#anyway I hope you like this chapter it was a bitch to wring it out of me but I did it

[whumble-beeee]

The Man in the Sweater Vest

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 7

Content: attempted noncon, threatened mouth whump, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, scissors, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, noncon touch, past captivity references, graphic threats, blood, crapton of whump. As a treat :)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[Inevitably, there will be disagreements on how you should treat your captured hero. One villain might want to just hold the hero hostage long enough to finish their dastardly plans. Another will want to break the hero’s will entirely! Or anything else in between! 

But when working together with other villains, bounty hunters, henchmen, etc, it is crucial that everyone is on the same page about how your captured hero is to be treated, lest your hero end up with a few less limbs than you meant them too, or your months of breaking down the hero's fragile mind is undone by a single nice gesture.

Always communicate effectively, your hero will thank you for it (or curse the day you were born)!]

* * * * * * * *

Sweater-vest stumbled back, reeling from the punch and clutching his face before pulling his hands down and gawking at the blood staining his hands.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!” Stan screamed. 

An intense elation washed through his chest despite the surprisingly sharp exploding pain that crackled up the very bones of his arm when he punched the man, and the now freshly ripped open scabs and bruises from where he’d forgotten to account for the handcuffs and yanked on them violently, streaming new ruby red over dried light brown that already carved down his arms; 

Because he'd got him. He'd got him! Punched him, made him back off! Stan did that! He'd finally managed to actually do something about the atrocities being committed against him and it was so, so sweet. 

Relatively short-lived, though. 

Vaughn, the sweater vest man, started to giggle to himself as he wiped the blood streaming from his nose onto his sleeve. Elation gave way to tentative confusion. Then a sinister seed started to take root in Stan's gut, the roots already reaching out and tightening around his body.

“You-...” Vaughn giggled some more. “You– you think–?...”

He started fully laughing, speech overtaken by an apparent hilarity that Stan must’ve just been too shocked by the sudden mood change to understand. He was cackling. Then practically shrieking, crazy, loud, heaving laughs.

He must be crazy. 

Insane. 

Well and truly insane, the way he was shriek laughing into his shining red-stained hands.

His gaze snapped up to Stan, and Stan could practically hear the horror movie crackling effect with how fast it snapped up, crazy maniacal shudders still overtaking his body, piercing gaze turned wide, animalistic.

“You think you can HURT ME?! HURT ME?! AHAHAHAHA!!”

Suddenly Stan slammed into the wall, cuffed wrists pinned above his head, chest to chest with the crazy man and staring up into his crazy bloodshot eyes.

“You can't hurt me,” he growled into Stan’s ear through gritted teeth. ”I don't feel pain. I carved that weakness out a long time ago, my brain doesn’t register it anymore! And I did it so I could deal with horrible little brats like you–” he slammed Stan's wrists into the wall, “--however I see fit! So I could do whatever I wanted to them. So that even if they fight back, they always, always, always lose.”

He pulled back and leaned into Stan's face, staring the captive directly in his glaringly defiant, wide and shining eyes. Hot shaking breaths misted surprisingly minty breath onto Stan’s cheeks, nearly overpowered by the metallic tang of blood that still poured down his face.

“Always submit. Just like you're going to.”

Stan pulled down hard against Vaughn's grasp, struggling and wiggling and tugging and screaming and kicking and doing every single little thing he could to, if not escape, at least make this as difficult as possible.

“Get away from me!" He cried. "GET AWAY FROM ME, get OFF of me, I’m not gonna let you do this you sadist, you can’t do this to me!! LET GO–!”

A punch to the gut. Stan tried to double over and wheezed as much as he could with his arms pinned up, which delivered him right into another punch to the face.

 Then something cool and sharp stabbed into the soft underside of his chin, straining his neck with how far his head pushed back into the wall.

“This is why I like to keep my victims gagged,” Vaughn gritted. “That bounty hunter of yours never does it, no matter how I tell him to. Always has to do stuff his own way, never listens. All he does is talk talk talk, always has a retort for everything. So defiant, and so is every single subject he brings in.”

A dull aching throb emanated from where Stan’s head pressed into the wall. Black spots dotted his vision. 

“You–... y-you can't–”

The scissors pulled back and dove toward Stan's mouth, eliciting a loud cut-off scream of revolt as he cowered and squeezed his eyes shut from some vain, animalistic instinct to protect himself. 

Then he pried open his eyes again, confused when no cutting metallic pain ripped through the fragile flesh of his face.

The handle of the scissors were fuzzy, too close for his eyes to focus.

They weren’t that far into his mouth.

Just enough that if Stan tried to close it, his teeth would clip on the tip of the metal blades instead. 

The scissors lifted slowly, tapping on his top teeth, tilting his head up until he stared into Vaughn’s metallic blue eyes once more.

“I could always prep your throat with these if you like,” he drawled softly, letting go of Stan’s cuff chain and instead lightly grasping his thumb and forefinger under Stan’s chin, forcing his mouth open further. A small sob crackled out from Stan’s throat. 

“It would be so easy… I could just–” 

The scissors lurched further into Stan’s mouth, and Stan let out another involuntary squeak and an open-mouthed, unintelligible pleading of “no, no, no, no…” as tears started to sting at his eyes.

But he let him do it. 

He even still held his arms up, because surely if he tried to fight back now, with the scissors in his mouth quite literally pinning him to the wall… He didn’t even want to think of the consequences.

“Careful, dropje. Wouldn’t want to cut yourself. Be quiet, be still, be good for me, right? You can be good for me? You can finally shut the hell up. No more fighting.”

He let go of Stan's chin and let his hands wander lower, caressing Stan’s sides, the curve of his waist, making his entire body tense and shudder. His breathing turning loud and shallow as he cringed away. 

Vaughn just giggled.

“See? Isn’t this better? You’re not getting hurt, you’re doing what I say…” His fingers slipped under the waistband of Stan’s pants again. Slower this time. More deliberate. 

It took all of Stan's willpower to not start hyperventilating at what he knew was about to happen. He knew. It was always this, wasn’t it?

Vaughn’s voice lowered as he leaned closer, pressing his body into Stan’s. He could feel the fibers of the stupid damn sweater vest against his stomach, deceptively soft, almost pleasant. The hard blade of the scissors tapped on the tip of his nose. “Because you physically have no other–”

BANG!!

Stan screamed. 

Vaughn screamed. 

The ghost of the gunshot echoed off the cinderblock walls. 

Vaughn also nearly fell backward, pushing off of Stan just in time for Stan to fall to the floor in a duck-and-cover position and pray to whatever gods would listen that his last day on earth wouldn't have been spent dealing with two of the worst people he'd ever had the displeasure of being kidnapped by.

Wait, scratch that, his knee reminded him. He'd had worse.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest completely, but he finally realized that in fact, he was still alive. So he opened his eyes to what he never thought to be one of the most beautiful sights in the world;

Deeby. 

Gun pointed to the sky and streaming a light grey smoke into a small puff of explosion that hadn't had time yet to dissipate. 

“What in the ever-loving SHIT are you doing?!” he shouted.

He was completely maskless, face now on full display, fiery eyes matching his equally fiery sneer. The sudden absence of the mask almost scared Stan more than the gunshot, the sight making his heart beat in his throat.

Then, for just a split second, Deeby's enraged eyes met Stan's stare. His eyes scanned down his body, looking him up and down, his face changing ever so slightly when his gaze caught in Stan’s chest. A slight crinkle of the eyebrows, a small tilt of the head. Then his eyes widened in some sort of realization, and Stan felt his heart turn to ice. 

Recognition.

No. 

He couldn't have realized who he was. 

Just because of the binder?!

Stan choked on his own throat as the collar suddenly constricted once more and he was dragged violently forward to his knees.

“Your fucking dog punched me in the face!” Vaughn shouted, jangling Stan around enough that he had to grab the collar just to gain back his breath.

“Just because–!” 

Vaughn jolted Stan's collar back hard and cut him off with a violent gag.

“I was disciplining him.” Vaughn narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. “Like we're supposed to.” 

Deeby’s jaw set. And still, he managed to find a slight smug smile within his fury. “That why your face is gushing blood, then? Disciplined him too hard?”

Stan didn't even realize when they started, but tears were practically streaming down his cheeks now, chest heaving in panic. “Deeby, Deeby, he was gonna–”

“Shut up!”

A kick this time, straight to the back of his spine, and Stan's throat strained hard into the collar before breaking free of Vaughn's grasp and nearly face-planting into cold concrete. He scrambled to get up, but the same foot planted on his back and slammed his chest right back to the floor, grinding the heel of its shoe into the captive’s spine. Stan clutched at the ground, screams barely bit back by force of sheer willpower.

“Christ, man! Stop it, get off!” Deeby yelled with uncharacteristic urgency.

The force pinning him down suddenly released, followed by the scattered footfalls of someone catching themself from nearly falling over. 

Stan just lay there limp. Heaving and shivering. He couldn't move. His limbs felt like heavyweights, the world tilted on it’s axis, and he was sure that if he lifted his head up, he would lose every last morsel of that protein bar he'd shoved down earlier.

But at least now no one was methodically turning him into a fine red mist anymore. 

Deeby stood between the two of them like an impenetrable stone wall, hand resting on the unlatched holster of his gun and pointedly ignoring Vaughn’s stuttering disbelief as he patted at the pockets of his jacket, pulling various probably very sharp things out and shoving them into his pants pockets.

Protecting him.

“You– You just–...” Vaughn finally composed himself. “You pushed me off! You're saving him? He needs to be taught a lesson!”

Stan tried to push up despite the dizziness. “Only–... D-Deeby, he was trying–”

“Shut up, Stan, I know, let me handle it! Here.” Deeby slid his jacket off and dropped it practically on top of his captive’s head, never once letting his gaze slip from Vaughn. Stan shakily pulled the brown leather of the jacket over his shoulders before he had time to think better of it, doing his best to just enjoy the show and not think about the implications of what was currently happening.

 “Because he wouldn't let you put your dick in him without a fight, right?” The bounty hunter said sarcastically. “Or– or– or because he wasn’t gonna let you mouth-gore him without complaint? Let you ‘teach him a lesson?’ Yeah, I am stopping you. Piece of shit.” The bounty hunter grabbed the scissors off the floor where they landed when Vaughn dropped them after the gunshot. Then he used them to point sharply at the door. 

“Get out.”

Vaughn scoffed and melodramatically rolled his eyes.

“You got the message from Lana then? Is that why you're acting like such a belligerent wittle babeee?” Vaughn posited in his most obnoxious baby voice.

Deeby bristled. Stan could've sworn for a moment he could see the man shaking. 

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I talked to Lana. Your useless job is done. You can go back to being an even more useless sidepiece now.”

Vaughn’s shoulders tensed, and he laughed.

“Good! And I’ll make sure to tell Lana all about you taking the side of the disobedient dog of a test subject–”

“Yeah, go cry to your girlfriend about it, he's under my jurisdiction and I'm not gonna let you fuck that up because you feel the need to live out your perverse power fantasy with the helpless people you kidnap and torture. As if it isn’t torture enough to have to be in the same room with you at all.”

Vaughn clenched his fists at his side and forced on the worst imitation of a smile Stan had ever borne witness to.

“You better watch your tone, Deathberry,” he said, sickly sweet voice doing nothing to mask the hissing rage. “I could have you in the same spot as him in ten seconds. Don't ever–” he jabbed Deeby in the chest. “–forget that. You're only allowed to be out here roaming around with your fancy gun and your fancy cowboy boots because you're useful, otherwise you'd be locked up with the rest–”

Vaughn had just started to reach for the holster on Deeby's belt when, faster than Stan could perceive, a flurry of movement between the two men, a cry of surprised fear, the shuffling of feet and spinning of bodies and suddenly Vaughn was pinned back first to Deeby's chest, a wire that Deeby pulled from somewhere stretched taut between his fists and pressing a hard line directly under into the skin of Vaughn's throat.

Vaughn's hands quickly flew up to the wire to try and pull it off his throat, then just as quickly let go when he realized the wire would sooner cut through his hands before it would be pried off.

Stan couldn't help but stare.

“You're just about at the end of my rope, Verhulst,” Deeby growled, accent fully presiding now as he stepped backward and pulled Vaughn toward the door. “Don't you ever put your filthy hands on my gun.”

A slight rasp to Vaughn's voice was the only thing that denoted anything was amiss. “You sure this is about the gun, Deebs? Sure you're not taking your frustrations at Lana out on me?” 

“Trust me, if I was takin’ my frustrations at Lana out on you, bud, you'd be dead.”

Vaughn's eyes shot to Stan, and his smile broadened. 

“Ohhhh, I see. So what then, you are falling for the captive? I'm sure Lana would love to hear about how you're going soft, how you miss her, and how spectacularly you're failing at finding someone better so you have to–”

A small gurk finding its way from Vaughn's throat as he was pulled to a sudden stop.

“You know what, maybe I am. And maybe you should use your mouth to do something not completely useless for once.” He spun the both of them around to face Stan again. 

“Apologize to ‘im.”

What?

Vaughn stared at Stan, apparently more stunned by the notion of apologizing than the motion of having a garot wire to his throat. Stan… honestly had to agree.

“Come again?”

“Apologize to Stan. For tryin’ to rape him. It's the least you could do.”

“You want me to… apologize?? To the test subject? You really are losing it, Deathberry, let me go.”

The wire dug into his throat more. “Say sorry, doctor.”

Vaughn glared at Stan. Stan glared back as well as he could.

“I can't feel the pain of this, you know,” Vaughn's voice came, even raspier. “You're not doing anything.”

“You can still bleed out from a slit throat. Still drown to death in your own blood as it slowly fills your lungs,” Deeby dismissed lightly. “Still bleed out. Very quickly. I wonder what would happen if I hit your carotid–

“And I wonder how Lana would feel about you slitting her head scientist and boyfriend’s throat.”

“Probably call you a little bitch boy for invoking her name every time you need to defend yourself like a spoiled toddler ‘steada bein’ a man about it and defending yourself. Or maybe not. You’d never know, you’d be dead.”

“You wouldn't–”

Deeby twitched the wire across Vaughn's throat and a line of red bloomed across the light tan of his neck. Vaughn's face grew just a little bit paler. He brought his hands up to graze across the wire and felt the warm wetness smear across his fingertips.

“Apologize.” Deeby growled. “Now.”

Vaughn's eyes flitted back to Stan, fully appraising the wonderfully wide-eyed mess he'd had pinned against the wall only moments before. 

He narrowed his eyes. 

Took a deep breath. 

Stared daggers directly into Stan's soul.

“Sorry.”

Oh you bastard.

“Go jump off a cliff!” Stan yelled, erratically reaching into the jacket pocket he'd seen Deeby pull the protein bar out of earlier and luckily finding many more, one of which was immediately thrown directly at Vaughn. He couldn't even attempt to dodge it, and it hit him directly in the chest. 

The mercenary let out a singular loud laugh and spun Vaughn back around, letting the wire retract into what Stan now realized was a little housing box on his weird arm sleeve thing and shoving Vaughn at the door as hard as he could.

“Guess he doesn't forgive you. Better luck next time!” he laughed. Stan genuinely thought (and hoped) Sweater-vest would fall flat on his face, but he managed to grab the door and right himself before that happened. Shame.

“Now get out.” Deeby said.

Vaughn glared with a literal snarl, jaw half a second away from cracking in two. Right before he took a slow, deep breath and reset his features to a forced neutral. Then an easy smile. “As you wish, my liege.” 

He bowed exaggeratedly low in a show of mock respect, retrieving his scissors from the ground in a surprisingly graceful sweeping motion as he went. Deeby just rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and Stanny?” He drawled, peeking back from the door as he left and pointing his scissors directly at Stan's face with a flourish. “I look forward to seeing you soon~.” 

“Get outta here!” Deeby yelled with a threatening stomp toward the door, at the same time Stan stuttered out a very surprised and agitated “In hell!”

The door slammed shut. 

Stan could swear he could still hear Vaughn's deranged laugh echoing through the room even as an eerie silence fell over them.

He was finally gone. Finally.

See you soon.

He didn't completely understand why his breath continued to quicken. He'd won that encounter, right? Or… well, Deeby had. But still.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

He felt dizzy. More than the concussion could have caused. This was different, made him feel like he was suffocating, even though Vaughn was no longer here to strain the collar against his throat. Yet he could still feel the knuckles digging into the back of his neck.

I look forward to seeing you soon. In hell.

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Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe

#whump #heroes and villains #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #hero whump #defiant whumpee #kidnapping whump #captivity whump #trans whumpee #disabled whumpee #(un)official guide #attempted noncon #noncon undressing #IT'S BACK BABYYYY #GAH I've been so excited to post this #I missed this so much #extra long and extra whumpy for all your waiting #whos idea was it to let me go on an accidental month long hiatus #WHO WAS IT #anyway I'm going into tech week irl for the musical i'm in #so I might not get to the next chapter next weekend #I'll definitely try to tho #I genuinely missed writing and posting this story too. I've got so much more of it to tell #anyway I hope you like this chapter it was a bitch to wring it out of me but I did it #and its glorious #Also vaughn is such a cringefail I love him so much #and we've got some secret hidden Deeby lore sprinkled in there! #making this like an easter egg hunt #did you find it?

[queenofbaws]

ah, and once more, it's wednesday my dudes!

a slightly different update from me this week - things have been slow in terms of words being put to paper lately, and this will probably be the case for a little while. i'm gonna be trying to get a chapter of something out in the near future (probably like wringing blood, but don't quote me on that), then ya gurl may or may not be taking a slightly more official break from the internet to deal with some stuff here at home ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

such is life. ANYWAY, for this reason, i'm offering a few snippets/sneak peeks of multiple projects this week, just to show y'all what's bubbling away on the backburner. if you're interested in seeing any of that, click the readmore! either way, hope you're all having wonderful weeks so far, and taking care of yourselves as best you can <3

like wringing blood from a stone

There were a million things he could say to that, maybe even a million and one. What he settled on, however, was probably the lesser of all those evils. “You kidnapped my counselors.” Travis’s whole face puckered at that, letting him know in no uncertain terms the lesser of those evils had still been pretty fucking evil, in fact. “What did you want me to do, Chris?! Huh? Huh?! You bit one of them! They both saw—” “Oh for Chrissake, quit fucking whispering, wouldya?” Obviously he’d been expecting something else—an actual fight, maybe—and so Chris took Travis’s surprised spluttering as an opportunity to dig his own heels in. “If you’re gonna bitch me out, at least do it with your big-kid voice.” A vein ticked furiously in Travis’s neck, making it look like something was itching to burst its way out of him. He narrowed his eyes to slits, then leaned in until the two of them were nearly nose to nose. He could smell the blood beginning to clot where Jack had split his eyebrow, the ointment he’d smeared over it before covering it with a bandage. “You and I both know,” he began again, still fucking whispering, “That anyone could be listening outside. I don’t—” Before he could finish that thought, Chris threw his arms up into the air, shouting at the very top of his own voice, “I DON’T CARE! I do not fucking care, Travis! I couldn’t care less if you paid me to! Know what?” He cupped his hands to his mouth then, tipping his head back as he did so, and, tapping even deeper into his (presumably very bruised) diaphragm, hollered, “I HOPE YOU’RE ALL LISTENING! I HOPE EVERYONE IN THE GODDAMN COUNTY CAN HEAR ME LOUD AND FUCKING CLEAR!” If Travis’s face went any redder, it probably would’ve started looking purple. It was Chris’s turn to narrow his eyes; instead of glowering like an asshole, though, he flashed him a grin, sarcastic and savage and sharp enough to nearly slice through his tongue. “Big-kid voices, Travvy. Why the hell not, right?”

of mummy men & bathtub soup

“My oh-so-charming brother is just running his oh-so-charming mouth,” Julia said sharply, calling the Smith brothers’ chit-chat to a screeching halt. “Here’s what I think actually happened: Conrad made up a story in his head, decided it was funny, and now he’s done so many mental gymnastics convincing himself it’s true that he believes it too.” Her head swiveled on her neck, only adding to her overall mean girl vibe. “That’s something Connie likes to do, you see, mix up details from stupid made-up bullshit and real life, then decide it’s all real.” Oh. Oh! If she thought he was gonna be easy pickings just because he’d brought a date along tonight, she had another thing coming! Hell, she hadn’t been paying attention to his whole deal! Jules was the one who got embarrassed by this shit when other people were watching—Conrad reveled in it. So he did the one thing he knew would get her goat (the only move a self-respecting sibling could take in a situation such as this): He brought up the bathtub. “If this is about human soup guy, you’re actually calling Dad a liar and not me, sooo…nice try, but my feelings remain totally unhurt.” Then, he waited for what he knew would come next. He held Julia’s gaze. He took a drink. It was Daniel, God bless him, who finally bit. “…human…soup…guy?”

the tale(s) of the champion

“All right. If you are so…determined to have me discuss Hawke, then fine. I will discuss Hawke.” He leaned forward over his desk, a gesture, she thought, meant less to evoke authority than to simply steady himself as he braced against the unpleasant tide of memory. His eyes found hers for only a moment, but that moment was all it took for her to understand perhaps ‘unpleasant’ was too delicate a word to describe a return to Kirkwall. ‘Agonizing,’ maybe. ‘Wretched.’ “Cassandra and I are of a mind on one thing, at the very least—Varric is a liar. However. I would be remiss if I didn’t draw your attention to the one thing, the only thing, I’ve heard him say about our shared time in Kirkwall that at least approaches the truth.” She couldn’t help but notice that Cullen spoke the city’s name in much the same way Hawke had spoken Elthina’s: as though it tasted bitter on his tongue. “Namely, if, for whatever reason, you wanted to find Hawke,” he continued, speaking with a terrible evenness that smacked of everything but calm, “All you had to do was follow the blood. “What blood? Whose blood? Some might argue that since Hawke killed so often, so indiscriminately, that it wouldn’t matter—couldn’t matter—which blood trail you picked. Oh, I’ve heard the jokes. I’ve heard them all. How it must’ve sometimes seemed Kirkwall was populated solely by nameless, faceless throngs of gangs and ruffians that she cut through at nightfall, slashing and hacking her way towards the betterment of the city. How Varric had to keep a running tally of all the vendettas held against her, lest she forget which seedy element might be coming after her next for putting an end to their leader. Hilarious. Truly.” Had Cullen not been wearing his gloves, the Inquisitor had the singular sense she’d be watching his knuckles turn white as bone; the way he’d taken to gripping the edges of his desk, she was a bit shocked that nothing had given way. Yet.

