the past five years. And she’s witnessed the death that would affect her, and it’s taking its toll already. It’s been two days.

Well, as long as Annie stays where she is, eats, drinks and sleeps when she needs to, she won’t have to worry about anything. However, this idea also goes for Sanguin, on the assumption that Tekla isn’t bold enough to go ahead and attack her uninvited. Sanguin’s also set for days--if she has extra food stored somewhere in the case of emergencies.

The only person that might get bored and start causing havoc is Tekla. She’s in the woods by herself, in a patch of grass unguarded by trees. She lays in the sun with her eyes closed, hands laced behind her head. Looking exactly like she did on the first couple of days inside of the arena. This time, she has a good reason to be carefree. Before, she had more than ten other tributes to worry about, all fighting to go home. Now it’s down to two others. It should be a walk in the park, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s being put up against two careers.

You wonder what her odds look like right now. They hadn’t changed last night, not even after she killed Seven boy. But now that it officially looks like she’s going to make it to one of the final fights and be crowned victor, she’s gotta have moved up. District Nine hasn’t had a victor in a long, long time. Their last one was a guy, and he’s the first male to be put into the mentor spot. If you remember correctly, there’s only five victors in Nine, which means that four of them are female. 

Figures that their new potential victor would be a girl, right?

It looks like you don’t really have anything to worry about arena-wise. Really, if you wanted to, you could just stay inside of the apartment. With half-alive Annie, vengeful Sanguin and cheerful Tekla, it’s safe to say that today’s a free day. Things could change, but that’s just your prediction. The only reason you’d have to go down to the betting room is to show up for Gloss, but he doesn’t really matter, does he? You can just go and see him tomorrow.

“You’ve got a look on your face.” Finnick says, your eyes find him to see that he’s staring.

“So?” you stab a strawberry and place it in your mouth, resisting the momentary sour expression before the sweetness takes over.

“It’s your indecisive look.”

Now, your face twists, “I do not have an indecisive look--”

He laughs, “It’s unmistakable! You get the look when you’re thinking over something important.”

“Like a decision?” you ask, trying to be serious, but you end up laughing.

He seems to let it go for a moment, until he’s looking at you again, “What was it?”

You shrug, “I was just thinking that we wouldn’t have to go down to the betting room if we didn’t want to. The silence in the arena gives us a couple of liberties that we wouldn’t have on a normal day.”

“Oh, so you do have a relaxed side.” Finnick thoroughly enjoys the face you make, raising your fist as a threat to punch him in the arm again. You wonder how far he can push you before you finally give him a nasty bruise, “And you also woke me up for nothing.”

“Technically you woke yourself, I just spoke.” you shrug, “Can I get some more coffee?”

“Might as well go back to bed while I can, then.” Finnick says, but he doesn’t move from where he’s sitting.

You wait, receive your coffee, and let him stare at you for a little while, “What are you waiting for?”

“It wouldn’t be responsible--” he mocks the word in your voice, “--to go back to bed, wouldn’t it?”

You glare, “Finnick, you have the night shift, anyway. Stay awake, go back to bed, get drunk at The Victory Speech, have dinner with Gloss, I don’t give a shit.”

“You seem like you want me to go away.” he says, “I think I’ll stick with you, then.”

“Fine by me.” you scoop up your coffee mug, taking it with you when you go downstairs to sit on the couch. You pull out a coaster to not ruin the pristine glass table.

There’s not much to watch the tributes do at all. Sanguin roasts her food, and you think she ends up daydreaming some, because she burns the bottom side of the meat. Doesn’t even wrinkle her nose or look fazed when she bites straight into that part, even when it disintegrates in her mouth the more she chews. After she’s done eating, she moves to the back of the cornucopia, hiding behind a stack of boxes to take a nap.

Annie turns her knife over in her hand, spinning it between her fingers before she knicks herself one too many times. After that, she settles for pulling out a line of rope from her backpack, tying and untying knots. It’s a common hobby that people use to soothe anxiety and pass time when there’s nothing else to do. Doesn’t surprise you that she’s resorted to this. Although, you do begin to worry slightly when you watch her jump at the slightest of sounds and nearly get up every single time to check.

You’d say it’s a reasonable response, thinking that Sanguin is after her. But the house creaks the same way every time, lets out the same groan each time the wind blows too hard. It’s not like they’re new sounds. She should’ve picked up on this by now, realized that there’s no need to get ready to hurry into battle. Watching her grab her knife, lean forward, and listen for any other sounds over and over begins to make you feel antsy.

“There’s something wrong with Annie.” Finnick says.

You hum, “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you think it is?”

You shake your head, “Still working on that idea.”

“Anything you’ve seen before?”

“If I have, I don’t remember.” You lean back into the couch, “Let’s just wait and see how bad it gets.”

And the truth is, it gets worse, because it can always get worse. The good news is that you’ve figured out how to help her, on top of figuring out the problem in the first place. The bad news is that it requires a sponsor. And like you said earlier, all the prices have gone up. Getting one now would be a nightmare, but you have to try anyway.

As you go down to the betting room with Finnick, you think it over.

Annie is suffering from paranoia. She’s obviously shell-shocked from watching Marsh die, otherwise she would be acting normally. You guess that allowing two tributes that have known each other for a handful of years, go inside of the arena together wasn’t the brightest idea. But it’s not like you could control it. You don’t think that they even planned for it to happen, it was just a coincidence.

This is just one part of the problem, watching Marsh die. She also might be feeling guilty because she didn’t try harder to keep him from going. It makes the most sense. She tried to convince him to stay, but the second he showed resistance, she caved and followed. Guilt like this will haunt someone forever. If she wins, she’ll be stuck with thinking that Marsh could’ve gone a better way.

You know this, because you carry around a considerable amount of guilt, too.

The last part, concerning Annie, is the fact that she hasn’t slept in a while. Paranoia feeds off insomnia. Getting an hour or two of sleep after watching your friend die right in front of you, in arguably one of the worst ways possible, is an unfortunate series of events. She can’t prevent not being able to sleep, so you’ll just help her as best as you can.

When you presented all of this to Finnick, he agreed. Said that he was thinking something along the lines of what you are. The only hiccup that he’s worried about is finding sponsors wealthy enough to sponsor this late into the games. They also have to be betting on her too, so that if she does win, they’ll get the return in full. 

The betting room seems slightly busier than usual. Like you predicted earlier, Gloss decided to go ahead and take company in the Capitol people. Tekla’s mentor seems busy off in the corner, with people that don’t look like they nearly have enough money to sponsor this late in the game. It wouldn’t be any use trying to steal them, just a waste of time.

Gloss knows people, but that would mean to interrupt what he’s doing right now, which seems fairly important. The group of people that Finnick had approved of is thin, pooling their money together wouldn't even buy a loaf of bread. Much less what you’re thinking about right now.

It only leaves a couple of people, ones you haven’t talked to in days. You stop a couple of steps inside of the room, allowing Finnick to come in and shut the door behind him. He waits there for a moment, before coming around the side.

“What are you waiting for?” His voice is slightly hushed. No one has really taken notice of your appearance just yet. If needed, you could probably slip out the door and no one would know the difference. 

You look at him.

You made an agreement, take his advice on who to be around and who to stay away from, and he’ll help you. You thought that it would be easy then, because you didn’t need the sponsors. Annie and Marsh had a strategy down, they didn’t look like they’d be needed help anytime soon. They had everything they needed at the moment. But now that Annie needs something more, you’re stuck.

Having Finnick around to be a second body, a second pair of hands and eyes and ears, has made a difference. You’ve slept well, you’ve been allowed to hang out with friends when given the opportunity, and you can finally pace yourself. No more running around like it’s life or death, or being afraid to sleep because an arena is particularly dangerous. 

However, you can do it alone. Annie’s needs right now is going to come before whatever requirements Finnick has. Bringing a tribute home is crucial, buddying with Finnick is a perk. If he gets mad at you for this, there's always next year.

“I need you to come with me and not intervene, or go back upstairs.” You say, squeezing the finger your ring is on.

His face twists, “It depends—“

“No. You go upstairs, or you don’t intervene.” You start towards the sponsors, “I mean it, Finnick.” 

You’re not even halfway across the room before they spot you. You smile at them, letting them welcome you. When you don’t feel Finnick’s presence behind you like normal, you turn to look. The door is sweeping shut, you briefly catch a glimpse of him leaving. 

The sponsors are happy to see you again, you talk with them for a while, and watch what goes on inside of the arena. It’s all small talk, or questions about what you feel like is going to happen. Until they finally bring up Annie, how she’s doing. And just because you can’t hold it in, you spill it all out, being completely honest with them. 

Annie is hurting right now, and she can’t help it. She can’t simply fall asleep because she’s afraid of the nightmares and the vulnerability that comes with it. There’s always the possibility that her body simply isn’t letting her sleep, too. She’s not physically tired, so why would she lay down and try? So, you think that if you find something that’ll make her drowsy, she’ll feel more inclined to.

You can’t guarantee that it’ll work, but it’s worth a try if it means that she wins the games, right? The sponsors seem to think so, and with a budget, you bring them over to the sponsoring table. Everything under the sun is allowed to be sent to them. Name it, and thye’re probably have it. It’s just the price that makes it impossible to work around.

You know for sure that pills are out of the question. The second you see the price, you’re switching gears. Medicine? Maybe. You look at all the options they have for tributes for when they’re sick. You’ve seen a handful of these brands in District Four, all of them expensive. With the money that the Capitol gives you, you can finally afford them. Which means that Alyssum doesn’t have to suffer through colds like before. The medicine works wonders, but the Capitol version will be too much for her to handle. It might as well be a tranquilizer.

Something more natural, then. Those are always cheaper. You go through it, seeing the little vials of brightly colored liquids and the contents. Ones to make you throw up, give adrenaline if the tribute is dying, allergy medicine to save them from anaphylactic shock. And finally, one for sleeping. Without a moment of hesitance, you tap on it.

They all pitch in a certain amount, allowing the vial to be covered in full. You thank them, with assurance that it won’t go to waste. Annie is a tough tribute, she’ll be able to win. All she needs is a little sleep to reset her body, hopefully start her over. It’s like shutting something completely off before trying again.

You take a breath before writing on the paper, ‘Drink it all’.

You get to stand back and watch as the gamemakers find the best way to send it to her. You don’t doubt that she’ll hear the noise that the gifts make. Especially if she’s hearing noises that aren’t being picked up on the microphones. It’s where they have to drop it off to make sure it doesn’t get caught on anything on the way down, like a corner of a roof.

The chiming is a sound that you still hear in your nightmares. You watch as the silver parachute glides through the air, slowly moving between the houses. At first, it doesn’t seem to alarm Annie, but then she jolts, pauses to make sure she’s hearing it right, and then gets up. She shoves her knife into her belt, carefully goes down the stairs so that it doesn’t break beneath her.

She looks more alive like this, the color has returned to her face slightly, she’s got a smile hinting at the corner of her lips. When she finally comes out of the house, swinging the door open and letting in the natural light, she cries out in shock and covers her eyes. She mutters out a few curse words, squinting through the sun until her eyes adjust.

She spots the gift in the middle of the walkway. The smile grows more, scooping the tin into her hand. She gives the area around her a little look-around before disappearing back into the house, shutting the door and locking it. Even though it looks like the lock won’t do much for her anymore. The doorknob is practically falling off.

She makes it all the way to the third floor, back into the corner of her room. She slips down the wall and pops open the lid of the container. The first thing that Annie sees inside is the note, which she reads over carefully before moving it out of the way for the vial. It’s small, not at all as big as they normally sell them earlier on, but those ones also have the tendency to knock a person out for a whole day. This will just keep her asleep for a few hours, maybe the entire night if she drinks it now. You hope that she’ll be up at a reasonable time tomorrow.

Annie uncaps it carefully, and takes a small sniff. You can’t imagine that she recognizes the smell, even though it is sort-of distinct. If the medicine is fresh, it’ll usually smell sweet. If it’s not, then it’s stale, maybe a little sour. Obviously, one is more desirable than the other, but it works the same either way. Whether or not it’s fresh doesn’t affect the way it works.

When Annie is satisfied with the smell, she goes ahead and caps it again. There’s no directions, so she’s going to have to decide how she wants to do this. The sun will be setting in an hour, maybe two. Annie eats some dry foods, drinks some water. It’s smart, her wanting to get food into her body beforehand. If it were you, you probably would’ve just settled for drinking it straight, it might have worked faster that way.

She drinks it, slipping to the floor. She pulls the sleeping bag over herself, closing her eyes. It’s going to take a second to kick in, but it’s enough time for you to go upstairs and out of the betting room. You’ll be back down here bright and early tomorrow, there’s no point spending more time than you have to.

You thank the sponsors, shake hands and exchange hugs. Before you leave the room, you see that the Afternoon Line Odds are all the same. Sanguin’s is 2-1, Annie is 3-1, Tekla is 7-1. All very good odds, but not as good as Sanguin. Hopefully, that’ll change within the next couple of days. You leave the room before Gloss can see that you’re down there.

You spent a good hour or so just talking to the sponsors. The fastest part was getting them to agree on sending Annie a gift. It wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be. Finnick makes all of them out to be like criminals, constantly looking for their next fix. But they understand that you’re not like that. They can have their eyes on you all they want, it’s not going to happen. 

Just before you go inside of the apartment, you’re sure that Finnick isn’t going to be out in the living room, or he’s not going to be inside of the apartment all together. However, when you step inside, you’re surprised to see that he’s on the couch, his arms crossed. He doesn’t bother to look over, not even after you shut the door. You almost feel guilty for doing what you did.

Almost.

You sit on the couch next to him, pull your legs up beneath you, and sit in silence. There’s no point to try and talk to him right now. You know that he’d probably like a moment to cool off. It might even be better if you didn’t sit in here at all, so he won’t be fuming next to you. But it’s not like you have much of a choice. You can’t just go back downstairs and sit in the betting room, that would be stupid. If Finnick’s right about the sponsors, there’s no reason to stay around them more than you have to.

So, silence it is. It’s a while before either of you have anything to talk about. Annie should be asleep by now, an entire hour later. There’s no way that the vial would take more than five minutes, even with a full stomach. Still, you watch as her eyes open, a frown appearing on her face, eyebrows turning in.

Your mouth falls open, you stand from the couch, “That’s not good.”

“What did you give her in the first place?” Finnick asks.

“It’s one of those natural sleeping medicines, the expensive ones?” you briefly look at him, before you go back to the tv, “Costed a fortune, so it should’ve worked. The gamemakers wouldn’t send a dud, right?”

“Probably not.” 

You sit back down onto the couch, hands falling into your lap. You made sure that it was the sleeping medicine, and not the sick stuff either. The only other option that was left for Annie besides this, was the herbal tea. And that shit hardly ever works for you, or your siblings when you use it back home. The most the tea would do anyway, is make her drowsy, not even a guarantee.

It’s a good thing that you didn’t even consider the tea, because if the vial did nothing, Annie would be able to drink the entire box of tea and still not feel a single thing. The medicine was a waste of money, and who knows what it’s going to do to her. Make her even more delirious than she already is? Like she, or you guys, need that at all. You were already worried over her paranoia, now you’ve got to be worried about her accidentally killing herself?

There’s nothing you can do about it now. You’ve just got to sit back and wait to see if it kicks in, after all. There’s no point in going downstairs to tell the sponsors it was some sort of mistake, because you really didn’t know that this was going to happen. If you did, you probably wouldn’t have bothered in the first place. Everything is worth a try until it’s wasting resources. You might have been able to use the sponsor money later on.

Still, you have to sit and painfully watch as Annie progressively gets worse. Turns out, that if you don’t fall asleep with the medicine, it starts to work as a hallucinogenic. On top of Annie’s paranoia, she’s not hallucinating she’s hearing noises, and maybe even seeing things. You close your eyes and rest them against your palms when you lean forward, not really liking to hear Annie go through it.

It’s stupid. You’re not even sure how Annie’s resisting the drug, anyway. She’s not doing it on purpose, she clearly recognized the smell if she laid down immediately after. And it’s not like they had any sort of drugs available for hallucinations. No mentor would willingly give their tributes something like that, so why would it be offered?

No matter what happens, though, you’re glad to see that Annie doesn’t leave the house. She stays where she is, clutching onto her knife, staring into space. She’s just like how she was before you sent her the sponsor gift. Only this time around, she’ll randomly jump as if there’s been a loud sound, and then her eyes will follow things in front of her, even when there’s nothing there.

Elysia comes into the apartment around the same time you guys normally eat dinner, a little out of breath, “Oh, there you guys are!”

You look over your shoulder to see that she’s dressed in lime green and black. The black helps accentuate the green part, which you’re not really sure is a good thing. You’re sure that everyone can see her coming from a mile away, literally. 

“You were looking for us?” you ask, she nods, heading over to you and Finnick.

“In the betting room, I thought you’d be down there since you normally are.”

Figures that the one time you wouldn’t be down there, she’d go, “Looked like there wasn’t much going on today so I thought we could stay up here. I only went down there to send the gift.”

“I saw that.” she says, “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

You three do it over dinner. With Elysia hardly eating and doing most of the talking, Finnick watching the tv and only chiming in when he’s needed, and you trying to do all three at the same time. It’s easy for the most part. Remember when you said that you got good at multitasking? This is an example of that.

She mostly tells you what you already figured out, which is that it turns out to be a hallucinogenic after a while. It should wear off, but it’ll take hours to do. Like, for the amount of time she should have been asleep for. She’s already got a couple of hours under her belt, you’d say that by tomorrow morning, she’ll be back to normal. So, there’s no reason to sit around and wait. 

You and Finnick can get a full night of sleep for once. You just have to get up early tomorrow morning to assess the damage. You’re sure that it’ll be fairly easy to do, you’ll have to get yourself into the habit of waking up early again, anyway. You’ve got the boarding school to worry about. Anchor won’t want to do it alone forever.

Before you give it up tonight, you check the tv one last time. Annie is in her room, so she’s fine. Sanguin looks like she’s officially laying down to sleep, her weapons are displayed around her, all ready to be picked up and used at any time. As for Tekla, she’s made a bed in her little clearing in the trees. However, she’s bold, with a fire going that is distinguishable in the dark. She’s lucky that the back of the cornucopia is turned towards her, otherwise Sanguin would be more than tempted to take Tekla out.

You head back to your room after dinner, mainly to brush your teeth. You pace in your room for a moment, caught in the decision of whether or not to talk to Finnick or to leave him to be angry on his own. You’re sure that he’d appreciate being by himself, but there’s also this morning and last night to talk about. You can’t really just leave those alone, who knows what kinds of problems they’ll cause in the future.

“Okay.” you sigh, heading out of your room and to his. You knock on his door, waiting a second, “Finnick?”

It’s a couple more beats of silence, “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

You open the door to see that Finnick is sitting on the corner of the bed. He looks up when you step inside, you shut it behind you, and lean against the door, “I’m sorry about earlier. I know we had an agreement, but the sponsors were at my disposal. I decided that I might as well, because I was sure that it would work.”

“And it should’ve.” Finnick mutters, “I would just like it if you wouldn’t go and do it again.”

“Yeah, I won’t. I don’t even have the options for it.” you laugh slightly, he cracks a smile, “You should probably know that I prioritize my mentoring job over everything else. If it’s the needs of the tributes versus you, I’m going to pick the tributes every time.”

“I know, you don’t have to be sorry for it.”

“Good, cause I wasn’t.” you grin.

Finnick rolls his eyes, “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“You can probably guess what it is.” 

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the horribly covered up hickeys, would it?” He’s cheeky now.

“Maybe.” you give him a soft smile, “I’d just like to know what we’re doing, and if we’re going to continue on with it.”

Finnick makes a face, “This is going to sound like shit, but I’ll go with what you want.”

“You’re right, it does sound like shit.” he laughs first, and then you join in, “The thing is, Finnick, is that I don’t have a problem with it. But the last time I checked, you were the one that told me that we weren’t good together. So are you sure that you’ll go with what I want, or are you going to break up with me in a couple of months after you realize it again?”

Finnick opens his mouth, and then closes it. “I deserve that.”

“It wasn’t an explanation, Finnick. In fact, it made things worse when we were just fine on the train, and then you come back from seeing Snow and--!” you’re shaking your head, giving yourself a moment before you start speaking again, “and suddenly I was supposed to know that we weren’t together anymore.”

“But you know why now, right?” Finnick asks.

“Parts of it.” you rub on the ring, “I know that it was because of Snow and the sex work. He made you break up with me to make you more available to the Capitol, right?”

“No, I actually made that decision myself.” he says.

You raise your eyebrows.

Finnick stares, tilts his head for a moment like he’s unsure, “There’s more to it.”

You wait, thinking that he’s just going to give up the information, but he doesn’t, “Okay…?”

“I don’t want to make you feel guilty.”

“Then why’d you say anything at all?” 

He laughs, “To not make me look like an asshole.”

You snort.

“Alright well,” Finnick pauses, “President Snow had me taken to his mansion after the train, you know this. He told me that it’s not uncommon for victors to be well received by the Capitol, but I was different because I was handsome or whatever,” his face twists, “And since I was sixteen, I was finally eligible since it’s more morally correct to sell a teen into sex slavery when they’re sixteen and not fourteen.

“Snow said that I didn’t have a choice. I had to get into it or…” Finnick shakes his head, “There wasn’t even an or at the time. He just said that it was something I had to do, and I told him no, because I was finally feeling better and I had you. Then he urged me to say yes, didn’t even tell me that there would be consequences, so I told him no again….”

He’s angry, “And he fucking killed my entire family, gave the order right in front of me. I thought he was kidding, like it was some sort of sick joke until I had to fucking listen to it.” Finnick looks at you, “He didn’t even flinch when the screaming started, or when my brother started crying. I didn’t even know what to do. And after it was over he told me that the next person he’d kill next would likely be you, or your family if he could get to them. Or worse, sell your body too.”

You can feel the blood drain from your face.

“And I didn’t want that to happen, so I said yes. And then I broke up with you because I hoped that it would make the decision a whole lot easier but I think…” he grits his teeth, “I know it would’ve been easier with you to support me.”

No words form in your mouth, you stand in silence as you try to absorb the information.

“I’m…” your eyebrows draw in, “...selfish.”

“No.” Finnick says, “You’re not. You didn’t know, how were you supposed to? I told you nothing, I wanted a clean cut but it turned out to be messy, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, Finnick?” you look at him, “I’ve been giving you a hard time--why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you come around later?”

“Because you moved on, like you should’ve.”

“I didn’t!” you laugh, moving forward, “Finnick, I hardly spoke to anyone after the year we broke up. My brothers fucking hated you for that entire year because of it. It took forever to convince them otherwise. The entire time, I was hoping that you were going to come around and tell me that it was some stupid prank. I would’ve forgiven you!”

He gives you a smile, “It’s better that I didn’t.”

You give him a look, and then sit on the hammock, “I guess that explains a lot.”

“You guess?” He laughs, “That’s it?”

“There’s not much to say, Finnick.” you shrug, “You said you didn’t want to make me feel guilty and I do anyway.”

“I didn’t have a choice. If you want, you could thank me for saying yes.”

You stare at him, he develops a cheeky smile, “Come on, that was mildly funny.”

“Mildly is the key word.”

The two of you sit in silence for a second, and then you dip your head, “I would be willing to give it another try, if you are.”

“Yeah.”

He’s got a grin on his face, like you just told him he’s getting a car for christmas.

“My brother’s will have to warm up to you again.” you warn him.

“Okay! They liked me before, right? What’s one more time?”

“They hardly give out second chances so you’ll have to consider yourself lucky.”

Finnick softly smiles, “I already am.”

--

A sharp pain in your chest wakes you in the morning. Your eyes shoot open, sitting upright in bed. It spreads immediately, like your heart is pumping it out; the source of the problem. You try and take a deep breath, hoping that you’ll get your mind off of it, but it makes the pain worse. Mid-breath, you stop, and exhale too deeply, causing another shock to go through you.

A groan leaves your lips, tears appearing in your eyes. You carefully get out of bed, wanting to be on your feet, hoping that laying down was the problem. You make no sudden moves, allowing the blood to make its way to your feet as you pace the room. With your palm, you rub small circles around your chest, which seems to relieve some of the pressure.

The clock on the stand reads eight in the morning, four hours before you actually have to get up and get ready for the day. You have a feeling that if you go and lie back down now, right when the pain is beginning to subside, you’re only going to make it worse. Plus, you don’t think that you’ll be able to fall back asleep, not with the adrenaline running through your body.

You take deep breaths when it doesn’t hurt, starting to feel dizzy from the self-hyperventilation. In no time, the pain is almost completely gone, only lingering in aches every now and then. You stand around for a few minutes longer, watching the sun rise high enough to finally come through the window before deciding that you might as well get ready.

The Tribute Center seems to have found its happy medium between too hot and too cold, as last night it was like existing in a frozen tundra. You’re lucky that the blanket they provide retains heat, otherwise you would’ve been bundled up a lot more than you were. Because of this, you think that you can settle for a lukewarm shower.

You lock your bedroom door before disappearing into the bathroom. The shower runs in the background as you undress, throwing all the dirty clothes by the door. You look over the tattoo on your collarbone, which is practically done healing by now. With the cream that the tattoo artist gave you, it doesn’t take weeks to heal like it does in the districts. As for the one on the back of your neck, it looks like it was done yesterday, when really it was years ago.

When you step inside the shower, you allow the water to run through your hair. You might as well wash it today. The shampoo you use smells like straight sugar, same goes for the conditioner. The bottle says it’s good for your hair, but the list of chemicals on the back is seriously concerning. The bathroom provides a matching body wash that smells exactly like the shampoo. You know for a fact that you saw a body lotion in one of the drawers, a part of you wonders if that’ll be overkill.

You turn the shower off and let the machines dry your body and hair. You decide to use the body lotion anyway, and by the time you realize that it’s glittery, it’s too late. You stare at your hands for a couple of minutes in shame, watching the white shimmer in the light. However, when it’s completely spread over your body and dried, it doesn’t transfer onto your surroundings, so that’s a good sign.

You brush your teeth while manually putting your hair together. You go for half-up, half-down since it’ll keep most of the hair out of your face. In the end, you still pull out a few strands to make sure that your face isn’t bland. Before you can do anything else, you have to get dressed.

The dresser holds plenty of skirts to work with, which you’re not opposed to. You sift through them, figuring that white will be fine. When you hold it up to your hip, you see that the skirt ends above the knee, so Finnick won’t have a reason to freak out. As for the shirt, you settle for a light pink, scoop neck bodysuit, with white underwear. When you finally get the entire outfit put together, you look at yourself in the mirror.

You’re very pretty today. The skirt doesn’t ride up too bad, even when you move quickly. The bodysuit prevents anything serious from showing, just in case the skirt does find a way to get stuck, or you spin too fast. You apply mascara, pull on white slip-on tennis shoes and the ring. Needless to say, you’re looking extremely girly today.

The clock says it’s reaching nine, you’d say that breakfast will take thirty, and then you can meet Finnick in the betting room at ten. So, you go out to the dining room to see that Elysia is nowhere to be seen. You refuse to believe that she left before you got up, she has to be sleeping in. Normal Capitol people stay up late and rise at noon. But then again, Elysia is an escort and she’s far from normal sometimes.

An avox turns on the tv, so you sit down at the table and wait as they serve brunch in front of you. It’s hashbrowns, steak, and a bowl of assorted fruit. You pick through your food, not super hungry and in the mood for all of it. Nevertheless, you’re sure to thank the avox that serves it to you, and continues to come back around to give you orange juice and coffee.

The arena screen is split into three, which isn’t new. It was like this last night, since there aren't many tributes to focus on at the moment. If there’s only three, you might as well show all of them and what they’re doing. At least one of them has to be doing something mildly interesting.

