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true lies - s. r. (1/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: Spencer and you have your first encounter, after you left him a year ago. Spoiler: it doesn’t go well. 

Warnings: angst, secrets, swearing I think, typical criminal minds stuff

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: tadaaaaa. it’s finally here! my first series! tell me if you liked it! love you! gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

The first thing you notice is the complete silence that takes over the room. The last time you had been here, it had been crowded and so noisy that you could hardly understand your own words. People had been everywhere, talking or exchanging theories, but your gaze was fixed on the desk overflowing with books. Now there are only files, carefully sorted and stacked on top of each other.The office is empty, no agents, no witnesses.  No one. You take a deep breath.

It's been some time since you've been here. Almost a year, but everything in this building is all too familiar to you. The coffee maker just waiting to be used in the kitchen. The law books gathering dust on a shelf. It feels like you've never been away.

"Y/N," a woman's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You have to tear your gaze away from the desk in front of you, and your eyes find a tired, yet incredibly good-looking Emily Prentiss standing outside her office door, smiling at you like you just saw each other yesterday.

"It's good to see you," you say, and she wraps you in her arms after she closes the office door behind you. It feels good to finally have her by your side again; after all, you had been best friends before you left. You hug her one last time before carefully pulling away from her and sitting down in the chair in front of her desk.

"It's good to see you, too," she replies, dropping into her chair. She places her hands on the desk and interlaces her fingers. "Of course, I'd love to know how you've been this past year, but I'm afraid that will have to wait." She opens a drawer to her right and reaches for a file-your personnel file, you realize-and lays it open in front of her. "I've been informed that my request has been approved and you'll be rejoining our team," she says, smiling briefly at you. "It took a favor, but you're well worth it to me."

Your stomach tightens at the thought of Emily owing someone. You swallow the sour feeling spreading down your throat and nod at her. "Thank you, Emily."

She tilts her head and her gaze slides from your face to your kneading hands. "You're not happy with this, it seems. What's wrong?" Emily doesn't need to profile you to know something is bothering you. She knows you too well to miss the change in your behavior.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," you confess.

"And why is that?" asks Emily, but she already knows the answer. She knows what happened a year ago, and she certainly knows more than you do, because she had been here for the last year, after all. Before you can answer her, the door opens and a colorful person comes in.

"Good morning, my beautiful and strong boss," the one and only Penelope Garcia speaks without looking up from her iPad. "We have a new case that I would like to discuss with you before the whole team arrives. It's about -" When Emily doesn't answer her, she looks up and her gaze immediately lingers on you. You're surprised she doesn't drop the tablet on the floor as she rushes toward you to yank you out of the chair and into her arms. "Y/N! What a relief for my tired brain to see your beautiful face! Am I dreaming?" She breaks away from you and gives Emily a look. "Please tell me I'm not dreaming. I couldn't take it."

A smile spreads across Emily's face. "You're not dreaming, Pen. Y/N is actually back."

"Oh, how wonderful!" she squeals, pushing her glasses back up with her index finger. While she says something else to Emily, you look at her. She really hasn't changed in the last year. She's still the colorful bird of the BAU, and that's a good thing.

You notice yourself starting to smile, but then she utters the thing that erases the smile from your lips. "How's Reid doing? Have you guys talked yet?"

Emily makes a hand gesture for Penelope to drop the subject, but your expression has instantly changed when she said his name. It stabs you in the heart and cold shivers run down your spine, and only with difficulty can you suppress the tremors that want to overtake your body.

"I'm afraid the team is already here," Emily interrupts the silence and casts a glance out the window into the open-plan office. Even if you want to follow her gaze, you don't dare and your body is still in rigidity. She gets up from her chair and walks towards the door, but before she opens it, she turns to you once more. "If you need more time, that's fine. Take all the time you need. But your place is here with us, Y/N. We're your family." And with that, she and Penelope leave the office.

She's right. The BAU is your family - even if you hadn't seen or spoken to any of the family members in the last year - and walking out now wouldn't change the situation. The circumstances under which you left - had to leave - were anything but normal, and you hope that your decisions would be met with understanding, but you can't count on that. So you tighten your shoulders, push through your back, and follow them into the conference room. Your heart beats up to your neck and your hands sweat as you stop on the doorstep.

Your gaze fixes on the youngest team member, except for you. His brown curls are a little shorter than they were a year ago, and it doesn't take you ten seconds to notice that it's not the Spencer Reid you know sitting at the table. The year had changed him. Your absence had changed him.

Rossi is the first to notice you, which is because he glances over his shoulder. "Who do we have here?" he asks playfully, before rising from his chair and taking you in his arms. But you're only peripherally aware of that. Your concentration is on Spencer, who stares at you unblinkingly before jumping up and storming out of the room. JJ, sitting next to him, reaches for him, but he wriggles out of her grip and he runs past you so fast that it's easy to call it an escape. JJ smiles weakly at you before putting her hand on your arm. She doesn't need to say anything, her look tells you that she's glad you're back, but you're also aware that she wants to take care of Spencer, so you nod at her and wordlessly she follows the genius of the team.

The rest greet you with great joy, Rossi presses a kiss on your cheek and Alvez puts his arm around your shoulders, but you look out the window and see Spencer and JJ talking. His face is red and even though you can't hear his words or read his lips, you know exactly what it's about. The blonde tries to calm him down, wanting to put her hands on his shoulders to make him stop shaking, but he avoids her and takes a step back. The gesture is enough, as she drops her arms and doesn't follow him either when Spencer leaves the bullpen. You know he won't be back in the next few minutes.

Garcia tells you about the case and you try to focus on her words as best you can, but again and again your mind wanders to Spencer. His reaction to your return is understandable and you don't judge him for it. You have no right to do so; after all, you are responsible for his condition. You hope that soon there would be a quiet moment when you could talk about the past, but you are not optimistic. He pushed JJ away from him a few minutes ago, which is definitely not a good sign. You try to push the thoughts of him to the back of your mind; after all, there's a case to solve, and although the current situation isn't ideal, you're looking forward to it. It's been a long time since you've worked properly.

"All right," Emily says, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Wheels up in thirty."

"Hey," JJ addresses you as you freshen up in the ladies' room. You glance at her in the mirror and she smiles at you. "Are you okay?" You both know this question is purely rhetorical. She is, after all, Spencer's best friend. Aside from the two of you, she probably knows best what's been going on, but still not everything.

You turn around and lean against the edge of the sink. "I'm trying to get used to everything," you reply, pursing your lips into a thin line. "It's changed quite a bit while I was gone."

She nods. "Yeah, it did." She takes another step toward you. "Look, you have to give him some time, all right? This year hasn't been very nice to him. I hope you can understand that." She sounds sincere and, above all, concerned, which is why you don't resent her little speech. Of course, you're already aware of all this, but hearing it from her confirms your suspicions.

You are to blame for Spencer's condition. And there's no way you can straighten things out anytime soon.

Spencer rejoins the team only on the plane, but he avoids your proximity or your glances at all costs. He takes the seat next to Alvez, which is almost at the other end of the plane, and he is completely silent. The others, of course, notice the tension that has spread through the group since your arrival, but they all have the decency not to bring it up. But by their manner they let you know that they don't stand between you. You had been gone a long time, and they know halfway what had been going on, but they didn't take sides, and for that you are infinitely grateful.

"Alvez, JJ, Simmons. You guys talk to the families. Find out if the victims share any common traits that might connect them," Emily says, dividing the team into focus groups as usual. She glances around the group. "Rossi, Reid, Y/L/N, you go to the coroner's office while -"

"No." It's the first word Spencer has uttered since you boarded the plane. You expected his voice to be weak or to reveal any other signs of uncertainty, but the word came from his lips in a firm tone, leaving no room for discussion. Spencer looks up from the paper file and before he looks at Emily, his gaze brushes yours and at the coldness in his eyes, your blood freezes in your veins.

"All right," Emily says without elaborating. "Alvez, you switch places with Reid. Tara and I will go to the local police department and talk to the detectives. Let's catch the killer."

To say the mood on the plane hit rock bottom would be an understatement.

Forensics helps you out a bit. The victims were drugged before they died, causing hallucinations, which is probably why they self-inflicted injuries. Also, both victims have the same cut wounds in the same place. Definitely not a coincidence. Alvez has Garcia dig up some information on the way to the police station, which is why you could briefly organize your thoughts, but Rossi tells you about a new dish he'd like to cook for you sometime, and you'd been gone too long to block out your work dad. Besides, your mind would only be on Spencer and that's not moving you forward either.

"According to the relatives, none of the victims were unpopular, loners, or even depressed," JJ begins as the team gathers. You take a seat in the chair facing Spencer. When he notices, he gets up and sits somewhere else. The main thing is to get out of your sight. You sigh imperceptibly, but Luke turns in your direction and raises an eyebrow. You shake your head.

It hurts that Spencer doesn't want to be near you. In fact, it almost breaks your heart, but you can get used to that. He should go ahead and hate you. You could handle that.

The day flies by and when the team checks into the hotel in the evening, Spencer grabs one of the keys and leaves without another word. Sadly, you watch him go and Emily puts a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. Eventually, it would get better. Later on, you sit on the bed with her and tell her about the year you've been away, the people you've met, things you've experienced, but each anecdote brings you back to the one topic that makes your heart skip a beat.

"You have to tell him, Y/N," Emily suddenly says seriously, and you shake your head.

"No." It sounds almost as harsh as Spencer on the plane, but there's still some pain hovering in the air with you. "I'm not going to tell him, Emily."

"He thinks you left him because he went to prison. In his mind, you basically left him at the altar," she tries to change your mind, but to no avail. She would not succeed. You had sworn to yourself that this matter would remain a secret, something you would both take to your graves. And you have no intention of breaking that vow. "You were engaged, for gods sake" Emily's tone sharpens. "Don't you think he deserves the truth?"

"I'm not going to tell him. It's for the best."

Emily looks at you incredulously, but also knows she can't change your mind. "Best for whom?"

That night, you lie awake, tossing from side to side but unable to find sleep. You don't feel guilty about what happened. You don't question your decisions you did back then. It was the right thing to do. It bothers you because of Spencer, because of his reaction to your return, because of his hostility. JJ had asked for your understanding and you would do anything to mend fences, but you're not sure that's Spencer's intention either.

After two hours, you get up and slip into sweatpants and a sweater before leaving your room. As if of their own accord, your feet carry you down the hallway, to a destination you shouldn't be going to. As you turn into the hallway where Spencer's room is, you stop, rooted to the spot.

JJ is standing on the doorstep to his room, saying something to him before he leans down and pulls her tightly into his arms. His hair is messy, and even from this distance you can tell Spencer is leaning on JJ with all his weight. You have to swallow. How much you want a hug from him.

JJ is the first to disengage, saying goodbye to him and disappearing in the opposite direction, while Spencer stops and watches her go. There is a small smile on his face and he looks more relaxed than he did earlier in the day. As he turns to go back to his room, his gaze lingers on you. The smile disappears and his body is tense to the breaking point.

Time seems to stand still. It feels like an eternity that you stare at each other without speaking a word, but there is so much coldness in Spencer's eyes, so much pain, that you can hardly stand it and want to look away. But you're transfixed. Your hand raises of its own accord, as if in greeting, and your mouth opens, but before you can say anything, Spencer takes a step back and slams the door behind him. Only then do you realize that you've been holding your breath.

next part

- tags - 

@obsssedwithjustaboutanything // @ashwarren32 // @slytherinbth // @rexorangecouny // @candlemouse // @cloudybau

forbidden fruit

summary:  He watches, jaw set, as Tohru scribbles some numbers across the paper, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger absentmindedly, and tries not to picture how it would look wrapped around his hand, her neck arched backwards in pleasure. He decides he cannot blame Adam for the bite that expelled him from Eden.

rating:  explicit (18+)

AO3 link

The hardest part of being a junishi, other than the junishi that he must be, is the limitations one is forced to accept. As a child it was easier to come to terms with-- Kazuma, after all, could still be affectionate with him, and he attended boy’s schools for most of his life. The friends he did make would tackle him and wrestle with him without consequence.

It was at twelve years old, when he first became interested in the girls who attended the sister school down the road, that he realized the magnitude of the curse. It was not as if the unseen forces that bound his soul to the cat’s were able to differentiate between hugging and other kinds of contact.

+

Kyo Sohma does not consider himself impulsive. Others may say differently-- Kazuma and his school teachers come to mind-- but he personally prides himself on his ability to stifle his most base urges. He has, after all, managed to share a home with that damn rat for nearly a year without strangling him.

Tohru Honda, however, won’t stop testing his resolve.

+

He notices her the moment he meets her. He doesn’t love her yet-- in fact, he almost certainly resents her-- but that fact does not stop him from noticing her. She’s cute , he thinks in passing, his eyes straying from Yuki’s bored expression to the girl behind him, dusted in pieces of drywall from the ceiling above. From that moment onward, the sentiment worms it’s way into his brain, surfacing at the most inconvenient of times— at night, when he can’t sleep, or during a particularly dull moment of class. Tohru Honda is cute.

+

He discovers, as he watches her bend down to build lopsided sandcastles, her tight pink swimsuit riding up, his eyes lingering on the newly-exposed gentle curve where her thighs meet her bottom, that it is not enough to accept that he loves her. Kyo cannot pull his eyes from her thighs, pressed together in that careful way they always are when exposed, dusted with sand.

He wants to run his hands along the pale smoothness of her legs, to part them, to know her in ways he never has. He’d like to press her against the sand and give into his more animal instincts, to run his mouth over her tiny breasts, to flick his tongue against her closely-guarded inner thighs, to feel the grit of those rogue grains of sand against his teeth.

“Whatcha looking at?” Haru’s teasing tone pulls his attention from Tohru’s petite frame, and Kyo feels a hot blush rise to the tips of his ears. His cousin grins at him as if he knows, and Kyo lands a firm punch on his arm.

“Shut up, wouldya?”

+

It seems that every damn thing she does these days leaves him aching for her. The way she leans over the kitchen counter when checking a recipe makes him want to bend her forward and knock the cookbook to the floor; the way her damp uniform clings to her chest makes him want to rip her top off with his teeth and fuck her through the perfect pleats of that temptingly short skirt, right there on the sidewalk; the perfect way her hand fits in his makes him wonder how it might fit around other appendages.

He casts a glance at the closed door, light from the hallway filtering in from the crack beneath it. Momiji is supposed to share the room with him, but he’s spent most nights of the vacation in Tohru’s room, curled up next to her and Kisa, leaving Kyo with no roommate. He can’t help but think what he’d do if it were him instead of Momiji in that room-- kick Kisa out, for one. Probably wouldn’t even be subtle about it. And then, when the door was firmly shut behind her, he’d roll over to Tohru and--

Kyp rubs one out under the covers, grunting into his pillow. After he finishes, he cleans himself up in the adjoining bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in a vain attempt to chase the bright red flush from his ears and cheeks.

He’s not sure what it is he’s doing, allowing himself to fantasize about her like this. It’s bad enough to love her, but to want her-- to need her, the way that he does, feels shameful. Monstrous, even. Like he is guilty of yet another unforgivable sin.

+

At first, when they return back to Shigure’s house, it’s easy for him to ignore her. Wake up early and go for long runs, spend his days at the dojo training, and come home after the sun has set to eat leftovers from the fridge, pretending not to read the notes Tohru leaves taped to the top, the ones that make his heart beat faster in their simple kindness.

I missed you at dinner, Kyo! Please let me know what you think of the curry!

When school starts again, he is forced back into close proximity with her, walking to and from classes alone, Yuki held up in student government meetings. She grabs his hand occasionally, pulling him ahead at crosswalks or stopping to point out a frog in a gutter, giggling at his lukewarm reactions as she always does. The way she says his name-- with unbridled excitement, the kind that only a year ago would have scared him off-- makes him wonder how he can both love someone so much. And the way she kneels down, on both knees, to carefully rescue the frog from his drainpipe prison, makes him wonder how he can possibly keep resisting his impulses.

+

He makes the mistake of venting his frustrations to Haru. They’re seated on the floor of his bedroom, controllers in hand, when he blurts it out. He half expects Haru to laugh, but his cousin doesn’t even bat an eye-- doesn’t even look away from the screen. “So that’s why you agreed to come over today? Because you’re horny for Honda? Too scared to go home?” His voice is as montone as ever.

The bluntness of his question causes Kyo’s ears to burn and his knuckles to turn white as he tightens his grip on the controller. “Jeez, Haru, thanks for being so understanding.”

“Hm.” Haru presses a series of buttons, completing a combo that sends Kyo’s character flying off the edge of the screen. “I win again.”`

“So what? No advice for me?”

Haru turns to look at Kyo, his expression flat. “I thought you just wanted to vent.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

Haru blinks slowly before turning his attention back to the television screen, selecting the option to begin a new round. “Y’know, I’m fairly sure mouth stuff doesn’t count,” he says casually as the on-screen clock begins to count down,  “for the curse or whatever.”

Kyo resists the urge to drag his cousin by his hair and shake him around. “That’s not what I meant by advice, asshole.”

“I know.”

It’s not that Kyo hasn't thought about what sort of things would and wouldn’t trigger the curse-- it’s quite the opposite. His internet history reflects that, auto-completing to phrases like “petite brunette schoolgirl fucked from behind” and “brunette blowjob” with a frequency that forces him to clear his cookies on a weekly basis. Tohru once borrowed his laptop briefly to look up a recipe and he held his breath the entire time.

Haru’s avatar lands another K.O., and he pauses the game to look at Kyo earnestly. “I’m just saying. You have options.”

+

She asks him to help her study. It’s the kind of thing she’d usually ask Yuki to do, but the rat is hardly around these days, and Kyo has decent grades, if not nearly the patience of his cousin. They sit at the kitchen table, papers and books spread before them, and she leans across the table to check his work, her arm brushing against his in a way that gives him goosebumps.

“Kyo-kun,” he starts, and she lets out a small breath of surprise, “I’m sorry! I was just wondering if you could show me how you found the answer to this equation.”

“I-” he recollects himself, blushing a little, “Yeah, here.” He breaks the equation down into smaller parts, and she nods in understanding.

Temptation, he supposes, is the root of mankind’s original sin. The fruit of knowledge would have remained whole and uneaten without it. He watches, jaw set, as Tohru scribbles some numbers across the paper, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger absentmindedly, and tries not to picture how it would look wrapped around his hand, her neck arched backwards in pleasure. He decides he cannot blame Adam for the bite that expelled him from Eden.

I did this as a three part series, because I just can’t get enough Beifong in my life and thinking about them brings me immense joy.

Here’s the first two:

And last but not least:

The Beifong family is the best thing that ever happened to Avatar and quite possibly my life. The thing I love most about them, though, is how human they are. They are the epitome of what happens when life is messy and emotions are raw and people do stupid things and life doesn’t go as expected. Each and every one of them is batshit crazy, and I love them for it. Here’s my take on the illustrious Beifongs. Last is Su.

Suyin: An Analysis

Oh, Su. What can I say? Su is just as complicated as the rest of the Beifongs. Su is no saint but neither is she a devil. Su is human, and that’s about all there is to it.

Su obviously took her mother’s absence in a very different direction. I would imagine that both Toph and Lin were very excited to welcome Su. However, very shortly Lin is old enough and probably mature enough to watch her, which leaves Toph free to be Chief, which means Su is shortchanged in her time with her mom. I don’t think Toph sat them down one day and was like ok girls I’m going to be spending more time at work so Lin you’re in charge. I think she just slowly wasn’t really needed at home (at least not in a way that computed in her mind) and she just kind of drifted away.

Well if I’m Su and my big sister starts bossing me around I’m like ok no that’s not happening, and she obviously started to resist it. However, saying “I was more of a rebel” is like saying “that ghost pepper is a little spicy”. Like Su, honey, there’s a rebel and there’s criminal enterprise. It’s not the same thing, and even later in life she obviously hasn’t made that connection.

Whether because of her absence, or because she perhaps saw herself in Su, Toph turned a blind eye (pardon the pun). It’s also obvious that Toph isn’t even aware of half the stuff that goes on. And because she’s clueless, Toph probably doesn’t believe Lin when she tells her. Whatever the case, Su is that kid who could do anything or say anything and get away with it, while Big Sister probably sneezes wrong and everyone glares at them, because they’re older and supposed to be more mature. Lin at this point is beyond frustrated with Su.

So here we go, Su steps out of the car and I’m sure Lin is feeling a lot of things. Probably like she failed her little sister, angry because WTF Su, and maybe even a little vindicated. Now Toph will HAVE to pay attention. Su is the dumbest bitch this side of Whale Tail Island, however, and actually thinks that Lin is going to let her walk away. Well of course she’s not, duh. But Su is so full of anger and frustration, that she lashes out.

