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atinybitofau · 4 years

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[ateez] W O O Y O U N G ⇢ the breakup

MAKING NEW FRIENDS MAKES YOU CRAZY AND HIM TOO

warnings: I wasn’t able to put a cut so ya’ll gonna have to live with the long length, I’m sorry in advance but I hope ya’ll still like it.

• your friends were BAD

• you just wanted to fit in at work, you know.

• it’s hard as it is that you moved to a new place just two months ago.

• your boyfriend was ecstatic though that you were able to get closer the LDR getting a little much for him.

• but now, your friends were.

• “They’re great people, Woo.”

• no they weren’t.

• “Are you fucking— y/n, they’re taking advantage of you. And your goddamn place at your work as charge nurse. You’re fucking kidding me right?”

• he was overwrought by your blindness.

• how his girlfriend that was sometimes a little too naive,

• starting to piss him off more than he loved you.

• “You’re just angry because I’m making some time for them than I am with you.”

• his jaw slacked at that one.

• maybe the city life was making you mentally ill.

• he was thinking he can’t stand you anymore.

• “You think I’m telling you this because I’m jealous of those stuck up bitches? No, y/n, I’m telling you this because I’m worried about you. Worried that they’re gonna corrupt you.”

• you roll your eyes because you think he’s being hysterical and possessive.

• “Can you leave me alone? I spend more than 36 hours at that place with those people. And they choose to treat me nice. What’s wrong with you!”

• “Wrong with me?”

• Wooyoung was bouncing off the walls at this point.

• eyes blood shot ears red, body convulsing in anger.

• “What’s wrong with me? You’re fucking asking me that after you come home telling me— and laughing might I add about one of those girls basically calling you a whore. And you have the fucking audacity to ask me that?” you snap.

• from overworking at a city hospital.

• from being too caught up in the nice attention.

• from being deprived by your boyfriend from time to time.

• it gets to you and you can tell this isn’t going to get any better.

• “Did you just call me a whore?”

• now he thinks you’re mad.

• “You can’t be fucking serious.”

• you were gathering your things wanting to leave before things get too heavy.

• before things are said that you’ll both regret.

• but you two are too close to it, right there actually.

• “Yeah I’m gonna call you a whore. Just like your friends did. Doesn’t sound nice, huh? When it comes from someone who really matters.”

• you stare at him bewildered and horrified.

• dizzy nonetheless.

• you slap him square on the face and the horror on yours mirrors on him.

• “You can call me stupid. Ugly. Fucking mental for making friends I think are nice.” you start vicious and torn, “But I’m not gonna let you call me a whore. Not with the mouth I let you kiss me with.”

• he lets out a shaky breath.

• cold.. it feels cold when it reaches your face you almost flinch.

• “You’re sick, y/n. You’re fucking sick.”

• you’re crying.

• he’s okay with it right now.

• right now because he’s thinking this isn’t his girlfriend anymore.

• “Why are you being like this, Woo?”

• he can’t stand you.

• his love that was balancing on a thin line had lost it’s efforts.

• he gives up and so do you.

• “Why do you hate me now?” you continue your questions as if his answer might help.

• “Because you stopped loving me. Started loving them. Sick— it’s sick I’m still trying to love you when you’re love changed. I don’t want that.”

• you cry the last tears knowing this was it.

• you had to say goodbye.

• “Maybe you can find somebody that’ll be okay with your deluded shit. Find somebody to kiss, that’ll let you call them a whore.” you grab your things and turn on your heel. “But I’m done.”

• as he watches you leave, he doesn’t think about following you.

• he knows it hurts.

• that for someone he’s loved for so long slowly changes over the years.

• enough for him to slowly hate you.

• “I loved you, you know?” he whispers when you’re halfway through the door, broken and hard voice when he says the last words. “Loved you before you changed.”

• you close the door behind you.

• because you slowly start to think you didn’t change..

• or maybe did you?

• “I-I’m sorry, guys. I’m not really in the mood to drink tonight.”

• they sneer a half hearted smile before telling you. “That’s okay. We don’t need you for tonight, anyway. See you tomorrow, y/n!”

• it took around,

• a day?

• a day for you to realize Wooyoung was right.

• how your friends started to change you.

• that you’ve become blind cause of the city life.

• and it’s been about a year?

• since you moved to Seoul and now you want to move back home where life wasn’t hard for you.

• and it’s been about 6 months since you last heard from or saw your ex boyfriend.

• “Hey. Happy birthday, y/n.”

• you’re holding your pillows crying a river while your sister calls you from home.

• you crying so hard, your heart hurts.

• and unlike a couple months ago, you don’t have anyone to wipe the tears away.

• “I want to go home.” you tell her and she feels your regret, your pain.

• “I w-want to leave and never come back. That coming here for Wooyoung was a mistake cause he’s not even here anymore.”

• “You need to get over him. He’s not going to just come back, y/n. If he was, he would’ve been there with you already. You pushed him too far.”

• “I know..”

• “Then suck it up.”

• you feel like the worlds against you.

• you have a 14 hour shift in a couple hours and you’re about ready to topple over.

• you have about five new patients, piled up logs and checklists before you hear a new patient is here with a fractured ankle who’s requested you.

• the world was definitely against you right now.

• “I’ll always be here. Even if I’m not there, okay?” your sister tells you.

• you sigh, “Okay yeah. Yeah okay.”

• you think maybe this was your breaking point.

• you close the browser tab opened with the title REQUEST FOR TRANSFER after sending it without your sister knowing.

• it’s time you go home.

• “I can’t believe you’re leaving.” your coworker, and now only friend, someone Wooyoung wasn’t present for, hugs you while she helps you buy some things for your flight home.

• chuckling you say, “I can’t stay.”

• “Just because he never stayed huh?”

•you sigh thinking it’s past you when it’s not.

• “Ugh! I can’t believe you. Why didn’t you tell him that you came here for him?”

• “Are you crazy?” you laugh leaning over her to pay. “I couldn’t have just told him that. He never would’ve let me come.”

• “Yeah but if he had known you busted your ass to get your job maybe he wouldn’t have—“ she stops herself while you think.

• you just want to go home.

• want to forget you loved Wooyoung enough to sacrifice everything just for him.

• “Maybe he wouldn’t have left you like that. You learned your lesson. He didn’t even have the decency of trying to come back to you. Trying to make it work again.”

• you chuckle as she cuddles into your side like a koala. “You’re ridiculous.”

• “I cant believe ANYONE— anyone would ever leave you when you’re always so giving. Always give too much for your own good.”

• “Well that’s why we broke up remember?”

• “That’s not what I remember.”

• your lips part because—

• that voice wasn’t your best friend.

• dause she was gawking, staring in horror behind you not even blinking.

• you whip around with the same expression and he just laughs.

• looking gorgeous as ever, his friends behind him with matching expressions with yours.

• “Long time no see, y/n.”

• you freeze.

• and your friend beside you innocently tugs at your sleeve, “Is that him?”

• you nod violently beside her. “Yup.”

• “Do we run?” she whispers.

• “We should.”

• Wooyoung’s smiling.

• smiling cause it’s nice to see you made a friend that isn’t someone he remembered. someone who makes you as bright as he did once.

• not the way you glowed with people who you basically slaved to.

• “Why’s he smiling?”

• you look back at your friend and lightly slap her. “How am I supposed to know?!l”

• “He’s your ex!”

• “That doesn’t mean I know!”

• he watches you.

• doesn’t say a word actually even if his friends are standing behind him confused, head tilting and lips smiled.

• heart warmed to see you like this again.

• not the same girl he left behind.

• the same girl he fell in love with.

• “Tell him!”

• “Tell him what?”

• he’s amused that you two whisper but are standing right in front of him.

• reminds him of the both of you a couple years ago when the love was still there.

• “Tell him you’re leaving!”

• you mentally face palm before your friend’s hand goes to her lips. “Whoops.”

• “You’re leaving?”

• it can’t possibly be because of him, he hopes.

• “Y-yeah. Tomorrow.” you mumble nudging at your friend.

• you blush, hands shaking and nervous.

• he remembers when he first met you.

• how you looked when he did.

• when he asked for your number at a random hotel in Jeju.

• “Wait— W-why are you leaving?”

• “Tell him.”

• he looks at your friend again. “Tell me what?”

• you’re lost in his eyes when she pushes you against him.

• he feels new. like a fresh start almost.

• “Y/n, tell me what?”

• “Fuck with this crap already,” your friend rolls her eyes behind and admits, “She came here for you, you idiot! Now tell her not to leave.”

• he’s stunned.

• millions of things were running in his mind.

• — thousands of questions but one expression.

• “I thought you said they offered you a job here.”

• you blink up at him not realizing the lack of space in between you two.

• you want to tell him so the last weight leaves your shoulders before you go back home.

• “You said they asked you to come here...”

• “I spent months.” you mumbled looking at his lips more than his eyes.

• wondering if he actually found someone that would kiss him after calling her a whore

• “Spent months um.. on a couple more courses just to wait a couple more on the waiting list. Couldn’t sleep a day or else I’d lose my place. Lose the knowledge if I didn’t pass the test. It took four tries actually.”

• he didn’t know.

• hell if he knew he wouldn’t have let you walk out of his life the way you ran obstacles to get to his.

• “You.. you what?”

• you softly smile returning back to your place by your friend.

• “This is Hyemi by the way.” you introduce the two to each other. “I met her after we broke up..”

• “Hi dickhead.”

• he looks back at you.

• “I met her after you left.. helped fill the void for a little but I want to go back home.”

• he’s distraught.

• heart hurting like it did months ago getting over you

• you spent all that effort, time, and torture just trying to get to Seoul.

• for him none the less.

• now he’s the reason you want to go home?

• he’s thinking cause he left you alone in a life that isn’t yours.

• it’s his.

• “Y/n, why didn’t you tell me?”

• “I didn’t want you to tell me to stop.”

• your smile only makes him fall for you again.

• the naivety, the generosity.

• why he loved you?

• because you always give— give him more than he needs sometimes.

• and it shows again after so long.

• “If I stopped doing what I was doing.. I wouldn’t have been able to come here and be with you. You always asked me to come to Seoul. And I wanted to do something for you.”

• hell, you always did.

• you always did too much for anyone.

• “Fucking hell, y/n. You idiot.” he mumbles. “Why would you do that?”

• you chuckle awkwardly. “Well.. at the time, I loved you. And at the time, I would’ve done anything for you.”

• he’s speechless.

• his friends are too—

• always thinking you were a little too much for him to handle.

• and they know now you are.

• except in a less condescending way than they thought.

• “You did all that for me. And now you’re just gonna throw it away because I’m out of your life?” he reiterates the situation for him to understand. “The opportunities you get here.. aren’t enough for you to stay?”

• “Wooyoung the only reason I stayed was because of you.” you reiterate for him to understand in your words. “Why should I stay now?”

• your friend tried to bid you goodbye at the airport.

• tears falling from her face when she’s finally convinced you’re actually going home.

• “You’re really going?” she asks to make sure.

• “I’m really going.”

• “You’ll visit, right?”

• “I’ll definitely try.”

• you wait a little.

• expecting something more especially after the encounter with Wooyoung a couple days ago.

• maybe another reason to stay.

• but it’s always you who gives.

• why would the world give something back all of a sudden?

• but all of a sudden, Wooyoung’s at your childhood home.

• front and center with a bouquet of flowers and a little velvet box in his hands— suit and tie.

• reiterating the situation as, “So maybe Seoul wasn’t good for you. And neither was I. So I at least have to make it up to you. Please take me back?”

• your lips go straight,

• shaking your head trying to process all this.

• especially when you had work in an hour and you had arrived back to your hometown just yesterday?

• “Wooyoung. What the hell are you doing here? You’re miles away from home.”

• he chokes on that.

• what is he doing here? why did he leave home you ask?

• well he’s gonna try to give back as much as you gave him.

• and this might be too much for you to handle.

• but who were you to deny such a giving gesture?

• “If you took lengths to get to me, it’s only right that we start over. Me taking lengths for you.”

@atinybitofau

#jung wooyoung #wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #ateez #ateez break up au #wooyoung break up au #ateez preferences #ateez one shot #ateez reaction #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung reaction #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung one shot #break up au #ateez au #ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader

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pandoraswrld · 3 years

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FALLEN GRACE

— in which kasper is sick

characters / oh aejung, kasper yang

words / 2k

warnings / mentioned drug use, vomit/throwing up, bad vibes all around — if i missed anything please let me know!

수파 at 9:31: aej

수파 at 9:36: aejung

Aejung hadn’t seen the string of messages Kasper had sent her within the last hour, she had no immediate reason to, she had only just gotten back to the dorms a couple minutes ago.

This was one of the few nights she had picked out to hang out with the girls, ones she had promised them all when she moved out only a few months ago. The whole event had been planned to the detail by her: go out with the girls and do what they like and then come back to the dorms and stay the night there. It was pretty simple, and it was supposed to be a fun night.

After having spent hours walking around with everyone, Aejung was glad to finally reach home and call it a day. She missed her bed back at the dorm and it was the perfect opportunity to indulge in the freshly washed sheets she had left there.

She had only kicked off her shoes before she realised her phone had been blowing up with notifications, each one a message from Kasper slowly getting more and more concerning and ending with several missed calls.

수파 at 9:43: aejung please answer me please

수파 at 9:43: please answer me i need you i’m so scared

수파 at 9:44: help me

She almost raced to her contacts, immediately calling him after reading each text. He picked up quickly but there was no noise coming from his end, rather just the static of his phone taking up the space.

“Kasper what’s wrong? Where are you?” Aejung was worried now, even when he was high with her he never talked like this, and to be greeted with nothing but silence? She couldn’t bear it.

“I don’t know what’s happening, I’m at home but please, please just help me.” She sensed urgency in his voice, an urgency she hated hearing. Fuck she had no idea what to do.

“Okay just stay where you are and I’ll come to you, please don’t do anything bad before I get there.” She hung up the phone and ran towards the apartment door, barely stopping to grab her coat and keys.

It’s times like this that Aejung is glad she finally got her driving license. She knows it’s a more mundane thought to have right now, especially when her boyfriend seemed to be having the worst experience of his life but she had to fill her head full of mundane thoughts, anything to get the idea of something seriously wrong happening to leave her head.

With the rate she was going at she was surprised she made it all the way to their apartment without getting caught for speeding. The elevator had never seemed slower than it did as she waited for it to bring her to the right floor, speeding out to their apartment as soon as she saw the door opening to the familiar hallway.

“Kasper!” She called out his name, worried when she couldn’t see him slouching on the sofa like he always did.

“I’m in here.” His voice was so weak, she wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the sound of anything else.

Aejung slammed the front door shut and ran towards the bedroom, finding his limp body only a few centimetres away from the pool of vomit near the door, the sight almost made her tear up.

“What did you take?” Aejung threw herself onto the floor beside him, careful not to step in the vomit.

“Please just hold me.” He sounded exhausted, his sluggish body heaped on the floor and his head just barely resting on the edge of the bed.

She pulled his body into her arms so that his head rested over her shoulders and his legs were laid over her own. He seemed so lifeless, like some doll that she could just throw about.

This wasn’t the man she had known for the past three years. A couple of months ago he would have been the one cradling her in his arms, stroking her hair and singing her to sleep. She didn’t mind, she thinks she shouldn’t anyways, she likes taking care of him but this time was different. He was different.

Still, she continued to run her hands up and down his back and hum some childish lullaby, anything to get him to calm down, “It’s okay, this will be over soon.”

“I-I took a tab, I think, Insung gave it to me.” He was shuddering, clearly cold despite the warmth radiating around the room.

“You took something from Insung?” Aejung knows she can’t be mad, not in this moment, he was too vulnerable. Really she should place her frustrations with Sera but that’s at the back of her mind once Kasper starts talking again.

“He said I would be fine, I thought I would be fine, b-but I don’t know what happened. I was just thinking about you and then the next thing I know I’m throwing up and suddenly everything was so dark.” God, he sounded so scared, she hated seeing him like this.

“How long has it been since you took the tab?” She kept her voice calm, she didn’t want to freak him out even more.

“I know that I took it at around three but god it feels like it’s been so long Aejung, is it still the ninth?” He looked up at her and she had to hold herself back from sobbing right there.

She caught his eyes first, his eyes that were once so full of love just staring back at her entirely empty and dilated. She saw that his eyes were now accompanied by incredibly dark circles in the space where they once were faint, Aejung used to adore his eyes.

She chose to exhale deeply, a shaky breath exiting her mouth before she began to speak, “It’s about ten o’clock now which means you’re seven hours into a trip, but it’s okay I’ll stay here with you for the rest of it.”

“But weren’t you doing something with the girls today– oh god I’m keeping you here, I’m so sorry.” There was genuine concern in his voice, it was unmistakable and it only made it harder for Aejung to want to stay.

“Please, it’s okay.” She rests his head back down on her shoulder and goes back to rubbing circles on his back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He just kept repeating those same words over and over until he had stopped shaking.

Something had changed in the room. Aejung wasn’t sure if it was the fact that the only thing she could see was the streetlight through his window or the fact that both of them were crying silently, almost as if they didn’t want to alert the other of their tears.

“We have got to get you into a better mood!” Aejung tried to be positive as she wiped her tears away and quickly put on a lighter voice.

“I feel like I’m going to die.” Aejung supposed that she shouldn’t take his statement to heart, people say all kinds of things on acid but he just kept on repeating it.

Over and over the words rattled in her head, slowly going from “I feel like” to “I’m going to die” and she simply couldn’t put a stop to them. She couldn’t be here, she couldn’t deal with the thought, but there’s no way she could leave. She was stuck, with her boyfriend breaking down in her arms, she had nowhere to go. This was her home now, he was her home and she couldn’t just leave him here.

“Please, stop.” She sighed, “You’re not going to die, I’m going to make sure of it.”

“How do you know that? This feels like the end Aej, I’m scared.”

“I know you are, but you’re strong, you can do this!” She tried believing her own words but it was so hard when he just seemed to be decomposing in front of her.

“Oh god I’m gonna be sick again.” Aejung took that seriously, trying to pull both herself and the five foot ten man towards his bathroom as quickly as she could.

She had only made it about halfway there before he had thrown up again, thankfully nowhere near anything important.

Aejung slumped back down to the floor, her back leaning against his bedroom wall. She was going to have to clean this up at some point, wanting to groan at the thought.

Out of all the thoughts she had processed within the last hour the ones that hurt her the most were her own musings of the situation. She wished and wished that Kasper hadn’t texted her, that she could’ve just gone to bed and got the sleep she had desperately been needing. She knew it was selfish of her to think such thoughts but it also wasn’t her job to take care of a grown man through a bad trip, actually it wasn’t her job to take care of him at all. It was his.

Every time, Kasper always promised to be safe, he always told her where he was going, what he was doing and with who. He trusted her, she trusted him, and they respected that all throughout their relationship. She didn’t have to ask him to tell her things and yet he decided to keep this one hidden, she reckons this is his consequence but she shouldn’t think such things.

“Do you want to lay down on the bed, it’s comfier.” She tried talking to him again.

He simply nodded at her words and tried getting himself up this time. His arm was slung over Aejung’s back, desperately leaning into her as they both walked over to bed and laid themselves down side by side.

Aejung’s hand went over to brush the stray white hairs out of his eyes. He was beautiful, he always was, even in his moments of fallen grace.

“I don’t – no – I can’t sleep, not now, not tonight.” The panic started rising in Kasper’s again. She sat up, preparing herself for just about anything from him now.

“Why not, love?” She tried her best to be understanding, using a mellow voice and leaving her hand over his, but she wanted nothing more than to be asleep.

“I won’t wake up, I just know it.” There he goes, Aejung expects another mortifying rant from him to take up the next few minutes, “I feel it Aejung, like the moment I drift off that that will be the end for me.”

“I will watch over you, think of me as your guardian angel,” She gave him a tired smile, “As your angel, I don’t think I’m ready to let you go just yet.”

Kasper noticeably softened, his once tense expression now painted with soft lines and the glimpse of a smile. His knuckles were no longer white as he loosened his grip on the blanket and Aejung could’ve sworn she saw his familiar brightness begin to fill up his face again.

“You know you’re glowing right now,” he looked up at her as though she were the only thing in the world.

“Am I?”

“Mmmh, you’re glowing slightly golden, just like how I imagined you would.” She can’t begin to fathom what Kasper was seeing with his brain on acid but hearing his words made her feel warm inside. They made her feel loved, probably for the first time that night.

“Does that make you feel better?”

He nodded, shuffling up the bed to sit by her side. His head rested on her shoulder ever so delicately, he seemed calm. Aejung only hoped that he had finally made it out of the deep end.

Everything seemed as it normally would, Kasper and Aejung hand in hand, resting on their shared bed with only the fluorescent beams of the streetlight outside highlighting their faces. Aejung finally felt at peace, her fingertips were no longer cold and her heartbeat attempted to match Kasper’s. He had finally stopped thinking at sixty miles per hour and enjoyed the slowed moment, trying his best to push all the dark thoughts out of his brain.

Aejung was his guardian angel, she was there to protect him. He couldn’t fall tonight, not any more than he already had. For now, both of them could just revel in the moment of comfortable silence between them, all worries to be left for another day.

#bobakocnet #aeskocnet #aejung — dev #oc — kasper #kpop oc #kpop oc group #fake kpop idol #fake kpop group #this is not my best writing piece but it’s super emotional for me and i’m happy with it so that’s all that matters

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refinedbuffoonery · 3 years

Text

I + Can’t + Lose + You (2)

masterlist. Read it on AO3.

A/N: Did I take my time on this or what? Yikes. I’ll try to get the next update out much faster. Enjoy!

*****

Riley had to admit, she was having the time of her life on this impromptu road trip with Mama. 80s music blasted from the truck’s speakers, and she and Mama danced in their seats. But Riley knew their fun was coming to an end the moment she spied the sea of brake lights in the distance.

It took no time at all to catch up to the traffic. Every vehicle packed on the freeway sat at a standstill.

“How do y’all live like this?” Mama asked incredulously. “There is no reason for this many cars to be on the road.” Riley chuckled.

After another half mile of crawling through bumper to bumper traffic, Riley was finally fed up with it too. “Okay that’s it,” she announced. “We’re taking the back way.”

LA streets were slow, but nothing was as slow as the 10 during rush hour, and they’d left right at the beginning of it. Avoiding the freeways like the plague, Riley wound through the city streets, flooring the gas through every yellow light.

After a particularly risky one, Mama questioned, “Who taught you to drive?”

Riley grinned ear to ear. “Jack.” Mama rolled her eyes and double checked that her seatbelt was buckled. Before long, they were back on the freeway, zooming toward the desert.

In Indio, they stopped to get gas and use the restroom. From here to Phoenix, there was just a whole lot of nothing. Maybe some cactus, tumbleweeds, and the occasional Joshua tree if they were lucky.

Although, Riley doubted her luck, considering she was driving to Phoenix in a truck with crappy air conditioning in the last week of July. She regretted not changing out of her favorite black Van Halen tank top into one that was a lighter color.

By the time Riley exited the gas station’s convenience store armed to the teeth with snacks, Mama had finished filling up the gas tank and was now leaning against the tailgate, waiting. “You’re still driving,” the older woman said. Riley sighed. Of course she was.

Riley jumped at the sound of a door slamming open behind them, almost dropping her armload of snacks. A guy wearing a navy blue hoodie sprinted toward an old Bronco, clutching something to his chest. He dove into the car and sped off. Riley and Mama winced at the squeal of the tires as he skidded out of the parking lot and back onto the road.

The sole convenience store employee had chased after the thief to no avail. Dejected slump curving his shoulders inward, he stared after the long-gone car.

Wordlessly handing the snacks to Mama, Riley cautiously approached the employee. He was just a kid, 25 at the most. “Hey, I’m sorry that happened.” She tipped her head toward where the Bronco had been parked. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” he asked incredulously. “Of course I’m not okay! That was the third one today and my boss is going to be fuc--pissed and it’s all because I can’t see in the back anymore because the first guy smashed the security camera with a can of Pringles which he then stole.” He had the wild look in his eyes of a furious customer service employee who was about to explode but couldn’t because they were, well, a customer service employee. Riley pitied him.

“Well, I can’t do anything about the thief, but I think I can fix your security camera issue.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Riley wasn’t totally sure she could fix it, but she’d seen Mac build and fix enough cameras over the years she figured it was worth a shot. “Can you show me where it is? I’m Riley, by the way.”