Tekla is still in her small clearing in the trees, which is fairly close to the dam, now that the gamemakers have marked it on the map. It’s a beautiful place to rest, you’d even picnic there if you had the opportunity. It’s not a good spot, though. It’s too close to the dam, too easy to kill her if and when it breaks. Still, she lays on her back, eyes closed. You can’t tell if she’s awake or not, but you’re going to guess that she is, judging by how her hands are intertwined over her stomach.

If she were sleeping, she’d probably be more annoyed by the sun. Instead, she’s directly under it, which might actually end up giving her a sunburn if she isn’t careful. That’ll be miserable to work with inside of the arena. You can’t even do anything to remedy the burn this far in, except for natural leaves and plants. You can’t think of any off the top of your head that you’ve seen so far.

Sanguin is in the cornucopia, she’s awake and stretching. She doesn’t look tired, despite the fact that it’s obvious that she just got up. Judging by her ratty blonde hair and the way her face twists each time she leans over. She stands up straight, and then grins slightly, turning around and going back inside. She combs through her hair with her fingers and sits on the edge of a box, sword right next to her. Maybe she’s planning on going out hunting today? You hope she doesn’t actually think she’ll get anything out of the village.

Especially with how awful Annie is looking. She’s got her arms wrapped around her body, knees pulled to her chest. The good news is that she looks to be asleep, mouth slightly open, leaned up against the connecting wall in the corner. But she’s got deep purple bags beneath her eyes, she’s only recently fallen asleep. You wonder how long it’ll last before she’s jolting awake.

It’s good that she’s sleeping, with no thanks to the medicine that you sent her. It probably drove her insane into early this morning, like you said would happen last night. You’d say that it’s a good thing, but with the way that Sanguin keeps looking to the village, it’s not. Annie needs to get up and be ready for a fight. Unfortunately, there’s no way you can warn her of this. You’re all out of options.

You finish your food, thank the avoxes, and leave for the betting room. There’s not a lot going on right now, it’s early morning. Everything big that happens in the arena is normally dedicated towards the afternoon to the evening, for the gamemakers at least. As for the tributes, they’re welcome to make and wreak havoc as they please, when they see fit. 

The betting room is quiet and empty when you get down there. Finnick and Gloss are sitting by each other on the couch. You hold the doorknob on the door, carefully setting it against the doorframe so that they won’t hear you. If they thought that you scaring them was bad when they were semi-expecting you, it’s going to be worse when you’re supposed to be sleeping.

You stand behind them for a moment, squinting down at them, wondering if they have the same sixth sense that you do when people are standing over you. Your question is answered when Finnick barely glances over his shoulder, and then jumps three feet in the air when he realizes that they’re not alone. Gloss has the same moment, inhaling sharply.

A laugh erupts from you as you go around the couch to sit on the arm next to Finnick, “You two are too easy.”

“You’re like a fucking ghost, I didn’t even hear you come in.” Gloss says.

“That was on purpose.” you cross a leg beneath your thigh, “Woke up early by accident, thought that it wouldn’t hurt to come down and keep you two company for a little while.”

“Well, the afternoon schedule was nice while it lasted.” Finnick mutters.

Your face twists, you look down at him, “You’re a bad liar. There’s no way you like waking up at midnight and going to bed at noon.”

Finnick tilts his head for a moment, making a face, “I mean…”

You slap the side of his head before he can say anything else, “You don’t have to prove you’re a teenage boy.”

The Morning Line Odds say that everyone is still at where they were yesterday, so there’s no need to take in new information. You’re really just left to sit and wait for anything important to happen inside of the arena. In the meantime, you talk to Finnick and Gloss about the unusual silence. With your guys’ luck, it’s not going to last very long. There’s no way that the gamemakers will allow two normal days in a row.

However, today’s the ninth day of the games. You’re sure they’re going to want to keep it going on for a little while longer, so maybe they will allow fate to be in the tribute’s hands. In that case, you all might as well buckle up for a long day, because it’s going to take hours for Sanguin to make it to Annie, with the pace she’s going right now.

It’s almost ten in the morning when people begin showing up inside of the betting room. All brightly dressed, and particularly chatty this morning. This is when you decide to officially sit between Finnick and Gloss, not wanting the sponsors to see that you’re in a skirt today. Finnick seems happy, which is all that matters.

Unfortunately, Annie wakes up. She jolts, eyes flying open as she reaches for her knife. She gets to her feet without a word, carefully making her way across the bedroom to the window, where she rubs it down to look outside of it. Her eyebrows are drawn together, staring straight at the dam. 

She seems satisfied for a second, gently nodding to herself. She goes to move away, until Sanguin comes into clear view. For half a second, you think to yourself that it’s a good thing that Annie is paranoid, because she just spotted the threat she’s been waiting for. After that, Annie scoops up all of her belongings, not leaving a single trace that she was there, besides the now-clean window.

She carefully goes down the steps, making it to the base floor without falling through the floorboards. Outside, she takes a deep breath, shuts the door and tries to jam some rocks beneath the door to make it harder to open. She tiptoes in grass to make sure that there’s no footprints, makes it a few houses over before she even considers walking through the dirt again.

None of it matters in the end.

A thunderous crack echoes throughout the arena so loudly that it breaks the microphones and makes several people scream out in surprise. You all watch in deafening silence as the dam continues to crack, and water begins to spurt out in large streams.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Today is the day.

You stand from the couch, moving a few feet forward to see better. Finnick and Gloss join you, not a single word passes between you three as you watch in awe. If such small cracks are already sprouting in streams big enough to create rivers, then how will the rest of the water fare? You have no choice but to wait and watch.

The screen is now in four, with one long screen on top completely dedicated to the dam, and three bottom squares for the tributes.

Tekla is on her feet, already rushing down the hill. She’s got no weapons on her hand, no backpack to weigh her down. She’s left it all behind in her peaceful circle in the woods. She whips through bushes, swings around trees, barely makes it over root and rocks on her way down. She’s freaked, struggling to keep her hair out of her face, constantly tucking it behind her ears.

Her feet look like they have a mind of their own, though. With the way that she goes down, it’s almost like she’s dancing, how flowery it is. However, her panic isn’t easily masked. She’s obviously shaking, and sometimes she’ll fuck up and have to catch herself before it’s too late.

Sanguin is standing on top of the hill, everything still on her as she stares at the water making its way towards her. Her eyebrows are pushed together, trying to assess the situation and if it’s worth worrying over. The answer is yes, because it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the concrete blows, and she’s left with a real problem. She slowly turns her back to it, picking up her pace, jogging through the grass. She’s still carrying all of herself.

And finally, Annie is also running through the buildings, just as panicked as Tekla is. The only thing that Annie has is her knife, clutched with white knuckles. She’s as white as a sheet too, breathing heavily through her mouth. You can empathize with her, even if she’s a while away, she knows that she can still be reached.

Another large crack sounds, Tekla slaps her hands over her ears and risks a glance behind her. There’s a jagged horizontal crack that runs from the right side to the left. It’s a matter of time before it goes. The concrete is spider-webbing, developing into a worse problem. Tekla tries to quicken her pace, but there’s only so fast you can go downhill before you risk hurting yourself.

Sanguin has dropped her things, running as fast as she did to catch up with Bauhinia. Her feet slam into the ground, and launch her forward another couple of feet before she’s connecting with the dirt again. She makes it across the second lower clearing, going uphill again. Those hills are going to be an absolute killer when it comes to the water.

The gamemakers are evil. It’s been exactly nine days, ten minutes and forty seconds since the tributes got inside of the arena. You said a week and a half? It hasn’t even been that. They’re in a hurry to get the big event over before one tribute can kill another. Why? Because it’s more fun cheering on the running tributes than watching them kill each other. It’s like betting on a running horse, who’s going to make it to the finish line first?

Annie stops, taking in deep breaths as she watches the dam through a row of trees. She’s able to watch as the final crack breaks the dam open like an egg. Concrete and debris go flying into the trees as the water creates a nasty flattening path through the woods. Almost every tree that the front water initially hits, is uprooted and brought with.

Tekla’s scream is piercing, lasting a couple of seconds before she’s completely cut off. She doesn’t die immediately, you’re able to watch as the water brings her along. She’s suspended in the middle, legs kicking, hands wrapped around her throat. She has half the mind to hold her breath, so that’s good news. The bad is that she’s a quarter mile underwater. There’s no way she’ll make it to the surface in time, if she did know how to swim.

You think you’ll have to watch her drown when she runs out of air, but an entire tree branch goes straight through her back and out the middle of her chest. Bubbles erupt around her face, hands grabbing the wood just before the cannon sounds. One down, three to go.

Sanguin has one more hill to make it up before she’s in the village. Her arms are pumping, face a bright red, her glances over her shoulder are quick and spared. She doesn’t do it often because it slows her down, it’s a brief check to see how far ahead she is in front of the water. And the truth is that it’s catching up on her. Just like you said, the hills are a nightmare.

Not only because she has to run up them, which tires her out more. But because the water gains momentum and unpredictability with every hill it surges over. The water doesn't seem to endlessly pour out of the dam, though. It seems like the gamemakers had a prepared forcefield. They just wanted to let out a controlled amount of water. Big enough to kill a couple of tributes before it thinned out and became a minimal threat.

Sanguin starts uphill the same moment the water hits the hill just behind her. Down it goes for a couple of seconds, before it’s surging above her in a giant wave. Sanguin makes it into the village, running beneath the roofs as if it’ll protect her from the water. She runs straight for a while, before starting to zig zag towards the corner. 

She must realize that it’s not worth it, and that the diagonal running only slows her down, because she goes back to running straight, heading closer and closer to where Annie had been staying. 

Speaking of which, Annie’s on the run again. You can tell that she’s keeping track of the height of the water. Even though the houses are decades old, they seem to be slowing down the water, since they’re all individually filling up inside. Sanguin doesn’t seem too focused on the fact, mostly wanting distance. She’s almost on the brink of losing it, though. Her steps are getting sloppier the more she goes.

Annie goes around a corner and into an alleyway, effectively blocking the water from her sight. It’s stupid, she’s not going to be able to keep track of it the same way she has. Sanguin has a point when it comes to running straight away from the water.

And then she starts climbing the walls. With how narrow the walkway is, she can scoot her way up little by little. It burns a lot of her time, and cranks up your anxiety, watching her do this. You know that she’s trying to get herself above the tide now. The houses where she’s at, are at least two stories tall each, not counting the roof.

Annie grabs the gutters, using her arms to pull her onto the red-orange shingles. You get a glimpse from where she’s at now to see that the water is lower, but she’ll still have to swim, even if she gets onto the high point of the roof. She takes one last look at her knife before she frisbee’s it to her right, making sure that it’s far away from her when the water does come.

Sanguin is losing ground. Soon, she’ll be stuck swimming too. It seems like that their times are lining up. Annie bends her knees, cracks her fingers, prepares her arms. Sanguin’s glances get more and more frequent, anticipating the moment the water hits her.

Annie dives straight in, letting the water welcome her. She doesn’t waste time, swimming straight to the top. Her face is serious, she has her eyes locked on the surface, kicking her legs hard, arm over head. While Sanguin holds her breath, fingers squeezing her nose shut, eyes following the structures in front of her. She narrowly misses the wall of the first house, before slamming right into the neck.

Just like with Tekla, there’s a large burst of bubbles. Sanguin struggles now, trying to swim to the top. She makes a few inches at a time, but it’s hardly noticeable, or comparable with how well Annie is doing. In fact, she’s reached the surface already, inhaling loudly.

The water directs Sanguin into a wall again, this time her head cracks against the wall. The water turns a light shade around her head, and it’s minutes before the cannon finally sounds. Which signals the water to drain, lowering Annie onto a roof nearby.

Her dark hair is stuck to her face and neck, clothes completely drenched. Her mouth is slightly parted, breathing loudly.

You grab onto Finnick’s arm, “Oh my god.”

“Congratulations, guys.” Gloss has got a grin on his face, he slaps you on the back.

“She did it.” you say, “Annie’s done it!”

Claudius Templesmith’s, the announcer, voice comes over the arena, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games, from District Four, Annie Cresta!”

Annie’s face drains of color again, before it’s bursting in red, “I win.” she murmurs at first, barely audible, before tears of relief are filling her eyes. Much louder, this time she screams; “I win!”

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

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[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 76-79

Chapter 76

Andi has a nice little poetic nightmare. It’s irrelevant. The next morning has the girls preparing for the ball, complete with dresses and makeup.

Some things to note include Lira saying that in Adhiran religion (which is global, I guess), one has to mourn for three days before “letting” the souls of the dead pass on into ... everything.

Andi tries to say that it’ll take time to heal from it all, but Lira is having none of it.

“It will take time to move past what happened on Adhira,” Andi started, but Lira held up a hand.

“My three days of mourning have passed. Lon’s and my aunt’s, too. Now we, and the others who lost loved ones during the attack, must give the lost spirits to the stars, to the trees, to the wind.”

Which basically means that she’s done feeling bad about the unexpected and brutal attack on her home planet, so that’s convenient. Well, if one of our main characters doesn’t care about her people getting senselessly murdered, then why should we?

She also lets us know that her aunt has fixed up the Marauder and brought it here, because of course. Lira wants to arrange for Lon to be transferred to the Marauder, and though she has a logical reason for it (taking him home personally), it’s only a setup so we know why he’s on there at the end of the book when Andi’s bleeding out and needs a universal donor.

Spoilers, I guess.

Andi’s mother, Glorya, intercepts Andi as she tries to leave her crew to their makeover montages, just so we can move into a scene where her mom is brushing her hair and babbling on about gossip and vapid high society stuff.

But Andi, of course, gets lost in a flashback that’s so amateurishly written it’s honestly embarrassing and only highlights Shinsay’s helpless reliance on flashbacks as a storytelling device.

Observe:

Her words faded away as memories took their place. Andi lost herself to them.

The whole flashback is written in italics for some inexplicable reason, even though it would’ve been fine as just regular text since we’re clearly told what’s happening now and what’s a memory.

Also, there’s one bit where the memory “fast-forwards” to a different one. Shinsay, this isn’t a fucking movie. This isn’t a screenplay. What the fuck are you DOING.

The flashback and the mother’s inane babbling are all there to illustrate how vapid and brainless Glorya is and how she only ever cared about her status and not about her kid. Glorya pretends that everything is back to the way it was but Andi curses her out for abandoning her when she needed them most and how “the way it was” was actually always shit.

I mean it’s fine. It’s all right. I see what they’re going for, it’s melodramatic as all fuck but it works for what they’re trying to do? I can see this as being a realistic way for an emotionally neglectful family to look like. I wish it was more nuanced and wasn’t just shoe-horned in here (Glorya doesn’t show up before or after this bit, this is the only time she’s ever present or even mentioned in this book in any meaningful capacity) for the sake of making Andi’s friends look better and for her to not have anything that anchors her to Arcardius, but like, I won’t say this isn’t realistic.

And then Shinsay can’t stop themselves and it’s back to silly time:

“Really, Androma...” 

[...]

“That is not my name,” Andi whispered. She allowed the darkness to come up into her voice, the mask of shadow and steel to sweep across her face. “My name is the Bloody Baroness. And if you or Commander Racella ever so much as utter a single word toward me or my crew again, I will personally strip the skin from your body and wave it like a flag from my starship.”

Glorya let out a soft squeak. Andi snarled with all of her teeth.

Guys I can’t breathe this is too fucking funny. And not in a good “woo vindication!” sort of way, but in a “they really put this right after an emotional confrontation about parental emotional neglect/abuse huh?” way. They really thought this was ... badass? Revenge? Andi, sweetie, you’re, like, traumatized? Presumably? I can’t really tell. But maybe get some therapy?

Do Shinsay think this is somehow a win and that Andi’s threat means she’s fully released from the hurt and pain her parents have caused her through their neglect? It’s honestly written as if Andi just confronted her mother and her own hopes of coming back to her family in this one short scene, and then upon realizing her parents never loved her, she scares her mom a little and then is all smug and satisfied at the end.

That ain’t how it works, darlings.

Then the annoying Marketable Space Pet runs in and starts biting Glorya’s toes and she runs away shrieking like a defeated Disney villain.

Way to undercut your own drama, Shinsay.

The chapter ends with Andi thinking about how her crew is her True Family for the bajillionth time. Because we’re all idiots and Shinsay wants us to remember that.

Chapter 77

It’s the evening of the ball and Andi thinks about how she missed Bavista, which is apparently your generic coming-of-age ball held at Arcardius for every 16-year-old. I’m guessing it’s a yearly thing? The book never clarifies. Not sure why the fuck it’s here tbh.

Actually, it’s a pretty good demonstration of how the worldbuilding in this book is presented so here, have at thee:

She could still remember seeing the otherworldly dresses and suits float by her on the feeds as she watched the girls and boys glide into the A’Vianna House in the Glass Sector. They seemed light as air, full of pride, bursting at the seams with excitement. Once inside, they would be greeted by members of the Priest Guild, who would award each young person three items.

The first was a vial of water from the Northern Ocean, symbolizing strength. For growth, they accepted a single leaf from the oldest tree on Arcardius, known as The Mother, which was said to have been planted when the Ancients first arrived. Lastly, they were given a single floating pebble, no larger than a child’s fingernail, chiseled from the very gravarock where the Cortas estate was. It represented the wisdom of rising above.

Is this relevant to anything? Does this help you understand this world or its inhabitants? Does it tell you anything of the culture of Arcardius or its youth and what’s expected of them? No? It’s just a really generic list of things thrown together using Mystical Proper Nouns as glue? Weeell heeell.

Also what does “it represented the wisdom of rising above” mean? This is utterly generic and means fuck-all, that’s what.

Anyway, Andi’s admiring herself in the mirror. Her dress is very sexy, trust me, I can’t be bothered to include it so just imagine your favorite My Immortal outfit description. It does include sword holsters at the back, which are Andi’s favorite part, because she’s a strong independent woman who don’t need no man. She never actually uses them or brings the swords to the ball so ... Idk what the point of this was.

We also get some shit about how Andi actually LOVES dresses and being pretty but she never admitted it to anyone. But don’t you worry, this badass space criminal LOVES all things girly, because that’s feminism! Can someone check in on Shinsay? I’m not sure they’re getting enough air with their heads so far up Sarah J Maas’ asshole.

Admitting to herself that she looked pretty was something Andi kept private. She didn’t want to give her crew the satisfaction of knowing her true thoughts about fashion. How even though she was a fierce, hardened criminal, she could still appreciate the joy of a beautiful, impractical ball gown.

Huh. And here I thought they were your family. That’s weird that you’d keep this information from them, especially considering all of them seemed pretty excited to be prettied up in the last chapter. I guess they’d really just haaate the idea of sharing this joy with their captain, huh? Why aren’t you admitting this to them, Andi?

You’re saying shit about how “even though” you’re a hardened criminal, you can “still” appreciate beautiful gowns, like those two are somehow contradictory. Are you, mayhaps, ashamed of having this traditionally girly interest? Hmm! Interesting. Why could that be, I wonder? Why would having traditionally feminine interests or even caring about one’s appearance be seen as something inherently shameful or embarrassing, as inherently contradictory to being fierce and “hardened?”

This is all just so *clenches fist* feminist.

Forreal though, somehow Shinsay managed to take their entire made up GALAXY and make it subtly and not-so-subtly sexist. Good job, morons. Really girlbossed that one, huh?

The only bit I like about this whole mess is this:

The dressmaker had also accented her gown with a sparkling necklace full of jewels that Andi didn’t plan on giving back.

This is the one and only space pirate-y thing Andi does -- sorry, considers doing -- in the whole book and honestly could’ve been used to build her character more, but it’s just a one-off joke here. Wasted.

Valen comes to fetch her and we get some subtle foreshadowing.

“Valen the Resurrected.”

He stopped to look at her, brows raised. “What?”

She shrugged. “It’s what the press is calling you in all the feeds.” Valen let out a deep chuckle.

[...]

“Something tells me things are about to change for the better,” he said. “I’m ready to see it all happen.”

Andi wondered what he would do now that he was home with a whole planet at his disposal.

He deserved to have some fun.

Is it bad that I’m rooting for Valen to destroy everything? And this isn’t my villain-fucker coming out, I just want this poor bastard to absolutely annihilate Andi and her gang of acolytes.

Chapter 78

Andi and Valen arrive at the ball. It’s all very pretty and space-y and aesthetic. There’s a bunch of aliens everywhere. Andi sees a woman with funky eyes and assumes it’s a body mod, because I guess she knows the genetic characteristics of every species by heart and can tell when something is real or not.

An old classmate of theirs comes up to talk to Valen and congratulate him on being alive, then Andi reminds him of who she is just to be a smug asshole and the guy fucks off in a panic. She’s just so cool and badass, you guys.

Then it’s time for Valen and Andi to dance, and of course General Cortas looks like he’s about to lose his marbles because these darn kids! >:(

The chapter ends on Andi noticing Dex pouting in the distance.

“Relax,” Andi whispered. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

She flashed him a wicked grin as the music began.

And as Valen spun her into the first move of the dance, Andi saw Dex standing on the fringes of the crowd, an expression of longing clear on his face.

Chapter 79

This chapter is exactly 298 words of Dex moping around about how he’s actually not over Andi at all when he thought he’d done such a good job of repressing his feelings, and how he should be the one dancing with Andi instead of Valen. If you’re surprised, you’re clinically dead.

#eff reads: zenith

[thelastspeecher]

Stanuary ‘21 - Week Four: Future

So, do y’all remember a while back, when I asked for scenes from the Stanley McGucket AU that you wanted to see but I didn’t write?  Well, that’s because I had decided to choose that OG AU as my AU for this week, but was struggling to come up with how to handle the prompt.

Luckily, I managed to come up with an idea for it that I hope will bring the feels.  The first part takes place at some point in the “Stan Pines, Farmhand” sequel to “Stanley McGucket”, while the second part (which was inspired by the sub-theme of “Epilogue”) takes place immediately after the last chapter.

Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              The pickup truck came to a stop.

              “I’ve got some chores to finish up,” Pa McGucket said.  His voice was thick with emotion.  At the airport earlier, he had put on a brave face, but once Angie’s plane took off, he immediately burst into tears.

              Can’t really blame him.  I felt the same way.  Pa McGucket got out of the truck and headed for the barn.  Ma McGucket, sniffling softly, exited the truck as well.  With a sigh, Stan got out and followed Ma McGucket inside.  Ma McGucket promptly disappeared into the kitchen.  The clattering of pots and pans soon sounded.  Stan had figured out early on that Ma McGucket liked to bake when she was upset or stressed.  Hope she’s making cookies this time.

              Stan trudged down the hall sadly.  He came to the stairs that led to the second floor. After a moment, he began to climb them. The carpeting muffled his footsteps. He walked to Angie’s bedroom.  The door was slightly ajar.  He pushed it open the rest of the way.  The room looked as it normally did.  The bed was neatly made, books organized in a particular manner on the bookshelf, tchotchkes artfully placed on the dresser. Even the floor had been recently vacuumed.  Despite everything being in place, it felt wrong without Angie, scolding Stan for peeking into her room.

              Well, looks like we’re back to the house being empty.  While Angie and her siblings had been visiting for winter break, the house had felt full and happy, like when Stan first moved in.  But gradually, each sibling went back to school or their home, until Angie, whose spring semester started the latest, was the last one.  She’s so energetic and loud, I could barely tell she was the only one here.

              Stan stared at the empty room for a few more moments before sighing and closing the door.  The sound of Ma McGucket’s new stand mixer – a group Christmas gift from Angie, Lute, and Stan – carried to the second floor.  However, the radio kept in the kitchen hadn’t been turned on. Curious, Stan went back downstairs and into the kitchen just as Ma McGucket turned off her stand mixer.  Ma McGucket looked up.

              “I ain’t even put it in the oven yet, how’d ya know I was bakin’?” she asked.  Her eyes shone in a way that suggested she was holding back tears, but other than that, she showed no signs of sadness.

              She’s always been better at hiding her emotions than Mearl.

              “You bake when yer upset,” Stan said.  Sally pointed a wooden spoon at him.

              “Watch what ya say, Stanley.”

              “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

              “Hmph.”  Ma McGucket crossed her arms.  “I’m beginnin’ to regret makin’ yer fav’rite.”

              “Chocolate chip cookies?”

              “Yep.  But I could easily change it to be raisins instead,” Ma McGucket said, raising an eyebrow. Stan held up his hands in surrender, eliciting a smile from her.  The smile quickly faded, however, as she searched his face.  “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

              “No, it, uh, it’s just weird havin’ the house be quiet and empty again.”

              “Yes, it certainly is,” Ma McGucket said softly. She dumped chocolate chips into the mixing bowl and stirred.  “But I don’t think that’s the only reason yer lookin’ down in the dumps.”

              “I…”  Stan trailed off.  Ma McGucket set the wooden spoon down.  She walked over to the kitchen table and sat.

              “Sit ‘n chat with me, Stan,” she said, patting the chair next to her.  Stan sat next to Ma McGucket.  She fixed her brilliant blue eyes, the same as Angie’s, on him.  “What’s goin’ on, son?”  Stan looked down at the table.  He idly traced the scratches in the wood, which he had been told Harper made shortly after getting his first pocketknife.  “Stanley, talk to me.”

              “What am I s’pposed to do, Sally?” Stan asked finally.

              “Yer goin’ to need to be more specific.”

              “I just-”  Stan sighed.  “All yer kids went off to college.  All the friends I made in school are at college.  Ford’s at college.  It feels weird bein’ the only one still at home.”  His volume dropped sharply.  “But, I guess I can’t really do anything else but stay at home.”

              “Ah.”  Ma McGucket leaned back in her chair.  “This isn’t just ‘bout secondary education.  This is ‘bout yer future.”

              “Well, yeah,” Stan mumbled.  He continued to resolutely avoid eye contact.  “I don’t know what I’m s’pposed to do now.  Can’t have a future if I don’t have a plan fer it.”

              “Now, that just ain’t true,” Ma McGucket said sharply.  Stan looked up in shock.  “I was older ‘n ya when I fin’lly figured out what my future was goin’ to look like. And plannin’ didn’t have anything to do with it.  Heck, the day I realized what my future was, that was the day I threw out the plan I’d had since I was a kid.”

              “Whattaya mean?”

              “To be fair, the plan weren’t really mine. It was my parents’.  From birth, they planned on me gettin’ a law degree and then settlin’ down with some high society feller that they would choose fer me. But then the plan went off the tracks when I met Mearl at college.  I started thinkin’ that maybe I didn’t want to do what I had always been told I would.

              “My relationship with Mearl got serious. Serious enough that I decided to finally tell my folks ‘bout it.  They…didn’t take it well.  They told me, in no uncertain terms, that they wouldn’t support my relationship with a poor farmer who barely graduated high school.  That day, I came to my crossroads.”

              “Crossroads?” Stan asked.  Ma McGucket leaned in, her eyes warm and wise.

              “Everyone walks their own path.  Ya come across a lot of opportunities to go a dif’rent direction, but they’re optional, where ya can stay the course instead of go somewhere else.  Most of the time, those optional routes ain’t that far from yer original path anyways. But in every path, there’s a crossroads. A moment where the road ‘fore ya fully diverges.  Ya can’t keep goin’ the same way anymore.  Ya have to make a choice.

              “When I came to my crossroads, I saw two futures ahead of me.  In one, I did what my parents wanted.  I would continue to live a high-society, comfortable life where I didn’t want fer anything.  But I wouldn’t be happy.  I wouldn’t be fulfilled.  In the other, I stayed with Mearl, and let my fam’ly disown me.  Money would be tight, I would have to work harder than I ever had just to get by.  But I’d be with the person I loved.”  Stan nodded.

              “Yeah, you told me before that ya gave up yer cushy life to marry Mearl.”

              “Only partially,” Ma McGucket said softly.  “I didn’t just leave my fam’ly fer Mearl.  I left ‘em fer myself.  When they told me I couldn’t stay with him, that I would have to be with one of the suitors they already had lined up fer me, everything came crashin’ down.  It was like I had been in a fog my whole life, only fer it to suddenly disperse, revealing everything I couldn’t see before.  I saw just how much I had been under their thumb, under their control.  I saw my future clearer ‘n ever ‘fore.  And I saw the crossroads up ahead.