When I say Su is full of anger and frustration, I mean that as much as Lin kept a lid on it, Su did, too. Su had less time with Toph at home than Lin did, which wasn’t fair. Su had to put up with Lin mothering her, when she wasn’t actually her mother and only a few years older than her. Su had very little direction in her life, from anyone. Su was obviously very impressionable. Those two idiots she was with probably could have convinced her to commit Grand Theft Auto, and it wouldn’t have taken much. If things hadn’t gone down the way they did, Su probably would have ended up dead or as a true villain.

Hm, excuse me while I jot down a story idea.

Anyways, my point is, Su had just as many feelings as Lin, her bottle just looked very different. So in a moment of pure anger she lashes out when Lin tries to arrest her. I believe she regretted it, and here’s why: she’s in Toph’s office with Lin. Had Su been completely devoid of any feeling, she would have run away and never looked back, or at least tried to rationalize it. Toph is obviously fully aware of what went down; she asks both of them what they were thinking, so even though Su’s not saying sorry she’s not sitting there trying to deny it. She knows she got caught. She may not be sorry, but she’s still sitting there in the office. Frankly I give her points for that. Not many, but a few.

If I’m Su, I know I did wrong but I don’t care. So I love to hear Toph ask Lin what she was thinking, too. I’m like ha! Yeah, you tear up that report, Mom! But wait, I have to leave the city? Holy shit, did not see that coming! So now the mom who I didn’t have much time with in the first place and has been largely absent is sending me away to my grandparents (and who knows how well she knew them) where only the Spirits know what’s going to happen then. Well this sucks. Not an excuse for her shitty behavior but it still sucked for her.

So then she goes traipsing around the world to prove to herself she is outside the realm of rules. She finally settles down with Bataar Sr and builds Zaofu. Her ideals still seem to be based on the idea of life without limits, which fits her history. She seems more like someone who creates opportunities than someone who makes a lot of rules. Aiwei calls her the matriarch so she’s not exactly in a position of true political power, at least not in name.

I truly believe Bataar loves Su and that he is a good husband and father. I also believe that for the most part, Su is a good mom. Here’s why: her kids are quite well-adjusted. Except for Bataar Jr who seems to have inherited her impressionable nature. But Wing and Wei are cool and obviously very accomplished, Opal is rather prissy but she does have some good qualities, and Huan is very passionate about his banana art. They’re kind of a fun family. Su tells Korra that she always wished Lin were a part of her life, and I believe her. I really think Su misses her big sister. She and Lin are alike in that what they want most is their family to be intact.

After the fall of the Earth Queen, Su says she doesn’t want to impose her ideals on the nation. Again, she doesn’t like rules, so she's not going to go around telling everyone else what to do. I don’t agree with that decision but it is consistent with her character. Her decision to try and assassinate Kuvira I believe comes from a desire to protect those around her, anger at Kuvira for betraying her and taking her son away from her, and guilt because it was her inaction that precipitated the whole thing in the first place. It’s a stupid ass decision, and is an emotional one. Su seems to be ruled by her emotions, from the first time we see her until the end of the series, which is interesting because she does keep her cool most of the time. Emotional people are like that, though. I’m ok until you make me mad or feel something and now I have to do something about it. Oftentimes they resent the person who made them feel it, and blame them. Su definitely falls into that category. Because she is so governed by her emotions, she tends to rush headlong into things without seeing the long game, or the risks. When she gets caught, she knows she messed up. But now Korra has to come and save her, Su knowing full well she’s not ready. But Korra tries anyways because even though Su is incredibly stupid and selfish, she is a friend and they still care about her. Anyone who watches Dragons Race to the Edge, it reminds me of Snotlout, when Astrid says he’s a muttonhead, but he’s their muttonhead. For better or worse, Su has become one of them.

Quite frankly, I like Su. I think her biggest faults are that she tends to follow her emotions which gets her into trouble and she doesn’t really like to acknowledge when she’s wrong, even though she definitely knows she is. Neither of those things are traits that I would consider unforgivable. I don’t think she and I would be bosom buddies but she is an interesting person. I would be endlessly frustrated with her and probably tell her I told you so a lot. But Su is there when it counts. She defeats P’li and helps defeat Kuvira. She helps save Korra and teaches her metal bending, and she is quite cheerful. As far as Lin forgiving her I feel like that was more for Lin than Su, just like forgiveness is for everyone. For anyone who says Lin deserves better, keep in mind this is her little sister who she loves very much. There’s history there and families are messy and complicated and I for one trust Lin. Lin also doesn’t just jump in, she tells Su she just won’t show up and attack her. They only become more involved because that’s how things played out. Lin is very sincere when she tells Su that she loves her, and it almost seems like the first time Lin has said those words out loud, based on Su’s expression.

Su may not have known or believed it before that. Right or wrong, good or bad, Su is family, and families are stupid and crazy. Like I said before, Su is no saint, but she’s no devil either. She makes shitty decisions and yes people have to keep coming to her rescue, but I think her heart is in the right place. I really do.

2 sperate fics: 1 with after Lila got exposed Alya is bitter and resentful at Mari for cutting ties with her former classmates and Mari's thriving career and Mari and new friends confront her on this angry grudge she's holding. the 2nd is similar but Marinette asking Lila why she did what she did and why she tried so hard to ruin Marinette for just trying to expose her

Part 1: Grow Up

I am so excited. This is my first request! Normally I post one fic per day, but I actually have a (spoiler!) double feature tmr, so what the heck. I hope this satisfies you. I will warn you that I will only answer half of your request in Part 2 because I already wrote a fic for why Lila lies, which I will post tmr. 🙂

It all came to a head at the next class president election.

The previous semester, the majority of the class had decided to vote for Lila to be class president after she expressed interest in it.

Alya ignored Marinette’s warnings and agreed to be that liar’s deputy.

Chloe and Sabrina played dirty of course. But a surprise came when Adrien supported Marinette as her deputy. Alya had been surprised then because she didn’t think he could spare the time. She didn’t know he knew Lila was a liar and that her reign would be intolerable at best.

Lila won, of course. Despite Sabrina providing evidence that Lila was a liar. The class believed it was all fabricated.

It wasn’t until later that Mrs Rossi forced Lila to tell the truth. Apparently Chloe managed to get the last laugh after all.

After that, the class pleaded for Marinette to take up her old post but she declined because she already made commitments to her new commissions on her website.

Apparently with Lila as class president and Alya as her deputy, Marinette had more free time, which she chose to spend with Adrien since he had also avoided Lila like the plague.

Life became worse. Lila would not be graduating at the end of the year and had detention for the rest of it besides. And all her promises about fabulous class trips and easy fundraising was false.

Without Marinette, the class field trips became commonplace museum tours. Fundraising was hard without her families’ free pastries.

To rub salt in the wound, Aurore had started her own blog. She interviewed Ladybug who finally expressed relief that someone questioned Lila’s interview.

After that, Rena Rouge and Carapace were replaced.

As Alya’s blog support dropped, MDC.com flew up the charts. Celebrities kept name dropping Marinette.

Audrey even gave her a raving review.

Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale hires Marinette to design their outfits for their joint tour.

Whenever Alya tried to talk to Marinette or get some time with her, her own deputy duties got in the way, or Marinette was busy with something else.

Alya wasn’t blind. She knew Chloe and Aurore had replaced her as Marinette’s BFF.

While the rest of the class had supported Lila, Marinette had her own clique: Adrien, Chloe, Sabrina, Alix, Nathaniel, Marc, and Aurore.

When the elections came up again, Alya wondered if Marinette would let her be her deputy again. But to her surprise, Chloe was the only candidate.

That was the last straw. Alya’s bitterness finally overflowed.

All she had wanted was her Best Friend back. To go back to the way things were. She wanted her blog to be popular again, she wanted to be a hero again, and she wanted Marinette to be her bestie again.

She didn’t know who this popular designer girl was.

Alya protested Chloe’s victory. Why should the class bully be nominated. It should be Marinette. They had done such an awesome job last time.

To Alya’s surprise, it wasn’t Chloe who shut her down. It was Ms Bustier.

She gently admonished Alya for not giving Chloe a chance.

Marinette even piped up that she was too busy. Besides, she believes Chloe will make a good class rep.

Alya wanted to scream. Instead, she sat back down next to her embarrassed Boyfriend. Ugh, couldn’t he be more supportive?

At lunch, as Alya sat with Nino, Kim, Ivan and Mylene, Marinette and her posse came over.

“Alya, what’s gotten into you?” Marinette looked so disappointed. Ha. She’s got some nerve. “How could you say those stuff about Chloe?”

Alya snapped back, “How could I? How could you? How can you all stand there and forget all the mean things Chloe has done.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

Adrien said gently, “people change, Alya. And Chloe has changed for the better.”

“But Marinette has changed for the worse!” Alya finally yelled, causing even her own table to stare at her.

While Marinette looked stunned by the accusation, her friends looked furious.

“Excuse me?” Alix demanded.

Alya finally let loose the tirade Caline had build a dam over. “Last time, Marinette was the kind of girl who made time for everyone, who helped everyone, who stood up to bullies. But you...” she shook her head at Marinette. “I don’t even recognise you anymore, girl.”

Sabrina made the first defense. “Marinette doesn’t have to help everyone. It is her decision. You do not get to pressure her like that.”

Marc added, “Yeah, besides she still helps us when she can. She helped us to come up with costume designs for our comics.”

Nathaniel nodded. “And she does spend time with us. Sabrina’s right, Alya. Marinette is free to choose how to spend her time and with which friends she chooses to hang out with. Just because she doesn’t hang out with you anymore doesn’t mean you aren’t friends.”

Chloe sniffed, “Though with how you’ve been treating her, it’s no wonder Marinette moved on. Honestly Alya, you’re a crow. The moment you see something shiny, you fly away. And that’s what you did. When Lila came along in all her glitter, you had a choice to support 2 candidates and you made your choice.”

Aurore stared Alya down. “We all know why you want Marinette back. You want the security of your first year here. You want your blog back. But have you even thought about Marinette’s own feelings? Did you ever apologize for doubting her once Lila was exposed, without asking for anything in return? Did you ever ask her what she wanted before speaking for her? Did you even congratulate her for her success?”

No. Alya swallowed. No, she had not.

Marinette looked at Alya pityingly. “I had hoped you would adapt Alya, that you could see the good in others and let go of the past. But it’s time to face the facts. We can never go back to what we used to be. It’s time to grow up, Alya.”

And with her final word said, Marinette led her clique away. They were going to eat lunch at her place.

And they left Alya behind to pick up the scraps of what had remained of her life.

Part 2: here we are again

Lila was in the toilets again. This was her new haunting ground. Not the star of her entourage, sitting as if she were on a throne. Not with a trail of admirers following her to class. Here, in this stinky cubicle, listening to all the gossip.

Ever since Chloe outed Lila, the class had treated her like a pariah. Alya only talked to her when necessary, mostly to discuss their duties as president and deputy.

Honestly, Lila wished that goody 2 shoes would have replaced her. Hell, even Chloe would have been acceptable. At least then she would be left alone to stew in peace.

But no. Marinette was too busy now with her flourishing business. And Chloe refused to accept the position as second choice.

When Lila had snapped at Alya to just manage without her, Alya had growled back, “No way in (swear word) hell. You ruined my blog, and I’d sooner carry bowling balls to school than do your work for you.”

Lila had rolled her eyes then. “Like it’s my fault you’re a tabloid writer.”

“What did you say?!”

Long story short, Alya had called Mrs Rossi who threatened Lila with military school and no allowance unless she did her duties.

Lila did them. Her class was unappreciative of her hard work. She didn’t blame them. She had been on one of Marinette’s organised trips. She knew her own were mediocre.

Class funding had reached an all new low, too. No one wanted to support the lying president’s fundraisers.

Lila bore her class’ hatred with grace. Sure she had her time with an akuma but Hawkmoth can only keep targeting her so much before he moved on to Alya or some other dupe.

Besides, it was only a matter of time before she moved anyway. Lila could hold on until then. She just needed to be patient.

“Lila?” A knock on her cubicle door.

Lila had patience.

“What do you want?” Lila called back bitterly. “Here to finally gloat?”

“No,” Marinette answered calmly. “Just to get answers, and closure.”

Lila barked out a laugh. Why not? She might as well put an end to their feud. Lose with dignity.

“Ask away.”

There was a pause. Then, “Why? Why did you try so hard to bury me? Even when I stopped trying to point out the holes in your story, you still targeted me.”

It was a fair question.

Lila answered. “You were always a target, Marinette. No matter what you did, you would always have been.”

The ensuing silence was a request for more information.

Lila continued, “At every class I’ve been to, there is a leader. Someone with influence over the school. Someone to knock off their throne. Chloe may be the queen, but her only entourage is Sabrina. You’re the president and the class practically sings you praise. You were real competition. I targeted you before I even met you.”

And she had temporarily succeeded. Before, the classmates that would have once listened to Marinette, had hovered around Lila to answer her every beck and call. The power she had felt back then had felt so good.

“And this doesn’t have anything to do with Adrien?” Marinette was skeptical.

“Oh, I saw how close you were. And yes, you were my main competitor then too. Kagami was the other one. But thanks to Ladybug, he saw through me. You know he was the one to get me to make up that lying disability.”

“Yes, I know. Your story was very moving,” Marinette recalled with annoyance. Even her own Mother had easily forgiven Lila. “Is that all there was to it? Crush me so you could rule my class and win Adrien?”

Lila leaned back. “No, there’s one last thing. I don’t like loose threads. Adrien had something to lose because he let me manipulate the class. But I knew that as long as the class had faith in you, eventually you would come up with some proof that would plant the seed of doubt in my stories. I had no hold over you, so there was no way you would have escaped my plans even if you weren’t class president or into Adrien.”

There was silence once more as Marinette absorbed this.

“Satisifed?” Lila called through the stall door.

“Not exactly,” Marinette admitted. “But i got what I came for.”

Lila nodded, even as she knew Marinette couldn’t see. “Then I’ll see you in class.”

More like Marinette will see her. When Lila became president, Alya suggested they switch seats so they could make plans more efficiently. Adrien had stubbornly followed Marinette to the back. When Lila was exposed, Alya sat in front with Nino, leaving Lila with her own table once again.

As the main door opened, Marinette paused. “One more thing. Do I have anything more to worry from you?”

Lila laughed, a genuine laugh that actually sounded pleasant to hear. “Even if I said no, would you believe me?”

They both knew the answer to that.

But it was the truth, Lila had no vendetta left for Marinette. It was Chloe who had earned her ire, but she was too powerful. Lila was through with Françoise Dupont College. It was no longer worth her effort.

Chapter One: Up North

AEGON I

It felt surreal.

Blond hair and violet eyes– just like his own– stared vacantly into the ceiling. Pale skin, translucent in the fluorecent lights.

Just a nightmare, any minute now he would wake up in the station, have some of that tasteless but nutricious space food, don his spacesuit and go out to the surface of the moon to collect data he would later send to his father…

His dead father who seemed to be staring right through him, body stiff as the metalic table he laid on, his lashes still frosted, lips blue.

What was he thinking? Going up to the North like that without proper equipment or a guide of any kind, it was not like him at all, but maybe things hadn’t gone as he planned, maybe he had been forced to–

Aegon turned around just as his sister apologized for his distracted behavior and signed for the body to be discharged so it could be sent back home. Gods, it had been almost 6 years since he had last seen Dragonstone, he remembered the salty air and ashen grey sand so cool to the touch you could lie there even on the hottest summer day.

[[MORE]]

The memory was enough to make him smile, wan and melancholy for he did not– could not - forget the circumstances in which he was going back.

Rhaenys touched his arm, gently almost tentative “C'mon Egg, we have to go”

He nodded and walked along, she was very diferent from the sister he remembered, not taller though he coludn’t be sure with the heels she was wearing but the way she carried herself was diferent. She used to slouch, father always tried to correct her posture. Rain never cared to try though, she still slouched a little, it was only noticeable in a slight bend of her shoulders, but that didn’t take away from her overall air of confidence, she didn’t have much of that back then; most shocking of all, her hair was long, she really hated long hair would chop it off herself if mom refused to take her to the hair saloon “It’s been a long time”

She sighed “ I know”

"Where’s mom?”

“She’s back at the hotel I did not think it would be right to bring her here”

He nodded, of course she couldn’t bring mom to the body deposit, Rhaenys would never risk to upset her “How- how did she take it?, about Dad I mean, did you tell her yet?”

As soon as they were out of the building Rhaenys opened her purse and got out a cigarette and a lighter, she offered him one but he refused waiting for her answer as she put the cigarette between lips, gave it a long drag and exhaled the smoke slowly.

“Of course I told her” she answerered at last “C'mon Egg, I’ll give you a ride I parked just around the block”

He nodded and followed “And how did she take it?”

Rhaenys shrugged “She took it well all things considered, said we should have visited Dad some time and other stuff, you know how she is, but I think she is looking forward to seeing us all again”

He grabbed her arm “You called them?” he couldn’t belive Rhaenys! she was family but them… if they came at all it would only be to gloat.

She raised her eyebrow at him and shook his grip with ease “Didn’t need to, it’s all over the news, also from what I know Mr. Connington called us, well he sent this really long e-mails but you get the idea, didn’t you get one?”

He shook his head , dumbfounded “I don’t know, I really haven’t got the chance to catch up. Mr. Connington commed me at the station and I just had to get here” actually he never even expected to see Rhaenys here. He hoped she would at least go to the funeral, Mr. Connington was arranging at Dragonstone, but this… He felt anger claw at his belly, like oil on a sizzling pan the heat thretened to jump in every direction, he held it in, gods he was so out of shape.

Breath in, 1, 2, 3… Exhale. Keep focus.

And it passed.

Rhaenys studied his face, really seeing him for the frist time since they had started talking

"Fuck Egg you look like shit!”

He shrugged but felt self conscious nonetheless, Father had always insisted to always keep a good image for the Academy’s sake. He ran a hand through his short buzzcut, and dragged it all the way down to his face, he was so, so tired.

The car was a small old looking thing of a vibrant orange color, Rhaenys opened the passanger’s door for him as if he hadn’t enough strenght to do it himself.

“Where you staying at?”

"Well as I said I haven’t really–”

“ 'Kay so that means you are coming with me, we rented a room with two beds but I guess mom and I can share,it’s just a night anyway.”

He had half a mind to protest but he was just too tired to go around town looking for some place to stay so he just stayed silent.

Rhaneys started the car and soon enough they were at some cheap-looking but cozy motel called “Winterfell” which wasn’t surprising at all , he had seen at least 10 different stores with the same name since they left the morgue, according to his sister everyone had the Stark fever around here and wanted to be part of the ancestral noble house.

“For real” she said between giggles “I pulled over for some gas on the way here and the guy at the station told me he was a distant relative of the Stark, but not only him the hotel clerk, the barista at Manderly’s and they all say it in this really secret conspiratorial way. It’s kinda sweet really, now I get why Robb insisted we should do a roadtrip here, I can practically see his smug face when he mentioned he was an actual Stark”

Her laugh stopped, and became a bitter sigh.

Aegon wished he could say something but he knew he would most likely say the wrong thing and he just wasn’t up for a fight.His sister parked and proceeded to rest her forhead on the steering wheel, brown curls obscuring her face.

“Sorry Egg, I just can’t help thinking about Robb when we are here. He was always talking about Winterfell and I just-”

“It’s fine” he tried to be nonchalant about it but he felt uncomfortable, he had never been particularly close to Robb, he did like him though. Robb was one of those people you inevitably admire, but after he died everything went to shit at the Academy, everyone blamed Dad for it even Rhaenys, Aegon had been the only one that stayed after that. He knew it was pretty shitty to blame Robb for dying but if he hadn’t maybe…

“God I am such a jerk” Rhaenys lifted her face enough to look at him “I haven’t even asked if you have talked to Sansa or–?”

“I haven’t” he pressed his mouth into a thin line, he didn’t want to talk about this with Rhaenys now or ever really. “You know what? The space travel is really catching up on me so I better go rest like you said”

He opened the door and practically slammed it shut when it dawned on him he had no idea of the room number and he had to wait for Rhaenys. Fuck! just after he had stormed out of the car like a broody asshole(Jon’s asshole face flashed briefly in his mind), the day couldn’ t get worse really.

Fortunately Rhaenys let him save some dignity and got out of the car calmly as if nothing had happened but in her eyes so alike mom’s he could see worry.