A MYSTERY CREEPS PROJECT OOOOOOOOOOH!!!

"Which is why, boys and ghouls, we’re gonna be packing our bags and taking a roadtrip this weekend.” Which was…also what Ashley was afraid he was going to say. Her shoulders slumped, and she felt Chris turn to her as he noticed, but Josh kept going, as he was wont to do. “Turns out ‘ghost shit’ was a gross understatement. You lovely ladies aren’t going to believe what a little snooping dug up about this place…” “It’s pretty messed up,” Chris nodded. “But pretty messed up in a way that I gotta admit sounds like it’s gonna make a juicy episode or two.” “Or five. So c’mon, hop to. We got a business dinner to catch—on me, obvs—and details to hammer out. You’re not ready for the shit that went down over there. Hope you’re ready to start trending in the true-crime feeds though, because I know I am!” Dropping the book back on the table, Josh hopped to his feet and playfully tweaked Sam’s ear before starting back for the microfiche where he’d left all his stuff. “Hey Edgar,” he said as he passed him by, “level with me here. Have you been a ghost this whole time? Is that why you know all this crap? When we get in the elevator and leave this floor, do you just poof off into the ether and cease existing until we come back?” In a voice so flat, so disaffected, so wistful, that Ashley very nearly forgot about the pang of fear that had seized her at the sight of those five Death cards staring her straight in the face, Edgar sighed, “Don’t I wish.”

#queenie rambles #queenie writes supermassive #queenie writes dragon age

[embossross]

Do you know a better thing than waking up at 6:00am, being like cool go back to sleep, seeing a notification from embossross and saying NO WAY BITCH LESSGO READING ?! Because I don’t.

Anyway. Let's start at the beginning : you are cruel. Leaving us on this suspense ?! To leave us there after such an exchange between Shuji and Doc ?! I wanted to scream in frustration but my boyfriend is having nightly panic attacks so I'll just bite my fist and let him sleepig ig.

Update: I just read your previous post. You are half forgiven. Just kidding ofc, don't pressure yourself to post, we are patient little things and you have no obligations to us !

I love how Ran is described by Hanma, it's canon that Ran hates the guy and I think it's at least partially reciprocated. Poor Rinnie, never getting the respect he deserves in any of your fics, funny as hell.

We saw Koko 🫶🏻 my smart, bitchy but not mean baby i love him sooooooo much. Kisaki on the other hand.. God I hate that guy and I never understood why Hanma doesn't wring his neck with one hand.

I love stories in which despite the romance, there is also a parallel story and I'm super intrigued by this one ! Who is the traitor ? Why is he doing this ? What is the purpose of the Haitanis ? Why does Hanma want to find Mikey so badly ? I can't wait to see what you have in store for us, I know we won't be disappointed !

I'll stop talking, please one day tell me to stfu. If I don't see you by then, have a great holiday season, enjoy your family and friends and... see you next year 🤪🥰

hahaha i love you discovering the reason for the short chapter mid writing the ask. it worked out that what was meant to be the start of chapter 9 could stand on its own. if that makes me evil, i embrace it 😈 but you are too sweet. glad you were excited for the chapter!

in a world where hanma & ran are in the same gang, i headcanon hanma wouldn't hate ran because he would enjoy messing with him. but as enemies? they are just similar enough while being wildly different in key ways. ran would never trust hanma, and hanma would reject everything ran represents.

koko is a sweetheart! i need more koko in my life.

i actually really liked kisaki until the hina reveal. i'm still grouchy about it tbh. it's just so lame lmao

i really hope i don't disappoint with the plot!!! the plan changed a lot since i first started writing, so i hope it all fits together well. but i'm kind of happy with some of my plans. hanma wanting to find mikey especially i think will work super well so stay tuned 👀

but yeah, thank you so much for this lovely message 💞 i'll keep working on the next chapter so as not to leave you in suspense forever :)

#asks

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST  II

Tagging @chelseareferenced so she can read this goodness first hand! ;3

Chapter 2

“You have got to be joking!” Heisenberg can’t contain himself, not that he ever censored himself in the past. This is beyond ridiculous, even for the high and mighty bitch herself. He’s quick to turn on his heel to stare down the deceiver but he doesn’t call her out. Not yet anyway. He doesn’t need to, not when Lady Goliath looks about ready to burst a vein. “Mother Miranda, I must protest!” Lady Dimitrescu hisses, eyes practically glowing with rage. “Heisenberg hasn’t the faintest idea of the gift you are giving, he’d sooner throw it to the dogs!”

You wince at how little she regards you, conflicted. As it stands Lady Dimitrescu is fighting viciously to no doubt claim you as her own, which bodes marginally better than the man who would sooner toss you aside without a second thought than look at you. The Countess stands tall but her posture reminds you of a petulant child, demanding to be given what they want. Albeit a regal one. All while Heisenberg stands there with a mean snarl on his lips that brandishes his impressive canines, aimed squarely at Mother Miranda. Lady Beneviento sits silent as the grave watching the exchange while her devilish doll wiggles in excitement on her lap. Lord Moreau lingers on the edge of the fray, wringing his hands; he’s clearly distressed at the fighting and you almost feel ashamed for being the cause of the turmoil. “My decision is final,” Mother Miranda states firmly, voice echoing unnaturally around the room, her form already receding towards the doors. “Mother Miranda, please!” Lady Dimitrescu calls out, a brief look of panic flitting across her porcelain features when she receives no response at all. The cracks are already showing — she will not get her way today. In a desperate attempt to regain control she turns to Heisenberg, who stands tense as he watches Mother Miranda leave. “Heisenberg!” She seethes, hands balled tightly into fists that threaten to snap the delicate neck of her opera length cigarette holder into splinters, “say something!” You watch, helpless, as he casually lifts his hammer, taking his sweet time under Lady Dimitrescu’s smouldering gaze. The others have already made a hasty retreat, following their Mother’s steps closely, leaving you at the mercy of the feuding siblings. When Heisenberg finally locks eyes with her, hammer set proudly on his shoulder, the tension is so thick you struggle to breathe. Then, he smirks. The tautness of his body melts away into a well versed confident swagger, complete with a wolfish grin, and Lady Dimitrescu recoils so quickly in rage that you fear she’s given herself whiplash. The tirade of pure and unadulterated hatred that spills forth is in no way befitting of a woman of such high standing but Heisenberg seems unaffected. In fact, it amuses him to see her become undone when he ignores her. You don’t understand how he’s so calm when faced with such venom, practically cowering when she turns to you, face twisted in indignation. “Now don’t be a sore loser,” he tuts, quickly tugging you to his side, “Mother Miranda made her choice, are you really going to defy her?” He teases, grin widening at the sight of faint colour spreading on the Countess’ face. Heisenberg always knew how to get under skin and make her squirm. Sparing you one last glance Lady Dimitrescu turns sharply on her heel to leave, huffing in annoyance and frustration. Neither of you are worthy of even a biting retort, it seems. “You can breathe, you know.” You startle at Heisenberg’s teasing remark, finally releasing the breath that you didn’t realise you had been holding the whole time. You had been so transfixed on the very real prospect of your demise at the hands of a nine foot tall Vampire woman that you may have neglected that small fact of life. Lightheadedness makes your vision swim and for a moment you think you’re about to faint. If ever there was something to make you feel like you had one foot in the grave that moment was very much it. It does not bear repeating. Heisenberg takes in your deer-in-headlights expression, chuckling at the way his stare makes your little hummingbird heart flutter more. You’re absolutely petrified. It’s understandable, he knows that he’s dangerous and your little flock has more than enough stories about the big bad Lycan master that lets his hounds descend from the ominous Factory to feast on the nonbelievers. Utter bullshit. Well, mostly. But they don’t need to know that, of course. “So,” he drawls, tilting his head, “Mother Miranda says you’re my new— what was it? Ah, right, right, my new servant.” It’s a statement, but you’re not sure if he fully understands what he’s supposed to actually do with you, just like Lady Dimitrescu remarked. You nod shakily, bringing your still bound wrists up in a feeble attempt to warm yourself. It doesn’t offer much, the metal is so cold it brings your skin out in goosebumps. Thankfully, Heisenberg notices. “Oh, uh, sorry about that,” he clears his throat, a sudden switch, and with a flick of his wrist the shackles snap apart and shoot off to the side. They clatter to the ground unceremoniously, rusted and broken. It’s almost sad how much you relate to them at that moment. “T-thank you,” you answer meekly, rubbing at your sore wrists. The blood rushes to your fingers, making them tingle. It’s an odd, but muted, sensation, given the gravity of your situation. He doesn’t reply, merely tips his hat at you before motioning for you to go ahead of him. You’re unsure if it’s because he’s a gentleman or if it’s a power play but you move regardless, your pace hesitant. You’re not eager to be thrust out into the chill of the mountain, not that it’s any warmer inside at this point. You can only hope that the Factory is better than this.

It’s so much worse. The heat— it’s humid, stagnant, and downright heinous. Steam hisses and spits from rusted, internal pipes that streak across the walls and ceilings of the corridors, making the air humid and cloying. Your feet ache through your boots as you try to keep up with Heisenberg's strides, echoing off the metal grating underfoot in an annoying clank clank clank rhythm. In an attempt to cool yourself down you try to sweep up your damp hair from where it sticks to the back of your neck, grimacing at the wetness that covers your fingers. You’re a sweating mess and you hate it. The elevator is your near breaking point. In such a small space the heat intensifies, stuffy and borderline unbearable. It’s normal, your muddled mind tries to rationalize, since the lower levels are closer to the furnace, and it’ll get better once you go up, but it doesn’t take away from discomfort. You notice with great irritation that Heisenberg is barely batting an eyelid, though it’s to be expected. He lives there, of course he’d be used to it. The ride to the upper levels is uncomfortable and not just because of the humidity. His eyes are on you the entire time, at least you think so given those round glasses that he wears obscure his eyes from your view, no doubt wondering just why he’d taken in such a mess. And a mess you most certainly are. Heisenberg can see how your desperately try to keep stringy, moist hair from plastering itself to your sweat-soaked skin, failing miserably as the rebellious strands slip from your fingers. There are dark patches to your simple dress, made worse by how it clings to your body from the heat. He can barely stop himself from smirking when you curse quietly under your breath, rolling your eyes in irritation as you fuss over your hair. It’s the first time that you’ve shown some real spirit. Your annoyance is refreshing on your flushed face, the dim, artificial light casting you in a dewy, warm glow. Sadly, it’s not enough to overpower how badly you need a bath and fresh clothes. “Well, here we are,” he announces as the elevator stops and the door opens up; your new home. It’s another long hallway that looks similar to the dozen odd that you walked through to get here, but you do notice that it’s comparatively cooler. It must be near the top of the Factory. It’s a pleasant relief and you follow Heisenberg to a cluster of rooms a little lighter on your feet. The tour is, well, barely that, as he shows you a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom, all outfitted with the barest of necessities and far too much scrap metal, tools, and other engineering components. You linger in the doorway of the modest bedroom, staring at the single bed pushed up in the corner as though that’s the out of place object in the room. He leaves you for a moment, fumbling through papers and projects on the heavily cluttered desk that takes up the length of one wall, and you wander the hallway, peeking inside rooms with doors slightly ajar. Most are storage rooms with all sorts of junk inside, but one looks salvageable with an old, banged up couch and minimal debris. As you look about envisioning how to make it more homely, leaning against the door frame, you’re not paying attention and it gives Heisenberg the perfect opportunity to scare you. “Found yourself a room, huh?” He whispers into your ear, pulling back quickly as you shriek in alarm and swing out your arm instinctively to hit him. You can barely hear your heart hammering wildly in your chest over the sound of his raucous laughter, retreating from him quickly. “Why would you do that?” You shout, wide eyes staring at him. Heisenberg can barely pull himself together, breaking into small fits of laughter at the sight of your astonished expression, exhaling deeply to try and ground himself. “Couldn’t help it,” he explains, grinning at you, “it was a perfect setup!” Flabbergasted, your mouth falls open at his response; this man was one of the four Lords of the village, not some child playing tricks! Noticing the offense you take at his actions Heisenberg scoffs, his own expression souring as he turns away from you. What was he honestly thinking? You were just another haughty, stuck-up, loyalist to Mother fucking Miranda that clearly wouldn’t know a joke if it came up and slapped you in the face. “Bathroom is right there, you reek,” he snaps harshly, pointing into a small room lined with cracked, dirty tiles and rusting, dated appliances. You glare at his back, wordlessly going inside and doping your best to slam the door shut, but all you manage is a half-descent rattle. You look about yourself and suppress a shiver of disgust, staring at the old, rusting shower that has clearly seen better days, questioning whether you can forgo washing after all. Needs must, you think to yourself, as you dig out the cleanest towel you can find from a rickety old cabinet in the corner. Thankfully the water is fine when you turn the handle and you quickly strip to take advantage of the first good thing since you came to the Factory. As you stand under the tepid spray you wonder if you are, as Mother Miranda had said, perfect for this task. Doubt nips at your resolve and tries to whittle down your faith, but you refuse to let it win. You must succeed, for Mother Miranda.

#RE #RE8 #RE 8 #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil 8 Village #RE Imagine #RE Imagines #RE8 Imagine #RE8 Imagines #Resident Evil Imagine #Resident Evil Imagines #Karl Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg Imagine #Karl Heisenberg Imagines #Karl Heisenberg x Reader #Heisenberg Imagine #Heinsenberg Imagines #Heisenberg x Reader

[artificialqueens]

Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 10/10 (Taywhora) - Juno

Chapter Summary: The three finalists are just three challenges away from the end of the Bake Off, and the reunion with their fellow competitors, families, and friends at the finale garden party. The Signature and Technicals will be the hardest yet, and the Showstopper will ensure the three finalists bare a slice of their hearts to the country. But who will take the winning cake stand?

A/N: I have been utterly blown away by the support and comments I’ve had for this fic on tumblr and AO3! Huge big thank you to everyone who has cheered me on with this. For ease, the finale and epilogue are in one here (but are split on AO3). I hope to be back soon with some short stuff for rare pair challenge! xo Juno

WEEK 10: GRAND FINALE

Aurora felt like she didn’t sleep all week back in Worksop, and now, the night before she had to take the train down south to film the grand finale, the very idea seemed virtually impossible. Her body and her mind tossed and turned, every time she closed her eyes she saw cakes and breads and pastries and all sorts of things she was sure she’d never have any desire to eat again.

She had no time to think about Tayce, but Tayce had found her way in through the cracks in her mind while she had practised. Gone from the tent, but not gone from her life. And her last act in the tent had been to give Aurora five words that had rung like a melody in her head ever since.

You can win this, bitch.

She reached for her phone in the darkness, and it said it was half past one in the morning. She’d have to get up in three hours to get ready, before she headed out for the train. Lawrence would already be on the sleeper train, and Veronica was probably getting up at around the same time. But as she opened their own three-way chat, she found both Lawrence and Veronica were also messaging at silly time in the morning.

They weren’t sleeping either. Aurora understood why now.

Sure, she’d see Tayce again this weekend at the grand finale garden party. But her departure still replayed in her head.

Why did I end up this reliant on her anyway? I can bake without her. I’ve done it for years!

But this wasn’t just baking. It wasBake Off. It was surreal, intangible. It defied gravity. How many times had Aurora had to anchor herself to Tayce to keep herself from floating away?

Her phone came up with a notification from Lawrence.

Lawrence:why tf ru awake

The irony of Lawrence’s message was not lost on Aurora.

Aurora:your meant to be on the sleeper train Aurora: sleeper Aurora: clue is in the name Lawrence: yh but its stopped Lawrence: we’re in carlisle  Aurora: what’s it like in Carlisle x Lawrence: dark

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but it tickled her far more than it should, and she found herself laughing far too hard at the message.

Aurora: how much ru lookin forward to this bein over now x Lawrence: oh loads babes Lawrence: cant wait to bring that cake stand to Glasgow x Veronica:keep dreaming Lawrence  Aurora: unlikely lol x

On second thoughts, the teasing and the laughter were a balm for her worried mind right now, and Aurora found she was laughing more than she had all week at their conversation.

Sleep is overrated anyway.

——

The tent looked huge and imposing, but Aurora was still not at the front to her relief. If Lawrence had gone home last week - not that Aurora had ever expected her to - Aurora thought she would have squirmed at the front under the gaze of the judges. Especially now, with just the three of them left, their voices echoing like a vast cave, all of their heartbeats just sounding amplified as they hammered against their ribs.

It’s the finale. I made it.

Aurora glanced at the two badges she’d won. The same amount as Lawrence, with Veronica having one to her name. But as they’d seen from previous series, the amount of times someone had won Star Baker was not an indicator as to who would win the whole thing. But it certainly gave both her and Lawrence a minor edge, and both of them a swell in their chests.

Everything felt new and fresh. Lawrence had re-dyed her hair, blue this time, the vibrant colour almost a distraction in itself. Veronica had new black nails which she tapped on the workbench, and her roots had been redone. Aurora hadn’t thought to do any of that, so she was pleased to still be at the back.

Her turquoise KitchenAid still glistened like new, the workbench sparkled with the glassy varnish, and the cupboards and shelves around in their pastel colours made the summer air feel all the more fresh and clean. She glanced over at Veronica, her own green KitchenAid in the same state, and Lawrence’s Cadbury purple one too.

I wonder if I can pinch the KitchenAid after filming without the crew noticing.

——

Signature: 12 iced doughnuts - 6 ring, 6 filled

If there was one thing Aurora hated doing, it was piping filling into something as fiddly as a doughnut. They’d have to cool down, be hollowed, and then filled, a really fiddly process.

It was the hardest day in the tent by far. The morning was rainy, light rain that almost felt like it wasn’t there, and the air was sticky and humid, pushing the temperature in the tent up, especially with the deep fat fryers they’d been provided for the doughnuts.

Aurora chewed her lip so hard that it bled, piping mixture, watching them all closely in the deep fat fryer, filling up her jam piping bag and spinning it so tightly that it threatened to burst and cover her in sticky apricot jam.