“Marco,” he replied, holding the door open for her and Mama. Marco led her to the far corner of the store. Back here, everything a customer did would be completely concealed from the cashier. Mounted from the ceiling, the security camera’s shattered lens didn’t do much good.

“Can I take it apart?”

Marco looked skeptical, but he said, “It’s not like you can break it any more.”

Riley unhooked it from the wall and began taking it apart. Aside from the shattered lens, it wasn’t actually broken. She could fix it if she had a camera.

Riley froze. She did have a camera…

God, when did she turn into Mac?

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered as she cracked her phone open. Riley didn’t bother checking to see if she had any notifications first. They were about to disappear forever anyway. Mama’s eyes widened, but Mac would’ve been proud. She held up her unusable phone and wiggled it. “In this line of work, always get the insurance.”

“You’ve spent too long with that MacGyver,” was all Mama said, but Riley didn’t miss her impressed smirk.

The hardest part was breaking her phone. Riley prided herself on having the lowest phone replacement rate, which she knew was only because mission success relied on her tech actually working. Mac only sacrificed hers when he had no other option.

Riley also knew Mac picked which phone to sacrifice based on who would have the most dramatic reaction. So, she dutifully handed it over every time wearing a serious expression, refusing to give Mac the satisfaction of being annoyed.

Connecting the phone camera to the security camera wiring was easy enough. The finished product looked janky as hell, but Riley was pretty sure it would work. “Alright, go check whether it works.”

Marco wove his way back to the counter. A few seconds later, a shrill “It works!” echoed through the convenience store.

Mama smiled. “Good girl. I’ll meet you in the truck.”

A rush of pride filled Riley--the same one she got every time she MacGyver-ed her way out of a problem. Fixing the security camera hopefully would put an end to Marco’s shitty day.

She met Marco by the exit. “Thank you!” the kid said, throwing his arms around her in an overenthusiastic hug. Riley stiffened at the contact and patted Marco’s shoulder. He let go, none the wiser to her discomfort.

“You’re welcome,” Riley said. “Have a good rest of your day.” She exited the convenience store and walked back to the truck.

**********

Mac was alone in the war room when Riley’s location disappeared off the map.

Gone, in the blink of an eye.

“No,” Mac said to himself, voice catching. Her location last showed her at a gas station in Indio, but she could be taken anywhere from there. There was a whole lot of nothing and no-man’s land for her kidnappers to make her disappear in.

Watching the tracker cut out finally pushed him over the edge. Mac succumbed to all the worst case scenarios that were threatening to incapacitate him completely. They know who she is, and they’re forcing her to hack something. Or maybe they don’t know who she is, what she can do, and they just grabbed her off the street because she’s pretty and...Mac couldn’t finish the thought.

Without anyone there to stop him, Mac let himself get absorbed in his own head. I’ve lost her, for good this time. She’s gone. Riley’s gone.

Why the hell hadn’t she sent him a clue? Every time she got kidnapped, she always managed to give him a clue about her whereabouts. Riley was one of the smartest people he knew. How did this happen? Who the hell took her?

I never told her I’m in love with her.

God, what if he never got that chance? Or what if something really bad happens to her and he’s too late to stop it and she loses her faith in him?

He had to find her. And when she was safe and healed and at home he’d tell her. Mac stormed out of the war room, nearly running Matty over on his way out.

“Where are you going, Blondie?” she asked.

“To get Riley back.”

He didn’t stop walking until Matty said, in the gentlest possible voice, “Mac.”

Her tone was the only reason he turned around. If she’d spoken in her Matty The Hun voice, it would’ve fueled him to keep walking, but something about the knowing gentleness made him pause. He turned to look at her, every emotion he felt about the situation and about Riley plain on his face.

“Okay,” she said, giving him a small nod. If she didn’t know about his feelings for Riley before, she definitely did now.

Mac ran to his truck and sped off.

**********

Matty added Mac’s location tracker to the screen in the war room. Like a true Californian, he skipped getting on the 10 completely and stuck to the secret back ways he’d learned over the years. Like Riley, he sped through every yellow, but eventually he got stuck in a long chain of red lights.

Despite the fact that one of her two best agents was MIA and the other was out of his mind with grief and fear, Matty smiled to herself. Mac would find Riley; they always managed to find each other, against all odds. And when they finally reunited...maybe some things would finally be put on the table.

Good things, Matty decided. She’d always suspected their relationship might go down this road. For years, Mac and Riley unconsciously gravitated toward one another. They stood unnecessarily close together, they constantly flicked their gaze to the other, they kept tabs on the other’s emotions.

Because of that, she’d rarely put them undercover together as a couple because of the romantic potential. If they were ever going to move past their obliviousness and develop feelings, Mac and Riley deserved for that to happen on its own, without a bunch of charades in the way. Although, given the details they’d both left out from their reports on the op in Monte Carlo, it might’ve been just the thing to finally push them together after all this time.

All of the chaos of the last year must’ve brought new, deeper feelings to the surface, because after defecting to Codex, Mac and Riley grew closer, though they remained guarded with the rest of the team. Even if they didn’t recognize it, their relationship was changing, hopefully for the better. With the hands they’d been dealt in life, Mac and Riley deserved that kind of lasting happiness more than anyone else she knew.

Eyes still trained on the screen, Matty whispered, “Go get her, Mac.”

#beth writes #i+can't+lose+you #macgyver #macriley #macgyver fanfiction

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keelywolfe · 3 years

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 16 (Mafia AU)

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

Warning: Lemon goodness!

~~*~~

Read Chapter 16 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

As heated as Edge’s kisses were, the warmth dissipated quickly when Edge led him out of the green room. Standing outside the door was one of the Dog guards, his expression the same blandly impassive as they usually were and that was enough to set Rus firmly back into reality.

Rus stole a single glance at that furry, emotionless face before he looked away, a stupid blush rising in his cheekbones. He couldn’t help wondering if this Dog were part of the security team that had seen him dancing on the cameras, but there was no way in hell he was going to ask. Better to banish that idea from the ol’ memory place and move right on.

Maybe Edge felt sort of the same or maybe he was still feeling a little handsy after everything. Instead of leading the way, he slid an arm around Rus and guided him to walk beside him, settling a large, warm hand at the base of his spine like a sort of backwards leash. Edge was wearing gloves, but they weren’t much of a barrier and the light touch against his exposed vertebrae made Rus shiver.

This was…this was fine, and he trotted along beside him as quick as he could without outright running, partly to keep up with Edge’s long strides and partly because the floor was damn cold on his bare feet.

If there was one thing he’d learned from all this it was that sexy didn’t have much in common with comfort, and that was the truth.

The path they took was different from the one this morning and led to an elevator instead of stairs. Crowded into the lift, Rus didn’t think he’d ever felt more awkward in his life as he stood there between Edge and the Dog, tarted up in the clothes Mona chose for him like the shiny jam-filling between two claustrophobically oversized slices of bread. He practically darted out when the doors opened, waited only long enough for Edge to gather him up again, herding his lost sheep through the hallways.

Edge didn’t seem to feel the need for all the tricksy backwalking that the Dogs usually did and led a straightforward path around the corner to a door in the middle of the hall.

Rus blinked, confused. “this isn’t my room.”

He was pretty sure about that, anyway. All the doors were exactly the same and Red’s tricksy tricks made it hard to keep tabs on anything, but as confusing as the corridors were, Rus knew for sure that there was a wall sconce across from his room, not a painting. Probably both were rigged with spy cameras or microphones, angel knew what.

“It isn’t,” Edge agreed. A press of his hand against a panel opened up a familiar keypad and Edge tapped in a code, the numbers obscured from Rus’s view. “It’s mine. Your brother can wait a little longer to see you.” He slanted Rus a knowing look. “I’m gathering he didn’t take your chat about us very well.”

“not really.” Rus blinked hard against the sudden stinging in his sockets, trying not to think about the accusations Blue flung at him.

He followed Edge into the room, the same room as earlier, had it only been a few hours since he’d been sitting on that wide sofa, healing Edge from the burns whose marks were still faintly visible on his bones? This entire week was rushing by at lightspeed, so many things coming at him at once.

Earlier, he hadn’t gotten a very good impression of the room past ‘posh’, more than a little distracted by Edge being, you know, burnt up. Now as he was looking at it, the expensive vibe was still winning the race but there was a close second coming up from behind of…unimpressive.

Yeah, the sofas were huge and plushy, the bed frame and side tables ornate wood carved in curlicue designs. Oriental rugs lined the floor, decadent cushions and pillows carefully placed. What it really screamed was a lack of any personality whatsoever. Like it hadn’t been five minutes since a designer came in and did their thing, leaving it coldly uncluttered and stark.

There was no personality, no shoes half-kicked under the sofa, no books piling up on the nightstand with a glass of water for the midnight thirsties. The sofa was nice, but there wasn’t a single anomaly in the cushions, a slight indent that revealed which one was the favorite. Back home, their walls were covered with pictures, Blue loved photographs, and there were so many of them; from when they first came to the surface and those first six months that all Monsters spent in quarantine, pictures of them working in the garden, from the grand opening of the shop.

There was plenty of art here, all of it probably expensive, not that Rus knew the difference between museum quality and dentist waiting room, but not a single photograph, not even a family shot on the nightstand. Which, okay, a candid shot of Red staring at him all night wouldn’t give him sweet dreams, but that was Edge’s brother, not some psycho stranger who’d abducted him right off the street.

Even their current borrowed room had a touch of clutter after only two days. This one was so impersonal, utilitarian despite the implied comfort. There was nothing of Edge here, nothing whatsoever, as blank as an expensive hotel room. This was nothing more than the place Edge slept and dressed, it wasn’t a home, and that seemed so wrong.

His impromptu assessment short-circuited when Rus realized that Edge hadn’t paused to sit at the sofas. He walked past those cushy seats to the bed, toeing off his shoes and lining them up precisely next to it, then impatiently shoving the curtains back as he settled to lay on top of the plush comforter with a loud groan, clothes and all.

Rus hung back, unsure. If Edge was planning on going to sleep, did he expect Rus to lounge around his room and…what? There wasn’t a television that Rus could see, not so much as a paperback lying around, and Rus didn’t even have his phone to play a couple rounds of Candy Crush.

Before Rus could plop down on either of the sofas to spend some quality time twiddling his thumbs, one of Edge’s sockets cracked open to show a gleam of crimson, his unscarred brow bone rising pointedly as he held open an arm in invitation. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a question and not precisely a demand. More like an expectation and when Rus didn’t move, only shuffled his bare feet against the carpet undecidedly, that brow bone rose higher still. “I only want to hold you,” Edge said, “it’s been a very long day. Can’t you give me that much, flower shop?” One corner of his mouth lifted in that half-smile of his, settling at a near smirk, “Considering that I was getting ready for bed when I heard about your latest disappearance, I think you owe me that much.”

The last thing Rus wanted to get into was a conversation about debts, seriously. He had no idea which side was in the red anymore, but he knew which side Red was on and Rus wasn’t liking his odds. He still waffled, lingering back. “like i haven’t been losing sleep over you, asshole?” Rus muttered.

That half-smirk only widened, unoffended. “Well? Make a choice.”

Somehow, Rus didn’t think he only meant this bizarre version of snuggle time. He shuffled closer, slowly climbing onto the wide bed, crossing the plains of it like a damn wagon train heading to California. But his reluctance vanished by the time he settled cautiously against Edge’s side. He was big and warm, the spice of his cologne sharp in Rus’s nasal passage, and one arm looped around his back, a large hand settling to rest almost chastely on the upper curve of Rus’s hip.

Both of them were still fully clothed even if Rus was a little more exposed in his dance outfit, intimate without being intimidating. As much as he hated to admit it, it felt…nice. Safe.

Rus gave in and snuggled closer, settling his skull cautiously on Edge’s chest. Felt the rise and fall as he took a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh. Edge’s arm tightening around him, his hand rubbing a gentle, soothing circle against Rus’s hip. There was a soft touch against the top of his skull, a kiss, coupled with a gust of warm breath.

As tired as he was, Rus found that he wasn’t anywhere close to drowsing off. His thoughts were still agitated, questions bouncing around on the inside of his skull. Without letting himself think too hard about it, Rus blurted the safest one. “how did you get involved in all this? the club, i mean. you know what i mean.”

Edge’s gloved fingers dragged an absent path up Rus’s spine, leaving a tingling trail behind them. “Hm? That’s a long story.”

Of course it was. “give me the reader’s digest version.”

He felt Edge smile against his temple. “All right.” For a long moment, he said nothing, only gently pet the many bones that Rus’s clothes left exposed, but if he was hoping to lull Rus to sleep without answering, that was off the table. Rus shifted restlessly and he finally spoke, slowly, as if selecting each word with care.

“There were four of us when we first came to the surface,” Edge said. With his head resting on Edge’s rib cage, Rus could hear the vibration of his deep voice from within his chest, the words coming in strange stereo. “My brother and myself, Blaze, and Gaster. I’ve known Blaze since I was a child and Gaster was…I suppose our godfather, that’s as good a word as any. He raised us and he was the one who set up this little empire, he started nearly the moment we stepped out into the sunshine. He gave the orders and we followed them, without question.”

Referring to someone as ‘was’, yeah, that was kind of a big hint, but Rus asked anyway, haltingly, “so...um. what happened to him?”

“He disappeared one night.”

“he left?”

“I don’t know,” Edge said, and something in his tone warned about asking any more questions about that, “He was simply gone. Red took over after that and we finished building up this place as a home base.”

Their godfather up and vanished one night and no one looked any deeper into that.

Yeah…

Rus was no Sherlock Holmes or even a Watson, but that seemed, oh, what was the word, really fucking suspicious?

Then again, like he had room to talk, their pop had done something pretty similar before they ever came to the surface. Went off to get drunk, same as always, and never came back. In his case, the whole town went looking and never found so much as a speck of dust; for all Rus knew, his pop was out there somewhere alive, maybe starring in an Underground music review with this Gaster guy.

He wondered if Edge had been scared when Gaster disappeared, like Rus had. Or if he’d been guiltily relieved that it was over, and he wouldn’t have to deal with all that shit again…like Rus had. But in their case, with one man down, that left three.

“and blaze?” Rus asked, cautiously.

“That’s an entirely different discussion.”

Hmph. “that wasn’t the reader’s digest version, that was barely a tik tok video,” Rus complained. “when do i get the long version?”

“You don’t,” Edge said, and the coolness of his voice belied the heat of his fingertips fondling their way back down Rus’s spine. They teased at the waistband of his pants, barely skirting beneath the fabric. “I told you once, I am a very bad person. I wouldn’t taint you by telling you all that I’ve done. All I can say is that for every deal with the devil we make, some good comes of it, and if the price of helping our people is my soul, I’ll gladly pay it.”

Difficult as it was, Rus shook off Edge’s hand, sitting up enough to scowl back down at him. “nice speech, but if you don’t want me knowing anything about you, where does that leave me?” Ignoring his inner voice shrieking that it was better to stay in the dark, safer, ignorance was the only path back home.

“Right here.” Edge rose up on one elbow, his other hand gentle on Rus’s chin as he leaned up for a kiss and, damn it, someday Rus wasn’t going to fall for this. Someday he wasn’t going to melt like a pat of butter on fresh toast at the heat of Edge’s mouth, the curl of a tongue against his own, gently coaxing. For a moment or so there was only that, a cautious meeting of mouths that slowly turned more insistent, parting for gasps of breath before hungrily meeting again.

The world seemed to spin suddenly, revolving, and then the mattress was soft beneath him. Rus dazedly realized Edge was above him now, knees nudging his legs apart as his heavy weight settled between his femurs.

Wait, Rus tried to say, the word catching in his throat as Edge abandoned his mouth to bite a delicate line along his jaw

“oh,” he whimpered aloud. He fumbled for words that skittered out of his reach, unsure if he even wanted to speak them. He couldn’t focus, his attention torn in a dozen directions; the pressure of Edge’s weight pushing him harder into the mattress, the tease of his mouth sucking at his mandible joint, and his hands never stopping, roaming over him from his skull to his hip, touching, coaxing, soaking him in pleasure so quickly. Too quickly, days’ worth of pent up desire shaking loose of their bonds to follow that touch.

Edge shifted against him and knee slid higher to press firmly at the join of Rus’s legs, rubbing at his pubic arch through the too-tight trousers. He cried out, a half-voiced whimper of protest twisted up with an almost alarming need. “wait…i…i don’t…”

“Shhhhhh,” Edge breathed. His mouth was searing hot against the side of Rus’s skull, crooning into his auditory canal. “Let me, pretty. My pretty little flower shop.” His hand slipped down into the cradle of Rus’s pelvis, not into the agitated swirl of magic gathering there, but tracing his ilium in an agonizing tease. He could hear the smile in Edge’s voice as he murmured, “You’re trembling.”

If he’d had a single wit still in his possession, Rus would have snapped out, ‘no shit!’. He could hear that he was trembling, the muted rattle of his bones as shivers wracked him. But mere thinking was far past his skills right now as that teasing touch suddenly became so much more pertinent, fingers gliding down to rub circles against his sacrum, a matching rhythm to the rocking pressure of his knee.

Rus nearly sobbed as he tried to arch up, struggling against Edge’s weight holding him down. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, his breath panting harsh and the pulse of his soul so loud inside his skull he barely heard Edge whisper, crooning to him, a request and a demand as one, “Come for me.”

His knee pushed hard against his crotch at the same moment his fingers dipped down, fitting against the groove of his pubic symphysis, the rising wave of his pleasuring cresting with a garbled cry, “oh, oh, OH!”

His whole body quivered, carried along by sudden ecstasy and Rus could only whimper and let it take him. Shivering and choking out little cries even as he sagged weakly into the mattress, wrung out and undone.

Damp breath gusted against his temple in a fervent groan, “There. So beautiful, my beautiful flower.”

Rus only lay there gasping, limbs gone weak and limp. He squinched his sockets tightly closed and waited for Edge to strip away his pants, waited for a hand to take his own and guide it down to the hard shaft he’d felt pressed against him. Long moments passed and eventually, anticipation melted into confusion. Rus opened his sockets to see Edge still hunched over him, taking long, slow breaths to settle his aroused magic.

With a grimace, Edge rolled off him and the loss of his weight left Rus strangely bereft. He reached out unthinkingly.

“Don’t,” Edge gritted out. He caught hold of Rus’s hand before he could snatch it away, softened his words with a light kiss against his palm. “Not right now, not tonight.”

“oh, but,” Rus could only blink in dumb confusion, “why?”

“Because when I make love to you, you’ll spent the entire night in my bed.” Edge’s voice went lower, deep and dark, and a renewed flush of heat lit inside Rus, a kindling spark. “I want to be sure I can see your face when I make you come.”

A blush flamed across his face, burning hot, and Rus was almost ready to beg for that, even with little twinges of pleasure still lingering, but Edge’s smirk soured. “I don’t believe your brother would accept that tonight, I’ve been advised he’s anxious for your return.”

Been advised? How and by who? Reluctantly, Rus sat up, wondering if his trembling knees were even going to hold him. At least he could be grateful that his pants were black, it would hide the dampness he could feel between his legs. He really hoped they’d give the clothes a wash before taking them back to Mona.

Edge slid off the bed, frowning down at his wrinkled suit. He shed his jacket, tossing it on the bed and hey, his first piece of clutter, Rus could be a good influence yet. With a practiced yank, Edge untucked his shirt, pulling off the tie and loosening the top few buttons. It lent a casual appeal even as it exposed the lines of his collarbone, the slender bones oddly delicate on his large frame.

Great, he looked cool and casual, and Rus looked exactly like he’d just been rolling around in someone’s bed. That was a little more honest than Rus felt like being with his brother right now and maybe Edge agreed, because he disappeared behind a nearby door and when he came back out, he was carrying a shirt, a close match to the one he was already wearing.

He helped Rus slip it on and Rus couldn’t help a laugh at the way the sleeves fell far past his fingers. Between the two of them, they rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, Edge’s side neat and precise, and Rus’s a lopsided attempt. He stood like a child while Edge buttoned it and now shyness was creeping in, leaving him a little uncomfortable. He was grateful to be covered, his spine and ilia hidden behind the oversized shirt.

Rus bit back a yelp as Edge suddenly dropped down to crouch at his feet. He took hold of Rus’s bare foot with both hands, urging it to rest on his knee as Edge plucked loose the glittery ribbon still wound through his tibia and fibula.

Yeah, that was probably a good idea. The once-crisp bow was drooping sadly by now and it would surely bring up questions that Rus didn’t really want to answer. He honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to Blue at all and the urge to ask Edge to let him stay the night after all was strong. But this was his problem to deal with, not Edge’s and it wasn’t fair to ask him to step into the middle of it. Edge was already cobwebbed into the center of enough webs.

The rough feel of the ribbon gliding against his bones as it was pulled loose distracted him, making him shiver, his toes curling. He braced his hands against Edge’s shoulders, leaning against his solid support and it was a good thing he did because as soon as the ribbon fell away, Edge ducked his head to press a kiss against the newly sensitive bones.

“There.” Edge let go of his ankle and Rus set his foot back to the floor, trying to ignore the renewed wobbliness of his knees. “Let’s get you back to your brother.”

His sudden trepidation was harder to ignore but Rus managed, nodding and he said as firmly as he could. “Let’s go.”

The walk was a short one without the pretense, his room was only two turns down the corridors away. Rus hesitated in front of the closed door and turned back to Edge, looking up into his bright, crimson eye lights.

So much had happened that a simple good night seemed kinda pathetic. They were way past the conventions of a first date, hell, they’d skipped that part of the manual entirely. But there was a Dog standing on one side of their door as a guard and his brother was just inside, and Rus’s mind was a blank page.

Edge saved him with a brief, soft kiss, huh, saving seemed to be his personal kink and holy shit Rus did not just think that. He banished the thought, rising up on his toes to return that light kiss and sighing unhappily as Edge broke it and stepped back.

“It’ll be all right, flower shop,” Edge told him softly. Rus nodded stiffly and turned away. He took a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the door.

“blue?” Rus barely had time to close the door before a blur flew across the room and attached itself to his legs. He flailed back a step, only saved from falling to the floor by the door behind him.

“I’m sorry!” Blue blurted, “I’m so sorry, brother, I didn’t mean it.”

Rus blinked hard against the sudden well of hot tears, dropping down to his knees to pull his brother into a fierce hug. “it’s okay, bro.”

“It’s not,” Nearly a sob and already the front of Rus’s shirt was growing damp. “It’s not at all!”

That was probably truer than Rus wanted to admit. A hasty apology wasn’t going to heal his aching hurt at the memory of his brother’s accusations. But it was a start and he couldn’t bear to listen to his brother crying, not now.

“look, let’s just get some sleep, tomorrow we can have a long talk and i’ll tell you everything.” Rus hesitated, took a deep breath, and forced out, “I promise.”

He meant it. He was going to tell the entire story from the beginning and if it made his brother hate him, then so be it. Whatever else happened, the lies and hidden truths between them were going to end.

Blue nodded, his chin digging into Rus’s sternum, “All right. But it doesn’t matter, Papy, none of it matters except that you’re back.”

They sat there together, caught in a tight embrace, until the cold of the floor started to seep its way in. “bro, i love you,” Rus said ruefully, “but my ass could use a new seating arrangement.

“Language,” Blue said with a watery laugh. He let go then, turning away so briskly that Rus frowned, watching his brother bustle away. “Why don’t you go get changed into your pajamas, everything will seem better after some sleep.”

He kept his face turned away, not looking at Rus and that was more than a little strange. He was used to Blue looking him over like he was studying for a test. “bro?” Rus asked, hesitantly, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” That single word bordered on maniacally cheery and he kept turned away, angling his head oddly, and yeah, okay, they weren’t going to get out of one set of lies by diving into a new one. Exhausted as he was, it didn’t take much to sidestep into a shortcut and come out in front of his brother, catching sight of him before he could spin away.

“what the fuck!” Rus gasped. He grabbed Blue by the shoulders, ignoring his feeble resistance as he forced him to turn around. There was a darkened bruise running down the side of his brother’s face like the shadow of a bluejay’s wing, from his eye socket nearly to his chin.