"Sorry Egg, you know I am an idiot sometimes, we should go rest”

He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t, not really, not even after she left did he ever thought that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

She led the way to a simple room decorated in pastels with two identical beds, matching night tables and a very stiff looking couch where his mother sat reading one of the romance novels she loved so well.

As soon as she saw him she got up and enveloped him in an embrace he immediately returned, they parted after a while but she stayed close enough so he could smell her characterístic orange scent, she caressed his face.

"You look so much like your daddy”

Aegon searched for a trace of emotion in his mother’s eyes to know at least someone was grieving as much as him, but her eyes were dry and he remembered that even if his mom felt any pain for her husband’s death she couldn’t be able to express it. Maybe the only thing he resented his is dad for.

“You must tell me all you have done in this years, your sister and little Nym have kept me so busy I haven’t got the chance to visit you and dad.” she made him sit beside her in one of the beds, her soft hands patting his face and squeezing his arm, it made him feel comforted in a way he hadn’t in years “I hope you made him get out of the lab once in a while, Rhaegar needed someone to force him to rest or he would simply drop exausted which of course was never safe–”

"Mom” Rhaenys interrupted putting a hand on mom’s shoulder “Aegon has just arrived and has barely slept I think we better let him rest”

"But look at him dear, your brother looks like he hasn’t eaten a proper meal in years.”

That made him genuinely smile, gods, he really had missed mom “I’ve been eating just fine, I just need some sleep”

“Aegon you can’t sleep like that, you should at least change into your pajamas”

“Well I didnt bring any change of clothes” he confessed rather ashamed. It wasn’t like him to be so unprepared.

"Such a careless boy! Rain we cannot let him like this, we should go out to buy your brother some clothes and food”

Great, now mom was treating him as a 6 year old child.

“Ok, mom just give me a minute I need to call Daeron and Nym to let them know we are at the motel”

His mother nodded, and Rhaenys got out of the room with her cell in hand.He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Rain was a mom now, much less that he was an uncle. He had seen photos of ‘Nym’ when she was a baby and another one of a toddler dressed like Princess Jonquil from that animated movie, but he had never met her.

“Nym has been dying to meet you” As always mom guessed his thoughts.

"She has? I wasn’t sure that Rhaenys talked about me or the Academy”

Mom smiled sadly “Oh, Rain doesn’t talk about the Academy, but about you of course. You are a superhero to Nym, protecting the world from the alíens and meteorites, that girl is obssessed with space, she is always saying that when she grows up her uncle will take her to live with him in space”

He felt a warm feeling wash over him, more than ever he wanted to return to Dragonstone and meet his little niece. That would be nice, he figured, a quiet normal life where he could play with little Nym, of course first he had to investigate what dad was doing in the Wolf’s Wood on his own, he was the head of the Academy now, well he would be if there was an Academy anymore.

Rhaenerys entered again, she had a smile on her face. “Daeron said he and Nym will meet us tomorrow in Dragonstone, I was worried about not being there for her frist flight but her dad says she is very excited”

“I am looking forward to meet them” said Aegon at last, he wished so desperately to have his family back especially now.

"They do too” she replied with a soft smile “Mom, we should get going. Egg you should try to take nap until we come back”

He said he would, and he did try. As soon as they left he took off his shoes and laid down on the bed to the left. It was stiff and smelled way to much of air freshener, but he had been living in a space station for 2 years now so this was more comfortable than he expected. Still he couldn’t fall asleep, as soon as his eyes closed he thought about dad and his mysterious death.

Frustrated, he decided to watch TV to drown out his thoughts. He regreted the decision almost immediately, on the screen appeared a flash of red hair. He almost laughed at his own hopelessnes, there must be a thousand woman in Westeros with that same hair color, and even if he knew them all he would still wish it was Sansa.

The woman turned around and it was her. Sansa. She had grown taller and impossibly beautiful, statuesque and regal were the words that came to mind to describe her.She became an actress, he knew that much. It seemed she was at some red carpet event. His finger thumbed the button to change the channel, he didn’t want to see her, but suddenly a reporter came down on her like a falcon on his prey, and asked her about father’s death. Her brow furrowed, she looked around as if trying to gather if this was some kind of twisted joke, her eyes filled with tears, still she politely excused herself and went back to her limo.

She cared.

His heart skipped a bit, and this time he did laugh. Gods! He felt a fool. Sansa had made her feelings for him very clear on that last note she left him…

When the hosts of the show started talking he finally turned off the TV. He grabbed one of the pillows underneath him and covered his face with it no matter what he did his mind made up diferent scenarios for their reunion each more farfetched and unsatisfactory than the last and like that he fell asleep.

Oneshot in which Conrad deals with the aftermaths of surviving the Ourang Medan. ...more or less successfully. (Rating T, angsty rambling, ~2.3k words) - written for @wintergirlsoilder2​! You requested a Conrad-centric piece and I hope you enjoy it :)

.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea”, says Julia with this expression on her face she gets whenever she’s about to rain on his parade.

“Are you kidding?” He’s about to scoff but stops himself – she’s worried, he can tell, and he knows better than to make light of any part of their relationship. Julia’s accompanied him his entire life. “Halloween is my favourite holiday, I’m not gonna let some lame ghost ship – which we survived, by the way, hello – ruin it for me.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Connie, your birthday is your favourite holiday. It’s the Fourth of July, so you can double-drink yourself into a coma.”

Well. She’s not wrong. She never is where he’s concerned, and it’s one of the reasons he wants to get away from her, just for an evening. Just for a night, he wants to be whatever he chooses to be instead of being Julia’s brother. “It’s gonna be great, Jules. Keep worrying like that and it’ll show on your face.”

She’s silent. She could bring up the times he’s woken up screaming, his tic of brushing over his ear with his thumb, the one really bad day when he stopped breathing for a long while and then puked his heart out. She doesn’t. And the fact that she doesn’t explains why they’re still rooming together, despite all.

“I don’t think Alex wants to marry a worry-wart”, he keeps going, unprompted, just can’t stop running his mouth, “he wants to live together with the free-spirited, reckless, adventurous Julia who doesn’t mind her brother attending a Halloween party without her playing chaperone.”

It hits the mark. Like having touched open fire, she recoils and drops the subject and he almost, almost feels bad. They’re going through a rough patch right now, following the time during which they were attached at the hip right after coming home. It’s nothing they won’t overcome, Conrad can tell they’re too committed to each other, but it’s a sore spot nonetheless. And he just twisted the knife. So to speak.

.

He wouldn’t say he’s friends with the guy organising the party, but he knows a few people here and there – not enough to have earned a reputation, enough to feel invited. Bringing booze is an automatic ticket to being welcome anyway, and the greeting at the door seems heartfelt. After a few semi-awkward moments (and those have been common lately, he sometimes doesn’t notice the morbidity of his own jokes until shocked expressions drag him back to the real world), he’s found his social legs again and strikes up casual conversations here and there, drops one-liners which are met either with eyerolls and groans or half-hidden giggles and hearty laughs, and if he’s honest he doesn’t mind either. He’s always preferred being memorable over being modest.

Some people are in costume, most aren’t, but the home décor screams tackiness: spray-on cobwebs, badly carved pumpkins with half the candles out already, a mat under the carpet which lets out a witch’s cackle when anyone steps on it. Apart from that, the house is gorgeous, a large pool, a sunroom and even a tiny home cinema stuffed into the three-storey family home – family not included, apparently, all of them gone except for the son taking advantage of their absence.

Somewhere between the second and third beer, he considers texting Fliss. Asking her whether she celebrates Halloween, maybe, though it’d set her off again. Thinking of her causes his stomach to drop with the guilt of dragging her into the whole thing, the guilt of never again bringing up that investment he genuinely considered back then. She told them to never contact her again and keep their mouths shut. They have, for the most part.

The most part meaning everyone but Conrad.

“Do you want to know how I lost part of my ear?”, he addresses a small group of cute freshmen who were struggling to un-stack some chairs until he arrived and gallantly lent his aid. “It’s a long one, though, I must warn you. And not for the faint of heart – but you ladies look like you can take it.” He wiggles his eyebrows and they’re captivated, expecting a ghost story and a ghost story they shall get.

He fucking loves recounting the whole thing.

When Julia caught him the first time, she was livid for days, had a few one-sided screaming matches and tried to get Alex to talk sense into him, but Conrad laughed it off. No one’s gonna believe me, he said cheerfully. What, they’re gonna fly over and check? Launch an investigation? Tell their lawyer daddies?

Brad says it’s his way of coping with the trauma: by turning it into a spiel, he diminishes its significance, reduces its impact on him. Or tries to anyway. Brad also says it’s not a very effective coping mechanism. But Brad says a lot and Conrad doesn’t listen most of the time.

He’s too busy being the hero of his own story.

This night, he embellishes, dramatises, acts out what he usually glosses over, sugarcoats nothing. It’s Halloween and they expect a thrilling, gory tale, so he allows them the full experience – several times, he has to interrupt himself and give a brief thus far because of all the newcomers gathering around him like a bloodthirsty audience at an execution. God, it feels fucking good.

How their eyes go wide the moment he mentions the pirates. How their lips part subconsciously when he ditches escaping on the boat, alone, in favour of saving his friends. How none of them dares moving as he describes the military ship in great detail. In this moment, they’re living through it by his side; they’ve been transported to the ship themselves, feeling the clammy air, the cold, unforgiving metal under their bare soles. Wrapped around his little finger, he builds and builds and builds for them until they almost forget to breathe, and finally, inevitably, he releases them with a happy ending. It looks like a cathartic experience, and slowly, they return to the present, shaking their heads a little like a dog getting rid of raindrops, glancing at each other to gauge whether they were the only ones so tightly in Conrad’s grip. He’s convinced them all he’s a hero, a martyr, a protagonist.

All of them except for himself.

“That’s a fantastic story”, someone says appreciatively. “Do you have any others?”

And this is where his carefully erected self-importance crumbles. Because he lived it. He fucking lived it, you asshole, he’s got the scars to prove it and the memories so he’ll never forget, and still this dimwit beams at him like he’s the new Spielberg or King, fudging narratives out of thin air to please the crowd. “Sorry, dude”, he replies with as much venom as he can muster, “I only had the one horribly traumatic experience in my life. I understand that might not be enough for you, so my apologies. Maybe I can set out to almost get murdered next time – oh wait, that already happened.”

The atmosphere tilts together with him. People seem confused – is he method acting? Getting pissed because they’re not giving his well-spun yarn the credit it deserves? He should stop. He really should.

“If you want more thrill in your life, why not come and fight a guy who’s got nothing to lose, huh? Certainly beats doing the same meaningless shit over and over and over again.”

“Dude, chill, I didn’t mean to -”

“Yeah fuck you. Fuck off.” He’s washed into the kitchen by a wave of concerned partygoers and appeased with a few sips of the badly-hidden whiskey belonging to the head of the family, and after no time at all he’s back to his good-natured self.

Largely. He feels sharper ever since he survived that stupid ship, more cutting. Less forgiving. As if the world owed him after what he’s gone through, and he lets those around him feel it. Remarks hit where it hurts and he realises with increasing worry that he doesn’t care. They will never experience the same gut-clenching terror he did, so what’s a snide comment here or there?

There are moments in which he resents Julia. They frighten him, yet staving them off is impossible. It’s not her fault she’s found her happy ever after, he can’t blame her for having Alex anchor her. Alex is perfect and he should share their happiness, at the very least leech off it so his empty everyday life isn’t as bleak anymore, but instead he watches them with jealousy he frantically conceals from everyone.

He knows he’s spoiled. But he can’t help the pangs of contempt whenever they laugh about something, or Alex plucks something out of her hair, or she falls asleep in his arms during a muted commercial break. She always got over things more quickly, even if it never seemed that way. Conrad carries a lot around with him, most of which he refuses to acknowledge.

And then someone suggests going to a haunted house.

“Sure, man.” He laughs, and it sounds as easy as he intended. “Nothing can be scarier than what I’ve been through.”

.

The door’s locked.

He fucking knows the door’s locked.

In between deep breaths, he turns around and checks again, slides the deadbolt shut two more times, rattles the handle, turns the key as far as it will go. It’s locked. It’s secured tightly, and no one will be able to get in.

He has to force himself to walk away and though his legs carry him, he’s unsure where to go. He could go shower, that way no one will hear his quiet sobs, or he can be a fucking man and not cry like a baby over something that wasn’t even fucking real.

Having once read that eating counteracts anxiety as it tricks the body into thinking it’s not in danger, he sneaks to the kitchen and stuffs himself on fruits until he’s vaguely nauseous.

He’s such a fucking idiot. An idiot and a failure, a good-for-nothing, someone who can’t even figure out what he wants to do later in life. Who he wants to be. Certainly not Conrad the crybaby, Conrad the expert storyteller who nearly pissed his pants in a shitty haunted house.

He double checks the shutters, then turns to leave. Checks them again.

God, he’s pathetic.

For the first time in his entire life, he sends a u up? text to a guy. It doesn’t make him feel any less sorry for himself, but he couldn’t stomach Julia’s concern right now. The worst thing would be the compassion in her eyes instead of the triumphant I-told-you-so attitude. He’d welcome a smug grin more than a hug right now.

I am now, comes Brad’s response. Yikes.

sry, Conrad writes back, and then he’s stumped. Why did he contact him in the first place?

A few half-typed and then deleted additions later, Brad apparently gets impatient and sends another message: How’s your Halloween been?

Alright, he can work with that. apropriately spooky, he replies, went to a haunted house. disapointing tho, no beer anywere

Brad is silent for so long Conrad considers whether he’s fallen asleep. Are you trying to prove to yourself that you’re over it?

He can practically hear Brad utter the question in his head – no irony anywhere, no intent to attack or accuse. Mere curiosity. Maybe this is why he texted him, because he certainly approaches most everything analytically, whereas Julia can’t help but make it personal. wat do u mean?

We’re all suffering from significant trauma, yet none of us are seeking thrills the way you are.

Conrad stares at the words for a long time. It’s been barely a week since Julia begged him not to pick any more fights.

A haunted house does not sound like an advisable place to go in your condition. Are you alright?

He deflates, sinks onto his bed and kicks off his shoes onto the pile of clothes in the corner. He doesn’t bother to switch off the light. He sleeps with it on anyway. yeah, he claims, and then: not realy actualy. i was more afected than i thought i would be. Flashbacks are a bitch. It didn’t help that some guy thought his distress hilarious, given his chilling story before – as if he’d be immune from any scares, forever. It turned out to be the opposite. Conrad used to love haunted houses.

Don’t dwell on it. Finding the right way to cope is difficult.

No judgement. Somehow, speaking to Brad is soothing his frazzled nerves. wat do u do?

I research. Mostly real accounts of people who have gone through comparable experiences, but also on the history surrounding the ship.

To Conrad, that doesn’t scream ‘moving on’. doesnt sound that helpful ether tbh

It helps rationalise and normalise what happened. Knowing what others went through, I feel less isolated now. This will not define who we are in the future, even if it might right now.

He re-reads the last sentence a few times. Thinks of the night terrors which rarely let him sleep. Of how he considered getting a dog despite none of them having the time to care for a pet, just so there’d be an additional line of defence, in a way.

He wants so bad to move past all this.

alright, profesor, lets hear it, he types and gets more comfortable on the bed. hit me with the sob stories.

It’s not like he’d be sleeping any time soon anyway.

the heart wants what it wants.

summary ⟶ Jaebeom received a call from the Bloody Roses’ leader, to hear his bodyguard was missing and he knew too well on where she would go to.

timeline ⟶ March 2019

characters : Lee Haejin (The Bloody Roses), Lim Jaebeom (Got7 Jb), Deepshower

warning ⟶ mention of death, violence, smoking/getting high (?), angst

❝ How many times did you dream about it? ❞

The crashing sound was heard, making the music to stop abruptly.

A scream was heard, followed by whispers here and there.

She was busy having a drinking match with her friends,

then being called by one of the bartenders,

She was unknowingly being dragged by one of them,

not knowing the sight she was about to see,

From that day onwards, it feels like alcohol is her best friend and her biggest enemy.

Haejin's eyes snapped open. Her heartbeat was pounding, realizing she had cold sweat although she was wearing a hoodie.

Her focus changed towards the room, as she looked around the room suspiciously, until her eyes met with her roommate, sleeping peacefully.

Sighing, Haejin got out of her bed, as she sat up realizing that she had a nightmare, that she rarely had.

It was weird, because ever since she rarely visits the club (because she might bump onto the one and only Got7's leader), the nightmare came often, maybe once a week.

This was the 8th time, and Haejin finally had enough while quietly standing up, her eyes gazing towards her bed-side table, seeing a familiar picture. 

A picture of her and her beloved deceased.

If this is what you want, I'll give you what you want.

Jaebeom sighs in frustration, as he tried to close his eyes, though hearing Jackson's snore which didn't help at all.

Strangely, he began thinking about what happen these days, with having a girl being his personal bodyguard and being in a dorm back together, which Jaebeom never thought that it might happen.

There was a part of him that missed being in a dorm together with his other members, but he knew all of them had their own privacy and preferred staying alone.

But not in this situation. He knew the members had to live together, for the safety of his other members and not to trouble the agency plus the 7 girls.

It was a roller coaster, meeting the girls, especially Jaebeom's bodyguard. 

He couldn't imagine that he met a girl version of Jackson, but wilder.

A party animal and non-stop flirter.

Jaebeom scoff, thinking of Haejin wondering what his own bodyguard was doing.

He knew what Haejin was going through, and sadly he asked the 2 youngsters of the bodyguard group.

Nara and Hyunji were nice enough to summaries without spilling out stuff that Haejin was supposed to explain, due to respecting Haejin's privacy.

Her work helps her to forget her nightmares, but sadly it came whenever night arrives.

Jaebeom was slowly drifting off to sleep, when his phone started vibrating non-stop, knowing someone was calling him.

With his droopy eyes, Jaebeom automatically grabbed his phone, glancing towards his phone screen.

His eyes began to focus to see a name that he didn't want to see, as he knew it wasn't going to be something good.

Jung Ahrin

If this is what you want, you got it.

With a glass of dos aquis on one of her hand, Haejin gazed towards the dance floor, with hatred on her eyes and resentment.

As much as she wanted to bawl her eyes out, there were no tears left to cry.

She wondered why do her feelings and memories have to come now, in the middle of her job guarding the 7 boys.

Not to blame Got7's leader, but everything started to pour out ever since she sees him on the dance floor.

Haejin still remembered Jaebeom's expression, it was as if he was finding for someone, knowing he was actually finding for her.

"Seeing you having the most voted alcoholic drinks here, means something is bothering you." 

A familiar voice said and Haejin forced a smile, to hear Got7 leader's one and only best friend, Deepshower.

"It's been weeks that I had not seen you. Got7 must have been making you busy."

"That sounded... inappropriate," mumbled Haejin as her eyes were still on her glass, earning a chuckle from Deepshower.

The older guy watches the girl staring intensely on her drink. She looks so lost and just lonely.

"Is Jaebeom here with you?"

"Do you see any Jaebeom here with me?"

"Fiesty." teased Deepshower, and he already knows that Lee Haejin is being awakened. Haejin rarely shows her true self, her inner self during work.

The only time that she gets to express herself is through a serious conference meeting between the Bloody Roses and the club she is destined with.

"It's not that I wanted to be here. He keeps calling for me and it's so, annoying." Haejin muttered at the end, and with a deep sigh, Deepshower took out something from his pocket, sliding it towards Haejin.

Her eyes glanced towards the key, then towards him.

"Please don't get high, Haejin."

Jaebeom didn't believe a call could make his eyes and mind open in the middle of the night, his brow furrowed deeply at the same time trying to calm himself down after the conversation he had with the leader of The Bloody Roses.

"Jaebeom—

"Ahrin-ah it's 2AM."

"I know, but I'm worried about Haejin."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I— Haejin is not beside me."

With just 5 words, Jaebeom knew where his bodyguard is and he clearly knows what is he going to expect.

Getting to know Haejin was something that Jaebeom had to re-think because he knows how everything will end.

He wanted to avoid it, he just wants to be her close friend, he wanted to numb her pain. 

Honestly, Jaebeom had written some songs, and it was obvious that it was about Haejin.

Even Jinyoung and Yugyeom would instantly know that it was Haejin he had written about.

As he got out of the car while slamming the car door roughly, Jaebeom sighed deeply as he made his way into the club, already seeing a few familiar faces.

But there wasn't a familiar face he was hoping to see.

Jaebeom looked around the room, eyes falling to the dance floor knowing she won't and never be there, and lastly towards the counter where she would take multiple shots.