              “I knew that if I left my fam’ly fer Mearl, there was a chance Mearl ‘n I wouldn’t stay together anyways.  But even if we broke up, I would still be free.  I’d say that it weren’t a choice at all, with how easy it was fer me to make it.  But that would be minimizing its importance.”  Ma McGucket met Stan’s eyes squarely.  “I chose my path.  I walked down it.  I never looked back.”

              “Why…why did you tell me that?” Stan asked, feeling slightly numb from the intensity of Ma McGucket’s story.

              “Because one day, you’ll come to yer crossroads. You’ll see yer future ‘fore ya and have to make a choice.”

              “But what am I s’pposed to do until then?” Stan demanded.  He could feel frustration growing.

              Just give me a straight answer!

              “What do ya want to do?” Ma McGucket asked.

              “I don’t know!” Stan raged.  “That’s the whole point, it-”  Ma McGucket held up a hand, silencing him.

              “Are ya happy ‘n healthy now?” she asked.  “Are ya content in yer life?”  Stan opened his mouth.  “Don’t give me whatever answer ya think I want to hear.  Give me the truth.”  Stan closed his mouth and stared down at the table again, the gears in his head furiously turning.  After a moment, he nodded.

              “Yeah.  I am.”

              “Then there’s no reason to change things, is there?” Ma McGucket said simply.  “You’ll know what you want someday.  You’ll see your future ahead of ya.  But until then…”  She placed her hand over his, smiling.  “Just stay the course until ya come to yer own crossroads.”

-----

              Finally, soft snoring sounded from the passenger’s seat. Stan glanced over.

              It’s about time Ford fell asleep.  Ford’s face was smushed against the window, his glasses askew.  His snoring almost harmonized with the snoring coming from the back seat.  Speaking of…  Stan looked in the rearview mirror.  He smiled.  The source of the snoring, as he’d expected, was Emily.  Even though she was much bigger than Angie now, she still had defaulted to resting her head on her mother’s shoulder while sleeping.  To his surprise, Angie was asleep as well.  Or is she?

              “Ang?” Stan asked quietly.

              “Shh, I don’t want yer pomegranates,” Angie mumbled. Stan chuckled.

              Yep.  She’s asleep.  He turned his attention back to the road.  With no conversation to hold his focus and the radio stations fading in and out, Stan’s mind wandered.  Eventually, it settled onto the day Angie had left for college, decades ago.  The conversation he’d had with Ma McGucket about his future.

              “Just stay the course until ya come to yer own crossroads.”

              “Never did find those crossroads, Sally,” Stan said out loud.

              Unless…

              Another memory resurfaced.  Sitting on the side of the road, his back pressed against a tire, gravel prodding his legs through his worn jeans.  A man walking over, crouching down, watching him with an expression so fatherly it felt foreign.  An offer.

              “We're lookin' fer a new farmhand.  We're gettin' on in years, and our kids are gone most of the time.  They can't help out as much as they used to.”

              “What are you saying?”

              “I'm sayin' that if ya want a job, a nice bed, and three square meals a day, we can give that to ya.”

              “What's the catch?”

              “Only that ya work hard.”

              “…Okay.”

              The beginnings of tears pricked the corners of Stan’s eyes at the memory of Pa McGucket’s kindness and warmth.  Ever since he had passed away, remembering Mearl made Stan wistful, no matter how positive the memory was.  Stan hurriedly wiped the tears away.  He smiled despite the sudden sadness.

              The only thing he knew about me was my name, and he still took me in.  Stan glanced in the rearview mirror again.  More memories bubbled to the surface.  First meeting the girl that would eventually become his wife, as well as his future brothers-in-law.  Making up with Ford.  Graduating high school.  Getting married.  Becoming a father.  None of that woulda happened if I had turned down Mearl’s offer.  Stan looked back at the highway, his smile broadening.

              Y’know what, Sally?  It happened a long time before we talked about it, but I did reach my own crossroads.

              And I think I made the right choice.

#Stanuary #Stanley Pines #Ma McGucket #Angie McGucket #McGucket Family #Stanley McGucket AU #my writing #my stuff #I actually came up with this idea while I was at work #and mentally wrote like. the whole thing. #but by the time I got off work I remembered the outline and like none of the great lines I had come up with :/ #(btw I did actually get an ask for a Stanley McGucket thing and am working on it) #(and if anyone has any other Stanley McGucket things feel free to shoot them my way #it's nice to go back to the OG AU sometimes y'know?) #speecher speaks

[gloomyhearts]

Always by your side || Luke Patterson

Chapter nine ~ you just left

people grow together through darkness. does this band will make it without their most important human being.

After years will everything keep the same?

____

Luke patterson x oc

2020

Sabrina knew exactly where they'd be staying at so the next morning she visits the studio. She poofed in behind Alex drums expecting the boys sitting on the couch but it was empty, just a girl walked into it searching for some guys.

The girl sat down at the piano Sabrina loved to play. And the girl herself began to play some chords. Her voice was angelic.

An older man arrived at the front and looked to the garage, he had a smile on his face, looking relieved.

Sabrina studied her face, her movement and her emotions, somewhere she'd seen this face.

Suddenly the three faces she tried to avoid where behind the singing girl. They didn't seem to notice her again, thank god.

When she finished Alex was about to touch her shoulder to take her into an embrace but Luke stopped him.

The next moment the boys were right next to her. Luke's back was facing her and so did Reggie's. Alex eyes glued on her but he decides to ignore her.

"Oh, dude why'd you stopped me? Julie needs a hug,"

"Bro, a ghost hug isn't the feel-good moment that you think is. All right," he explains.

"Trust me. What Julie needs right now is just a bit of privacy" well Luke wasn't wrong nor right.

The fact that Luke didn't had a girlfriend himself as he was still alive is mostly due to his lack of understanding women or was it?

1993

"Why don't you just go over? They're staring at you since we arrived," Sabrina points over to the group of three girls which all began to wave as Luke's graze fell on them.

"Nah, all they do is to apply make up and tattle about other" he argues.

"You're an idiot" she laughs. At this sight in front of him, her, his mouth curved into a smile.

"You're just jealous," he joins her laughter.

"I'm jealous? Ab- about what? Girls looking at you? You're totally an idiot"

'of course I am' 

Maybe it was because they always had a thing for each other or maybe they didn't found anyone that was as similar as the others. They had a connection no one understood. Alex himself tried to understand it, really he tried his best but somehow nobody else has what they had.

2020

"You know what? I think you poofed us out because you can't handle when people cry," Alex states.

"I should know. I cried in a room for 25 years, and I didn't get a single hug from either of you, just.." he ends before he could say more.

"All right, being it on" Reggie opened his arms to embrace Alex.

"Don't touch me," he threw his hand in the air to imply to him to stop right there.

"That is why no one hugs you," Reggie explains.

"Just what? What do you have to tell us Alex. You're poofing out and then you'd come back crying, obviously and don't tell us where you've been and.. and," Luke starts to stutter at the end.

"I promised. I can't tell you. She.." he stops, his eyes searching for his sister no where to found.

"She?" Reggie questions.

"As in Sa.. Sabrina?" His voice shaking.

The blonde girl hid behind a hedge not knowing if her 'powers' would just make her visible for them.

"N.. no, she wouldn't hide for you guys, I.. I mean you were her family," Alex insists.

"I avoid you." Goosebumps forming on Luke's body as her sweet voice reached his ears.

The girl stepped out from behind the spot.

The sunlight shone on her body and make her look like an angel, Luke thought.

"Brina," he exhales, his view starts to blurry.

"Just hear me out, please, Alex,' she didn't dared to look into his eyes nor his face.

"It wasn't easy for me to leave you all behind. And when I came back as you all played for the first time again. I.. I tried everything to let you know I'm with you. I was in the Orpheum when you had rehearsal, when you talked to the woman and... and when," she gulped tears were streaming down her face

"I just couldn't," Sabrina shook her head as she placed her hands in front of her face.

"You kissed my temple right?" She nodded.

"This whole time. Why didn't you say something, you could have found us. Did Alex, did he knew?" And again she just nodded.

"And you didn't told us Alex? Are you serious?!" Sabrina began to move towards Luke her hand reaching for his and he pulled away.

"Can we talk Luke? Alone?" She suggests.

"No" he coldly says. Sabrina needed to get out of there and poofed herself out. The group was quiet, frozen in tracks.

After collecting his thoughts, I..I think we should, when we have the Courage, ask Julie why she lied go us about the piano," he spoke.

"Yeah, maybe tell her how amazing she's."

"She's legit. I got ghost bumps," he shoved his sleeves up.

A sobbing girl walked past the group to the door of the studio.

" Oh my gosh, was she crying too?" Alex whispers towards his friends.

"Yes," Luke hisses while turning around.

"And the only thing scarier than one girl crying is two girl crying."

"He's right." Alex experienced quite a few times with Sabrina and her friends.

"Guys, we definitely can't go in there," Luke states.

"But we can listen," Reggie points out. And so the three teenager made their way over to the door and peeked through the windows. When Julie's graze rose up to the other girl the boys went down abruptly so they wouldn't be seen by her.

The teenage girls walked out of the garage and Julie greeted the boys which irritated her friend.

They moved past the group and to the stairs.

Reggie calls "don't worry! We weren't listening" in her direction and Luke kicked him.

In the next second the boys were in the garage.

"I wonder why Julie didn't tell us she could play the piano," Reggie began.

"And sing. That girl can sing," Luke added.

"I didn't heard a voice like thins since.." he stopped.

"You know," he shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, you're right," Alex agrees.

"I think it probably has something to do with her mom. You know."

"Must've been hard," he went on and moves to the stairs .

"Anyway, I really feel for her," he says at he climbs up.

"Yeah, but," Luke took a seat at the piano.

"Now that she's got music back in her life, just like us."

“Yeah, I’m not sure you can call what we have a life,” Alex calls from the little loft in the garage.

“Oh hey, some of the clothes we left behind are still up here.” He threws the bag down.

“Sweet,” Luke tears his sweater and shirt off his body.

“Oh, same clothes since ’95, boys.”

Julie’s dad steps into the garage, walking through Reggie, “Oh, that was weird!”

“But somehow I can tell this man has a kind heart,” he describes.

Alex sat down, his legs hanging down, his arms resting on the railing. He watched his friends.

“so how have you been?” the older man began. Reggie concernd that the man was talking to him.

“Honestly, not that good. See we ate these hot dogs, and—”

“Julie sang for the first time this morning,” his feet

“Ah!”

“She hadn’t done that in almost a year. You would’ve loved it.

“Yeah, we saw cause we were.. Oh!” It hit Reggie like a rock. The man hold his camera up and the clicking of the shutter filled the room.

“Oh, I get it.” Reggie waved his hand in front of his face.

The raven haired boy turned to his friend, “He.. He’s not talking to us.”

“you are so lucky you can play bass.”

“Pretty sure he’s talking to Julie’s mom," Alex insists.

“She’s such an amazing young woman,” he reached the piano.

“Every day she reminds me more and more of you.

“Called it,” the blonde exclaims.

“Oh, I’m.. uh.. I’m taking for the real estate website. I don’t reall wanna move, but.. It’s the best for Julie,” the three ghost’s were now assembled around the piano.

Luke leans on the piano facing Julie’s dad, “Move?”

“There’s so many memories of Julie playing next to you, and.. Carlos trying to sing with his missing two front teeth,” he remembers chuckling. The shaggy jaired boy breathed shakily bringing his hand up his face to cover it.

Reggie turns to his friend, “Oh no, Luke, not you too.”

“He.. He’s talking about moving, but the poor guy, he doesn’t wanna move,” he explains like the other two haven’t widness it.

Their little scene was interrupt by the man again, “It’s like they grew up.. out here.”

“Oh man, now’s he’s got me too,” Reggie sobs, fanning himself.

“Okay, how am I the emotional one?” Alex argues.

“C-C-Can we go see my family and see how they’re doing?”

“Yeah listening to this feels wrong.”

“Hey, do you remember when the kids were at your sister’s, and we came out her eon our anniversary..”

“Yeah. No definitely wrong,” Luke poofed himself out of the picture. The other two mirrored his action.

#jatp fanfic #jatp x oc #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fanfiction #julieandthephantomsimagine #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie fic #jatp luke #jatpluke #luke patterson #charlie gillepsie #luke patterson fanfiction #luke x oc #luke patterson x oc #luke patterson fic #charlie gillespie x oc #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie imagine

[chemicalcindercat]

For a brief second, as Miguel’s back collided with the table behind the couch, he was right back on those stairs, the sick crunching sound of his ribs and spine colliding with the railing and then the stairs in his ears, paired with the darkness of his coma swallowing him up.

OR

How is Miguel supposed to win a fight against Kyler, when every other hit brings back awful memories?

OR

Miguel has PTSD during the Season 3 Finale Fight Scene.

CONTAINS SEASON 3 SPOILERS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Chapters: 1 (3,341 words)

Fandom: Cobra Kai (Youtube/Netflix Series)

Rating: T, (canon-typical violence, and language)

Relationships: Miguel Diaz and Johnny Lawrence

Additional Tags: angst, karate fight, season 3 spoilers, based off of the season 3 finale, canon-typical violence, canon compliant, i changed it up slightly, but not that much, i love Miguel, Miguel Diaz needs a hug, Johnny Lawrence tries to be a good sensei, ptsd, flashbacks, i used flashbacks as an excuse to write past scenes i really wanted to write, fight me

From the moment Kyler walked into the room, Miguel’s mind was already drifting. Brief memories of his past fights with the other boy floated around Miguel’s memory, too far away for him to focus on any of them, but too close for him to ignore them.

“It’s payback time, Rhea.”

Just like that, the snippets of past events were gone, blown away by the emotions welling up inside of Miguel at the sound of the asshole’s voice. Mostly anger, for all the times he couldn’t defend himself against them, but there was also some fear there as well. That was new. Since when was Miguel afraid of Kyler again? He hadn’t seen the bully much since he kicked Kyler’s ass in the cafeteria that day, but the few times he had seen the other boy, he definitely hadn’t been afraid of him anymore. So why was now any different? Why did the fact that Kyler had joined Cobra Kai surprise him, let alone scare him?

Miguel tried to shake the thoughts out of his head. If Cobra Kai wanted to randomly start a fight with them, they could handle themselves. They’d done it before.

...Even if last time Miguel was on Cobra kai’s side, and ended up in the hospital afterwards.  

Miguel quickly leaned down and helped Bert up, the poor kid’s face covered in blood. He knew Bert wasn’t that much younger than him, and he could take a beating, but

nobody deserved to be thrown through a window like that.

Well, except for maybe Kyler or Robby.

“Let’s go,” said Kyler, as he, Hawk, and the rest of the Cobra Kai pupils- No wait, that wasn’t right, they didn’t deserve to call themselves Cobra Kai pupils. Not after turning their backs on Sensei Lawrence like that, not after choosing Kreese over them. Whatever Kreese was teaching them, it was not Cobra Kai Karate- stalked forward, and without thinking, the students of Miyagi-Do and Eagle Fang Karate backed up, mentally preparing themselves to fight their former friends.

They didn’t get far. The door behind them slammed open, and Miguel (along with everyone else) whirled around to see none other than Tory, with two other Cobra Kai thugs standing there, trapping them in between the groups.

This wasn’t a spur of the moment fight, like Miguel had first thought. This was a thoroughly planned out ambush.

“Heard you were throwing a party,” Tory said as she stalked around the couch, reminding Miguel of a deadly predator. “Hope you don’t mind if we crash.”

Miguel felt Sam tense up beside him. “Tory, you don’t have to do this.” He said quickly, hoping that some part of the girl he had liked before the coma the fight at the school had happened was still left. The girl who kicked his ass at karate playfully, but never wanted to hurt anyone. At least, Miguel hadn’t thought she wanted to hurt anyone.

...Maybe Miguel had just been so hurt and angry, he was blind to what Tory was capable of.

Tory’s eyes narrowed. “It’s too late. This ends tonight.” She spat, taking a step forward. “NO MERCY!!”

And with that, all hell broke loose.

Miguel got into the battle stance Sensei Lawrence had taught him so long ago without even thinking about it, Sam mirroring him. Tory went straight for Sam, but Chris jumped in the way at the last second, and she gave him a punch to the stomach before pushing him to the side. After that, Miguel lost sight of her as one of the goons she had walked in with took a swing at him. Miguel easily dodged, grabbing the guy’s arm and using his weight against him to swing him away.

Someone else aimed for Miguel’s face, and he barely had enough time to register that this was not a teammate and he needed to duck, before sweeping the guy’s legs. Panting a little Miguel stood up, and quickly noted that the first guy was starting to get back up. He pushed him into the couch and retreated to a corner of the living room where he could see better.

There were just too many people. Looking around, it was hard to tell who was who, and for a brief moment Miguel worried about the possibility of accidentally attacking one of his own teammates. Those fears quickly vanished as he locked eyes with his target.

Kyler.

Kyler smirked and quickly walked across the room. (Well, none of the current Cobra Kai students really walked anymore, they all strided as if stalking their prey.) Miguel weakly kicked his face, barely phasing him. Kyler punched him in the gut, and then the face, knocking Miguel over.

“You call that a kick?? C’mon!” Kyler yelled as Miguel picked himself up off of the ground. He spun around, into a roundhouse kick, hitting Kyler with all of his strength.

It wasn’t enough.

Kyler grabbed his leg and swung him off balance, throwing Miguel towards the couch.

 “I’m sorry,”

Miguel let Robby’s arm drop to the floor. He didn’t mean for this to happen. He hadn’t wanted it to go this way. He wasn’t expecting Tory to start an all-out war like that, and somewhere along the way trying to break up Tory and Sam’s fight had turned into pinning Robby face down to the floor. Miguel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in, and started to stand up.

A sudden elbow to the face, followed by a kick to the back as Robby flipped over and righted himself knocked Miguel down to his knees.

As Miguel struggled to get to his feet, all he could do was watch with wide eyes as a final kick to his chest made him lose balance.

And then he was falling.

In reality, Miguel knew he couldn’t have fallen for any longer than a couple seconds. However, in his panic, as his arms flailed for something to grab onto, the world seemed to slow down.

Time stood still.

The falling seemed to last forever.

All of the other fights stopped.

Everyone else was frozen, faces all a mix of shock and horror, eyes pinned on Miguel.

Nobody moved a muscle.

Miguel continued to fall.

Time resumed.

Just like that, it was over, and the world turned black.

For a brief second, as Miguel’s back collided with the table behind the couch, he was right back on those stairs, the sick crunching sound of his ribs and spine colliding with the railing and then the stairs in his ears, paired with the darkness of his coma swallowing him up.

Miguel couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t move.

For weeks he had been stuck in a wheelchair, trying to remember his fall. The only memories Miguel had were of trying to separate Sam and Tory, and then fighting Robby, showing Robby mercy, and then nothing. Everything else was either a blur, or darkness. He couldn’t remember being pushed, or falling. He wouldn’t have even known that it was all Robby’s fault if Hawk hadn’t explained what had happened to him.

When Miguel thought he wouldn’t be able to walk again, he wanted to remember the fight. He needed to. He needed to remember every last moment that led up to his coma, every last step he had taken, because if he wasn’t going to be able to walk again, the least life could do would be to let him remember his last steps.

Now that he remembered, however, he wished he could take it all back.

Miguel was stuck, frozen, everything hurt, he couldn’t move, his vision was going dark, he was going to fall for so long, and then hit the ground so hard, and he was going to be stuck in that stupid hospital and that stupid wheelchair all over again, he wouldn’t be able to walk, he wouldn’t be able to live, he wouldn’t be able to breathe-

Hands roughly grabbing his shoulders snapped Miguel out of it.

“Awww, are you gonna cry, Rhea?” Kyler laughed, dragging Miguel to his feet just to throw him on the ground. Before Miguel could get up, Kyler’s hands were on him again, dragging him up and slamming him into the wall. “Guess you could learn to walk again, but that useless Sensei of yours was too busy trying to be your daddy to teach you how to fight again.”

Miguel tried to dodge or fight back. Really, he did. But Kyler was punching him again, barely giving him time in between hits to register the pain, let alone to get his bearings together enough to hit back. Finally, as Kyler moved to get out of Tory’s way (was Sam running from her?) and dragged Miguel with him, Miguel managed to throw him off balance long enough to pull away. Kyler staggered to the side, and Miguel used the moment to land an uppercut punch to his jaw.

It was upsetting that his legs weren’t strong enough to land any hits, since Miguel was used to relying on his legs just as often and as naturally as he was his arms, but he knew that trying to fight Kyler with his legs would only lose him the fight.

So his arms it would be.

Kyler’s hand flew up to his mouth, checking for blood. He started to laugh when his hand came away clean. “Looks like your arms are just as weak as your legs. You’ll have to try a little harder than-”

Miguel cut him off with a punch to his chest. Kyler stumbled backwards, and then swung around with a kick aimed for Miguel’s side. Miguel moved to the side and grabbed Kyler’s leg, swinging him around and slamming him into the wall behind them with the same move Kyler had pulled on him earlier.

Miguel didn’t waste any time rejoicing, instead trying to punch Kyler in the face again. Kyler, however, wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice, and moved to the side at the last second, causing Miguel to punch a hole straight to the wall.

Kyler moved backwards into the kitchen. “C’mon, Rhea!” He baited, motioning with  his hands for Miguel to follow. The other boy did, after sending a silent apology to Sam and the rest of the Larusso family in his mind, for destroying their house. “We’re not done yet, c’mon!” Miguel glared at Kyler as he followed. This asshole really didn’t ever shut his mouth, did he?

Miguel cried out, letting out a battle cry of sorts, and swung at Kyler. Blocking is a lot easier when you know your opponent won’t use his legs, however, and Kyler reflected every hit, even landing a few hits back on Miguel. After Kyler managed to block yet again, Miguel let his anger get the best of him, and kicked at Kyler without even thinking. The other boy easily dodged, and his reflection of the kick knocked Miguel back a little. The next time Miguel tried to punch him, Kyler flipped him over and slammed him into the ground.

Miguel barely registered the fact that Kyler and Hawk were high-fiving above him, before Kyler picked him off of the ground by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the wall. If Miguel didn’t have a concussion before, he probably did now. He cried out in pain, and tried to reflect the hits from the other boy, but his body was getting tired, still not used to all of this physical activity after being stuck in a wheelchair for so long, and his movements were becoming sluggish. Kyler slammed him into the wall once more, and started hitting him from behind.

“Oh shit!” Was all Miguel managed to cry out as he was slammed into a locker. He had managed to kick Kyler in the chest, but that was it. What was wrong with him?? He trained a little bit and suddenly thought he could take on four other boys?

They pulled him away from the locker and threw him onto the ground.

“Grab him up!” Kyler yelled from behind Miguel, as the other guys grabbed him by the ankles and started dragging him backwards.

“No! No no no!”

Miguel’s pleads were ignored as they pulled him further into the locker room. “Grab him! Kill him!” Kyler ordered.

Miguel managed to grab a hold of the corner and stop their attack, temporarily. “No! Let me go!” He begged, no longer caring about his pride. They would kill him, he knew they would. “Nooo!!”

They pulled him the rest of the way into the back of the locker room. Kyler grabbed a lacrosse stick and closed the chain-link door to the locker room, effectively trapping Miguel inside with them. The rest of the boys pulled Miguel to his feet and held him up, one holding each of his arms so he couldn’t pull away.

“You’re a dead man.” Kyler called as he walked over, a big smirk on his face, and pulled his arm back. He swung with his whole body, whacking Miguel in the gut with the lacrosse stick as hard as he could, before pulling back to do it again, and again. The boys yelled out cheers with every whack, drowning out the sound of Miguel’s pain.

After a couple hits, Miguel couldn’t hold himself up anymore. His legs gave out from under him, but the boys continued to hold him up long enough for Kyler to get one last hit in. Finally, they gave Miguel the relief of dropping to the ground. He lay there, trying not to cry, or throw up, or pass out.

Kyler walked over. “I’m not finished with you yet, Rhea!” He kicked Miguel in the face, and then nodded to encourage his friends to follow suit. Miguel was surrounded by all four boys, being kicked from every side. He curled in on himself, but it didn’t do much.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they got bored. Kyler lifted Miguel up by his skeleton hoodie, enough to hiss into his ear, “You better not forget who you’re messing with, Rhea. You brought this on yourself.”

With that, he let Miguel drop to the ground and walked away.

Miguel was shaking uncontrollably, but he tried to ignore his pain and focus on breathing. It felt like he couldn’t breathe, but if he didn’t breathe, he might pass out, and that could lead to even worse things.  

In.

And out.

Miguel closed his eyes.

In.

And out.

He started to curl up again, but that caused more pain that it was worth, so he stopped.

In.

And out.

There were footsteps approaching.They were coming back. Maybe they decided they weren’t bored of him yet after all. Maybe they decided to kill him.

In.

And out.

“...Kid?”

Miguel opened his eyes to see Johnny standing over him, with his arm reached out, like he wanted to touch Miguel but was afraid he would break him. There was an emotion in the man’s eyes that Miguel knew he should’ve recognized, but he was in too much pain to try and put a name to it.

“...S-sen…sei…”

Johnny dropped to his knees next to his pupil. “Shhh, kid, don’t… Don’t say anything. Shit. Shit! ” Miguel flinched slightly. Johnny noticed, and lowered his voice significantly. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. Y… You’re gonna be okay, alright? You’re okay. Fuck.” He tried to help Miguel up, but after moving too fast, Miguel cried out in pain and dropped back to the ground.

“Shit, uh… Here… Come here…” Johnny gently looped one arm around Miguel’s waist, and used the other to hold under the kid’s knees. “Here, just… Yeah…” Slowly, but surely, he stood up. For a moment Miguel wondered how Johnny was strong enough to carry him, until he remembered that this was his sensei. Duh. “You think you can walk?” Johnny asked. Miguel nodded in response. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure whether or not he could walk. He thought (hoped) that once he was standing, he would be able to walk just fine. He didn’t want to burden Sensei anymore than he already did by losing a fight, being a pussy, and getting his ass handed to him.

Johnny slowly lowered Miguel’s feet to the ground, until the kid was standing with one arm wrapped around Johnny’s shoulders, so that the man could support his weight. It was painful for Miguel, but he wasn’t gonna tell his Sensei that. They took it one step at a time.

It wasn’t until later that night, when Miguel was trying to fall asleep, that he finally realized what that emotion in his Sensei’s eyes was.

Guilt.

And yet, despite that guilt that Miguel couldn’t make go away (no matter how hard he tried), his Sensei continued to train him. Continued to teach him. Continued to inspire him.

“If I’m extra harder on you, it’s only because you have the potential to be better than I ever was.”

Miguel caught a glimpse of Hawk and Demetri fighting side by side, together.

“I want you to know, no matter what happens…. I promise I’ll always be on your side.”

Memories of his Sensei flooded Miguel’s mind as Kyler continued to slam his fist into Miguel’s back.

“I don’t know if you can hear me kid, but I know you got it in you to pull through.”

Memories of going to see Twisted Sister live, something he wouldn’t have been able to do for a few more years (if at all) without his Sensei’s help. Of the hours they spent training just the two of them, even when they had already had practice with the rest of Cobra Kai that night. Of his Sensei giving him his gi and calling him his student for the first time.

“You just gotta keep fighting.”

Memories of celebrations, like the night Miguel had gone on his first date with Sam, and his Sensei had gotten Cobra Kai accepted back into the All Valley Tournament. Of trying to teach his Sensei how to use technology. Of going to get burgers and talking about the difficult parts of life.

“Never give up.”

Memories of times when his Sensei made decisions that didn’t seem the smartest, but made Miguel stronger in the long run. Like the pool, or the cement truck, or the fire on his foot. Of getting dating advice from his Sensei (and giving some in return). Of his Sensei teaching him how to freaking walk again, even after Miguel yelled at him in the hospital, and blamed him for everything, and told him to leave him alone.