“what happened?” Rus demanded. The unpleasant thought came that while he was fooling around in Edge’s bed, his brother was out here alone, no, not alone, someone hurt him, and the list of suspects was vanishingly short. “it was him wasn’t it, he-“ Rus broke off, too furious to speak. He was going to kill Red, he didn’t know how, but somehow he was going to dust that low-rent Scarface bastard for daring to hurt his brother.

“No!” Blue shook his head frantically. “It wasn’t him, I swear, I promise, it was…” Blue sighed, tiredly. “I did something stupid. It seems to be an ongoing trend these past few days. Please, little brother, I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Dirty pool, that, tacking the ‘little’ onto brother.

“okay,” Rus agreed, slowly. “but we’re talking about everything tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Blue hurried over to gather up Rus’s pajamas, practically thrusting them into his arms. “Now let’s get some sleep.”

Blue was trying to sound reasonable and it mostly worked. The endless flood of exhaustion was rising up over the sandbags and Rus was ready to get some sleep.

He went to the bathroom to wash up, trying to ignore the way his pants still felt uncomfortably damp at the crotch, a match to the tearstained front of his shirt. But it was an absent glance in the bathroom mirror that had him blushing up to his browbone.

Unbeknownst to him, he had a new bruise of his own, vivid against the pale bone of his jaw. It couldn’t be called anything but a hickey and there wasn’t a single chance Blue missed seeing it.

He’d seen it and hadn’t asked, not a single question about that or Rus’s sudden change of clothes and his obviously borrowed shirt.

Looked like neither of them were talking about their fresh bruises, not that that was anything new. Not talking about things seemed to be their current state of being; shouting, yes, avoiding, got it, but no talking, not really. Tomorrow was going to change that, Rus decided firmly, for better or worse.

Rus sighed and stepped into the shower, washing away the long day with hot water and heavenly scented soap. This place might smell like a choir of angels, he thought sourly, but the sulfur was sure starting to creep in.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia AU

34 notes · View notes

sushiandstarlight · 3 years

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“Coal”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Prompt One / Prompt Two

Today’s Prompt

Read this story on AO3

The customer had sauntered into her bar around 8pm, dressed from head to toe in the tightest black outfit Carline had ever seen. It was an arresting sight, even if she wasn't overly interested in anyone's appearance. She served the drinks and she mopped the bar and, sometimes, she listened when people needed it. And then she went home to her cat and her family of succulents. It was a simple life, but it suited her just fine. Despite decades of listening to the romantic and sexual woes of her customers, friends, and family members, none of it had ever really interested her personally. Still, there was some intrigue to be found in the drama of it all... for other people, if not for herself.

They slapped a credit card down on the counter- although where they had been keeping it was a mystery as surely the whole outfit was too tight for the pockets to contain anything, even lint- and ordered a round for the house.

“And for you, dark stranger?” Carline teased as she rang up the order and started pulling the drinks.

“Don't care. Something strong enough to knock me on my ass.” The dark stranger took up residence on a stool directly in the middle of the length of the bar. In her experience, this meant the person was either here to spill their woes or to pull someone for the night. She wondered which it was. It could be both.

“Gonna be a short night with us?” She passed drinks down the bar to the various patrons gathered there. Mostly they were the regulars. They didn't need to ask for what they wanted anymore, she knew. That's why they kept coming back here. She was something comforting and familiar in a world that made less and less sense.

“You'd be surprised,” they grunted back, accepting the amber liquid she placed on the bar for them, “how much I can take.” But, they didn't knock back the drink as she expected. Nor did they say much more to her as they sipped it sparingly.

People eventually came and sat next to them, various sorts. But none of them seemed to draw their attention. They got their fair share of once-overs and longing looks. Even a few predatory stares, although she gave them harsh warning glances and they left before they caused real trouble. She wouldn't stand for that kind of thing in her establishment. She tried, when she could, to look out for her customers, even when those very same customers made the job difficult. Someone had to look out for wayward souls, perhaps it was part of her calling in life.

The dark stranger only had eyes for the bottom of the glass. She wasn't sure what they saw, but she spent the next couple of hours glancing at the shock of red hair rather than the black shades they wore, their gaze lost in thought down in the emptying glass.

They didn't look up even as they tapped the bar for another. And another. And another. They were more than halfway through her bottle of top shelf whiskey and she knew she should cut them off, but they didn't seem nearly as intoxicated as they should be. She sat another glass in front of them and crossed her arms on the bar, resting her chin on them and peering at them.

“Can feel you staring at me,” they mumbled, glancing at her briefly before taking the new glass and peering down into it, “bit unnerving.”

“Says the one wearing sunglasses inside so no one can tell where they're really looking,” she watched as the dark stranger looked up, grinned, and sprawled a bit more over the counter, “I'm tryin' to figure out how drunk you are and if I need to cut you off.”

“m'not drunk, really, at all.”

“Well, you certainly don't sound like it. But, you really outta be by now.”

“Told you, it takes more to drag me down,” their grin slipped at one edge and a crease formed on their brow. They looked back down at their glass, swirling it between long fingers tipped in deep red varnish.

“That could be true. Supernatural drinker, I get it.” She tilted her head, trying to meet their eyes again, “Do you want to talk, then?”

“Is that what humans do when they come here?” They said it like they, themself, weren't human. Weird, but not the weirdest thing she'd ever heard.

“Some do,” she nodded, glancing up and down the bar to make sure no one else needed tending to, “when they need someone to listen.”

“Not sure you can help with this one,” they downed the last of the glass, faster this time than the previous, and handed it to her hopefully, “this tale is as old as time.”

“Hmm, old as time? That's heartbreak, mate,” she filled the glass and scooted it to them, “if I ever heard it. Only love can make a hurt go on that long. Well, the way I hear it, anyway.”

At first they talked in drips and drabs, punctuated by her needing to fill another customer's glass or call a cab for someone. But, as she moved from one bottle of whiskey to the next they started to spin outrageous tales of angels and demons, heaven and hell, and an armageddon that had already happened. Or, not happened. All of that was just backstory, though, to the one they told her about their best and only friend through it all. She might have chalked up the fantasy talk to the massive amount of alcohol in their system, but despite all that she had served, they were only barely slurring.

Some people, she had learned, needed to couch their stories in fiction to tell them. Telling them outright was too painful and left them feeling too vulnerable, especially to strangers. That they were getting it out at all was probably good even if she didn't understand what most of the metaphor meant.

They never mentioned an actual name in the whole story, only referred to their love as “Angel.” And, even though parts of the story clearly stung them, making them pause and swallow or look away for periods of time, there was a softness to their voice that spoke of an enduring love that continued despite the pain. The warmth in their tone when saying the nickname pricked her own heart. There were people she loved in life with her whole heart, even if it wasn't romance like the stranger experienced, and she could relate to it: friendships broke as unevenly and sharp as any relationship could.

“You've made it through so much, though,” she patted the dark stranger's arm, “maybe you should outright tell him how you feel.”

“He knows,” the stranger was leaning to one side now, the alcohol having clearly caught up with him at last, “s'no way he doesn't know by now. S'just not interested in those sorts of things.”

“I mean, that's possible. There are people that aren't,” Carline stopped short of telling her own stories in that regard, “or maybe he's just really, really dense.”

The stranger snorted.

“Or very afraid that maybe you don't want the same thing anymore. You know, now that the danger's past and there's been so much history.” All the metaphors, she could work with them. They had to stand for something, even if she couldn't decode them.

“Maybe so, hard to tell. After six thousand odd years, I can't afford to screw this up, y'know? I can't- I won't- I-” the stranger wheezed, whipping off their glasses and swiping at their eyes- eyes rimmed in kohl darker than coal itself (that, perhaps had her believing in miracles since it did not smudge no matter how much they rubbed at it), “I can't lose him now, he's all I have. He's all I've ever had.”

The stranger had some of the longest eyelashes she'd ever seen, which was all she could make out of their eyes since they were once again staring down at their drink.

“We're the only ones on our side. I don't want... I don't want to be alone on my side,” they shuddered deeply, shoulders hunching inwards as they swayed unsteadily on the stool. She wondered if she was going to have to pick them off the floor.

“I think it might be worth the risk, but I'm only human.”

“Hmm, true,” they looked up at her at last and it took everything to hold back the gasp that climbed up her throat. Their eyes were a startling shade of gold that seemed to be lit by firelight from the inside. She had never seen anything like them and all the tales of drowning in someone's gaze came back to her at once. She wondered if this was what they meant. It was bewitching. And, the deep black surrounding them only made them stand out more, to sparkle in the darkness.

Of course, it was at precisely at that moment that they slipped out of the chair and fell on their ass on the floor. Carline sighed, putting up what was left of the second bottle of whiskey. She waited to see if they'd manage to get themself off the floor. Not seeing the top of their red head peek over the bar after a couple seconds, she went to the end, lifted the bar and went around. They were still conscious, thankfully, but sprawled across the floor and leaning against the stool.

“I go too fast for him, you see? Everything I do is too fast for him... I have to stay slow and steady. Always slow and steady. Maybe in another 6,000 years. We've got all the time in the world, I can wait.” They seemed to only then realize they were no longer on the stool, blinking around in confusion.

“Do you want me to call you a cab?” Carline squatted down in front of them, hands on her knees, “I have numbers I can call.”

“Ngk, I don't like human drivers.”

“Well,” she pursed her lips and sighed, “you can't stay on my floor all night. It's gone midnight and I need to close.”

“I can pay my tab,” they grumbled, producing a wallet from their back pocket that clearly could not have held the wallet, “and then I'll make my own way home.” They opened the wallet, looked inside with a puzzled expression then shrugged and handed the entire thing to her.

She sighed and took it, going back around the bar to ring them out with the same credit card as before. But, when she pulled the card out and slip of paper came out with it. The paper was yellowed and creased with age. All it contained in impossibly loopy penmanship was a phone number. She stood staring at the number for a while, contemplating her options. She could call the stranger a cab and insist that they use it. She could guide them outside and leave them there- though she knew she wouldn't do that. She wouldn't sleep well knowing they were on their own, drunk on the street.

She peered over the bar, spotting the gravity-defying red hair in the same place that she'd left it. They clearly weren't going anywhere. She dialed the number on her mobile. At worst, the person on the other end wouldn't even know who she was talking about. At best, it was a friend who could come pick up the dark stranger and make sure they got home safely. Wayward souls, she was a sucker for a lost cause.

The line rang. And rang. And rang. Just as she feared no one would pick up, there was a click and then-

“Crowley? Crowley is that you?”

“I'm afraid not, sorry.”

“Oh.” The disappointment was so palpable through the one word that she was almost personally insulted, “well, the shop isn't open at this hour. Please call back during-”

“I'm sorry to call so late, sir, but there's someone here who needs a ride. They aren't in a fit state to drive themself anywhere.”

“I suggest you call them a cab, young lady. I have no idea where you got this number, but-” She cut him off before he could really start blustering and it sounded like he'd be able to really get going if she let him. It was too late, or rather too early, for that kind of thing.

“I got it from the person's wallet. Yours is the only number in here...”

“Wait, who's wallet?”

“I didn't get their name,” Carline sighed, “Look, I just want to make sure they get home safe, okay? They've been in here drinking away heartbreak all night. I won't sleep until I know they're safe.”

“What's the name on the cards in the wallet?” The person on the other end of the phone no longer sounded annoyed. He sounded hopeful.

“Hang on,” she picked up the wallet again- the credit card, why hadn't she looked at the name on the card? Maybe she needed a vacation, “Anthony, Anthony J. Crowley. Oh, I guess it is who you're expecting. Well, roundabout.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear. Yes. I haven't heard from him in days. Wait, heartbreak?” his voice suddenly had an edge to it that wasn't there even in his annoyance, “who hurt him?” She was suddenly glad she could say it wasn't her. That edge sounded sharp and protective.

“No name given there, either, only called him 'angel.'”

The phone went silent. She let it stretch on a bit, but her bed was calling her and she still needed to mop up and count the till.

“You still there?”

“Yes, er, yes. I'm terribly sorry,” now he sounded strained, almost like he was holding back tears, “Very sorry, dear, if you'll just give me the address I'll be by to pick him up as quickly as I can.” She thought she heard him murmur, distantly, “if he'll even want to see me” but it was hard to tell what people muttered over mobile phones.

She gave him the address and then they rung off. She went back around the bar, finding Anthony where she'd left him, gangly limbs sprawled in all directions. She expected him to be passed out, but he was still staring resolutely into the distance.

“Someone's coming for you, how about we get you somewhere more comfortable?” She squatted down and helped him up, guiding him to a booth in the back corner. Every one else had left at a decent hour. She could clean around him. Hopefully his friend wouldn't be long.

“Who's coming for me? I told you, I don't like riding with humans.” His eyes were drooping even as he spoke.

“I didn't get his name, but he clearly seems to know you. Was expecting you to call, even.”

“Can't imagine who that'd be...” She would've responded, but his heavy eyes had closed now and his face, creased since earlier in the evening, relaxed. He was kind of pretty, she had to admit. She wondered who it was his heart so desperately longed for- who was his angel.

As it turned out, her wait wasn't long at all. Some fifteen minutes later, a white-haired man stepped into her bar and looked around. He spotted Anthony in the corner and went to him immediately, worry etched in deep lines all across his face. He shook Anthony's shoulder softly and then harder. When that didn't work, he pinched the dark man's arm.

“Ow, hey!” Anthony batted his hand away and grumbled, sitting up somewhat straight. Carline wondered if the man could sit properly at all, even sober. He seemed to have bones made of rubber.

“Crowley, where have you been?” The white-haired man put his hands on his hips and stared Crowley down.

“Angel!”

Carline gasped and put her hand over her mouth, wondering suddenly if she had done just the wrong thing. Both men turned to stare at her and she made quick work of making like she was cleaning the bar instead of watching them. Too late, of course, but she didn't want to be that rude. Crowley, in spite of all he had told her this evening, sounded delighted to see this angel in front of him.

“Days, Crowley. Days. You were coming by every day like clockwork and then you just- just disappeared! I've been worried sick. I thought- I thought maybe they had come back for you.” The white-haired man's argument had started out strong, but by the last few words his voice sounded as it had on the phone: like he might give way to tears.

“Nuh, er, hurgh!” Crowley struggled for words, “I'm sorry, Angel... I didn't think you'd notice. Didn't think you'd think that.” He seemed to puzzle over his own words, but the ones he managed came out sounding genuine.

“Didn't think I'd notice! My dear boy, how much have you had?” white-hair wrung his hands, “you know what, it doesn't matter. I missed you and I'm glad you're okay and we need to get you home.”

“You don't...” Crowley stared at him in extreme concentration, “you don't drive.”

“Let's just get you outside and sober you up, okay darling?”

Carline thought it would take a whole lot more than fresh air to sober him up after two bottles of whiskey, but once he was out the door he was this other man's problem not hers. She polished glasses to continue looking busy.

“I don't want to.”

“Don't want to, what?”

“Sober up.”

“Why, in heav-er, why on Earth not?”

“Doesn't hurt right now.”

“What doesn't hurt?” but Carline had a feeling this Angel knew exactly what Crowley was talking about.

“Being with you.” Crowley looked away after the confession, poking at a tear in the booth beside him.

“Being with me hurts you?” the Angel's voice wobbled, going soft and revealing painful feelings of his own.

“Yeah... because I like it.”

“I don't understand that, Crowley.”

“I like being with you.”

“But it hurts you?”

“s'what I said.”

“But why?” “You know.”

“I'm afraid I don't.” And she believed him, the poor thing sounded utterly lost and confused. She half expected him to stamp a foot in frustration, but he just went on wringing his hands.

Dense, that's what she had said to Crowley earlier in the evening. Maybe his angel was dense. She was sure, now, that she had been right. This conversation was distressing to watch, let alone live in. No wonder Crowley had drunk himself silly.

“You don't feel for me the way I feel for you,” Crowley finally said in a burst, almost too fast to be individual words, “and-and that's fine, you know? It's okay, really. S'just that I love you all the same even if you don't feel that way about me. And, I- I'm not saying I was gonna be away forever, but I wanted a break.”

Carline lived in the moment of silence with Crowley, hardly believing that this was all taking place right in front of her. Really, she should have left them alone some time ago. This was none of her business. She'd heard and seen enough to know that Crowley and his Angel weren't going to physically harm one another. They had made no move to disturb her bar. She should give them privacy. But, she couldn't seem to make herself move. She had to know how this turned out. In disbelief, she realized she was rooting for them, whatever strange metaphor they were living.

“Budge up.” The angel swatted at Crowley's knee until he turned in the booth such that the white-haired man could sit beside him. Side-by-side they sat, both staring at the fake woodgrain of the table in front of them. Crowley was curled in on himself and the angel had left a bit of space between them.

“I think I've given you the wrong impression, my dear, all this time.”

Crowley said nothing, only picked at the at the edge of the table now.

“Because if you think I don't love you, the options are that you're blind or it's my fault. And, I know you aren't blind.” No, thought Carline, but it was entirely possible that they were both denser than lead.

Carline watched the words hit Crowley. Watched no reaction bleed into drunken wheels turning turn into confusion and then-

“Yeah, but you're an angel. You're meant to love everything.”

“Now, of all people on Earth and Heaven and Hell, I think you know the inaccuracy of that statement. Angels are meant to love, sure, but by experience we both know they're picky.”

“You love me, specifically?” Crowley was trying to glace at the man without actually looking at him and it made Carline's eyes hurt just watching.

“I love you, specifically. Not agape, not just philia. Pragma, ludus... Eros.”

“Eros.”

“Mmhmm.”

Crowley sat with this simple declaration for a time and Carline couldn't tell if he was going to smile or cry, lines etching deeper and deeper in his face as he turned it over in his head. The angel gave him the time.

“I'll be right back, my love, you stay here,” the angel patted his hand and got up, crossing the room to stand on the other side of the bar.

“Er, I'm sorry to keep eavesdroppin'.”

“It's quite alright. You want to make sure he's okay. That's a sentiment we share. I think he might come with me now, though, so I'll collect his things.”

“Oh! Right,” Carline reached under the counter and retrieved Crowley's wallet and sunglasses, handing them to the man.

“I'm very glad that he found you tonight, dear,” the angel smiled so warmly at her that it felt like a physical hug, “thank you for taking care of him for me.”

“Of course,” somehow she felt less tired than before, less stressed about everything- it was strange-, “Thank you for coming to get him.”

The angel's smile tipped into a rueful smirk, “I'll always come for him. And, he knows that even if he stubbornly wants to pretend he doesn't.” She wasn't sure what to make of that twisty statement but she nodded anyway.

The angel crossed the room back to Crowley, who somehow was sitting up straighter and looking far less intoxicated than he had a moment before.

“Ready to come home with me?” The angel offered his hand and Crowley took it, sliding out of the booth and standing before him.

“Eros?”

“Yes, dear, that's what I said.”

Crowley stepped closer, into the angel's space and reached up, touching his cheek.

“I've been an idiot.”

“Hmm.” The angel didn't agree, but he didn't disagree, either.

Crowley stepped closer yet, close enough that there was no longer space between them. He tilted his head and pulled the angel's face close to his and kissed him sweetly and gently before pulling back. The angel looked dazedly between Crowley's eyes and lips, biting his own.

“Yeah, let's go home so I can make it up to you.” Crowley took his hand and led him to the door. The angel followed, casting one last glace over at Carline and mouthing another 'thank you' just as he was pulled out the door.

She stood and watched the door for a bit, making sure they weren't coming back. Then she crossed the room, flicked off the light, and went upstairs to her flat.

No, she wasn't interested in a love like that. Eros didn't appeal to her. But, that didn't mean that she wasn't thankful that there were people in the world for those that it did. And that, sometimes, they got their perfect happy endings.

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #30 days of prompts

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guiltysecretpasttime · 4 years

Text

The Airbender’s Wife (Chapter 3)

Note: Here’s the next chapter 😊 I have a rough outline of the rest of the story; all is left to actually put it all into writing. As you may have noticed, the plot more or less happens on the outskirts of what we see on season 1 of LoK with a Linzin AU focus. Let me know what you think 😊

----

The next few training days were not any better.

In between training one-on-one with Tenzin and having sessions with the air acolytes, Korra felt she had not progressed as much as she should have. She was disappointed at herself – she had been able to grasp most of the other bending forms quite easily. Aligned with the worry of her other bending masters, she was adept in comprehending the physical aspect of her training but lacked connection with the spiritual side. Everyone knew that Air was the most spiritual among all the elements. This was also why she was training with Mr. Spiritual himself. There was no hint of disapproval from Tenzin, which made it worse.

The Avatar quickly fell into the routine.

Each morning would begin with meditation with Tenzin. The rest of the day would depend on the Airbending master’s schedule.

Korra would either have a training session or asked to join the Air Acolytes’ classes to learn more about the Air Nomad culture. On days that Tenzin was needed at city hall, Korra would be left to her own devices. On other days, Tenzin was able to work remotely from his home office and so is able to supervise training at the island.

One of the first things that she did back in Republic City was to request to go to the library, which pleased Tenzin a lot.

The teenager decided to brush up on the recent history, taking time to take seriously the reading lists that the White Lotus gave her years ago. She had also gone to the archives to just catch on what the press had been saying about the previous Avatar and his family, and by extension the currently last Airbender and his wife.

Aside from satisfying her curiosity, she felt she owed it as much to learn about her hosts to ensure she does not say anything offensive or taboo. Not that the airbender or the metalbender seemed to care a lot anyway.

Chief Beifong, meanwhile, as her husband mentioned previously, did not have regular hours. Korra cannot recall the last time she had seen the woman at the island aside from night of the Pro-bending match. At most, she would see Tenzin having short calls at night (“Yes dear, I understand.” A pause. “Mhmm, take care, okay? Yes, Korra’s here safe. What? Why would she need to blend in the crowd?” Another pause. “That makes sense, yes, the public knows that Avatar is from the Water Tribe.” A sigh. “Yes, dear. Stay safe.”).

-----

Korra had reached the top step of Republic City Hall, having come from exploring the city after spending an hour at the library. It was almost time for Tenzin’s office hours to be over. She was surprised to see the airbender standing in the foyer already.

“Ah, there you are, Korra.” Tenzin strode towards her. “Let’s go.”

“You’re done for today?” The councilman usually waited until the last minute before packing up. Then again, Korra did observe that Tenzin seemed to be disquieted by something in the past days.

“Yes.” He replied brusquely as he quickly exited the building, robes billowing in his wake.

“Uh – the ferry is that way?” Korra stopped and pointed to the opposite direction which Tenzin was heading towards.

“We’re dropping by somewhere first.”

Korra jogged beside him to keep up until they found themselves entering the police headquarters.

“Ah, Councilman Tenzin, Avatar.” The Deputy Chief greeted them as they entered arrived at the floor of the Chief of Police’s office, hands behind his back. “I wasn’t aware that you had an appointment today.”

“We don’t,” Tenzin responded still in that somber tone. “I’m here as Lin’s husband. Would you know where she is?”

Saikhan cracked a smile, barely perceptible but it was there. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Korra fidgeted by the balls of her feet. The last time she was in the presence of the deputy chief was when she was in the interrogation room more than a week ago. She figured that it might be a regular occurrence for Tenzin to drop by, judging by his reaction.

Tenzin released a heavy sigh. “How long has she been in?”

“She’s been here for close to four days,” The metalbender consulted his watch. “Four days entering the fifth day in a few minutes actually.”

“Four days?!” The teenager blurted out in shock. “That’s how many working hours?” She knew she had not seen the police chief recently, but she thought she just did not see the woman’s comings and goings from the island.

“Too many.” The grim airbender crossed his arms. “Didn’t she leave headquarters at all?” Korra remembered that the couple also owned property in the city; she supposed that Lin could have gone home there instead of Air Temple Island.

“She’s been out from time to time on case-related activities,” Saikhan responded with a frown. “But no, Chief spent the rest of the time here.” Chief’s husband tsked quietly at hearing this. “Right now, she’s finishing the last training class of officers and detectives.”

“I didn’t know it was time for the refresher exercises?” Tenzin looked towards the end of one of the corridors, which was connected to the stairwell of the training rooms.

“It’s not. The Chief decided to have mixed group sessions specifically for non-bending forms and techniques.”

“Oh?”

Both Tenzin and Korra were curious; after all, the police department was initially established with the elite metalbenders as the main members.