But there was no particular girl he hoped to see.

"She's upstairs." A voice startled Jaebeom, realizing it was his close hyung.

Jaebeom started to frown, wondering what the older one was talking about, but another thought came, making Jaebeom to suddenly feel his anger rising up, and it's been a while that Jaebeom feels this way.

"Upstairs? As in she is with a guy?" Jaebeom whispered, and Deepshower could hear the younger one's voice had a hint of anger and frustration, though he was whispering. Deepshower shakes his head in disagreement.

"No. She is at the rooftop." And for the first time, Jaebeom turned his back quickly towards Deepshower, making his way towards the rooftop.

His heart was racing when he took a few steps up. He didn't know if his heart was racing because of the thought of seeing Haejin, or just what was in sight.

Jaebeom could see the door open widely, as he took a final step seeing the dark clouds, and the lights from the opposite building.

Taking a step out, Jaebeom could already see the one he is hoping to see, as she was comfortably sitting on the cushion, on the floor, gazing up.

Jaebeom's heartbreaking slowly, seeing how fragile and broken she looked from behind, also seeing a few clouds of smoke coming from her, knowing she was smoking.

That was something that Haejin had to admit herself to Jaebeom on the day they hang out in the club, just being open and sincere about themselves.

"I have a bad habit."

"Everyone has a bad habit, Haejin. Mine is arriving late and probably overworking."

"Well, mine is not a bad habit. Maybe an addiction, and I think you will be pretty pissed on what I am going to say next."

He remembered the words coming from her mouth.

"I smoke, Jaebeom. To the point, I can finish the whole box, but I'm not addicted... maybe I am.. soon."

He remembered her asking him.

"You're pissed, aren't you?"

"Pissed? No. Shock? Yes. I didn't expect you to smoke. I'm trying to process everything... also, I have no rights to get mad at you. I'm not your boyfriend, nor your parents."

"Well, you're not wrong."

"But just to let you know, as a friend and as someone who is a concern for his bodyguard, I will try my best to control your bad habit, and stopping you to really fall into addiction."

"I don't know, Jaebeom. Just let me be. I can get pretty rough if you try to stop me at the moment."

"Try me."

Jaebeom can't help but smile, remembering the conversation they had before, adding a few humor but still, it was serious.

"Mr Lim Jaebeom, I hate to say this but you have been standing there for about 20 minutes. Are you trying to plan a way to kill me or something?"

Jaebeom's eyes began to enlarge, hearing Haejin calling his full name, and it is strange that Jaebeom liked the way how she called his name.

Ever since from the start.

Haejin turned behind with a light smirk as he sheepishly smiled, walking towards her. She sighs as she quickly took a quick puff, then quickly stub out the cigarette.

"How do you know I was standing there?" questioned Jaebeom, sitting down on the cushion beside her, already smelling the mixture of Haejin's perfume and smoke.

It's unhealthy, but Jaebeom likes the smell of it.

It is also unhealthy for him to spend time with her in a club.

"I may look sober or maybe high, but I am still on guard, Mr Lim." Haejin teased, her face turning towards Jaebeom with a slight smirk.

Jaebeom shakes his head, knowing Haejin would be joking around.

"Let me guess. Ahrin called you, didn't she?"

Jaebeom hummed in response, hearing Haejin clicking her tongue.

"Traitor."

Jaebeom could hear her mumbled the word.

"She is worried for you, Haejin-ah." Jaebeom's voice came out soft, and Haejin let out a frustrating sigh, roughly turning towards Jaebeom.

"It's not that I wanted to come here, you know. Who on earth goes to a club around 2 AM?"

"Probably me, Deepshower hyung and his fans?" Jaebeom commented, Haejin giving a straight look and Jaebeom letting out a sheepish smile.

Haejin shakes her head, as she looks away from him, her eyes traveled towards the city lights.

Jaebeom just watches her, waiting patiently for her to talk or explain. He didn't want to force her, seeing how empty and broken she looks.

"Damn, if the management knows this. I would be screwed," mumbled Haejin as her eyes were downwards.

"The management doesn't know about you smoking?" questioned Jaebeom, a scoff coming from Haejin as she turned towards him.

"They think I came clean, but that doesn't matter - you know what, I didn't know that you are dense.., which is cute," muttered Haejin at first, but she sounded taken aback, a smile forming on her lips as she locked eyed with Jaebeom.

"Well, I am clueless for some aspects." Jaebeom awkwardly scratches the back of his head, earning an amused look from Haejin.

"I'm saying you and I will be dead if one of our management finds us here."

"I don't think my management would care. Our dating ban is over anyway." Jaebeom said coolly, giving a light shrug. Haejin's eyes widen a little, hearing what he said.

"Jaebeom—

"I know. I'm just stating the fact. If they see us like this, they would think that we are dating otherwise."

"We will be totally screwed," Haejin commented, earning a chuckle from Jaebeom. Letting out a sigh, Haejin looked up at the sky, seeing a star shining on her.

It is always that one star.

"I had a nightmare," Haejin mumbled, but loud enough for Jaebeom to hear. His gaze was upwards following Haejin's eyes. Hearing her words, he can't help but focus on her.

"A nightmare which I want to forget, but it came back. This isn't the first time." Haejin turned towards Jaebeom, her eyes locked with his.

"How many times did you dream about it?"

"This is 8th time."

Jaebeom's eyes widen, to hear her answer. 

He was too surprised, too surprised that he couldn't utter a word. Seeing his reaction, Haejin giggled, turning her body to face him directly before nervously gulping down her throat.

"You must be wondering how did Deepshower and I know each other."

"I was told that you are working as a bouncer and you being a regular customer."

Haejin chuckle to hear his answer, shaking her head while looking away, as she gets ready to reveal everything.

"His name is Lim Jaehwan, I had a habit of calling him Jay-- C'mon, I'm his girlfriend!" mumbled Haejin, Jaebeom slightly laughing to see her talking to herself as she tried to tell her story.

"We weren't alone. Jay and I were with a group of friends. Apparently, your best friend, Deepshower, and Jay are close friends. They work together, in terms of music-wise. There was a party that Deepshower had, he wanted to celebrate and thank Jay for helping him, guiding Deepshower for his debut album." Haejin smiled a little, remembering the days.

Jaebeom could see that her eyes were sparkling when she talked about him. It was if he was her world.

He can't help but let out a small smile.

"I didn't know what happened exactly but everything just happens at once. Jay was having his time on the dance floor, someone said he bumped onto a dickhead, apparently, the dickhead is abusive. I hope that motherfucker goes to hell." Haejin cursed, Jaebeom agreeing with her as he nods his head.

"I was busy drinking with our friends, and the next thing was a crashing sound and a bartender calling me out, somehow dragging me to the dance floor then to see a pool of blood and a body on the floor. Sadly it was my boyfriend, I already recognize his body by the way he dressed." Haejin could feel her lips tremble, her eyes were clouded with tears.

"I can still remember Deepshower's face. I can still remember how we rushed to the hospital, the doctor saying it was too late, him crying his heart out on the floor and I had to calm him down when I myself was crumbling down. Fast-forward to the funeral day, Deepshower told me that he couldn't do it, he wanted to quit but I know Jay would be so disappointed on him if he quit halfway through the start of his career, so as a close friend, I advised him strongly to continue his dreams, Jaebeom..." Haejin trailed off, her tears started to appear on her cheeks along with quiet sobs.

"I'm sorry," Jaebeom mumbled, quickly scooting nearer towards her, gently cupping her cheeks as he wipes Haejin's never-ending tears away.

"Haejin, look at me." Jaebeom's eyes never leaving hers. Haejin looked directly at him as Jaebeom let out a smile.

"Jaehwan must be so proud of you, to have someone that is so compassionate and witty." Jaebeom softly said, his eyes locked with Haejin's.

Haejin could see Jaebeom's eyes sparkling a little, and somehow, her heart was beating a little faster than usual.

With that, Jaebeom pulled her into his arms, Haejin slightly taken aback feeling his arms wrapping around her.

It was clear what Jaebeom was feeling.

Haejin was too stunt to even say anything.

But they stayed there in each other's arms.

masterlist : Got7 Bodyguard Au

but i don’t miss how we were before /SMUT\

Run to Paradise ‘verse // Not Canon

Summary: Lola's tired of Nikki thinking he can get away with anything- which he can, but she's also just getting mad at this as an excuse to ignore her real problems. Until she can't. Until she won't. (ft. declarations of love; possibly canon i haven’t decided.)

A/N: 4575 words. so this is done at @yourqueeniac‘s suggestion and honestly it’s melodramatic and angsty as shit. got the idea/prompt at 3pm and it’s now 3am so this was all written in 12 hours. pacing? i don’t know her. Also smut!! Quite vanilla, though there is a light oral fixation, explicit sex, and vaginal fingering. the smut might be badly written it’s 3am whoops.

{masterlist}

Since they’d decided to officially end whatever it was between them, Lola’s... been at a loss. She loves her boys, of course, is happy for them all finding their own loves, their own partners. She’d known it wasn’t meant to last, quietly she blamed herself - nothing with her ever seemed to last - but she wouldn’t say that out loud. Outwardly she was happy.

If only Nikki could be less of a dick, less of... himself. 

Lola sees Roxy, Tommy’s fiance, coming out of Nikki’s dressing room and it hurts her heart. It hurts because it’s going to hurt Tommy, because it’s going to hurt Tommy and Nikki’s friendship, because-

“Because you get everything!” She actually shouts, traitorous tears pricking her eyes. There’s a silence that follows as Nikki frowns, blinking in confusion, the start of a scowl creasing his brow, “because you get to fuck Tommy’s fiance and you know she’ll go back to him and keep your little secret, and you just take for granted the fact that I’ll be here at your beck-and-fucking-call to be your cockwarmer when you’re done being an asshole to your friends; I’m sick of being a goddamn backup.”

She’d tried confronting him before the gig, in the same dressing room where he’d fucked Roxy before Tommy’s parents had showed up. The words come out of her like she’s not sure where they came from, like she’s been bottling up resentments she couldn’t air before and they all came crashing to the surface. Nikki, to no-one’s surprise, does not take it well.

“Then go,” Nikki snaps, and Lola stands straight up, hand on her chest with surprise, “if you fucking hate me so much just go, I’ll even pay for the flight, and then you can go back to fucking everything in LA; you’re hot, a bitch, and you fucked Motley Crue, you’ll be everyone’s first choice, you’re welcome.” 

“So just like everyone else, I mean nothing to you.” It was as if she’d disconnected, eyes glazed over, lips pressed into a thin line; she wasn’t looking at him, not really, she was looking through him. However, her words actually shocked him.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” voice strangely calm, she crossed her hands over her chest, cocking her hip; despite how confident the stance usually came across, the way her shoulders sagged and her gaze avoided his, well he’d never really seen her like this before, “that after everything we’ve done, I’m just like every other girl you’ve fucked; I’m just entertainment, right?” She snarled, her cool exterior betrayed by her voice, “Just a one trick pony, a blow up doll who bites back-”

“Shut up.”

“Am I just one of the guys? Am I just Tommy with a cunt? You fucked a few of the girls I was interested in so maybe I am; that seems to be your modus fucking operandi.” Lip curling, she watches the anger build in him, doesn’t even flinch when he tosses a beer bottle at the door. “Maybe I should thank you for never sticking a phone in my pussy and asking me to call my mother - yeah, I know about that too.” 

“So what? So what if you know about the fucked up shit I’ve done? None of it even fucking matters; if I had feelings for you it wouldn’t fucking matter. It’s not gonna change who you are, because you fill that hole burnt into your heart with sex from people who aren’t going to love you and complain all the while about being lonely when you even though you’re the one who let go of-” his mouth snaps shut, and he turns away like he can’t even look at her anymore.

“I want Tommy to be happy,” Lola says, voice barely audible, “and I want Vince to be happy, so I let them go, I had to I didn’t-” she pauses, swallowing thickly, “I want you to be happy too, but the way you are- you’re like me, and I don’t know how to make either of us happy-”

“You just assume everyone’s happier without you. Without even asking.”

“Well what was it Doc said? I’m easy to love but a bitch to actually like.” Lola laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it, the anger, the fight was quickly draining from the room. 

“You complain about being a backup, a second choice, but you’re not. Lola, you’re the only one who hasn’t left in seven fucking years. I don’t know why you decided to stay, and yeah, we’ve put each other through shit, but damn it if you think I don’t like you, you’re delusional. I wouldn’t keep you around if I didn’t like you, not for this long. I love you, Lo.”

Silence follows his words. it’s like they slipped out, like he didn’t mean them to, and Lola drops her gaze when he finally looks back at her. He’s known it for a while, tried to ignore it and push it to the side in favour of countless, nameless, fawning groupies. But she’s there, in the morning when the groupies leave, she’s still there, smiling and laughing, drinking and snorting with the rest of them, and he wraps an arm around her, sees her grin like she did when they were both still kids, and he wants to bottle the feeling that sparks inside his chest so he never forgets it.

“No you don’t; you’re smarter than that.” She said softly, breaking his contemplation like glass, “or you think I’m dumb enough to believe it,” when he hears her sniffle he realises why she can’t meet his gaze, “but don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere, either way, I guess.” She rubbed away the tears that were threatening to spill, and everything Nikki wants to say seems to be trapped in his chest.

And he lets her leave. 

The gig goes by in a blur, in a haze, and the noise of the crowd reverberates around his skull but he can’t hear any of it, can barely hear what he’s playing, barely cares. She’s not side of stage. She’s not back stage. She’s nowhere.

Their conversation, their argument keeps replaying over and over in his mind, and all he knows is that she has to be somewhere, that she’s not going anywhere, but she’s not at the afterparty and he’s anxious like he hasn’t known himself to be before. She’s always just been there and when she’s missing he feels it like a physical ache.

“How- how’d- how did you know that you loved Roxy?” Nikki asks over the music, leaning on the bartop beside Tommy as the taller of the two ordered himself another drink. Tommy’s lips stretch into a grin and he claps Nikki on the back, grinning wide enough to split his face. After a beat, he leaned down and sunk his teeth into Nikki’s forearm.

“That’s for shitting on romance, dude,” Tommy said, matter-of-factly, “so you met someone?” He asked. Nikki made a noise in the back of his throat, rubbing at the fresh bite mark as Tommy took that as his cue to go ahead, “I don’t know man, I just- she’s just great, everything just great, just better when she’s around.” And he’s wearing that soft, dumb grin that he used to wear around Lola all the time, before he’d met Roxy, and something in Nikki’s chest tightened.

“And Lola?”

“What?”

“You loved Lola, didn’t you? We all sort of did, in our own way, us and Vince, right?” As he’s speaking, his gaze drifts, but Nikki can still see the way Tommy’s expression shifts to something knowing; if he wasn’t so emotionally turbulent he’d kick his own ass for looking so weak and desperate in front of Tommy.

“I-” Tommy paused, thanking the bartender as he was handed his drink, before thinking seriously for a moment, “actually, we’re not doing this here.” 

Tommy leads them through the crush of people, smiling and making friendly greetings, but not slowing down until he’d reached the glass doors leading outside. Bursting out into the cool night air, it seems to re-energise the drummer, but it just stings against Nikki’s exposed skin, and Tommy slows down, saunters his way over to the fenced-off pool area as he spoke. 

“You remember that shithole we used to live in?” He asked. There’s less people out here, less crowded, and Nikki can hear him clearly, even from a few feet away which was a contrast to inside. Nikki snorts out a laugh, nodding, “the first night I stayed there, I hadn’t even moved in I was just crashing after a gig at the Whiskey,” he flicks the latch of the pool fence and Nikki follows when he sits on one of the wicker sofas, “and man I don’t remember much about the actual night, but I wake up the next morning next to her, we didn’t fuck or anything, but she tells me I’d complained about how cold it was because you guys didn’t have heating, so she’d... she’d just stayed." Tommy’s sprawled out over the lounge, chair, looking up at the sky, wearing the barest smile. Something in the way he talks about her, the fondness, the soft amusement with the barest tint of nostalgia, it has Nikki fidgeting; every word Tommy speaks hits with an emotion that Nikki can’t describe but can inexplicably feel. He regrets not getting a drink before they came outside.

“She does a lot of that stuff; little stuff, it’s selfless,” Tommy’s still talking, his drink still mostly full, and Nikki snatches it, but the drummer doesn’t seem to mind, “which, you know when I think about it, it’s weird, she’s not someone I’d thought would be selfless but hey, it’s part of her charm, isn’t it? Sneaks up on ya.” He laughs a little, and Nikki watches as he comes down from his memories, from his own little world, “I mean she always probably thought I was some crazy, kid drummer, right?” Nikki did not sign up for how soft and forlorn Tommy had gotten, but part of him was glad. Something about the way he’d said that makes Nikki want to instinctually come to his defense; Lola had adored Tommy from the moment she’d met him, always admired his heart and his talent, but Nikki stays quiet. “She’s great, since day one she’s always been great... kind, you know?Yeah, I loved her, I think that moment back at the old place was when I clued in, but,” and he sounded a little unconvinced, “I’ve got Roxy now.” He paused, finally looking to Nikki with a half smirk, “why’d you ask?”

“Ask what?” Finally snapping out of where he was half listening to the drummer, half focused on finishing his drink, Nikki looks up.

“About Lola, and feelings and shit; it’s not like you.”

“Is that why you lead me out here? To have this sappy damn heart-to-heart?” Nikki asked, after downing the last of the drink, scowling and throwing the whole glass at the pavement, taking little pleasure in the way it shattered, glass and ice scattering everywhere.

“Actually yeah,” Tommy seemed unperturbed by the glass as he just kept giving Nikki an amused look, “plus I needed to hear it properly if it turned out she finally confessed to you; Vince owes me five-hundred-”

“Dude, no, I’m the one who-” he chokes for a moment, can’t even say it out loud, “screwed up.”

“Fuck,” Tommy groaned, throwing his head back against the lounge, before sitting up straight, “wait, what do you mean?”

Nikki’s face twisted into a mask of frustration. The conversation had gone on long enough, he’d acted like enough of a sap, he’d gotten the answer he’d asked for, though he’s pretty sure it’s not the one he wanted. Without giving Tommy an answer, he stands abruptly. Tommy calls after him, even follows, but Nikki loses him in the crowd.

Then he’s alone in the sea of people, a crowd who loves him, who’d give their right arm for him to say hi, and he can barely look at them. He doesn’t know where she is, or even where she could be, but he knows he can’t stay here. For the barest moment he considers getting another drink, but he knows he couldn’t stomach it, not now.

He doesn’t get an answer when he knocks on her hotel room door. He hears the television playing behind it, can hear it get turned up when he announces himself, but no footsteps. 

He considers, again, getting another drink, but his heart’s not in it. He’s still riding the high from before the show, and whatever was in Tommy’s drink, and he figures he can just crash and deal with whatever comes tomorrow.

The leathers he was wearing get tossed into the corner of the room, and for the first time in a long time, he can appreciate how nice his room is, it’s the first time on tour he’s pretty sure, that he hasn’t been absolutely shitfaced before falling asleep. 

Three rooms down is the woman who might very well be one of the biggest mistakes of his life, and he can’t sleep because of it. He doesn’t do attachments, not like this, not in the way that leaves him fucked up, he’s not some hopeless romantic that pines after the one that got away, especially since she’s still very much here.

The stupidest part, he tells himself, is that he should have said something months, years ago at the very least. He’d been feeling shit for her since they’d first moved to LA together, but he’d been too selfish, too in love with the rockstar lifestyle, too easily distracted -

There comes a knock at the door.

In pyjamas, an oversized tour shirt that probably belonged to Tommy, judging by the length of it, and a pair of shorts that were once his, it’s Lola. 

“Where’d you go?” He asks, he’s not sure if it’s meant to come out accusatory or worried, but it’s soft. She walks in past him, despite how he’s taking up most of the doorframe. 

“Had to clear my head.” It’s barely audible, and she’s so prim and proper where she sits herself on the edge of the bed. Taking a deep breath, Nikki tries not to let his feelings betray him as he moves to lay on the bed, on top of the duvet, looking up at the ceiling.

“What do you want?” He asks, gentle, tired. 

“Seven years,” she starts, legs crossed on the bed, refusing to look at him, “I didn’t-” breath catching in her throat, she sniffles quietly, “it was us against the world, wasn’t it?" Finally, she turns, lips pressed together and tears welling in her eyes. “I’m an idiot; I’m an idiot, I know, but I can’t let go of that, I can’t-” the words catch in her throat, and her whole expression crumples, and she turns away, burying her face in her hands, apologies spilling from her lips.