In front of her, Lawrence groaned a few times as she battled against the heat and the doughnuts as they spat in the fryer, while Veronica was wringing her hands at the dough as it came out of her own fryer.

“Too soft,” she muttered, followed by “God, too hard,” at the next batch.

By the time judging came, with Prue back from her illness this week, Aurora had almost forgotten what she’d flavoured them with, but she wasn’t alone. Across from her, Veronica stuttered as she spoke about her doughnuts, while Lawrence just pushed her hair back at the question.

“Don’t know,” she’d mused to the judges, some of the old humour returning to her voice. “Started making them, had a breakdown, and here they are. Enjoy!”

The judges all laughed, but Aurora caught a glint in Lawrence’s eye, and the same thought passed between them both.

It’s not a lie!

All of them had similar critiques. Unanimously told they had good flavours, good bakes, and good designs, it was becoming virtually impossible to differentiate between them. How were they going to decide a winner?

“How are they going to do this?” Veronica said aloud to the room, as they sat in Norton Hall (not Carr Hall, Aurora said to herself) waiting for the Technical challenge to begin.

“Not a fucking clue.” Lawrence sighed.

“Are any of you thinking about today though?” Aurora asked. “Are you just thinking about the Showstopper tomorrow too?”

Lawrence and Veronica both nodded slowly, none of them looking at each other.

“Are you all … doing the same thing as I am?”

Lawrence and Veronica just continued nodding.

None of them even needed to say a word. They all knew.

——

Technical: Victoria Sponge (no recipe)

Technical sounded daunting at first glance, but Aurora tried to reason with her worried mind. Baking a Vicky sponge from scratch with no instructions? Please. Aurora baked a Vicky sponge twice a month for the local shelter. She could probably have done it in her sleep.

But the pressure cooker of the tent just made everything go up in smoke in her brain.

Her nan’s voice rang in her head for the proportions that she used to use. Two, two, two, and two eggs. But two what? Two cake tins? Two bowls? Two competitors? No, two pounds. When would her nan come into the new millennium and learn that no one talked about measurements in pounds and ounces any more?

“Lawrence?” She leaned forward.

“Alright, babes?”

“How much is two pounds in grams again?”

Lawrence was frowning. “What?”

“Please - just tell me. I know it’s a competition and all -“

“I’m not trying to stitch you up hen, I genuinely don’t know, I don’t use pounds and ounces because I entered the twenty-first century a while back.” Lawrence shook her head, holding her hands up in surrender. “What do you need it for anyway?”

“Recipe,” Aurora said, her already-hammering heart feeling like it could break her ribs.

“What’s up, love?” That was Veronica’s voice. Aurora closed her eyes, wracking her brain, but Lawrence’s voice pierced the gloom.

“How much is a pound in grams, d’you know?”

“Yeah,” came Veronica’s in response, “a pound is about four hundred and fifty grams. Y’know, you can also go the other way. A kilo is two point two pounds. What do you need that for, yours is already whisking?”

“No, Rory’s having a meltdown, and not with the butter.”

Jesus Dawn French Christ, Lawrence.

A hand met her shoulder, and Aurora was astonished to see Veronica at her side.

“You alright, love?”

She held her gaze for a long time, unflinching, but her eyes were softer than ever, and her hand was surprisingly warm and calming as she rubbed Aurora’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Just - this,” Aurora waved her hands, encompassing the whole tent. Maybe that was absurd to an outside observer, but Veronica knew. Veronica understood.

“I looked at your instagram,” Veronica said quietly, “and I know you bake cakes loads, so I know you can knock this one right out of the park, alright? And you know that too. I mean, I can’t remember a thing about making jam now! And I’m probably going overboard with my sugar. But hey, it’s the finale! I can’t be sent home now!”

Veronica shrugged, her face split in a grin that bordered on maniacal, and Aurora had to admit that she had a point. She took a shaky inhale, then let it out.

“Look, I know you miss Tayce,” Veronica dropped her voice even lower, her hand squeezing her shoulder now, “because I’ve missed Tia since alt week. And we know Lawrence is missing Ellie, even though she’d probably rather move to London and take up Morris dancing than admit that.”

“You say that, but I can do that accent, I’ve watched Eastenders,” Lawrence called over her shoulder. “And I won’t be any worse than Dick Van Dyke.”

“We’re all missing everyone,” Veronica said, and Aurora knew she didn’t mean everyone, “but you don’t need Tayce to be able to bake. You can do it on your own. You’ve done it loads before this show, and you’ll do it again!”

“I can’t,” Aurora heard her fear contradict her in a whisper.

“You can,” Veronica said firmly, her gaze now stern. “You can do this.”

Aurora took a deep breath, held for four, and let it out for five.

“I can.”

“That’s it, love,” Veronica said, nodding and starting to walk away.

——

“Here’s to the last time we’re here as a three,” Aurora said, raising her glass along with Lawrence and Veronica. One of the producers had brought in a bottle of champagne, and even though Aurora didn’t really like the bubbles very much - they tickled her nose - she accepted the glass that was poured for her.

“How much does everyone remember about today?” Veronica asked, her arms and legs crossed on the sofa. “Because I can’t remember a bloody thing. I can’t even remember what the judges said about that piece of crap that my Vicky sponge turned out to be. Did I come last?”

“Yeah,” Aurora nodded. “Was nothing in it, though. We were all shit.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Lawrence muttered, a hint of her old mischievous glint back in her eye.

“And tomorrow we’re recording the finale,” Aurora sighed, swirling the champagne. “Five hours in a tent, followed by half an hour break, followed by presenting the Showstoppers, followed by the garden party, followed by our speeches. And then filming three endings. Where one of us wins each time.”

“It’s gonna be worth it by the end, though,” Veronica said brightly.

“Who’s gonna come from your family, Lawrence?” Aurora asked.

“My parents, my cousin Chloe, and my best pal Stinky Pete.” Lawrence grinned. “Can’t wait to see them. And who have you two got?”

“Uhm,” Aurora frowned. “I know Blake’s coming, and my nan, but I thought you could only invite two people?”

“Mine said four,” Lawrence replied. “God, you really can’t count, can you?”

“What about you?” Aurora asked, motioning to Veronica with her glass.

“My mum’s coming and my brother.” She twitched her shoulders. “None of my friends could get time off. Shame, really.”

Aurora nodded, sipping her champagne, trying to hold off on sneezing through the bubbles. “And the others.”

“Can’t wait,” Veronica smiled her usual pinched, nervous smile, her leg jogging. “I’ve missed them all. Tia especially, but I’ve missed them all. I wonder who they all think will win?”

“And Ellie still owes me a tenner for that Puff the Magic Dragon shit that she thought Tayce’s biccies were,” Lawrence mused.

Aurora pursed her lips at Tayce’s name, but pushed it to the back of her mind. What mattered now was not Tayce, but the fact that her eyes were drooping after not having slept the previous night, and the champagne making her head throb.

“Early one?” Veronica’s sigh must have read been a telepathic projection, because they all stood in unison and trailed each other up the stairs to their respective rooms, ready to pass out and begin everything again in the morning.

——

Showstopper: A picnic for a fellow contestant - to include one celebration cake, 12 savoury pastries, and 12 patisserie.

When the three of them had seen the Showstopper for the weekend, right after Tayce’s elimination, they’d all nodded knowingly to each other.

This one has been just …made for us all.

It was obvious. It was blatantly obvious that everything that had happened had been noticed by the producers, and the staff, and everyone with eyes and without them too, that all three of the finalists were missing someone.

Veronica was setting her alarms up, all five of them as usual, before dragging her ingredients from the bag she kept. On her workbench, she’d gently placed a photo Tia had taken of some landscape or other. Lawrence had laid all her ingredients out on a baby pink tablecloth that complimented the purple of her own KitchenAid.

Aurora only had one thing to remind her of Tayce. She’d gone into a charity shop in the week with Blake, looking for something he’d seen in the window, and had found something that Blake had gasped at.

“It’s a Welsh love spoon!” He’d thrust the small wooden spoon into Aurora’s hand, and she’d turned it over and over silently in her fingers, marvelling at the twisting pattern on the handle, curling into a heart shape at the top.

“That’s fate, that is,” Blake had nodded. “You’ve got to get that.”

Aurora set the spoon now on the counter top, resting against her own KitchenAid for now, as she ran back through the timings again in her head, and what she was planning.

The twelve savoury pastries were easy. Puff pastry sausage rolls with added baked beans and cheese. Even if Prue didn’t like baked beans, that was all Tayce seemed to be eating every breakfast time.

Screw what Prue likes. This isn’t for her.

The cake? It had taken some thought. Black Forest gateau with a mirror glaze to top it off, not something she knew if Tayce liked, but something that felt sophisticated and stylish. And the deep purple of the blackberries was a colour that Tayce loved.

The patisserie was the hardest one, but she’d settled on millefeuille, similar to some that she made before for her nan’s seventy-fifth birthday, delicate and decorative, fragile-looking but built to stand tall. Not to mention they tasted so good that the world ceased to exist when someone bit into one.

“It’s like they’re all back here, isn’t it?”

Veronica’s voice was quiet, but happy. Lawrence’s intake of breath was shaky, but she didn’t turn to face her, focusing on her bake.

“You’ve got a tin of baked beans on your workbench, Aurora, it’s so surreal! And Lawrence, you’ve got so much pink on your workbench today.” Veronica motioned to the pink fondant she’d made, pink icing, pink glaze, pink cake filling. Pink and white marshmallows, pink jam … every shade of pink imaginable. Lawrence just gave a snort and shook her head.

It was meant to be the hardest challenge yet, but it definitely didn’t feel that way. The tent heated up with the warm sunshine outside and the combination of ovens and bakers and inside, but as soon as nerves started manifesting, the three of them were all there to diffuse them all for each other.

When Lawrence started dropping her utensils, both Aurora and Veronica were at her side in an instant to grab her hands and calm her down before she started panicking. When Veronica clung to the edge of her workbench, motionless, Lawrence and Aurora were both there beside her to talk her down.

But when the last ten minutes were called …

Shit.

Aurora felt cold fear creep back up her chest. She still had the millefeuille to assemble. She’d done three, but nine remained. And the puff pastry had to come out of the oven. And the glaze needed to be poured over the cake for it to set into a mirror in time -

“Aurora?” That was Lawrence, with Veronica on her heels. “You’re making a squeaky whiny noise like a balloon letting out air. What d’you need?”

“But - ten minutes - your own bakes -“

As Aurora flapped, the other two simply ran round her side and started doing it without needing her to tell them. Soon all her pastries were on the tray, and the cake was out the fridge, the glaze ready to go.

“You pipe, I’ll load,” Veronica muttered, and she did just that, while Lawrence put the cake onto the metal tray, jogging back from her own workbench where she’d had to finish off one of her own patisseries, and as Aurora finished piping the last millefeuille …

“Bakers! You have five minutes on your final Showstopper!”

They were all pulling out the stops, dashing between all three of their benches. Veronica was throwing gold leaf around like it was confetti. Lawrence was covered in icing sugar, the sweet scent filling the air. Aurora poured the deep purple onto the cake, praying to the Monster gods that it would set into a mirror glaze in time …

“Time is up! The final Showstopper has finished! Congratulations, bakers!”

The whole world seemed to crumble at Noel’s words.

Aurora looked at the mountain of food she’d produced, everything that reminded her of Tayce, and she knew then that serving this would mean serving a slice of her heart to the nation. And that was the plan all along.

Everything in her body ached, her bones were hollow, her breathing felt too loud alongside the deafening roar of blood in her ears. But as she leaned on the workbench, surveying the amount of work she’d done, she felt a tickle at the back of her throat, and suddenly she was laughing, so hard that she felt like she’d never stop. And then so was Veronica. Then Lawrence began too.

They were all cackling, all three of them, delirious with delight. Noel and Matt came to congratulate them, clapping as they did so, and then Veronica came out from her bench to hug Lawrence, and Aurora ran to join in, and the three of them were suddenly hugging, laughing, sobbing, cheering into each others’ ears.

Until they were all too weak to speak.

——

Aurora, first alphabetically, was going to be the first out of the tent with her final Showstopper, to make her way to the garden party that was always put on for friends and family for the grand finale.

All her bakes were on an enormous tray and she carried it, with Noel on her left and Matt on her right, all three of them bearing the load. Aurora was flabbergasted that nothing was moving, nothing was falling, but everything was still and settled.

As soon as she stepped outside the tent for the first time, she was met by a blast of noise like heat from a furnace.

Clapping, cheers, whoops, laughter. The crowd at the garden party was friends, family, co-workers, film crew, all the staff of Norton Hall, and of course Blu and Cheryl. She caught sight and sound of her nan - her nan! - her accent and her distinctive nasal voice above the rest of the crowd, bless. And Blake, waving his hands in the air and cupping them to his mouth to howl at the sky.

And the rest of the contestants, waiting with the biggest smiles, with applause, with cheers and shouts that drowned out everything else that was happening.

Tayce was in the centre. And Aurora had never seen her look so happy.

She rested the tray at the table outside the tent behind her name, and stopped, stunned, blinking so many times at the noise and her senses overloading. How green the grass was, how vibrant the gingham pattern on the table, how blue the sky was above her head, how bright and hot the sun felt on her bare arms.

“Go on, Aurora,” Matt muttered, pointing to the crowd. “You can go and see them!”

Aurora walked slowly, the dream she was in making her legs shake. Her feet were resting on air, two inches above the ground, just above the blades of grass. But she somehow made the walk, the whole twenty-foot walk, away from the tent towards them all, dazed by their overflowing love, their cheers and their applause.

Tayce was beaten in the first hug by Hurricane Ellie, swamping Aurora in her arms; and by the time she’d disentangled herself, Bimini was there, leaping forward and rubbing her arms and beaming at her; followed by a grinning Pip, followed by Joe, still cackling. In fact, everyone seemed to get a turn before Aurora was left with just Tayce, waiting patiently, the grin she wore showing all her teeth, her eyes crinkling in happiness.

“Told you you could do it, bitch!”

——

“I made this spread for Tayce,” Aurora began, still cursing that her name was first alphabetically and she was first up on the podium.

Part of the Showstopper this year was a little speech to the crowd at the garden party. It was meant to be a tear-jerker, obviously, for the viewers to have an emotional finale, but it had just served to make all the bakers pull their hair out while writing a speech about which contestant they were baking for, and why.

“I made it for her because Tayce has been my rock throughout the competition. We were on the back row together, we got through all the first challenges together … she corrected me on the name of the hall for God’s sake, I was calling it Carr Hall for ages!”

The polite laughter tinkled around the grounds.

“Tayce has been an inspiration in so many ways. She’s taught me that … that I can channel my worries into the energy that I use to make a cake or a bread or whatever - and that can be fuel for me, to push me forwards. Tayce showed me that they were just a source of power like anything else. She always told me to relax. Well, chillax. And when I did, I rediscovered that I loved baking.”

Aurora couldn’t look at Tayce, even from this distance. Couldn’t see her eyes. If she did she might burst.

Lawrence and Veronica sat on the chairs next to the tent, next to the judges, waiting their turns, while everyone else sat or stood on the grass; but Aurora’s position on the podium, towering over them all, kept eyes trained on her as she gave her speech about her Showstopper, before everyone would come and eat.

“Me and Tayce,” Aurora’s voice cracked. “Well, we didn’t always get along. It’s a competition, and we all have our eyes on the prize, and that pressure of wanting to be the best got on top of us both at times.”

The silence was only broken by birdsong.

“But Tayce taught me that I do my best when I’m relaxed. When I’m loving what I’m doing. She taught me that my thoughts can be my own worst enemy, especially when I’m thinking about other people.” She paused, glancing back at her cue card, the words jumbling before her eyes. “And most of all she taught me that - that I ama great baker. That …”

The lump in her throat was back, the fear creeping up her windpipe to strangle her words. She shook her head defiantly.

“That I am more than capable, that I’m skilled, and that I’m … loveable. She held up a mirror for me. So I made one for her too. Thanks, Tayce.”

More polite laughter, followed by applause, as she indicated the mirror glaze cake.

Finally, she met Tayce’s eyes, and as soon as she did, her own burned with unshed tears, emotion swelling in her like a tidal wave.

But Tayce too, her lip quivered, not even noticing the others around her or their applause. She opened her mouth, and her lips moved, but only for Aurora.

“Love you, bitch.”

Aurora managed to mouth back to her while applause rang in the air.

“Love you, too.”

——

“Ellie’s gonna hate me for this,” Lawrence muttered into the microphone, and Aurora looked over at the crowd, Ellie already shaking with silent laughter with her hands over her mouth. “I made a spread for her. She probably wasn’t expecting it, it rains too much to ever have a picnic outside in Dundee, poor bitch has probably never seen the sun -“

“Lawrence,” Matt Lucas piped up, “just a reminder that this will air before the 9pm watershed.”

“So I can’t say bitch? Fuck’s sake!” Lawrence put her hands on her hips.

Aurora put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from making too much noise, but laughing this much was making tears stream down her face; and Veronica, sat next to her, leaned into her arm, also shaking, stuffing her fist into her mouth to silence herself.

“Anyway, I made all this pink stuff for Ellie. And not just because Team Scotland has to stick together,” she added, as Ellie whooped in the crowd, “but because she really has been the best friend I could have made here.”

Veronica let out a cough that sounded a great deal like ‘sexual tension’ and she and Aurora spluttered with laughter.

“And ignore the peanut gallery over there,” Lawrence motioned to Veronica without even looking. “Because first and foremost, Ellie has been a great friend to me. She sat with me when I was upset when I did something wrong, and she was the first to celebrate anything I got right - even if it was at her expense.”

“Aww,” Veronica murmured next to Aurora.

“I take everything really seriously. I take baking to heart. If I’m not good at something, it freaks me out, because I’m usedto being good at everything I try. Gifted kid syndrome, if you know you know.” Lawrence thumped her chest. “But Ellie just has fun with it all. She taught me that you can have fun with something without necessarily needing to be perfect at it. There isn’t a yardstick of quality to having fun. And even if I’m not good at something, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth the time.”

Ellie was now quiet, as the others turned to watch her, but she was only looking at Lawrence, oblivious to everyone around her as the grin on her face quivered with emotion.

“Ellie is fun. And I wanted to make something that would be fun, and also her. That’s why there’s a lot more pink than I’m used to,” Lawrence continued, motioning to the huge pink cake and the pink icing on the choux buns she’d made.

“When I was unsure of myself, Ellie reminded me of what I could do. But she also reminded me that I should be having fun. That’s the reason I made this for her. Because baking should be fun, and should be something you don’t take too seriously. And once I got that, I loved it.”

As everyone applauded again, Lawrence gave the crowd a thumbs up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, looking as if she wanted to get off the podium as fast as possible.

——

“Come on Veronica,” Aurora muttered under her breath.

Veronica looked very short, smaller than usual, even on the podium, the microphone somewhere at her forehead before she adjusted it to her mouth. She licked her lips; her eyes darted to the crowd, to Aurora and Lawrence sat separate to them all, to the judges, and then down to her note paper again.

“Well,” Veronica said for what felt like the fortieth time, another giggle escaping her lips. “Hello, everyone.”

“She’s bombing,” Lawrence muttered.

“She’s just too nervous,” Aurora nodded.

“Right. So. I made this spread for Tia, you know this now, because there’s a sign saying Tea or Coffee on it, I thought that was a nice - erm, a nice touch.”

“God.” Lawrence put a hand to her chest.

Aurora watched as Veronica took a deep breath, held it for a second, and let it out slowly, the silence only interrupted by birdsong.

“I - I’m a perfectionist. If it’s not perfect, I don’t want it. If something is out, even by ten grams, even by a centimetre, I just want to throw it out and never look at it again.”

Veronica repeated the deep breath, clenching the podium, her knuckles white.

“Me and Tia just clicked. We’re quite similar, me and her. We have the same humour, we like the same police dramas and murder mystery documentaries, we both like art and drawing and stuff -”

“Since when does Veronica like drawing?”

“You need to check her instagram page,” Lawrence muttered back, “it’s all artwork.”

“- but the one thing me and Tia didn’t have in common was baking. Tia’s an amazing baker. But something about that tent - as soon as she was in it, she kept making a mess of everything, she won’t mind my saying that; and I know she got really frustrated, but she never wanted to quit. She just always wanted to get better.”