Not once did his Sensei give up on him.

“You can do this. I know you can.”

Miguel pushed himself backwards. It caused him to take a hit to the face, but after everything else that had happened that night, it felt like nothing. Plus, more importantly, it gave him the opportunity to grab Kyler’s arm with his next attack, and pull him away, and then aim for his face. Kyler grabbed Miguel’s arm and dropped to the floor, flipping Miguel, but this time he was prepared, and landed on his feet. As he tried to pin Kyler down, Kyler kicked him in the chest, knocking him down.

Both boys picked themselves up off of the ground. “C’mon! C’mon, Rhea!” Kyler yelled. He started to run straight at Miguel. Without thinking about it, Miguel kicked.

His foot made contact, hard.

Kyler stumbled to the side, giving Miguel enough time to spin around and kick him again. The other boy managed to jump back in time this time, but Miguel wasn’t done yet. He leapt at Kyler, and twisted his body around mid-air so that he was tackling Kyler upside down, pinning him to the ground and stopping him for good (or at least for the rest of that night).

Miguel stayed there for a moment, kneeling over Kyler, trying to catch his breath.

“Thanks for the motivation.”

#Cobra Kai #Fanfic #cobra kai fanfic #cobra Kai fanfiction #miguel diaz #miguel diaz fanfiction #Johnny lawrence #Miguel and johnny #this fandom doesn’t have enough Gen fics #Specifically Miguel and Johnny fics #So i decided to write my own #this one is just a oneshot #but I’ll be posting more one shots soon

[sl-reign]

Luminous Enigma

Fantasy and Supernatural Novel By Sharina L Martin

Warning, this chapter snippit has Gory descriptions.

Chapter 6. WTF?

I've Just experienced the longest and worst day of my life.

It's 5:00am and its a freezing dark early morning, every surface outside is covered with snow. I throw the last black garbage bag into a garbage bin in a dark unpopulated alley behind some random restaurants. I made sure to fill other garbage bags with unimportant junk to cover the bags I was trying to get rid of. I close the bin then hurry and walk off with my hands stuffed in my jacket pockets.

I stuck around long enough.

Going back and forth from my SUV carrying out at least 6 or 7 bags I was really pushing it. I was so out of breath considering I was a small skinny woman, those heavy bags really took a lot out of me. I look around my surroundings once again as I approach my expensive truck. I quickly pull out my keys then unlock and start it with a push of a button. An old man walking by on the sidewalk with his dog where my SUV is parked smiles at me. I force a quick obvious fake smile and immediately hop into my truck. I watch the old man walking away with his big furry dog in my rear view mirror.

"SHIT!"

I scream to myself while repeatedly hitting my steering wheel. I snatch off the hat I wore to cover my long blond hair and throw it angrily at the windshield.  I was hoping I wouldn't be spotted by anyone but that hope just went right out of the window. The day started off so normal and ended with me throwing pieces of someone's chopped up remains in a garbage bin. I don't know how it got this far, and I can't believe I've taken it this far. But I'm not going to prison for murder! I can't! My life is finally coming together. I Just found out I was pregnant a few days ago and I'm getting married to the man of my dreams in a month. His ex-girlfriend came to my house threatening to expose to him that I've been sleeping with someone else. Not only would that ruin my relationship, but it will have him doubting if the child is even his.

 He's been away for months across sea's helping different countries that got hit with natural disasters. They needed more medical help and him being a respected traveling doctor, he didn't turn down the opportunity to help those in need. He comes back and visits a week or so out of every month, but I've gotten so lonely with him being gone. He'll finally be back for good in another week, but as my luck had it his ex-showed up yesterday revealing she's been watching and filming me, she even showed me a printed-out photo of me and the other man making out. I asked her what she wanted and she told me to give her fifteen thousand dollars a month for the next year. My fiancé just added me to an adjoined account but there was no way I could just take that money out. We had a lot of money, but it would be such a big repeated noticeable amount gone that it wouldn't be over looked, it was insane. She also revealed that she knew I was stalking him before we dated. She knew I was the cause of their breakup because... I framed her by making him think she broke into his mother's business and destroyed the place. At the time, I learned that her and his mother didn't get along and even argued so it was perfect. Now, she had the raw evidence proving her innocence and my guilt on many levels. She refused to be reasonable and told me to take the deal or leave it. The tramp was a scorned gold digger who lost her trophy and she wasn't letting him get away without getting some money out of him.

"This is all so unreal."

I say out loud to myself.

I was paranoid and frightened. I couldn't get the gory scene I created out of my head. All the limbs and blood that filled up my tub, I was a monster. I sawed her apart and it's a vision that I will never forget. I murdered someone in the big brand-new home that me and my fiancé were starting our life in. I took someone's child someone's friend possibly a sister. The sick part is I had so many chances to stop...

I told her to take a seat on the couch, my mind was racing a million miles a minute. She continued rubbing it in calling me a whore and calling him an idiot. She went on bragging about how she would reveal the evidence to him if I didn't pay up. She laughed at the thought of seeing me as a poor single mother struggling to raise a disgusting bastard child on my own.She went on to talk about my upbringing and how she knew I was homeless for many years then upgraded to white trailer trash.I didn't understand how she knew so much about me. She laughed at the thought of me going to jail for the crime she was falsely accused of. The more she dug up my life the angrier and more desperate I felt. The thought of being found out was eating at my insides like a virus, I almost wanted to faint as the room began to spin. Finally, in a fit of silent rage I grabbed a small marble figurine sitting on my fireplace then came up behind her and hit her on the back of her head. She fell to the side on the coach moaning in pain while swearing at me. I walked around the couch and hit her three more times until she stopped moving. I backed away while looking at her bloody head and dropping the figurine to the floor with shock. What the hell have I just done?

"NOOO!"

I cried out in desperation.

"Oh no, oh no no no no.!!"

I look down at my shaking bloody hands then back at the woman soaking my white couch with hauntingly deep red  blood. I spot my cell phone on the table  across the room and begin walking over to it. But I stop in my tracks.

"No, I can't call the police my life would be over! I can't do that I just can't!"

I walk back over and look at her.

"What am I going to do?"

I asked myself as I continued pacing.I kept looking from her to my phone as if fighting with my instincts on the right thing to do . My eyes finally break the back and forth cycle once I stare at the hallway that led to the garage door. Quickly, I went and grabbed a big blue tarp from my garage and rolled her onto it. I brainstormed for another couple of minutes until I decided to drag her to my downstairs bathtub. After covering her the best I could with the large tarp I began to drag her. Suddenly, I started hearing gargling and moaning coming from her. She was still alive! I stopped dragging her and stared down at the tarp with eyes as wide as saucers. In complete shock I began to once again pace back and forth while covering my mouth with my hand as tears starting falling from my eyes. I didn't know what to do, I've come so far and if she stays alive my life is sunk. Not only would I lose my fiancé and my baby, but I'd have tough charges pressed against me. Him and his family would hate me! I love his family so much! I finally felt at home with them and it would all be taken away. My child wasn't being born in prison and my child wasn't growing up without me!

Mind made up, I grabbed her legs and continued dragging her to the bathroom. I finally reach the bathroom and sit on the toilet out of exhaustion. She continues making noises as I stare at the tarp moving around slightly. I then get up from the toilet and use all my strength to get her into the large bathtub. After again catching my breath I walk out of the bathroom and head straight to my kitchen. Grabbing a large knife out of a drawer, I quickly walk back into the bathroom. For a moment I just stand at the entryway, I had to take a moment to convince myself that it had to be done. Finally, I walk into the bathroom and stand over the woman wrapped in a tarp inside of my bathtub. The knife is squeezed tightly in the palm of my hands as my breathing gets faster and faster. The woman surprisingly begins to mutter something.

"Please..."

She says in a cracked painfully desperate tone.

My eyes fill with tears as the knife burns in the palm of my hands. The woman mutters the words again but louder. It was then that I knew I had to end it. I lifted the knife up with force and brought it down with all the strength I had in me....I stabbed her repeatedly. I just stabbed her until I was convinced that she was dead. Shaken, I drop the knife then back away out of the bathroom with streams of tears running down my face. Eyes wide in sheer disbelief at myself, my back hits the closest wall and I slide down dropping to the ground. My hands and my pink sweater were covered in blood.

"HONK HONK!!!!"

Back in the present I snap out of my flashback when a car behind me honks at me for not moving after the light turned green. I begin to drive again as I let out a long sigh.Where does my life go from here?

I then find myself pulling up to an apartment complex. I couldn't understand what possessed me to drive here. I park in an empty slot and just sit in the truck.

"I don't even remember how to get home. What is going on with me?"

I put my hands in my face as begin to sob. My face and nose are quickly wet. It felt like invisible walls are closing in on me, I've ruined my life and I've taken a life. If I would have given in and gave her the money that she asked for I would have been figured out eventually. There would have been no way of hiding it! And if I told my husband about the affair he'd drop me and I'd be homeless again. If the child was his he'd take full custody and I'd never see the baby. If it wasn't his I'd be out on the streets with a baby in my stomach. I love my husband but as nice and caring as he is, he could also be a ruthless person. The man that I had an affair with was married and has four kids. He ended things with me when his wife found out about us. She threatened him with divorce and taking the kids along with her money. Even if we did decide to just stay together, he wouldn't even have any money to support the two of us. He married into money just like I did and she made him sign a prenup. He was nothing but a broke pretty boy getting taken care of...I guess it's what we both had in common.

I look back up at the apartment complex then get a moment of deja vu, this place looked familiar. I look around at all the apartment numbers and my eyes are drawn to apartment number 22 on the second floor. I turn off my truck then step out into the cold winter air and look around once more. Snow begins to lightly fall from the sky instantly reminding to reach into the car and grab my jacket. I put it on and begin to walk pass a few parked cars in their assigned stalls before I stop in front of stall 22. There parked in stall 22 was a green Volkswagen. Feeling a chill from the breeze I shove my hands into my coat pocket where I surprise myself by pulling out a pair of keys. Hooked to them was a car remote, I stare confusingly at the keys for a moment.

These aren't mine.

I then instantly remember throwing her keys in my pocket amidst my panicked rush. I look up at the beetle realizing it had the same logo as the car remote. I hit the button and the car chirped and blinked.

"What?"

I then notice that attached to these set of keys was what looked to be a personalized green key hanging on a gold frog charm. I look up at apartment 22. Oh my gosh, no way. Is this her place? Now that I think about it, not once did I wonder about how she got to my place. She must have taken a Lyft. What are the odds of me ending up here...this is so strange. I gulp and a more worried look spills across my face. Is this a twist of sick fate? Being here was a really bad idea.

I began to head back to my car but a thought stopped me and I looked back up at the apartment door.The rest of the evidence to my affair had to be in there. I couldn't just leave it; it would lead the cops to me. I grip the keys tightly in my hand just like I did the knife and curse at myself. Hesitantly I walk towards the Apartment. Finally standing in front of the door I look around before I slide the key in and unlock it. I step inside and close the door, Immediately I'm hit with a foul smell. I cover my nose with the sleeve of my jacket.

"What in the world is that smell?".....

Read Lumious Enigma on Wattpad >>> https://www.wattpad.com/story/240528799-luminous-enigma

#LuminousEnigma #Fantasy #Powers #Drama #diversity #fantasy novel #Sharina L Martin #SLMartinNovels #slmartin-novels #black authors #black writers

[bakudekuficlibrary]

Hey, do you have any fics where Deku calms Bakugo down from a panic attack or some sort of anger episode? Or vise versa?

I payed more attention to fics that focused solely on the requested idea or had multiple scenes of it. (and boy was there a decent amount!) If you know of longer fics that include this idea (even if it’s your own XD) feel free to reblog or reply with them so people can find them in the notes c:

-Jay 

30 Works.

Dark Side of the Sun by Synnie( T | 51,597 | 20/20 )

Staying up too late playing video games, Kirishima wasn’t expecting to get an urgent call begging for help. Next thing he knew, he was letting his classmate Izuku Midoriya take refuge in his apartment - without consulting his always angry roommate.

SeriesPart 1 of Dark Side of Space

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Past Abuse | Self-Harm]

Can We Not? by vulcanhighblood( T | 32,740+ | 17/? )

Journalist Midoriya Izuku stumbles across Ground Zero brutalizing a vending machine. Unfortunately, he can’t just walk away from a Pro Hero in dire need of caffeine. So when a hero on the brink shakes him down for coffee, only to offer a coffee date in return…? Well, he doesn’t refuse. (He does, however, get said hero’s number, and ends up spending a lot more time with him than could have been predicted based on that first encounter.)

Grief Counseling by Merrywetherweather( E | 48,279 | 19/19 )

Katsuki remembered the first time he had failed to save someone, watched helplessly in horror as an elderly man had been crushed beneath the girth of a thrown car. He had already propelled himself forward to grab a small boy when he noticed, too late, the car fly by overhead. Two other heroes had been on the scene at the time and had assured him.

There was nothing that could have been done.

Most of class 1-A had already gone through a similar experience. The only one left with a clean track record in the rescue department had been Deku.

Well, except for today.

A slowburn fic where Kacchan tries to convince Deku to take advantage of the grief counseling provided for free to heroes experiencing their first failed rescues. Lots of flirting. Healing their relationship comes first. The romantic bit where they fall helplessly and stupidly in love comes after.

[PSTD | Panic Attacks]

Dream Sweet in Sea Major by showtiime ( M | 122,562 | 22/22 )

The day of the Hero Incident ends much more horribly than anyone could’ve imagined, but only Izuku knows that. He thinks as long as he forces himself to push through it that he can get over it, but of course, that’s not how things go. His mom, friends, teachers, and even his childhood friend-turned-rival take note of his odd behavior and try to help, but he refuses to talk about what really happened. How long and how thin will Bakugou’s patience go until Izuku finally confides and accepts the help he needs?

(in this fic, Shigaraki takes more from Izuku than he should’ve, Katsuki comes with the class that day at the mall, and there are still finals to be taken. Plenty can happen in only five to six weeks.)

(playlist)

[Rape/Non-Con | Underage | Abuse | Dissociation | PTSD | Panic Attacks | Suicide Attempt | Self-Harm]

Paper Moons and Glass Stars by Soundsoftherain( M | 82,948 | 18/18 )

The last time Katsuki had seen that mess of green hair had been during the summer after their first year of middle school, a boy sculpted from the purest sunlight sadly waving goodbye as he moved away.

That had been seven years ago.

Now that mop of wild curls was straddling his lap while scantily clad in black, leaving little to the imagination. The shy boy he once knew was now the star of Paper Moon, a strip club he’d been unwillingly dragged to by his friends. But through the muffled music one thought overwhelmed the raging whirlpool of his mind.

…What the actual fuck?

SeriesPart 1 of Glass Stars

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Panic Attacks | Stalking]

be loved by bonnia( T | 5,403 | 1/1 )

They sit there, in the darkness of the common room, about a few centimeters between them, but miles apart. Somehow, the quiet is companionable. More than it has been in many years. Katsuki knows he’s responsible for the rift between them, and he knows even more that it can’t only be Deku who attempts to mend it.

“Hey,” he says, after a while, and Deku turns to him in question, but Katsuki refuses to look his way. “Touch me again.”

(or: the kidnapping incident leaves bakugou traumatised about being touched on the back of his neck, and midoriya decides to take matters into his own hands)

[Panic Attacks | PTSD]

2,645 Miles by mynameis152( E | 131,839 | 38/38 )

Izuku wants so badly to get to the other side of the country without his parents realizing he’s missing. He just wants to find out who he is.

Katsuki is desperate to make it to Los Angeles without being caught by the police, desperate to fix his mistakes.

Neither know what to expect, but on a roadtrip across the U.S. involving four fugitives, two oblivious runaways, a high risk crime ring, and a police taskforce, the two will discover that there’s more in store for them than what they originally thought.

SeriesPart 1 of Guide Me Home To You

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Panic Attacks | Attempted Sexual Assault]

As One by semiautomatichearts( G | 2,508 | 1/1 )

Katsuki knows Izuku as he knows himself, as he knows the worn pages of a treasured book, the creases within his own hand.

He sees when something is wrong, and reaches across abyssal expanses, past the maw of his own pride, and he heals.

[Panic Attacks]

What’s up danger by The_Crafty_Cracker( M | 2,220 | 1/1 )

Because apparently,The fic where Deku punches a bigoted entailed asshole Alpha in the face wasn’t an appropriate title.

Poor Katsuki has his handful with his mate nearly getting arrested, again!

P.S there is also a joke about a quiche.

Super Mario Maker by Pop_Rocks (v_love)( E | 3,734 | 1/1 )

Midoriya is smart, and a nerd, meaning that when the entire class decided to take on the aspect of buying Super Mario Maker for the collection of games in the common area that he became sort of a living legend when it came to designing the levels.

Some were just joyous well designed little prank-type levels, others were difficult — but not impossible — and the rest? Well, those were impossible.

For all but one.

His Kacchan.

————

In which Bakugou rages.

SeriesPart 4 of Kacchan and Deku’s Shenanigans

Out Of Darkness by Arrival_Of_Dawn ( M | 78,364+ | 18/? )

Izuku Midoriya is legally dead for forty two minutes at the hands of a new villain, Nightmare. They are the longest forty two minutes as Izuku finds himself trapped in his own personal hell. He may have come back from nightmare induced death, but that does not mean the nightmares are gone. They haunt him at any given moment and neither he nor anyone else knows how to save him.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Panic Attacks]

Twenty-Four by SharkbaitSekki( T | 15,874 | 1/1 )

Izuku gets himself kidnapped, and Katsuki is dragged into it with him as they face villains with particularly terrifying illusion Quirks.

It ends up being a living nightmare, but Katsuki can’t bring himself to regret following Izuku into it all. Because between the pain and the terror, between the lies and the illusions, between life and death, at least they can always hang onto one another. Even if everything else is fake, they know that they will always be real.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence] 

Chapter 26 of an entire month for the broccoli boy and the shouty boy by Kasplode( T | 23,200 | 30/30 )

Acute fear pollutes his body, concentration increasing exponentially with each shallow inhale he breathes.

Deku, standing just in front of him, knocks at the familiar door to Midoriya Inko’s apartment.

They’re having dinner with her tonight. Introducing Katsuki as Deku’s boyfriend.

[Panic Attacks]

Someone to Stay by Maru_Chan( M | 5,462 | 1/1 )

He hears Izuku’s jeering laughter again and even when he can’t see him any longer, his last words ring loud on Katsuki’s ears, heavy and final like a sentence.

“Goodbye Kacchan, maybe you can try again in your next life”

And then everything is dark again.

It’s dark, he’s cold, he’s numb and he’s alone.

And it’s everything he deserves.

[Panic Attacks | PTSD] 

saltwater fears & saltwater tears by writedeku( T | 4,540 | 1/1 )

It’s not that Katsuki hasn’t hurt people before, but this is the first time he’s seen something so irrevocable. So tangible. Izuku will look back, ten, twenty years from now, and he’d still see the scar in the mirror, and still be a scared little boy in pain all over again, crying in the hallways.

(The middle is a time that makes Katsuki feel proud and ashamed, all at once.)

SeriesPart 3 of the saltwater saga

[Bullying | Past Abuse | Panic Attacks] 

What’s Mine But Only You Can Have? by masteremeraldholder

( T | 9,480 | 1/1 )

“What’s mine… but only you can have?”

Deku’s face softens, his eyes wide, mouth a little ‘o’. Baku’s stomach turns, maybe he shouldn’t have said it, maybe he should’ve listened to the quirk-stealers and kept his fucking mouth shut, but he knows that he couldn’t have even if he tried.

He’ll never get tired of Deku and his annoying antics, his patient nature, his shit ton of freckles, and if that’s what it means to love someone, then he’s gladly in it with Deku.

SeriesPart 2 of Schizophrenic Bakugou

[Panic Attacks | Self-Harm | Ableism]

Words to Never Say by InkspillsNotebook( T | 2,586 | 1/1 )

Regardless of how much time has passed, Izuku is still unable to hear those words without fearing that he’s lost the most important person in his life.

SeriesPart 7 of Drabble Expansion Pack

[Panic Attacks]

[Abandoned] Chapter 4 of Angry Kids by MrJokerBoy( T | 9,251 | 12/? )

Deku has a nervous breakdown and here comes Kacchan to the rescue 

[Panic Attacks] 

Chapter 1 of Things You Said: Bakugou/Midoriya by AutisticWriter( T | 3,100 | 2/2 )

A collection of one shots written for a prompt list. 

[Self-Harm | Ableism | Transphobia]

{Curator’s Note: This chapter depicts Bakugou assisting Midoriya through a meltdown, not an anger episode or panic attack.}

A Classical Storm by oceanswrath( T | 1,400 | 1/1 )

In that moment only the two of them existed, a force to be reckoned with greater than the storm raging outside. 

[Panic Attacks]

The Bonds that bind by EloFromMars( E | 2,818 | 1/1 )

Izuku is excited, tonight is their anniversary. He had planned everything. Or so he thought. 

[PTSD | Panic Attacks]

Only Us by yoichipines( T | 3,105 | 1/1 )

“What if it’s you, and what if it’s me and what if that’s all that we needed to be and the rest of the world falls away…what do you say?”

A Katsudeku fanfic very much inspired by ‘Only Us’ by Laura Dreyfuss and Ben Platt? Sign me tf up!

[Panic Attacks]

No Matter What by Empress Explosion Murder (LdyFcknNoir)( M | 4,393 | 1/1 )

BNHA Angst Week Day Seven: Roses/Time

-or-

“I-I’ve failed you… He escaped.” Katsuki rasped out.

Any remaining strength in Izuku’s body fled, and he melted to the ground on legs that were no longer able to hold him up. His body began to tremble violently, his teeth cracking together with the force of his shaking. Black edged around his vision as he couldn’t pull any oxygen into his lungs, air rent from his lungs completely with just five words.

SeriesPart 7 of BNHA Angst Week

[Past Rape/Non-con | Panic Attacks]

Yeah I’ve Got Issues by Abitginger( T | 2,782 | 1/1 )

One-shot written for BakuDeku month of wonder, day 2:festival/apology. A little late but such is life ~

Izuku and Katsuki go on an undercover mission at a festival.

[Panic Attacks]

to be made of flesh and steel by bluntforcedrama, gutsdumpster( T | 635 | 1/1 )

Bakugou learns his triggers, his tics. He’s kind of psychic actually since he tends to know when something is about to happen. Or maybe it’s Izuku’s fault for making it so glaringly obvious: he gets nervous, hands twitching more than usual as his eyes follow any sudden movement around him. Sometimes his breathing becomes labored and he swallows down more inhales than exhales and Bakugou will have to thread his fingers with Izuku’s, as if to say calm down, I’m here.

Or: Izuku is an ex-soldier struggling with the mental and physical repercussions of such heavy combat, and although Bakugou doesn’t know exactly what it’s like, he’ll still do everything he can to help.

[Panic Attacks | PTSD | Implied/Referenced Homophobia]

I know you wanna (slip under my armor) by Herbalmint( T | 3,528 | 1/1 )

Life just keeps developing new ways of beating Bakugo down. (Katsuki has a panic attack)

[Panic Attacks | Dissociation] 

In Your Arms by EmbretheWorld( T | 3,771 | 2/2 )

Bakugo’s freaking out, and no one really knows what to do, but Yagi and Aizawa are really grateful that Midoriya is there. And Aizawa is really good at comforting people too.

SeriesPart 3 of You Melt My Heart

[Panic Attacks]

Chapter 2 & Chapter 7 of Standing Together (Pride Month) by EmbretheWorld( M | 17,972 | 29/29 )

This book will be filled with multiple ships that I will write and post on a daily for Pride Month. Each chapter will be based on a prompt. Hope you enjoy!

I ended this book early because I couldn’t find any motivation to write in it anymore.

SeriesPart 6 of You Melt My Heart

[Panic Attacks]

Anxiety by MistyBlueJay( T | 3,530 | 1/1 )

Izuku and Katsuki go to the mall, the Bakusquad joins them in a mini shopping trip. It’s a crowded day and Izuku falls behind, panic ensues.

[Panic Attacks]

In Weakness there is Strength by DarcyIncarnate( Not Rated | 3,011 | 1/1 )

Five times Izuku breaks and Katsuki picks up the peices, and one time Katsuki isn’t there to help. 

[Panic Attacks]

#bakudeku #katsudeku #BNHA #bkdkfl ask #long post #w:rape #w:violence #g:angst #g:HC #t:suicide #t:s #t:sh #t:panic #t:ptsd #t:bullying #t:pa #t:abuse #t:homophobia #t:dissociation #t:ableism #hc:emo #hc:badday #hc:nightmares #curator jay

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (6/18)

Chapter 6: Not on My Clothes

In the aftermath of Ticonderoga’s destruction, Madelyn and Deacon seek refuge at Valentine Detective Agency only for their partnership to be questioned. Shaken by her near-death experience, she spends some time away from the Railroad but eventually reunites with Deacon for a heartfelt conversation over coffee. Ultimately, the two are sent by Doctor Carrington to investigate one of the last remaining safehouses but come up short. Later, at her apartment, the two find themselves closer than ever.

“I can afford a blemish on my character, but not on my clothes.” –Shelby Carpenter as played by Vincent Price (Laura, 1944)

x - x

[read on Ao3] x  [chapter masterpost]

February 17th, 1958

What occurred after the explosion was still a blur.

Deacon was quick to usher Madelyn off-site as the fire brigade and police descended upon the scene, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he scurried them away from prying eyes. She was too shell-shocked to resist, even if she knew deep down it was too dangerous to linger behind and risk being cornered by an unknown enemy. You can’t trust everyone—Deacon’s words echoed through her mind as they rushed down the Boston sidewalks to safety—but then, who could she trust?

Madelyn’s fear didn’t subside even as they hailed a cab from a quiet street corner close to Cambridge, noting the way her partner still clung to her side as he kept a careful watch on their surroundings. She felt safe there, tucked against his chest, but simultaneously the thought registered that being by his side was what got her into that mess in the first place. Instead of returning to her apartment, or to the Old North Church (any Railroad safehouse was a dangerous bet at the time), she instructed the driver to head to the Fens.

Deacon clasped her hand, gloved fingers tightening around her own as they watched the billowing smoke ascend into the night sky from the back-seat window. They turned to face each other, Madelyn regarding herself in the reflection of his shades before remembering for a brief moment she had seen what was underneath. But it was neither the time nor place to be swept up in emotions, daydreaming about having his baby-blues locked on her as they were whisked away from destruction. Instead, she looked away and allowed the familiar pangs of guilt to worm its way into her chest.  

It was nearly two in the morning by the time they reached the agency, and while the neon sign outside was turned off, she could see a few lights on inside indicating life. Sunday evening meant Jenny was working the overnight shift at the hospital, leaving Nick to his own devices and with nobody to tell him to go home. As Deacon helped her from the cab her suspicions were confirmed, spotting Nick’s black Cadillac parked along the curbside. Behind it was Piper’s red Beetle—fantastic. Madelyn didn’t feel like explaining herself, but the longer she idled with Deacon’s hand on the small of her back the more exhausted she became. With nowhere else to go, it was time to face the music.

The lobby was dark and momentarily, she thought she could sneak the two to her office on the other side of the room. Deacon caught on, the two quietly shuffling across the floorboards while eying the second, half-closed door with Nick Valentine etched into the frosted glass pane. Soft, echoes of laughter spilled from the room, the sounds of clinking glasses and Nick grumbling about something. There was a different voice, one she couldn’t pin down—but it wasn’t important—she fumbled with her set of keys, desperately trying to remain quiet in her own place of employment like she didn’t have every right to be there.

“What the—oh, hey, Miss Lawyer.”