“Lo,” Nikki’s so quiet as he says her name, sitting up, heart in his throat; for all the time he’s known her, he’s never seen her break down like this. 

“I’m so sorry, this is so stupid,” she’s muttering, between sobs, “I’m so stupid.” Nikki’s never been good at emotions like this, it’s all he can do to gently pet her back. Finally, Lola turns, still with her head bowed, face in her hands.

“Everything’s changing, everyone I love is leaving; Nikki, I can’t lose you too.” 

Body on autopilot, Nikki pulls her into a hug, his lips pressed into her hair. Slowly, she wraps her arms around him too, lets herself be pulled into his lap.

“You won’t,” he tells her.

“That’s what scares me. I’m so bad at this- we’re so bad at this, but I,” and she sniffles again, voice a little hoarse, surprisingly angry, “it’s been so long since I’ve even considered my life without you, because I didn’t have to, you’re just always there, and it’s dumb and stupid and sappy-” getting choked up, she curls in on herself, just a little, taking a deep breath. 

But then she’s looking at him, and he can see the tear tracks shining on her cheeks even with just the starlight shining in through the window. Eyes wide, she looks like she wants to say something, to ask something, but her gaze flicks to Nikki’s lips and she thinks better of it. 

When she kisses him it’s hungry and desperate, her hands in his hair, his arms around her pulling her closer, desperate for the contact, between them. It’s like he knows without speaking what she wants; the proof that this is happening, that this- that he’s- real, and in this moment with her.

“Did-” her words get caught on a gasp as he bites gently at her throat before he sucks a dark hickey into her skin; he doesn’t let up, he wants the mark to show, and she squirms and whimpers, “did you mean it?” She finally gasps out, but he doesn’t look up just moves down to leave another mark closer to her collar. “When you said you loved me?” She clarified, biting her lip hard, bringing her hand to scrub the tear tracks from her cheeks. Nikki’s lips lifted from her skin for a moment. His lips quirked into a smirk as he moved them both, Lola laying back on the bed as Nikki hovered over her.

“You and me against the world, right?”

Lola’s softly concerned expression melted away at that, and she reached up, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. There was relief in her eyes, relief and adoration that set Nikki’s heart beating in a way that he knew he could get addicted to.

“I love you too.” Her voice was a soft murmur, and she brought his lips down to meet hers, her fingers laced through his hair. Then he’s got a hand sliding up beneath her shirt, nails grazing against her stomach, and he delights in the way she shivers, the feeling of her grin against his lips.

It takes only moments for her to be out of her shirt, her nipple in his mouth, and he’s never been great at talking about how he feels but the words tumble easily from Lola’s lips as his hand dips below the waistband of her shorts. 

“I love you,”  It’s elated, breathy, almost as if she hadn’t even realised that the words had slipped out. “Sorry,” she follows with in the next breath, and Nikki can’t help but scowl, biting her nipple a little harder than necessary before he leans back, rests his chin on her chest, “I never-” he doesn’t tease her, not now, just slides his finger into her pussy, curls it inside of her as she speaks; it’s an old game for them, but one that makes Lola smile just a little as she shifts her hips, “I don’t want to scare you off- I know you.”

“I like hearing it,” it’s a moment of surprising honesty, though tonight is full of surprises. He adds a second finger, and Lola lets her eye flutter closed. His fingers keep a steady rhythm, hand cramped awkwardly as his thumb circled her clit. “Go on,” he urged, and she’s quick to comply.

“I love you.” 

As he presses kisses down her chest, along her stomach, he stops only to bite gently or leave softer hickeys before he reaches her shorts. He doesn’t think about how it makes his heart beat against his ribs to hear it from someone who means it, who means something to him; she’s said it a million times, but never like this, not really to him. She’ll say it around others, to Vince or Tommy or even Mick when she’s feeling especially affectionate, but never to Nikki, not really. It’s a line they’d both been too scared to cross.

But then he’s pulling off her shorts and pressing his lips to her pussy, fingers still working inside of her; the way she flutters and clenches on his fingers alone is wearing thin on his self control. He finger fucks her in a steady rhythm as he peppers kisses along the stretch marks on her inner thighs.

“Don’t- don’t tease,” she’s trying to keep still with his free hand holding her hip down, but as he bites at her thigh, she manages to giggle through a moan, and the sound alone is driving him crazy. In a moment, he has one of her legs over his shoulder, his hand nudging her other thigh out of the way, and she moves easily, humming with approval. The last of his self control is spent with his lips on her clit, teeth gently grazing on the bundle of nerves. He’s lost in the moment, in the feeling of her, how slick she is, her hands in his hair as his tongue flicks at her clit while he presses hard against her g-spot, he barely registers how she’s whining his name.

“Please- Nikki, please-” she’s tugging gently on his hair now, trying to bring his head up, “please, I need you- I love you- Nikki, I-” but he crashes his lips to hers, but she kisses soft and desperate, eager to please where she’s grazing her nails along his sides at the waistband of his underwear.

“Of course,” he mutters, bites at her ear, at her jaw, and though she whimpers when he takes his fingers from her, he’s quick to place them into her waiting mouth, licking her own juice from his digits as he sat back, pulling his underwear off with his free hand. She bites his fingers a little with a cheeky smile as she watches him struggling with the his underwear.

“Shut it,” he rolls his eyes good naturedly at her amusement, and she lays back, relaxing, enjoying the view as he takes back his hand and pulls off his underwear, tossing it to the side.

“I never said anything,” Lola counters with, sitting up a little to meet him, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt. Obligingly, he pulls it off, over his head, and almost immediately Lola’s on her knees trailing kisses across his chest as her hand finds his cock. He’s already hard, precum beading at the tip, and her feather light touches are teasing more than they are helping him in any way.

“Don’t tease,” he parrots her own words back at her, laying her back down, though she moves obligingly.

“You sure?” And the way she licks her lips is unholy. It’s so different from where they were not ten minutes ago, but neither are complaining. He kisses those lips, pulling a pillow from beside Lola’s head to put beneath her hips.

“Hey Lo,” and the way he’s grinning, his eyes shining, Lola frowns a little, not sure what she’s expecting him to say, “‘love you.” He murmured in her ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he lined himself up at her entrance, sinking into her in one swift motion. She was already wet enough that it was easy, but the way she gasps, the soft, needy moan that’s pulled from her throat, it’s unlike anything he’s heard from her before. 

She’s... blushing. Actually blushing.

Wearing a smile that’s so fond and soft that it’s impossibly endearing, Nikki doesn’t have to wonder why this time feels different from all the times they’d slept together. She beckons him to her, kisses him as he holds her hip with one hand, bracing himself against the bed.

And then she’s digging her nails into his back, her teeth in his shoulder to quiet where she’s whimpering and begging for him to go harder. Nikki sits up, his cock still deep inside her, and he’s gentle as he lifts her legs her knees pressed up to her chest. The angle, the way his cock hits when he starts to thrust, it has her eyes closing as her mouth hangs open, eliciting involuntary whimpers.

“Oh, please, fuck-” she chokes out, one hand fisting in the sheets the other coming to cover her mouth. His grip on her thighs tightens and she bites her hand hard to cover out a groan that stuttered from her, her pussy slick, clenching around him in the way that means she’s getting close.

“Already?” Nikki snickers, pressing a teasing kiss to her calf as he slows down.

“Almost, almost,” she whimpers, unashamed, hands coming to grasp at his hips, “please-” 

He moves slow, moves gentle, fucks her like she’s made of porcelain, with a thumb rubbing at her clit as he slowly pumps in and out of her. She’s not like this with most people, Nikki knows enough about her sex life to know this, to feel a sense of pride with how she lets herself be soft and unapologetic and needy with him, almost malleable. It’s trust. It’s trust and love. 

He brings her to the edge, but stops just before she can go over; for a moment she grumbles, but then he’s moving them, shifting to lay back and pull her on top of him. Like this, she’s in control, takes a moment to look at him through half lidded, lust clouded eyes. Leaning in, her voice is almost dreamy when she tells him he looks bare, and then her lips are on his neck, slow and teasing as she shifts her hips back and forth almost lazily.

He’s got several dark bruises along his collar and chest before he’s squirming and impatient, seemingly regretting the shift in dynamic, but Lola seems ready to pick up the pace. She shifts her hips, rolls in a rhythm that Nikki finds easy to match, and she’s got her hands braced on his chest. 

With his hands on her hip, his hips meeting hers, it’s got her close, got her arching her back each time it hits, curses and prayers falling from her lips amid her gasps and moans and there there there- and he’s playing with her clit until she comes undone on top of him, her thighs sore from the movement, breathing hard, grinning and flushed, but she only pauses for a moment.

“Come on, Niks,” she grins, still shaking a little, but not giving up, hips still keeping up their pace, and Nikki groans, the feeling of her coming around him bringing him so close. She keeps up her rhythm, reaches back and drags her nails along his thighs like she knows he likes, murmuring encouragement to him before he’s groaning, holding her close, coming deep inside of her. She presses languid kisses against  the column of his throat as he’s breathing hard against her neck. He bites her shoulder gently before kissing it, a thanks, soft and unspoken. 

Lola climbs off of him, heads to the bathroom, brings back a towel and tissues for Nikki to clean himself off with. It’s with a sleepy, spent smile that he does so, tugs at the duvet once he’s done so he can get comfortable. Lola crawls into bed beside him, under the covers.

“You won’t regret this, will you?” She asks, gently, her head resting on his chest.

“I never do.”

“I love you.” She tells him tentatively, though she seems at least a little less worried.

“I love you too, Lola.” He reassures.

Chapter Ninety-Two

A/N: I’m very sorry I missed the update on Wednesday, but honestly life is so hectic right now that I’m really struggling to write enough. So I promise I will always update on a Sunday, but if I also update on a Wednesday it’s a bonus. 

Anyway, that said, hope you enjoy 💖

It was a long few days, but after what felt like an eternity Harry was back and he was far more attentive than ever, trying to help out even more than usual with Grace and making it quite clear that he was grateful for everything Emmy does – she was starting to worry just what Benedict had told Harry, but after texting her brother she was told that he simply “had told Harry to do the decent thing as her husband”. Emmy didn’t know what that meant. 

And she had bigger things to worry about. Not only had Edward and Claire started looking through applications they had received for the post of Grace’s nanny – the thought of another woman spending lots of time with Grace was not a pleasant one for her – but she now was about to embark on her first solo visit abroad. 

“You’ll be fine,” Harry was saying the evening before. He and Emmy were sat at the kitchen table, him eating a curry, Emmy not-eating a curry, and Grace sat in her high chair, babbling away to herself and smiling whenever Harry gave her attention. 

“But what if I mess up?” Emmy wailed; she had no appetite, all she could think about was her two-day-long mini tour. 

“When do you ever mess up here?” Harry asked sceptically. 

“But here is not in another country!” she complained. “And you’re here.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “I’m flattered.”

“You know what I mean, you make me feel more comfortable,” she said, flicking a piece of rice at him in embarrassment. 

His smirk broadened, and she started to giggle, shaking her head at him to urge him not to tease her in the way she knew he was planning. 

“Honestly, Emmy,” he said, all joking aside now. “You’re going to be great. And you’re going to look even more amazing because everyone is kind of expecting you to do something wrong, since it’s so soon and you’re already going on your first solo trip abroad. Some people are sceptical, some people are apprehensive for you. But I know you’ll do fantastic.”

She looked at him somewhat dubiously. “You have a lot of faith in me for someone who’s never seen me actually do a solo tour abroad yet.”

“I just have a feeling, you know?” He was grinning.

“The real question is,” she said, and her tone had turned playful now. “Are you going to be okay here without me?”

He barked a laugh, then turned falsely timid. “Actually I don’t know what I’m going to do without you!”

“Please don’t forget to feed Grace.”

“You say that like she’s a dog!” he replied, outraged. “Do you really think I’d forget about my daughter?”

“No, but I’m reminding you just in case.”

He rolled his eyes at her as she giggled. “Nice to see you have just as much faith in me as I have in you.”

She continued to giggle, then sighed, dropping her gaze to her hardly-eaten curry. “I don’t think I’m going to eat this.”

“Can’t you try and eat a little more? You need sustenance for tomorrow.”

“I also need a good night’s sleep but somehow I doubt you’re going to let me have an early night, huh?” She smirked at him.

Harry looked innocent. “I mean, we can go to bed nice and early if you want to. Can’t guarantee you’ll get much sleep though.”

“I doubt I’d get much anyway,” she replied. “Might as well be awake and not thinking about the tour.”

He watched her for a few moments. “You are really nervous, aren’t you?”

“You only just realised, I haven’t stopped talking about how nervous I am all day.”

“Yes, but I thought that was just the usual nerves, you know? I don’t want you to lose any sleep over it,” he said gently, reaching for her hand and entwining their fingers. 

“Maybe if you tire me out I’ll sleep better,” she suggested, somewhat coyly, and he half-smiled. 

“I’ll do my best,” he replied cheekily, smirking. 

“Hello Uncle Harry!” 

Harry beamed down at George who instantly reached up for a hug, as William with Charlotte in his arms followed his son into the house. It was the following day, Emmy had left that morning after a very long, delicious night, and now William was over to see his brother. “Hey Georgie.”

“Where Grace?”

“Grace is just through here,” Harry said. “Hello Charlotte.”

“Heyyo Uncoo Hawwy,” Charlotte said, in her adorable lisp. 

“Grace!” George cried, running over to where his cousin was sat on the floor playing with some building blocks. Grace looked up at the sound of her name and broke into a smile, before returning her attention to her game. “Hello Grace! What are you doing?” George sat himself down on the carpet beside her and instantly took some blocks himself, starting to build a wall. 

“Me too! Me too!” Charlotte squealed, squirming in her father’s arms. William chuckled, setting her down on the floor – she quickly toddled over to where George was helping Grace build a house. Well, George was building a house and Grace was shaking the blocks and giggling whenever she threw them.

William sat down on the sofa as Harry sank into the single chair, and the two brothers shared a smile. “So how’re things?”

“Good, yeah,” Harry said, although he felt a little tense – this would be the perfect opportunity to do what Benedict had said and stand up for Emmy, but he really didn’t want to upset William. “It’s a bit weird without Emmy here.”

“Oh yeah, she left this morning? How was she?”

Harry felt sick for her as he thought back to how scared she’d been. “Pretty terrified.”

“Nah, she’s great, she’ll do fine,” William said, somewhat dismissively. 

Harry hesitated, then said, “You know, she does actually get nervous about it all.”

“I know, we all do.”

“No, I mean-” He looked at his brother, trying to figure out a way of saying it without it sounding accusatory. “She might seem pretty natural and relaxed, but she gets very terrified. And each time she gets something nice written about her, it really means the world to her.”

William smiled, before turning to watch the three children. George was now trying to show Grace how to stack bricks, and was getting confused each time Grace knocked his piles over. 

“I feel like you’re trying to tell me something,” William said eventually. 

“I’m just trying to tell you that Emmy is probably the most surprised by how well she’s doing,” Harry said. “It’s not her fault that she’s a natural at this life.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s not her fault she’s better at it than other people.”

William sighed, immediately catching on. “Somehow I knew you were getting at this.”

“Some of the stuff Kate says is unnecessary,” Harry said simply. 

“Has anyone ever tried putting themselves in Kate’s shoes? All the criticism she gets-”

“And when has she not been criticised? She never used to let it bother her before!”

“Most of it was unfounded back then,” William said. “Now it’s…it’s quite valid…and it’s quite personal…”

“You mean, she’s lazy and doesn’t do enough work, those criticisms?” Harry stated, somewhat rudely, not shying away from the word ‘lazy’. “Surely the answer is obvious – do more work.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” William replied harshly. “We have two children-”

“And we have one,” Harry shot. “That doesn’t stop Emmy from working her arse off.” He dropped his voice slightly as he swore, but none of the kids were paying attention, George was teaching Charlotte and Grace – who was not listening in the slightest – how to build stuff out of blocks.

“Well that’s great, supermum and all that, but Kate doesn’t want to leave the kids,” William snapped. “She knows how important it is to spend time with them-”

“Are you shitting me?” Harry hissed. “You think that Emmy and I don’t want to spend time with Grace? Newsflash, William! We do! We hardly ever do engagements together anymore so that Grace is always with one of us! We’re only looking at hiring a nanny now, because so many people are breathing down our necks for us to do it.”

William’s expression was stony. “I don’t know why we’re arguing about this-”

“We’re arguing about it because I don’t want your wife talking to my wife the way she has been,” Harry growled. “It’s rude and unnecessary and it’s making Emmy upset. And Emmy has enough to cope with.”

“And you think Kate hasn’t?” William retorted. “Kate is going through so much, at least Emmy is loved by everyone.” He sounded bitter at that.

“Emmy has so much shit thrown in her face, Wills, I can’t believe you’d even say that,” Harry said angrily. “She gets told off for everything, what she wears, what she does. Difference is, it’s coming from Granny, not from the press.”

“Kate gets that too! But Granny and Grandpa choose to just snidely comment on Kate’s mistakes, especially by bigging up Emmy. You can’t blame Kate for being resentful!”

“But it’s not Emmy’s fault that Kate’s like that, she can’t take it out on her!”

“She doesn’t do it consciously,” William shot. “It’s tough for her, especially now-”

“Why now? What’s your excuse for her right now? Different from her excuses for the last four months?” Harry said sceptically. 

William glared at him, then hesitated before saying, “Kate kind of wants another baby. But I don’t. Not yet.”

“Of course Kate wants another baby,” Harry said before he could stop himself. “George and Charlotte are growing up, she’s running out of excuses to do fuck-all-”

William had stood up before Harry could finish, and from the expression on his face, Harry suddenly thought William was going to hit him. But instead his brother crossed the room, scooped Charlotte into his arms and said, “George, it’s time to go now.”

“You’re just going to go?” Harry said, angry now. “We should talk this out, William-”

“You’ve said enough,” William said simply. “I’ll let myself out.”

And he swept his children from the room, George toddling along after him confusedly. The little boy waved somewhat sadly at Uncle Harry as he went, and Harry spared him a smile, before glaring at his brother’s disappearing form. He heard the front door close, before he looked over at Grace, who was still playing with her blocks, unaware. 

“What was that about, eh baby?” Harry asked, sinking back into the chair and sighing, running a hand over his beard. His plan had never been to fall out with his brother, but he somehow couldn’t imagine that having gone any other way. 

That evening, while Harry sat reliving everything he’d said to William, Emmy found herself arriving at the state dinner that had been thrown in her honour. Her first day in Denmark had been terrifying, but not as bad as she thought, for most of the day had been diplomatic. She’d met with the Crown Prince and Princess – Mary was lovely and Emmy knew that a friendship was growing there – and she’d had lunch with the Prime Minister, before visiting the National Museum of Denmark. Now – a banquet with politicians and the royals, and she felt incredibly nervous as she sat in her car beside Claire, careful not to move her head in case her tiara – loaned to her by the Queen – fell off. 

“How you feeling?” Claire asked her.

“Terrified,” Emmy admitted. “When am I not?”

Claire laughed lightly. “You’ll be fine, you look lovely.”

Emmy threw her a smile, but she had bigger issues – she was giving a speech to thank Denmark for its hospitality so far and to express her excitement for her second day of engagements. It would be one of only a handful of speeches she’d ever made, and it was her first abroad. The thought of standing up and speaking in front of so many people was setting her stomach in knots. 

It was all she could think about for the entire meal, as she was led into the banquet hall on the arm of Crown Prince Frederik, as she took her seat between him and his mother, Queen Margrethe. The meal was delicious, and she tried to savour it, but she found herself trying to force it down just so that she could get this speech out of the way.

Eventually, Margrethe rose to deliver her own speech, welcoming the Duchess, and Emmy tried to concentrate on her words, even though her own were swimming round her head. Then, finally, it was time for her to speech, and she stepped up to the podium, heart pounding in her chest. She also knew that there would be cameras on her, waiting to catch her every syllable, waiting to catch her every mistake. She took a deep breath, looking out over the hundreds of eyes looking up at her. 

“Good evening,” she said. “Firstly, thank you for such a delicious meal. Not only is it lovely to have been welcomed to Denmark with such open arms and friendly faces, but to have the opportunity to try some of your world-famous dishes has been truly exciting. This has been my first visit to Denmark, and your beautiful country has been everything I expected and more. I have spent my day in the company of some of the amazing people in this room who work tirelessly to make this country the world-famous destination that it is, and tomorrow I am excited to meet some of the people who are just as important in shaping Denmark – your citizens. 