Veronica was tearing up, it was evident even from this distance, her white knuckles shaking. Tia, in the crowd, squirmed for her, clutching Pip’s hand as Veronica fought to get some more words out.

“Tia taught me that it’s fine to make mistakes.”

Another long pause.

“Not that - I don’t mean that Tia is always making mistakes! She does a lot of stuff really great! But she taught me that being perfect is basically impossible. And that I can trust myself if something goes wrong, that I can trust myself to be able to fix it, and not just give up.”

Tia dabbed her eyes with her free hand, shuffling nearer to Pip, who had a hand on her own chest in sympathy.

“Because she doesn’t give up. She just wants to do better. And I love that about her. I wish I’d put less pressure on myself when I first got in there, trying to be perfect at everything, instead of trying to be my best, and getting better by making mistakes.”

Veronica finally seemed to be settling, the rare smile appearing.

“She showed me that making mistakes is fine, and it doesn’t mean I’m a failure, it means I’m a person. And she - her bakes were amazing, and lovely, and she’s such a genuine person that everyone in the tent fell in love with her. Well,” she paused, looking up, “I did.”

Tia’s jaw dropped as she clutched at her chest, leaning into Pip at her side, tears falling freely down her face now as the rest of them clapped, while Veronica’s smile widened, her own tears falling too.

“That’s so …” Aurora murmured, not realising she was holding Lawrence’s hand.

“… cheesy,” Lawrence muttered, but her voice had a crack in it.

——

Aurora’s nan got the first hug when she went over to her family. Her best friend Blake had the second, patting her heavily on the back.

“So which one is the one you made all the cake for then?” Her nan motioned to the crowd of contestants, who had been mostly all mingling together, now breaking off to sit with the crew and each other.

“Tayce is - oh, she’s here.”

Tayce, appearing from somewhere, plonked herself on the grass by the picnic blanket and helped herself to a sausage roll. “Oi oi, saveloy! Oh, these look nice! You put baked beans in them?” Tayce grinned. “You know me like the back of your hand, Rory!”

“Beans on toast was your go-to breakfast, wasn’t it?”

“Oh god, yeah,” Tayce nodded. “Breakfast of kings! The only breakfast! If I could have beans on toast for the rest of my life, I’d die happy. A bit flatulent, but happy.”

She looped her arm through Aurora’s waist, planting a kiss on her lips, before picking up a pastry, leaving Aurora floating just a little from the contact.

“So are you two dating now?” Blake asked, his eyes wide as saucers, hoping for gossip as usual.

Aurora met Tayce’s gaze; they hadn’t really discussed anything official yet. Tayce’s smile was strangely shy, and her eyes earnest, a thousand questions behind them; but as they both nodded simultaneously, it felt like they could work out the details a little bit later.

“Yep!” They both exclaimed at the same time.

Tayce reached down and grasped Aurora’s hand. “And you’re the first to hear about it - not the tabloids, not Hello magazine!”

“You’re not just putting it on for the cameras, are you?” Aurora’s nan teased, wagging her finger at the pair of them.

Tayce turned to glance at Aurora, the same thought passing between them both.

“No way,” they both said at the same time, to a snort of laughter from Blake.

There had been a time, not too long ago, that Aurora might have taken the question as a cue to overthink, overanalyse - but that thought didn’t even exist any more. Instead of being like ducks, kicking to stay on the surface, they now just floated effortlessly.

Aurora just squeezed Tayce’s hand.

Everything was falling into place.

——

“Taking into account your final bakes, and your performances throughout the series, we’ve made our final decision.”

Aurora’s left hand was numb; Lawrence was cutting off the circulation to it.

They all stood before the judges, filming the first of the three endings to keep the actual winner a secret from everyone. This would be Aurora’s win; they’d then film Lawrence’s and finally Veronica’s. For now, they all stood in line; Aurora at Lawrence’s right and Veronica at her left.

Prue held the cake stand, the Bake Off emblem engraved in the glass, all of them in a line waiting for the decision, while the crowd stood impatient, ready to put on a show to congratulate them all.

“You’re all incredible bakers, the best in the UK,” Prue continued from Paul’s speech, “and this was the most difficult season by a long way to judge. You’re all so skilled, imaginative, and clever, and I know you’ll all go on to amazing things after this is over.”

Lawrence’s hand was shaking in Aurora’s; and she could hear Veronica’s breathing on her other side.

This is it.

“The winner of the Great British Bake Off is …”

Complete silence.

Even the birdsong had waned in the background.

A silence that seemed to last an eternity.

Aurora watched Prue’s mouth, wondering when she would open it again, put them all out of their misery, Veronica’s breath audible through the silence and Lawrence’s hand sweating in hers and Aurora’s heart must be the loudest thing in the whole country right now at the rate it hammered her ribs -

——

EPILOGUE

October 2021

Tayce had had to let Aurora go for Blu to wield the camera at the three finalists on the smallest of the neverending number of sofas in Pip’s sister’s house. Lawrence in the middle of the three, all squashed together on what was really a two-person sofa, but they’d all linked arms and interlocked their fingers, staring at the screen, watching themselves.

“I’m never gonna get used to being on screen,” Tia mused, shaking her head. “I swear I don’t sound like that.”

“You do, you definitely do.”

But Tia was only half paying attention to Tayce’s words, her attention on Veronica, who was ignoring her, staring enraptured at the screen. Lawrence, on the other hand, kept glancing over to see Ellie, both of them doing that strange thing they did in filming yet again, just able to know when the other was looking over at them to make sure they were alright.

Tayce tried to relax, hands in her lap, but her chest fluttered every time she met Aurora’s gaze.

The finale had been Tayce’s favourite episode to watch, simply because she hadn’t been in it. The element of surprise was there as she watched it, although it was there for all of them, because there the finalists were, on the screen, still waiting for the winner to be announced.

It must be between Aurora and Lawrence. Veronica only has one badge; it probably won’t be her.

“The winner of the Great British Bake Off is …”

The painful zoom of the camera on everyone’s faces. Aurora’s nervous smile, pure yet heartbreaking. Lawrence looking at the sky to stop herself from crying, both her hands occupied by another finalist. Veronica, her stare intent with anticipation, chewing her bottom lip.

“Aurora!”

The room erupted.

Cheryl was jumping up and down, the first at the sofa to hug Aurora as she sat still as a statue, hands at her mouth and eyes agape in shock, as Lawrence pulled her tightly to herself, planting a delighted kiss in her hair.

“It’s you!” Veronica shrieked, shaking her knee, “it’s you! You won! You won the whole thing!”

And then everyone else streamed in to hug her. Pip was first - Pip was always the first to lay a comforting hand - Tia was close on her heels - Ginny’s hands looped round her neck from behind and their eyes crinkled in joy - but Aurora still sat frozen, only her rapid blinking suggesting anyone was home at all.

Tayce felt time stop again, but this time in a moment of perfection and not defeat.

The contest environment evaporated, she couldn’t fathom feeling anything but pure elation for Aurora’s win, couldn’t fathom having felt any other way for this wonderful woman who she was lucky enough to now call her girlfriend, sat with her hands at her mouth and silent tears coursing down her face as Blu pointed a camera at it.

“Aurora! It’s you! It’s you!” Blu was patting her knee while the rest of them excitedly hugged and squeezed at her. “Do you have any words for us right now, or is it a bit overwhelming?”

“It’s - what - I can’t believe it!”

Aurora’s phone was buzzing on the dining room table, undoubtedly hundreds of friends and family calling and texting and tagging her in Instagram posts and tweets, congratulations spilling over from every direction, an outpouring of love and support and adoration.

The programme was still running, footage of Prue and Paul giving their final summaries of Aurora, and the other two finalists - other contestants giving sound bites - Aurora’s finalist speech as her face was red with tears - the where are they now segment starting to play for all the contestants.

Pip back at her day job, giving the camera a thumbs up, followed by a snap of her with Ginny at Blackpool Tower and a video of them both on the Big One. Joe reliving that Instagram video again, and clips of Cherry, Ellie and Asttina all trying to recreate it too. Cherry back at the dog-grooming business she worked for, and walking her own dog. Asttina back at the gym, followed by a photo of her and Bimini on a boat on the Thames. Bimini at their laptop, followed by pictures of them holding the childrens’ book they’d written since the show. Ellie’s move to Glasgow, a clip of her dyeing Lawrence’s hair back to the bright purple it was now. Tia and Veronica somewhere in the Lake District, windswept but with smiles a mile wide.

But Tayce didn’t see or hear any of it. Aurora was the only thing she could see.

And as she stumbled towards Tayce, draping herself into her arms and laughing in delight, Tayce held her as tightly as she could, crushing her eyes shut but not stopping her own tears, her heart bursting for Aurora as she was privileged to share this moment of exhilarated happiness with her …

She’s already a Star Baker. She doesn’t need a badge or a title.

But she’s got both now! And hopefully she can know that she’s a Star Baker as much as we all do!

——

THE END

#rpdr fanfiction #down with the recipe #rpdr uk #juno #uk2 #baking au #gbbo au #taywhora #tayce #a'whora #bimini bon boulash #veronica green #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #ginny lemon #asttina mandella #tia kofi #fluff #lesbian au

[tripstaysnoided]

Flow Just Like Water

Story and writing-related transparency update and my many shames...

The Question on Everyone’s Mind

“Hey you haven’t updated No Stars over Uptown in almost a year...”

Hmm, I hate it when you’re right. (This section has been rewritten ad-nauseam to curb back the bitchiness by the way)

So back in early/mid 2018, the idea was to divorce Uptown from a person who influenced it (and myself) heavily. She was my most important audience member, the closest friend I ever had, and unfortunately someone who used her power to bully, ostracize, and hurt others with my help. I cut contact when the hurt + some self-awareness finally reached me. Apologies were made and I feel like my work will never be done with it, but there was still Uptown.

Between censored comments, entirely recasting Axel’s save, different plot threads, and a load of disclaimers, there was nothing that would scrub her influence from the story. There was no way to cleanly drop everything because of how deep her influence went. It disgusted me to look back at it, and I had to private the blog because I feared what it endorsed, even if just in the past.

I pulled back from that sims writing community. I had its main thread on the Official Forums removed too (I guess if that was a mystery to anyone). It was a surrender that I never wanted to do, but I had it in my mind that if I was gone, then she wouldn’t be there either. Uptown became this cursed item, and as I quietly retired it, I noticed that she went quieter too. Not gone, but enough to make me sleep easier at night and even occasionally say hello to old friends.

And I hope deep in my heart that no one else is getting hurt in my place, but now this is gonna haunt me all day huh!

The two paths forward...

1) Complete Uptown rewrite that I’ve been threatening everyone with all year. While it won’t ever be clean because I can’t undo time, I do have a sound outline for a story that is much more true to my actual vision and how I’ve evolved, with a few necessary boundaries in place that are going to be there for all stories moving forward: no more casting calls and no more collaborative efforts. I am not going to open myself up to this happening again, even if the people have changed.

2) Same as above, but I continue the original Uptown as a favor to loyal readers alongside the rewrite. I would try to put the effort into it that I initially did, but with no promises on an update schedule and no advertising. I did ask myself “is there Patreon but without pledging money, just the private posts function” but it could operate as part of a private forum, a members-only part of a website, etc.

Also readers of the original would be beholden to a rule of “don’t spoil the rewrite for new readers, c’mon guys”. I mean, not really, but it is a good courtesy to extend to people.

Priority on this isn’t high but you at least will see what is!

I will probably make the blog public again either way due to the many broken links on my Tumblr but we’ll see. There are other things to deal with as I shall list!

Where Life’s Been Regardless

Been spending more time with my grandpa every weekend. Life’s pretty good and he’s warming up to my dogs.

Shiny New Webbed Site

Cucumber Fields Forever is a site I own now. We have a full domain, cucumberfieldsforever.com, a blog with one post, and the framework needed to host stories the way I want to and still through WordPress. The functionality of likes, comments, and following should still be the same but you know...I’ll take feedback too...

The main blog still has an undefined purpose though I do have drafts sitting around about:

The maybe/maybe not hoax band that was on the Metal Archives and the history of Funeral Doom Metal.

The curious case of when Sims 4 babies get their genetics and my only collaboration (read: was talking about it with a friend and might quote her if needed, it’s actually a bit of a doozy)

Amazon.com’s fake dried udon noodles, an actual issue by the way.

Things I’m reading! (This’d be a monthly feature if so)

For the sake of unity, I am thinking of solutions for hosting old and shameful content there including Uptown and for the real fans in my followers feed, Eight Cicadas...a world I totally have plans for too (not really). I don’t want them to be front-and-center, and that’s why I mentioned forums/members-only content. I finally have that power! Maybe.

Ooooh but what are the costs? Not too much to handle, that’s what. 😉 (Like really, I don’t need any hand-wringing about this, I can manage my finances)

Project Queue (In Order of Confirmedness)

Outrun the Scythe: have you seen me post out-of-context Sims 3 pictures? Did you want more? Did you hope it was Linda in Custody? If the answers are yes, yes, and “meh, whatever you want”, then you’re in luck.

Outrun the Scythe is a Sims 3-based tale of a young gay man and his zombie grandma, as they are both offered separate roles of being the undying intermediaries between the world of humans and the influence of a race of space daemons. It’s pretty familiar if you’ve been following me pre-Uptown, taking some cues from stories I’ve kept under lock and key like Eight Cicadas, The Chains of Lyra, and the not-so-locked-up Ironstar Immortals (of which Outrun is just the direct sequel to sans any retconning...ah the smell of early 2013 and performative heterosexuality)

Ah, back to my roots.

It’s a hybrid of gameplay, story, and lore about my little race of daemons with a lot of my own idiosyncrasies that I’m not really ashamed of: basing it off a super-polarizing Sims 3 challenge from a site I moderate, using a lot of EA’s pre-made townies and their genes, lots of unnecessary posemaking, stupid references. It’s a comfort to have in my roster.

While the first few chapters are in the middle of revision, I have around six in the queue and will be making this public when I have ten. I’m guessing December then?

Undocumented Black Widow Challenge: I just did this for fun/forum kudos (yes, in fact I have joined many forums), there was going to be a short story but it was quickly becoming something against my code of ethics. I mean, sims die and all. (read: I had to choose between “heterosexual widow” and “widow with some same-sex marriages that still end in tragedy, reinforcing negative stereotypes to the public for the sake of me not getting bored and detached during gameplay” so there were no good choices. Except for her affair with the mailwoman, 10/10) I hope to finish this before October ends and get my medal on Boolprop, I’m pretty far through it all. I might upload the sims involved anyways. This is for TS4.

I mentioned it because it’s keeping me busy. But not for long!

NaNoWriMo 2020: Dipping my toes into that again! It’s not sims-related, just a tale of lesbians, nosy neighbors, a haunted beach house, and some light murder and kidnapping. And I actually got my brother to scout out locations for me this weekend. If there’s any demand, I can share chapters as the rough drafts are finished, especially for the sake of proofreading.

Not saying I’m publishable, but wouldn’t it be nice? Will keep me occupied for much of November.

Untitled “Dear Diary” Challenge: Tired of feeling left out of the fun on the Boolprop forums, their “Dear Diary” challenge was the one that appealed to me the most on first glance. Why? Probably once I found an idea that let it be set in the early/mid-2000′s to begin with and explore some interesting characters through diary entries (which I have mixed feelings on as a literary device but I think that’s just me saying “well I didn’t like Dracula”, yes you get bonus points for writing it like a diary)

Also writing is the one skill I’m good at across multiple games. Wanna hear me bitch about the cooking skill tree in TS4 or riding in TS3? I’ll spare you.

I guess I could have included “spending time on Boolprop with old and new friends” in where my life has been. It’s a nice lil community if also a place with its own idiosyncrasies as well. So it doesn’t feel like I’m promoting another community if/when I make a thread there for Outrun the Scythe, I want to have a couple chapters of this ready to go by Outrun’s release, though it’s not gonna be the highest priority compared to it nor as long because I think I can blast through the gameplay quickly.

This one will be played in TS4 due to it having the easiest writing skill/I dunno variety is the spice of life. And hopefully another December release.

Defunded or Forgotten?: Oh shit I actually released stuff in 2020 and told no one? I do have a “mortifying ordeal of being known” sinking feeling whenever I get a site hit because it’s not my best work (but good enough) and veered sharply into issues I may be over my head in, though I try to be a good noodle with research and listening. Maybe hiding is bad after all.

Being based off a very flawed and incomplete Sims 3 challenge I found in the annals of the Official Forums, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work just making sense of things. And I’m scared of working on reconstructing the house but I haven’t abandoned the project yet. The story has eight chapters so far and is pretty game-based with some additions here and there. Scared of how long it could be though!

Date for this unknown.

Untitled Sunlit Tides Decadynasty: another year-long abandoned TS3 project with a much stupider reason why. Last update was about Hua getting ready for her wedding, and I wanted to do some poses for a bait-and-switch wedding chapter because to put it mildly, her real one was an absolute disaster.

Blender decided to fuck up its interface again, I got discouraged (this probably does account for some of the Uptown delays too), and when I decided to plow forward, it was for other projects instead.

Meanwhile I played all the way to Gen 5′s teenhood and the only thing stopping me is time (it takes almost 30 minutes to load the file right now, though they’ll be looking at moving towns in a couple gens) and maybe fear of the Logic skill.

Date for this also unknown but it’s easy to pump out updates once I’m in the groove for it. My third heir had a difficult life so maybe I’m just trying to bury it.

Also I just noticed the view count there was really good and probably because I linked it here on Tumblr last year. Thank you so much guys. I can’t really fret over views on Carl’s forum these days thanks to the years-long death spiral pretty much every forum anywhere has been riding on. But it’s a nice surprise. And it’s an alright little challenge recap to read during your lunch break or whatever.

The Wawas

I figured I’d end on the real news everyone wants! Both the chihuahuas are a year and a half now and reached their adult size around a year ago. For the most part, they are happy and healthy dogs.

#state of the uwunion #long post

[camillemontespan]

camille’s scrapbook [photoshoot]

Master List

A/N: The edit I made for this didn’t really work but damn it, I tried. Meghan Markle’s face on top of Natalie Portman’s body just wasn’t working for me no matter how much I tried to fix it. SO, after all of that, I thought I should just use it otherwise it would have been a waste of my time. Not that I’m doing anything productive.

SPEAKING OF PRODUCTIVE: I’ve been posting new chapters of my current series Ten Years From Now throughout the whole of this lockdown but as from next week - TBC- I am going to be working a temp job at my bf’s dad’s store. I’ll be the person at the front letting people in and reminding them to stay 2 metres apart - I will be in a position of authority, oh my godddd. So, I won’t be posting as much but I desperately need money. 

@emichelle​​ @ibldw-main​​ @hipstercoffeeshop​​ @moonlightgem7​​ @sirbeepsalot​​ @dcbbw​​ @jovialyouthmusic​​ @pug-bitch​​ @gardeningourmet​​ @pedudley​​ @msjr0119​​ @notoriouscs​​ @katedrakeohd​​ @rainbowsinthestorm​​  @argylemnwrites​​  @burnsoslow​​ @kingliam2019​​​  @burnsoslow​

*******************************

Lily looked through more of the photographs, her eyes dancing as she tried to pick the next one. It was a big decision. 

Her eyes settled on a picture of Camille. 

'Mommy!' she cried, pointing at the image. 'This one.' 

Camille groaned. 'Oh god, my pregnancy photoshoot.. What a disaster!' 

Drake examined the picture, a slow smile creeping on his face. He grazed the image with his finger, entranced. 

Camille pulled Lily into her, kissing her all over. 'That's you inside my tummy, my little mushroom! And you wouldn't stop kicking me!' 

Lily squealed, laughing as Camille covered her in kisses. Drake couldn't take his eyes off the photograph. His wife looked beautiful. 

Photoshoot

Camille shook out her shoulders, trying to feel confident, when really, she was shitting it. 

She was eight months pregnant and preparing for a photoshoot. But it wasn't any photoshoot, not one for a magazine. No, this photoshoot was for her husband. 

Drake had been so supportive of her ever since she told him she was pregnant. He had looked after her more than usual, refusing to let her lift a finger. He had wanted her to feel relaxed and content throughout this pregnancy with no worries. 