“With the rising anti-bending sentiment on the streets, the force needs to further assure the public that we are a non-biased organization who is out to serve both benders and non-benders alike.” Saikhan said tightly. “The chief saw it fit to equip all divisions with working knowledge of non-bending: both defensive and offensive. Generally, she instructed benders to use bending as a last resort when encountering non-benders in skirmishes. Maximum tolerance and all that – there’s no point in escalating the tension.”

That makes sense, Korra thought.

“I take it there has been some resistance?” Tenzin tugged at his beard, a mannerism that the Avatar was starting to recognize. He was either agitated or pensive. Korra voted for agitation this time.

“Of course,” Saikhan exhaled. “Good thing this happened now though; if it were a couple of years back, when there were just benders on the force or further back when it was all metalbenders, it would have been chaotic.”

Korra recalled reading that the current Chief Beifong had opened the police academy to non-benders early in her term as chief of police.

The airbender agreed. “It would have been more challenging to placate the public if that were the case.”

“If I may speak candidly, Councilman?” The deputy chief asked. Upon Tenzin’s nod, he continued. “Here’s hoping that the city council pass more…progressive laws for Republic City. There’s only so much that we can do to keep peace and order when enforcing some of your more pedantic laws.”

Any reply Councilman Tenzin might have given was cut-off as footsteps were heard coming from the stairwell. A group of sweaty, disgruntled yet subdued looking officers and detectives came rushing towards the showers, murmurs and shouts littering the air.

At the tail of the group was the Chief of Police in her non-metalbender uniform, wet hair stuck to her forehead and nape, towel on her arm, and a water bottle in hand. Both Tenzin and Saikhan noticed her at the same time and set about to approach her when she was intercepted by another uniformed officer.

“Chief, they’re ready for you in the briefing room.”

Lin nodded and strode purposely the room; Saikhan hurrying after her.

Tenzin was used to this occurrence, Korra figured, as he went inside what she supposed to be the Chief’s office.

The Avatar was surprised at the state of the room.

While the paperwork was arranged neatly on the desk (complete with folders, binders, and impressively cascading tabs), other areas of the room was in disarray – obviously, the owner of the office practically lived there.

The side table had several pots of beverages, (Korra sniffed at it – one was tea, two were coffee, and three were probably coffee at some point. She lifted a pot and tried to swirl it – it looked like toxic sludge, then again she would not put it past Lin to be capable to subsisting on bitter sludge just because she can), one empty cup, multiple bowls of partially eaten food (normal pantry food consisting of bread, noodles, some stir-fry and rice), and a metal tray (“Lin being Lin,” Tenzin dipped his head, smiling at his wife’s stubbornness. “She prefers to clean up herself, didn’t want the staff waiting on her.”).

The couch in the room was a little bit better; a folded blanket was placed on top of two pillows at the end (“She didn’t even bother to rest at the sleeping quarters.”).

Tenzin snuck a couple of packets of biscuits (which the teenager puzzled where he got them from) into the Chief’s desk drawers then he began clearing the side table.

As Korra helped him out, she realized that the airbending master has been worried about his wife not being home all this time.

She stopped to peek through the blinds that faced the rest of the floor.

She saw the police chief patiently listening to one of the officers gesturing towards a diagram on the board where several photos and a map were posted. Lin wiped the sweat off her face and took a long drink of water, eyes not wavering from the officer speaking in front. If that look of determination was anything to come by, the Avatar did not think that whatever the Chief was working on that week was not easily solved.

---

“Go home, Chief.” Saikhan attempted to get the folder from Lin’s hands after the briefing for the stake-out ended.

“No, the stake-out –.”

“Can be handled by myself and the rest of the team.” At the Chief of Police’s skeptical face, the Deputy Chief opened his hands imploringly. “Chief, we’ve worked together for a lot of years now. I know our protocols by heart.” He eyed her massaging a part of her left shoulder. “And, how many has it been? Eight?”

Anyone who has worked with Lin Beifong knew her philosophy of leaving all the confrontation on the mats. Having personal issues and altercations with fellow policemen on field or while on the beat may pose security concerns. It could also be a matter of the operation’s success or failure. She had then allowed sparring (regulated sparring, that is) at headquarters to get them to let off their steam.

With her recent focus on the integration of non-bending techniques, there have been a couple of people on the force (both detectives and uniformed officers) who were a tad too miffed (and that’s putting it lightly) at this development. At the start of each training session, she opened the floor to anyone who wanted to challenge her. To prove her point, she did not use earth or metalbending while her opponent can use either.

The last time Saikhan checked, there had been less than ten challengers so far.

“Fifteen is the final count.”

“Fifteen!” He was stunned. “So, seven more in the last session?”

Lin shrugged, testing her sore shoulder. “I saved the most difficult group for last.” She has managed to win each of the fifteen matches (Lin idly wondered if that was how her mother felt when she won her Earth Rumble championships back in the day).

“Well, either way, you need to rest up, Chief – you’ll be no good to us if you’re not in tiptop shape.” He half-jested, knowing fully well that his boss can still take anyone down even at her current state. The man received a punch to his forearm in retaliation. “Don’t worry about it, all that is left is the waiting game and paperwork. We can manage.” He waved towards the office, grinning. “And, if anything, I also do not want to be at the receiving end of the last airbender’s tirade should I not be able to convince you to get some rest. Your husband and the Avatar are waiting in your office.”

Saikhan did have a point and she did trust that the man was highly capable in her absence. He also knew very well that when Tenzin drops by as Lin’s husband, Chief Beifong has overstayed at work.

Lin thrusted two files under her arm to him. “Fine but call me as soon as you hear anything.” The man had the audacity to salute her as he shooed her away (“Get some rest, Chief!”).

The past days have been hectic.

The triads were taking advantage of the pockets of gatherings supporting the non-bending movement. Legally, there was not anything the police can do about it. The citizens do have the right of freedom of assembly. There has been no incident that would equate to any law-breaking; all the force can do is wait and observe.

Patrolling schedules were revamped to ensure mix of benders and non-benders per location. Both sensitivity training and non-bending techniques training were quickly delivered to the force. It was short-notice and the timing was tight but Lin believed that it would be better to be prepared than to be caught off guard.

The triads were not making it any better as they were, more often than not, composed of benders preying on establishments owned by non-benders. She had allotted more metalbenders as plainclothesmen in the vicinity to allay their fears. It did stave off crime.

For now, she thought pessimistically. The city never did seem to rest; by extension, neither did she.

Just today, she had given a go signal for stakeout made up of the mostly junior detectives and officers. There was a severe lack of progress in the intelligence reports provided by the seasoned officers. She figured that if this junior team produces more results, the other team would be challenged to step up and shape up.

Tenure was not enough to secure promotions in the force, after all. Spirits know she knew that very well.

She tilted her water bottle back, finishing the rest of her drink. An empty stomach and a sore body never did not make for a happy chief of police.

Another day at headquarters, another day to remind herself why she had to keep going.

As Lin approached her office, she could sense Tenzin pacing inside.

Well, there’s my number one reason.

The metalbender shook her head to clear maudlin thoughts (wouldn’t want to get distracted while on the job, wouldn’t we?) before turning the doorknob.

“Tenzin, Korra – to what do I owe this pleasure of a visit?” She entered the room, shutting the door behind her, correctly assuming that her husband was about to berate her.

“Visit?” Lin could hear the strain in Tenzin’s voice. “This isn’t a visit, Lin. It’s almost a week since you last went home. You’ve practically camped in your office.” The airbender’s robes flowed as he waved indicating the room. “This can’t be healthy, Lin.”

A blast of air escaped as he huffed, causing several paperwork to flutter from her desk.

“Don’t worry, I was just riling you.” Lin could vaguely see the Avatar cautiously watching the exchange from the couch, inching towards the desk to pick up the fallen sheets of paper. “I’m leaving headquarters with you.” She placed a hand on his arm, gripping it and trying to reassure him. “I’ve arranged it all with Saikhan. I’ll just have a quick shower.”

---

The next hour found the three of them in an alcove of a popular (albeit expensive) restaurant in the city. Tenzin selected this one as he was sure that they would be granted privacy (that and he knew that the service was quick). Soon their table was silent except for the clatter of utensils and bowls as they dug into their ordered food.

“Are you part Fire Nation?” Korra tilted her head, her face scrunching in disbelief at the amount of spicy on Lin’s plate. She had been unable to resist asking as she watched the metalbender scoop more chili garlic.

“Wouldn’t we all like to know,” Lin mumbled through a mouthful of said spicy noodles, not looking up from her plate.

Tenzin shot a warning look at the Avatar, silently communicating that she does not push the woman. Her heritage was a prohibited topic.

Lin’s nickname before she made chief was Captain Crankypants (though if he were a betting man - which he isn’t, mind you– he would bet that her detectives and officers still called her that away from her earshot). He knew her long enough to know the trick to this was to let her eat first. She was the very embodiment of hangry. It was for this particular reason that he always made sure to have some biscuits on his person. His robes, after all, were voluminous enough to hide a pack or two.

Korra had her mouth form an “O” in curiosity. Lin glared at her to stop her from probing further.

Tenzin thanked the spirits that the usually impulsive Avatar held her tongue.

He could see that other patrons of the restaurant were starting to notice their presence as dinner time approached. It was not like they were particularly inconspicuous – he with his Air Nomad robes, Lin in her particularly striking green attire and of course, Korra’s Water Tribe outfit. He realized that this was what Lin had called about a few days ago – for Korra’s protection, for her to ideally wear something less distinguishable that would mark her as the Avatar.

He tossed a side glance at his wife, knowing that she would probably have noticed the same attention that they were drawing but at the same time wishing that she would not chew him out just yet.

Instead, he discreetly pushed the fried salt and pepper squid to her.

Airbender through and through… redirect, diffuse the situation…

Lin stabbed two pieces of squid and that was that.

Tenzin knew Lin’s moods. He could feel the tension on her shoulders, coiled and ready to pounce at a single trigger. She was too amped-up to be coped in Air Temple Island. He would probably lose her to the earthbending training grounds if he insisted that they go home.

“Where do you want to go after dinner, Lin?”

The woman just continued to chew her food for a couple of moments; Tenzin started to doubt if she heard him.

“What day is it today?” Lin finally asked, chin resting on her hand.

Korra answered for him.

The earthbender turned to him. “There’s a pro-bending match today at the arena.”

Tenzin could feel the heat behind his ears as the Avatar also turned her attention to him. “You want to go to the arena?”

“Yes, why not?” Lin leaned to the back of her seat, where Tenzin’s arm waited, and crossed her arms. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a live match.”

On any other day, he would have tried to dissuade his wife from supporting a spectacle.

However, it wasn’t any other day. He has not seen his wife out of work for almost a week and he was not about start an argument during her first night out in a while.

“Pro-bending match it is.” He said resignedly as he tightened his grip on her shoulder, feeling at least a small amount of tension leave her posture.

I’d count that as a win, he thought, kissing the top of Lin’s head.

---

“Where is Korra? I would think she would be back by now.”

“She’ll be fine. There’s probably a long line at the loo.”

“But still – ouch - did you just punch me?”

“Tenzin, she’s the Avatar. She knows three elements; she can defend herself.”

Grumbling. Grumbling.

“Fine. Move – remove your arm around me, I need to stand up and concentrate�� yes. That’s it.” Stomp. “She’s at the players’ platform.”

“She’s WHERE?”

Her hand clung to his robes, keeping Tenzin at his seat. It was all she can do to prevent him from storming down to where she detected Korra was through seismic sense.

“Tenzin,” She hissed as they both sat back down. “People are starting to look at us. Keep it down.”

Lin had selected these particular set of seats so as to not draw any attention to them (well, as minimal attention they could get with a tall bald tattooed airbender clothed in the colors of the sun as they could get). She truly did enjoy pro-bending and she knew her husband was just humoring her tonight. Nonetheless, she was quite contented to sit through his griping throughout the match (“What kind of move was that? That waterbender had the worst form I’ve ever seen.”).

A loud cheer erupted from the crowd as the bell rang, proclaiming the Golden Temple Tigerdillos as the winner of the first round.

As the match went on, the earthbender felt her husband become more receptive to the sport as he started to lean forward in his seat (“That waterbender of the red team is an idiot. Why are they keeping him?”). She laughed at his indignant face (“Where did they even find him; why don’t they kick him out??” “Tenzin, it doesn’t work that way.”); she found his reddening head endearing as he worked himself up on a sport he said was a mockery.

She gave his hand a squeeze.

The airbender looked down at her, seeing a smile on her tired face, the smile reflected by the crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

He returned her smile and he tugged her closer to him.

Maybe, just for now at least, Lin can pretend that they were just an ordinary couple on an evening out rather than the chief of police and the last airbender.

----

“Here they are – the Fire Ferrets.”

“Thanks, Toza.”

“Any time, Chief Beifong. Councilman Tenzin.” The burly man lumbered off, muttering a congratulations to the bending brothers.

“Chief, Tenzin!” Korra burst forth, placing herself ahead of the two Fire Ferrets in attendance. “I’m so sorry, I got distracted and I -.”

Tenzin turned to his wife, who had her hands on her hips defensively. “I told you this was a distraction, Lin!”

“What are you talking about? We’re all off duty tonight, aren’t we?” The Chief of Police responded sardonically, gesturing to her overcoat, reminding the airbender that her armor was on the sky bison’s saddle (“I’m calling Oogi tonight – leave your armor there Lin, I’m sure you’ve seen enough of your armor this week.”).

She tuned out the teenaged Avatar’s exuberant storytelling and continued to scan the room with interest.

Even as a follower of pro-bending who occasionally watched matches in the arena, Lin has never been to the player holding room. She noted the brothers – the earthbender, with wide eyes, was pulling at his brother’s sleeve, clearly trying to draw his attention to Lin. She caught the eye of the firebender, recognition dawning on both of them at the same time.

She felt the agitation come in waves from the firebender as indicated by his increased heartbeat. The Chief of Police glanced at Tenzin and Korra, both engrossed in their discussion, then approached the pro-benders.

“So, this is where you both ended up.”

“Yes, Chief Beifong.” The earthbender squeaked out, shifting his eyes between his brother and the policewoman.

The firebender, the older brother, if Lin’s memory served her correctly, inclined his head in as he added. “We’ve been trying to make ends meet – within the law, this time.”

“Good to hear, kid.” She could not resist the slight upturn of her lip. Juvenile delinquents who manage to turn around their lives were quite close to her heart (not that she’d admit it though it was fairly obvious to Suyin for obvious reasons). “You’ve been making quite a stir this season, good job.” It was the most that she could give as a compliment.

“You-you-you’re following pro-bending?” The green-eyed earthbender stammered. “You’ve followed the Fire Ferrets?” He was practically bouncing with excitement. “Mako, Mako! Chief Beifong knows who the Fire Ferrets are!” He stage-whispered to the firebender, Mako.

Mako rolled his eyes while he took off the arm guards. “Well technically, she did know us even before we became the Fire Ferrets.” He moved to clean his helmet.

Isn’t he just a ray of sunshine, Lin thought. He just might grow on me.

“Okay, fine!” A gust of wind got their attention as the airbending master had apparently bowed out to the Avatar and allowed her to spend some time training with the pro-benders in her spare time.

Lin decided that she did not give the kid enough credit. There might be the makings of the diplomat (or politician?) within her just yet if she was able to wrangle this agreement with the airbending master.

“Oof!” A blue blur hit her at the chest.

“Thank you- thank you -thank you -thank you!” Korra held the metalbender in a tight embrace.

Over the Avatar’s head, Lin threw a Tenzin a look, asking for help. The man had the gall to grin widely at her, signaling her to return the hug.

“I didn’t do anything, kid.” Lin gasped out as she awkwardly patted the teenager’s shoulder.

“Is she allowed to do that?” The younger Fire Ferret brother whispered loudly, hand partially covering his mouth, other hand pointing at the waterbender.

Mako looked disinterested while Tenzin shrugged, grin still plastered on his face.

The metalbender narrowed her eyes at him, thinking of ways to retaliate later at home.

------------------

Note: Hmm. So there. Tossed in some thoughts based on headcanons for me like Lin actually liking pro-bending, because, well, she was raised (or minimally raised) by an Earth Rumble champion. And of course, I did not take Tarrlok’s comment about the Chief of Police’s track record sarcastically so I wanted to include bits on how she would have worked on the Equalist issue in the background (because she probably wasn't just a glorified body guard? 🤷🏽 Idk haha). Lemme know as well if you have specific HCs that you have in mind; quite curious too. :)

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My related posts:

Prologue (Contentment) | 1 | 2 | x | 4

#linzin #linzin fanfic #lin beifong #tenzin #legend of korra #cross-posted on ao3 #toccatina's fanfics #toccatina wip #toccatina airbender

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theastrophilearchitect · 3 years

Text

I started writing a book.

And I’m mad about it, because I just started this post, brought up a new tab and lost it because I didn’t save my draft.

Anyway. That’s a thing I did. Wow.

As of this moment, this post won’t be going up until April 19th, but I’m starting writing this at 10.30pm on Sunday, February 21st, 2021. I’ve done a lot in the last couple weeks, and I want to have some record of all I’ve accomplished without just letting most of it fade over the next two months.

I’ve always wanted to be an author. From when I was reading under my covers with a torch past bedtime, through the years I wanted to be an artist, through the years I wanted to be a lawyer. It’s always been there - no matter what primary career path I went down, I wanted to be an author. The last few years, I’ve been invested in becoming a biologist, and that dream really took a backseat.

In the start of this lockdown, my mental health went downhill, and some advice my therapist gave me was just to prioritise myself. It sounds simple enough, but, even in my free time, I’d been focusing on schoolwork - revising constantly for exams I’m still not sure are actually happening. (Boris Johnson is apparently making an announcement tomorrow about beginning to ease lockdown, but we’ll see) So, on Saturday, February 6th, I started an attempt to coalesce the ideas I had floating in my head into something tangible.

I’ve tried to write books countless times (not technically countless - I have all the documents on my laptop, so I could if I wanted to), but mostly, I’ve never gotten further than a couple bare plot points and some characters, maybe some ideas for subplots, before I’ve stagnated and given up.

Three times, I’ve finished a skeletal outline. Twice, I’ve started to go back over those outlines only to realise they made no sense or just seemed week, and simply not cared enough to fix it. Until now, I guess.

February 6th, 7th, and fast-forward to my week off beginning the 15th, up until the 19th, I kept developing this concept I’d managed to form, but I was struggling to establish a coherent plot. I had up until and including a midpoint (which was later condensed into just a first act), but everything after that was just a void. I began searching for some skeletal structure I could apply to it, both to work on pacing and fill in the blanks. I tried several, and got a little further, but was about to give up hope.

Then I remembered a video by Katytastic I’d watched years ago about the 3-act, 9-block, 27-chapter structure she used, and couldn’t see the harm in giving it a go. And something clicked.

You can find the video here - the structure’s detailed and easy to follow, plus she even gives an example of using it to generate a plot.

I started binge-watching her writing vlogs in the background, and even started using her same writing program, Scrivener, which just made every a thousand times easier by taking away the need to juggle a billion Word documents. It’s fairly pricey, but I’m currently using the 30-day free trial - it’s 30 days of use, not of ownership, too: if you use it every day, it lasts 30 days, but if you use it once a week, it lasts 30 weeks.

Where Kat used the 27 parts the structure broke down into as chapters, I chose to refer to them as beats, and separate chapters later.

On Saturday the 20th, I finished defining my scenes and started writing an actual draft. I wrote two scenes, putting me at a collective word count (not including notes, synopses, etc.) of 2,580 words.

This morning, Sunday the 21st, I started over. I hated my opening. I’m not going to go through the mess of today’s process, but I currently have around 80 one-line-outline scenes, split into 3 acts. I wrote a draft of my prologue and detailed-outlined (which I’m mentally referring to as zero-outlining because it’s similar to how Katytastic does what she calls a zero draft, but is very much outlining, not a draft) two and a half other chapters. Scriver also tells me how many words I wrote in total, across notes, character profiles, location lists, a document I’ve named ‘Train of Thought’ for my ramblings as I go etc.

Today, I wrote a grand total of 4,141 words, which, rather counterintuitively, puts me at a draft total of 2,598. That makes sense. Anyway.

There are a lot of unknowns in the world right now, and I have no idea how much time I’ll have in the next six months to invest in this project, but I’d like, at bare minimum, to have one complete draft by the start of the next school year in September, which gives me just over 6 months. Which is probably too much time to actually motivate myself, but that’s not the point.

A manuscript needs to have a minimum word count of 50K words to be considered a novel, so, even though my ultimate goal for this project is around 80K words, 50K is going to be my goal for this draft.

I’m being optimistic about sticking with this.

Tuesday 23/02/2021 - Word Count: 3,099 I wrote nothing yesterday; planning to focus writing solely on days off rather than work days, but last night, watching through the incredibly long queue of Alexa Donne writing videos, I came to the conclusion writing every day, even just a little, would be the best way to ensure I keep working on this, so I set myself a goal of just 500 words a day.

Wednesday 24/02/2021 - Word Count: 5,350 After doing a little bit of maths as to how long this outlining and draft would take me if I were to only write 500 words a day, I decided to boost that goal to 1,000. I got started around 1pm today, online school draining me so much I couldn’t face another two hours. I worked on and off until 6pm, and around 4.45pm, I finished outlining Act One!

Thursday 25/02/2021 - Word Count: 7,022 I continued my scene outlining into Act Two, but I hit a brick wall around the midpoint. I have to write chronologically - some people jump around, but I have to write linearly, or it feels like I’m trying to make something in a void. It just doesn’t work. I didn’t know how to get from one scene to the next - there were so many things I needed to establish to get there, but I didn’t want to backtrack. I decided to re-jig the whole thing, but, after dinner, I realised I didn’t have to, and instead, decided to just start a draft, conscious of the things I need to establish as I go.

Friday 26/02/2021 - Word Count: 8,208 Starting draft one, I rewrote the prologue I’d already written, technically putting me to my second draft of it, because I’d been thinking about it for days and just wanted to revisit it, and it was so much better. Then I moved on to chapter one, but decided I wanted to re-jig my chapters. While outlining, I’d split the whole book into only about twenty chapters, but decided to go for shorter ones for more effective divisions of the story. I got most of the way through the first scene of chapter one, but basically ran out of both time and motivation, since I hadn’t heavily outlined that scene. in total, I wrote over 2000 words today, but because I only increased the prologue word count by about 100 words, it didn’t do that much to the total count.

Saturday 27/02/2021 - Word Count: 11,050 I got some chores done Saturday morning and focused on finishing my book so I could include it in my February wrap-up, but I still had time to get some writing done around mid-day. My goal was just to hit 10K this weekend, but I though I could do it in one day. I wrote about 1,000 words before feeling a little word-drained, but took a break for lunch, got back to it and wrote 2,400 words. Though that only added a little over 2,000 to the word count, it took me to 10K! I’m 20% of the way to being able to call it a novel! We’re in quintuple digits!

And then eight hours later, I wrote another thousand words and got to 11K.

Sunday 28/02/2021 - Word Count: 13,722 I spent most of my Sunday morning writing, though it took me more than two hours to write about 1500 words, though it only added about 1100 to my count. I decided to set myself an overall and weekly deadlines to hold myself accountable. Due to the fact I don’t yet have a clue how many words this will work out as, I decided I wanted to have either a complete first draft or 100K words (which I doubt I’ll reach, but it seems like a good way to make myself finish the draft before my deadline) by the end of April. Which works out to a little under 1500 words a day, or just under 11K a week, which is perfectly doable. Bearing in mind my current word count is including outlines, but I still believe in myself.

I wrote another 1600 words later, which took me to 14K, until I deleted the 300 word outline I wrote for one scene, but I worked out my words per day for the next two months with the assumption of a 10K word count as of March 1st and a target of either a complete draft or 100K words by the end of April, so I’m nearly 4,000 words ahead of schedule. Which gives me 6,606 words to write this week, instead of 10,328. (If you couldn’t tell, I like numbers. They just make sense to me.

Monday 01/03/2021 - Word Count: 15,005 I didn’t quite hit my daily goal, but I was completely leached of motivation today, I’m ahead of schedule anyway and I was only under by less than 200 words. It’s alright. But, hey, we hit 15K! Two days after hitting 10K!

Tuesday 02/03/2021 - Word Count: 21,119 This was an insane writing day. My end-of-day target was only 16,480, and that was still ahead of schedule - if I was sticking to the 100K by April 30th, I’d only actually need to be at 12,950 today. This was the best writing day I’ve ever had. I wrote before school and during breaks, which kept both my writing and working momentum up.