Madelyn froze, glancing over her shoulder to see somebody she didn’t expect to—Robert MacCready—leaning in Nick’s doorway and opening it wider so more light spilled out to shine across her and her companion’s body. Deacon sidled closer behind her, either to slip further into the shadows or to force himself into her office—she couldn’t tell. MacCready’s eyebrows shot up a little when he realized she had a guest.

“Oh, so you came to have a lil’ fun with your friend?” he asked, clearly inebriated off of Nick’s private stash of too-good whiskey. The poor kid didn’t know what hit him, and really needed to stop talking. Despite the night she had had, she could feel her whole body burning and heard the softest smirk from Deacon behind her. MacCready gave the two an encouraging thumbs up. “That’s awesome.”

“What?” Piper’s excited voice spilled out from the office.

Before Madelyn could think to hide Deacon somewhere—anywhere (where the hell was she supposed to hide a six-foot-plus tall man in less than a second, anyway?)—her friend was standing in the lobby, flicking on the lights to expose them both. She snapped her eyes shut tightly, unprepared for the brightness and not realizing how sensitive they still were from the blast. She stumbled, but Deacon was ever the sturdy protector beside her, keeping her upright.

“Holy shit, Blue!” Piper announced, the shift in her tone worrisome. Madelyn peeked open her eyes to see the reporter staring at her agape, gaze shifting across her form. “What the hell happened to you?” Piper’s stare lingered where Deacon’s hands were still about her waist. “And who the hell are you?”

That’s when Madelyn realized her appearance was less than stellar—her coat was frayed, singed at the edges from the explosion and even though it was black, it did little to disguise the sprinkling of ash. Her stockings were ripped across the knees, and her heels were just as tattered, one buckle broken and missing. She needed a proper mirror but judging by what she could see in the reflection of her office door, her hair was a mess, golden-blonde curls awry. She quickly discarded a glove to touch at her forehead, realizing that there was a bruise, and on the corner of her lip, a small cut. She wondered if there were any other injuries she hadn’t discovered.

“Madelyn?”

Just as she was wiping away the blood from her face, Nick appeared in the doorway of his office, his confusion quickly shifting into one of concern as he noted the state she was in. Her remorse bloomed into full force—she hated to make Nick worry, and she’d been doing a lot of that lately with her newfound partnership with the Railroad. Rather suddenly she moved away from Deacon, noticing how reluctant he was to let her go. She rushed across the agency lobby and straight into Nick, wrapping her arms around his chest in a tight hug. Unable to fight back the tears that clouded her vision she buried her face into his shoulder, breathing in deep the familiar scent of cologne and cigarettes.

“Hey, doll,” Nick shushed her, clearly alarmed by her sudden show of emotions. She hadn’t cried—at least not in front of him—in a long time. One hand slid affectionately along her back as the other cradled her head. His voice was quiet as he mumbled against her temple. “What are you doing here so late? What happened?”

Madelyn didn’t know where to start—a secret mission for the Railroad to smuggle a witness to a crime out of the city that ended in a car-bomb blowing up half a building and left two people dead. At least she figured High Rise and Henry were dead—they had been so close to the explosion, to have survived would be a miracle. Their deaths weighed heavily on her shoulders and her knees practically buckled beneath her as another sob racked through her.  

Nick was quick to pull her into his office, depositing her into her favored armchair before his desk. He hunched down beside her, hands on either side of her head as he inspected her face. She and Nick had a close bond, but even this sort of contact was unusual for them—he hadn’t needed to comfort her so intensely since Nate’s murder. Madelyn tried to lean away but he didn’t let her, thumb softly brushing over the growing bump on her temple before smoothing her hair back into place. She flicked her gaze over the armchair to find MacCready and Piper in the doorway, effectively blocking Deacon from entering the room. However, being more than a head taller than them both, his displeasure was easy to see.

Nick noticed where she was looking and grumbled, leaning back on his haunches as he glanced over his shoulder. “Deacon,” he seethed. “Mind telling me why the two of you have shown up in the dead of night, looking like this?”

Madelyn hadn’t heard that kind of vitriol from the detective directed at anyone but Eddie Winter. She shifted upright, reaching out to place a calming hand on her partner’s shoulder, but he was steadfast, focused on hearing the truth from the other man. MacCready and Piper both shifted, turning to stare at Deacon with similar, questionable expressions—though, Mac was considerably more amused by the situation, fueled by whatever booze they had been drinking before the two had shown up.

“Railroad business.”

Now was not the time for Deacon to be secretive or evasive with the organization’s going’s on, but he didn’t offer anything else, regarding Madelyn with a look that was too hard to read—why couldn’t he just be honest—for once in their brief and complicated partnership? The short answer wasn’t what Nick or Piper were looking for.

“Excuse me?” the reporter snapped, arms crossed. “The Railroad? You mean to tell me that you…” she poked a finger at his chest, prompting Deacon to glance down at her. Piper then gutted a thumb in Madelyn’s direction. “…and Blue are working for the Railroad?”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a smallest of smirks. “We’re partners.”

Nick took full offense to that, standing up in a snap. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I don’t?” Deacon’s brows shot up, not expecting an argument. “That’s what we are, Nicky-boy.”

Madelyn furrowed her brow, looking over at him in alarmed confusion. Where was this animosity coming from? Nick shook his head, hand waving in disagreement.

“Some partner you are, getting Madelyn into danger,” he bellowed. “If you can’t protect your partner, then you’re better off working alone!”

Deacon pushed his way past Piper and into the room. At first he didn’t say anything, mouth twitching like the detective’s words had stunned him into silence—it didn’t last. “How hypocritical, considering the kind of risks she’s facing working with you!” he retorted. “Corruption, gangsters, murderers? I bring her back here with a few scratches but what’s to say you won’t bring her back here in a casket?”

MacCready and Piper both rang out in a chorus of offended gasps. Nick bunched up his sleeves at his elbows and for a fleeting moment, Madelyn wondered what it would be like to see him smack some sense into Deacon. Reality caught up to her pounding head and she pushed herself out of the chair, wedging herself between the two men before they could scrap.

“There’s been enough bloodshed tonight,” she pleaded, the tremor in her voice making it unrecognizable. She pushed at their chests to further separate them, letting her hand linger against Deacon’s coat lapel. “For once Deacon, just shut up.”

He flinched back at her words, expression falling into one of remorse. Before he could cover her hand with his own, she had turned away to frown at Nick. “You should know more than anyone that I don’t need protecting,” she chastised. “I can handle myself, Nick. It doesn’t matter if I’m working with you or with the Railroad or if I’m on my own.”

In a huff she collapsed back into the armchair, reaching up to wipe at the last traces of her tears. From the doorway, MacCready swiftly moved towards Nick’s desk, swooping up a glass tumbler and filling it with a generous amount of whiskey before bringing it to Madelyn with a smile. She was appreciative of the gesture and even though it was—she wasn’t even sure of the time anymore—she took a deep drink. Piper entered the room again, glaring at Deacon as she passed by him to sit in the opposite armchair.

“There was an explosion,” she whispered, finally offering some kind of explanation. She pressed the cold glass to her temple to soothe the headache that had only increased since the bombing.

Nick leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms as he looked to Deacon for confirmation. The detective seemed to be barely containing his anger at the revelation. The Railroad agent gave a little nod. “We were escorting a…friend.”

Madelyn shook her head, sighing as she remembered everything Henry had reluctantly told her in the Cambridge church. “Nick, we were helping a witness to Johnny Montrano’s murder.”

The detective went slack with shock before blindly reaching back for his pack of smokes. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What does that have to do with the Railroad?” Piper asked, her question directed at Deacon rather than Madelyn. “Do you know how long I’ve been chasing down the rumor that you are behind the disappearances and murders around town?”  

“Likely just as long as we’ve been investigating them,” Deacon replied. “We’ve had our own share of setbacks.”

Madelyn knew that and had divulged some of those obstacles to Nick but Piper and MacCready were in the dark. She didn’t want to reveal too much and compromise an entire operation, even if the Railroad was hardly working at maximum efficiency.  

“We were helping him get out of the city, he said he was afraid for his life,” she explained.

“Was he being threatened by Eddie Winter?” Nick mumbled around his cigarette, his irritation had returned. “Is that why you were targeted? Who else knew you were on the move tonight?”

Deacon was quick to argue, shaking his head. “Eddie Winter is a coincidence. There’s a safehouse with a giant, smoldering hole in it that screams this was an attack against the Railroad.”

“Ever stop to think that it could be both?” Piper quipped, cooling them off before the two men could get into another dispute. “We’ve sniffed out enough corruption in this town that somebody could’ve been hired to knock out two birds with one stone and send us on a wild goose chase trying to figure out the truth.”

Madelyn considered the reporter’s words, knowing what she proposed made a lot of sense. Still, a valuable asset in the agency’s investigation of Eddie Winter had been lost—she flicked her gaze to Deacon, who was pensive—she couldn’t possibly imagine the kind of loss he was processing. First the Switchboard and now Ticonderoga—he had barely survived both—and had saved her life in the process of surviving the second. She kept her eyes on him, the ache in her chest almost too painful to bear. Death and destruction seemed to follow him like he was cursed—maybe she had the right idea to stay away the first time, maybe it was telling she had never properly organized him on her Railroad pros and cons list. If she ran away from the Railroad, from being his partner again, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to return—regardless of how she might felt for him.

“I’m sorry Nick,” she sighed, looking back to the detective. “I would’ve liked for the witness to help us. He was our last best lead to go after Winter.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” MacCready chimed in, leaning over the back of the armchair. He had been fairly quiet during the entire exchange but was now fully invested and had apparently sobered up. He looked between Piper and Nick before focusing on Madelyn again. “I know you’ve been looking for these handwritten notes signed by Winter himself but what if I told you there’s voice recordings?”

Having an informant was starting to pay off—if the information was accurate. Nick looked at him skeptically. “Where’d you hear this?”

“Pays to spend most of your time in a dive-bar,” the former mercenary laughed. “Off duty cops and the like are always spreading secrets through loose lips.”

Nick and Madelyn locked eyes, but she had already heard enough. It was well enough that they could pretend this was good news, but she was still trying to process the night’s events. She blamed having her brain rattled around on why she ever thought it was a good idea to come to the agency in the first place, looking at the group of people around her. If what MacCready was saying was true, she could hear about it later, after she had time to recover. As he and Piper idly chatted about the details of his eavesdropping, Deacon inched closer to where she was sitting and carefully, subtly offered his hand. She frowned, giving a little shake of her head. The guilt was overwhelming, but she couldn’t—not now.

Instead, she looked to Nick who had observed the entire exchange. Surprisingly, his expression had softened, remembering that Madelyn had once expressed to him that she could potentially hold feelings for the man standing next to her. If the circumstances were different—if the two had returned to her apartment maybe—she would’ve let him comfort her and do more than just hold her hand. She didn’t dwell on the what if.

“Nick,” she barely called for him. “Can you take me home?”

“Sure, doll. Sure,” he answered, not missing a beat as he stubbed out his smoke. As he shrugged on his trench coat and fitted his hat atop his head, he regarded Piper. “Think you can lock up?”

“Yeah,” she replied, glowering at the Railroad agent again. “As soon as I take out the trash.”

“Piper,” Madelyn warned, standing to make her exit with Nick. Beside her, Deacon tensed, and she flashed him one last lingering look. “I’ll see you later, Deacon.”

He didn’t sound so convinced, his solemn tone nearly tearing her apart. “Be seeing you, Charmer.”  

March 4th, 1958

Avoiding the Railroad was a lot easier the second time around.

Madelyn wondered as the days and weeks passed if it was because she had come so close to death and they were allowing her the space, or they had their own mess to clean up and couldn’t be bothered. Either way, they didn’t try to contact her. Other than Drummer Boy passing a note that High Rise and Henry were confirmed as deceased, her neighbor—agent—kept his distance, politely smiling when their paths crossed in the apartment hallway. There were no updates, no dead drops and no secret messages from her partner.

She hadn’t intended to shut Deacon out again, but this time she had plenty of more reasons to be anxious of him and the organization he worked for. It wasn’t confusion over guilt-ridden emotions she was running from, but rather genuine fear that kept her away. While the point had been made that she wasn’t any better off working as Nick’s legal assistant, in the two years she had been at the agency, she had never suffered a mild concussion—let alone survive a car-bomb. It had only taken a few weeks of knowing Deacon for her to come so close to death and it unnerved her. Despite it all, a small part of her missed him—missed their strange connection—and she had spent more than a few nights foolishly wondering what could’ve been.

In his absence, she backslid to sulking about, putting on a front for Nick and Piper at the agency as they worked the Eddie Winter case files, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered when her friends could tell she was faking most of her cheerfulness. With all that was occurring, she wasn’t sure what the point of it all was anymore. Codsworth also noted her shift in mood, the poor robot-butler doing everything he could to cheer her up with elaborate meals and bad jokes, going as far as to deep clean the entire apartment just so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger when she returned home from work. Madelyn stuck to her routines—day-in and day-out, hoping that one morning she would wake up and feel normal, or at least as normal as she had been before New Year’s Eve.

On a day off, she woke to find Codsworth cooking up another too-big breakfast while Dogmeat happily barked, knowing it was highly probable he was to get the extra bacon she didn’t eat. Before she could sit down on one of the empty barstools, she noticed the bouquet of flowers sitting in the middle of the small kitchen island, already in a vase and water.

“Codsworth, honey,” she carefully reached out to touch the delicate petals—daisies and forget-me-nots—her heart was racing. “Where did these come from?”

“It was the strangest occurrence, mum,” the robot answered, one eye looking back at her as he continued his tasks. “There was a knock at the door just before you woke up but when I answered, there was nobody in the hallway. Just these flowers.”

Madelyn inspected the flora, knowing exactly where and who they had come from. She was caught off guard by how disappointed she was that Deacon hadn’t at least tried to charm his way into her apartment like last time. “No note?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Madelyn.”

Suddenly, her own home felt stuffy, and it wasn’t because of the toast Codsworth had managed to burn—again. Madelyn excused herself from the counter and back to her bedroom where she quickly dressed, offering the Mister Handy a speedy apology as she made her exit from the apartment. Maybe if she was fast enough, she could catch up to him before he got too far. She passed Drummer Boy on the way down the many flights of stairs, pausing in her rushed steps to question him.  

“Deacon was just here, wasn’t he?”

The Railroad agent shrugged, but his little smile gave him away. Madelyn didn’t bother to linger, continuing to hurry down the stairwell. Drummer Boy shouted from behind her. “Tell him I was right! He owes me two dollars!”

On the street, she looked down both directions of the sidewalk for a suspiciously tall man in sunglasses. She thought it would be easier to pin him down, but for all she knew he could’ve been disguised as the postman. A few minutes passed and she nearly resigned herself to go back inside, feeling rather silly for her rash decision to come outside in the first place—they were just flowers—it didn’t mean anything. That’s when she saw Deacon standing on the street corner, purchasing a newspaper from the local kiosk before continuing on. Madelyn hurried down the sidewalk to match his stride, and nearly reached out to grab at his arm before stopping herself short.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she huffed out the question, out of breath from chasing him down.

Deacon stopped to look down at her, the surprise quickly molding into one of amusement as he regarded her appearance. In her rush to get out of her apartment, she hadn’t bothered to button her coat, and only then did she notice that she was wearing mismatched shoes. She did well to hide her embarrassment, crossing her arms like she dressed this way all the time. He looked just about the same from the last time she saw him, with a dark coat over his casual attire—like a man on his way to work.

“Slocum’s Joe,” he answered with a smile. “For my morning coffee. Care to join, Charmer?”

Madelyn was taken aback by how relaxed he seemed, considering their last interaction. Instead of reading into it, she nodded, pleased to have heard her Railroad callsign once more. It didn’t sound right coming from anyone but him. Deacon led them around the block to the Cambridge coffee house, the two walking in a strange kind of silence that persisted as they took their seats in one of the tiny, vinyl blue booths. He ordered for her—because of course he remembered her coffee order—and then just stared in her direction. Well, she could only assume so—too much hidden behind those glasses of his.

“You got the flowers?” he asked.

“Yes,” Madelyn answered, tilting her head to the side. The moment felt far too serious. “Well, Codsworth did. He thinks they’re lovely.”

“Good,” Deacon smirked. “A robot deserves something nice now and again.”

The waitress delivered their drinks and Madelyn watched as he inspected his as always before taking a careful taste. She wondered if there was ever a time when he wasn’t paranoid, or if he ever let his guard down. He was a master at pretending to be cool, calm and relaxed—but it was all a façade—something she was very familiar with. Two peas in a pod, they were. As she sipped at her coffee, she thought about her neighbor.

“You owe Drummer Boy money?”

He softly chuckled. “He bet that you would want to see me, and that I should’ve pressed my luck by sticking around this morning.”

“He was right,” she answered, hiding her smile behind another drink. The warmth of her coffee disguised the flush to her face—she wasn’t sure why she had decided to be so forward. “You shouldn’t make a bet against the man who has been observing my behaviors for the last four months.”

Deacon laughed harder, nodding in agreement. “Either way, I’m just glad to hear you don’t hate my guts.”

“You assume too much,” she teased. “Maybe I wanted to see you so I could stick Codsworth on you.”

“Charmer,” he said the name solemnly, harkening back to that last night in the agency. “This isn’t easy, but you deserve an apology. For getting mixed up in our mess. Your ol’ detective was right, about a lot of things. Namely, how piss-poor of a job I did at protecting you.”

She disagreed. “I’d say saving me from an explosion is better than piss-poor.”

Deacon grumbled. “Point being you should not have been anywhere near the explosion in the first place.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Madelyn protested. “I can take care of myself. While it’s comforting to know that you and Nick are so worried, it’s also incredibly frustrating that you don’t have faith in my capabilities. Wasn’t that why I was recruited to the Railroad in the first place?”

He floundered, filling the silence with a big gulp of coffee. “You got me there.”

Madelyn glanced to the newspaper on the table beside their cups and noticed an article that detailed the investigation into the car-bombing that destroyed the Cambridge street corner was at a standstill—as expected. With a frown, she contemplated the amount of devastation she had faced over the years.

“There’s been so much death,” she started with a whisper. “I’ve seen so much death. I know you have too.” She wasn’t blind to that, wasn’t ignorant. Deacon remained silent, watching her carefully. “Working with Nick and investigating the murders, the disappearances, we’ve seen so much.”

Madelyn glanced down to her wedding ring and fiddled with the band. “I told you I was widowed.”

“He was murdered in Boston Common, two Christmases ago,” she admitted in a shaky breath. “A complete stranger came up to us and held us at gun point and then…shot him. Nate died in the street—in my arms—before help could arrive.”

“Shit, Charmer, I—” Deacon’s mouth skewed aside as he fumbled over the right words to say. “Did they ever catch the son-of-a-bitch?”

She shook her head, gasping back her tears. “No. Nick and I have…” she wavered, unsure why she was divulging information that she typically kept locked up tight. Madelyn found her resolve. “Just know that whatever happens, it can’t get much worse than what I’ve already experienced.”

He nodded and looked as though he was going to say something but changed his mind at the last second. Instead, he finished off his coffee, glancing down at the porcelain bottom. “Understandable why you’d be skeptical of our organization, though.”

“You said it yourself, you can’t trust everyone,” she spoke, voice going soft. His head perked up at that, not expecting her to use the phrase back at him. “I want to know that I can at least trust you.”

Deacon was quiet for a long time.

“My relationship with the truth rubs some people the wrong way,” he admitted with a smirk before it dissolved right off his face. “Charmer, I want—”

Madelyn’s heart strained in her chest at his hesitation, and the tension in his voice. If she were to even begin to think about rejoining the Railroad—again—she needed to know her faith, and feelings, weren’t misguided.  

“If you believe anything, believe this,” Deacon continued, slowly reaching over to place his hand over hers. She welcomed the touch, smiling as she flipped her palm up to cup his fingers. “I’m in your corner. Always have been.”

March 7th, 1958

Stanley Carrington was not what Madelyn expected when she was first introduced to the doctor in the catacombs beneath the Old North Church. Apparently, the Railroad physician wasn’t overly impressed by Charmer—questioning her routine absences, regardless of how much Desdemona and Deacon talked her up.

“I still can’t believe Dez recruited you,” he groused, face in a permanent scowl.

“So, you must be head of the unwelcoming committee,” Madelyn jested, earning a chuckle from Deacon.

Carrington glared at them both. “I can see why they call you Charmer.”

“I don’t mean to get off on the wrong foot, Doctor,” she corrected with a smile. “I hope you’ll look past the risk of me being here.”

“We’ll see,” he replied quietly before sighing. “I understand you helped Deacon retrieve intel from the Switchboard. An extraordinary feat. Hardly the point.”

Madelyn wasn’t sure if there was a compliment buried in his sentence, but she continued to grin, hoping her expression would placate him in some way. She flashed her partner a knowing look. “What will it take for you to trust me?”

Carrington barked a sharp laugh, but considered her question, rubbing a few fingers at his chin. “With the Switchboard and Ticonderoga offline, we need to confirm if any of our other safehouses are operational. If you could look into the current status of Augusta Safehouse—so far, we haven’t made any contact with our agents there.”

Madelyn looked to Deacon who gave the doctor a simple nod in agreeance. “Blackbird and crew moved around a lot, last time I checked, they were holed up in some office building.”

“I’ll have Drummer Boy coordinate the dead drops once we confirm their last known location,” the doctor replied. He focused his attention back on Madelyn. “Have a care, Agent Charmer. Odds are very good you’re walking into something nasty.” 

Augusta is still dark. Location enclosed. Exercise extreme caution.

Deacon and Madelyn picked up the note from a mailbox near Bunker Hill, only to be led back to an old abandoned medical building in Cambridge. The attached hospital was in decline, losing more and more patients to the nearby New England Medical Center, making the area practically deserted, especially for that time of night. And to think she lived not just a few blocks away.

“There’s the railsign,” Deacon mentioned, gesturing to the small etching on the brick wall by the door. To the unassuming, it looked like an unusual piece of graffiti, but to them, it was the marking of a Railroad safehouse. He frowned, motioning to a second, albeit hard to read drawing. “That looks like an x.”

“Danger?” Madelyn asked in a whisper.

He shrugged, moving past her so he could head through the entrance first. She was brought back to the night in which her and Nick had cornered Doctor Crocker in the Fens apartments and swiftly withdrew her pistol, keeping her aim low. While she didn’t anticipate any homicidal doctors jumping out at them, she wanted to be prepared for any possible threat. Deacon walked ahead in the dim lighting, leading the two through a lobby and down a hallway before stopping abruptly.

Something sticky was on their shoes.

She blinked down, hard to see in the dark, but she knew. “Is that blood?”

His next steps were measured, avoiding the stains on the tile flooring as he peered into the open room where the trail led. Without much thought, Madelyn went to follow and nearly toppled into his back as he stood frozen in the doorway, just looking within.

“Shit,” he breathed, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

Quickly he turned to her, trying to shield her eyes in a hug but it was far too late for that—she had seen everything—the bodies stacked in a bloody pile, each with their own gunshot. Judging by blood and the smell, they had been there for a few days. A few cans of gasoline were littered about, but if arson was the end goal, the perpetrators had clearly decided against the action last minute or had been spooked. With the building being abandoned, it wasn’t any wonder the crime scene had gone undiscovered. She leaned away from him, taking careful note of the way his hands trembled—more Railroad agents dead—another safehouse lost.

“Deacon, we have to get out of here,” she urged, glancing down to ensure their feet weren’t tracking anymore of the blood-residue. She didn’t have a lot of faith in the Boston Police Department’s evidence collection techniques but didn’t want to give detectives a reason to come looking for them. “We can call it in.”

“Right,” he replied with a firm nod.

When he didn’t budge, she tugged on his arm, encouraging him to follow. They retraced their steps out the front door, Madelyn only pausing to tuck her weapon back into her purse. As inconspicuous as it was to walk calmly along the sidewalk, elbows linked, she felt like drowning in the adrenaline coursing through her veins. This wasn’t like the Switchboard—certainly not as awful as Ticonderoga—but to walk away from the scene like she hadn’t just been there was a hard pill to swallow. That was the reality of working for the Railroad, she supposed—if they stayed, the Boston police would have questions neither of them would be able to answer. Deacon was a great storyteller, a genius at crafting a lie any schmuck could believe but even Madelyn had a hard time thinking he’d be able to get them out of that big of a mess.  It wouldn’t matter how many lawyers she knew at the District Attorney’s office either—a pile of dead bodies in a storage closet could very well be easily pinned on her and Deacon by a bunch of likely corrupt cops. She called Nick from the payphone outside her apartment building, who was disheartened to hear the news but promptly took the information, promising to alert the authorities in a way that it couldn’t be traced to either the agency or the Railroad.

The elevator was out again, prompting the two to climb the stairwell to the seventh floor. As Madelyn struggled to unlock the door to her apartment, she was thankful that Drummer Boy wasn’t lurking, waiting for some kind of update. Inside, she deposited her keys in the small dish, already working on the buttons of her coat so she could toss it over the back of the couch. Codsworth and Dogmeat were nowhere to be found and with a quick glance to her watch she figured the dog had likely whined his way into a late evening stroll.

Madelyn turned on the small lamp in the living room, circling around the tiny space so she could collapse onto her sofa, uncaring about how undignified she looked. Considering how much walking they had just done—from Cambridge to Bunker Hill and back again—her feet were aching. She reached to grab at the buckles of her shoes, but Deacon had followed close behind, already kneeling down on the ground before her knees to assist. His fingers made quick work of the straps around her ankles, slipping off each blue-hued heel before delicately maneuvering, carefully massaging the arches of her stocking-wrapped feet.

“All that running around and nothing to show for it except sore feet,” he teased in a soft voice, as if they hadn’t just stumbled across the scene of his fellow murdered Railroad agents. Master of deflection, he was—bury the pain deep. She was in no position to judge, feeling the sympathy wash through her—it was no way to live.

She watched him, overwhelmed by the gesture—it was too intimate, too domestic and yet so exactly in character for him that she didn’t pull away. Instead she shifted, thinking that at the angle they were positioned in, she might be able to get a peek at his eyes again. Even when the nightmares from the explosion plagued her sleep, Madelyn was calmed by the memory of cool blue eyes hovering over her—if only for a split second. She didn’t want to call herself desperate, but all she wanted was to see them again.

“I can stop if you want me to,” he said, permeating her thoughts.

Madelyn shook her head, a surprising warmth finding root in her chest. “It’s…nice.”

“I can settle for that,” he laughed, swapping for her other foot.

“This isn’t about you having a foot fetish, is it?” she joked, trying to keep the mood light. If that’s what he needed after what they had experienced that evening, then she could deliver.

“What if it is?”

Madelyn smiled, finding herself a little too exhausted to participate in a battle of wits with him. Better to just lean back and enjoy whatever moment they were sharing. Deacon continued his ministrations, but she noticed that his chin was angled upwards so that he was clearly looking at her from behind his shades. Whatever compelled her to lean forward, she couldn’t say. She wasn’t even aware she had gotten any closer to him until she was reaching out with one hand towards his face, watching his brows knit together in bewilderment before his expression softened in realization. Her fingers brushed against the corner of the darkened frames, causing him to edge closer, his hands sliding up her ankle to her calf.

“Deacon, can you take these off?” she asked, perhaps too quietly.

His lips quipped up in a smirk. “My glasses, or your stockings?”

All of her breath escaped her in one stunned huff, and the heat in her chest spread across her entire body. Her toes curled in his grasp and the way his eyebrow perked let her know he had noticed. She hadn’t been spoken to—flirted with—like that in ages. Her mind was a haze of thoughts and emotions—confusion, anticipation and want. Somewhere deeper was the lingering guilt, and the constant battle she always faced, wondering if she deserved a moment of happiness, even if it didn’t seem completely sensible. She wasn’t even sure if she was reading the scene correctly—where was this leading?

Before Madelyn could lean forward and find out, the front door opened, freezing her still.  