He also adored her pregnant. Camille didn't know why exactly but she was enjoying all the extra attention. He always gave her attention but this was on another level. 

Camille wanted to give him a present to say thank you for being her rock. Which was why she was in a photography studio with only a white sheet wrapped artistically around her body, showing off her bump. 

She wanted Drake to have something to commemorate her pregnancy before the baby was born. She just hoped he would like it. 

************

'You look fabulous darling!' Micah the photographer cried. 'Glowing!' 

Camille struck another demure pose, trying to relax. 

She wasn't usually nervous for photo shoots, in fact, she was quite the natural in front of the camera and behind it. But this was important. This was for Drake and it had to be perfect. She had to look perfect. 

Her baby girl kicked hard. 'Ah fuck!' Camille cursed, grasping hold of her bump. Micah stopped taking pictures, eyeing Camille warily. 

'You okay?' he asked hopefully. 

Camille nodded. 'Baby girl just kicked, that's all!' 

Relieved, Micah got back to taking pictures. Camille kept her hands wrapped around her bump, trying to focus on the camera. 

Oh god this was a bad idea. 

She was heavily pregnant. Sure, she wasn't due for another month but what if something happened? What if the baby decided to come early? What if her waters broke in front of Micah?! What if Micah had to deliver her baby?! 

Stop catastrophizing. You are eight months pregnant. She is healthy. She isn't going to arrive early. Micah isn't going to deliver your baby girl. He is going to take your picture which you will show to your husband and that's it. Focus. 

She exhaled and posed again, looking down and smiling. The baby kicked. 

Okay baby girl. Here's what we're going to do. Compromise. It's a big word I know, but you will learn it when you're older. If you stop kicking Mommy right now, I will be so happy. Then tonight I will eat all of the watermelon, which is your favourite thing right now, and Daddy will tell you a story, and you can kick Mommy to your hearts content. How about that? 

Nothing. 

Camille smiled at the camera, cradling her bump. 'Beautiful!' Micah shouted. 'You are like a modern day Princess Diana! Serve me pregnant Duchess realness!' 

The baby kicked again, hard. 

Camille sighed, stopping to look down at her bump. The baby was moving a lot today, quite restless. It was strange. 

Camille posed again, trying to keep a smile on her face. But the baby kept kicking and dancing, unable to relax. The harder she kicked, the more breathless Camille became. 

'Micah, I need to stop,' she said. 'I'm so sorry but the baby keeps kicking.' 

Micah told her that they had collected enough photographs and he would email her them when they were ready. She could then choose her favorites. 

Camille felt like she wouldn't have any favorites. 

She got dressed and her security guard, Jason, walked with her out of the building towards the private car outside. 

'How did the shoot go?' Jason asked. He had been waiting outside so he could give Camille privacy. 

'Awful,' Camille told him. 'The baby kept kicking and I couldn't focus.' 

Jason sighed. 'I bet Drake will love the pictures. Don't be down on yourself, Camille. He worships the ground you walk on.' 

**************

Camille blamed her hormones for the flood of tears that poured down her face when she was finally home. 

All she had wanted was to give Drake a present and she hadn't been able to do that. She was certain the pictures would be terrible. 

She dragged herself upstairs to the bedroom. Pulling open the closet door, she found Drake's denim shirt. Undressing, she pulled the shirt on and climbed under the duvet, cupping her baby bump. 

I'm sorry I'm so emotional, baby girl. It's not your fault. If anything, it's a good thing that you're moving a lot, it means you're healthy. That's all I want, for you to be healthy. But I really wanted to give something to your daddy and make him smile. 

'Camille?' 

Drake opened the door, stepping inside. Camille sniffled. She felt Drake sit down on the edge of the bed. 

He gently pulled the duvet away, exposing a crying Camille. 

'Baby, what's wrong?' he asked, his voice low and soothing. He had dealt with many pregnancy breakdowns over the past few months. 

'Gnhhghhhh..' 

Drake gently smoothed back her hair to show her face. Her eyes were red rimmed and her skin was blotchy. 

'Talk to me,' he murmured. 'I'm here.' 

Camille struggled to sit up. Drake helped her, fluffing up the pillows so her back was supported. He waited for her to explain. Even though last time she had a breakdown, it was because she hadn't realised that they were out of watermelon and she had had a hard time explaining why she was so bereft. 

'I was at a pregnancy photoshoot today,' she admitted reluctantly. Drake drew back, his eyes widening. He hadn't expected that answer. He had thought this would be another watermelon emergency. 

'I wanted to get some pictures done as a gift for you because you've been so kind and caring during this pregnancy,' she explained, wringing her hands together. 'But the baby kept kicking, like more than usual, and I couldn't focus and now the pictures are going to be ugly and awkward and I'm going to look ridiculous and anyway I'm sorry -' 

She was word vomiting. Her words poured out of her and her eyes filled with tears as she told him the sorry tale of the photoshoot. 

'And now I feel like a terrible mom because its a good thing that she is moving and kicking, but I was getting all fixated on taking the perfect picture!' she wailed. 'What kind of mother does that?! I'm such an asshole!' 

She burst into fresh tears, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. Drake took a breath. Slowly, he arranged himself so he was lying on his front and he was looking down at Camille's bump. 

'Oh baby girl, let's try and look after Mommy, ' he sighed, lifting up the denim shirt to show Camille's stomach.  Camille sniffled, watching as he ran his hand along the bump. 

Drake looked up at Camille with soft, warm eyes. 'I love you,' he said. 'I can't believe you even thought about doing something like that for me. You're eight months along, you should be focusing on nesting and instead, you're setting up photoshoots and pushing yourself.' 

Camille cast her eyes down. 'I just wanted to make you smile.' 

'And I really appreciate that, baby,' he assured her. 'I do. But I don't need a photo of you in make up, with your hair all perfect, posing to a camera. Why would I when I've got the real thing, right here?' 

'I look like shit,' Camille told him dryly, rubbing her eyes harshly. 'Like microwaved shit.'

'You look gorgeous,' he said. 'I love it when you wear my shirt and nothing else. I love it when your face is free of makeup and your hair is in a messy bun. And I love your bump. I love that you wanted to give me something to remember these months but Camille, I'm always going to remember how beautiful you are. I'll remember this moment right here. I don't need a fancy picture to remind me.'

Camille sniffled, making Drake's heart tug. He sighed and looked down at her bump. 

' I think baby girl was just really excited today, 'he said quietly. 'She knew you were doing something secretive and fun so she wanted to join in.'

Camille shook her head. 'You don't have to make up stories to make me feel better..' 

'I mean it,' Drake said, his voice strong. 'I think baby girl was trying to join in. This is the most she's kicked in ages right? And she would kick when you were posing? Camille, our daughter is a little attention seeker who is going to love the spotlight, I'm calling it now!'

Camille burst out laughing, a throaty laugh that showed her true appreciation. Drake grinned, happy that he had made her laugh and forget about her worries for a moment. He chuckled and leaned up to kiss her softly. 

'You're not a bad mom,' he whispered against her lips. 'You're already taking such great care of her. But right now, you gotta focus on yourself. No more photoshoots. Just stay home, nest and let me look after you.' 

'But you've been working so hard looking after me,' Camille said. 'I just wanted to say thank you.' 

Drake took her hand. 'I don't need a thank you for looking after my wife and daughter. I love looking after you. Its never a chore, I'm happy to do it. Let me look after you, Camille. That's what makes me happy.'

Camille sighed but gave him a genuine smile. 'Alright,' she said. 'You can look after me.' 

'Great,' Drake said. 'Now, what does madam want to eat this evening?' 

Camille looked up at him from under her eyelashes. 'We're in the mood for watermelon..' 

Drake chuckled, shaking his head. 'Watermelon it is. I stocked up on it after last time. Can't have you crying about watermelon again, not on my watch!' 

****************

The photographs were emailed to Camille the following week. As she scrolled through them, she could see that they were actually quite pretty. 

She heard her office door open. Drake entered. 

'Hey honey,' he said. 'Whatcha looking at?' 

Camille blushed. 'The photoshoot pictures..' 

Drake rushed to her desk, eager to see. Camille closed her eyes, waiting with bated breath. She felt so nervous for him to see them. 

'Basically, pick one you like and I can have Micah produce it -' 

'All of them,' Drake interrupted her. His eyes slowly roamed over each image. He couldn't tear his gaze away. 

The photographs were elegant, like Camille was. She looked glowing and healthy. Her bump was on proud display and from her poses and smiles, you wouldn't have known that the baby had been kicking her constantly. 

'Jesus, you're fucking beautiful,' he murmured. 

Camille smiled now. Drake ran his finger along the screen, finally managing to take his eyes away so he could look at Camille who was watching him hopefully. 

'I maintain what I said about not needing pictures,' Drake told her softly. 'But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna frame every single one.' 

#camilles scrapbook #drake x camille

[softbiker]

Born to Run - Chapter 3

Warnings: some language, descriptions of injury and blood

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: Next chapter!! Things are going to start picking up from here - Bucky (and the rest of the gang) will be getting more involved, and making more of a mess. Thank you so much for your support of this series! As always, let me know what you think! <3

Three weeks. Three whole weeks.

It had been 23 days since Y/N moved out to the middle of nowhere, and 20 days since she had taken over her tiny clinic. She had seen tick bites and viral infections and strep throat and cysts. She had passed out prescriptions and signed insurance papers and given flu shots. She had unpacked all of her clothes into the tidy wardrobe and closet, once the mothball smell finally dissipated. And she had spent every single night alone in her house.

Y/N had thought that having roommates all through college and medical school was a necessary evil - though she always got along with them, the real dream was having a place all to yourself, right? No one coming in or leaving at odd hours, no one stealing your leftover takeout. No one to talk to. Ever.

If she had to spend one more night scrolling through Netflix by herself, she was going to jump in front of a semi.

Which was why she was standing in front of a now-full closet, flipping through dresses and shirts to wear, discarding and debating her options. When Charlotte had informed her of Back to School fair this weekend, Y/N had practically wept with joy. Charlotte was planning to take her two boys, Ethan and Caleb, and welcomed Y/N to join them for the evening - she jumped at the chance to do something, go somewhere. To wear something other than scrubs. That was probably why she had been in front of her closet for 20 minutes now - there were so many options when she hadn’t been able to wear her fun clothes in nearly a month.

She settled on a sundress and sneakers and made it out the door on the tail of an “On my way!” text to Charlotte.

The fairground normally doubled as a public park and playground on the outskirts of town. As she pulled into the vacant field across the street and parked her car, Y/N marvelled at the sheer volume of activity they were able to fit into such a small park. There was a ferris wheel, a swing ride, and one of those spinning g-force rides with a blinking sign that read ‘Gravitron’. The overwhelming smell of popcorn and fried foods drifted on the afternoon air, promising the most nostalgic foods imaginable. Carnival games and craft booths filled the park, boasting prizes and homemade goods.

Charlotte was waiting next to a white gazebo at the front of the park, a young boy with curly dark hair standing next to her. She caught sight of Y/N approaching from across the street and waved, her smile big and bright. Y/N waved back, jogging across the street to get out of the way of an oncoming truck.

“Hi,” she greeted, slightly out of breath. “I hope I’m not late?”

“Oh no! We just got here,” Charlotte smiled her easy smile, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “This is my younger son, Caleb. He’s 10.” Caleb lifted his hand and quirked his mouth shyly.

“Hello, Caleb, nice to meet you,” Y/N gave him her warmest smile. “Don’t you have an older brother somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Caleb nodded, frowning a little. “But mom let him go with his friends.”

“Well, sorry baby, but 10 is just not old enough for boys to go off unsupervised,” Charlotte rolled her eyes fondly. “When you’re 13 you can run around with your buddies like Ethan. Until then, you’re stuck hanging out with your very cool mom.”

Y/N stifled her laughter as Caleb sighed a long suffering sigh. Charlotte just winked.

“Now, come on, I’m dying for some lemonade.”

The three of them had a blast exploring the fair; in spite of having only two adult females for company, Caleb certainly enjoyed himself, indulging in fried oreos and corndogs and sodas, and somehow still managing to hold it down when they rode the swings. Y/N won a small pocket knife in a ring toss game, which she talked the carnie into trading back for a superhero action figure that Caleb could play with. They sipped lemonade and listened to the live music from a country singer they had never heard of.

“Mom, can we go on the ferris wheel now?” Caleb asked, urgently tugging on her sleeve. “Look, the line is really short!”

“Honey, I think the cars only take two riders…” Charlotte trailed off, her meaning understood. She didn’t want to leave Y/N sitting out, or sitting with a stranger.

“No, no - don’t worry about me! I can stay right here and watch your things anyway,” Y/N insisted. “Really, I don’t mind. I’m not a big fan of heights anyway.”

Charlotte seemed unsure, but after a bit more coaxing she let Caleb drag her away to the ferris wheel before the lines got long again. Y/N smiled watching them go, licking the powdered sugar off her fingers from her funnel cake. They had had a fun afternoon, but she felt she should let them spend some time together with just the two of them.

Wringing an overused napkin in one hand, she scrolled through the photos on her phone. Between the late afternoon sun and the fairground backdrop, she had taken some nice pictures. She should post one on Instagram, probably. Just to let everyone know she was still alive. Her thumb swiped through her phone and tapped on the app, pulling up a timeline full of bright smiles and baby photos.

“WE GOT A DOCTOR HERE?!”

Y/N’s head whipped around so fast her neck popped. Who said that?

“MY FRIEND NEEDS HELP! ARE THERE ANY DOCTORS HERE?”

A dark-skinned man in a blue t-shirt was running in between picnic tables and shouting, turning back and forth in his search.

“I am! I’m a doctor!” Y/N shot up from the bench, maneuvering around her purse and Caleb’s prizes. She waved a hand at the man. “Over here!”

His face briefly softened in relief, then intensified again as he jogged between tables towards her and grabbed her wrist.

“This way, doc, he’s really bleeding a lot,” he said over his shoulder, weaving between couples and children and cotton candy vendors. Y/N’s heart pounded, adrenaline sharpening her focus.

“Have you called an ambulance already? If it’s more than I can handle, they’d better be on their way - the hospital is too far.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gave a sharp nod. “But somebody told me we had a new doctor in town - figured it was worth a shot to see if you were out here tonight.”

They rounded a shooting gallery game and she saw him, sprawled out on the grass and face covered in blood. That would be the patient, she assumed. Blood flowed from a gash on his forehead, slicking his face and neck like something out of a slasher flick. He was conscious, sputtering and spitting blood from his mouth as he tried to talk to the man that was holding his head and shoulders in his lap. Y/N was at his side in a second.

“How did this happen?” she questioned, all business.

“Uh, he fell, hit his head on one of the stakes holding up the tents,” the man holding her patient’s head spoke up.

Lie. A very obvious one, but fine. Without sparing the other man a glance, Y/N leaned forward over the bleeding man’s face.

“Sir, can you hear me? I’m a doctor, I’m going to have a look at this cut, alright?”

“ ‘kay,” he mumbled, nodding. The blood around his lips was starting to dry and crack.

Y/N glanced around, looking for something to stop the bleeding. With no other options, she unwrapped the denim shirt from her waist and pressed it to the man’s forehead, using both hands to increase the pressure. She turned to the man who had come to find her, hovering nearby and chewing his lip.

“I’ll need something to clean this with. Just warm water is fine if you can find it. Once I clean the blood off we’ll see if he needs stitches.” Nodding once, he disappeared into the crowd once again. Y/N turned back to her patient, lifting the shirt lightly to examine the bleeding.

“Sure bleeds like a bitch, don’t it?”

She actually jumped when the other man spoke - she had paid no attention to him, other than noting that he was holding his friend's head. She looked up. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me-

“We keep meeting in weird ways,” Bucky smiled ruefully at her from under his baseball cap. She blinked. Turned back to the matter at hand.

“I’d say this is a little different than shopping for brownie mix,” Y/N muttered. Who did he think he was, acting like this was some kind of meet-cute? And after the way he acted in the grocery store?

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. His laugh jostled his friend’s head and shoulders a bit and the man groaned.

“Buck, stop flirtin’,” he said, exasperated. “You’re distracting the doctor.”

“Believe me, I’m the furthest thing from distracted.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

Bucky looked like he was about to say more, but then their other friend returned with water, towels, and a small first aid kit. They were helpful and followed her instructions while she cleaned the wound and wiped the rest of the man’s face - he was nearly as handsome as Bucky under all that blood, with a straight nose and sharp square jaw. She used a little disinfectant around the area and chewed her lip as she examined the edges of the cut.

“It looks like you’ll need stitches, Mr…?”

“Rogers. Steve Rogers.” His voice sounded a bit better after they had given him a sip of water.

“Alright, Steve. Let me unpack the kit here and see if we have a needle,” she nodded, reaching back and flipping the first aid kit open in her lap. Whoever packed the kit must have been a nurse or paramedic of some kind, because they had thankfully included a suture needle and surgical thread. She snapped on a pair of gloves and opened the sterile plastic packet containing the needle. “Sorry, I don’t think I have an anesthetic.”

“It’s alright, doc,” he sighed. “I think the Army might be ashamed of me if I can’t handle a few stitches.”

“He’s had plenty of stitches before - hell, he’s had more than anybody I know,” Bucky piped up. “He can handle it.”

“Thanks a lot, jerk,” Steve scoffed.

“You’re welcome, asshole.”

“Y’all wanna shut up and let the doctor do her job or what?” the other man, Sam, she had learned, glared at them both.

“Alright,” Y/N took a breath and threaded her needle. “If you need to bite something or squeeze something do it, just stay still.”

Steve was a model patient, he didn’t even flinch as the needle tugged the tear in his skin closed, though he hissed through his teeth and clenched his fist down on Bucky’s hand. Sam crouched down next to them and watched intently, but stayed quiet. They watched her work, hands steady and efficient. Y/N enjoyed the focus that came with her work - she blocked out the fair rides and the screaming children and country music. Her vision closed in on the needle and the skin, carefully weaving and tying the wound closed.

When she finished and cut the thread, she sat back on her heels and sighed, shoulders slumping. “Okay, Mr. Rogers. I think you’ll live.”

Steve smiled a crooked, all-American grin. “You’re a miracle worker, doc.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Just faster than an ambulance. And actually, if you really did hit your head on a metal stake, I think I ought to check for a concussion.”

Bucky and Sam helped tug him to his feet so she could check his coordination and shine her phone flashlight at his pupils. He insisted his head didn’t hurt or feel dizzy, so she cleared him, though they did let the paramedics have a look when they finally arrived.

A few minutes later she was standing to the side, arms crossed, as she watched the ambulance pull away. She felt more than heard his heavy-booted steps come up beside her, but she didn’t turn to look.

“You did a great job, doc,” Bucky offered, trying to catch her eye.

“Thank you.”

“Lucky you were here.”

“It wasn’t a deep wound, he would’ve been fine waiting for the ambulance.”

“Still.” He took a half step forward, into her eye line and she turned to face him fully. His expression was full of something she couldn’t quite make out - hope? Admiration? Gratitude? Bucky’s eyes roamed her face, unwilling or unable to move away. The longer she held his gaze, the more she felt that something unspoken was passing between them, something she couldn’t articulate. But it was too much, whatever it was.

Y/N took a step backward, breaking eye contact as she glanced towards Steve and Sam, sitting at a picnic table 20 feet away.

“Keep an eye out for your friends. Wouldn’t want them to keep falling on sharp objects,” she said, continuing to back away from Bucky. He shifted his feet as if he wanted to follow, but decided against it. Without giving him a chance to speak, she turned on her heel and left.

Caleb spotted her first when she was back in sight of their table. He tugged on his mother’s arm and pointed; Charlotte visibly melted in relief when Y/N met her eyes and waved.

“We were worried you’d been kidnapped or something!” Charlotte half-joked as she approached. Y/N grimaced, realizing she had left their things out in the open - thank god it looked like nothing was stolen.

“I’m so sorry, there was an emergency, a man had fallen and cut his head,” Y/N rushed to explain, noticing Charlotte’s eyes dart down to her dress. Y/N’s eyes followed. “...and clearly, there was a lot of blood.”

“Jesus. It’s a good thing they found you, huh?”

“I guess so,” Y/N shrugged lamely.

“Who was it? Did you catch a name?”