“Today I have had the honour of discussing some of the world-changing work that happens here in Denmark with your Crown Princess, Mary. It is extraordinary to hear, not only about the research that goes on here and the diseases that you’re attempting to cure, but also to learn of all the charity work carried out by you all. As a nation, you are one of the happiest in the world and it is humbling to see how that is achieved.

“I visited the National Museum today and learnt all about your history, and how you as a country have produced some incredible people, whether it be in the areas of science, such as Niels Bohr, in literature, such as Hans Christian Andersen, or in music, such as Carl Nielsen. Your country is so rich in culture and my visit today has opened my eyes to how important Denmark has been in shaping the world that we know today.

“I am delighted that my first visit to Denmark has been one of learning, of discovering what am amazing and humble country this is, and even though my visit is not yet over, I cannot wait to return again soon. Next time, I hope to bring both my husband and my daughter so that they can experience this exquisite country with me and can also be introduced to the Danish people – and so that they can sample some of your delicious pastries. Thank you again for the lovely welcome.”

The Danish pastry part earned her some chuckles, and then she returned to her seat, delighted that it was over. Frederik gave her a warm smile, leaning over to tell her that she did great – he was very good at reading people, and he could tell that this small Duchess had been very nervous before her speech. He was glad that it had gone well for her – only the occasional stumble or stammer, but other than that it had been great.

Harry watched Emmy’s speech on the news that evening, as he fed Grace her bottle. Emmy looked stunning in her dress, so beautiful and elegant, and with her tiara she looked like a real princess – Harry honestly couldn’t deny that she could be something out of Disney, and he knew little girls everywhere would be so excited to see her looking like that. 

She delivered her speech so eloquently, aside from the tiny mistakes here and there, and he was so proud of her. He wanted to call her and congratulate her, but he knew that she would be too busy to speak and he himself needed a relatively early night – the following day, he and Grace were opening Borough Market, the market that was closed after the recent terror attack. And so he wanted a lot of sleep, especially if he was to look after Grace for the entire engagement. 

He made sure he text Emmy to tell her how proud of her she was, and his loving message was the first thing she saw when she woke up the following morning, only making her miss him that much more.

Emmy was in the middle of a walkabout outside one of the charities she was visiting when Harry and Grace arrived at Borough Market the following day. Harry straightened up out of the car and cast his eyes around, noticing how nobody cast him a second glance. He was glad – they hadn’t announced this visit to the public, mainly so that the only people he would meet would be people who worked at the market, people he wanted to talk to. He didn’t want huge crowds and lots of photographers – he didn’t want anything that could overwhelm Grace.

“Ah goo,” she said, as he started unbuckling her from her car seat. She cooed, patting his hands and kicking her legs excitedly, knowing it was time to get out. She’d been a little irritable that morning, and Harry guessed she was just missing Emmy, but as soon as he’d put some shoes on her she was excited. She really was a social little thing.

He scooped her into his arms, protecting her fluffy gold head with a hand, before turning to Edward, who smiled reassuringly.

“All good?” Edward said.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Harry said, sitting Grace on his hip and giving her a little bounce. She cooed happily.

He made his way over to the officials waiting, and he smiled at them. “Hello!”

“Your royal highness,” the head of the market, Graham, said, bowing his head. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Harry said cheerfully. “Say hello Grace.” He gently took her chubby hand and made her wave. She frowned, confused, at Graham, who chuckled. 

“Hello Grace,” Graham said. “Sir, it’s such a delight to have you here today.”

“It’s nice to be here, it’s such a sunny day,” Harry said, starting to follow Graham under the archway that preceded the market. “The Mrs. is in Denmark, so I thought I’d come for a nice day out. I saw some of the celebrations yesterday. Sadiq Khan was down here, wasn’t he?”

“He was, yes,” Graham said, leading the way. “It was a strange day. There was a lot of happiness, but it was also very bittersweet as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Yeah, I saw the aftermath of the attack all over the news, it truly is horrific,” Harry said. “You’re all so brave coming back here, after everything.”

“It’s our lives,” Graham answered, shrugging. “Besides, we need to stand up to these people.”

“A thousand percent,” Harry agreed, shifting Grace in his arms as she looked around. The market was bustling, people doing their fruit and food shopping. Some of the stall-owners were already looking their way, and Harry threw a couple a warm smile. The atmosphere was not one of fear – it was one of strength, of camaraderie. Of defiance. And then, as people started to realise who Harry was, it was one of excitement. 

“Goo la mee,” Grace babbled, trying to reach for an apple at the nearest stall. The owner laughed affectionately.

“Hello little one,” she mused, waving. Grace turned her blue eyes to her, confused, and Harry chuckled lightly.

“Hey, who is it?” he murmured, kissing Grace’s ear. 

“She’s so much cuter in real life, your royal highness,” the lady said. “Is there any fruit you would like? My strawberries are a favourite round here.”

Harry laughed, his mind flickering back to all the strawberries Emmy had eaten while pregnant. He adjusted Grace and searched in his pocket for his wallet. “I’ll take some of them, my wife loves strawberries. What’s your name, sorry?”

“I’m Annie,” she replied, smiling and moving to get him a bag for some.

“Do you own this stall?”

“My father owns it,” she explained, packing away the strawberries. 

Grace was quiet as Harry asked Annie about the dreadful night over a week earlier, but eventually she grew bored. She turned in his arms and reached for his beard, patting it. The pictures later showed him maintaining his composure as his daughter stroked his face, wanting to play. 

“She’s very sweet,” Annie said, smiling at her. Harry looked down at Grace’s face, his heart lifting at the sight of her.

“She’s a very good baby,” Harry said. “She loves cuddles.”

“Aw,” Annie said, smiling. “Is Emmy not coming today?”

“No, Emmy’s in Denmark today,” he told her. “She’s got her first solo trip abroad, she was very nervous. That’s why I’m getting her some strawberries, to reward her when she gets home.”

Annie laughed lightly. “Thank you so much for coming today, sir!”

“Thank you so much for the strawberries, they’re delicious,” he replied, popping one in his mouth.

“Mah!” Grace said, pouting.

“Oh do you want one too?” Harry asked, biting off the top of another with the leaves on it and throwing that bit in the bin before gently holding the rest by Grace’s lips. He mushed it slightly so she would find it easier to eat. She hesitated, before opening her mouth and letting him put it on her tongue. Then she chewed once and swallowed. Strawberry juice ran down her chin.

“Oh dear,” he said, taking a tissue from Edward – who didn’t look amused – and mopping at her chops while she giggled with delight. “Did you like it, darling?”

“Ooh ga tee!” she cooed, her eyes on the boxes still on display.

“No, you can’t have another one, they’re for Mummy,” he said. “Thank you, Annie.”

“Thank you so much, sir.”

“Say bye bye, Grace,” Harry murmured to her, kissing the top of her fluffy golden head. “Bye bye.”

Grace stared at Annie as her father moved on to the next stall.

This one sold donuts, and Harry’s stomach grumbled at the sight of them all. He readjusted Grace in his arms, before smiling at the man behind the counter.

“I’m Harry, nice to meet you,” he said. “And this is Grace.”

“Your royal highnesses,” the man said nervously. “I’m Ian.”

“I like the look of all these donuts,” Harry said, trying to put him at ease. “Eh, Grace? Look at all these.” He bounced her gently, and she giggled. 

“Would you like to try one?” Ian asked. “These sugar ones are a personal favourite.”

Harry chuckled. “I’m not going to say no to a donut.”

Ian hastily grabbed him one, and he watched anxiously as Harry ate it – he was right, it was delicious, and Harry had to refrain from licking the sugar off his fingers so that he could let Grace have some.

She sucked it off happily, liking the sugar, and she cooed excitedly, her chubby hands splayed on her Daddy’s chest. She watched Ian, then she watched the next few stall-holders after that, her blue eyes wary. As they went round the market, hundreds of pictures were taken of Prince Harry and his adorable daughter, with her chubby cheeks and her happy giggle, and they shot all over the world on social media, with dozens of people freaking out on twitter over how cute Grace was.

Harry loved having her there with him, sat in his arms – he felt like he could keep her totally safe with her there, and she seemed so happy and curious. There were a few tears, at which point Harry quickly calmed her with Edward’s favourite pen, but then she was giggling again. 

The rest of the world loved that she was there too. It was obviously a surprise visit, and so everyone was delighted to see more pictures of the tiny princess. 

It even made headline news, and Harry was sat on the sofa, with Grace sat in his lap somewhat sleepily, when a picture of him and Grace came onto the screen.

“Now, Emmy may have been in Denmark but Prince Harry today visited Borough Market, the scene of the knife attack just under 10 days ago, but he brought along another tiny royal visitor. Princess Grace, who is nearly seven months old, accompanied her father to the market, meeting all the stall owners there and even sampling some of their products herself. Nicholas has more.”

The camera showed Harry and Grace arriving then, with Grace eating a strawberry and then having a little cry to the amusement of the onlookers, as Nicholas described the day and even spoke to some of the people there that they had met.

“He’s such a normal guy,” Ian was saying. “He was very very nice, and he liked the donuts too. He actually bought a small bag and said they were for his wife.”

“Grace was very sweet,” Annie then said. “She was adorable and you could tell that Harry just adored her.”

“Hey, Grace, did you hear that?” he murmured, stroking Grace’s hair with his fingertips. “You’re lovely, you are.”

Just as the recap of the headlines gave way to the weather, there was the sound of a key in the lock of the front door. Harry looked round immediately, and he broke into a smile as Emmy struggled into the hallway, carrying her suitcase. Claire followed, helping her with a dress bag. 

Harry gently placed Grace down in her cradle, before hurrying out to meet Emmy. She broke into a smile at the sight of him, and before she could say more than ‘hello’ he’d scooped her into his arms and was spinning her round, drawing delighted squeals from her.

“Hello baby,” he eventually said, once he’d placed her back down on the floor, his arms still around her.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly, eyes shining. “How’d I do?”

“You were amazing,” he said, pulling her closer and kissing her deeply. “Amazing! Truly amazing!”

“You think?”

“You did fantastic!” he cried, beaming at her. “And your speech, you were brilliant.”

Claire smiled, hanging the dress bag on the back of a door. “See? I told you, Emmy.”

“You must’ve known,” Harry teased lightly, holding her close. He’d missed her incredibly, and all he wanted now was to have her in his arms, to kiss her endlessly. “And also…do you know how stunning you looked last night? That dress…” His blue eyes were dark with desire as he surveyed her.

Emmy felt a blush tainting her cheek, and she smiled, but she glanced round to check whether Claire was still there. Claire, taking the hint, smiled.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll be off!” she said, waving a hand dismissively as though they’d said something. “I’ll leave you two to it.” She winked, before letting herself out of house. Emmy watched her go with a smile, before turning back to Harry – as soon as she looked back at him, he was kissing her. Pushing her back towards the wall and devouring her lips. She giggled into him, hands clasping at the back of his neck.

“Harry,” she mumbled into him, gasping for breath as he pulled away. Then she laughed at him. “You’ve missed me, huh?”

“Can you not tell?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her again. She placed a hand against his mouth. 

“Yes, and I missed you too, but I also missed Grace and I’d kind of like to see her too…” She looked hopeful, trying to be innocent, and he took a deep breath before nodding. 

“She’s in her cradle in the lounge,” he said, swapping his hold on her for his hand in his and giving her a squeeze. 

Emmy danced ahead, pulling him after her before hurrying forward to see Grace. She was so happy to be home, to be with her little baby girl again, and she scooped her into her arms and cuddled her close, kissing her head again and again. 

Harry snaked his arms round her and pulled both his girls into a hug, relieved to have them both back with him again. 

I Need A Spell Caster To Save My Marriage Astonishing Tricks

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Day 1 ~ Something old // Something new // Something borrowed

A.K.A.: That AU where Adam accidently acquires Niall’s leather jacket in a charity shop. (T-Rated)

Written for @pynchweek, flash-betaed by @interropunct. Paging: @cabeswaterlovesthem, @picapicae and @actuallymollyweasley as they asked to be kept updated (I’ll tag whoever asks me, feel free!)

You can also read this on Ao3!

                                                         ***

The cheerful dangling of the bells above the doorframe matches in a weirdly euphonious way with a string of swear words, more convoluted than Adam has ever heard in his life. He lets the door close behind him and mentally prepares to assess the situation critically.

Two young men stand in front of the cashier counter, and even though Adam knows Blue is on shift today they are both so tall he can't possibly spot her over their shoulders. Adam wouldn't particularly worry about the shortest one — all curly blond hair, fidgety shoulders and a placid aura palpable even without seeing his face — but the one beside him is a different story: dressed completely in black, the guy is built like a brick house, hair buzz-cut and tattooed skin that flexes with nervous tension.

Not reacting with prejudice and distrust when faced with stereotypically threatening features has been the work of years, for Adam, but in this moment he can't really pin the rising scowl on his face to his idiosyncrasies. Not with a wanna-be biker — if not an actual one — swearing like a sailor towards his best friend.

“Sir, please understand that this is a charity shop, and that I’m not emotionally involved in the situation,” the deeply unimpressed voice of said best friend pipes up. “Quite frankly,  I don’t give a damn.”

“Wh...what the fuck?” the wanna-be biker stutters, evidently taken aback by Blue’s unique approach to customer service. Or maybe by the Gone with the Wind reference, it’s difficult to tell.

The blond guy snorts out a laugh and the tension is suddenly broken.

When the wanna-be biker turns to face the other man, his profile is unexpectedly young and full of sharp edges smoothened by some degree of embarrassment. “Don’t laugh, shithead, are you pairing up with the enemy?”

“Sure, ‘cause I’m the enemy now,” Blue’s epic eyeroll is almost hearable from her words. “Look, I’ve been really trying to help you, I even gave you back most of the stuff back.”

“And you really can do nothing about the fucking leather jacket?” Wanna-be biker asks, tuning down the swearing for a second.

“I told you, it has been sold already,” Blue sighs deeply.

Adam looks down at himself and at the new-old jacket that Blue had convinced him to buy just yesterday. It’s a sturdy item of well-worn black leather, remarkably preserved for something you can find in a charity shop; it must have cost half a fortune, back in the day, because even now falls elegant — if not a bit too large — around Adam’s shoulders. Suddenly, he is stuck with the possibility that it is still worth a small fortune, in the vintage market, and maybe that’s the reason the wanna-be biker wants it back after having made an ill-advised donation.

“Ronan, I’m sorry, if I hadn’t mixed up the boxes…” the blond guy pipes up, apologetical and distraught in a way that halts Adam’s train of thought in its tracks. The wanna-be biker — Ronan — sighs and shakes his head, “It’s fucking fine, Matthew, I should have left you better labels.” For all his general rudeness, there is a carefulness in his tone that captivates Adam’s attention more than any random eavesdropped conversation should.

He abandons his spot by the door, where all the commotion had made him invisible, and takes a couple of steps forward. “Are we talking about this jacket?”

Both Ronan and Matthew turn on their heel, in complete synch, and whatever moment Ronan had been having gets swallowed by an unapproachable frown. He squares Adam up and down, plush mouth thinning while taking in the jacket. “Yes, exactly that one.”

“Adam!” Blue calls, finally appearing at the counter now that the two guys moved out of the way. She’s dressed with an oversized t-shirt that evidently used to be two different pieces of clothing sewn together and her hair are a madness of fluorescent clips. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon!”

“Well, apparently I came just in time for a jacket crisis,” Adam tries to joke, making his way towards the cashier position.

He gets intercepted by Ronan charging imperiously towards him, wallet flashing in his hands. If he had been tall to see from the other side of the shop, Ronan is even more imposing at this distance, with sharp blue eyes and an impossible jawline highlighted by an obvious gnashing of teeth. There is no way he’s more than a couple of years older than Adam, if any, but the way he flashes his wallet open is reminiscent of many things, but not of a peer.

“I’m gonna need that back,” Ronan states, aggressively. There are more notes than what would be immediately countable, in his wallet, and several shiny credit cards. “So how much do you want? Let’s get this fuckery over with.”

Whatever sympathy Adam had felt from the interaction with Matthew disperses faster than the helium from a popped balloon. He gives Ronan a glacial once-over. “Who says I’m gonna give it back?”

Unabashed anger builds up on Ronan’s face like a wave. “Are you fucking kiddin— “

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Matthew interjects, talking over Ronan and almost pushing him out of the way with a vicious elbow in the ribs. It’s a net contrast with his innocent doe eyes and the angelic curls, whose effect is not completely neutralized regardless. “Ronan didn’t mean to be rude — even though he is. It’s my fault, I gave away the wrong box and now you’ve got our father’s jacket…”

“Matthew, that’s none of his business!” Ronan snarls, but none of the violence his posture oozes is directed towards him.

“Well, if we want the jacket back maybe he wants to know way, no?” Matthew replies, between air-headed oversharing and candid logic.

Witnessing the scene, Adam is stuck with the sudden realization that they are brothers, even though they look as different as day and night. He shouldn’t like other people’s stories and random displays of personality traits as much as he does, but it still serve to quench some of his annoyance over the money business.

“Still don’t want your money,” Adam stresses, the words more familiar in his mouth than he would like them to be. He crosses his arms, and he can see both brothers eyes tracking the movement of his hands over the old — familiar — leather. “This is a charity shop, you know? Taking back your stuff is already a mess.”

Blue, some feet away, does nothing to defuse Adam’s statement and even nods emphatically at the concept.

Ronan’s expression gets even darker and Adam’s blood soars in his vein, with something more complicated than the adrenaline before a fight. This guy really irks him in all the possible ways.

“So what the hell do you want? Because I still want the fucking jacket back,” Ronan counters, piercing two holes through Adam with his eyes. When Adam doesn’t cower and just stares back, unblinking, the line of Ronan’s plush lips gets even  tighter.

“Then…” Adam starts, the tension between them almost palpable like pinpricks on his skin, making him reckless, “...there might be something you can make yourself fucking useful with.”

                                                        ***

Collaborating to an experimental research on neurology and cognitive resilience isn’t a regretful experience, academically speaking, but it has proven more frustrating than Adam would have thought when he joined it. The participants is on voluntary basis and there is no compensation for the time spent on their tasks and tests, so it would be unfair to resent undergraduates already burdened with jobs for bailing out. It is less unfair to resent the other type of undergraduates  — the one that are evidently well-off and for whom the burden of student debt doesn’t exist at all — for looking Adam and the study outline with obvious disregard before binning it. Considering the effort that he put in this whole ordeal, spending weeks trying to find the last person necessary to have a statistically relevant pool has been the proverbial cherry on top.

All things considered, no one should really blame him for bending the ethics a bit and “gently coaxing” Ronan — Ronan Niall Lynch, 24, born in Henrietta, resident in Henrietta — to take part. Having the leather jacket back was more than everyone else was getting, after all.

At the beginning, Ronan sits in sulking silence performing tasks on a tablet with the programs set up for the research. They rarely speak, as Ronan is still somehow convinced he’s being psychoanalysed even though they are meeting in a quiet coffee shop that doesn’t resemble an office at all. Adam drinks enough coffee for the both of them, Ronan sticks to sparkling water.

“I sleep like shit,” Ronan admits, some days in, “I can’t drink coffee.”

“Why not try some not caffeinated tea, then?” Adam suggests, looking up from some of the reports he’s correcting as a TA.

Ronan makes a weird face that it’s not exactly disgust. “I asked, but they only have peppermint.”

Adam can’t refrain from storting. “Why are you so outraged by peppermint?”

“Jesus Christ,” Ronan passes a hand on his buzzed-cut scalp and looks away from Adam. “You would be as well if you knew someone that is constantly munching on it. And I do, okay?”

That’s how Adam learned about Richard “Dick” Gansey, that at some indefinite point in their lives must have been a roommate for the unapproachable guy that Ronan is. Somehow, that opens more tentative — sometimes half-baked — conversations, that leave Adam wondering if Gansey is more Ronan’s teenage crush or his found brother.

                                                        ***

By the end of the week, Ronan had completed all the task with their developed app. He insisted that he would be shit in all of them and screw up Adam’s dataset, but, alone in his house at night and tabulating his results, Adam found himself staring at some weirdly creative, surprisingly emotional responses to seemly inane tasks.

The upside is of course that in the meantime he managed to convince Ronan that no, he’s not a shrink, as I’ve been telling you for the beginning. At last, they manage to start the questionnaires. It’s from those that Adam learns that Ronan left school before graduating high-school, because Matthew’s memory problems can be a bit more serious than just mixing up a box and the third Lynch brother — Declan, more commonly known as “that asshole” — was already doing to well in university to make it worth leaving.