“Oh! Miss Madelyn, you’re home!” Codsworth greeted, promptly closing the door behind him. Dogmeat barked happily as he rounded the room to sniff at the bodies on the couch. “And I see the milkman has decided to join us once again! How delightful!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Madelyn sighed, flicking her gaze to the ceiling.

Deacon softly chuckled, his breath fanning across her cheek as he gradually pulled away. “Adorable.”

“Might I get you anything mum?” Codsworth hovered behind the couch, completely incapable of realizing he had ruined a moment. Madelyn wasn’t sure what kind of moment—but it was lost. She slumped against the back of the couch, pressing her hand across her face in embarrassment.

“No thank you, dear,” she mumbled.

The robot whirred. “Sir, would you like anything?”

“Sir, did you hear that?” Deacon laughed to himself and she peeked out from under her fingers to find him shifting to stand. “No thank you, Codsworth darling. I should be seeing myself out. Wouldn’t want to impose. What would the neighbors think, a strange man occupying a lovely, young woman’s apartment at strange hours of the night?”

Madelyn kicked her foot against his shin playfully. “You’re overdoing it.”

“Me?” he motioned to himself. “Sweetheart, you don’t know a thing about Deacon and overdoing.”

She rolled her eyes, extending her arm so he’d help hoist her off the couch. His hand squeezed against her wrist, thumb passing along the skin there before withdrawing. This time, he meant every word he spoke. “Be seeing you, Charmer.”

Madelyn watched him as he departed, staring at the closed apartment door as her heart continued to race. “I’ll see you later, Deacon.”

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #piper wright #robert joseph maccready #stanley carrington #codsworth is here for a blip #so much UST this chapter #also ANGRY NICK #and the footrub scene I wrote like three months ago arrives #light use of canon dialogue again #because 'in our corner speech' is too important #pls enjoy

[kimshavacado]

Dead Heat Ch. 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader

Genre: Yet another Arranged Marriage/Mafia AU

Summary: Three extremely powerful families with enough power to bring down entire governments, all with vastly different views on how things should be run. The Min family thinks everything can be solved with money, the Jeon family think everything can be solved with violence, and the Kim family relies more on thought which leads to a lack of action. When Kim Y/N loses her father, she only has one way to save herself and her family. But it involves having to give herself over to a stranger. How the hell is she not supposed to punch him in his stupid rich face?

Dead Heat Masterlist

Warnings: Language

A/N:  Yay we finally have some Yoongi in this chapter, as well as the scene I’ve been looking forward to. Here’s to strong female leads! Enjoy lovelies.

Chapter 2: Just As Much A Queen

Most of the next day is spent with boxes and memories. You are packing up and leaving your home forever. You’d never really lived anywhere else, not even been to many other people’s houses. It was a strange concept to grasp, leaving and not coming back. You aren’t too sad to leave all of the memories, most of them not that fond anyway. But instead of reminiscing on old feelings you keep one goal in your mind: Get what you deserve. After that talk last night with Jimin, you’ve made the decision to play along. It’s really all that you can do for now before you can find a way to take back the family.

After going through the house for the better part of the day, you come up with a lousy two and a half boxes of belongings. It’s kind of sad to realize that the few things you care about in this world can fit into such a small space. But you don’t want to take anything that will bring up any bad memories of your father. Things like that could end up distracting you and you still have to keep your eyes on the prize.

Jimin picks you up in the early evening to take you to the venue of the “event.” To call it a wedding would be comical. The contracts had  already been signed and this party is more of a formality for the family. It’s being held at the Min mansion which you find is undoubtedly, the largest house you’ve ever seen. Jimin gushes at the sight, talk about how great the party will probably be. Unfortunately, you aren’t able to get a good look at the interior when you arrive for the first time before you are ushered away down a long hallway towards the other side of the building. There you are led into a dressing room where some women are waiting.

When you walk in, you pretend not to notice the fact that all the girls stare at Jimin. He is already dressed for the event and honestly, looking fine as hell. This is something he gets a lot of and you’ve gotten used to others gawking in his presence. If only these poor girls knew.

The girls help you into a dark blue dress and help you appear presentable in between fawning over Jimin. Once they’re done, they leave you and Jimin alone in the room. As you look in the mirror you find yourself surprised. A bit of a smile finds its way onto your face as you admire the choice of clothing.

“A bit full of ourselves, are we?” Jimin comments, noticing you admiring yourself.

“It’s not that, it’s just… blue, not white. It makes it seem like less of a wedding.” You’re a bit perplexed as to who had picked it out. You turn back to Jimin. “And you’re one to talk.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault the girls love me. Unlike some people, I don’t need dresses and makeup to look good.”

You’re about to tackle him right there until you hear a knock on the door. It’s time to go.

You’re drunk. Not completely shitfaced but enough. It definitely helps you get through the night, though. Most of the people here, you’ve never met before, only occasionally recognizing some members of your family. There’s no one you’re really close with though, except for Jimin, who you currently find partying hard on the other side of the room probably four or five cocktails in. He’s always the life of the party on nights like this.

The venue is perfect for a party, and you may have enjoyed yourself in a different situation. The hall is large and grand, and could probably fit over a hundred people. Large round tables are scattered across the floor with a main table towards the front where you are sat. From your position, you are able to admire the grandness of the room. At first glance, the ceiling appears overly adorned in gold. There’s classical paintings and strange images that seem entirely too distracting. Then you notice the background, stars. Behind all of the pictures and gold is a night sky that stretches to each end of the room. It’s a shame so much of it is covered by other paintings. You think it’d be poetically beautiful to paint an entire ceiling as a night sky.

Your thoughts are interrupted by congratulations from Jin who has come to your and Yoongi’s table. You smile and thank him and as he turn away and heads towards the other board members, your eyes send daggers at the back of his head.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you if you scowl like that your face will stick?” That’s right, he’s here. It takes every bit of your being to not make a snappy comeback, and all you can do is look away from him. You need him to tolerate you if you’re ever going to get your position back. Who knows, he could probably help you. But you know he won’t because you know exactly the kind of guy he is. He just shrugs off your reaction and goes back to staring straight ahead like you. What a lively couple we are.

This entire party is for everyone but you two, and you get more and more relieved as the guest leave. Jimin is long gone, taken home by the driver after passing out around the desert table an hour ago. You’re about to fall asleep while watching the stragglers when you hear Yoongi’s voice next to you.

“Get up, I’ll show you your room.” He says above you. For a moment you sag lower in your chair. It’s like every time he talks, you remember you’re supposed to be married now and become filled with dread. Still, you silently get up and follow him out of the grand hall down two separate corridors before you find yourself in a section of the house that gives off more homely vibes. He points to the door behind you.

“That is your room. It’s one of the places you’re allowed to go. You’re also allowed to walk back to the main part of the house, but nowhere else. My room and my study are on the other side of the hallway.” He points to a set of doors towards the end of the hall. “Never go in there, do you understand?” You nod. “Don’t leave the house unless you tell me first, I’ll have a guard everywhere with you.” At this your face changes.

“I’m not allowed to leave?” You ask.

“Not unless I say so sweetheart.” Damn he really is a cocky ass. He raises his eyebrows. “Do you understand?” He mockingly asks. The nerve on this guy!

“Yes sir.” You say a little too sarcastically complete with a salute. His eyebrows furrow as his face twists in confusion. You don’t give him the opportunity to question your weird response as you rush past the door behind you, slamming it shut to separate yourself from him.

You hadn’t seen him in the last few days, which isn’t something you’re too torn up about. You did, however, find yourself bored out of your mind. All you’ve done for the last few days is read, watch TV, and sleep. You now wish you had brought more things from home instead of leaving everything that could distract you from your goal. You’re not going anywhere with it now anyway, what were you supposed to do, just go to the Kims and demand that Jin give you your place? It’d be easier if your captor was on your side. But nothing will work anyway if you die of boredom first.

You’ve tried to go find more to do but are always stopped by this guard who seems to pop out of nowhere as soon as you think about breaking the rules by leaving your “designated areas.” Doing nothing productive has left you feeling drained. You want to see Jimin, but you haven’t heard from him since the party. You probably understood why he didn’t contact you the first day, probably too hungover to leave his bed. But after that, you started to get worried. It was unlike Jimin to suddenly stop talking to you, he’d want to know everything about your new life.

After a week, a Netflix binge, and about 40 phone calls that Jimin didn’t pick up, you start to panic on the inside. Surely if something had happened to him, you would know about it right? All you could do for all these days is reassure yourself. But it’s eating you up inside and you have to know. So you leave your room determined to only return with answers.

“Hey there.” The guard says, already standing to hover over you as soon as you’re through the threshold of your doorway. He’s attempting to establish dominance. So you, in turn, fix your posture to mean business

“I need to go see my friend.” You say up to him.

“Sorry,” He says, clearly not meaning it, “no can do.” What? Why not? It’s not like it has anything to do with Yoongi.

“It’s an emergency, and he’s really important to me.”

“Hmm. No.” He says again, almost sing-song. Wow.

“Are you kidding me?” You say, your obedient façade starting to break.

“Look kid, I can’t let you see or contact anyone, at least for now. Boss’s orders.”

Well now you’re upset for even more reasons. If they aren’t letting you contact anyone, maybe the issue is on your end and Jimin isn’t getting any calls from you. This could be bad, what if he thinks you’re dead or something? You two are all each other have, he’d be as broken as you are right now.

“Where is Yoongi?” You aggressively ask the large man in front of you.

“Busy. In a meeting.”

“But he’s here.” The guard seems confused by your statement and before you know it, you’re sweeping your leg under his and pushing his head towards the ground. It hits with a thud and he stays there.

Oops. Well you did say you wouldn’t go back to your room without answers.

You leave the confinements of the living section of the mansion and look for the place where business is conducted. Let’s just say, if someone were to see you walking through the house, it would look like a wild animal angrily looking for prey. You’re bursting through doors and making a ruckus. Every time you find an empty meeting room, the emotions in you get more intense. You feel the physical and metaphorical separation between you and the one person you care about as well as the person keeping you from him. Who cares about what Yoongi thinks of you anymore, he won’t be of any help anyway. You want some damn answers.

When you reach the far end of the building you come across a large set of double doors. You continue your rampage and burst through only to find a large group of very intimidating looking men standing around a large table in the middle of the room. Definitely giving off evil vibes.

“Y/n!? What- How’d you get here?” Ah there he is, just the person you wanted to see.

“Let me leave.”

“What?”

“I have had enough of this crap, I can’t even contact anyone? What the hell?”

“Y/N we will talk about this later, as you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

“Did you do something to Jimin?” His face changes. Great.

Never once have you felt the way that you feel right now. Even when you think about all the shit you’ve been put through the past 24 years of your life, nothing comes close to the scale of the fire coursing through your vanes in this moment. It’s not just anger, it’s bigger and more complex. Sure, you’re angry. At your father, at yourself, and at the asshole standing in front of you. But there’s something that adds a hollowness to the melting pot of emotions inside of you. Loneliness. Helplessness. That man’s stupid face as it looks at you certainly doesn’t help. He has this confused expression that’s just dying to be wiped off of his face by a sharp cut of your hand. It seems comical how dull someone could be. You feel everything piling up to the point where you’re about to explode. But instead of keeping face as usual you storm toward the man with fire in your eyes.

You stand directly in front of him, probably closer than you should, and steel yourself, looking directly into his eyes.

“I want you to understand something Yoongi.” It’s frightening how quickly you created this aura around yourself that would induce fear in anyone. “I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life, as I’m sure you can imagine. But every time something stands in my way,” You lower your voice. “I move it.”

Yoongi seems to be frozen in awe with his mouth slightly open so you continue. “That being said, I’m not your pet, I’m not your wife, and I’m certainly not your prisoner. You and I are the same.” You jut your finger into his chest when you say this. “I’m just as much a queen as you are a king, only I deserve it more. So I want you to know that if you stand in the way of me and the things I love, I’ll cut you down. I don’t care who the hell you think you are.” When he remains silent you turn to leave and walk past all the men who just overheard your little tantrum. Before you can exit the room, Yoongi finally speaks up.

“Y/N, trust me. You don’t want to see him right now.”

“Did you not listen to anything I just said!?” Seriously, how dull is he?

“Jimin isn’t who you think he is Y/N.”

A/N: I love to finally write Y/N as an angry character. I haven’t seen enough Y/N’s in this genre that are rough around the edges. I can’t wait to see more aggression!

Next Chapter

#min yoongi #min yoongi fanfic #park jimin #bts yoongi #bts jimin #yoongi x reader #jimin fluff #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts imagines

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

On The Street Where You Live, Part 2

This got long so I had to break it up into 3 parts. Apologies!

I'm warning you, this chapter is pretty degenerate. And has sex scenes 😥

***

Patience perused the dresses on the rack. Two girls from her high school were at the normal-priced rack, giggling and casting smug looks behind them at the girl in the ratty skirt flipping through Woolworth's discount rack. She tried to ignore them.

Too out-of-style... wrong size... too much lace... finally, when she was beginning to despair, she found a gorgeous green dress with a white sash and a ruffled bodice at the very end. It had a rip in the skirt, but that could be fixed.

She walked home, and as soon as she stepped through the door she was met by a familiar face. Leonardo was sitting on the couch, hair ruffled. His face brightened when he saw her. "What are you doing here?" She said.

Mommy came in, buttoning the front of her dress. "Did you find a prom dress, honey?"

"Yeah. It's ten dollars."

"I could have one made for you," said Leonardo. "My father and I are tailors."

The thought of Silvio with his giant sausage fingers sweating over her dress made her want to drink Drano. "It's nice of you to offer, but thanks."

Something in the air smelled fishy. Literally. Leonardo had his waistcoat (with the St.Joseph's emblem) draped over the side of the couch.

"Patience, sweetie, go get the photo album. I want to show Leo some pictures."

'Leo'?

Mommy looked happier than she had ever seen her before. Her skin was flushed and she looked at Leonardo with adoration that seemed closer to worship.

Patience reluctantly got the album out of the cabinet and Mommy flipped it open on her lap. Black-and-white photos of days gone by--days when Mommy and Daddy didn't scream or hit each other--flashed past.

"This is our wedding day," said Mommy, pointing to a photo of her and Daddy, her radiant in a long-sleeved white dress and Daddy in his army uniform. "Richard had just come back from serving in World War Two."

"My father served the war as well," said Leonardo. 

"Which side?" Said Patience, and her mom scowled at her.

"He fought for Italy. But he was never a fascist, just a patriot. When he saw how bad things were going for Italy, he switched to helping the Allies. He helped rebuild Italy. And after it was all said and done, he came here to start a new life."

Patience had a distinct feeling that some of that was bullshit, but said nothing. 

"Mrs. Winslow, you look radiant. A true Southern beauty."

Mommy giggled. "That was a long time ago."

"You are still beautiful. I know you still turn heads when you're out." He winked. "If I were your husband, I'd be too afraid of someone stealing you I'd never let you out of the house."

God, he knew how to lay it on thick. She grumped to herself as he paused over a picture of Patience. "Is that you, Pazienza?"

Patience was about eight, in a checked pinafore and her hair in braids. "Yeah. That was the church picnic, remember, Mommy?"

"I wish I had pictures like these," Leonardo said softly. "All of them are so happy and lovely. I can tell you all adore each other."

"Don't you have baby pictures?"

"Not many. We lived a rough life. Photographs were a luxury few of us could afford."

"You poor thing," said Mommy, cupping his face. Patience looked away. She hated the syrupy way Mommy spoke to him. He wasn't her son. Patience was her daughter, and she was RIGHT THERE.

They reached the end, and there was a picture of the family in front of their new house in Garland City. Patience was forcing a smile, as was her mother, and Richard wasn't smiling at all.

Patience winced. "That's when we moved to Garland. Urgh."

"Why the move?"

"Well, Greenhaven PD wanted dad to come to Garland to work on some assignment with the Garland City PD. And it's... kinda dragging."

"What assignment?"

Patience looked at her mom, and doubt flashed across her face. "Organized crime," she said slowly.

"You don't want to tell me? That's fine. I don't blame you." He rubbed his finger over the photograph, lingering on Patience's face. "You really do look like your mother, Patience. Both of you are beautiful. Richard is a very, very lucky man."

Patience couldn't help it. He was handsome and she was a little flattered. "I need to... go do homework."

"Richard is due back soon as well. Thank you for dropping that casserole off, Leo."

Patience escorted him out. "It's lovely spending time with you and your mother. We should all go out together sometime."

"I'm not sure my dad would like that."

"Well, we just won't tell anyone then." He leaned against the side of the door, shielding his pretty face from the sun with one hand. "Patience, I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" She wondered when Woolworth's was closing.

"There's going to be a celebration at St. Joseph's next Sunday. Feast of St. Gennaro. Would you like to come with me?"

"Uhm, I'm actually going to be doing something that night. Prom. I have a date."

He paused, and something settled over his face. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"It's fine." 

His blue eyes were glassy in the sunshine. "Who with?"

"Salvatore Mallozzi. I think you know him."

"I do indeed." He looked away. The joviality of his manner had seemed to vanish. "Thank you for having me over." He walked down the steps to the house, not looking back.

***

"You look beautiful, sweetie." Marilyn fixed her hair a bit and steppled back. "Perfecto!"

Patience looked at herself in the mirror, turning her head this way and that to admire the makeup. "Thanks, Mommy! You did a great job."

"I still think you should have worn my black dress. It'll look so charming and vintage." 

"Ha. I'd get hell for it from the other girls, I'd never live it down."

She looked out the window. "You'll have to introduce me to your date soon."

Patience had no intention of doing so, and would make excuses to the end of time. "Sure, I will. We'll all have to have dinner or something." She checked the clock. "Well, off I go. Bye, Mommy."

"Have fun, sweetie. Don't get carried away." The look on her face was bittersweet as she watched her daughter leave the house.

***

Salvatore had offered to pick her up, but she refused. She REALLY didn't need her mom and dad to see who she was dating. So she walked down the cracked streets to Salvatore's house.

He lived just a few blocks over, in a small, cramped tenement with an overgrown yard and a car on concrete blocks on the street opposite. She nervously knocked on the door, and it was pulled open by a plump girl with red lipstick and frizzy blonde hair. "Oh, you must be Patience!"

"Are you... related?" 

"No. My name's Barbara. I'm here for the prom as well." She stepped into the doorway, showing off her ruffled polka-dot dress. "I'm going with Gabe, Salvatore's brother. I like your dress!"

"Salvatore has a brother?" She followed her in.

The house was packed, hot and noisy. A boy that looked similiar to Sal, but with longer hair, was straightening his bow tie in the hallway mirror. He looked over and smiled at her. "Hi! You must be Patience."

He yelled something in Sicilian behind him, and was answered by a woman's voice in another rapid smattering of Sicilian. A woman with thick dark hair and thicker eyebrows was cooking something in the smoky kitchen as Patience emerged into the living room. As she looked over at Patience and frowned, the resemblance to her two sons was so striking she wondered if she were simply Salvatore in a dress with a little eyeshadow. 

"Why can't you get a nice Italian girl?" The woman yelled in the other direction.

"Quiet down, mama!" Salvatore yelled back from another room.

There was a man sitting on the ripped couch, holding a beer. She vaguely recognized the dark shades and the slicked-back hair.

"Patience! So this is the girl that my Sal is so in love with. Let me get a good look at you.

"Skin and bones," sniffed the mother.

"That dress looks lovely on you, darling. Twirl around." She did so. "Che bella!"

Barbara came in and collapsed on the sofa. "Are you done in there, Sal?"

"I'll be ready when I'm ready!"

"I've known Sal since he was knee-high-- I'm his part-time boss. Name's Dario Malone, but you can call me Bats. Cause I'm battier than a warehouse full of 'em!" That seemed to amuse Malone, and he threw his head back and cackled.

Dario Malone... that name sounded familiar. She felt like she'd seen it in the newspaper before. A door swung open and Sal stood there in a well-cut white tuxedo, his black hair in a neat side-part. He was holding a corsage. 

"You look great, Sal! You're so handsome! Your suit's... amazing!"

"I let him borrow it," said Malone. "After all, it's a special night."

"You look stunning," Salvatore managed, his eyes like saucers. "Your dress... it's...,"

"From the clearance rack at Woolworth's." Salvatore stepped forward and pinned the corsage to her breast. "May I?"

"You may." Patience took his arm in hers.

"This kid is like a son to me," said Malone. "So you better bring him back home before midnight, understand?" He wagged his finger in a parody of a mother. 

She laughed. "Sure, Mr. Malone."

"Salud, Sal." He lifted his beer bottle. "You make this a special night."

Barbara and Gabe and them got in the car, a swanky Cadillac that was probably borrowed as well. Barbara and Patience sat in the back, Gabe and Sal in the front.

The ride was long and glitzy and filled with laughter. Salvatore blew through two red light and the speed limit, but she didn't care. Barbara cracked raunchy joke after raunchy joke. When they finally arrived at the prom, Patience staggered out, dizzy, when Sal held the door open for her.

Their car outshone every other car in the parking lot. People stared in admiration at the Mallozzi brothers and their dates as they escorted them into the auditorium.

A banner proclaiming CLASS OF 52 WILLIAM WESTON HIGH SCHOOL hung over the dance floor. Punch bowls and glitzy dresses galore. High heels spinning in a dance. Neon streamers everywhere. Patience was bedazzled, and had to hang onto Sal's arm for support.

"Yahoo! Let's dance!" Barbara grabbed Gabe and spun him into the crowd of dancers, and Sal followed suit.

None of them knew how to dance, that much was clear, and they kept knocking into other people and each other. Patience was laughing and blushing, and hooked her arms around Salvatore's narrow shoulders

Even his pallor had flushed, and he was grinning broadly.

They separated when they became exhausted, and Sal led her over to a chair as he went to get them punch.

Patience leaned her elbows on the white tablecloth as Sal disappeared into the crowd. This was the best night of her life and it could only get better. She never wanted it to end.

"Excuse me? Excuse me? P-Patience?"

She turned around to face a brown-haired boy with coke bottle glasses and a bow tie. He was holding a pen and a notepad.

"Yes?" He looked vaguely familiar.

"I'm Mike. I'm in your gun class, I think."

"Oh. Yeah. You always come in dead last. I'm sorry for beating you by fifty points last Friday, I shouldn't have laughed at you."

"It's fine. I'll take another elective next year. I'm not big on shooting, anyway, journalism is more my forte." He scratched his head, looking nervous. "I'm covering the prom for the yearbook. Can I ask you a couple questions?"

"Sure." She moved over to let him sit down.

"First question: Who is your date?"

"I'M her goddamn date, and you better beat it, you fucking mick." Sal was standing there holding two cups of punch, his fingers so tight she worried that it would shatter.

He stood up. "Sorry. I'm with the yearbook, I was just interviewing--"

"I don't give a fuck what you're doing, find another girl." Salvatore's voice was a snarl.

"Sal, calm down. He really WAS just--"

"What the hell did you say to my brother?" Snarled someone else from behind. A tall brown-haired boy with a lantern jaw and a suit 2 sizes too small blocked out the light.

Sal slid the drinks over to her and faced him, body tense. "Get lost, Seamus. This doesn't involve you."

"Fuck you, Mallozzi. I got a fuckin bone to pick with you. You put my buddy Sam in the hospital. And you was the one trespassing on Bulldogs territory!"

A small circle had formed, watching the two boys. "Oh, no," Michael said in a small voice.

Sal pushed up his sleeves just as Seamus took a step forward. The look in his glistening, coal-black eyes made her shudder. A chill ran down her spine. In her mind's eye she saw the Irish boy's head stomped into the curb, and heard the echoing crack through her brain.

"What's going on here? Are you fighting? Enough!" Mr. Tolbert, their burly gym teacher, was elbowing his way through the throng.

Sal looked over to the teacher and looked about to argue--the cords on his neck were standing taut. But Patience wrapped her arms around him from behind, and saidnin his ear. "Forget about it Sal. He's not worth it. C'mon, let's dance a little more."

Mike tugged his brother in the other direction, and Patience led him back to the dance floor and pulled him into a slow dance. She tilted her head up to rest their foreheads against each other.

He smelled like cigarette smoke, her boy, and as the gentleness in his eyes returned, she leaned up and slowly pressed her lips against his. They stayed like that, still, tasting each other, their bodies molded together. When they separated, he whispered, "Let's get out of here?"

"What?" She giggled.

"I know a place--a beautiful little place that the two of us can go for some alone time. Come on, let's go!" He tugged her towards the exit. She looked back, her hair whipping. "What about Gabe and Barb?" 

"They have friends who can drive them home. C'mon!"

***

It was indeed a beautiful little place. On a hill that overlooked the vast, glittering lights of Garland City, he had parked her car. She gazed out over the cornucopia of shining lights, spread like a blanket to the mass of darkness that was the bay. "Oh, Sal! This is wonderful!"

He was sitting back, smiling rakishly. "One hell of a sight, huh? Found this place while exploring one day. Thought it would be perfect. No one comes around here cause it's right off the highway on the forest reserve. The trees hide it from the road." 

If Patience had been more suspicious, she probably would have questioned why he was out here so remote "exploring", but she was caught up in a whirlwind of love and it didn't occur to her. "It's perfect. Thank you. This--everything is perfect."

"I sure hope so. A perfect night for a perfect girl." he smiled at her. He did have the most wonderful smile. It lit up his whole face. He was handsome, in that gangly way teenage boys often were, youth softening his features before they became angular adult's features. His skin was very fair, milky pale and shaved clean of the faltering stubble that had just started to come in. His eyes were not hard anymore, but as soft and dark as a doe's, his hair a matching sable that was carefully combed out of his face. 

And she was drowning in him, so much so that when he put a hand between her legs she didn't object, but leaned forward to meet him in a kiss.

She was hypersensitized, breathing heavily and moaning as his mouth went from hers to the soft nape of her neck, nipping her slightly as his hand worked under her panties to reach her warm, damp confines.

He pressed the tip of his finger inside her, slowly moving in circles, and she stifled a moan. She could see him getting hard through his pants, and spontaneously rubbed him through the fabric. He swelled under her hand, becoming more erect with every rub she gave him.

He moved up to a tiny pinprick of flesh between her cleft, and the shock of pleasure was so electric she gasped. "There," she said. "Yes, there, yes, keep rubbing!"

He encircled it with his finger and thumb, pressing and rubbing and sending her heart to her throat, and she increased her movements, gripping his bulging head through the fabric and squeezing it.

"Fuck," he said when before now he had been silent, and his voice was strained. He pulled his hand out--she squirmed--and wrapped his arms around her, searching for the zipper of her dress, and when he yanked it down, it nearly tore. She gave a half-cry, half-laugh. "Sal!"

Her breasts--what little of them there were-- popped free, and he smothered his face in them, licking and sucking the sensitive red tips. She grabbed his head, her fingers sinking into his soft black hair, not sure whether to pull him toward her or away, the stimulation zinging to the ends of her toes.

He unbuttoned his coat halfway, and pulled it off the rest of the way in his haste. The shirt came off too, and his bare chest was revealed, lean and scarred with every rib visible.

"Sal--" he quieted her with another kiss, pulling off her dress until she was in nothing but underwear and thigh-highs, and the underwear went too, dangling on her ankles.

The world swirled as he pulled a lever to put her seat back, and her head thudded against the soft seat as he climbed on top of her. He did not weigh much, but he seemed heavy as he pulled down his zipper, head bent so that his hair came free to shadow his face.

Something brushed her wet, spread opening, something hard and desperately hot, and before she could say a word he was fully sheathed in her, his thick cock spearing her spongy walls, and the pain wa so sudden and sharp the slow shreds of pleasure that had begun to build up vanished.

He began to move back and forth, his hips spasming as he forced his cock as far as it would go and pulled out, leaving just the head in. 

Whatever pleasure she might have felt was gone by the harsh movement and sudden penetration without any time for her to adjust. She struggled, the pain making tears come to her eyes, before he slammed her back down with a deliberateness to it that said don't do that again.