“He said Steve Rogers?” She didn’t quite catch Charlotte’s eyes widening as she continued. “His friend was there, Bucky Barnes. He’s my neighbor across the street.”

Charlotte’s face looked pinched and she had a white-knuckled grip on Caleb’s shoulder, but she managed a pained smile.

“Oh. Well I guess you’ll be wanting to head home and get into some clean clothes?” Her words were strained. “We had a great time tonight, see you Monday!” And then she was practically dragging Caleb away at a clipped pace, just slow enough to seem sane.

What the fuck is going on in this town?

#bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #biker!bucky #biker!bucky au #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction

[oh-theatre]

Objection!: Chapter 10

Chapter title: Utinam Ne Illum Numquam Conspexissem

A/n:  My bois ™ I love them. I'm sorry this chapter took longer than usual. It was a bitch to write! I actually don't know how I feel about this one, but stuff was revealed so yay!! Ooo what are Rem and Emile discussing... Also, I just love Latin, and Latin phrases...hence the title. Anyway, leave me some comments! I would really appreciate it!

First | Previous | Next

words: 4287

summary: Virgil and Remy must save Roman from a dangerous situation

pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, gun, gun mention, drug and alcohol mention, sweating, hospital, screams

Ao3 Link  

“I warned you Rem, the waiting process is the worst” Emile advises from his desk, Remy paces around the room. Emile sighs looking up from his computer, Remy huffs. “Rem come here” He gestures for the worrisome detective. He joins Emile on the other side of the desk, sitting in the chair.

“We could get married in the time it takes” Remy comments fiddling with the funky pencils in the cup. Emile chuckles taking Remy's free hand.

“Did you just propose to me Remington Nyx?” Emile asks coyly, using his other hand to type some more things on his computer. Remy drops the pencils leaving a cluttered mess, Emile rolls his eyes.

“No, that's not for another month” Remy sighs, Emile blushes biting his tongue. Remy kisses his hand jumping up. “Alright! I can't sit here wallowing! I need to do something”

“Glad to hear you saying that” Virgil slides in through the door. Emile gives him a small wave return, Remy falls back onto the couch soon joined by Virgil. “Is it bad that I don't wanna work today?” Emile shuts off his computer standing up. He makes his way to the chair across the couch, opening his notebook.

“What's wrong?” Emiles voice shifts, Remy stifles a laugh recognizing what he's doing. Virgil rubs his forehead causing a red stain of heat.

“I'm stuck! I really can't do this job, I don't know what's happening” Virgil complains. Remy's smile disappears now, he leans forward, placing a hand on his partner. Virgil shoots him a grateful glance but it doesn't do much, because he's stuck spinning. “I'm just so confused”

“Oh, I felt that” Remy mumbles spreading himself on the couch laying his head on Virgil's lap. Emile smiles sweetly at his partner. “Em, we need therapy, clearly” he gestures dramatically. Emile chuckles, Virgil nods solemnly.

“Alright fine, but you better be paying me for this” He teases, Remy wiggles his eyebrows making Emile shift. “Not like that you absolute dork” Emile chides. Virgil begins fiddling with Remy's hair, twirling and twisting it every which way. Nothing harmful and Remy doesn't mind, it helps Virge calms down. It gives him something to do. “Ok, what's your sleep schedule like?” Emile begins.

“What does th-” A hand quickly covers Virgil's mouth, he looks down at Remy expectantly.

“Dude, just answer the question. He's the professional” Virgil rolls his eyes removing Remy's hand. Emile, who at this point is used to the detective's antics, politely waits. He has to do it a lot, patients tend to take longer to start off a conversation. But once you get them going, it's like rapid fire. Sometimes Emile can't keep up, however, others are less willing.

“Uh, I sleep...I guess…” Virgil grumbles, Remy appropriately yawns. “It's pretty sporadic, never more than like...mmm four to five hours?” Remy snaps in agreement, Emile tries hard not to shake his head. Showing disapproval or disappointment is counterproductive but Remy sleeps plenty, almost too much if you ask Emile. Virgil flicks Remy's forehead causing a mock pout. “You sleep so much it's not even funny” Virgil quips, Emile chuckles. Remy looks to his boyfriend for comfort or support but is instead met with a shrug, as if saying its true.

“Ok, we’re here for Virge, let's get back to him” Remy huffs, Emile nods coyly. Remy tries his best to kick Emile from his position but it ends up looking like he's flailing.

“Right well I mean...Damian keeps me up sometimes” Virgil informs returning back to a more reserved state. A pit of shame formed in his stomach, Emile notices the detective begins to pound his fists rhythmically on his thighs. Virgil's thoughts are cluttered, Damian. How could he think that? How could he say that? How dare he blame his child, his own son. How dare he complain about his job? His life is perfect, he has everything.

Not everything

Selfish, that's what I am

“Virgil? Is everything ok?” Emiles voice somehow makes its way into his head. A fruity intrusion in his echo chamber, his thoughts make way for the question. Pausing just for a moment, so he can look the doctor in the eye. Remy sits up now, growing concern riddles his face.

“Virge, you still with us bud?” Remy waves in front of his face, he can focus on the swift movement. Virgil couldn't really see it much, but it was consistent, it wasn't changing on him. But every time even the slightest thought of something pushed its way into his mind, an uneasy feeling tugged at his stomach. He grabs the hand, setting it down.

“M’fine” He lies, his problems are his own. Obviously, Remy and Emile could see straight through this, but just as impeccable timing goes. This takes the cake. The door swings open hitting the wall quite heavily. Virgil stands soon joined by the other two. Dylan appears his radio going wild, Emile and Remy throwdown in a staring contest. Emile crowned the winner, hopes his message of ‘Do not hurt Dylan, it wasn't his fault’ gets through. “Whats up Dyl?” Virgil asks, dusting off his pants.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt-

“It's fine, what's going on?” Remy pushes, Emile frowns at him. Every hint of annoyance towards the office that Remy could muster, he would. It may seem a bit too much but he put Emile's life in Dylan's hands and was completely betrayed. Every time he sees Emile he can't help but be reminded of the barrel he found his boyfriend staring down.

“There was a break-in at…” he snaps struggling to recall the address. Virgil exhales, his own patience wearing thin. “4563 Witch Lane, I think” Virgil's brows furrow, he knows that address. “It's ongoing and officers say the perpetrator is violent” Virgil heart pounds in his head.

Remember

“Why do you need us?” Remy questions flopping back onto the couch “Sounds like they got it covered” He blows, Emile shakes his head. Why? Why do they need us? They're usually called once the crime has happened, to investigate; How, when, why, and who. And that all depends on whether or not the patrol officers catch the culprit or not. So why, on god's green earth, do they need Virgil and Remy.

“Uh...because-” It finally hits Virgil, knocking him down a peg.

“Because that's Romans address” He mutters, fear is not the word he's looking for.

~~~

One more text and Patton might scream. One more text and Patton might scream. One more text from Liam and Patton might scream. One more text about how much Liam wants to see him, or talk to him or how much he misses him and Patton might scream. One more-

“Papa! Your phone is buzzing!” Valerie claims from across the small cafe table. Patton gives her a wary smile before turning over the phone, mostly to humor the excited girl. Quickly skimming over the multiple texts from Liam and one from Logan, he turns it back over. He will respond later, the mystery of what Logans might hold does set his heart racing.

“Alright kiddos, what do you want to eat?” Patton asks looking expectantly at the twins. For the past twenty minutes, the kids have been reading through the menus, on their own per Patton's request, trying to figure out what they wanted. Obviously, Patton would help if they needed it but he wanted them to try and do it on their own. The look of pride on their faces when they understood an order was all Patton was looking for.

“Waffles!” Remus has decided, shouting it for everyone to hear. Patton smiles politely at the other patrons, turning back to his son. “With...whip cream and sprinkles!” Patton nods, the waitress, Ally, writes down his order moving onto Valerie.

“I want some eggs please” She informs, wringing her hands. The failure to meet the waitress's eyes makes Patton smile sadly. Valerie, unlike her brother, was very shy towards strangers. She was much more comfortable around people she knew, to which she would shout and scream and dance around to her heart's content.

“Would you like that with bacon dear?” The waitress asks, Valerie ponders for a moment using the menu as an escape tool. She nods. Ally smiles writing down the order before moving onto Patton. “And you sir?”

“I’ll take eggs benedict” Patton shows, she nods scribbling it down. “Oh! And to drink, can we have two fresh orange juices and a latte?” The kids bounce at the sound of juice. Ally leaves after a moment, the bustling cafe revving in energy.

Breaking how own rules, as the kids play with one another, Patton checks his phone searching for one specific message. The ‘new notification’ mark hovering by Logan's name is enough to make Patton's face red. The blush he had grown so fond and familiar with returning, his finger debating whether or not to open the message. Had he gone to open it, his morning would have been a lot different but the sound of his name being called pulled him away.

“Mister Hart?” Patton shuffles around in his chair, a smile embracing his face.

“Reeve! Hi!” Patton stands, shaking the timid intern. Logan was not wrong, in his mumblings, the lawyer had revealed how Patton's smile could light up the room. He ushers for Reeve to join him at his table, after a moment of resilience, he takes his place next to Patton. “What brings you here?”

“I'm just here to pick up mister Tolentino's order” Reeve rubs the tips of fingers together trying to remember what it was. “One black coffee, an eclair, and three palmiers” Patton and Reeve recite in unison. The intern raises a brow receiving a sweet chuckle in return.

“Almost ten years and it hasn't changed” Patton reminisces, Reeve stays quiet a secret itch to find out more about Logan. “I used to pick it up for him” Reeve smirks, Patton shakes his head playfully “He would forget a lot, he claims to hate sweet things but obviously that's not true” Patton laughs, sitting and watching the lawyer Reeve couldn't agree more. “Anyway, it's nice to see it's the same” Reeve nods, there was something truly entrancing about this man, the intern could listen for hours. Patton bites his bottom lip, fishing something out of his bag. “It's really not a healthy order, would you get him an apple or some berries?” Patton requests, holding out his hand with money.

“I-i can't accept that” Reeve stutters, how can he be so trusting? What if Reeve just took off with`1 the money, what if he spent it on drugs or alcohol? Patton chuckles only furthering his insistence.

“It's on me, really” He insists “Logan needs to eat actual food” He chides, Reeve, takes it feeling awfully guilty. Patton's affect made him want to spend it on the right thing, he was just so...sweet.

“He was not wrong” Reeve mumbles, his eyes flying open through his tired manner. Patton turns to him cocking his head.

“Wrong?” He asks, Reeve shakes his head wishing away the thought with an awkward squeak of a laugh. Patton shrugs, if it wasn't his to hear, it wasn't his to hear. And yet it was, it would honestly make Reeve’s life so much easier. Logan was...an adequate teacher but he'd be even better if some things (cough Patton cough) weren't constantly on his mind. Reeve also wouldn't mind seeing the lawyer a bit happier. Whether he would severely regret this next move was at the tip of his mind, and yet…

“Uh, Logan...talks about you… a lot” Reeve explains, Patton coughs back a smile

“Pardon?” He tries, sipping his water

“He likes to talk about you Patton” Patton’s laughter turns to a quick blush. The light dusting of pink flattering his face. Reeve swallows, he stands giving a brisk smile. “I should probably get going, you know how he is, thank you again” Reeve rushes, practically scrambling to get the order and out of the cafe.

As Patton comes to terms with the feelings he himself had been feeling for years. He's kept so hidden and down, fear of rejection overwhelming and consuming his every action. Because for the life of him, he couldn't conjure up one reason why a lawyer, no a person such as Logan would ever give Patton a second thought. And yet ten years later…he couldn't help but think of one thing.

No, thank you, Reeve

~~~

“Fuck”

“Virge”

“No, fuck” Virgil repeats as they step out of the car. Cops, on cops, line the street outside of Romans house. To say Virgil's heart was racing was an understatement, it was pounding. Beating so hard and fast it almost hurt.  He walks towards the main station. “What's going on Kane?” He asks the lead officer, Kane turns to him his eyes confused.

“Break in, possible violent inside” He informs, knowing that the fire in Virgil's eyes didn't mean a lengthy explanation. However, the twitching at the detective's mouth scares him even more.

“He's still in there?!” Virgil exclaims, he huffs pushing further past, right up to the captain. “I'm going in” he declares

“Absolutely not detective Tormine” Haley warns. Remy finally catches up to his less than excited partner. Virgil clenches his fists, Remy recognizes the distinct furrowing of his brows. A little too late in his opinion. “Detecti- Virgil!” Haley calls out as Virgil races past the yellow tape. Remy sighs following after him, shooting Haley an apologetic glance. “Detective Nyx! Ugh why do I try” Haley moans

Virgil ducks in the house pulling out his gun, flashlight placed above it. He’s been here before, typically its harder to get around these situations when you don't know the layout of the house. But this one? He knew like the back of his hand. He hears small noises, he can't tell if they're just house noises or people noises.

“Virge!” Remy whispers coming up behind the detective. Virgil jumps slightly turning to his partner. He motions silently for Remy to go one way towards the kitchen, while Virgil will go upstairs. They make their separate ways, quietly walking through the house. Virgil checks the bathrooms upstairs first before slowly making his way into Romans room. Its sealed shut, he pushes carefully trying not to draw attention. He swears he can hear a silent struggle. Finally, something shimmies on the other side falling to the ground, he opens the door using his light to see. A light shuffling in the corner catches his eye, he turns practically dropping his things.

“Virge?” Roman croaks. He sits huddled in the corner, a hand over his stomach, another covering the bright light shining in his eyes. Virgil wastes no time kneeling in front of the judge. “I always thought I'd be the knight in shining armor coming to save the prince” Roman jokes, clearly delirious.

“You're bleeding” Virgil realizes, Romans hand is applying pressure on his stomach. Blood oozes through the cracks of his fingers, his eyes barely stay open. Roman laughs immediately seizing through his teeth, the pain runs through. “Ok, come on” Virgil wraps his arm carefully around Romans waist, silently apologizing. Roman tries his best to stand but relies almost entirely on Virgil for support. Virgil goes to take a step but Roman can't, collapsing with just enough space for Virgil to set him down. “So that's not going to work” He mumbles, Roman can feel Virgil's hands tremble in his own.

“You're scared” He notes, his eyes closed at this point. Virgil scoffs.

“Of course I'm fucking scared Roman! You're bleeding out, there's a violent person in your house, cops are surrounding your house!” He shouts Roman slaps him softly.

“Loud, way too loud” He chides, Virgil avoids his eyes knowing the judge is right. “M’fine, let's go” He decides, opening up his eyes grabbing onto Virgil again. Virgil fights to stay balanced as he goes again, knowing Romans not here to argue. He also knows Roman doesn't have time to argue, not with the loopy state of the judge. Once stable, lightly they make their way out of the room, checking the hall is safe.

“You doing ok?” Virgil checks as they huddle close together down the stairs, he wishes he had paid more attention to Romans answer, or lack thereof. “Ro?” Virgil asks as they reach the bottom, he turns to him noticing the limp state. He also notices he's basically carrying the man. “Dammit” He grunts rushing into the kitchen, keeping his steps light. The warm blood still flowing out of Roman is enough to make Virgil gag.

“Hey” Remy whispers joining the pair, his eyes growing wide at the sight Roman. “Oh my god… is h-” His words cut off by a violent noise as something tumbles into the kitchen. Too dark to see, both detectives ready themselves, back to back. Their guns aimed at both kitchen entrances, the patterning of tiny feet growing louder. An ‘oof’ noise coming from Roman, they both turn to exhale breaths of relief, Ollie sits atop Roman licking his face. Remy chuckles before turning to the entrance. “I'll keep watch, you make sure he's ok” Virgil nods.

“Virge, I think you're pretty nifty” Roman comments as Virgil tends to his wounds as best he can. Virgil chuckles rolling his eyes playfully. He uses a damp cloth to wipe Romans forehead, removing any soot or dried blood. “Don't laugh at me” He pouts, Ollie stands brave by the judge's side.

“Never princey, never” Virgil promises, holding a wad of towels to the stomach wound. That won't do, he thinks. “Rem, we gotta get him out of here or…” Virgil would rather not finish his sentence, Remy gives a brisk nod understanding. He takes one more look out the entrance before aiding Virgil, taking place on Romans other side. “Just to the door, that's all we need to do” Virgil licks his lips, they're unmistakably dry.

“Ready?” Remy cocks his head towards his partner.

“Set” Virgil takes a deep breath his eyes aimed at the door.

“Arf!” Ollie barks, ready to charge with the trio. Virgil and Remy share a glance before setting off. They avoid anything that might make noise, reaching the door easily. Still supporting Roman, Virgil pushes the door open, shoving Remy and Roman through first Ollie squeezing in after them. He hears Haley shouting commands towards the officers. The aching his heart resembles when the medics peel Roman away from Virgil is almost too much. But having to watch the ambulance drive away without him was worse.

~~~

“Nothing too drastic, we got him into surgery just in time” The doctor explains leading a very worried Virgil to Romans room. “He should be resting, but well…” The doctor eyes the room, Virgil releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding at the sight of Roman flirting with the nurse. “He insisted he was fine, he's all yours” The doctor squeezes Virgil's shoulder, and it takes everything in his power not to cringe away from the man.

“Thanks” Virgil slides open the door making his way into the room. Roman finishes his latest quest to be the most loved man on the planet turning to Virgil. His smile is like no other, even though the pain is clear as his face morphs. Virgil should feel relieved but something else washes over him.

“If it isn't my favorite detective, Vigil Terrible was it?” Roman teases, as if everything is ok. Virgil slides the door closed, his hands gaining increasingly sweatier. Its not ok, the countless tubes hanging out of Roman, the IV drip attached to the man, the bruises on his face, all indicate otherwise. “Virge, I was kidding…” Roman assures seeing Virgil's blank stare.

“You almost died, you know that right?” Virgil jumps right in, approaching Romans bed. Roman shifts uncomfortably in his spot, his smile faltering. “As in, bleeding out, unconscious, death” He pushes further if it's for him or the judge Virgil isn't sure. Roman knows it's not aimed at him, or at least he hopes.

“But I didnt...you saved me” Roman gives him a sad smile, Virgil scoffs. “As cliche as that is, it's true”

“It's my job” Virgil reminds, although he wouldn't disobey Haleys orders for anyone, he wasn't telling Roman that.

“Be that as it may, you still did it, and I'm fine so…”  Roman waits for something, anything to tell him how Virgil feels. But he can't let it go, something is itching at the detective clearly. No matter how many ‘Im fines’ Roman conjures or how many doctors say otherwise, Virgil needs more.

“What about Damian” He blurts, he's not sure where it came from. Roman sits up now, his eyes wide. The feelings and thoughts running him through him are incomprehensible. No words explain the jumble of things.  

“Damian's not my kid” He claims, funny. He always assumed Virgil would be the one to set that boundary, he didn't want to but if it would calm Virgil down.

“No your right, only when it's convenient right? Not when he's scared, or lonely, or has questions I can't answer. Not then right? You only act like…” He trails off, pacing around the room.

“Virgil what is this really about? Cause right now you're not making any sense” Roman argues, ignoring the pain his side shoots through him. He waits for a retort, another fiery remark from the detective.

“I don't know! Ok? I'm just...worried” Virgil's voice, in layman's terms, sounds so defeated. Romans poise softens as he ushers Virgil to come to him. Virgil obliges, putting on an annoyed front as he sits in front of the judge. “You didn't see you ok? You were...bleeding and…” Roman tilts his head softly.

“Yeah but I'm fine now” He repeats for what seems like the millionth time that day. “Look, I've got a steady heartbeat” He points to the monitor, Virgil listens intently to the stable pattern. Waiting for some drastic change, but it stays, its constant. He stops shaking, he silently begs for Roman to continue. Roman nods picking up “My wounds stopped bleeding” He lifts his gown showing the surgical remains of his stomach cut. Virgil traces it with his fingers, the cold sending a shiver through Roman, nothing he can't handle.

“Sorry!” Virgil pulls away, Roman takes his hand.

“Its fine, but god are you a corpse V?” Roman asks squeezing different areas of Virgil's hands. “You're freezing.” Virgil grasps his hand back, swatting Roman away. They share a quick amused smile. Roman leads Virgil's hand to his own face, showing him the already healing bruises. Roman goes to say more but in true dramatic fashion, is quickly interrupted.

“Patton! I told you they would be here!” Logan calls out, appearing in the doorway. Virgil jumps out of the bed moving away from Roman. Roman shuts his eyes, wincing away from the disappointment. A smile appears on his face as Logan, followed by Patton enters the room.

“Roman, oh my gosh!” Patton cries examining the judge. He turns to Virgil then back to Roman. “What on earth happened?” He asks, sitting where Virgil once sat. Logan moves into the room sliding the door closed, Virgil eyes the pair, specifically Patton, afraid of what he might do. “May I?” He inquires softly, Roman nods. Patton checks Romans face, turning it carefully as he looks at the wounds.

“Some guy broke into his house” Virgil informs, Logan listens intently. “They searched the house after Ro left but he was nowhere to be found” Patton shakes his head disapprovingly.

“I'm so sorry you had to go through that, we got the text and we were so worried” Patton rushes, cupping Romans face lovingly. He hadn't realized how nice it felt until Patton pulled away his hand. Unlike Virgil, Patton's hands were warm, almost burning hot. As he reassesses Patton's words he shares a look with Virgil.

“We?” They recite in unison, both raising their eyebrows. Patton's blush is instantly recognizable, Roman laughs as the lawyer faces away from Logan.

“Patton and his children obviously,” Logan says not understanding the obvious teasing that takes place. Roman concurs mockingly, shoving Patton playfully. “Speaking of children” Logan mumbles as to quick feet are heard outside of the room.

“Roman!” Remus and Valerie exclaim together as they run into the room. Patton stands to scoop them up before they jump onto the judge. Roman and Virgil laugh at Pattons expectant look, clearly a common theme for the twins.

“Careful” Is all he says as he places them gently on Romans bed. Virgil feels a tug at his stomach wishing Damian was present. The little boy would be incredibly mad at Virgil for NOT bringing him. He shakes his head taking his leave, not giving Roman a second look.

The twins take turns very carefully hugging an unfortunately distracted Roman. Virgil might not have given the judge another glance but Roman was watching him the entire time.