I didn’t read a page of my current read, but I wrote a total of 7,681 words and increased my wordcount by 6,114 words, or literally an additional 40.75%. I hit 20K three days after hitting 10K, and am 42.238% of the way to being able to say I wrote a novel, be it a shitty first draft that won’t be complete at 50K words.

I also finished chapter three, which I’ve been working on for three days and came out ~5,000 words, and wrote chapters four and five in their entirety.

Note to self: this is day 10 of vaguely outline-drafting this project.

Wednesday 03/03/2021 - Word Count: 23,364 I've only written 490 words today, as of writing this update, but I just wanted to make note of the fact I've done some calculations, and can reasonably finish my draft this month. I'm still not completely sure how long it'll work out to be, so I can't quite work out my daily words to finish on the 31st, but if I stick to my current 1,475 words a day, I'll hit 63,894 words by the end of the month, which is a little less than I imagine this draft will be, but if I stick to that as a minimum, my first draft won't have to go into April.

I'd like to post this later this week, but I already have a post for this Friday, so God only knows how long this will be by the time it goes up. So far, I've written 1,900 words today, and I don't think I'm out of fuel yet, but I'm stopping because I need to read today, and I'd rather not burn out. I'm over my goal, anyway.

Oh, also, I'm nearly at 25K, which is halfway to a novel, but I haven't broken into Act Two yet, which means this book will be 75K minimum. I'm going to do some maths and work out how many words a day to hit 80K by March 31st. 2,030. That's doable. So I haven't read, but back to writing for like ten minutes.

I've now hit an additional 2,245 words for the day, though I wrote a total of 2,663

Thursday 04/03/2021 - Word Count: 25,415 I've decided to work out how many words I need to write each day to hit 80K by March 31st, and watch the fluctuations. (I like statistics). It should steadily go down throughout the month if I surpass it each day. Today's minimum word count is 2,023, already seven words less than yesterday's. How exciting.

The last scene of Act One was very heavy on world-building I haven't yet figured out, so I stuck what was meant to happen in brackets and just moved on, meaning I have now broken into Act Two!

I think, during the week, I'm going to focus on just meeting my minimum word count rather than exceeding it, just to save fuel for the weekends, when I can write so many more words.

And, we hit 25K! I'm halfway to a novel!

Friday 05/03/2021 - Word Count: 26,693 In complete honesty, I'm beginning to lose momentum. Maybe it's just today, but I don't really want to write and feel like I need a break, but I'm going to make myself write anyway. I'm going to make myself keep writing until this draft is done, however shitty it may end up. I really hate first drafts.

When you say 2,000 words is only 7-8 pages, it doesn't sound like that much to write per day but my god. Luckily, most of the stuff I've had to save to a Pinterest board called 'Writing Motivation' says if you write when you don't want to, it should pass instead of worsening. I wanted to hit 35K this weekend, but I'm not sure I'll have the momentum. I'll at least hit 31,270, though, which is my minimum goal for this week. I'm still over 700 words off my goal for today, but I'm taking a break because my head is foggy and there's still eight hours left in the day. Besides, 700 after dinner is easy. She says, realising she's probably jinxing it. Oh, well. 80K by March 31st would be difficult, even if I weren't going back to school soon, but that's a stretch goal. 100K by April 31st is my minimum, and I'm 9,000 ahead of where I need to be for that.

I think I’m stagnating because I’ve hit the ‘Fun and Games’ section, which I find really boring. I’m going to try to keep going with it, but I may just skip it and come back later.

Saturday 06/03/2021 - Word Count: 28,150 So, I did not get the extra 700 words in. Before dinner, some stuff I had to deal with came up, and by the time it was done, I just wanted to go to bed, so I did. Today, I'm going to try to make up for it, which I think is reasonable because it is now the weekend. I'm still kinda exhausted this morning, but I'm going to do my best, and my wrist hurts, but I'm not sure why. You'd think it would be from all the typing, but only one wrist hurts - you know what? Never mind. They do both hurt. I'm just not sure why, but it doesn't hurt typing this, so that doesn't make any sense. Anyway, to hit my word count for the day, I need to write 2,555 words, which doesn't sound like too much, but it kinda is because I'm primarily writing Act Two at the minute, and for every thousand words I write, I lose like 400 from my outline. You'd think I'd just not include my scene outlines in the word count, but it's too late for that now.

I'm thinking this over, and I really don't think trying to write 80K by the end of the month is going to be good for either my motivation, mental health, or ability to function back at school, so I'm going to stick to 100K or a finished draft by April 30th, and re-work out my goals from there, based on yesterday's word count, so I'm not making myself do catch-up today.

So, to hit 100K by April 30th, I only need to write 1,309 words each day (which will decrease over time because if that's my minimum now, I'll probably surpass it, decreasing the amount of words left etc.). That's so much less pressure.

God, I really don't want to write today. I just want to watch YouTube and Netflix and read.

Okay, so here's the thing. I've been working on this story straight for three weeks and I'm kinda exhausted of it. I'm not done with it, not at all, and I want to keep working on it because it exists, which makes it workable.

I watched a writing vlog by ShaelinWrites yesterday, and she said she writes different projects at once, alternating in week- or multi-week-long blocks. I think I might try that.

My plan with this post and the following updates was to keep updating it until the day it goes up, the day after which is when I begin drafting the next, but, since I may be switching projects for a while and this is really about the project I've decided to dub 'Bay Tree' (which is just, I guess, a pseudonym for here because while I have no idea what it would eventually be called, I know that's nothing like the title I'd want to give it) so I'd want to start a new post for a new project.

I'm now doing a little outlining instead of actually continuing writing, but I think this will help me, though I'm still not certain about whether or not I'm going to directly continue with this specific project for the minute. Instead of setting daily goals based on a target, I'm also just going to say 1,000 words a day, and see where that takes me.

I've just been outlining into Act Three, and I've met a major plot stumble, but I'm going to work that out and explain what I'm doing in my next writing update.

So, go drink some water, eat if you haven't eaten in the last few hours, stand in front of the mirror and tell yourself how wonderful you are and how much happiness you deserve, and, if you want to write a book, stop thinking about it, and go write.

#blog #blogging #blogger #blogpost #blog post #writing #books #book #reading #read #write #writer #author #draft #first draft #story #writing blog #writerblr #bookblr #novel #debut

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reveriesofawriter · 3 years

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alright here we go: 4, 13, 16 (i may be baiting you slightly. or indulging depending how you take this), 30, 32 i love you very much xoxo bella

4. Link your three favorite fics right now.

you expect me to remember the titles of fics? (answering all the questions under a break bc I don’t know how to be concise)

not to be a copycat but daydream fic oh my god you know those songs that have such a specific and deliberate vibe that feel unbroachable because there’s no way to write something that fits it perfectly and it deserves nothing less than perfect? a daydream away is one of those songs and the tone of the song got stretched out to full story length like a warm quilt that just kept growing to the perfect size it’s so good

can I link a whole series? I think about sam’s bach au so much it lives in my head, I know so little about the actual bachelor universe but especially now that she’s kinda living her own fic it brings me so much joy and was also the first thing of sam’s I ever read I think, also it’s really funny how she accidentally wrote two jalexes without thinking about it

this fic that I never remember the name of but I think of as the dodie fic even tho peyton has written more than one fic with a dodie title, I read it before I knew peyton, back when they were one of bella’s anons, and I remember being so impressed and wondering why they didn’t want anyone to know who they were bc it was just so good and it’s so creative in the way it incorporates books into the story

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just looked at an outline of yours without reading the fic?

if they’re complete ideas that are longer than I think I can write in a day or two yes I will outline them, if they’re not complete ideas I’ll jot down a summary of the idea at the top of a doc and use it as a reference but those are usually not very helpful and rarely end up going anywhere. my current wip has a separate 8k outline doc that is pretty comprehensive, I think it would lead to a satisfying conclusion even without reading the story itself, tho the story is shaping up quite nicely I’m excited about it

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

I am interpreting this as bait thank you bella. is it still a rabbit hole if it’s productive and leads to plot breakthroughs? I currently have 3 tabs open on music, 2 on 90s tech, and 5 on lgbt movements/history :)) this wasn’t a result of a rabbit hole adventure but this https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Patch_(bar) is one of the best fun facts I know that is slightly relevant to the research I’m doing

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

no context but I am so proud of these two paragraphs

In the distance, at the edge of the yard where the dying lawn gave way to the wooden fence, fireflies floated up and down against the darkness. It had taken one mistake as a kid for Alex to learn that jars of fireflies need holes in the lid to keep them alive. He and Jack had spent hours catching them on summer nights like this when they were younger. Whoever caught the most before Jack had to go home was the winner and got to decide whether they kept the bugs in their jars or released them. Funnily enough, Alex had always been the one to want to let them go back then. Jack would hold tight to his jar until Alex told him he had to follow the rules and then they’d let them go all at once, watching the light show as the fireflies thanked their lucky stars that Jack had lost. When Jack won, Alex would keep his jar on his bedside table, watching the lights flicker and dance until his eyes drifted shut.

Alex thought from that to once when he was even younger, before he moved to this neighborhood, his grandma had told him to stay very still with the lightning bugs because if one of them landed on you, it would give you good luck. Alex could never quite stay still enough, but the luck must have found him anyway.

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

this is hard because some of my favorite things I’ve written are just quippy exchanges and it’s hard to copy and paste full conversations here. this one from my jalex/malum one, idk why I like it so much it just feels natural but then I love most of their back and forth in this, they’re so easy to write and so fun

“Ah, yes, us. The experts on how to date your friends.”

“That’s us.” Jack wraps his arms around Alex’s waist and looks up at him. “We should get business cards made.”

can I say the entirety of starlight fic? my favorite part of it is the structure more than any one line but this just feels so 🥺

What he really wants is to pull Alex to the upper deck with a couple glasses of champagne and face the cool air head-on, to say yes he’s tired of pretending but it has nothing to do with all those other people and more to do with how easy it was to fall into a lie in front of them, and one lie in particular.

what if I threw one of sam’s lines in here from all too well fic? no one would know except her 👀

Jack can’t remember what he was talking about but he remembers Alex kissing the back of his hand, remembers looking over at Alex for half a second too long and hitting the brake a little too hard so he didn’t drive straight through a red light, remembers his heart pounding from a mix of his own bad driving and Alex’s guilty smile, still holding Jack’s hand, tighter than ever.

#Anonymous #answered #when is the last time i tried to write something that wasn't jalex #you almost ran the red cause you were looking over at me...

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flowers-for-nuz · 4 years

Text

ok so i’ll never get any work done until harry follows louis back lol so i wrote a short lil drabble to soothe my heart (also because @lwtiswonderundersummersky said someone should write a fic about this haha)

anyway, here ya go. about 1200 words of Louis nervously waiting for Harry to follow him back!

***

‘To all the boys, I love you so much.”

Louis taps his fingers nervously against the back of his phone, resisting every urge to peek at the screen and see if there is a notification light flashing. He’d turned it on silent after he’d hit the ‘follow’ button – had kind of wished he could fling it into the sea too (or himself, he wasn’t picky). But what’s done is done.

Harry must already have gotten the notification. And the fans would’ve picked up on it immediately, Louis knew that. The video had just aired (it was the shittiest thing he’d ever seen – well, okay no, the iHeartRadio one had been the shittiest – but he’d signed off on it without complaining because of that one little scene – the way their beds had been pushed together, his phone visible on the second one while Harry’s was clearly charging next to him. Louis smiles at the memory and vaguely turns towards his laptop. Perhaps he could have another watch while he waited.)

(He still can’t believe the band’s management had approved the video…)

Louis logs back in and pulls up the tab he already has open. It’s been nearly 30 minutes since it’s aired but the views are steadily climbing, and so are the comments. His gaze falls onto his phone – he’s turned it over in a weak attempt to combat the irresistible temptation (so far it’s working – or is it?)

He swears the butterflies inside him are multiplying like rabbits. It feels like he’s a lovesick teen again, running his hands through curls and pinching cheeks he would’ve kissed more often if only he’d known how their time together had an expiration date. He shakes his head firmly and pushes down on his breastbone in an effort to calm himself. It was all over. He was free. H was free.

(Reaching out is always the hardest part…) But – I love you so much – that had really brought Louis to his knees. He knew it was for all the boys, but the ‘so much’ – it had been years since he’d said anything like this.

The ridiculous anniversary video is still playing in the background but Louis sinks his face into Clifford’s fur, breathing in slowly. He’s had the dogs back for a while now and their physical comfort is something he’d missed more than he’d thought he would. Hopefully, they’ll never have to leave his side again. He murmurs nonsense into the dog’s back as Bruce snuffles into his socked feet.

(He’d spent the entire morning in his sweats and no shirt; cuddling Clifford and Bruce in lieu of a dimple-cheeked boy, watching old fanvideos, compilations, performances and interviews on YouTube. The sofa is still littered with empty crisps wrappers and a couple of tissues because fuck it, he’d cried okay.)

The video ends and there’s silence in the room once again. Did he even watch it? He doesn’t think so.

Louis looks at the time.

Fifteen more minutes. I can do it.

He sighs heavily and raises his face. Clifford whines but doesn’t move otherwise. Louis rubs a hand over his face and through his hair. It’s gotten so long – does H know he’s growing it out too? Has he seen the photo of him? Did it make him think of that conversation they had back in 2013 when he’d shyly asked Lou Teasdale if he could grow his hair out a bit and Louis had immediately asked for the same? Did he remember how they’d grinned at each other in silly solidarity (it was just a haircut – or the lack of one – but it felt like so much more).

Twelve minutes, goddamnit.

Louis looks around his empty house. It’s a fucking mess, he’ll admit it. He’s been holed up in here for the past few weeks, only leaving once or twice. But he cant bring himself to do anything about it – there’s something in his stomach – a rock or perhaps a whole fucking island – he needs to know. He needs to know if they’re repairable. If he still has a chance.

He’s even more nervous than he was when his album was about to be released – with all of its ‘loud’ references (as fans would call it) – his heart laid bare for Harry to see.

Eight.

Fuck it. Louis reaches for his phone, only to shrink away at the last second. He doesn’t know what would be worse – checking before his self-appointed time and finding no notification from Harry, or checking it later and still seeing no notification. How long must he allow his heart to pause its hammering before settling into disappointment?

Bruce snuffles into his feet again and Louis reaches down to pet his nose, his thumb slipping over his sock because of the movement. It falls to his ankle and Louis gazes at his exposed triangle tattoo, feeling his heart burn. There’s been so much hurt. So much they’ve had to hide. He swallows back tears, willing himself to remain composed.

There’s a lyric crashing through his brain right now – it’s sad and it’s selfish but he jots it down on his open laptop anyway. Maybe it’ll make its way into his next album, maybe it won’t. Maybe Harry will hear it one day and Louis will get to tell him the story behind it and he’ll laugh and Harry will laugh because they can.

Three minutes.

Louis squeezes his eyes closed and slumps back into the couch. If he sits very quietly and very still for the next one-eighty seconds, will it be more or less likely that Harry would’ve followed him back?

More likely, Louis thinks vaguely. Patience is rewarded, right? Right.

He cracks one eye open, grateful there’s no one around to witness his pitiful actions. One minute.

He leans forward more eagerly than he meant to, his eyes zeroing in on the phone. It’s been almost a full hour. He knows Harry is in Italy. He knows there’s no time zone issues. He also knows Harry doesn’t have plans today (okay, so what if Louis did a bit of intense stalking to find out this particular information?)

Ten seconds.

His fingers hover over the sides of the phone. It’s a clear case. Really basic. He wonders what sort of phone case Harry has.

Five.

Four.

What if Harry hasn’t followed him back?

Two.

One.

Louis turns it over, just in time to catch the tail-end of the familiar notification light. His heart leaps. His hands are shaking as he unlocks it. Pulls down the notification bar. Stops breathing.

Harry Styles is now following you on Instagram.

And –

Harry Styles sent you a message.

Louis almost drops the phone. His mouth dry as fuck, he taps on the notification.

“Lou. It’s been too long.”

#larry #harry styles #louis tomlinson #10YearsOf1D #larry fanfic #nuz writes #idek #pls excuse any random errors #i legit just wrote this and posted it lol

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

Text

What's your sleeping position? I sleep slightly turned to my left and propped up. How much did you spend the last time you went to a restaurant? I haven’t been to a restaurant in almost a year now, but I spent over $50 recently getting food from a restaurant delivered. I love the convenience of Doordash, but damn it’s expensive. Are caterpillars more cute or disgusting? Sorry, but I don’t find ANY bug cute. I’m afraid of all of them and find them all gross. I’m sure they’d say the same about me, so it’s mutual. Ha. Who started the conversation between you and the person you're currently texting? I'm not texting anyone right now. How long have you been on the computer? Over an hour this current session. I was on earlier, but got off to eat and stuff. Or do you mean how long total in my life? I’ve been using computers since I was in kindergarten in school, but my family and I got our first computer when I was 9. That’s when it really took off for me and I’ve been hooked ever since.

Whose birthday is coming up? What's your relation to them? My brother’s is next month. Have you ever had an argument with another survey-taker/maker? Nooo. The survey crew on here are awesome. Where is the farthest you've traveled this month? The only place I’ll be going is to my doctor, which is like a 5 minute drive away. What is something you wish you had more of? Energy. What is your state/province/region known for? I feel like when people think of California, they think of beaches and Hollywood. Have you ever had to spend the night at a hospital? Yeah, I’ve had to spend months in the hospital. Do you put shopping carts back into their designated spot in the parking lot? I don’t use shopping carts because it would be hard for me to push and wheel myself at the same time, but yeah my mom always puts back the one we use. What is the population of the city you live in? *shrug* It’s a lot. What is the most common name you are called other than your given name? Steph or Sis. What's your homepage when you bring up the internet? Well, I keep my windows open and whatever I was on last, which is generally Tumblr and YouTube (I both because I have two windows open side by side so I can watch YouTube and do other things), is the first thing I see when I open my laptop. Google is my homepage, though, it’s what pops up when I open a new tab or window. Was the last book you read for fun or was it for some type of assignment? For fun. I love to read and do a lot of it. Have you accomplished any goals you set for yourself this year so far? I haven’t set any, but we’re barely a little over a week into the new year. What was the last thing to annoy you or make you upset? It just sucked because I slept in until like 5PM yesterday and with my family’s different schedules and just kind of doing our own things at that time (my dad was busy and my brother was relaxing and probably taking a nap cause he had to get up early for work the past two days and today as well), I hardly saw or spoke to anyone. My mom had been gone hours before I got up and hours after because she had to get stuff ready for our family friend who flew back home today that she’s a caregiver for and then go pick her up and help her get settled in at home and it ended up taking a long time. By the time she got home she just quickly ate and had to go to bed because she has to get up super early for work. :/ So yeah, I didn’t even really get to see or talk to her at all. My brother had to go to bed early, too, and my dad always goes to bed early, so I’ve been up alone since like 10PM and that’s early. Generally, my mom and brother stay up later than that. I have my whole nighttime routine where I just do my own thing and I like it, but I like being able to see and talk to my family before during the day, ya know? My nighttime alone time routine doesn’t start usually until like after midnight, so yeah 10PM was really early. Being that I did that the night before as well and sleeping in so late and hardly seeing/taking to anyone yesterday... it’s been a lot of alone time and I’m feeling kinda lonely. But whatever, I’m doing my nighttime routine and about to make my ramen and then probably just go to sleep. Have you ever been ditched by someone only to find them out and about with someone else? No, I didn’t end up seeing them, but I found out later that they ended up doing something else. How old were you when you had your wisdom teeth removed? Like 16, I think. What’s the last song you sang out loud? I don’t remember at the moment. Have you ever dated someone you met online? No. Do you wish you were taller or shorter? “I wish I was a little bit taller.” 🎶 What time did you go to bed last night? I crashed around 5AM, which is early for me. I didn’t even remember falling asleep. Do you think you’re fat? No. I’m actually too thin and underweight. Do you have a pet cat? Nope. If you had to get up at six AM tomorrow morning, would it be painful? I’d be up anyway since I generally stay up until like 7 or 8AM. That’s been my messed up sleep schedule the past year for whatever reason. Are you happy with life at the moment? No. I think that’s been made abundantly clear to anyone who has been following me and reads my answers. Would you go on a date with someone right now if they asked? Nooo. Do you believe that if you want something bad enough, you’ll get it? You gotta put in the work and effort, too. What was the last thing you watched on the TV? King of Queens. What do you hear? An ASMR video. What’s the last beverage you had? I just drank some of my Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink. Who came over last? We haven’t had anyone over since the pandemic hit. Are you thinking of getting another piercing and, if so, where? Nope. How many phones have you gone through? I’ve had like 7 or 8. Have you always lived in the house you currently reside in? No, we moved here about 10 years ago. Do you own any band tees? Yeah, I have 3 Linkin Park shirts, a Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, and a couple Nirvana shirts. Do you like to drink wine? No. Or any alcohol. Do you think your future will be a good one? :/

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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semperintrepida · 4 years

Text

The Sellout, chapter two

two: the big reveal

Kassandra sipped her coffee and surveyed the Portland skyline: the muddy river far below, Mount Hood backlit by sunrise skies as soft and pink as a kitten's tongue, and the laughably light traffic skating along I5. Roofs and trees, then trees in greater and greater numbers until they made a velvety green carpet all the way to the mountains. Portland had to be the smallest big city she'd ever lived in.

She sipped again, letting the coffee's warmth ward off the chill from the polished concrete floor beneath her feet, and she wandered away from the unbroken expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows that formed the eastern wall of her condo, back to the table where her laptop waited for her to put the finishing touches on the Yelp review she'd been dying to write since yesterday afternoon.

After visiting fifty — no, closer to a hundred — coffee shops in the month she'd lived here so far, she'd never experienced one quite like Cliffhanger Coffee. The latte she'd ordered was damn near perfect, but the coffee snob capital of the US was full of near-perfect lattes. It wasn't full of beautiful, dark-haired women with fire in their eyes who could pull espresso shots while throwing volleys of sharp, sharp words at the first sign of a threat.

Despite turning up the dials on her charm and attentiveness, Kassandra had gotten skewered almost as soon as she'd opened her mouth. After two years of living with Pacific Northwest passive aggressiveness, the woman's flat-out, in-your-face aggressiveness had hit Kassandra like the first taste of a sea breeze after years in the desert.

She'd savored every sip of that latte while walking up Belmont back to her car, and later on, she'd fallen asleep thinking about the woman's sharp words, the muscled lines of her forearms, and how they'd disappeared into blackwork tattoos that ran under the rolled-up sleeves of her flannel shirt. Trees on one arm and plants on the other, ferns giving way to some kind of vine, twisting in intricate lines on her skin...

Kassandra shook the thought away and focused on the text she'd written. Come for the delicious drinks, stay if the barista likes you... She tapped a finger against her chin in thought, then typed out one final sentence before she clicked "Post Review."

She examined her handiwork with a satisfied grin, then finished off the last of her coffee. Maybe she could squeeze in a visit to the other side of the river after her one o'clock planning meeting downtown. She picked up her phone.

Dessa answered in the middle of the first ring. "Good morning, Kassandra." She'd been Kassandra's assistant long enough to know her working hours went from seven a.m. to seven p.m. and often beyond.

"Dessa. Good morning. How's my two to four looking this afternoon?"

Quiet click-clicks as Dessa brought up her calendar. "You've got a one-on-one with Trevor Adams from two-thirty to three-thirty."

"Reschedule him to early next week."

"Consider it done."

"Any messages for me?"

"Kevin would like you to call, but he says it's not urgent."

Kassandra snorted. A CEO's not urgent merely meant right now instead of yesterday. "Coordinate a call with Lisa so I can talk to him at his earliest convenience." Lisa, his long-suffering admin assistant, who'd followed him from Microsoft to Juniper and every other stop along the way.

"It'll probably be around eight-thirty."

"That works." She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "How're things back at the ranch?"

A sigh. "Markos has been looking for you."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "He can make a calendar request like everyone else."

"I told him that, but you know how he is."

She did, all too well. He liked his meetings with her to be in person and off the record, like he was some big-shot politician instead of a middling marketing executive. "I'll be on site tomorrow morning. If he weasels by again, tell him he can buy me lunch."