She looked at the car ceiling, tears streaking down the sides of her face as put his whole weight on her hips, grinding against her harder than a bullet in a chamber. The thought made her think of gun class, and if she had a gun right now, and she wondered whether she would use it on him right now.

Her long, pale legs unwillingly curved around his slim hips, her underwear hanging from one ankle. The lights of the city reflected on the dashboard, and on her quivering toetip, twitching back and forth as he slammed into her.

He froze, head nestled to the nape of her neck, and gave a moan that vibrated against her skin. Something hot spread through her lower body, like a warm, wet puddle. 

They lay like that for a moment, him harshly breathing against her skin, before he rolled off.

She sat up immediately, despite the stinging between her thighs, and pulled her dress around her. Her nose was running in addition to the tears that streamed down her cheeks. As she hefted herself, she felt something warm trickle down her leg. When she looked down she saw a streak of blood, mixed with white, slowly making its way down her thigh.

"Marry me," said Salvatore.

Patience looked over at him in utter bewilderment. He was lying on his back, his narrow chest exhaling and expanding and his fly undone. The thing that had caused her so much pain was lying there on top of his pants, looking almost comical with its clumsy, mushroom-shaped head and the veins running helter skelter across its length.

"Are you joking?" She was trying to keep the sob out of her voice and it came overly hard.

"No! I'm serious." He rolled over to look at her with sheer adoration. "I want to have kids with you, I want to come home to you, I want to do this every night. I love you, Patience!"

"Sal, we're still in high school! How do you think you're going to support us?"

"I'll quit school. I've been thinking of leaving school anyway. I'll find a place for us. I got a job--I can support us both, no worry."

She gave a mirthless laugh. "With what, three dollars an hour? You're fucking delusional."

"I got connections. I could make a living--"

"We're not getting married. Get your head screwed on straight--"

The slap he delivered her knocked her head into the car door, and she saw stars.

Clutching her head, she turned frightened eyes onto her boyfriend.

His eyes made her freeze like a rabbit in the headlights. They were burning coal, livid and infernal. "You think that I can't support us? Can't hold down a job? Or is that what you expected?"

He pulled her forward by her throat. "Cause I'm just some fuckin lowlife, and I'll never be anything more than some scumbag working a dead-end job, cause I'm nothing but a criminal, cause I'll never be an honest man, for the same reason you won't introduce me to your parents. I killed people before, you know, Patience?" He punctuated his words a harsh shake of her head. His two fingers were cinching her throat, cutting off her air supply. Her gaze was starting to turn white. "I killed people and I'll do it again. I ain't a boy, Patience. I'm a MAN." 

He let her go. "And don't you ever forget it."

She clutched her throat, coughing weakly, her eyes overflowing with tears of pain and fright. Salvatore paused, then smashed his fist against the dashboard. "FUCK!"

They sat there like that, Sal still and Patience sobbing weakly, until Salvatore reversed the car.

The trip back was quiet. Salvatore made several attempts at conversation, but when she didn't respond, he lapsed into angry silence. He dropped her off at the corner without a goodbye.

During the walk back she felt like a medieval woman doing the walk of shame. The weight of what happened weighed on her as heavy as a mortar. All she wanted was to hide safe and sound, away from the horrors of the night. She wanted her mother's soft voice, her soft, comforting touch, her kind, gentle dark eyes. Whenever anything had gone wrong, whenever little Patience was crying, Mommy would hold her and put her on her lap and kiss her tears away.

She felt like bursting into tears when she saw the glowing orange squares of her windows come into view.

Patience rushed through the front door, waiting to topple into her mother's arms.

A very different scene greeted her.

A familiar elegant figure was sitting on her--her--couch, one leg crossed over the other. His white shirt was undone and unbuttoned down his chest, and his pants were loose on his hips.

He looked over slowly, putting glass of white wine down. A brassiere was lying discarded on the floor. "Did you come back from your prom date, Pazienza? With Salvatore?"

"It's eleven at night, why are you here?"  She was screaming and crying and did not need to deal with this and wanted him out.

"I think you know exactly why I'm here,  Patience." His voice was quiet in the silence of her house.

The realization hit her like an avalanche. Slow, creeping, then collapsing in a sudden wave.

"You... and Mommy..." her voice was small. She didn't want to believe it.

He was standing up to lean against the wall. His golden hair tumbled over his shoulders as he tilted his head to look at her. "It took you long enough."

Fresh tears stung her eyes as she struggled to comprehend the end of her happy child's version of her parents' marriage. "Mom! Mommy!"

"Your Mommy is not coming. Your Mommy is asleep and she won't wake up for quite a while."

He let a long, strong arm drape across the doorside. He stared at her slowly, intensely, his eyes dark and amused.

"Wouldn't," he said, "It be a tragedy if your father was to hear about this?"

The idea pierced her brain, sunk into it like a winestain. She thought of her parents divorcing. Marilyn and Richard. Those happy picnics, the fair trips, the family dinners, the household disappearing. She thought of Daddy finding out, and the despair she imagined on his face made fresh tears dot her cheeks. "No. No, please. Don't tell him--If, if it needs to, I will, but please, not you, not now--"

"And what would you do to make that a reality?" He stepped closer, until the scent of his cologne hit her. The sickly sweet made her gorge rise, as did his smile.

"No," she said as she realized his words. "No." She looked behind her, praying for her father to get back.

"Fuck you. I'm not--you can't blackmail me like this! I won't fuck you and you won't take advantage of me like this! I--" she was crying so hard she wanted to collapse. 

Leonardo took her wrist and slammed her against the wall. "Time is ticking, Patience. Your father is due back in an hour." A sly, vicious smile broke across his face. "Let's get to work."

He divested her of her dress, which fell in a crumpled heap on the ground. His body was warm and attentive, unlike Salvatore, moving carefully and warmly against her trembling body, supporting her against the wall and capturing her lips in a deep, soul-sucking kiss. She smelled his sick sweetness and felt the thick curly hair between her fists, and wanted to vomit.

And then he was in her. His hot stiffness was invading her damaged warmth, rubbing and sliding carefully over her wounded walls. His cock was already warm--from what, she did not know.

Leonardo was considerate, a slow, careful lover, seeking the ways to make her squeal. He touched her in the right ways, rubbing her clit and thumbing her nipples while he covered her mouth with his.

"You're wetter than I thought you'd be," he whispered. "Did you and your boyfriend have some fun before you came home?"

He separated, cock half out of her, and the thin strings of white plastered his cock.

She wanted to sob from shame.

"What a naughty girl," he whispered in her ear.

No. Not after Salvatore. Not after this.

He dropped to his knees in one fluid motion, and pressed his mouth to the apex of her thighs.

Her knees buckled as he gave his first suck, followed by a lave, drawing out the seed from her body.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she could only helplessly cry as the tip of his tongue teased her sensitive lips and clit.

He withdrew his head to gaze into her eyes, and the infinity beyond them made her spine stiffen.

"The only seed you need to have in you is mine."

He stood up, and in the same movement, thrust into her. 

Her back weakened as he began his steady rhythm, hips thrusting back and forth measuredly until her belly began to build up with more sparks of electricity. 

She didn't want it, she didn't want any of it, all she wanted to do was flee to the refuge of her room and cry. But he wasn't letting go of her, he was hammering and kissing and pleasuring her, until the climax building up in her abused body was too intense to ignore.

The head of his cock twitched, and she knew he was close to release. "Wouldn't it be grand if we had a baby?" He murmured into her ear, punctuating his words with a warm, wet lick. "We'll have a little girl together. Oh, papa will be gone, promesso, and even your mother, if you so desire. Take it all in. Every bit. I'll make you a mother alright, and you'll bear my seed until your legs collapse and your body can't take it anymore."

His lovingly hissed promises sent her into a mindless state of panic, of giving up her school, her parents, of everything that ever meane anything to her. The vestiges of her encounter with Salvatore had put her in hysteria, and it had reached a breaking point. She drew her head back and slammed it into Leonardo's with a loud crack.

His cock pulled free, and she slammed onto the ground just in time for her to pull her green dress around her body and make a break for her room.

She slammed her door shut and locked it with the slim wire latch, which stretched taut when Leonardo tried to force his way in. "Pazienza."

The doorknob jiggled.

"Do you want your father to know about this?"

The chain snapped taut.

"Let me in."

She stood in the middle of her room, moonlight bathing her. "Go away."

"You'll be mine soon, anyway. Your mother will belong to me, and so will you. Why not make this easier on yourself?"

"Go away!" She crushed her hands over her ears and knelt down, and sobbed, praying for the clink of metal and the thuds to melt away and the sound of her father's boot's to come thudding in, but for that moment in time, all she could do was crouch and wail, and wish desperately for the night to end.

***

The next few weeks, Patience avoided Salvatore. She took a different route home, even though it was a mile out of her way. She never went to see him at the butcher shop.

She knew Leonardo kept visiting her mother. Many days she stayed awake, eyes wide open and tortured as she knew what was going on down the hall, trying to banish the faint moans from her subconscious. But she kept her door locked. Her window latched.

A month later, she missed her period.

#bonus chapter

[harristarrkey-blog]

Evermore: Chapter One

Summary:  Some believed the town was cursed, as it was the only place where winter was always present, others believed in the presence of a beast, lurking away in the forest and stealing children from their parents and killing farm animals. Ritchie didn’t particularly believe in any of those stories, but as a lot of people, he felt uneasy to enter the forest.

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul Mccartney

Also on AO3 by SpaceRavioli

The day was cloudy and windy, with no sign of the sun to be seen. The water was freezing cold and exuded a strong, salty scent that blended in with the smell of fishes’ guts and ashes from the town. The cacophony of fishermen grunting was his background music, and he joined while lifting a bucket full of fishes to the shore, where the sand was raspy and full of garbage.

It was all in all, a normal working day.

Ritchie’s joints screamed and his lungs burned, but he didn’t stop walking until he was in the store. He was ready to finally end this day and to finally return home to his parents and rest until next morning and repeat everything again.

Once inside the store, he dropped the bucket in the backroom and closed the door. He hated the way the fish felt through his worn-out gloves, but he despised the way the fish guts smelled, so he left them all for Bobby Thompson to mutilate.

“Leaving already? But you are gonna miss the best part!” Bobby said, already surrounded by a gory fest. Ritchie wrinkled his nose, clearly disgusted even after years of working there.

“I’d rather just leave now” He responded, taking his gloves off and putting them in a bucket full of sea water. He then continued stripping his work clothes and changed into his normal ones, just a simple long-sleeved shirt, some baggy pants, a coat that belonged to his father and his age-worn boots. “But you can ask me again tomorrow, maybe I’ll change my mind over night. “

“Hope you do” Bobby sliced open a fish almost joyfully. “See you later, Ritch”

“See you”

Ritchie left the store and started walking down town whistling. All his limbs felt tired and wanted nothing more than a good night rest, but he didn’t want to return home just yet. He enjoyed walking through town, looking into the nice little shops and meeting new people. Besides, he hadn’t seen his friends since ages ago and was dying of knowing what was happening with their lives.

“Oh, Ritchie, again so soon?” Maureen casted him a quick glance and smiled. She was fixing some gentlemen’s hair with fast, talented hands, with her own hair in a nice, tight bun and dressed in a long, pink dress and a black apron.

She looked beautiful.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mo.” Ritchie stood awkwardly under the door and shrugged. “It’s been a while now”

“You were here yesterday, silly”

“I certainly do not remember”

Maureen sighed and returned her attention at her client, smiling. She lifted a big mirror behind his head and asked what the guy thought of his hair. When he seemed satisfied with everything, he paid and left. Ritchie just watched everything unfold in silent, curiously probing at the tools.

“It must be the age” Maureen joked once they were left alone. Ritchie let go of a pair of scissors when she glared at him. “What are you really doing here?”

“Nothing, just the usual”

“You mean, annoying me?”

“No, I meant the just passing by part”

“Ritchie” She said sternly, and Ritchie just froze in place, comb in hand. With a frown, he avoided her worried eyes and pointed at the tools with the comb.

“You know, I still think you should teach me one day”

“Yeah right, because I need another reason for your fiancée to hate me”

Ritchie winced immediately.

“I’m sorry, Ritchie.” Maureen spoke softly, like she was talking to a kid and he hated that kind of baby talk, well knowing what she was gonna say. Still, he let her finish. “But we have to stop pretending she doesn’t exist every time you walk through that door.”

And he knew she was right, but he still asked in a small voice and grabbed a couple of scissors: “Not even a little bit?” But he already knew the answer.

You see, Richard Starkey was going to marry Bethany Shaw next month. The marriage was arranged between the two families in hope of survival, and so the date was unmovable and their fate unavoidable. Bethany Shaw was Ringo’s age, but appeared younger with her beautiful, long, golden hair and a chubby face that looked like it didn’t belong in her minuscule body. She was tiny, but her presence was not. She carried the confidence that Ritchie lacked and talked like everything she said was right, and still, nothing she had said made Ritchie love her.

But who loved someone that they barely knew, and was supposed to marry in two weeks?

“Ritch…” Maureen warned, but Ritchie ignored her in favour of playing around with the scissors. Because he didn’t love Bethany Shaw and wasn’t even sure he liked her enough to tolerate a lifespan with her for the rest of his surely short life, but he did like other things. His dream was to be a stylist, like Maureen was, but he also enjoyed things like spending time with her, painting, dancing and hearing the music at Pete’s bar and for now, that was enough. Things that helped him pretend that he wasn’t going to marry some girl he didn’t like soon.

“Are you going to come with us next weekend?” Ritchie changed the conversation, not wanting to follow that thought anymore.

“Oh, I don’t know, Ritchie. Not sure how it will look that just one lady is hanging with all of you guys”

“I can tell Rory to invite his wife, if that’s the only thing you are worried about” But he knew that wasn’t the only thing she was worried about. She surely was worried about a lot of other things, like Bethany, but Ritchie couldn’t care less.

“But--“

“It’s probably going to be the last time before I marry” He blurted before she could refuse him again. His eyes looked for her gaze, and when they found it, he smiled a little. “Please, Mo. For me?”

He saw the way her lips trembled a little, and his stomach felt empty. He never liked when she felt sad, and lately it looked like it was the only thing he could make her feel. He wanted to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be alright, but that was lying, and he hated lying to someone he loved.

So, he settled for just waiting.

“I—I—” She stuttered, but after long, painful minutes, she sighed. “I’m gonna ask Isaac”

“Maybe he can come. The more, the merrier” Ritchie smiled and pushed her shoulder gently with his own.

“I’ll ask, I’ll ask.” She finally smiled again and pushed him back. “Just don’t get to excited yet, okay?”

“Oh, I promised I won’t” Ritchie crossed his heart and Mo laughed a little. “There’s just one last thing I need to do.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll ask everyone else about it” He said, fleeing from the store before she could process the words.

“Oh my— what?! Richard!”

 The bar Ritchie hang around all the time wasn’t his favourite, but it was the one Rory worked in.

The bar in question was the biggest one in town, with shows every night and a lot of people around it. It also served food, which was a big plus, but that didn’t take the owner’s personality away. Mona Best was a well-known character between all the townsfolks, with her ostentatious way of being and management of the place. In Richie’s point of view, she was one of those mothers that never let her chicks fly away. And just a quick look to Pete Best, one of her chicks trying to handle his waiter work, confirmed his beliefs.

He shook his boots before coming in, Mona would bite his head off. The bar was crowded, since a lot of workers had finished working like Ritchie. He swam in the sea of people before making his way to a lonely stool at the bar and sat before anyone else could take his place. It wasn’t long before he was attended.

“Ah, Ritchie, s—still don’t know how t—to cook?” The barman joked. Richie just snorted.

Rory was a tall lad, with blond hair and a charming smile, but the clothes he wore at work didn’t favour him and sometimes he would stutter, specially when he was nervous. Still, the ladies didn’t seem to care about all of that since he was being asked out all the time. He was handsome, and charismatic and Ritchie could see that. And agreed.

“Why? I already decided that you will be doing all my meals”

“Ah, e—even when you are getting ma—married?”

“It’s fine, we’ll find you a place. Do you mind the floor?”

Rory laughed, laying on the bar.

“What can I—I offer you t—today?”

“The usual, please”

Rory winked at him and disappeared behind the kitchen. Ritchie took advantage of this time to look around the bar, the sound almost overwhelming without anyone to drown it. His eyes fixed on a guy comforting a woman in the corner of the bar, but Ritchie could barely hear the words they were saying.

“Fish and ch—chips for the good sir” Ritchie jumped a little on his seat. “Anything else?”

“Eh, yeah” He looked down at his plate and then at Rory. “What is going on there?”

Rory followed his thumb to the scene before, and his face sobered up. He bended a little, just enough to be within Richie’s hearing and Ritchie’s only.

“They were mugged, just this morning. “

“Oh”

“Yeah, around the forest. They were blabbering about some beast following them before they collided with the wrong people, asking for help.”

“A beast?”

“Yeah, remember?” Rory’s voice was just a whisper now. “The legend about a beast living in the forest. I don’t believe it though, I think they were just scared of wolves or something.”

“Or a bear…”

“Yeah. Anyway, they are waiting for his son to come and help them return home.”

“Poor people, what an awful thing to happen.” Ritchie gulped, thinking what he would do in a situation like that. But how could he know? That was just bad, bad luck.

“Yeah” Rory sighed, clear pity in his eyes. “Anyway, I got—tta attend some other clients before Mona notices me just hanging here. If you need anything else, you call”

Ritchie nodded and looked at the poor couple one last time before starting eating. Later, he would ask Rory about meeting up in the weekend.

When Ritchie returned home, he was expecting to take off his clothes and disappear within his sheets, succumbing in a well-deserved sleep.

But he was wrong.

“You finished packing?” Her mother, Elsie, asked from the kitchen the moment he crossed the threshold. Ringo froze in place and winced, because of course he had forgotten about packing, or the trip altogether.

Tomorrow he had to travel with his fiancée, Bethany, first hour at dawn to find some stupid wedding dress because she didn’t like any from the shops in town. And of course, there was, supposedly, the best tailor in the next town over. Ritchie didn’t even remember his name.

“Uh, something like that” He answered, taking off his coat and boots in a lazy manner. He could hear his mother’s sigh from all the way to the kitchen.

“You had been planning this for days”

“You mean she has been planning this for days…”

He hung up his coat, hearing his mother’s steps from the kitchen to where he was. And finally lifted his gaze from the hanger to his mother when she was standing next to him.

“I know you don’t want to go” She started, searching his gaze. Ritchie preferred to watch her grip on a wooden spoon, though. “But it’s something you gotta do, baby”

Ritchie pouted. He didn’t want to go, as he didn’t want to marry Bethany, but knew his mother was right. If he weren’t to go, then Bethany would never forgive him, and it would be a worse start to their premature relationship. So, he sighed and nodded weakly to his mother.

“I understand, mum.” He whispered against her skin when she hugged him comfortably. When she let him go, and smiled at him, he felt a little bit better. Ritchie remembered that everyone was making sacrifices around him, not just him, because sacrifices were meant to happen if they wanted to live.

Even though now his mother was with someone she truly loved, at first she married his dad, a guy she didn’t loved. Just like Ritchie, she was arranged with someone they could afford to marry, And now she was trying everything she could to assure a future for his son. And, if Ritchie was lucky enough, maybe later in life he would be able to find someone he truly loved like his mum.

“I hope we arrive before sunset, I don’t want to go through the hassle of finding everything closed”

Ritchie sighed while lifting the last suitcase in the carriage, wondering why on earth they needed so much luggage since they were supposed to stay only three days at most. Bethany was already on the carriage, covered from head to toe with every coat she owned to prevent the cold. Ritchie, on his part, was only wearing his father’s coat, two pair of long-sleeved shirts and some old scarf he found in the closet.

“Winter came earlier this year, huh.” She whispered, almost naively. Everyone knew that in that part of England, winter seemed almost eternal. Ritchie himself didn’t remember a warm day since he arrived there with his mother.

When everything was ready to go, he hopped on after giving his horse, Tiger, a few pats on his powerful neck. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we will arrive”

Even though dawn was just starting, the town was already giving signs of life. The baker had his window opened just a crack, letting the smell of fresh bread bled through it; Mona Best was sweeping the front yard, cleaning everything the drunkards that had just stumbled home left behind; fishermen were already leaving home, preparing themselves for another day on wild and freezing waters. Ritchie was usually one of them, but today he had a free day.

More or less.

At least, for now, Bethany wasn’t in the mood to run her mouth. She preferred to lay down as far as she could in her seat and close her eyes a little bit, squeezing in some sleep before the sun was completely out. Ringo envied her a little, he too wanted to rest but someone had to take care of the road, especially in the forest.

Not a lot of townsfolk leave town, and Ritchie was one of them. He was more of exploring open waters, not the surrounding trees, but he did if he had to. Contrary of that, everyone was always a little nervous to get beyond the road in the forest, where it was always snowing for some reason, even in summer. Some believed the town was cursed, as it was the only place where winter was always present, others believed in the presence of a beast, lurking away in the forest and stealing children from their parents and killing farm animals. Ritchie didn’t particularly believe in any of those stories, but as a lot of people, he felt uneasy to enter the forest.

As they entered, leaving the dim lights of the houses behind, everything became more difficult to see, with the sun slowly coming out behind the horizon but quickly hiding behind the clouds. There was only one road to follow, as one could easily get lost in the forest, but with the snow covering every bit of soil available, it was hard to keep track of where they were going. And the deeper they went, the feeling of nervousness augmented.

Were they really following the right track?

The wheels of the carriage were squeaking with effort with every step Tiger gave, the snow under them crunching noisily. Beside him, Bethany was sleeping, hugging her own arms while her head dangled in front on her. Richie almost desired for her to be awake, since he was getting nervous.

What if they were getting lost?

“Nonsense” He whispered, face hidden behind the scarf. Still, small puffs of air escaped through the clothing. “We are still following the path, it’s below us. You just can’t see it well because of the weather.”

Ritchie looked far ahead, and he could see patches of road. But the path stretched on forever, or so it appeared like that, and it was getting on Ritchie’s nerves.

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Yesterday was a very tiring day and you haven’t recovered completely from that” He started chanting, breaking the silence surrounding him. “Think of the yummy food you will eat once you get there.”

But that just made his stomach growl. Maybe it had been a while since they left town.

“Are you hungry?”

“God!” He jumped, not expecting Bethany to be awake. She looked startled, but only laughed a little.

“Sorry, you woke me up with all the talking.” She said, not sounding sorry at all. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a basket full of homemade food they had prepared for the trip. It wasn’t much, but enough to not die of starvation until they reach the town. From the basket she put out two pieces of bread with cheese and extended one to Richie. “This is yours. Without onion, right?”

Ritchie nodded, surprised she remembered he was allergic to onions. Grabbing the leash with one hand, he grabbed the bread with the other and thanked Bethany before he started eating his lunch.

“Do you know how much longer it will take to arrive?” She asked through mouthfuls of food, picking the crumbs that fell to her dress with her index finger. Ritchie looked at the sky, still cloudy, and then the road, still full of snow.

“Not much, I hope. But we may take longer than necessary because of the snow.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Plus, we need to give Tiger some time to rest, water and some food.”

“Oh”

She sounded disappointed, so Ritchie tried to cheer her up.

“Still, we will be there before sunset, and then we can rest and tomorrow we will look for your wedding dress.” Ritchie smiled at her. “I promise”

She smiled too, and after swallowing a mouthful of bread, she spoke livelier. “I will look for the dress. You can do whatever you want”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, silly Ritchie!” Her laughed filled the void in the forest, echoing through the leaves. “You can’t see the dress before the wedding”

“Why not?”

“That’s just bad luck!”

“Bad luck? I don’t believe in bad luck!” Ritchie exclaimed, his voice reaching the deepest parts of the forest. With another bite to his lunch, he felt better, more joyful. And Bethany laughed beside him, because maybe not everything was gonna be awful forever. Both needed this, Ritchie thought, they just needed to know each other a little bit better. Maybe he really didn’t have bad luck, maybe it wasn’t going to suck.

But he was proved wrong, when an arrow flew next to his head to the tree in front of them.

“OH MY GOD!” Bethany screamed, flailing her arms wildly. Ritchie let go of his sandwich, not having much time to think what to do, and grabbed Tiger’s strap and hit the horse with it, urging to go faster.

That’s what happens when you scream in a fucking haunted forest, Ritchie vaguely thought, as another arrow flew, hitting one of the carriage’s walls.

Their whistling sounds would be forever in his mind.

“Can’t we go faster?!” Bethany cried, her eyes full of panic and tears, and honestly? Ritchie was just as panicked as her. He vaguely remembered the couple from yesterday, feeling so stupid for going out when he knew there were muggers running around the forest.

He pushed her head down, trying to protect her from the flying missiles and the chaos everywhere. He couldn’t see past the snow, and his ears were filled with shouting and Bethany’s cries, but he still knew enough that they were getting surrounded by them. His lungs started to burn, cold air filling his lungs in an uneven way, his eyes watered, and he almost didn’t feel the arrow piercing his right ar—wait.

“FUCK!” He screamed, letting go of Bethany to grab his wounded arm. Warm liquid escaped through his fingertips quickly and Ritchie panicked, not knowing what to do.

Tiger gave a sharp turn, grunting and panting loudly, and Ritchie fell, his fingertips just grazing Bethany’s arm.

“Ritchie!” She screamed. Ritchie lifted his arm, begging for her to stop Tiger and to return for him.

But she never did.

Quickly gazing back and forth, Bethany grabbed Tiger’s leash and urged him to go faster, rapidly disappearing between the trees and the snow.

He couldn’t believe it.

“Come on!” Ritchie heard someone shout over the white noise in his head, but when he turned to face the muggers a white, shimmering light emerged from the snow, blinding everyone in its wake. He couldn’t see anything, but only hear the surprised screams of the robbers and the grunts from the horses. Ritchie stumbled, covering his eyes.

“It’s the beast! Everyone run!” Was the last yell Ritchie heard before falling backwards and hitting his head with a tree.

#the beatles #george harrison #ringo starr #john lennon #paul mccartney #fan fic #my writing stuff #evermore #e: chapter one #starrison #english #mclennon #altern universe #beauty and the beast au #multichapter

[chimchimsauce]

Sanctuary (2)

Summary: YN is a young girl, bright and ambitious, but due to her busy schedule, she’s been unable to make any real friends. When an ad for Saint Mary’s Sanctuary catches her attention, she never expected her life to be changed by a certain hybrid named Jimin. 

Chapter One

“You're kidding me, right?” YN asks, looking at the man in front of her in pure disbelief.

Taehyung shakes his head. 

“Unfortunately, I’m not,” he says with a sigh.

YN’s hands tremble slightly as she licks her suddenly bone dry lips. 

“He’s really gone? How?! Is that even allowed?!” YN asks, anger sprouting in her chest. 

“I’m really sorry, YN. Truly I am. But it’s Saint Mary’s policy. We can't do holds on the hybrids. Someone who already been approved a while ago came in and adopted him right after you left. I would have told you, but you didn't leave any contact information . . .”

Taehyung looks genuinely guilty, but that does nothing to calm YN down. There has finally been hope for her, she had finally found someone to spend her time with, someone who enjoyed her just as much as she did him. But now all that was gone.

YN sags against the reception desk, emotions piling up. 

“I just . . . can I have a moment? I just need to process this,” 

Taehyung nods in understanding. 

“Sure, take your time. There's a bathroom right down the hall if you need it,” he says, pointing to his right. 

YN nods and takes off, walking in the direction he told her. She's not sure if she wants to cry or laugh about how cruel life could be sometimes. Instead, she does neither, staring blankly at the mirror in front of her. She had even dressed up nicely today, racing home after work and changing out of her uniform and into something prettier. 

With a big sigh, YN leaves the bathroom. Hoseok’s rapid adoption left a bit of a wound on her heart and she doesn't feel like looking at another hybrid to adopt. Maybe in the future, but her heart isn't ready yet. Before she makes it very far, though, a sudden crowd of people race past her. 