~~~

“Did you do it?” the dark voice carries, the timid man is almost too afraid to speak. “Answer me” He wastes no time, he doesn't like waiting.

“N-no...the detective showed up b-before I could finish the job” He mutters, his words tripping over themselves. A crash can be heard through the room, vibrating into silence.

“I don't like failure” The voice seems closer now, the man clings to the door. “You failed me, twice now, and I don't do...failure” No no no no, the man begs silently. “Kill him”

The screams buried under a mountain of murder.

“The lawyer and the judge” The voice informs a new body “I want them taken out, do you understand?”

#objection au #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #virgil sanders #logicality #prinxiety #remile #remy sanders #emile picani #demus #platonic demus #writing #my writing #sanders sides #thomas sanders #ao3 #archive of our own #youtube

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC Genre: BTS Mafia!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Smut, Slow Burn WC: 3,228 Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

AO3 | WP

Chapter 15: Burning Up

"Live life however you want, it’s yours anyway. Stop trying, it’s okay to lose."

Jungkook’s feet were heavy as he made his way up the stairwell that led to Eden’s rooftop apartment. The brick was cold against his palms, but he hardly felt it. His mind was racing – no, reeling over Yoongi’s arrival. He couldn’t help but wonder how the two of them knew each other. Yoongi made no mention of knowing someone like Eden and she was the sort of person who unintentionally stuck out. He’d only known her for a few months, but it seemed like she knew Yoongi for even longer. Longer than he could probably guess on his own.

When he reached the top, he paused. There was silence below him. Curiosity compelled him and so Jungkook took a few steps towards Eden’s front door. He opened it slowly, then closed it.

But he remained outside.

Quieting his steps, Jungkook crossed the rooftop and stood near the edge of the building. Keeping to the shadows, he leaned over and peeked down below. Even from that height, he could see Eden shaking and it wasn’t from the cold. His eyes shifted toward his friend, watching the man he admired so much as he took another slow drag from his cigarette.

“You,” Eden began, the anger clear in her tone.

“That’s right. I’m one of the Golden Jackals.”

Yoongi’s voice was cold. He spoke to her the way he did just before he was preparing to pummel someone into the ground. He’d never heard him speak that way toward a woman, however. Which made Jungkook curious.

How deep was the connection they had?

There was a scraping sound on the pavement, drawing Jungkook’s eyes back to the scene that was unfolding in front of him.

“Min Yoongi, The Lightning Claw.”

Silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. He couldn’t see Eden’s face, but he saw her reaching into her pocket. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You son of a bitch.”

And then he saw her pulling a switchblade from her pocket. Jungkook’s body shifted involuntarily, reacting before his mind could fully process what was happening.

“You fucking…SON OF A BITCH!”

Jungkook knew there was not enough time for him to do anything. Before he could even inhale, Eden rushed at Yoongi and he unconsciously held his breath as his older brother stopped her within seconds of her plunging the knife into him. Her back was to him, but he didn’t need to see her face to imagine the fury in her eyes. There was a pained expression that filled his face as he watched Yoongi blocking her punch, holding fast to both of her arms.

Was it because he was a gangpae after all? Eden told him that she didn’t care about that sort of thing and he was inclined to believe that. But with how she responded to Yoongi, he had to wonder.

He wished he could see her face to accurately determine just why she was so mad at his brother.

“You liar! You goddamn fucking lying sack of shit!” She tried to break free but Yoongi refused to release her. “Let me go! LET ME GO!”

Jungkook blinked rapidly as he watched Yoongi spin Eden around in his arms, forcing her back against his chest. He took a step back, hoping that she wouldn’t feel the sudden inclination to look up and see him. There were grunts coming from them both as they struggled against one another. Taking a step forward, he peeked back down below.

“How could you lie to me? After all these years, you had me believing I was nothing to you!”

His lips parted slightly. Years? he thought, they’ve known each other…for years?

Brows furrowed, Jungkook’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he couldn’t help the envious emotion that clawed at his heart. Yoongi knew a woman like Eden for years and he’d been struggling to make a connection with her for the last few months. She hadn’t pushed him away, but she certainly wasn’t letting him through the walls she’d built around her heart.

Dark eyes shifted from Eden’s furious face to the guilt-ridden one that etched over Yoongi’s.

“I did it because I didn’t want you wrapped up in this shit, Eden!”

And then, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue, it hit Jungkook. He remembered the look on Yoongi’s face the other day when they finished up their business. When he asked Jungkook if the “Stubborn Tiger” knew about his background, about the life he lived. The remorse was evident then. Yoongi had regrets about something and now it was clear why.

Yoongi and Eden had been in a relationship.

“That wasn’t your choice to make! It was mine, you bastard! It was mine and you took it from me!” Eden’s voice cut through his thoughts and he looked down toward them. “You never even let me make the choice for myself, you asshole.”

When Eden sobbed, Jungkook’s heart twisted inside his chest. He’d never seen her so emotional. She was normally blunt, carefree and with a clap-back at the ready. She laughed loudly and always voiced her thoughts whenever she had them. Stubborn and even a bit reckless, Jungkook found himself drawn to her. After poking and prodding, he’d discovered that she was an orphan just like him. He’d believed there was a connection.

Was he wrong? Had he been completely wrong from the start?

He watched as Eden slapped Yoongi across the face, seeing her tear-stained cheeks shining under the streetlights. Jungkook never saw Eden cry over anything. Seeing it now, he knew that he wasn’t a fan of the look.

Even if she did look pretty when she cried.

“Is that why you finally decided to tell me the truth? Because you’ve figured out that I not only know Raelyn Unnie, but Jimin and Jungkook too? Because your little lie was finally going to come back full circle and kick you in the balls?”

His brother didn’t answer him. Jungkook hurt for Yoongi. He’d never seen him like this in all the years he’d known him. It left him feeling hollow on the inside because he knew there was nothing he could say or do to comfort his brother.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Min Yoongi?”

Her hurried steps reached his ears and Jungkook didn’t bother trying to hide or pretend that he’d just stepped out. A heaviness weighed on his heart, so heavy that he just sat down on the edge of the rooftop border. A cold wind blew against his back, causing his breath to come out as a small cloud. He heard her reach the top of the roof, but he didn’t have the heart to look at her.

Hearing her footsteps slow to a halt, he finally lifted his head to look up and saw that she was standing just a few feet away from him. Eden’s cheeks were smeared from where she’d probably tried to wipe her tears. When the next gust of wind blew, it caused her curly hair to fly in every direction.

“You saw?”

Jungkook nodded slowly.

He saw her eyes narrow. “You knew about it, didn’t you?”

His eyes widened.

“Is that why you approached me? Because you knew about my relationship with Yoongi?”

“What?” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “No, that’s not—”

She spread her arm out in a wide flourish. “Of all the shops in Gangnam, you decided to come to mine? Because you happened to have broken down nearby?” Her hand curled into a fist at her side and Jungkook felt his own hands forming into fists at his thighs. “Do you really expect me to believe that now?”

He rose to his feet. “Noona, I’m telling you that that’s not—”

“Just how long have you been laughing at me behind my back, Jeon Jungkook?!”

Once again, his body was moving faster than his mind could keep up. In seconds, he crossed the short distance between them and grabbed her by her wrists. Eden tried to wring her hands free, but he held onto them tightly. He could feel her shaking against his palms and when she finally looked at him, he could see tears forming in her eyes again.

It was like he’d been kicked in the gut.

“Eden!” He dropped the honorific for a moment – a slip of the tongue – but this caused her to stop moving long enough for him to collect his thoughts. “I swear to you, that I didn’t know. None of us did. Hyung never even told us that he had a girlfriend.”

A loud, bitter laugh exploded from Eden and it caused him to loosen his grip on one of her wrists. She flung it free so she could land a punch at his shoulder. Jungkook grunted, the blow taking him by surprise. He knew that Eden could fight, but he never imagined that her punch would sting.

“He and I dated for three years and you’re telling me that he never even hinted that he was with someone?” She released another dark laugh. “Do you take me for a fucking moron?”

“It’s true, Eden Noona.”

Jungkook and Eden both turned toward the direction of her front door and saw Jimin slowly closing it behind him. His brows furrowed and he brushed some of his chestnut hair away from his forehead.

“Jimin Hyung…”

Jimin slowly walked toward them, pausing just a foot away from them.

“We knew that Yoongi Hyung was dating someone, but we never knew who and he never outright told us. Whenever we asked to meet her, he refused to even give us your name.” Jimin sighed. “I never would have imagined that it was you, Noona.”

Jungkook saw Eden’s expression contort with anger and hurt. Her arms relaxed and he let go of her, watching as they fell limply at her side. She looked like someone had pulled the rug right out from under her and she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her lungs. More tears slid down her face and she didn’t even bother wiping them from her cheeks.

“So, all this time,” she said softly, her voice halfway broken from the yelling she’d done earlier, “he kept me hidden away. Like some dirty little secret.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook replied, not sure if he wanted to continue speaking, “he was always happy whenever he said he was leaving to go on a trip with his special someone. He probably regrets not being honest with you.”

Eden cut her eyes toward him. “Don’t make excuses for him! He lied to me, to my face, for years! And I…I felt like…” She didn’t finish. Jungkook saw her take a breath, closing her eyes as she did so. When she finally opened them again, she looked at Jimin. “Is Rae Unnie alright?”

Jimin offered her a small smile. “Yeah, I tucked her into bed after giving her water and Tylenol. She’s passed out now.”

“Good.” Eden turned to head back inside and Jungkook grabbed the sleeve of her jacket. Without looking at him, she yanked her arm free. “Don’t. Just…just don’t.” Brushing past Jimin, she headed toward her front door. “…be careful going back home. Goodnight.”

And without waiting for them to wish her the same, she slipped inside and closed the door. Jungkook watched her silhouette shuffle around the front entrance before she disappeared inside. When Jimin sighed, Jungkook turned to look at him. He saw his own pitiful expression mirrored in Jimin’s eyes and he flinched slightly when he felt his brother’s hand falling onto his shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded.

“Okay, Hyung…”

Three Days Later Seoul – Jangan; Dongdaemun District South Korea

Jungkook’s brow twitched when Jimin’s fist collided with Taehyung’s cheek. The blow was swift, knocking Taehyung off balance and he watched him struggle to keep himself upright. When he finally did regain his balance, Jimin kicked him in the stomach. A loud grunt echoed through the warehouse as Taehyung doubled over in pain. But Jimin gave him no quarter; landing an uppercut to his jaw. Jungkook watched as his brother’s feet flew out from under him – his back crashing onto the concrete floor.

The warehouse was filled with shipping crates – a storehouse owned by Kim Pilsoo. Pilsoo Hyung stood near the entrance with a group of his men. Jungkook’s eyes lifted to spy Lee Minhyuk, the Jindo Dog of the Jade Fangs, standing nearby with his own entourage. His arms were folded across his chest, his auburn fringe falling just over his eyelids. Minhyuk’s expression remained neutral as Taehyung continued to receive his punishment.

No one made a sound except for Taehyung. He struggled to sit up and failed. Jungkook clenched his jaw tight, watching his brother only manage to roll over onto his stomach – using his forearms to lift himself up.

Jimin kicked him in the ribs.

Jungkook could feel the other members of their group shifting uncomfortably behind him. He held his arm out at an angle, his hand curled into a fist to get them stop their fidgeting. A wracking cough exploded from Taehyung and he vomited up a bit of blood onto the floor. A crimson trail trickled from the cut on his brow and droplets fell from his chin to mesh with the bloodstains on the floor. His cheeks were red and swollen from the abuse he’d endured from Jimin for the last thirty minutes.

Without even having to examine him, Jungkook could tell something was probably broken.

Finally, Jimin pivoted on his heel and swung his leg across Taehyung’s face – the heel of his boot crashing into his cheek. Jungkook could taste blood in his mouth as he watched Taehyung’s body flop from the impact. A few seconds of silence transpired and Jungkook sighed quietly, his eyes roving over Taehyung’s unconscious form.

Jimin wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his leather jacket. He looked at Lee Minhyuk whose eyes remained on Taehyung’s form lying prone on the ground. “Is that satisfactory?”

Minhyuk finally lifted his gaze to meet Jimin’s, his expression unchanged. Another handful of seconds passed and then he smirked, a scoff pushing from his chest. “Yes, that’s enough.” He glanced over toward Pilsoo and bowed his head politely. “Thank you for being the mediator, Pilsoo Hyung. I know Changkyun-ah appreciates it as well.”

Pilsoo grunted, gesturing for his men to move. They all took their places on either side of the door, forming a line across from each other. “Never mind. I’m just glad this matter has been settled.”

“So am I, Hyung,” Minhyuk said with a laugh, “so am I.” He looked at the men in his group and gestured with his chin. “Let’s go.” They bowed to him and began filing out of the warehouse. He paused, casting a sidelong glance toward Jimin and Jungkook as their own men began gathering Taehyung up from the floor. “Consider the offense resolved.” He flashed Jimin a wide smirk, his eyes narrowing. Jimin didn’t smile back. “It was good to see you, Jimin-ah.”

“Same to you, Minhyuk Hyung.”

No one else spoke another word as the Jade Fang members exited the warehouse. Pilsoo waited until they all were in their vehicles and drove away before turning to look back at them. The older man sighed and Jungkook could only hang his head slightly from shame.

“You boys need to be more careful,” he snapped, though his voice did not raise in pitch, “don’t you realize how much Hoseok is doing to maintain order? What you do reflects back on him.”

Jimin bowed deeply. “Yes, I know, Pilsoo Hyung.”

“You’re all young and a bit hot-headed, I get it. But things are different now. It’s not like when I was your age.” Pilsoo sighed. “Especially since you’re trying to go straight. Getting into this world is easy. Getting out is the hard part.”

Jungkook bowed his head but remained silent. Jimin spoke instead.

“We understand, Pilsoo Hyung.”

“Good.” They heard him sigh again; a tired sound. “Now go and get him looked at. I know it hurt you more than it did him, Jimin-ah.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimin’s hands curling into fists at his sides. But they both refused to lift their heads up. Jungkook’s throat felt like it was closing. He finally closed his eyes, his face still pointing to the ground.

“Thank you, Pilsoo Hyung,” he heard Jimin say. The two of them stood back up, straightening their posture. Jimin looked at Taehyung who was still unconscious. “Let’s go.”

The others bowed to both Jimin and Jungkook, ushering Taehyung out of the warehouse. Jimin followed them, helping them get their friend into the car. Jungkook turned to give another bow of respect to Kim Pilsoo. Then he hopped into the sedan with Jimin.

Taehyung’s body was pressed against the seat and he groaned softly as he began to regain consciousness. “Is it over?” he asked while licking the cut on his lower lip.

Jimin didn’t answer him. Instead, he knocked on the window separating the backseat from the driver and passenger seat. “Cha Gangnam Medical Center,” he said, his voice even, “let’s go.”

Both Jungkook and Taehyung blinked at Jimin. “But, that’s the hospital Rae Noona works at…”

Taehyung tried to sit up but winced, causing him to sit back against the seat again. “H-Hyung…”

“Shut-up,” clipped Jimin as he folded his arms and closed his eyes, “I’m not doing you any favors. I just don’t want to hear your bitching later.”

Jungkook smirked, shaking his head as Taehyung tried to smile but wound up wincing again from his split lip.

They were all going to get an earful.

#bangtanarmynet #mknlinenet #btswriterscollective #btsbookclub #kwordsmiths #btswriterscorner #bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts mafia #bts mafia au #bts crime #bts crime au #thebiasrekkers #bts thebiasrekkers #bts make it right #make it right bt #make it right thebiasrekkers

[terrifictomholland]

I have a request, could you do a au where the reader is more of a bad girl and gets caught in detention with Peter Parker, they both dislike each other at first hearing all about each others reputations but soon band together to escape out of detention stealing their phones while the teacher is sleeping, they exchange numbers and at school the next day the reader acts flirty to him and the whole school is basically shocked (Ned and mj mostly) anyways thnx and luv u 💕

Hi! Im so so sorry for how long this has taken, but it’s here now and I hope you’ll enjoy it!  💕 I love you too! 

You'd been caught graffiti-ing on school property, earning you once again, detention. With a heavy sigh you plonked down in your regular chair in the classroom where the detention was held. You surveyed around the room, seeing a few kids spread out across the room, until your eyes landed on one Mr. Peter Parker, now you were intrigued as to why he was there. You smirked slightly, getting up, heading over to him and sitting down in front of him on his bench, seeing the way he looked up at you with a slight scowl.

"Aw did someone forget to bring the good teacher an apple this morning?" you mocked, hearing you antagonize him only made his scowl deepen. It was positively adorable. "Shut up," he growled and you let out a giggle, 

"That's the best comeback so far you've come up with," you commended and he rolled his eyes, "So why are you in here? Aren't you the school goody-two-shoes?" you commented casually watching him tense up from the corner of your eye making you smirk. 

You loved pushing his buttons seeing how easily he riled up. "None of your business," he bit out clearly flustered and you shrugged getting off his desk going back to your usual seat. 

You'd decorated a seat which you always sat at, always adding to it, doodling straight onto the desk. You didn't bother with any homework, believe it or not you had a bit of a photographic memory, not that you let anyone know that. You had crafted your persona very carefully to make it seem like you didn't give a flying fuck about anyone or anything. 

Essentially you acted like a bitch. It wasn't hard to fool everyone either seeing as how you almost always wore black and every single pair of jeans had rips in them. You were a bit goth with your looks, a piercing here and there and a few small random tattoos on your arms. Deep down, it wasn't who you were, but you'd spent a lot of your childhood being put through bullying, so when you transferred schools to Midtown it was like turning a new page and beginning a new chapter. 

At your old school you'd been bullied over being a straight A student and being a teachers pet so now you were rebelling from that with all your might.

The first time you'd laid eyes on Peter Parker he reminded you so much of the girl you were at your old school. The shy, sensitive, always eager to please, naive and doe-eyed girl and it brought up ugly memories for you because he represented all of the things you once had before those bullies came and made you their victim and full of bitterness. 

You used to be a glass half full kind of girl, now you were a glass half empty kind of girl instead.   That wasn't to say you hadn't gone to therapy to process and deal with your bullying, you had. Extensively so, but you were still having a hard time letting go of grudges. 