"Will do. Anything else you need?"

"That's it for now. Thanks, Dessa."

She gave one last smirking glance at Yelp, then closed the browser tab and pulled up Outlook. The number of messages in her inbox had reached quadruple digits, and she made a mental note to spend some time cleaning it up later. She scrolled around until she found the email she wanted, then picked up her phone again. "Hi, Evelyn. It's Kassandra. Ready to start crunching those square footage numbers on the southeast flagship?"

.oOo.

A little after two o'clock, Kassandra turned her Audi R8 onto the looping ramp that led up to the Morrison Bridge, and just past the apex of the curve, she punched the gas and grinned as the big V10 began to howl. The acceleration shoved her hard into her seat, and it was like sitting in a recliner strapped to a rocket, more than making up for the fact that the car only came with an automatic transmission. No matter. If she wanted to shift gears herself, she had motorcycles for that.

She found a place to park on a side street off Belmont, slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, then backtracked a couple of blocks to the building that housed Cliffanger Coffee. The neighborhood wore its light industrial roots proudly: lots of brick and corrugated metal, and the coffeeshop's building was no exception. The ground floor units had lofted ceilings, but there were two more floors above them that looked like they'd been converted into apartments sometime in the last forty years. Likely rent controlled. Probably what had kept the owner from tearing it all down and putting up a mixed use development in its place.

A development on a street corner like this could net tens of millions.

The corner unit was occupied by a store selling overpriced furniture, and she scanned the price tags through the windows as she passed: five-hundred-dollar end tables and six-thousand-dollar couches. The store had probably been open for less than a year. She wondered what had been in its place a decade ago, when the coffee shop next door had moved in and nudged this neighborhood a little further down the path of gentrification.

A slate-colored sign bearing the words "Cliffhanger Coffee" hung over the door, the bold white lettering in a font that was clean and timeless rather than trendy, set over an angular slash that was more suggestive of a cliff than explicit.

Kassandra pushed the door open and stepped inside. Busier today, with customers dotting the interior tables, and the same three people from yesterday seated at the couches, deep in conversation. The woman — the owner, Kassandra reminded herself — was at the register, smiling as she handed a cup to a customer. At the sound of the door opening, her gaze slid from the man, to Kassandra, then back again.

The woman's smile faded as soon as the customer turned his back to her. She wore a blue and white plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and tight black jeans. The buckle of her belt glinted silver under the menu board's lights. "What do you want?" she asked as Kassandra walked up to the counter, her gaze as opaque as smoked glass, and Kassandra knew she wasn't really asking about a drink.

"I'll take a double shot, bone dry cappuccino, please."

The woman's eyes narrowed a fraction as Kassandra's weaponized order hit its mark. "Four dollars and thirty cents," she said flatly, slamming her fingertip into the register's touchscreen so hard its plastic casing creaked. This time, Kassandra took a good look at the woman's hands: long and slender, implying fine bones within, but her fingers were wrapped with muscles, as were her wrists and forearms, powerful lines disappearing into black foliage and vines that climbed up her arm.

That kind of muscle didn't come from pulling shots at an espresso machine — it came from training and effort. Kassandra knew it well; she wore it herself from her neck to her calves, earned it in the weight room and on the pitch, and, once everyone figured out she'd grow up to be tall instead of fast, on the basketball court. The woman had probably started young at whatever sport it was, but she was too tall and lean to be a gymnast, and no soccer player who wasn't a goalkeeper had wrists like that, and she wasn't tall enough to be a keeper anyway...

Kassandra realized she was staring, and her fingers fumbled at her wallet inside her suit jacket's pocket. It took her two tries to pull a twenty from the cash in her money clip, and she made herself take a slow breath before she pushed it across the counter. "Can you make that drink for here, please?" she asked once she'd regained her poise.

The woman tilted her head and eyed the twenty. Her look could have shattered concrete. Then the twenty disappeared into the cash drawer and a stack of coins and bills took its place. "You might as well have a seat," she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she moved to the espresso machine.

And just like the day before, the woman's shroud of irritation fell away as soon as she focused her full attention on making the drink, her eyes lighting up with a clean, unburdened joy. This woman was the one Kassandra wanted to talk to. She wanted to ask, Does it feel the same way for you too? It was beating everyone in the paint to a rebound, or hitting a holeshot on the racetrack, that flowing perfection where everything is just so and all is right in the world. Kassandra had spent a lifetime chasing it.

One espresso shot and two full pitchers of steamed milkfoam later, the drink slid across the counter. "Bone dry," the woman said in a voice to match.

Kassandra picked up the cup, murmuring her thanks before she drifted around the perimeter of the shop. Lots of brick and exposed metal, softened by green plants. Real ones. This place would Instagram well. She sipped the drink, the hot espresso tunneling through a thick layer of fluffy foam, completely free of milk and its diluting effects. Yesterday's latte had been near-perfect, but this drink was perfection in every way, its components correctly proportioned, the shot ecstatically good. She needed to find out who the woman's coffee roaster was.

A set of shelves crammed with books occupied much of the back wall, under a small, hand-lettered sign reading take one, leave one. Past the shelves, a bulletin board hung over a small self-service bar that held carafes of cream and a variety of sweeteners. Kassandra's eye lingered on a line of brightly colored stickers running along the edge of the board: Best of Portland 2010, Best of Portland 2011, 2012, 2013... all the way to last year, 2017.

She chose a table against the wall that was mostly hidden from the counter's line of sight, pulled her laptop from her bag, sat down, and pretended to get to work.

A steady stream of customers passed through the doors of the shop, despite the doldrums of the mid-afternoon, and the thread of tension wound tight around the woman's voice began to loosen as she filled orders and chatted with customers. Once, she even laughed, low and round and rich, the sound fuming in the air like a good bourbon. Until that moment, Kassandra wasn't sure the woman was capable of it.

The shop began to empty out as the clock swept past three. Kassandra packed her laptop away and carefully set the empty cup into the bus tub under the self-service bar. She strolled over to the counter, ignoring the hostile glances from the regulars at the couches. There was a jar full of business cards next to the register she hadn't noticed before. Enter to win a ten-pack of drinks written in strong, angular lettering.

The woman turned to her and crossed her arms.

"The drink was perfect," Kassandra said.

Silence.

"I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't give it to you."

Not this way, Kassandra wanted to say. Let's not do it like this. Let's just talk. Tell me about your coffee: who grew it, where it came from, and what drew you to doing this? Because she wanted to see that bright joy return to the woman's eyes instead of the anger living there now. "You don't like me at all, do you?"

"Have you given me a reason to like you?"

"Have I given you a reason not to?" Her brows knit with real confusion. "If I've caused any offense, I'm sorry."

"You seem to think that I have to give you the time of day because you're dropping twenties on drinks."

That stung. "Consider it compensation for wasting your precious time, then." She had tried to be nice from several angles, but had bounced off the mirror finish of the woman's anger every time. Nice didn't work on everyone. She'd keep her interest professional then, and run a different play from the playbook. "I guess you really wanted that fifth star," she said, and then she reached into her laptop bag and fished out one of her business cards, and she smirked as she caught a glimpse of a siren's enigmatic smile looking out from a familiar green circle. She locked eyes with the woman and threw the card into the jar by the till. "See you later."

As she walked out the door and onto the sidewalk, she couldn't help but grin. She would have loved to see the woman's face as she read the words on the card:

Kassandra Agiadis Vice President of International Real Estate Development Starbucks Coffee Company

Chapter two of The Sellout. Continued in chapter three...

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #god this fic is such an indulgence lol #the sellout

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purgatoryandme · 4 years

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Fade-touched. With no magic of her own, the Fade still dictates Hawke’s every move. It forces her to become a better escape artist near-daily - a runner from the moment her feet could first stay steady under her wobbling legs. Fade-touched. Fade-held. Fade-crushed. Her mother thinks the Fade is something they can run from. Maybe she’s right. Maybe if it were just the Fade, Hawke could tip it a crooked grin, do some fancy footwork, and then put it behind her like so many towns and Templars. From the moment she laid eyes on her twin siblings, though, and then again from her sixteenth year onward (a weight at her back briefly lifted, hefted into her arms like the twins so many years ago - begging to be spun, slashing through ozone and salt), Hawke knows there are some things that can never be escaped. Fade-touched. Fate-marked. She was always going to be a story. ____________________ Fade-touched and fate-marked. Sixteen years old with a long sword strapped to her back (freshly cleaned and swaddled in oilcloth), Hawke contemplates that which cannot be escaped. On the long walk home she laughs bitterly over the irony of it all. A life spent on the run, perfecting the skill until it was second nature, and she can’t escape this one thing. She doesn’t even want to. She doesn’t know what she would be without it. (A person, perhaps) (Certainly not a story) ____________________ Varric hears about her long before he sees her. Of course, that’s usually how his introductions go. His ears are open long before his eyes. None of his informants are terribly good with paints or charcoal, you see (useless bastards - he should get them to practice portraiture so he’s never caught so thoroughly off-guard again). The Amell siblings did not enter Kirkwall quietly. There was a lot of kicking and screaming and wailing. Business as usual, really. Most people didn’t enter Kirkwall willingly, and those that did were usually desperate enough for the usual theatrics to apply anyway. Still, the Amells made a splash. Disgraced (by an affair with an apostate no less) ex-nobles returning to an estate that’s been gambled away by a drunk?Juicy. Well, juicy to thieves. Until they proved to be dirt-poor Ferelden refugees barely worth whatever fee Arenthel was paid to get them into the city. Then, THEN, one of the siblings turned out to BE the fee Arenthel was paid. Just the one. Intriguing, but Varric can think of a lot of reasons Arenthel would pay for a pretty face - dark hair and blue eyes. Probably not the boy, too brawny and sour to be good at collecting information. The girl could be useful - her walking stick wasn’t fooling anyone, but those delicate features sure could. He’d overlooked the third Amell child entirely. A rookie mistake, really, her chosen last name notwithstanding. He let himself look (well, let his informants look) without really seeing. And when you were just looking...well. Hawke didn’t look like much. Or rather she didn’t look much like her siblings, who stood out in the way that you’d expect any purchase to in this city. In the way you’d expect a dirty secret to. It hadn’t occurred to anyone not in the know that Hawke was related to any of them. For all intents and purposes, coming from nobility as the Amells did, Hawke seemed to be a bodyguard (just like the red-haired guardswomen). She wasn’t the product of careful Kirkwall breeding. She didn’t even look Ferelden. Hawke’s nose seems certain to be her namesake. Prominent and high-bridged, hooked in a way that was unusual for people of her colouring (and, if Varric is being honest, the kind of thing that would prevent her from ever having a career at the Rose. Or, he’ll think later with ink and paper in hand, from ever being forgotten). Her skin is dark enough to look Rivaini, which, coupled with the russet-dark of her hair and her build (broad shoulders and hips, thick thighs, tall enough that his neck ached), is almost enough to make him forget the distinctly Ferelden nature of that nose. What makes him remember, what forces him to see the slightest family resemblance in the siblings he’s spying on, are her eyes frosty pale and narrow, or seemingly narrowed by thick heavy lashes, in the way only human eyes ever were (elves were always wide and guileless. Dwarves never seemed so...pointy. Qunari didn’t count - he didn’t look them in the eyes. Couldn’t at his height). Sharp, like ice chips, and made sharper against the warm tones of her skin. Wraith-like. Later, he’ll realize her eyes aren’t the same glowing Amell blue as the twins or her mother. Instead, they’re a shade of green so pale it’s nearly grey. He’ll only realize this when Carver makes it clear they consider her no sister of theirs, however, and he’ll wonder how he missed it over a week at her side. He’ll wonder that often about Hawke - how he missed things. How he missed her.

She’s a stunner, that’s for sure. Just not in an entirely good way. She cuts an intimidating figure, larger than life somehow, with features so bold that Varric can practically hear the nobles waxing poetic about her ugliness for years to come. Choppy dark hair and mismatched armour over dense muscle just make her seem more boyish and boorish, adding another layer to the tableau. Adding another layer to the distance between her and her picture-perfect siblings.

She’s certainly something - maybe something he hadn’t learned the words for yet (something that will send him, drunk and careening, to his library time and again. Paging cover to cover through poetic epics for a hero that had even a fraction of the something he wanted to describe). Not at all what he expected from the whisperings or from keeping tabs on the mage Amell in case the Templars ruined something interesting before it got to be INTERESTING. He’d expected a catlike rogue or some Feredelen beauty. Something for the history books, you know? Tawdry and bawdy and fitting to the tales he’d later spin in the Hanged Man for drunks and gentry alike. Varric’s forgotten that first impression a thousand times over and reread it on an old ledger just as many times. Hawke has a way of doing that to him. Making him forget the past, replacing it with their present (visceral like a knife to the gut. Which he’s experienced with her. More than once). Hawke also has a way of being underestimated at first glance. Maybe that’s why Bartrand refuses her and the little cutpurse thought he could get clever. Varric puts on a show with Bianca. Hawke is alone - no siblings in sight. She’d only volunteered herself for the expedition. It’s jarring to suddenly have the woman he’s been watching for hours watch him back. Even as she makes quips with the best of them, Varric can’t help but feel like she’s waiting for a blow. Hawke’s guarded in the way a kicked dog is. Unpredictable in the same sense. It makes Varric nervous, but also makes it impossible to walk away. He wants this one on the expedition. He thinks she’ll make it worth his while (just like Arenthel earned her money four times over with just one of a set of three. She passed up on an apostate beauty who knew healing magic. Hawke was definitely someone he’d take a bet on). She does. Creators, she does and then some, wrenching Varric and Anders, the Grey Warden she’d blackmailed and cajoled into accompanying them, through the Deep Roads with an animal glint in her eyes that increases with every day spent in the dark. She jokes with them often, but it isn’t until the near-endless battling with Darkspawn drains even her to the ends of her reserves that she begins to tell them stories to keep their long march going. “My father was an apostate.” She tells them, not meeting their eyes, likely anticipating and disliking their knowledge of this fact (Anders, through his willingness to come along at all. Varric because he was Varric - no stone unturned), “He was never contained in the Circle. To hear him tell it, he was never escaping anything. He moved because he felt like it. Because there was a great plan that he was following, and if it lead him away from the Templars? So be it.” Garrett Hawke was a man who did not exist, at least according to every record Varric had scoured (and he had, he believed, scoured them all). Varric had thought, up until this point, that the name was simply an alias. He still thought that, but now... Well, he had to wonder. Hawke’s sibling had never been caged. Perhaps her father flew free, too? Anders certainly seemed to think so (the animal glint in Hawke’s eyes was fever-bright in his own, near-glowing against the dirt and Darkspawn blood smeared on his skin). “Freedom isn’t free.” Hawke says, a sardonic little twist to her lips causing her teeth to flash in the torchlight as she glances at Anders, “He paid for it in destiny and a dragon was the shopkeep.” Varric would laugh at the frustrated befuddlement on the mage’s face if it wasn’t echoed on his own. “My father made this blade.” Another day, another story. The long sword on Hawke’s back stayed wrapped, no matter the fight to be had, twin daggers finding themselves home in her hands and her enemies throats. It was only exposed in moments like these - where she carefully oiled it as they made camp. “We forged it together, but the materials were things he had for years. It was mine to carry the moment it was finished. I’d never heard my mother so angry with him.” “Were you just a pipsqueak?” Varric asks, struggling to imagine her as something so small and soft as a child, “Not quite as tall as your sword was high?” Her eyes crinkle, or at least he thinks they do (torchlight stopped being an option in the morning, and Anders’ mage light was a dim and eerie substitute). “I was thirteen.” She tells him, lifting a hand to indicate how tall she’d stood then (about his height, he was chagrined to see), “Beth had just come into her magic. Father took me on a hunt the moment he realized, deep enough into the Wilds that nobody stood a chance of finding us. We came back with a blade, no meat to speak of, and to a little girl who had half-incinerated our cottage. My being a child bore no mind in her anger.” She snickered, despite the flicker of something Varric felt at the image she’d painted (a child standing apart from their siblings, pushed there by a parent declaring their favourite, widening the chasm with the gift of a weapon handmade and crafted in a moment no other family had witnessed - an intimacy impossible to intrude on and rendered in steel), “Carver also flew into a bitter tantrum about wanting a sword shortly afterwards. Both her angels were little hellions for years after that hunt.” Despite knowing they were being baited, Varric still asked the question that had taken root in his mind; “What made them stop? I’m certain it wasn’t from maturing - the very idea would probably bring your brother to tears.” Hawke’s calloused hands caressed the edge of the blade, skin just barely splitting (a cut so thin blood didn’t even bead. Or at least, that’s how the mage light made it appear). Her face was carefully blank no matter how Varric strained his eyes as she replied, “They realized what it was for.”

____________________ Varric tucked Hawke’s stories away for later contemplation. He embedded them into the skin of his arms with quill and ink, determined to remember their exact wording, on the night (or day or midmorning or whatever passed for time under the blasted Darkspawn damned ground) when Anders finally allows Justice out to play, emitting enough light and power that they can struggle their way to the surface, and Hawke mutters something about the Fade that has the spirit’s pupilless eyes settle on and see her. There’s something there. A story. He pieces it together in fits and starts. Junior, Carver Amell (who doesn’t deserve to go by that name, not with the sharp distaste he displays whenever Hawke calls him Carver like he’s asked), trails after them post-expedition and post-Bethany (sweeter than her brother, her bitterness reminiscent of dark chocolate instead of stale beer and regret) entering the Circle. Hawke doesn’t turn him away - Varric suspects she can’t after her sister turned her back on her protection and willingly joined the one thing their family had run from for years - and so Varric has a source of information. He’s somewhat loathe to use it, though. He doesn’t love the way Junior wields his words. They’re such clumsy weapons - he’s liable to hurt himself just as badly as he intends to hurt Hawke.

Still. Still - Varric is shameless in his pursuit of a story. He’s done more disgusting things (though sometimes...sometimes Hawke looks at him, ice-chip eyes warmed by firelight and wine and Wicked Grace, and her mouth twists a little. That same sardonic grin he’d seen underground when she told them freedom isn’t free. And he doesn’t like that look sitting on her face, not when it’s turned his way). And it’s worth it. It repulses him to think it, but all those little bits of information he’s hoarded are worth it. Because their party is chased down by Tevinter thugs in a set-up orchestrated by a magic-hating elf tattooed in lyrium who can physically reach into a person’s chest to crush their heart, and the most fascinating thing to happen was little brother’s subsequent freak out. “Chase him off!” He hissed into Varric’s ear, bent double to do so and no doubt rendering himself a comical image (red-faced under Fenris’ cool scrutiny and Hawke’s stiff-backed refusal to turn to him). “He can literally tear my heart from my chest. Forgive me if I’m not inclined to chase him off my lawn.” Varric hissed back, half-hysterical as Fenris’ gaze drifted between them. “You’ll have bigger things to worry about if he sticks around!” Junior fired back, shaking Varric by the shoulders and gesturing at Fenris’ bristling armour and weapons. “Hawke’s ‘I murder dragons and also really big spiders’ sized sword is almost the same size as his. While you’re all busy seeing which is the bigger thing to worry about, I’ll just run off to High Town in a set of heels where you lot will never think to look for me.” Varric mutters, much more careful than little brother (the littlest, with his petty attitude - a little dog barking at some junkyard Mabari) to keep his voice down, though Fenris’ lips twitched anyway. “Don’t talk about it like that.” Junior snarled viciously, “Her using it near him is exactly what I’m worried about. I don’t know what it will do.” Now Fenris’ shoulders were drawing up, impossibly spiky pauldrons growing dangerously close to his ears as his gaze flitted over to Hawke, who sighed unhappily. “I’m not going to stab you, Fenris. Not even in a fun way.” She said, sliding her daggers back into their sheaths and rolling out her neck with a crooked grin (one that didn’t reach her eyes and sent another stab of dislike rolling through Varric towards her bratty little brother that rose in sharp competition with his curiousity). “Is it enchanted?” Fenris asked, gravelly voice walking a knifes’ edge between interest and distaste that mirrored Varric’s own thoughts too well for comfort (he was pretty sure Fenris was crazier than a nug on lyrium - the comparison wasn’t flattering). “I’m pretty enchanted with it.” Hawke replied, sweeping the oilcloth bundle off her back and resting her weight on the pommel, driving the tip of the blade against the cobblestones below, “Most people find gifts enchanting, though.” A not at all smooth or subtle evasion, though Varric had to admire the way she’d managed to imply that if it was enchanted, it certainly wasn’t her who had done it. Fenris had cottoned on to the same idea, but Carver looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. “Your...brother certainly seems to think there is something I would find distasteful about it. I doubt he’s worried about my wellbeing.” The humour in Fenris’ voice didn’t quite cover his unease, but it did reflect a desire to please. Varric was certain the elf meant to stick around if he could now that he was certain Hawke was no mage. “Distasteful?” Hawke laughs, leaning more heavily on the blade and flicking her gaze to Carver on time to see his wince, “No, he only applies that word to our kinship. He thinks you’ll turn out to be a thief.” Fenris’ jaw set and Varric’s heart quickened in response. Carver’s fingers practically crushed his shoulder. “Of a blade?” Fenris asked, taking a menacing step forward. Hawke chuckled again, though her knuckles had gone white where they wrapped around an exposed silvery green pommel. “No,” She shook her head, sardonic twist of the lips in place as she tutted, “Of a life.” Offence coloured Fenris’ sharp retort of, “Yours?” Making it blunt and threatening as he drew even closer. “Not mine.” She shrugs, "One that can’t be stolen, bought and sold. It’s a pointless fear related to those.” She taps a single finger against Fenris’ exposed throat, directly over a silvery green line, before leaning back and hefting her blade back to its resting place between her shoulders. Carver abruptly lunged forward, fingers still buried in Varric’s tunic (dragging him a stumbling step towards Hawke despite his dwarven weight. Quite the feat for little brother). “Don’t let her touch you!” He snapped at the elf, “Or she’ll kill you, too!” Turning on her heel, Hawke's face disappeared from view. She began to stride away, heading off to the Hanged Man most likely, without a single glance back. Instead she called out over her shoulder: “Maybe my poison touch doesn’t affect dwarves, because Varric’s not dead yet, Carver. I think you might actually beat me to that particular punch.” Needless to say, the elf followed. Varric did, too, unable to walk away when his last sight of her was her back. Junior didn’t. ____________________ “She’ll kill you, too.” Words meant something to Varric. Even the ones spilled from an imbecile’s lips (one who had realized Varric was not his friend, unfortunately. He couldn’t mourn the loss much, though something in his chest felt slightly out of place when Hawke cast a look about the Hanged Man on Wicked Grace nights and sighed at the utter lack of her brother’s presence. He’d come crawling back eventually, as unable to ignore her and she was him). “Too.” Meant something. It meant something in the context of that damnable blade, that sardonic twist of Hawke’s lips that meant she was telling a story, the one that meant honesty and a certain resignation (an animal glint in her eyes in the dark, a cornered animal that always knew the tunnel had an end, that always knew it was going to fight to its bloody last). “What made them stop?” “They realized what it was for.” “She’ll kill you, too!” Not enchanted, but enchanting. Apostate-forged in the Wilds by a man who bought his freedom for the price of destiny from a dragon. The answer was obvious. Somehow, though, Varric couldn’t quite put pen to paper. Couldn’t write down a new observation in one of dozens of journals dedicated to Hawke, the only way to keep track of all that made her her before she talked her way into making him forget. Sighing, Varric pushed his unbound hair back from his face. Slipped his glasses from his nose. Pressed his forehead to the page as he closed his eyes. He was shameless for a good story. Ruthless in its pursuit. He wanted - no, needed - answers. And yet. He could wait for this one. For another sardonic twist of the lips. For more crumbs that Hawke would drop at his feet, knowing he would pick them up, finding their reassembly as inevitable as her brother’s dislike and her mother’s silence (living in a manor Hawke had purchased with children Hawke had been bought and sold for). Pressing his face ever further into the paper, Varric groaned in horror. He didn’t want to be another inevitability in Hawke’s life. He wanted to be a choice.