“I’ve always been shit as school, after all, I was already more out than in,” Ronan says, the word school pronounced with such obvious disregard it sounds like it personally offends him.

At that point, Adam feels weirdly compelled to tell him that he can’t really sympathize, considering how much school saved his life — between free meals, properly heated rooms, time away from home, scholarships, a way out. Ronan looks at him intently, as if hearing more than Adam is actually saying, and Adam’s skin prickles, again.

There were no Mr and Mrs Lynch, their only obvious leftover the impressive amount of money that always fill Ronan’s wallet. Adam feels a pang of guilt in his chest about how easily he keeps holding the leather jacket at stake for this whole ordeal.

A better man would call it quits now and give the memorabilia back. Adam, that always tries to be the best version of himself and never latched on stereotypical traits to follow, does not. Whatever Ronan was expecting from him, it might not be this; weirdly, he seems to prefer it.

“Do you speak any other languages?” Adam asks, going through the second folder of questions at the end of the second week.

“Does latin count?”

Adam raises his eyes with a pointed expression, “What did I say about bullshitting the answers to this stuff?”

“I’m not bullshitting, I’m serious! Does it count?” Ronan insists, too earnest for the prank of a moment. He doesn’t, Adam found, tend to lie.

“Are you seriously telling me you’re fluent in latin?” Adam looks at him, still not writing anything down.

Ronan shrugs, in all his bulky threatening wanna-be biker glory. “Fronti nulla fides?”

Adam, with his years as a scholarship student, can’t help but laugh at hearing Juvenal quoted in a pondering, conversational tone. Ronan, for the first time in two weeks, smiles broadly and without sharp edges. It’s weirdly difficult to look at him like this, so Adam just writes the answer down.

                                                        ***

On Monday, inexplicably, Ronan decides to pick Adam up from the campus, since he was apparently on his way over before their coffee shop meeting. Apparently, he is not a biker, not even a wanna-be one, and actively distrusts motorcycles with all his heart. The irony is not lost to Adam, especially in the moment Ronan starts driving and he looked every inch a racer.

“I kind of used to do that, in high school, you know,” Ronan says, nonchalant, and Adam finds himself losing it again.

While looking around the BMW — honestly impressive, well-kept but with a general clutter that Adam intimately defines very Ronan before quickly shutting that same thought off — Adam spots a pack of beef strips, a happy dog lolling his tongue on the package.

“Honestly, you don’t look like a dog person,” he considers, looking up at Ronan.

“What the fuck are you talking about now, Parrish?” Ronan clips out, rude as usual but not really aggressive. He follows Adam’s gaze down towards the small pockets close to the sticks, and snorts. “That’s not for a dog. That’s for my raven.”

“Your what, now?”

“A raven, Parrish. Black, sleek, they stare a whole fucking lot and they caw?”

“I know what a raven is, Lynch, but are you telling me you’ve got one?” Disbelief paints every one of Adam’s words once again.

“Her name is Chainsaw,” Ronan replies, matter-of-factly. It’s such a Ronan thing, once again, that Adam can only laugh, chin tilting upwards. He can feel Ronan’s eyes following him, even though he’s supposed to look at the road. “I don’t have pictures, ask Matthew. And don’t try to pretend you don’t have his number, I know he gives it to basically everyone.”

Adam snickers, head turning against the headrest. He catches Ronan’s eyes and, uncharacteristically, Ronan holds his gaze, with a little lopsided smile, until the traffic light flashes green again.

                                                        ***

“You want to be a farmer?”

“Shut the fuck up, Parrish! The Barns — the family house, I mean — it’s basically a farm already!”

“Do you even know what farming entails?”

“I grew up surrounded by cows, for fuck’s sake, drop the distrusting tone.”

“Surrounded by — Jesus. You’re unbelievable, Lynch.”

“Yeah, you’re an asshole as well, Parrish.”

                                                        ***

It takes them a whole month, at the end, to go through Adam’s folder of questionnaires, mostly because Adam catches himself slowing down on the pace, chatting about unrelated stuff anytime Ronan feels like talking and letting himself be dragged into other activities when Ronan just feels like showing him something.

On the very last day, he closes his folder with a definitive sigh, just as the coffee shop is starting to close.

“Okay, this is it. Thank you for your time, Lynch, I hope I wasn’t too similar to a shrink,” Adam says, looking at the cars passing by and without looking at Ronan, who stands in front of him on the pavement outside the shop. In the corner of his eyes, he can see Ronan fidgeting with the leather bands on his wrist, probably fighting hard not to bring them to his mouth. When no answer comes, he sighs again, and starts to take the leather jacket off.

He doesn’t know why he put him on in the first place, while going out. It’s stupid, and impractical, and he just ends up fighting with his backpack full of notes to free his shoulders.

Ronan’s hands enter his personal space suddenly, grasping at the two sides of the open jacket. He is impossibly close to Adam, like this, looming from almost five inches above. In the artificial lights and shadows cast by the streetlights, the look in his eyes is weirder than Adam dares to address.

“Jesus, Lynch,” he murmurs, trying for levity. “Give me a second, I’m giving it back. A deal is a deal.”

The grip on the leather intensifies, Adam can feel the pull from under his armpits.

“You could borrow it,” Ronan clips out, through gritted teeth. It’s difficult not to look at him, now.

“I could what?” Adam murmurs, the back of his mind whispering treacherous ideas for this moment, even while his rationality refuses to jump to conclusions.

“Borrow it. We keep meeting, you keep the jacket.” Trust Ronan to be able to be aggressive regardless of the content of his words.

“You want to keep meeting,” Adam repeats, lacking eloquence and feeling strange in his stomach. He wants to raise his hands, maybe meet Ronan halfway, but somehow he can’t.

“Are you having a doctor-patient good-fucking-practice breach, Parrish?”

Ronan’s tone sounds like he’s steeling himself for rejection and the grip of his hands is loosening, slowly. Abruptly, Adam finds that he can’t stand it. He takes half a step forwards, right into Ronan’s arms. For all the rigorous logic Adam has built the foundations of his life on, he can’t talk it over, now, he can’t calm the queasiness in his stomach. He can just lean forward, and kiss Ronan.

It’s nothing like what he expected and everything like what he should have guessed at the same time.

Ronan jumps under the contact and doesn’t avoid it even though he must have seen it coming. His lips stay uncertain for a second and then he exhale softly, tilting his head to the side to make the kiss more solid, still testing the waters. It’s as careful as every sideways glance he has ever reserved to Adam, and Adam himself can’t stand it.

He opens his mouth and licks over Ronan’s lips — because he has to, because he watched them in all their tilts and quirks and still doesn’t know what they taste like.

Ronan’s breath jumps again, but he opens his mouth nonetheless, dragging Adam close by the jacket again. Whatever nervousness Adam was still harbouring dissolves in a weird spark of lights under his closed eyelids while the kiss turns wet, deep. Where Adam is methodic, exploring, Ronan is a wild aimless chase for an undefined something. The net result is weirdly matched kiss that clicks perfectly with that unplaceable itch that Ronan provokes with his sole existent. It feels better than any first kiss between two almost-strangers has the right to be.

An ambulance passes by, loud, obnoxious and everything they need to remember where they are.

Adam leans back, but the world is weirdly hyperfocused on Ronan’s face nonetheless, when he opens his eyes. Ronan smiles and bends down after him, pressing their forehead together. It’s an unseemingly soft smile, and Adam is stuck with the realization of how many private Ronan Lynch’s expression he can’t even imagine yet.

He catches himself smiling back, while saying the only thing he could possibly say, now.

“Yeah...Yeah, I’ll borrow it.”

Shifting Perspectives

Mob Psycho 100 Fanfiction

How many espers does it take to rescue one abducted conman?

Months after the events of the World Domination arc, Reigen disappears sometime between leaving the office and after-work plans. Serizawa finds himself the unwilling leader of a bunch of former Claw members and a couple of stubborn teenagers, determined to get Reigen back.

Read on AO3 Ch.1|Ch.2 Tumblr Ch.1 - below|Ch.2

Chapter 1 Reigen swung his legs down from where they’d been propped up on his desk and stared, flabbergasted, at Serizawa. "What do you mean, you ‘thought it was cute!?’ That spirit had three rows of teeth! And I would know, I got the best look at them!"   Serizawa came out of his reverie with a start, nearly dropping his mug, instantly apologetic.  "It, it was just so small… I was just wishing I’d come up with another way to stop it, but I didn’t have time for anything but an exorcism when it went straight for your face!” Serizawa sputtered.   Reigen continued to stare at him, now merely projecting indignation to hide his growing amusement.    “It was fluffy! And, and pink!" Serizawa flushed. "I like pink."  Reigen couldn’t hold back; he burst into laughter, putting his own mug down before he could slosh tea all over his desk. Serizawa flushed a deeper shade of red, ducking his head a little, but Reigen still saw his small, sheepish grin.    “You’ve been spending too much time with Matsuo lately, to start thinking of them as cute,” Reigen said, wiping at his eyes as his laughter finally died down. 

It was almost six p.m., approaching closing time at the Spirits & Such office, and Reigen was procrastinating on completing some insurance forms to chat with Serizawa over tea. A leisurely teatime had become something of an end-of-the-day ritual for them over the past few weeks, ever since Serizawa’s break from classes meant he was able to stay at the office until closing. Reigen found the ritual comforting – and had been chagrined to realize just how much he enjoyed having the company. If he was honest with himself, he was secretly resenting the day when night classes started back and he would lose this time to Serizawa’s other interests and school friends.  Less selfishly, though, he’d been pleased that the extra time Serizawa spent at the office meant Reigen could watch even more of his ongoing transformation from the timid and insecure man he’d started as to the quiet, confident professional he was becoming. Reigen had recently even been encouraging him to deal directly with the customers – though never without his being there, of course. Reigen considered himself quite necessary to this business, particularly when a client’s problems weren’t actually spiritual in nature. And whenever something got complicated in an actual exorcism, he was there to smooth it over. He and Serizawa had fallen into a pattern, one that resembled less that of an employer and employee and more that of a partnership: the businessman who got the jobs and the esper who completed them.   It was… nice. Reigen thought he might even be able to call Serizawa a friend – but he’d been wrong before. And he didn’t want to jinx it. You had to take jinxes seriously in his profession.  “Reigen? What are you looking at?”  Reigen focused his eyes to find that’s he’d been staring straight into Serizawa’s puzzled face for the past however many minutes. He blinked.  “Oh, sorry! I was thinking about something else.”  He realized belatedly that the other man was packing up in preparation to leave. Serizawa’s emptied mug sat on his own desk, the surface streaked with a pattern of yellow-orange lines from the light of the setting sun filtering through the blinds.   “Right, ‘bout that time, isn’t it.” Reigen drained the rest of his own lukewarm cup and stood to stretch, joints popping. He asked, casually, “You doing anything interesting tonight?”  Serizawa snapped his bag closed. “Oh, I’m getting drinks with Minegishi and Koyama and them – the usual bunch.”  Reigen felt the sinking feeling in his gut that tended to rear its ugly head every time Serizawa mentioned hanging out with his friends, either from school or, increasingly lately, some of the other former Claw members.   It was stupid. Reigen was glad Serizawa was building healthy relationships and integrating himself back into society. He really was; in fact, he was incredibly proud of the progress Serizawa had made after being so shut off for most of this life, and then horrifically misled, and even, Reigen suspected, emotionally abused. But there was still a small, terrible part of him that whispered, nastily, that Serizawa was now actually fitting into society better than he himself did, and just what did that say about the sad state of his own life?  He was being petty, and jealous, and awful. He knew it. Which, really, had to be a sign that he was improving – he’d learned his lesson about trying to manipulate people into spending time with him with his mistakes with Mob, and now recognized the inclination when it appeared. He fought it by being twice as encouraging.   “Sounds like fun! You’ve really been spending a lot of time with them lately, huh? Probably good for you all, like… a Claw recovery group or something-”   “Actually, I was, uh, going to ask you, if you’d like to join us?”  “Oh!”  Reigen paused to school his expression into one of only minor interest, even as excitement bubbled up in his chest. “Ah, well, I do have some plans for this evening, of course, but really it’s nothing important, I can probably rearrange… uhh, although-”   Reigen remembered something slightly awkward.   “Do you think it’s been enough time that they’ve gotten over the… misunderstanding about my psychic abilities..?”  Serizawa’s face broke into a grin that he quickly tried to hide with his hand.  “Yes, don’t worry it’s all fine. Once they got over their anger at being tricked, they decided that tricking them so thoroughly was a talent by itself, not to mention all the things you’ve therefore managed to accomplish without psychic powers. They chalked it all up to your extraordinary leadership abilities and by the end of it were just twice as impressed. And,” Serizawa added, blushing again for no reason that Reigen could see, “I think they’d be happy to see you again.”   Reigen stood a little straighter.   “Well, that’s, that’s good. Very good. I mean, I am rather impressive… ok then. So, yes. Drinks. Happy to join you! Just gotta, finish up some paperwork and stuff, and, yeah I’ll, I’ll meet you there.”  Serizawa beamed.  Reigen blinked, caught completely off-guard. That was a rare expression from his nervous employee, and it was… like the sun coming out. He almost – almost – told Serizawa that the smile looked good on him, or something similarly unforgivably cheesy, before shoving the reckless inclination aside. But that grin begged for a response, and he couldn’t help but give a half smile in reply.   Once Serizawa had left, Reigen scrambled to finish up the paperwork – it really did have to be sent before tomorrow, damn it all. Once it was sloppily signed, scanned, and faxed, he stepped into the bathroom.   Reigen eyed himself critically in the bathroom mirror.   Drinks. With a coworker. Or, employee – whatever. With a friend? A friend, and his friends. The suit he had on was probably okay for that, right? Or should he change? He had a spare suit stashed in his desk – but then he’d just be changing one very similar suit for another, that was stupid. He had another tie somewhere though, a darker one, more suited for a night out… No, no, then Serizawa would know that he’d bothered to overthink this enough to change what he was wearing, and-  He took a breath.  Which is exactly what you’re doing, overthinking. This is just some casual, after-work drinks, with a coworker who might be a friend, and some other acquaintances. Er, most of whom had tried to harm either himself or one of the teenagers in his care on at least one occasion, and that detail somehow managed to be at the bottom of his pile of worries-   Stop.  Deeper breath. One last look in the mirror to check his hair, which looked the same as it always did, and he turned to march out the door.    Just be… casual. Breezy. Yeah, breezy. Smooth.   He tripped on the rug on his way out the door.   ***  Serizawa tapped his fingers anxiously against his glass, glancing at his watch before taking an automatic sip of his water.  “So ya finally asked ‘im?” Koyama slapped Serizawa on the back in congratulations as he slumped into an empty seat at their usual table, tucked into the back of the dive bar. Serizawa let out a small noise, both in protest and in reaction to the rather forceful hit; Koyama tended to forget his strength in his enthusiasm, and he fancied himself a matchmaker. Serizawa felt his cheeks grow warm for what must have been the dozenth time that day.  “Just… just to join us for drinks! You know, like, like friends! Not, um, not like that. I told you, I still don’t know if he’s interested that way!”  Koyama grinned hugely anyway, raising his eyebrows suggestively, before taking a long pull from his beer bottle.  It was true – Serizawa found it incredibly difficult to tell what Reigen really felt about anyone. No, that was a lie; to anyone who spent any amount of time around him, Reigen was obvious about who he genuinely liked, and who he was just pretending to be nice to. Serizawa was just still uncertain about whether Reigen felt anything more towards him than simple friendship.   At first he’d blamed himself for this, thinking it was his own lack of social skills that clouded his ability to determine how other people felt. But the more he’d interacted with other people, the more he’d come to suspect that that was just the way Reigen was; someone who talked a lot, but usually about nothing deeper than surface-level, especially his feelings concerning other people. No, you had to watch Reigen’s actions to know for sure how he felt.   And Serizawa had been watching. He watched the way Reigen acted towards clients, and the teenagers he cared for, and he knew for a fact that it was different than how Reigen acted around him. And not to mention those moments he couldn’t quite describe, when perfect camaraderie that led to a tension in the air that seemed very… “more than just friends”-esque.   Asking him to join the group for drinks was his first active step towards confirming just how Reigen felt about him; how did Reigen react to him, compared to other friends his own age, outside of work hours…  Serizawa shook himself back to the present.   “Stop teasing him, Koyama,” Sakurai was saying from the other side of their usual table in the back of the dimly-lit bar, adjusting his glasses while peering down into his gin & tonic. “He’s nervous enough as it is. He’ll ask Reigen when he’s ready, or not.”  “I’m just sayin’!” Koyama spoke louder to be heard over the pop song that began blaring overhead, “He’s really beating around the bush here! Just ask ‘im out, he’ll say yes or no, and you can move on!”   “Not everyone is as blunt as you, you ass,” Tsuchiya chimed in, tapping her emptied bottle against Koyama’s head good-naturedly as she stood up to grab another beer from the bar.  Minegishi was the only one who did not offer his opinion, slowly stirring his mostly-full drink with a straw, eyes flicking from person to person as they contributed to the conversation. Probably because he had expressed his opinions on the matter to Serizawa before.   One of the longest friendships that Serizawa had ever experienced, and the only member of the former Super Five he’d really stayed in touch with, Minegishi was also the most critical of Serizawa’s pursuing anything more than friendship with Reigen. Only a week before, Minegishi’s snide comments had finally driven Serizawa to ask him why he felt so negative about him turning his and Reigen’s relationship into something more.  “To be completely honest, I… am concerned about the sincerity of your feelings towards Reigen.”  “W…what!? What do you mean?” “I know you believe they are genuine, but…”  A pause.  “Reigen hired you to work for his business just as you were cut loose into a world that frightened you, floundering for a new purpose. I worry that you’ve formed an attachment to him due to his helping you through a time when you were vulnerable, and you are misinterpreting your gratitude towards him as something deeper, more meaningful. That could produce an uneven balance of power in a romantic relationship, which is unhealthy, and could lead to you resenting him later.”   Minegishi knew Serizawa about as well as anyone did. But despite mellowing since leaving the clutches of Claw, he could still be incredibly pessimistic. Serizawa knew Minegishi was wrong about him and Reigen, but had stumbled over his words, unable to express just how well they worked together, how he was sure there was something more there. Eventually, they’d had to agree to disagree. But Serizawa knew that if he and Reigen started dating Minegishi would be watching them, looking out for any warning signs.   He supposed, sighing heavily, that he should be grateful to have friends who cared so much.   “So,” Tsuchiya asked as she slid back into her seat, fresh bottle in hand, “…when is he gonna get here?”  Serizawa checked his watch again. It had now been over an hour since he’d arrived.  “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute now.”  ***  Reigen was running late.  When the almost-unintelligible voice came over the train speakers yet again, announcing their second delay of the night, he cursed loudly. The woman sitting next to him with a young child in her lap turned to look at him disapprovingly, covering her child’s ears.  Oh, don't be so overdramatic. No way kids that young understand words like-    The toddler turned her pigtailed head to look over at Reigen, smiling cherubically, and opened her mouth.   “Fuck!” She gleefully bounced up and down, repeating the word.   The mother glared at him with murder in her eyes.   Reigen decided it might be best if he just walked the rest of the way to the bar. He was pretty confident that he knew the way, and at this point it’d probably be no slower than waiting for the train – not to mention the lowered risk of homicide.  ***  Reigen was lost.   He examined the map on his phone again, following the path through virtual streets with one finger. When he thought he had it memorized he tucked the phone back into his pocket and strode confidently down the street. He was determined to follow the map from memory; he didn’t want to look like one of those people who had to follow their phones every step of their route.  Despite the cooling evening air, he’d begun to sweat at his brisk pace. Of course. The sweat really wasn’t that unusual for him though; Serizawa probably wouldn't even notice. Maybe the other espers wouldn’t either…   Who all had Serizawa said would be there? He couldn’t remember. Some from the former Seventh Branch, for sure – he found he was actually somewhat eager to see them again. He’d been weirdly proud of them when they’d shown up out of nowhere to band together and fight against the organization they’d once been a part of. I mean, Claw had gone after them first, but he liked to think he’d been a good influence on their decision to rejoin non-esper society-   A car he hadn’t heard coming up behind him pulled up next to the curb.  Reigen stepped back in surprise, all thoughts of espers jolted from his mind. The driver window rolled down to reveal a dark-haired woman, smiling at him just a little sheepishly.  “Excuse me, sir? We’re looking for the closest train station to drop my husband off, any chance you could point us in the right direction?”  Reigen liked to be helpful, but halted his automatic response, taking a another hesitant step back from the car and the woman inside it.  Something seemed… off.   The sedan was a relatively new model, but not too pricy, and dark in color; the textbook definition of ‘inconspicuous.’ Except that the vibe the blandly-smiling woman gave off was just a bit wrong; her eyes were too intense for her mild expression.   Reigen’s mirror-perfect reflection in the windows heightened his nervousness. They were tinted darker than was legal, as demonstrated by the complete lack of light penetrating through the windows from the closest streetlamp. A light source which, now that he bothered to notice, was a little further away than he was really comfortable with…  He glanced up to see that they were in a gap between streetlight coverage – the bulb in the light that was helpfully right overhead was almost burnt out, emitting only a dim orangey-yellow light that traveled no further than top of the streetlight pole.  Reigen almost laughed as his heart rate sped up, responding to a rush of adrenaline.  You’ve got to be kidding me… Okay. Either you’ve been watching way too many terrible crime shows and are completely overthinking this, or these are literally the lamest bad guys ever.   He heard someone coming up behind him, and whirled to face them. Mid-turn, every muscle in his body erupted into excruciating pain.  Reigen hit the ground, spasming; the impact of skin and joints on asphalt barely registered amidst the full-body agony. He could barely think, his brain forming nothing coherent but for an endless string of please stop please stop stop stop hurts hurts HURTS.   Was he even breathing?   The pain went on, and on, and on, seconds becoming an eternity…  And then it stopped as instantly as it had begun.  Reigen slumped limply against the ground at the sudden relief. His brain started working again. Someone – or multiple someones – were looming over him. And he was fairly certain he’d just been tasered.  Well, that’s a new one for the books. They say life should be full of new experiences.   The part of his brain not occupied with witty commentary was screaming at him to shut up.   You are in a terrible position, you are surrounded and you must get up, get up get up get up.   He tensed his muscles, preparing to spring up fighting, but never got the chance.  He felt a needle prick his neck.   In seconds, everything went dark.