Upon closer examination, they seem to be EMTs of some sort, some type of emergency responders. Saint Mary’s employees run around as well, shouting this and that and trying to gain some order. Taehyung flashes past and YN grabs his shirt, causing him to be yanked backward a bit.

“Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to jostle you!” YN says, “But what's going on?”

“There -” Taehyung stops, suddenly out of breath, “there was a hybrid brought in. He’s banged up pretty badly. We're trying to figure out what to do. Saint Mary’s has gotten quite a few bruised and battered hybrids, but nothing this bad,”

Through the lump of people, YN can just barely make out what looks like a blonde head of hair, matted and dirty. Sections of it seem to be dried together with old blood.

YN feels her heart break.

That poor thing. Who could be so cruel?

“I,” YN says, breaking contract with the madness happening, “I should probably go,”

Taehyung nods. “Yeah, probably. We’ll sort out what you want to do on another day, yeah?” Taehyung says, staring at the situation.

YN can tell he’s dying to jump back into the fray. 

“Yeah, okay,”

YN then heads towards the front door, trying to avoid the commotion. People are shouting and she distinctly hears something akin to growling, low and hostile. Whatever it is, YN wants nothing to do with it.

“Ah, excuse me,” she says when she accidentally bumps into an emergency responder who hasn't been looking where he was going. 

The man doesn't acknowledge her, but the growling turns into a full snarl as the hybrid suddenly lurches upward, baring his teeth at the man. The hybrid in question takes YN’s breath away. 

He’s gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking. He looks like he could be a model or better yet, some sort of fantasy. His hair is blonde and short, still on the thick and fluffy side, wide honey golden eyes bright and fierce. She’d be weak in her knees if it weren't for the fact that he looks two seconds away from ripping someone’s head off. 

The EMT pushes YN out of the way and the Hybrid snarls at him again. People start hollering for a sedative. Sets of hands push the hybrid’s bruised body down against the stretcher and he fights, barely closed cuts tearing open again. His eyes move across the room and catch with hers and he stops, eyes widening.

They’re somehow different now, eyes warm chocolate brown and soft, nearly angelic. Everyone seems startled at his sudden change, the hybrid’s docile nature a complete 180 from just seconds ago. YN can't seem to pull her eyes away from his, some sort of electric feeling shooting down her spine. 

A figure - Taehyung - nudges her gently and she takes a step away from the scene. The hybrid whimpers, opening his mouth to say something, hand moving ever so slightly as if to reach out to her. But someone comes up with a tranquilizer and YN watches with complex emotions as the light in his eyes fades before they flutter close. The unconscious figure is wheeled away down some hallway, YN’s eyes following it until it disappears.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks.

“What?” YN asks, suddenly coming back to the present.

She had been zoning out completely. 

“You okay?” He asks again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head. 

“It can be a bit . . . traumatic here sometimes. Don't worry about him, we’ll get him all cleaned up. Aggression is normal when you’re taken somewhere unfamiliar by strangers. Especially for hybrids. He’ll be golden in no time, I’m sure of it,”

Taehyung’s smile seems genuine, making the younger girl feel a bit more relaxed. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you guys will take care of him. Thank you so much, Taehyung. You’re a real one,” YN says, smiling brightly at the man before turning to exit the Sanctuary.

“YN, wait!” Taehyung calls out to her.

She turns.

“Yes, Taehyung?”

He extends his hand to her. 

“Give me your phone,”

“Uh, sure?” She says, unsure if what he's getting at.

He takes the device in his hand and taps it a few times before a ringing noise comes out and he pulls out his own phone, saving the number. 

“Text me sometime, okay? I’d love to hang out,” 

He offers her phone back to her before turning and walking deeper into Saint Mary's. 

That night, the girl stares up at the roof of her bedroom well past midnight, head swimming with golden eyes and boxy smiles. The next three days pass by quickly, as there's drama at work. They're having problems with an employee suddenly bailing out on the coffee shop as well as one of their machines breaking down. 

That's not even mentioning the effort avoiding she’s been putting in to avoid Seokjin. Despite being a hassle, everything is running fairly smoothly. 

Until her lunch break Friday. She’s sitting at a window seat, munching on a sandwich when her phone rings, displaying Taehyung’s contact. 

She chokes on the sandwich a bit, coughing violently before picking up the phone. She hasn't so much as texted him since she got his number Monday evening. 

Not that she hadn't wanted to, but she’s been so busy, not to mention that the thought of him makes her heart flip.

“Hello?” She asks once she regains her composure. 

“Hey, YN, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

She shakes her head before remembering he can't see her.

“Ah, no, you're not. I'm on lunch break, actually. What can I help you with?” She says before mentally cursing herself.

That sounded too professional, not how friends would speak to each other.

“Would you mind coming to the Sanctuary after work today? We’re having a bit of an issue and we need your help,”

Ah, so it was a business call. How disappointing. 

“Um, okay. I can stop by. My shift ends at four,”

“Sounds great. See you then,” he says, hanging up.

YN looks at her phone, not exactly sure what just happened.

“YN! We need you back here!” A voice calls.

“Coming!” She says, stuffing the last bit of sandwich in her face. 

Chapter Three

#networkbangtan #hybrid bts #hybrid jimin #jimin x reader #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #jimin angst #jimin fluff #reader insert

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (5)

All he had wanted

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some (very) suggestive, some akin to a 16-diamond scene :D

Word count: 3,203

Notes: This starts with Drake’s POV, right after he dropped off the note in Amara’s room. It then catches up with the timeline we left off in the previous chapter, with Amara calling Michael.

*****

Drake feels shitty as he returns to his room, the one adjacent to Amara’s. He wonders if she knows that they’re neighbors, but after all, he remained pretty discreet after Liam asked him to keep an eye on her without making it obvious. Drake doesn’t understand why Liam is so adamant about keeping tabs on her; she seems more than capable of taking care of herself. Sure, she got lost in the stables, but that was nothing. She seemed to have tamed Nevrakis, who was a feisty one, so that was a win in his book. No, Liam was wrong. He didn’t need to enlist him as a bodyguard for Amara. Not that Drake was complaining about the proximity, but maybe he was a little bit, especially if he was to watch them fall for each other. How humiliating was it, dropping off that note? He flopped onto his bed, groaning. Why did his muscles hurt so much? And, most importantly, why did he come back here instead of taking off to his secluded cabin to get drunk? He had wanted to, but couldn’t bring himself to leave the palace. Maybe he was a masochist, but he didn’t feel like he should disappear just yet. First, Liam was expecting him to stick around. But also, feeling Amara’s presence in the very next room felt oddly comforting.

He got up to get to his stash. He poured himself a generous triple shot. When did he start drinking alone? As a young adult, he had enjoyed the occasional drink with Liam and even his other friends. But as he grew older, the company of others was more and more tedious. They painfully reminded him of Savannah. Especially Maxwell, who was by far the closest to her before she disappeared. Like every day, he wondered if the note she had left before leaving was genuine. What if something terrible had happened to her? He hadn’t heard from her in almost two years, after all. Their mom claims to receive an email from time to time, but did he believe that? Bianca Walker was not a model of honesty, either.

Enough. This sucks, he thought. The Derby was one of the only courtly traditions he enjoyed, and today was ruined by…well, no, not by Amara. In fact, the glimpse he caught of her was about the only bright spot in his day.

A couple of hours and a few triple shots later, his head feels warm and fuzzy, and the pain and humiliation starts to wash away.

Fuck it, maybe he should just knock on her door and…he doesn’t know what yet, but he just needed to see her. Ideally, they would share a drink together and chat, like they had in New York and on the plane. Listen to yourself, Walker. You had two conversations with this woman and you’re getting blackout drunk because she prefers a prince. Hesitant, he starts walking towards the door, bottle in hand. Then he chickens out and goes back to the bed. He does the pace several times in an attempt to go to her room, like Andrew Lincoln in Love Actually when he contemplates seducing his best friend’s wife. Heh. Savannah made him watch that movie every Christmas. He had always felt sorry for the poor schmuck, and now he WAS him. Minus the turtleneck.

His phone interrupts the endless pacing. Liam. After a brief hesitation, he picks up, slurring his words slightly.

‘Hey.’

‘Drake, where did you go? I texted you several times after the Derby.’

‘Yeah, sorry, I had a headache, I went back to my room. But I dropped off the note, don’t worry.’

‘I know, she showed up.’

Drake’s stomach turned. ‘Good. I’m glad.’

‘Well…to be completely honest…I don’t know if it went well.’

He hated himself for the relief he felt. ‘Really? Why?’

‘First off, she seemed genuinely taken aback when she saw me, as if she didn’t expect me to show.’

Drake doesn’t say anything. He remembers that Liam’s note was not signed. Did she think…? No. That was stupid.

Liam continues: ‘I mean, it didn’t go badly, but nothing happened.’

What did he think, that she was gonna suck his dick right there between two statues? Drake almost snorted at his best friend’s entitlement. He thought, come on Liam, you’re better than that. She doesn’t owe you anything. ‘What did you think was gonna happen?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I was dying to kiss her, but she didn’t really hug me back. Maybe she just wants to take it slow, or is feeling bad about the competition. She did compare it to The Bachelor.’

Drake can’t help but laugh. ‘Did you bring her a rose, at least?’

‘Funny, that’s exactly what she said.’

This made Drake’s heart sink. ‘So, did she just leave, or…?’

‘We talked for a couple minutes, I asked her about her life, but she was elusive. She said she had to go FaceTime her roommate.’

‘Well, maybe she did have to FaceTime her roommate. After all, she’s got a life in New York, you know.

‘You’re right. It’s just… I was expecting more.’

Drake rolled his eyes. Yeah yeah, we get it. You wanted to get some. And maybe Liam would have been more successful had he tried to pull this shit on someone who knew him better, like Kiara or even Olivia, but Amara had just met him, and why did he expect so much… Ugh, he was annoyed at how much it annoyed him.

Liam adds: ‘So, I was wondering…I don’t want to ask too much of you but…could you maybe check on her sometime tonight? I know it’s getting late, but maybe just knock, and see if everything is ok. And if you happen to gather some information about how she feels, maybe—‘

He had some balls. ‘Yeah. You got it. One wingman, coming up.’

‘Thanks, Drake. I truly owe you.’ But he didn’t. Drake had been living at the palace for years, and the only way he repaid Liam was by taking care of the stables. So, no, Liam did not owe him. On the contrary, Drake would probably spend his entire life trying to think of ways to repay him. Wasting his college degree and letting go of the first meaningful connection he had felt for years was a good start.

‘Alright, goodnight Liam.’

He hangs up forcefully. If he was honest, this wingman mission was timely. He had been itching to go knock on Amara’s door for a while.

He looks in the mirror, making sure he doesn’t look like an alcoholic monster. Maybe he should take a shower first? No, no time. It was already ten. He takes a deep breath and ventures out of his bedroom towards Amara’s.

His hand was in the air, ready to rattle the door, when he hears her talking on the phone. He stops in his tracks and listens.

‘No, you were right. It was all my fault and it should have been me. I can’t show my face at Callie’s birthday.’ She pauses. ‘No no Michael, seriously. I sent her a bunch of presents from Amazon, you’ll receive them on time. It’s some Doc McStuffins stuff.’

Oh, that Michael again. This sounded serious. Maybe he shouldn’t eavesdrop. But then again, it was too late, he was already doing it.

‘Please, don’t insist. You were right last time.’ Her voice breaks. ‘I don’t deserve this. It’s my fault.’ She sobs. Drake’s heart breaks. Who the fuck was this guy, making he feel this way? Who was Callie? Could she have…a kid?

‘Please tells her that Auntie loves her.’

Oh. So, not a kid. Well, a kid, but not hers. He heard her sobs, and his blood boiled. He was trying really hard not to bust in and…what? What would he even do? Tell Michael to go fuck himself, and rescue her from her own feelings? Get a grip, Walker.

‘I have to go. Bye Michael.’ Her voice was almost inaudible, stifled by her tears. Suddenly, he heard her slam a door open, and…was she throwing up? This had gone too far. If she was upset enough to throw up, she shouldn’t be alone. He mustered up the courage to knock. Upon hearing the knock, she stopped making noise and asked faintly: ‘Who is this?’

‘It’s me, Suarez. Just checking on you.’

He heard her turn on the water, probably to brush her teeth. He suddenly felt very intrusive.

As she opened the door, his heart raced. ‘Hi Drake.’ Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and he hated himself for finding her so fucking hot. Her hazel eyes were almost green, and her face was so raw, so open. Very different from the person he had gotten to know, both funny and closed up.

‘Are you ok?’

She chuckled. ‘If I say yes, will you believe me?’

He gave her a nervous smile. ‘No.’

‘Wanna come in?’

He realized that, in his haste, he had forgotten his bottle, his official excuse to come over for a visit. ‘Sure. I should go grab drinks for us in my room.’

‘Don’t bother, you may as well know, I stole some from the bar earlier.’ She gestured at a bottle of champagne, a bottle of whiskey, and some sour mix. ‘Don’t judge me.’

‘Never. Where do you think I get my booze?’

She laughed, but it was obvious that she still had many tears left to cry. He felt terrible for interrupting her moment, but she also did not seem like she didn’t want him there.

She closed the door behind him and offered him a seat on the bed. ‘So… I didn’t expect you here. I thought you were avoiding me.’ Drake gave her a quizzical look. She continued: ‘You know, in the stables. Looked like you wanted to get rid of me to go hang out with Liam.’

He sighed. Should he open up a little? Or give her the same crap as before? Given her state of openness, he thought it best to tell her a part of the truth. ‘I was avoiding you. I didn’t want to give you the impression that I don’t know why you’re here. I wanted to stay in my lane.’

She gets up, and pours them two glasses of whiskey. Sour for her, neat for him. She slowly gets back to her spot in the loveseat. ‘Drake, with all due respect, you have no idea why I’m here. And I don’t want you to stay in your lane, whatever that means.’

He stays quiet. He didn’t expect that. She takes a big sip, and continues.

‘You may have heard, I’ve had a very rough phone call. I’m in no mood to tiptoe. So, I’m gonna be honest.’

Please, he thought. Tell me who Michael is and why he’s making you so upset.

Amara takes another sip of liquid courage. ‘I got this note earlier.’ She gestures at the note, crumpled in the waste basket. ‘Asking me for a sneaky rendezvous in the gardens after dinner. Not signed. I thought…hoped. Hoped it was you.’

His heart skipped a beat. So, she did think it was from him. That’s why she showed. His head was spinning. And it wasn’t from the booze. ‘You did? I…dropped off the note. But it was from Liam. I…owe him a lot, Suarez. So, I do shit like that for him.’

She nodded. ‘I get it. You guys go way back, you’re his wingman. But…when I saw him approaching tonight, I felt…trapped. Tricked into going to the wrong rendezvous.’

Fuck. She didn’t pull any punches. In his heart, he was elated. But in his head, all he saw was betrayal.

‘Drake…you may owe him, --although I think it’s bullshit, no one keeps tabs on friendship-- whatever, you may owe him, but I don’t. I’m not gonna sleep with him in the garden when he summons me, just because he’s the prince of bumblefuck nowhere.’

She catches her breath. Drake stares at her for a second too long, and bursts out laughing. Damn, she was hot. ‘Fair enough, Suarez. But for the record, I never suggested you should sleep with him. In the gardens, or, y’know. Anywhere.’

Drake lowers his eyes. They sit in comfortable silence for a while.

*****

Amara couldn’t believe that Drake had heard her puking, or seen her with this puffy face. And to think she had picked an outfit for an hour, earlier today, to meet him outside, and now, she was in her pyjamas, with no makeup, and, as she now realized, no bra.

But damn, she was happy he was here. She felt good in his company, even if she had just had one of the most unpleasant phone calls in history, and was stuck in a godforsaken competition she wanted no part in.

She was about to break the comfortable silence, when her phone buzzed. A picture from Michael. She willed herself not to look, but she had to. The sight brought tears back to her eyes.

Her little niece, whose life she had ruined, holding up the stuffed rabbit she had sent her last year. The caption said ‘She loves you too, Auntie.’

Suddenly, she couldn’t contain herself. She knew Michael meant well. But seeing this little face, one she had barely had the strength to see in two years…she couldn’t keep herself from crying. Next thing she knew, Drake was sitting next to her, his arm around her, and his brow knit with worry.

‘Hey, Amara, what’s wrong?’

She felt terrible for breaking down in front of him. She couldn’t get a word out. She simply held out her phone to the picture of Callie.

‘Who’s this little kiddo? Are you ok?’

She swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry Drake. I’m ridiculous. It’s my niece, Callie. I just…’ She thought about saying it. But she didn’t want him to stop looking at her like this. She didn’t want him to judge her for what she caused, even if it wasn’t intentional. So, she went with the obvious. ‘I just miss her, that’s all.’

Drake looked at her without blinking. She knew he didn’t believe her. Who hurls because they miss their niece, when they could very well fly back and see her? But she didn’t say anything else, didn’t offer the truth. He gave her a bit more time, and finally said ‘I get it. You don’t have to tell me. Not unless you’re ready.’

Looking into his kind, dark eyes, as they were both sitting in this tiny loveseat, their bodies held close to one another, she felt alive. She wasn’t thinking about all the shit she caused in her old life, because she was here, now. Drake pushed a strand of hair off her face and cupped her cheek. She wanted to say something, anything. She tried to go for a simple ‘thank you’, but she couldn’t. There was just one response she really wanted to give him. And she thought, for once, maybe she should. So she did.

*****

Amara’s lips met his, in an urgency that he had never felt before. He had not been expecting this, but as their kiss deepened, he found himself thinking that this was all he had wanted.

Without tearing her lips away from his, still entangled in each other, she guided him towards the spot where she had been sitting. As soon as he was seated, she straddled him, lips still firmly stuck to his.

Drake’s head was still spinning. He kissed her deeper, their tongues grazing each other, as they were both unable to get enough. His hands moved up and down her back, itching to get lower, but not wanting to go too fast. He was determined to savor her, to take his time exploring her.

Her hands were roaming under his shirt, and one of them was getting dangerously close to undoing his belt. His boxers felt extremely tight on him, and he was dying to go further, but he was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that Amara had just been sobbing a few minutes before, and that didn’t feel right.

He cupped her head softly, and unhooked his lips from hers, reluctantly.

‘Whoa, Suarez…’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, still catching her breath. ‘I didn’t mean to…jump you like that…’

‘Um no, in case you didn’t know, I was more than on board. I just think maybe…we should slow down for today?’

She nodded, still straddling him. Her weight on him just felt right. He was glad she hadn’t gotten up.

‘Amara, this was…’ he smiled and gave her another quick kiss. God, he wanted to rip her clothes off. She was wearing this little t-shirt, and very obviously no bra. He tried not to think about that, at the risk of his pants bursting at the seams. ‘This was fucking hot. But, you’re clearly upset, so maybe we could just, if you want…hang out?’

She smiled, earnestly, he thought. She didn’t seem mad. That reassured him. But then again, she knew he wasn’t bullshitting him. She knew he really wanted this. After all, she was literally sitting on his erection. She sighed and added: ‘I would like that.’

‘Great. Let’s get another drink, and watch a movie? You pick.’

‘Don’t be too nice to me, Walker. Feels fake,’ she says with a smirk.

‘Well…let’s be real, you need a win. I know there’s more to that phone call and pic you received, but I know what it is to have dark shit going on. I won’t pry. And if one day, you want to tell me, I’ll be there.’

He noticed tears flowing to Amara’s eyes. Shit, he thought. He hadn’t meant to remind her… But she pulled herself together and, still straddling him, planted a deep kiss on his lips. ‘Thank you, Walker. And you’re right. I didn’t tell you the truth. But maybe someday I will.’

*****

They had watched four episodes of The Good Place until Amara fell asleep in Drake’s arms. She hadn’t wanted him to go back to his room. He would have to sneak out in the morning before Maxwell came. Amara had a game of croquet planned with Queen Regina in the early afternoon, but Max liked to overplan. Plus, he had grown fond of Amara –who could resist her charm?—and spent all his time with her, so Drake would have to tread lightly.

But man, he couldn’t stop thinking of that kiss. He had chills just reliving the moment in his head. He couldn’t even remember a time when he had felt that way. Maybe he never had.

It was not just the kiss, either. It was everything. The way she had spontaneously rested her head on his shoulder while watching the show, the way she asked him every five minutes if he liked it, genuinely wanting him to enjoy himself. Her hand, on his stomach, stroking his skin as she was falling asleep. They had met a week ago, but there was true intimacy there. And for him, that was new. He was not ready to give that up.

Man, he was deep in shit.

*****

Taglist:

@andy-loves-corgis , @drakewalkerwhipped , @drakxwalker , @drakewalkerrosenberg , @drakeswalkers , @drakelover78 , @silviasutton1989 , @jovialyouthmusic , @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria , @mariahschoices , @drakesensworld , @thequeenofcronuts , @notoriouscs , @drakewalkerisreal

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

#that's not why i'm going #drake walker #drake walker x mc #drake walker x amara suarez #trr choices #choices trr #drake trr #trr fanfic

[chibivesicle]

Hello A lot of times some gk fans complain that some people replace Shiraishi with ogata in the trio. I actually saw two people complain about this today. I don’t know if they were referring to your post. What do you think about this ? What’s the difference between sugi-ogata- asirpa trio and sugi- shira-asirpa trio? I really like your analysis so I would like to know your opinion

Hello, thanks for your question.

First off, everyone is entitled to their own opinion on things and it really depends how a reader understands or connects to the work.

But in regard to the idea that there is one true trio is bit silly.

Since the start, I have always read the first and serious trio to be Ogata-Asirpa-Sugimoto.  These are the first three characters introduced.  Noda-sensei kept Ogata in the back of the readers minds while he was recovering in the hospital.  The fact that Tamai & Co. plus Tanigaki go in search of who ever had attacked Ogata in the first place.  The fact that when he regains consciousness, Tsurumi immediately goes to him.  Ogata was in the background until he reappeared to try to kill Tanigaki whom he was afraid would sell him out to Tsurumi and whom also killed Tamai & Co (as far as Ogata knows at that point in time). 

Another important aspect of Ogata and Sugimoto is that they are frequently shown either in opposition or as mirrors.  Ogata kills from afar and is cold and detached.  Sugimoto kills up front and personal and tries to remember the faces of the men he killed to atone for his acts.  Neither character cries out in pain when hurt by others (and boy did I try to find a scene were one of them does cry out in pain to prove @goldenkamuyhunting wrong.  I couldn’t -_-). 

They both “blow off” wounds or ignore them until they complete a mission.  Both at times throw themselves into situations without abandon.  Both men show little value for their lives at times but their personalities are complete opposites.  Asirpa saw her father in Sugimoto when they first met and both individuals are both and bossy at times.  But Asirpa has a lot in common with Ogata; they use long range weapons, both lost their families or were abandoned.  I think Ogata is a possible outcome for Asirpa if she doesn’t start to take control of her role in the gold hunt.  Chapter 191 saw her trying to detach herself from trauma.  I hope that is a temporary coping mechanism and she doesn’t slide down the Ogata direction.  She did have a very very bad day.

I think a lot of the conflict between Sugimoto and Ogata stem from how they perceive the other in relation to Asirpa.  Sugimoto was livid that Ogata “stole” Asirpa,  I think that on some level Sugimoto sees Asirpa as a kid sister but also sees her similar to Umeko as a female whom he cares deeply about.  Sugimoto was clearly upset that Toraji married Umeko - he told her to marry Toraji and she did but you could tell he was like “But you were supposed to wait for me … but the two of you went ahead and got married without me …” Sugimoto doesn’t say want he needs to say and as a result others move on without his input.

Ogata figured out quickly that Asirpa has a crush on Sugimoto.  He clearly saw that Sugimoto sees her as a kid sister.  I think Ogata wanted to avoid Asirpa becoming hurt by Sugimoto since he knows he romantically has feelings for another woman who is never directly mentioned by Sugimoto.  When Ogata does his fake flashback he’s trying to in part get Asirpa to move on from her crush.  He likely sees the possibility for Asirpa to be hurt like his mother.  I think Ogata in part saw it as tough love for Asirpa to protect her as well as his own need for her to chose him over Sugimoto.  Everyone has more than one thing at play in their interactions. 

But with the events that have occurred, these three characters are going to have to talk to each other.  Sugimoto can’t other and dehumanize Ogata, he just saved him for Asirpa.  Asirpa needs to know why Ogata wanted her approval and trust.  Asirpa needs to realize that she almost killed Ogata and has to find a way to resolve her issues with self-defense vs offensive actions.  And Sugimoto needs to let Asirpa realize that she almost killed him instead of “saving” her by “saving” Ogata who we know he wanted to kill with his bare hands if possible.

Okay, so let’s shift to the Sugimoto-Asirpa-Shiraishi trio.  I think of this as the friendship trio.  They goof around, they all are foodies always enjoying their dinners with lots of statements of “Hinna!” etc.  The anime really highlighted these guys more than the manga does in my opinion - season 2 really uses the three of them grouped as a theme which isn’t as common.  Just watch the opening - Who is the trio?  These guys. Where is Ogata?  Just with some blood splatter, he’s not that important according to season 2.

Now, Noda himself said that Shiraishi wasn’t intended to be a long term character.  Kamuy Central has a section about character models.  Here is the end of the translation.

https://kamuycentral.wordpress.com/2017/12/27/the-model-for-shiraishi-yoshitake/

And here we even have Kamuy Central calling them a trio!  So yes, these guys to form a trio based on food, friendship, and fun times.

Shiraishi wormed his way into Noda’s head and heart so he got a larger role than originally intended.  I like this, Shiraishi is a good character, he isn’t in my top 4, but I like him better than Tanigaki and Koito for example.  Personally, he adds more levity to the manga and he also is as I’ve stated before a lover and not a fighter which shows in how his character has developed from being a selfish loner to a man with a few close and real friends (even though he just buried one of them).  He plays an important role giving the reader a way into how one would feel being friends with Sugimoto but watching how brutal he can be when he intends to kill.  Think of him watching Sugimoto after Hemei’s death … how he was afraid of Sugimoto when he had no choice but to secretly work for Hijikata. 

Furthermore, his character development has been heartwarming … I really hope he eventually learns why Kiro was willing to die for his cause and to see a bigger picture.  But baby steps, he’s got his first real set of friends so let’s not rush his development.

Now the best example of these guys as a trio go back to the snake kamuy/snake bite incident.  Ogata is outside looking in on their behaviour, Sugimoto and Shiraishi are giving Asirpa a hard time and it is all in good fun.  Ogata takes her seriously but he’s not joking around with the others.  When they are in the swamp hunting cranes, Shiraishi tries so hard to talk to Ogata … but he’s purposely ignoring him being his loner self and Shiraishi is a friendly guy. 

When we jump to chapter 189, the friend trio is reunited!  Poor Ogata is passed out on the ice while we they are finally able to see each other once again.  I think this shows the stark contrast between the “serious” trio and the “friend” trio.

Both are valid trios - just that one will move the plot further a lot more than the other.  I don’t predict another flashback about Shiraishi - we got his prison break romance and that is likely it.  And it was all played for laughs.  If Shiraishi were a part of the “serious” trio, we would need to see a very deep and tragic/sad/emotional flashback from him.  We don’t have that, and I don’t think we will get that.

When Sugimoto almost kills Ogata, the chapter ends with him and Asirpa inside her hunting tent eating dinner together.  This is in direct contrast with Ogata being pulled from the river on a stretcher.

Both Sugimoto and Ogata have grown their hair out after leaving the military either by choice or not.  Yet, both men can’t escape the cycle.

Ultimately, Sugimoto, Asirpa and Ogata will move the plot forward more so than Shiraishi will.  That’s okay.  He’s added a lot of depth to the cast. 

#golden kamuy #gk meta #ogata hyakunosuke #sugimoto saichi #asirpa #shirashiyoshitake #trio