#hawke x varric #things that I'll never finish #garrett made a deal with flemeth when he was just a boy #struck the bargain with her most might strike with a demon when the fade grew to be too much #magic the likes of which none of his peers had #freedom to follow his heart's desires and to be secure in his head at night #with the knowledge that one day his head would no longer be secure #and he would either become a monstrosity and be wiped off the face of the planet #or he could die a different way #not quite dying not quite immortal #a true plaything for something that has maybe lived forever but maybe hasn't #he bargained a daughter and destiny #there's a reason maybe that hawke doesn't look anything like her mother despite being born from her ohohohoho #he groomed hawke to be what she is since she was young #a wild untameable thing that can run far and wide and free from all but destiny #with a mind that is never quite honest #because she dreams in the Fade like all people do #but she's awake there. really and truly.#no magic to speak of #but wrapped in it nonetheless - a conduit despite all odds #when beth comes into her magic hawke links her and her father #so he makes the blade that's been in his bargain for years #and he gives it to her to carry with the knowledge that #on the day he becomes a monstrosity she will cut him down before his soul is torn to shreds in the fade #and that she'll keep him and his blood magic with her #he's kinda a shitty dude? loves her but doesn't REALLY care for his family in the face of destiny #he never concealed from leandra that he wanted hawke to kill him and she's horrified by the idea #and then hawke does it because she's always done what garrett has asked of her #and leandra just CANT #and carver is bitter for years because he wanted to be trusted like that

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fernwehbookworm · 3 years

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Haunted- Chapter 2

As soon as Kara gets back to CatCo, she pitches her idea to her editor, Snapper Carr. He stares at her for a solid four minutes before grunting out a response. “Fine. But you better do this right. Just the facts. We don't need a eulogy. We need an article that will blow the other four out of the water. Get going, Pony Tail."

Kara escaped his office as fast as she could before Snapper could change his mind.

It was already the end of the day. Kara had spent so much time at L-Corp she had worked through her lunch, very rare for her. With her stomach growling, Kara packed up a few things she thought she might need on her desk and decided to head home. While Kara walked the five city blocks back to her apartment, she ordered more takeout then she would probably eat but everything sounded so good right now. It was better leftover anyway. She is barely through her door when the delivery guy knocks. The smell of Chinese food permeates the entire apartment and Kara can barely focus enough to pay and set up her laptop before diving in.

When the first few bites settle into her stomach and take the edge off her hunger, Kara can actually pause to log into her computer and start researching. In between bites, Kara scrolls through article after article on Lena Luthor. Really, there is nothing about her up until her brother's arrest. There is one short piece back when she was four and being adopted by the Luthor's, her tiny hand is obscured by her father's as the now family of four leaves the courthouse after signing the papers. The occasional mention on various projects for school fairs but Miss Luthor is always listed as 'not pictured.' The next picture Kara finds is of Lena graduating high school as Valedictorian at the age of fifteen. She had refused to give a speech, stating 'who am I to speak about our high school experience when I was barely here even two years? They laughed and cried together. They have grown together in ways I will never understand. Let one of them tell them of a hope for the future as they look fondly on the past."

Which Kara thought was a pretty good speech in itself.

Then Miss Luthor was gone again, only resurfacing in research papers and a start-up application with a man named Jack Sphere, who Kara finds is the now CEO of Spherical Industries. Shortly after that is when Lex Luthor is arrested. After scouring those police reports, Kara finally finds how. Lena Luthor turned her own brother in. Her public statement says that she suspected something had been off with her brother. At first she assumed it was the pressure of taking over LuthorCorp, which he quickly renamed to LexCorp, after their father had died. But it continues even as the company went into a period of growth and prosperity. Investors were practically knocking down Mr. Luthor's door.

Miss Luthor noticed a heavier rotation of women through her brother's life. There had always been a new woman every couple of months because Mr. Luthor had been known to get bored easily. He was a very intellectual man, he even claimed his sister was his only match for wits. Then it seemed like a new woman every week. Miss Luthor worried about a scorned woman trying to blackmail her brother and said so to him. 'He just chuckled real lowly. And said there was nothing to worry about. It was all taken care of.' A quote from the police report.

She didn't know then, that he was wooing these women, giving them everything they could ever want, paying off their debts and dressing them in the finest clothes, and just when they would say they couldn't be happier, he would kill them. He would drug them and tag them like farm animals or game. Then hunt them like those very animals in the huge forests on the Luthor estate. Miles of undeveloped trees that were privately owned. Police still don't believe they have found all the bodies of the missing women who are presumed dead by Lex Luthor's hand. He buried them where he killed them. Still in torn designer dresses with diamonds around their necks and bright orange tags punctured through an ear.

Miss Luthor had started to see signs of the deeds slowly. Blood on a dress shirt carelessly left in a bathroom. A hunting cabinet left unlocked. Dirt tracked into Mr. Luthor's bedroom because the maids had been dismissed for the week. That's when she started spying on him. As a child, she had hid from an verbally abusive mother and knew all nooks and crannies of the Luthor estate. When she finally caught him drugging the next victim, she knew. She took what evidence she could to the police and cooperated fully. Lex Luthor escaped before being taken into custody and no one knows where to. As Miss Luthor gave the federal agency access to LexCorp’s financials, a whole other slew of accusations were leveled on the former CEO. He had been selling weapons on both sides of wars around the world, profiting from death and destruction. His list of crimes went on and on.

Kara begins to write, switching between tabs on the internet browser. It takes hours just to get her notes into a semblance of order and a skeleton of a rough draft. Kara even uses her found pen to take physical notes and jot down ideas as well. Kara works until her eyes start to burn and half her food is gone. By eight, Kara was also halfway through a bottle of wine. She pushes past that, diving in and losing herself in the research and the stories of Miss Luthor’s employees.

Kara blinks hard to try and rid the sleep from her eyes, she is too in the zone to stop now. When she opens them again, she startles at the woman sitting next to her at the table. Kara instantly recognizes her with the long dark hair and piercing green eyes. She’s even still wearing the lab coat that she was in the video.

“Okay, I’m dreaming. I have to be.” Kara mumbles to herself and rubs her eyes.

“Oh, yeah. You are definitely face down on your laptop. It’s quite adorable. Too bad all those ‘F’s’ are going to take up your pages. I hope you auto saved.” Kara watches the phantom of Miss Luthor laugh and then she ties up her hair in a high ponytail, exposing the sharp jawline that Kara saw in her company portrait.

“Yeah definitely dreaming. I think I’ve been thinking about you too much.”

“Honey, no one ever thinks of me too much.” Miss Luthor raises an eyebrow and flashes a smirk Kara’s way.

Kara blushes. “Well since this is all not real, care for an interview? Maybe my subconscious can tell me something.”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’m here. I mean, I feel real. But I have never met you before. But I’ve been watching you for a while and all of a sudden you can see me.”

“Sounds very dreamish to me. So, Interview?”

“I don’t think that’s how dreams work.” Miss Luthor says with a laugh.

“I don’t think I could dream up that laugh, Miss Luthor.”

Miss Luthor winces, “If this isn’t real, then please call me Lena. Miss Luthor makes me feel like I am in a Boardroom.”

“All right, Lena then. I’m Kara.”

“Really? I thought it was Pony Tail. At least that's what that angry goblin man called you.”

“You saw that?”

“I’ve been with you almost all day. I've seen everything.”

“Everything?” Kara’s voice gets a bit higher.

“Don’t worry, I stayed out of the bathroom stall.”

“Oh good, my subconscious lets me have my privacy.”

“Still don’t think that’s true, but tell me, Kara, why are you doing this? Why are you trying to make me look so good? You don’t even know me?”

“I’m not trying to make you look good. You were good. The things you were doing for your employees and National City is amazing. Not to mention your charity helping third world countries. Like, What weren’t you doing?” “I wasn’t living. I was working myself until I couldn’t think to fill the void of loneliness that I thrust upon myself by turning in my brother and cutting my mother out of my life.”

“Wow, intense. But you didn’t find joy in anything you did.”

“I did. But it was always just so temporary. And I had no one to share it with. I never understood why people would talk about sharing their lives with significant others but when the machine malfunctioned and I saw the bright light. It all hit me at the same time and then I was there, watching you interview with Jess.”

“Man, I really wish you weren’t dead. I would have loved to meet you.”

“But I don’t think I am.”

Kara jerks awake, scattering her papers and pens to the floor. She casts about for Lena before realizing she was in fact just dreaming. A glance at her computer screen does reveal a stream of F’s going on for way too many pages. The sun has long set and Kara looks at her watch to see that it is now three in the morning. She groans, she has less than four hours to sleep before getting up again.

Kara is dead on her feet the next morning, she bought two caramel ice cappuccinos for herself and drank them both before they had a chance to melt. Kara has to do a double take when she sits at one of the cafe tables. She swears Lena is sitting across from her, but when Kara blinks, she’s gone. Kara shakes her head and chalks it up to the lack of sleep. On the street, as Kara works on her vanilla cream-filled doughnut, she almost drops it because someone runs into her, she has an apology half way out of her mouth before realizing that the person is long gone.

Eyebrows drawn together, Kara finishes her trek to work and hides in her cubicle. Luckily, Snapper seems content to allow her to work on the Lena Luthor story and leaves Kara alone for the morning. It’s nearing noon when Kara’s phone buzzes.

Noonan’s?

Alex knows her sister very well. Noonan’s sounds perfect.

20 min? Kara responds.

A thumbs-up emoji comes in response and Kara begins saving her place so she can head out to meet her sister. Kara logs out and stands to swing her bag onto her shoulder, somehow knocking her pen container to the ground in the process. Kara groans to herself and stoops to pick them up. Someone giggles at her misfortune but Kara can’t pinpoint which one of her coworkers it was.

Kara shakes her head and lets it go.

“Hey Alex,” Kara greets as she sinks into the seat across from her sister at Noonan’s.

“Hey Kar… you look exhausted.”

“Gee, thanks. Good to see you too.”

“I’m your sister, I’m supposed to call it how it is. What’s up?”

Before Kara can respond, their waitress interrupts. “The usual, dears?”

“Yes, thanks, Carol.” Kara says.

“So?” Alex asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s nothing, really.” Kara tries to wave off her sister’s concerns but Alex continues to stare her down. “It’s just this L-Corp article. I stayed up way too late researching and fell asleep at my computer.”

“You have got to stop doing that to yourself.”

“I know, I know. I even had this super weird dream about Lena Luthor.”

“Weird how?”

“She was just there in my apartment, sitting at my table, and we just started talking. But then she kept saying how she didn’t think she was actually dead. It just felt so real. I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Sounds like you have been really focused on this. You were probably just overtired.”

“Maybe, but forget about me. What’s new with you?”

“Not much. I’m thinking about asking Kelly to move in.” Alex winces at Kara’s high pitched squeal.

“Not much?! That’s huge Alex! Really? I’m so happy for you!”

Alex laughs at Kara’s enthusiasm. “It’s not that big of a deal. She hardly ever goes back to her apartment anyway, mine is closer to both of our jobs and she already has half my closet space.”

“But still! That’s great. I love Kelly, well not how you love Kelly, but like I love Kelly as a very possible future sister-in-law.”

“Whoa, slow down sis. Let’s take this one step at a time.”

“Sorry, I just excited for you. It will be great. We should have a dinner party after you ask to celebrate.”

“Here you ladies go,” Carol set’s down the plates of food, Kara’s piled high with extra fries and a couple of extra pickles next to her burger.

“Thanks,” Alex accepts her club sandwich with a hungry grin. "Want my pickle?"

"Always," Kara grins as she grabs the spear from her sister's plate.

As Kara settles back into her chair, she does a double-take. She could have sworn she had seen Lena Luthor watching her from the door. But when she looked again there was just a woman with dark hair waiting for a seat.

"What's wrong?" Alex asks, noticing her sister's confusion.

"Nothing. Just, jeez, I must be really thinking too much about this article. I keep thinking I see Le- Miss Luthor out of the corner of my eye. It's happened a couple times today."

"Well, maybe when you finish this article, you should put in for some personal time. You haven't taken a day off since you became a reporter two years ago. And you have been pushing really hard this past couple of weeks. We even canceled the last two game nights, which, by the way, Kelly wants to have on Friday."

"Oh! Yes! I met a new friend interviewing for this article. Winn, he asked if we could hang out sometime so I told him he should definitely come to game night."

Alex raises an eyebrow at her sister.

"What?" Kara asks through a mouthful of fries.

"Kar…"

Kara swallows. "What?" She asks innocently.

"I think that poor man was trying to ask you out."

"Wha-? No. Wait." Kara rethinks their last interaction. She frowns hard and then shrugs. "He isn't really my type, plus I'm a little put off of men still. Don't get me wrong, I am still attracted to them but after Mike, I think I need a break from them."

"Hey, you won't find any arguments from me. Women are prettier anyway." Alex laughs.

"All right you big lesbian, yes they are. But I'm not really feeling the dating thing anyway. I just need some 'me' time."

"I don't need to know about your 'me' time. Some things are just best for sisters not to know.”

"Ugh, Alex! Not like that. Well… a little like that, but not the point. Okay changing the subject. How are you asking Kelly to move in?"

<><><><>

Kara was really starting to hate this feeling of being watched. It had nagged at her all day. Like someone was just behind her, watching everything she did. It followed her all the way home and into her apartment. Kara was trying to just chalk it up to lack of sleep and overthinking but then she just thought about it more and it became a vicious cycle. The back of her neck prickled as she locked her front door and Kara only hesitated a moment before chaining the door along with the deadbolt. Kara knew she should sleep, but this article needed to be done and prepared for whatever new information L-Corp sent out when they concluded their investigation. To Kara though, that information would be last. She really wanted to focus on Lena's life instead of her death. Kara ordered pizza and began to dive deep into her research again. Each new charity or fundraiser event leading to a new one. There were some that Kara could not find clear evidence of it being Lena so she emailed Jess who responded promptly with a list of events and organizations that Lena decided not to be listed on or listed as a minor contributor even though the exact opposite was true.

Around 9, Kara can feel her eyelids growing heavy as she shakes off sleep and takes another bite of her half-finished pizza. Or she tries to. Darkness envelops her consciousness and panic feels like it wraps around her heart.

“Where am I? Come on… come on. I have to find a way back. There… There! I have to—”

Kara jerks awake, knocking her pizza box onto the ground and nearly punching her computer screen. Though the confused, muddled images fade, the fear keeps her heart pumping. Kara isn't really sure what she was just dreaming of but it raised goosebumps on her arms.

Kara stands and shuts her computer. Even as she is telling herself how ridiculous it was, Kara checks all the locks on her windows and balcony doors. She even rechecks her front door. Satisfied, Kara goes to brush her teeth and climbs into bed. She still can’t shake the dream. Kara lays awake, listening to every noise of the city and her neighbors.

Kara must have drifted off at some point because soon she is woken again by a rattling noise. It’s slow, coming back to consciousness, but when she does, her knuckles tighten on her comforter as she remains as still as possible and held her breath to pinpoint the cause of the noise.

The rattling continues and seems to be growing more agitated. Quietly, Kara gets off her bed and grabs her baseball bat from her closet. Alex had insisted on her having something to protect herself when she moved out on her own. She had laughed at the time but she wasn't laughing now. Kara tiptoes back out into the living room, bat half raised as her eyes straining in the darkness. Luckily, the moon is full and illuminated the living space enough for Kara to look for anything out of place. The rattling noise came again and Kara's head snaps in that direction, lifting the bat higher.

With a laugh, Kara releases the breath she is holding. Streaky is perched on the fire escape swatting at the window to be let in. The stray cat had selected Kara's apartment to escape to when he sensed storms coming or drops in temperature.

Kara sets the bat against the couch and unlocks the window to let the demanding feline in.

"Hey bud, trying to scare me to death?"

Streaky just lets out a meow of protest at how long it took for Kara to allow him entry.

"Yeah, yeah," Kara says to him. "Come on, I'll put some food and water down. Then, you have to let me sleep. I only have three more hours."

Kara digs in the bottom of her pantry for Streaky's bowl and food. She fills one half with the dry food and the other with water. She has to concentrate not to trip over the cat circling her ankles. Kara sets it down with a scratch behind pointed ears and earns a contented purr.

By the time Kara is crawling into bed to try and sleep, Streaky is making himself comfortable at the foot of it.

Kara's alarm blares all too soon and she is starting to seriously consider time off like her sister suggested. Kara rubs the sleep from her eyes and looks at Streaky. He is sitting up with his back to Kara. He is too stiff for his normal behavior. As Kara watches him, Streaky's head slowly pivots to the right, then back to the left, as if tracking the movement of something. But he isn't looking at the ground. Streaky is looking straight ahead, if even a little up.

"Hey…". Kora mumbles, trying to break the creepy behavior, she taps him with a foot. Streaky doesn't even budge from his watchful stance.

"Okay, weirdo."

With the sun rising, most of the anxiety from the night before had faded, but the cats strange behavior still set prickled at Kara's neck.

She decided a shower would help clear the night from her mind and the sleep from her eyes. The hot water soon had the bathroom steaming and Kara lets her tense shoulders relax under the water pressure. She knows she can’t stay in all morning but boy, is she tempted to. Streaky is protesting at the closed bathroom door, hating being shut out of a room. With a groan, Kara turns off the water and grabs the towel from the bar next to the tub. A quick pat down before stepping out to wrap her hair up.

Kara turns to wipe the moisture from her mirror and freezes with her heart.

Help Me!

#supergirl #supercorp #scbb2020 #Scbb #fanfiction #autism #Haunted

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siribear · 4 years

Text

whisper lists sideways before falling. deacon catches her, one arm under her shoulders, while her pack clatters to the ground. her head falls back as her legs finally give out, and he braces himself for her full weight to fall against him. and it’s not much; for all her shit-talking and recklessness, she’s so small.

‘okay, pal, this isn’t funny,’ he says, waiting for the punch-line. there isn’t one. even maccready looks over at her, just as surprised as he is. ‘whisper,’ he tries again. her breathing’s too shallow for this to be a joke. blood trickles from the corner of her mouth.

fuck.

‘we gotta get her inside.’ maccready’s not looking at him, but past him, out to the parking garage next to the building. and there’s the silhouette of a pair of ferals on the roof of it, and another walking out of the entrance to investigate. ‘now.’

deacon hoists her up, her legs under his other arm, and bridal carries her back into the building. the irony isn’t lost on him as he shoulders the door to carry her over the threshold, but now’s not the time to think about barbara. he spares a glance behind him to see maccready grabbing her stuff as another feral begins to cross the parking lot.

‘find a room. i’m gonna brace the door, just in case.’

the sound of metal scraping against the floor echoes around the room as maccready pulls a bench in front of the main entrance. deacon enters the first room with a working door and lays whisper out on a spare bed. if he didn’t know better, she could simply be sleeping. passed out from exhaustion - and all the blood vomiting that obviously precedes it. but he knows better, so he scrolls through the tabs on her pipboy, searching for a general diagnostic option and - there.

vital signs: not great. not surprising with her breaths coming out in ragged wheezes. when the rest of the scan loads, he finds the culprit. her rads are high enough the brotherhood can probably see them from their airship. enough to be near-fatal. he drags out a couple of radaways to start, and preps the surgical tubing and a needle. it’s been a while since he’s done this, not since his last extended undercover op, and much longer since he’s done it for someone else. but back then it didn’t matter where he stuck the needle. he spares himself a shudder before finding a vein in her other arm.

maccready slips into the room, places her back at the foot of the bed. he doesn’t question deacon holding up the bag of radaway in lieu of an IV stand. instead, he says, ‘they won’t get through the door, but we’ve got a few hours until they scatter. scent of blood drew them in, i bet.’

deacon watches as her rads tick down agonizingly slowly. hours. ‘guess we should make ourselves comfortable. i think we should make s’mores.’

she sneezes. dust, she thinks. just dust. kicked up when she and rachel straightened up the apartment. that’s all. but then she sneezes again and her head goes fuzzy. claire blows her nose, pinches the bridge of it, and sighs. nate comes home tomorrow - for good. and, of course, she has to get sick. rachel would call it her luck; claire says the universe hates her, but at least a sink-hole hasn’t opened up and swallowed her. but the day is young.

and it’s not how she pictured their reunion, with her in bed feverish from a cold instead of - well.

claire looks around the newly tidied apartment. from the small ‘master’ bedroom, to the guest room-turned-office, the cramped kitchen, the smaller living room. they’re to start a family, but, as it is, she can barely fit a dog once nate moves in. a family - claire falls heavily into her favorite chair, props her chin up by her palm. a family. her and nate. from a random meeting in a bar to... this. and she’s excited.

the rest of the day is spent trying not to crawl into bed and say there for the next week. she prepares for tomorrow’s dinner instead. home-cooked, instead of the usual microwaved meals she’s more accustomed to, like the perfect american wife. that night, she takes medicine to chase away the cold. come morning, she checks herself over. make up to cover up her pallor, mint for her breath, and a softer perfume to hide the medicinal smell about her.

perfect. everything has to be perfect. her hands shake all the way to the airport, and yet there’s hardly any traffic. perfect. their reunion, soft and quiet, just two lovers coming together after a long time away. perfect.

the way nate immediately picks up on her cold? not perfect, thank you for asking.

dinner cools, half finished on the counter, and claire sits, propped up in her own bed, barely able to breathe through her nose.

‘claire.’ nate brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘you should have been resting. i could have called a cab.’

she rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her canned chicken noodle soup. ‘this wasn’t supposed to happen, obviously.’ the indignation in her nasally voice makes nate smile. ‘we were supposed to have this wonderful dinner and everything. i had it all planned out.’

calm, clear blue eyes smile back at her. ‘like the perfect wife?’ he chuckles, soft against the scar on his lip. ‘you didn’t have to - ‘ he pauses. ‘we aren’t... yet - ‘

‘the good, military man isn’t going to make an honest woman out of me?’ she sighs as dramatically as she can, and coughs. ‘and after all this trouble i went through. nathaniel, what would your mother say?’

nate blinks, wide-eyed and adorable. ‘that’s not what i meant.’

she smiles over her last sip. ‘then, yes, i will marry you.’

he places a hand against her forehead. ‘you seem to be feeling better if you can keep cracking jokes. here, i’ll take that.’ nate lifts the empty bowl from her hands and places a kiss high on her temple before turning to leave. ‘love you.’

‘i love you,’ she returns, eyes drooping. ‘nate, i...’

whisper opens her eyes slowly. ‘nate?’ she reaches out toward him when he turns back to her. one hand against his cheek, she rubs her thumb against the stubble she asked him to grow. ‘nate,’ she sighs. he takes her hand, removes it carefully from his face. ‘how long have i been asleep?’

‘only an hour or so.’ the voice that responds isn’t nate’s. she sits up immediately, arm tugging at the needle tucked under it.

‘what - ?’ whisper closes her eyes, hard, then opens them. she’s no longer in her small apartment bedroom, now lying on a weathered mattress in a ransacked room. ‘deacon, what happened?’

‘rad poisoning,’ deacon answers, voice rougher than normal. ‘when was the last time you checked your rads, partner? you were practically glowing. just in time for christmas in diamond city; you could have been the angel topper.’

whisper stares at him, frowning, then lets her gaze drift down to where his hand still hovers over hers. when she pulls away to take the needle from her arm, deacon doesn’t say anything. she looks up toward the door, over to maccready standing at the door, arms crossed.

‘you’re still here? shouldn’t you be - ‘ she swallows. ‘ - getting the cure to your son?’ deacon hands her a can of purified water. she drinks.

maccready huffs, pulls his hat down over his eyes. ‘a group of ferals crowded the place after you collapsed. couldn’t leave even if i wanted to.’ he sighs. ‘duncan can’t meet you if you’re dead.’

whisper averts her gaze in shame. she can’t meet his son - or her own - if she’s dead. ‘thank you,’ she tells him, then nods to the door. ‘is it clear?’

maccready unslings his rifle. ‘if it’s not, it’s gonna be. i’m ready when you are.’

thankfully, the ferals have gone by the they exit med-tek. maccready leads them back to goodneighbor, where they arrive long after dark. but the people of goodneighbor hardly keep regular schedules anyway. a fact he’s grateful for when he can still catch daisy before even she turns in for the day.