Something to get out my chest

 I’m probably going to delete this later and I just need to get this out my chest because I have been bottling it up for a long while and if I do blurt it to said certain family members I know I would regret saying what I said. Although talking to the void is probably not a good idea but seems a better place to vent than exploding in rage by venting my frustrations in real life and I have nothing to lose just saying this here. I'd be doing vent art to express this but it seems I don't have the energy to do ambitious works (well at least I have a bit of energy to do little doodles) anyways where shall I start? I might ramble off topic here and there so bare with me. And this is gonna be long.....

I love to draw and write the characters and worlds I create in my world and the only person who knows what are in these worlds and these characters is myself and well someone has to make them. I have been drawing since I can remember holding a pencil. My mind back then and now is always filled to the brim with ideas and concepts I'm dying to put on paper. Most of these works are unfinished and the only finished work I have to offer was a shameless self-insert fanfiction but that is another story. The earliest I can remember is at 10-11 I made my own fantasy and all over the place story and mind you it sucks but it was the forerunner of all my original stories that influenced my work now. I like all artists have our beginnings somewhere and well that is where I started my road into creating stories and art for the worlds I create.

This is what makes me happy or my happy place. I'd be content to spend my days working on my stories and art. During my teen years onwards I basically did that obviously while balancing school, social life (or my lack of it), and family life. It was great, and although I had difficulty balancing that when I first got to college I still managed. Then things changed, family stuff added along with stressing over course work really did a number on me emotionally and maybe mentally, well whatever it was it was the result of me failing a semester and having to redo it twice before I can finally move on to my final semester. Despite what I have gone through I was ecstatic I finally graduated completing my Independent Illustration diploma in college that was late 2013 to early 2014 when that happened.

You’d think I’d work out something like build a better portfolio so I can network myself or take up my learning to the next level but nope I was an idiot back then and still feel like it now because of my choices. Instead, I was scared what my future holds out for me I feel like now that I finished this stage of my learning that the sky’s the limit that I can do anything my heart desires and nothing can stop that. Then I forgot I have obligations to my family, I still live with them and I have no shame in that (after all life is difficult living on your own in these times now especially) also, for now, that is the only choice I have.

So after graduation, my family finally got the okay from the government to get our Canadian citizenships which was about damn time considering we stayed in this country as immigrants for like almost a decade and other than me graduating art school, I get to finally get my citizenship. After our ceremony, my dad announced for a bullshit reason that he is taking me, my sister, my mom, and niece to Dubai because my mom has to sign some important paper (spoiler alert there is no paper signed at all and it was all a lie my father gave us to come). So what did I do instead of working on a portfolio or something? I spent all of 2014 being anxious, I was not proud of what I choose to do instead of doing the smart thing.

I basically accepted my fate this is what's going to happen. I literally left Canada on New Year’s Eve and spent the first 3 months of 2015 away from home. A huge chunk of my “vacation” was spent in Kuwait, trapped in a hotel with my mom, sister, and niece. It was a nightmare and I never want that to happen again I did get to go places but 90% I was stuck in that damned hotel (why we were in there is a personal reason I will not disclose). The only thing that is good with this trip is my week in Thailand with my family and although I got sick there I enjoyed this part of the vacation a lot more than being trapped in a hotel in Kuwait. I did manage to do some of my art at least during these 3 months but was not a lot like I hoped for.

But ever since that trip I guess it kinda changed me a bit. I don’t consider myself a positive person heck I’m mostly negative I at least try to be optimistic. Now I just accept that my life is probably not going to be what I hope it will be. And I get it life happens and the plans you make for yourself do not always go the way you want and sometimes it is a good thing cause it may be a better path to some or not to others. I should know I went from being an illustration student to a NEET (Not in Education, Employment or Training) to a Liberal Arts Student so yes life works in mysterious ways.

Liberal Arts was a different territory to art courses considering its essays, readings, tests, quizzes, etc it was hard I must say I spent half my time crying over my homework and lamenting if I failed or not (although that seems to have worked wonders into getting passing grades and up). But I enjoy these classes and I do want to open my horizons to learning and hey maybe find some inspiration along the way. I already finished my second semester and currently waiting with anticipation for my final grades so wish me luck I survived the semester with passing colors. I also thought I can go back to balancing my school work and my art like I always had done. Then I forgot I have family obligations/contributions I must do. Not that I do not mind but these drain up my mental energy and by the time I am not needed I just can’t really bring myself to pick up a pencil and draw. Whatever I have time left before I sleep is stare at youtube videos and reblogging stuff online because that's how mentally tired and worthless I feel.

When I finally do have the time to actually pick up a pencil and draw 70% of the time I choose to procrastinate because I believe I’ll just be called over by the family for certain responsibilities and I’ll never get the peace and quiet I need to just do what I love and am passionate about. It's always the same cycle ever since then. I just hope there will be that window of opportunity where I have all the time I needed to just draw and maybe write and that one opportunity I had was taken away from me. Well, it won’t be for forever cause there will be more opportunities for me to actually get my lazy ass to draw maybe write. It's just that I am sick and tired of having my time taken away from me and I am mad at myself for being a doormat. But I’m just scared of feeling that I am selfish for wanting that and maybe it’s time I stop that and it will be hard for me to get over. I coped with this by blaming my problems on my family saying its their fault they did this to me (it is obviously not true but it's a way I made myself feel better and denying that this is mostly my doing) I now know it's futile projecting this because in the end, I myself have to make time for myself to do the things I am passionate about. I’ve grown quite resentful and I don’t want to become this bitter person in the future who felt like her life got wasted because she made herself a doormat to please her family or scared of her future. I envy you artists out there who have all the time in the world to make creative original (as well as fan work) content without having to deal with the roadblocks in life and being in charge of your lives. I just want to say that you have to cherish the time you make for yourself to be creative you never know what will happen and before you know it *poof* you hardly have the time. Don’t ever take it for granted like I have.

Art means a lot to me and I feel like I disappointed myself and I feel like I don’t deserve to hang my illustration diploma because I fee like an imposter and felt like I wasted my years being scared of my future so much so that I got to the point where I feel I went to the point of no return. It makes me feel like maybe I should just give up on art and forget about all those worlds and characters I created like whats the use of being creative when life got you by the ankles and refused to let go. As much as I am in such a negative state of mind refuse to outright throw away everything I hold dear and give in the mediocracy of life dragging me away. I don’t want to be discouraged ever again, I want to be sure that this time this is what I want to do with my life whether I go to study graphic design, or go big with my art or even have a typical  9-5 job but still able to find the time to do art and/or write. This is my life and maybe right now the time for doing what I love is not in my future at the moment but its still going to be there for me when I come back. 

And I just want to say and I know I do not need to apologize to my followers I’m sorry if you followed me for the art and hardly or never got any content since following me. As much as I would love to post as much of my originally content as possible well I have to deal with life and responsibilities some of that said responsibilities isn’t so supposed to be mine in the first place. I thank you to those who stuck by if anything I’ll try my best to make more content when that window of opportunity opens for me and you’ll bet your ass it will be a tidal wave of stuff. 

But like I said life is strange sometimes, and I’m not about to give up just yet.

- signed a former illustration student trying to find her way

We Wayward Stars ch. 4

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Summary: Altean Lance fic. Things begin to hit the fan. Orbital reentry included.

           Several people are standing. A few of them are hunched over their computers, still- most of them are looking up at the larger monitor.

           Everything is normal. Within bounds. As predictable and neat as anything can be observing the moon of a planet at the edge of the solar system.

           Nothing is wrong, except the fact that three people and their entire ship should be there. Or, in fact, anything, except a single bored hole to suggest anyone was there to drill an ice core in the first place.

           “Think the kid could tell us about it?”

           Iverson’s good eye doesn’t pull away from the monitor.

           “I mean, the alien one.”

           “I know which kid you mean,” he grinds out, with about as much patience as he can manage at that point. “What do you think he’s going to tell us? There’s an empty moon where two of our best men and a promising cadet used to be?”

           The officer shrinks a bit at his tone- but holds strong. They’re all stressed. It’s hard to talk to anyone in this room without running into sharp edges of some kind. “He mentioned he was fleeing something, right? And we got an energy spike from 01 the same day they missed their first check-in.”

           “Or we can try not to make baseless guesses about something we clearly don’t understand.”

           Another person speaks up, quietly. “So we’re lying to the general public and pinning the blame on one of the victims.” She doesn’t pull her eyes away from her station.

           “You do me a favor, you find Shirogane alive and get a better explanation for what happened, I’ll personally apologize to him and everyone else. In the meantime I’d like to avoid a global panic.”

           The woman doesn’t lift her head to meet his eyes, but her tone is distinctly drawn taut when she says “Yes, sir.”

           It’s only years of muscle memory in military posture that keeps him from deflating. “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like someone to explain how a thirteen-year-old broke into my office this morning.”

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

           Working towards fighter class takes up a lot more time than he expected, which ultimately, works out very much in Lance’s advantage.

           Space travel is imperfect. Earth is doing its best, but they don’t have… anything, really. It makes sense not everyone is going to make it out. And he knows already that he can’t help with that from his current situation.

           He hadn’t known Shiro as much as he had Sam, but it was enough to know that he’d been an incredible guy. Charming, polite- and incredibly good at what he did. You didn’t get where he was at 24 without something going for you.

           And now they were gone. Just like that. And the worst part was afterwards; more or less the entire Garrison campus moving back to business.

           He can’t even begrudge them. He’s doing the same himself.

           Hunk disagrees, considering the number of times Lance talks him into sneaking out of the Garrison- but sometimes he just has to get away from it all, and the least he can do is spread the joy a little.

           A few times, he seriously debates sneaking in to see Blue. He could probably just ask the Garrison, but another part of him resents that. She doesn’t belong to them. Ultimately, it doesn’t come to anything- he’s occupied, and stays that way.

           Keith disappears. The instructors call it a discipline issue. Rumors abound about a fight. A few of them insist he put someone in the hospital- stabbed them, even. A lot of it just sounds like gossip, and Lance isn’t interested in poking around. Either way, it stands that his dorm room is empty within a day, and no one afterwards seems to have any idea where he went.

           A week later, Lance makes fighter class. He gloats about it- but there’s a bitter aftertaste to it.

           He knows who that spot belonged to.

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

           Simulator class proves to be simultaneously the greatest and worst thing that has happened to Lance since arriving on Earth. The first time everything lights up in a field of stars, it doesn’t feel like a fake ship. It doesn’t feel like a pretend assignment. He can’t even listen to what he’s supposed to be doing- Hunk, and the other student they’re paired with, some fourteen-year-old whiz kid- because he’s back out there.

           It feels almost like home.

           And then the ship crashes.

           Well, no. That’s avoiding the issue.

           And then he crashes the ship.

           Iverson makes it very, very clear after the fact whose fault that was.

           Excuses clatter ineffectively around Lance’s head for hours afterwards. The controls are wrong. He’s out of practice. That’s not how space works.

           None of them actually make it out his mouth.

           He resolves to try harder. Cautiously. Manages a few good exercises, and more bad ones. It’s never completely easy, never completely like what he’s used to- and he’s not alone in the ship. He butts heads with Hunk, and the other one- Pidge, which he swears is some type of Earth bird. Who names their kid after a bird?

           So-and-so Gunderson, apparently.

           Outside of being fourteen, a few things stick out about Pidge. He’s squirrely around the instructors sometimes- but that doesn’t stop him from yelling at them from time to time. After a while, a particular subject emerges that seems to be the target of almost every one of Pidge’s outbursts.

           Kerberos.

           The failed mission.

           He still hadn’t talked to Iverson about it. Hadn’t been sure what to say. You don’t lead a conversation about someone else’s loss with ‘jeez you humans sure are bad at space, am I right’.

           (Especially considering his track record with the simulator)

           But it feels like there’s something to say. Earth is a galaxy over from what’s considered civilized space- it’s a fringe planet if there ever was one- but if one of the Lions is here, someone should’ve come by now. An Altean scout ship, or…

           Lance puts down the book he’d been trying to read the entire time. “Hey Hunk, how do you feel about having a night on the town?”

           “You mean sneaking out again? After we just got chewed out by Commander Iverson? No, great, I love it, just two guys getting in trouble for like the eighth time this semester alone.”

           “Well, it won’t be just us. It’ll be-”

           “Oh no,”

           “Team building.”

           Hunk sighs, deeply, picking up his vest from where he left it. “Has it occurred to you we can bond doing other things? Things that won’t get us in trouble?” He takes a moment longer to find his boots. “Like, I dunno, group study session.”

           Navigating the hallways at this point is easy enough, even taking a detour to try and get to Pidge’s dorm. It’s not even enough to keep Hunk from continuing to complain, though he keeps his voice down after the lights shut off.

           “...start an agate collection. Get fast food sometime. Of course by ‘get fast food’ I mean let me make you something that isn’t overcooked garbage but y’know-”

           “Shh!” He hesitates at Hunk’s brief, affronted look- sorry buddy, it’s for a cause- and then pokes his head around the corner, just in time to catch a retreating flash of orange sneakers.

           …Looked like Pidge had other plans for tonight. But now, so did Lance.

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

           “You come up here to rock out?”

           There’s a moment where Pidge defies gravity by sheer force of surprise. He shuffles clumsily in place- feet together, hands in his lap, somehow trying not to look suspicious. “Oh. Lance. Hunk. No, uh, just looking at the stars.”

           An appraising eye sweeps over the miscellaneous scattered hardware. “Where did you get this stuff? It doesn’t look like Garrison tech.” Insofar as his knowledge of human anything goes.

           “I built it.”

           “You built all of this?” There’s a thread of awe in Hunk’s tone- it’s hard to say how much Pidge appreciates it, because he definitely doesn’t appreciate the questing fingers heading for the keyboard.

           “With this thing, I can scan all the way to the edge of the solar system.”

           He plays at considering it- as if he just picks the thought out of thin air: “That right? All the way to Kerberos?”

           He watches Pidge fold away from the name.

           “You go ballistic every time the instructors bring it up. What’s your deal?”

           Silence- except telling Hunk off for touching something again. Time passes. Too much. After a moment, Lance sits down, cross-legged. “Hey, we’re not leaving anytime soon.” Partially because he doesn’t think he could tear Hunk away from that setup if he tried to- out of the corner of his eye Lance can see him inching towards the screen again.

           “Fine.”  Pidge turns to face them both, an odd expression of gravity. “The world as you know it is… about to change. The Kerberos mission wasn’t lost because of some malfunction or crew mistake.”

           Oh he’s just decided he really doesn’t like where this is going.

           “…So I’ve been scanning the system, and picking up alien radio chatter.”

           “What have you been hearing?”

           Both Hunk and Pidge are staring at him, but he doesn’t really care. Suddenly, the peaceful blips on the two screens don’t seem nearly so much of an idle curiosity. He makes a grab for the headphones.

           Pidge finds his voice first. “Lance, what the hell?”

           “Depending on who’s talking, this entire planet could be in big trouble.” The headphones are halfway to his ears when a much smaller hand catches his wrist.

           Perplexed hazel eyes are studying him sharply. “What do you know about this?”

           He forces himself to breathe. Lowers the headphones. If Pidge is right, there’s a whole solar system they could be in. There’s no guarantee they’re heading for Earth now. Yet.

           “…How much trouble are we talking here?” Hunk ventures into the silence.

           “I mean a fleet. Maybe not the entire thing. They might not even know I’m here. It’s been over a year-” Maybe it’s not Zarkon. Maybe it’s a friend. Maybe they’re trying to hail. “Pidge, I’m serious, what have they been saying?”

           “...Well, I haven’t been able to make heads or tails out of a lot of it, but, there’s been one word that keeps repeating.” Pidge rummages at their notes. “Voltron.”

           “…Quiznak.”

           “What?”

           “It’s like a swear word,” Hunk clarifies; Lance tones him out, stumbling to his feet.

           Pidge twists in place. “Where are you going?”

           “Commander Iverson needs to know about this.” He makes it about two steps to the stairs when the sirens go off- the campus is going into lockdown. Or he already knows about it.

           He barely has time to process before Hunk is pointing out something.

           Something coming down from the sky.

           Pidge holds up binoculars for a moment. “…Lance, were you serious about a fleet?”

           There’s a dark speck in the center of the fire. He swipes the binoculars, not paying much attention as Pidge comes along for the ride.

           “…That’s too small to be a cruiser. Way too fast.” He waits for them to pull up, slow down. It nosedives into the ground instead, impacts with a brilliant flash.

           Pidge is already gathering his stuff as furiously as he can go. Lance doesn’t wait, but runs for the door. “Hunk, c’mon!”

           He doesn’t know who’s coming down but he has to meet them.

           And oh god he wants to be wrong about who sent that ship.

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

           He’s not. By the time he’s gotten there, the Garrison has beat him to it- there’s a tent set up, surrounded by guards and people. But it’s altogether too easy to see the faintly glowing pod already tied down for transport.

           Pidge hesitates, watching him at an angle before broaching the subject. “Do you… recognize that?”

           “Yeah. Bad news.”

           He slides down the slope easily- the guard standing closest to the entrance spots him, trains their rifle in his direction. “Stay where you are!”

           He pushes something out through his teeth that’s more irritated huff than meditation breath and shifts.

           The guard flinches. A hasty conversation passes on radio- Lance could nearly pick it up, but he’s distracted when a faint chorus of scraping noises signals that Pidge, then, after a moment, Hunk, have joined him. They stay behind him when he approaches the quarantine unit.

           “Look, you-” even with face concealed, the guard is sizing him up, nervously. “Nobody’s getting in here. Commander Iverson’s orders. That means you, too. You’re not even supposed to be here.”

           With a distinct thread of palace hauteur, Lance squares his shoulders. “That’s a Galra pod. The ship that launched it isn’t going to be that far behind. So either you can go tell Commander Iverson that, or you can get out of my way and let me do it. You know, like we agreed I was supposed to if something like this happened.”

           “And what about them?” They take a hand off the weapon to motion over his shoulder.

           Hunk is looking distinctly uncomfortable- not the normal kind, the ‘this is a bad idea but I’m going along with it because you’re you, Lance’ but genuinely unnerved, and a pang of guilt hits Lance hard.

           Pidge meets his eyes, brows knit together over them. Spindly hands are balled tightly into fists. It looks as if they’re caught somewhere between ‘please’ and ‘don’t you dare’.

           With a bravado that Lance doesn’t remotely feel, he sweeps back around to face the instructor. “They’re with me.”

           Faceplate notwithstanding, he can feel the guard’s incredulous look. He refuses to let his own waver, until the guard breaks away from him to talk on the radio. It’s a very short conversation, something he’s not sure if he finds heartening or dispiriting.

           Either way, he doesn’t get to hear the answer.

           Because right then, something explodes.