‘maccready,’ the ghoul greets him warmly. ‘you’ve been gone for a while. how’s my favorite guy been?’

he laughs, rubs the back of his neck. he’s always liked daisy. she’s been the only one he can trust here in the commonwealth. until recently. ‘i’m fine, daisy. more than fine.’ he pats the pocket of his jacket. ‘i’ve got it. duncan’s cure.’

her deep, black eyes widen. ‘you’re kidding. how’d you get it? last time the ferals almost got you.’

he gestures behind him, at alice leaning heavily against deacon, the both of them watching him. ‘she hired me on for a job, and, well - ‘ she beat an institute hitman to death with her bare hands. ‘ - she agreed to help me out.’

daisy looks over his shoulder. ‘huh, i remember you.’ daisy smiles. ‘thank you for helping out maccready. he’s a good kid.’

alice laughs. ‘he is. when he told me he had a kid of his own, i couldn’t not help, y’know?’

daisy eyes her, then deacon, and back. ‘nice to know the general of the minutemen really is a good person.’ when alice stiffens, ‘we all listen to the radio, and hancock talks to some of us. i may be old, but i can still put two and two together.’

‘old? you don’t look a day over a hundred, ma’am.’

daisy turns back to him. ‘i like her.’ maccready hands over the cure, tucked away in a box they found, double and triple packed to keep it safe. ‘i’ll make sure this makes it to duncan. got a trader that owes me a few favors.’

‘actually, daisy, i-i wanted to go with it.’

‘this is a very sudden goodbye, maccready.’

he shakes his head. ‘i plan to come back. i owe - i’m kind of a minuteman now. got a place up in sanctuary and everything.’

daisy smiles again, spares a glance toward alice. ‘well, all right, then. leave it to me. if you don’t mind watching the place for a minute, i’m gonna go talk to my guy. excuse me.’

alice walks fully into the corner store with deacon, of course, right behind her. ‘we aren’t staying here for the night. deacon... has some things he wants to check in on. so, i guess this is goodbye until you come back.’

maccready blinks, surprised. not that he should be, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed. he holds his hand out to her. ‘there’s, uh, really no way i can make this up to you. but thank you.’

she takes his hand and shakes it once before surprising him by pulling him into a hug. he has to lean over to return it, but he does, hiding his face in her shoulder. ‘make it up to me by coming back with duncan. i really can’t wait to meet him.’

she releases him with a kiss on his cheek. heat flushes his face, and in the streetlight he knows they can tell. ‘maybe-maybe he and shaun can be friends.’

her answering smile lights up the room, the alley, the city. in that moment, he understands deacon on at least one thing. ‘yeah, i think they could be. take care of yourself, maccready.’

deacon shakes his hand, and there’s no kiss on the cheek from him. but he does wish him well, grinning behind his sunglasses. ‘keep an eye on her. i imagine i’m not getting paid if she-if anything happens before i get back.’

‘all about the money with you,’ alice says with a shrug and a sigh, but still a friendly wave.

‘here.’ deacon pushes a small bag into his hands. ‘money and supplies she’s been setting aside for your trip.’ he turns to make sure she isn’t listening, but, no, she’s talking to the neighborhood watch. ‘she was going to leave it for you in the morning, but plan’s changed.’

maccready weighs it. it’s enough caps to last him months, and what feels like half their stash of stimpaks and radaways. which she wouldn’t have been able to put together with at least some of deacon’s input. but he lets deacon think he doesn’t know. ‘tell her i said thank you, again. caravan guards aren’t going to be as good as you two.’

'oh, we know. hence the supplies. take care, maccready.’

‘done talking to your best friend?’ whisper greets deacon when the neighborhood watch leaves her.

‘nah, partner.’ he slings an arm around her shoulders. ‘i’m talking to her right now. what was that about?’

immediately she shifts so he can take her weight. ‘hancock just wants to talk. then we can head back.’ to hq, goes unsaid. ‘he’s still up, so, shall we?’

he sweeps his arm toward the state house. ‘after you.’

#oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go #siri drabbles

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nazariolahela · 5 years

Text

Something Domestic: Chapter 3

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a new TRR AU I’ve been working on. This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Riley and Hana discuss the new changes in their lives.

As the cab pulls up outside of Nomade, I spot Hana leaning up against the side of the building. She’s dressed in black leggings and a denim jacket over a purple A-Line tunic. Her brown hair is twisted in a side braid that rests on her left shoulder. Tendrils fall across her face as she taps on her phone screen. Looking at the door to the restaurant, I notice there’s no line. That’s good for a Friday afternoon, considering people line up around the block to eat here.

Hana and I prefer the lunch menu because it’s cheaper and less crowded. The one time we came here for dinner, we had to wait two and a half hours for a table, and our tab was almost $300. I tip the driver and exit the cab, bounding across the sidewalk to my roommate and best friend. She giggles as she sees me and scoops me into a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, girl! You’ll never guess who just emailed me!”

“Who?” I ask. Her parents Xinghai and Lorelai are well-known in the New York social scene, so it could literally be anyone.

“I’ll tell you when we get inside,” she says and links her arm through mine as we make our way into the restaurant. Typical Hana. Always keeping people in suspense. When we reach the host station, her phone buzzes. She quickly pulls it out of her purse and glances at it, rolls her eyes, then shoves it back in her purse.

“What was that all about?” I eye her.

She sighs. “Oh, just some weirdo my parents are trying to set me up with. Neville Vancoeur or something,” she waves her hand dismissively. “My mother gave me her famous ‘When are you going to settle down, Hana? You’re not getting any younger and I want grandchildren,’ spiel last week, so now they’re aggressively playing matchmaker.”

Hana and I met freshman year at NYU Steinhardt. With both of us being education majors, we ended up having a lot of classes together and spent way too many late nights cramming during our study sessions in the library. After graduation, we both realized rent in this city is impossible to afford if you’re not a Rockefeller, so we rented an apartment together and have been roomies ever since. Hana got a job student-teaching music at Stormholt Middle School, and she also gives piano lessons one Saturday a month to a rich family in the city.

Her parents are something else. I’ve only met them once, but they make me glad I don’t have much of a relationship with mine. They feel she’s better suited to be a wife and a mother than an educator. It makes me angry for her because she’s so much more than that. She doesn’t need to marry some stuffy guy who probably skated his way through business school on daddy’s money and pop out his crotch goblins to do something meaningful with her life. She’s also mentioned to me many times that she’s into girls, so all this effort to set her up with some preppy trust-fund douche from East Hampton is a waste. Jokes on you Mom and Dad Lee.

I giggle as the hostess arrives from seating another customer. “Good afternoon, ladies. Table for two?”

We answer and she grabs two menus before motioning for us to follow her. When we arrive at our table, she informs us our server will be with us shortly and walks away.

“Okay, so tell me who emailed you,” I say to her as I unroll my napkin and place it in my lap. She looks up at me, her eyes beaming.

“Do you remember that benefit dinner we went to a few months ago? You know, the one for New York educators, where we drank our weight in Lemon Drop martinis?”

I smirk recalling that evening. The bits and pieces I remember, Hana lost one of her shoes and spent the better part of the evening showing everyone on the dancefloor the “proper way” to perform a pirouette.

“Well, I do remember you taking over the dance floor and me going home with that cute bartender. What was his name again? Daniel?”

“Oh my god!” she replies, laughing and slapping my forearm. “I can’t believe you don’t remember his name!”

We giggle as our server approaches our table to take our drink orders. I order a glass of white wine and Hana orders a Sangria. When the server leaves, we resume our conversation.

“So anyway,” she continues, “that night, I was talking to one of the ladies who works in the music department at Valtoria High School, and apparently there were rumors their music teacher was planning to retire. So, after we exchanged information, she passed it along to the school board, and they just emailed me asking me if I was interested in a job!”

My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead. “And?”

“And...I think I’m going to take it!”

I jump up from my seat and move around the table to wrap her in a hug. “Oh my God, Hana! That’s amazing!” She laughs as I give her a congratulatory squeeze. Hana has been trying to get a position with Valtoria High since we graduated. It has one of the top music programs in the city, and the waitlist is insanely long. Most of the teachers there have tenure, so not many positions open up unless someone quits, retires, or dies. Hana securing a position on the teaching staff will not only get her parents off her back but also open up so many doors for her. Her dream is to eventually start her own music school where she can teach music to kids of all social and economic statuses.

We return to our seats as our drinks arrive and the waitress takes our lunch order. After she leaves, Hana turns to me. “So, enough about me. Tell me about the new nanny job.”

I smile. “The interview went really well. I met the family I’ll be working for. They seem really nice and I’m excited to get the opportunity to work with them. My first day with them is Monday. The pay is pretty great, plus, the children seem very well-behaved. Nothing like the last family I worked for. The mother comes off a bit cold, but she seems pretty easy to work for. At least I don’t have to worry about her micromanaging everything I do.”

“Uh-huh. And what about the father?”

I whip out my phone and google “Liam Rhys” to show her a picture of him. After scrolling past links to his company and click-baity articles from the local tabloids, I pull up a photo of him and his older brother from a few years ago. I hand the phone to her. She glances at it, her eyes wide.

“Oh wow...Riley… That’s Liam Rhys,” she says, warily.

“Yeah. What about it?”

She shakes her head and hands the phone back to me. “Nothing, it’s just his family is very well known throughout the city, as well as in the tabloids. Not to mention, he’s extremely attractive, so you need to be careful.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you trying to say, Hana?”

Her face turns serious. “You’re a wonderful person, Riley. I read those tabloids, and I see what they say about the nannies of public figures like him. I don’t want your name dragged through the mud because you were photographed staring too hard at Liam.”

“It will be fine, Hana. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I remember what happened with Ben Affleck’s nanny. And Gavin Rossdale’s nanny. And Jude Law’s nanny”

“Those men were also sleeping with their nannies while they were still married. Even if it gets that far, he’s getting divorced. We wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.”

“The public won’t see it that way. They’ll blame you for the split. Just be careful.”

I nod, taking her words seriously. Our waitress returns with our meals and we dig in. We spend the rest of the meal gossiping about our friends from college; who’s working where, who’s getting married, who got arrested, and so forth. After the check arrives, we pay our tabs and gather our things to head out. As we exited the restaurant, Hana turns to me and grabs my arm turning my body toward hers.

“Hey. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need anything. Please don’t forget that.”

I smiled and wrap her in a hug. “I know. Don’t think that I won’t take your words to heart. I know what I’m getting myself into with the Rhys family, and I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Of course, that’s what besties do.” Her phone chimes inside her purse. She releases me and reaches into her purse to retrieve it. She frowns then slides it back into her purse. “I’d ask you if you wanted to head over to The Double Tappe for a drink, but my mom wants me to come over. I’ll see you back at the apartment?”

“You bet. I think I’m going to head over to the Northbridge Mall and buy some new outfits for my new job.”

She laughs and wraps me up in another hug. “‘Kay. Call me later,” she says before turning and walking down the sidewalk. I wave goodbye and take off in the opposite direction. As I stroll down the street, I walk past a magazine stand. There on the rack is the latest issue of Trend the receptionist was reading earlier. I pull a $5 from my purse, and set it on the counter, before picking up a copy of the magazine. After thanking the cashier, I slip the magazine in my bag and continue walking until I reach the bus stop on the corner. When the bus arrives, I step on, flash my Transit Pass, and take a seat near the front. I settle in and pull the magazine out to read up on my new employers.

The article shows pictures of Liam, Madeleine, and the kids at the park. The kids look adorable playing with their father and each other. Madeleine is sitting on a bench, her nose in her phone, wearing her usual resting bitch face. I swear, that woman never smiles. Then, there’s Liam. The butterflies in my stomach start fluttering at the sight of him playing with his children. The cutlines on the photos mention how happy he looks to be spending the day away from work with his kids, but I don’t need to read it. I can see it in his face.

Despite his notoriety here in New York, he’s still a man that is devoted to his family. It’s a shame his soon-to-be ex-wife, couldn’t see that. Stop it, Riley. Their relationship is none of your business. But it is, though. Now that I’m working for their family, their business is my business. Which means I have to keep my mouth shut about what happens behind closed doors. I’d hate to lose my job because I told someone something, who told someone else, who leaked it to the press.

I read on and catch myself staring at the pictures of him. It’s unfair how good looking he is. The fact that he is a doting dad makes him that much sexier. My cheeks flush as I imagine sitting at the park with him and the children. In my fantasy, I’m sitting on a picnic blanket, a wicker basket full of snacks and drinks, while he chases Philip and Charlotte around the grass. After they tire themselves out, they wander over and I pass out juice boxes and crackers. Liam comes up behind them, smiling. When he reaches me, he kneels on the blanket, takes me in his arms, and presses the most sensual kiss to my lips.

The squealing of the bus’s breaks rips me from my little daydream and I shove the magazine in my purse. Nope. Not going there. I exhale loudly and stare out the window as the bus continues down the street. Oh man, I’m in big trouble.

#trr au #trr fanfic #liam rhys #madeleine karlington #riley brooks #the royal romance #playchoices fanfic #something domestic #nanny au #nazariolahela fanfic

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justkending · 5 years

Text

Used to Be Overlooked. Chapter 3.

Summary: Steve Rogers was walking down the streets of Brooklyn after finishing a mission. The goal was just to take some time to clear his mind along the city streets, but when he runs into a gorgeous young lady that looks extremely familiar… How can he go about moving on? Who is she? What does he know her from? Was that memory even from this decade?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Rosalyn Ember/ Y/N ?)

Word Count: 2400+

Warning: SLOW BURN. Soooo slow, but sooooo worth it...

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3:

Steve woke with a jolt mid-sleep after he thought of something he haven’t realized he overlooked. He glanced over at the alarm clock and saw the bright red numbers.

4:08 am

He hesitated getting up and bothering someone knowing that everyone was most likely asleep still. It could be early enough for Nat or Bucky to be training, but they weren’t necessarily the people who could help him with this. Maybe Nat, but he knew she would hound him with questions about what he was doing if he did ask.

He threw his body back into the bed with an exaggerated huff of annoyance. Running his hands through his hair roughly, he let out another sigh.

After a few seconds of getting lost in his thoughts, he rolled his eyes at himself.

“Just go to bed Steve. Sleep it off,” he mumbled as he turned on his side.

Seconds that felt like hours went by before he quickly threw the sheets off to the side.

“I can’t. I can’t sleep thinking about it,” he groaned throwing his hands in the air, and walking to grab a shirt before heading to a computer.

He trudged through the hallways as quietly as he could. The next thing he knew, he found himself in front of a laptop in the kitchen. It wasn’t really hard to find some type of computer in the Avengers home, since almost every turn you took Tony had one installed.

He stared at the screen for a second still trying to decide if it was too late to call this obsession off. But of course, his curious nature won, and he opened google looking up the company’s name that he caught on the files you dropped.

“Williamson Lab,” he read. “Ok, she definitely wasn’t a guy named Jonah, or someone named Hunter Williamson.” he mumbled with a hand over his mouth as he continued to scroll and quickly became engrossed on the website determined to figure out who the woman who was a little too familiar to forget. “Ok now mystery gal. Who are you?”

_______________

He woke up to a loud clang in the kitchen and jutted up instantly looking around trying to remember where he was. The sun was barely coming in as it was just starting to rise, but that didn’t make the brightness any less harsh. He blinked a couple a times, and rubbed his eyes as he thought back to the night before, and the whole process of where he was now.

As he looked around, he noticed the sheets of notes that he had taken that were now scattered around him. One stuck to his arm from falling asleep on it.

“Morning sunshine,” a deep voice said snapping him out of his thought process, and reminding him that he wasn’t alone. “Busy night?”

He looked over at Bucky who was turning around from grabbing a cup a of coffee and had a devilish grin on his face.

“Morning,” he yawned gathering the papers hoping his friend didn’t catch them.

“Don’t try and hide it. I saw what you were looking up,” Bucky said taking a sip of the coffee. “Surprised you even knew how to work that thing, you prehistoric dinosaur,” he chuckled.

“We’re the same age. Technically, you’re older,” Steve said standing and going to grab a cup of coffee himself. “What time is it anyway?”

“7 am. I’m surprised you weren’t on one of your 10 mile runs, but I guess a girl getting in your head does that to you.”

Steve turned and shot a glare at his friend who still had a smug grin on his face as he drank his coffee looking out of the giant glass windows.

“Shut up,” Steve mumbled.

“So, find anything interesting?” Buck asked turning to him.

Steve rolled his eyes once again, but trudged back over to the computer before taking a drink and going over his notes. He knew Bucky wouldn't let up on the subject, and honestly, was the only person he felt comfortable talking to about it. He knew if anyone else figured out about his obsession with this girl, it would stir rumors that would lead to the whole crew teasing him.

“A lot actually. It took some deep research, but I think I found her.”

“Really?” Bucky asked walking over and standing across the counter from him. “What deep dark secrets did you get off of her?”

“Well, apparently, she’s the top Lab Tech Scientist Coordinator at this corporation called Williamson’s Lab. One of the youngest women to have such a high up job. She oversees all the operations they conduct, and a majority of it is vaccines and cures for illnesses and disease,” Steve explained reading the notes that he acquired over the four hours he spent researching.

“So a well known, young, female scientist that saves lives? Impressive. Sounds like a good one,” Bucky said smiling taking another sip.

“Apparently, she’s found cures for a lot of strange and severe fevers and colds that broke out over the last 2 years that others thought would take 10-15 years to get done,” he continued to read. “But that’s not even the big stuff Buck. As I kept looking things up, nothing goes past the last 5 years. She started at the company a year ago, and a couple of years before that she was recognized for some reward that was for youngest microbiologist to work alongside two extremely well known doctors.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Higa and Frankford. I didn’t really look too much into them,” Steve waved off. “All I know is that every time I found something on her it was for youngest something. But Buck?” he said looking up. “This is some high level stuff. Someone as young as her wouldn’t be able to get to this point without years and years of studying and school. She’s what?” he looked back at the papers. “26 almost 27.”

“I don’t see what you’re freaking out about. She just sounds super intelligent. I mean look at Tony he could do things at a really young age that a lot of people who spent their whole life doing couldn’t even begin to explain.”

“Yeah, I guess. But the thing that makes me wonder even more it the lack of information on her for anything further than 5 years back.”

“What’s her name? You didn’t even lead with that,” Bucky said coming around to look at the screen himself.

“Rosalyn Ember. 26 and from Fairview, New Jersey.”

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed. “I mean that is strange, but maybe her or her parents weren’t one for media and kept her out of it at a young age.”

“Why are you trying to find a solution for it all Buck?” Steve asked genuinely curious.

“Cause. This is the first time you’ve shown interest in a girl in a while, and I feel like you’re trying to sabotage it.” Bucky sighed motioning at the screen with multiple tabs open on this Rosalyn Ember.

“What? I’m not trying to-”

“You are literally trying to pick at the weak spots and break it down. Anything that seems vaguely off, your trying to poke and prod at to find an excuse for something to be wrong with her.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s the 2000’s now Steve. Women are finally allowed to come out and show off their brains. I don’t know about you, but I like my women with some activity up there. They are a whole lot better than some of the girls we used to hook up with.”

“Correction. You used to hook up with,” Steve laughed lightly putting his head in his hands.

“Whatever. Just don’t- don’t try to mess it up before it’s even begun,” Bucky said patting his best friend’s shoulder. “Maybe get Stark or Nat to look her up. I’m sure they can get you an address, and you can really go full stalker mode on her,” he winked leaving the room.

Steve wadded up a piece of paper, and threw it at him before he could get away. All he heard was the laugh as Bucky dodged it and ran down the hallway.

He rubbed at his eyes as he tried to wake up a little more, and took a big drink of the coffee in front of him.

“I’m not a stalker,” he mumbled into the cup before looking around to see if anyone else was going to come in. When he saw the coast was clear he put the mug down and began typing again. “I’m curious. There’s a difference.”

“Claire, go ahead and take the rest of the day off,” you said walking up to the counter and dropping off reviewed files.

“Are you sure? I mean you still have a lot to get done. I can stay a few more hours,” she said with a sincere look.

“Don’t worry about it. I know you have a date night with your fiance, and I’m not going to keep you from it,” you smiled.

“You’re positive?”

“Positive,” you waved as you walked back to your office, but quickly turned around. “Oh, one thing before you go though?”

“What’s that?”

“Send Dr. Higa that report that we went over. I told him I would make a copy, but all you need to do is fax it to his office.”

“On it,” she smiled starting to organizing things.

You walked back into your office, and began getting ready for another long night at your desk. Honestly, you could go home and do the work, but you tend to work better in this environment. No temptations of curling in your bed to binge another series on Netflix, or staying up to bake random sweet treats. Something you did to relax when stress was too much and you needed to satisfy your sweet tooth.

It had been over 24 hours since running into Steve, but that didn’t seem to be enough time to rid him from your thoughts. Every time you would throw yourself into work and just be getting enough done to get on a roll, he would pop right back up.

As you sat at your desk you let out a low groan running your fingers through your curls.

“Get it together. You are a professional,” you threw your hands on the desk and turned to your computer monitor trying to go over some lab results that were sent to you for approval, but once again became distracted. This time by a knock.

“Come in,” you said irritated before straightening up and put on a fake smile.

“Miss. Ember?” a man's head peaked out of the door.

“Yes. How can I help you?” you said cocking your head trying to get a better look at the man.

He smiled showing the small wrinkles at the corner of his brown eyes before fully entering and shutting the door behind him.

“I’m here to discuss an interesting matter that’s I’m having some troubles solving, and I heard you were the one that would have the most expertise in the area,” he said walking to your desk and putting a hand out for you to shake. “I made an appointment to talk with you about a week ago. You seem to have an extremely busy schedule.”

You furrowed your eyebrows not remembering having said appointment, but greeted him kindly anyway.

“Yes, quite busy indeed. A lot going on at the moment,” you laughed. “Take a seat Mr.-?” you waited for him to finish.

“Banner. Dr. Bruce Banner,” he smiled.

Your chest constricted knowing exactly who that was. The Avenger’s mad scientist himself. The Hulk was sitting 3 feet away from you. Shit, did Steve figure out who you were and now has his people seeking you out. No, no… That would be too much effort. How would he even be able to find you just off appearance? He didn’t remember you. Yet again, they were the Avengers and most likely could find anyone they wanted within seconds of typing in an eye color.

You weren’t sure if your facial expression changed or what, but Bruce gave you a worried look.

“Uh, are you ok? You look like you’re in shock,” he said leaning forward in a concerned way.

“Hm?” you said straightening up. “What? Oh, no. I’m fine,” you waved off. “I, uh, sorry excuse me. I guess you could just say I’m a little shocked that Bruce Banner is asking for my advice on something,” you said genuinely shocked, but not for those reasons. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Well, you are one of the top scientist in the nation for a multitude of things. I mean you’ve accomplished so many things at such an early part of your life,” he grinned.

“Right. Early part of my life.” you mumbled. He quirked an eyebrow, but you laughed it off. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. Lot of things on my mind. Don’t mind me talking to myself,” you played off organizing things on your desk

“If I need to come back another day, I-”

“Oh no! I would love to help with whatever you need. Honestly, I need to get my brain thinking about anything other than interns work.” you said walking over to the coffee machine on the wall. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you. It gets my heart rate up. I’m supposed to be careful about that,” he chuckled.

“Right.” you laughed softly bringing the mug back to your desk. “So what exactly do you have for me? I’ll answer as best as I can,” you smiled.

“Remind me, you have specialty in multiple fields, correct?” he asked pulling out some papers.

“Yes, although I specialize in microbiology, I did minor and master in mechanical engineering, chemical engineering, epidemiology, and molecular biology.”

He gave you a blank stare.

“How old are you again?”

You laughed. “26, I know. A lot of people don’t believe it, but when all you do your whole life is reading and wanting to learn, you get places. I was a unique adolescent to say the least.”

“I can tell. You seem extremely mature for your age as well.”

“Yes, my age,” you said through a smile as you looked down at the papers. “Well, it’s all about how you use your time, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“Anyway, shall we?” you said motioning to the binder he had yet to fully pull out.

“Oh! Right!” he said taking it out. “I needed your help on a formula. I think I just plugged it in wrong, or maybe I’m using the wrong substances. Think you can go through and see what I’m missing?”

“I would love to.”

Chapter 4

Used to be Overlooked Tag:

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If I tagged you and you aren’t normally on my tag list, I thought you would enjoy the story. Fair warning, it is a slow burn so we will get to the bottom of the issue later, but the burn is what makes it soooooo sweet. I’m really excited for this series, and would love your feedback:) Thank you!

If you want removed let me know. After 3 chapters I will only tag those that I normally do, or those that ask:)

#marvel #marvel series #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers series #steve rogers x reader series #reader insert #justkending #chris evans #slow burn #mcu

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