Which also made it more difficult for you to make friends once you had moved to Midtown, you only really had one friend and that was MJ. She shared the same kind of self-deprecating humour, though there was a lightness to her which you saw in yourself too, and just her way of looking at the world intrigued you.

 Of course the two of you easily and quickly bonded because of your shared likes and interests. That was how you had met Peter and Ned, Peter's best friend in the whole world, through MJ. You broke out of your doodling, looking at the clock which hung on the wall, seeing that only 20 minutes had passed. You let out an insufferable sigh, scooting further down in your seat. 

You vaguely felt someone watching you so you turned your head seeing Peter staring at you with an intensity you didn't even know the boy had in him. It shocked and pleased you at the same time. His gaze never wavered as you met his, mouthing "what?" to him seeing how his nerves almost got the better of him. In true Peter fashion, he looked around him before throwing a wadded up piece of paper to you. 

You couldn't help the eye roll that escaped, was he five years old? Sending you actual notes in detention? You unfolded the paper seeing in a relatively neat handwriting play hooky? Your eyebrows went up to your hairline and you weren't far from falling off your actual chair. Peter Parker wanted to play hooky?

Your eyes met his with an abundance of mischief, giving him a nod and you skipped over to his desk once more, "What's the game plan Parker?" you asked seriously, seeing the way he gulped and let his eyes dart around the room for a way out. "Well uh, we could use the front door?" he squeaked, you could practically see the sweat drip down his temples and you hummed, "well that's not very creative," you said slightly dismissively and he huffed. "Does it have to be creative? Mr. Dell is already fast asleep," he countered and you grinned at him proudly, "Fucking finally Parker, there we go!" you cheered grabbing his hand letting him almost trip over his chair as he grabbed his backpack. You easily fished your phones out of the box Mr. Dell had on the desk, the two of you slipping out of detention relatively unnoticed. 

The kids who were in there didn't give two shits who came or left. "Hey what's that supposed to mean?" he asked defensively as the two of you left school ground and you let out a groan, significantly slowing your pace as you walked, turning to face him seeing how uptight he was. "That you're finally showing some back bone! Or, in a much more crass way of putting it, you finally grew a pair," you deadpanned seeing him flush, 

"What'd you do this time to end up in detention?" was what came out of his mouth. You lifted a shoulder up in a half-shrug, "I improved the school." "Meaning?" he implored and you let out a small giggle, "Graffiti-ing," "What awful and horrible crime did you do?" you asked before he had a chance to say anything about your illicit business. 

You saw him wringing his hands uncomfortably and swallow harshly as couple of times, his eyes darting everywhere but on you.

Without a reason why or knowing why, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder seeing him jump up at the unexpected touch. "Shit, what did you do?" you asked worriedly, all of your pretenses dropping and you found yourself feeling genuinely concerned for him, it was obviously something bad judging by the way he was acting. "I uh...um, I might've punched Flash," he started meekly, "In the face," he rushed out and you weren't faking your reaction this time, your eyes wide as saucers. "Nice," you complimented seeing him looking at you both horrified and preening at your praise. Hmm, interesting.

"I've wanted to deck that guy since I first saw him," you admitted and Peter did the most surprising thing yet. He fucking laughed.  Like full on laughed, knee-slapping kind of laughter. "Are you sure he didn't deck you?" you questioned seeing his reaction as he wiped his eyes finally settling down. "I'm quite sure he didn't. I'm far too aware of him ever getting the upper hand," he said confidently which just stumped you. Getting the upper hand? "What are you talking about?" you were even more confused, watching him with furrowed brows. 

He turned serious now and chewed his lip, "Nothing," he said at last. He could tell you didn't buy it, but you let it go for now. "Where did you have in mind we go?" you asked instead, "W-why do I get to decide that?" he asked suddenly back to his nervous self, "Because you were the one who wanted to play hooky so you get to come up where to go," "Oh...well, have you ever gotten the subs from Mr. Delmar’s deli?" he asked and you felt your mouth tug up in a grin, "Good thinking Parker," you praised and he gave you one of his own grins.

It was like a punch to your gut, his smile was fucking blinding, heat crept up in your stomach at the sight of it and you felt your cheeks heat up which you tried to hide - no one could know that you thought Peter was hot. He didn't notice your inner turmoil as he walked a few steps in front of you, chitchatting about the most random things. 

Something about some science-y thing which you honestly couldn't keep up with right now as you tried to clear your head.  Once you saw the Delmar's Deli sign you felt yourself let out a sigh of relief. "What do you want?" Peter turned to you, you rattled off your usual, hearing Peter get the same. Offering you a tiny smile and he pulled wallet out, paying for the both of you, "I can get my own food," you said but it was in vain, "Consider it my way of saying thanks for playing hooky with me," he let out a small laughter which made butterflies erupt in your stomach and you gave him a soft smile in return. 

"Thank you," you said earnestly seeing the tips of his ears turn red, "I think that's the first time you've ever been nice to me," he observed and it felt like he doused you with a bucket of water at that. Did he think you were mean and cruel? He did sense something wrong now and he watched you with an imperceptible look, "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked quietly as you got your subs. 

The two of you left and started walking around aimlessly. "Do you think I'm mean?" you asked quietly feeling yourself overcome with guilt, "I think you're misunderstood," well..fuck, he saw pretty much right through you. "That wasn't an answer," you replied weakly.

"Well you've never been very civil toward me," he told you, avoiding your gaze at all costs, as if it was paining him to be this blunt to you, but you needed him to be. "I..i'm sorry," you said softly feeling remorse take over. "I just wanna know why? What did I do to you?" he asked and finally looked at you. You almost wished he'd look away because his gaze left you feeling very naked. Even though you were fully clothed. 

"You represent something I have tried for a long time to run away from," you said playing with your chipped nail polish.

"What's that?" of course he'd want to know, which you couldn't blame him but you felt very exposed, telling the one person you never thought you'd share your whole life story to, but here you were. 

So, you told him everything. About your first school, your aspirations, the bullies and how they put out your light and positivity and most importantly, your spirit.  Peter sat there beside you quietly as you told him your story, and once you were finished you sneaked a glance at him. "You're not alone," he said after a moment and you kept watching him closely, swallowing as you waited for him to continue, "With being bullied I mean," he licked his lips and your eyes zeroed in on them, "I am too in a way by Flash," he said and you felt your heart crack.

"I'm sorry," he looked at you now giving you a small smile, "It's okay," he said gently and you shut your eyes, "I felt envious of you..that you could keep on being the person you are, while I had to change," you admitted after a few minutes of a relatively comfortable silence. "Who says you can't be that person again?" you met his gaze vulnerably, 

"Me, that's who," "Why not?"   "I just can't," you said quietly and your heart beat picked up when he put his hand over yours. "I hope one day you can," was all he said and it made tears spring to your eyes. You hated getting vulnerable in front of people, let alone Peter Parker, your one sworn enemy who wasn't your enemy at all anymore. 

You wiped your eyes sneakily, but your sniffle gave you away still he didn't say anything which you appreciated. "I found you really annoying," you sniffled slightly and his eyebrows quirked up, "Oh?" "Because you constantly brag about the Stark internship," you mumbled, being only slightly jealous of him. He let out a tiny giggle. Yes, a giggle. "Are you jealous?" he teased and you scoffed, "What? No of course not," "Liar liar pants on fire," he smirked, all you wanted to do was kiss the stupid smirk off his face. Wait what? "You are," he said smugly looking at you and you felt your cheeks turn crimson. 

When did you decide you wanted to kiss Peter? "Fine...yes, I am," you said seeing the way the smirk returned and it made desire burn in your belly.  "You have no reason to be," he said after a moment. You looked at him seeing the earnest in them. "Hey," he mumbled after a little while, his hand snaking into yours holding it and it made your heart start beating faster,

 "Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me about what you've been through," he said with such honesty and sincerity it made tears well up in your eyes again, "Thanks for letting me talk," you offered softly and the way his face lit up when he smiled lit you up from the inside out. "My pleasure," he smiled.

You leaned forward, closer to his face hearing the way his breath hitched and you felt as though your heart was going to burst out of your rib cage, but before you lost your nerve you very gently pressed your lips against his. His hand coming up, grasping you by the back of your head moving his lips against yours.  You held onto his shoulders, loving the way he held onto you, keeping you close to him.

The two of you got lost in the kiss, tongues battling it out and exploring each others mouths, before eventually pulling apart. You kept your eyes shut just reveling in the way your lips were tingling and the calmness you felt wash over you. "That was fun," Peter said and you looked up at him seeing his cheeks turn pink and he was looking at you bashfully making you laugh, 

"It was, we should do it more often." you winked and he let out a shy smile, nodding. "How about we swap phone numbers? M-maybe we could do this again some time?" he asked nervously and you couldn't help your grin, "This or the kissing?" you teased seeing his cheeks turn even more red. "U-um both," he said shyly and you couldn't stop the grin from getting even wider. You wordlessly handed him your phone seeing the way his eyes lit up and he easily added his number, fingers flying over the buttons. "I'll send a text to myself," he said bashfully and you nodded in encouragement.

"Well you're just full of surprises aren't you Parker?" you smirked and he looked at you tensely for a second, "W-what?" he squeaked, "Taking charge and asking for my number, hell you're even kissing me," you teased and he relaxed letting out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you uhm, wanna do that again?" "Do what?" you played dumb just to see what he'd do. He let out a nervous breath before holding your face in his hands, kissing you slowly.  Chapped lips moving against yours firmly and with pressure. You gripped onto the back of his head letting him lead and take charge of the kiss.

Oh yeah, you were definitely doing this again.

                                                       ---- The next day when you arrived at school, there was a slight difference today. 

You'd taken some of Peter's advice on board, and you begun the day with brighter clothes, a simple pale blue dress. It wasn't a lot but it was a start. You could feel the gaze of everyone as you walked the halls in school, but you kept your head held high and focused on Peter, MJ and Ned at the end of the hallway, by all of your lockers. 

You couldn't help but the smile that took over your face seeing Peter there, remembering yesterday. "Hi handsome," you grinned, loving the way his cheeks turned scarlet, "Hey," he said, eyes darting around no doubt seeing the shocked expressions on Ned and MJ's faces. 

It didn't even come close to the shock when you walked over to him with intent, kissing him deeply, pushing him up against the lockers. Vaguely, you heard everyone whispering and gasping that the two almost arch-enemies of the school were making out. Once you pulled away, seeing his wide eyes and swollen lips, "Having a good day?" you asked sweetly and he looked at you in a daze. "i-it's uh, it's pretty good yeah," he stuttered making you smile, "Good, how about we make it even better? Maybe play hooky?"

[artificialqueens]

game of survival, chapter eleven (branjie) - holtzmanns

AN: Just the epilogue to go after this chapter, and Game of Survival is finished! Feels absolutely surreal. Thank you Bean and Writ for being amazing as always in both encouragement and roasting. I need both.

“Miss, if you even think about climbing onto that bed one more time-”

“Okay, okay!” Vanessa raises her hands in surrender, maneuvering herself back into her own chair amidst the sound of Brooke’s laughter.

Brooke’s nurse isn’t as amused. “Do you want to be responsible for accidentally pulling on Ms. Hytes’ chest drain and IVs? Or upsetting her dressings? Or making her stay in the ICU for longer than necessary?”

Vanessa’s answer is meek. “No?”

“That’s what I thought. Stay there, on your chair.” The nurse points at her like she’s a kindergartener who’s been caught stealing a friend’s snack, and Brooke lets out a snort, one that is spurred further when Vanessa swats at her hand.

“Yes, mom.” Vanessa can’t help her retort at the nurse. It’s juvenile, she knows, but it cracks Brooke up further so it’s worth it.

The nurse fixes her with a narrowed gaze, but Vanessa can see the twinkle behind her eyes. “Good thing you’re a politician. Not sure any other field would put up with you acting such a fool.”

“Hey!” Vanessa can’t even be mad because the nurse is right, though she wants to argue that law comes close. She had out-argued many oppositions during her short career as a lawyer before her foray into politics, with techniques that would have made her law school professors drop their heads into their hands. The brazenness still comes in handy now, debating and bullshitting in a way that gets the public on her side.

The nurse pauses, looking at the two of them and their intertwined fingers. “That being said, happy to hear you’re safe. Heard that you were maybe attacked or something. They talked about it on the 11 o'clock news.”

“Did they really?” Vanessa tries to keep her voice casual and unaffected, wondering if it was a story planted by Ra’jah or just speculation about what happened based on the bare bone facts known by the public (the explosion, the bodies in her apartment). She hopes it’s the former.

“Yeah.” The nurse is distracted as she writes in Brooke’s medical chart, seeming to have already moved on from the conversation. “Glad that you’ll live to piss another old politician off. I’d vote for you.”

Vanessa lets out a breath, looks over at Brooke who raises her eyebrows in response. “Well, I appreciate that…” she pauses, squints her eyes to read the nurse’s nametag, “Asia. And thanks for taking such good care of Brooke.”

Vanessa can hear her politician voice coming out of her mouth and it feels strange, almost foreign, though it’s easy to slip back into the role. One where she reflects the wishes of the public, acting like a beacon to which they can attach their hope and desire for change. She’s not sure how convincing it is, though, considering that she stuck her tongue out at Asia a few minutes prior.

Asia gathers up some medication vials and gauze, heading out of the room. She pauses in the doorway. “It’s my job. And stay out of that bed, don’t let me catch you in trouble.”

Brooke’s eyes are alight with mischief when Vanessa looks at her after Asia leaves. “Someone just got yelled at by their teacher.”

“Not even, she likes me. I can tell. I’m a delight.” Vanessa’s humble, real humble, but mostly it’s just to make Brooke smile. “Besides, I’m remembering that it was you, Miss Thing, who asked me to climb up there with you.”

Brooke shrugs, as much as she can in the bed. “Not denying it. You’d make this bed so much comfier.”

“Jesus, woman. You’ll get me kicked out of your hospital room at this point.” Vanessa shakes her head, and can’t hold back her grin. She doesn’t know how the Brooke that she saw so many weeks ago, cold and ready to kill her, is the same one that’s in front of her now with her eyes all up as she taps her fingers on the railing of her bed. But she’s not complaining.

Brooke coughs and winces, though the grimace on her face is gone as fast as it appears. It doesn’t stop Vanessa from catching it, letting out a sigh.

“C’mon, baby. Increasing the morphine drip would help. I hate seeing you in so much pain every time you try to fucking breathe.” Brooke can barely move without the drain in her chest shifting positions, a pain that makes her whimper, the sound making Vanessa’s heart tug each time. She hates that Brooke has to go through it.

Brooke’s answer is fast. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Vanessa doesn’t get it. Why is Brooke insisting on the lessened painkillers, the ones that still leave her aware of the way her chest was cut open and stitched up, feeling every tug and pull?

“I can’t, okay? I just…” Brooke’s words trail off and Vanessa wants to take back her question, seeing the way that Brooke has to close her eyes, steady her breath. “It’s fucking terrifying. Have you had it before? Do you know what it’s like?”

“Aside from some laughing gas at the dentist, not really.” Vanessa feels sheepish as soon as the answer leaves her mouth.

“It’s nothing like laughing gas.” Brooke’s voice is flat. “It’s like being trapped in my fucking nightmares and not being able to get out and not knowing what’s even real. Everything blurs and suddenly things are here and then they’re not, and it feels like you’re losing your mind. Just slowly, enough to notice it happen.”

Brooke pauses, swallows hard. “So yes, I’d rather take the pain, bad as it fucking is. I don’t like feeling like I’m losing it. Because I’m not.”

Shit. Vanessa’s really fucked up. She knows sensitivity isn’t necessarily her strong suit, but she wasn’t thinking, seeing it from Brooke’s point of view. “Sorry. You’re not. I…I didn’t know it was like that.”

Brooke deflates. “It’s fine. I’m just going to stick to lesser painkillers, because I’d rather feel it than not know what I’m feeling at all.”  

Vanessa bites her lip. “You’ll tell me, though, if it gets unbearable or worse? We can try to figure something else out.”

“Yeah. I will.” Brooke doesn’t seem to have any fight in her. Neither of them do, not over something where they’re on the same side.

Brooke’s eyes flit to the clock behind her, almost imperceptibly. “When did you say they were coming, again?”

Vanessa squeezes her hand. “Around 1:00. A’keria and Silky and Yvie are all leaving work early so we can go over this shit as a group.”

“Okay. Great. Cool.” Vanessa can see the gears turning in Brooke’s brain, spinning faster and faster as her thoughts no doubt start to spiral and build upon one another.

“Hey. Look at me.” Vanessa keeps her voice soft and her face gentle, stroking Brooke’s palm with her thumb when she hears the shallowness of Brooke’s breathing, the speeding up of the heart rate monitor above their heads. “You’re safe right now. We’re safe. Yvie’s got a police detail outside this room, plus they have the men from the cabin in custody. It’s gonna take a lot more for any bitches to get through to us at the moment.”

Brooke nods though she doesn’t look convinced, her eyebrows creasing just enough that Vanessa wants to reach and smooth them out for her.

“This hospital is such a damn maze, anyway. It took me about thirty minutes of cursing in hallways to find your room after going to the bathroom. Like an escape room, but in reverse. Ain’t nobody gonna find us in here without a bit of a struggle first.” She wishes she had better words to say, ones to assuage the look in Brooke’s eyes that reminds her of a caged animal.

Brooke is good, too good at tampering it down though, steeling herself. “You’re right.”

Vanessa’s not sure if Brooke believes it herself. She looks so small in the bed without her leather jacket and weapons and boots, not as if she towers over Vanessa when standing. It makes Vanessa want to cocoon Brooke in some blankets, bubble wrap maybe, to keep her safe. Or, at least give her one of her weapons so that she feels more secure and in control.

Vanessa wonders what that feels like, the loss of control. Being confined to a three by eight foot bed, unable to get up and move around unless a physiotherapist or a nurse is present. Tethered to the room by IVs and wires and monitors responsible for broadcasting minute details about your body for everyone to see. Going from being able to walk around, lift things, move on your own accord to suddenly…not. At least, not without pain.

Brooke seems to be taking it well. Real well, by the way her hands are wringing in her lap. It’s only been one day, but Vanessa can tell that Brooke is going a bit stir crazy from being stuck in bed, despite the pain. Vanessa can’t blame her in the least.

It’s easier when Brooke’s eyes flutter shut as she falls asleep and her face smoothes out, the worries that she carries around with her every day suddenly lifting from her shoulders. Vanessa wishes that she could take them, shoulder them herself so that Brooke doesn’t have to anymore.

The arrival of Silky, A’keria, and Yvie is a welcome distraction. Vanessa watches Brooke’s face light up as the sounds of bickering in the hallway get louder and louder, culminating in the three of them stumbling into the room, arms laden with bags of takeout.

Yvie holds one up. “Figured this shit would taste better than whatever you’re getting here.”

Brooke accepts the bag with grateful hands and pulls out a burger. Vanessa is faster though, and grabs it from her hand.

“Hey!” Brooke pouts in her direction, and Vanessa has to work hard to keep her face neutral because it’s the cutest sight she’s ever seen.

Vanessa opts to raise an eyebrow at her instead. “Didn’t the doc say you gotta wait until the speech therapist sees you and makes sure you can swallow okay without choking and shit? Especially because they intubated you, your throat’s probably all scratched up.”

So maybe sitting in the ICU has turned her into a mother hen. Who’s to say? She just wants Brooke to be careful.

Brooke’s smile in return is wicked. “Who says I don’t swallow?”

“Unbelievable.” Vanessa rolls her eyes but can’t hide her grin, especially with the guffaws that come from A’keria, Silky, and Yvie.

Brooke reaches a hand out for the burger nonetheless. “I’m hungry. If I start choking or something, just call the nurse. Besides, she’ll probably yell at you for it, not me.”

Vanessa can’t say no to Brooke for long, sighing and handing her the burger. “No regard for your safety at all, huh? You’re probably right.”

The way Brooke grins is worth it. Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop Vanessa from watching Brooke like a hawk while she eats.

Yvie pulls out a small whiteboard from her bag once Brooke is done eating, handing it to her along with a dry erase marker. “Here. I know how much you like making your boards.”

“Boards?” Silky’s question is muffled by a bite of her own sandwich. “Like a Pinterest board?”

“Not quite.” Yvie grins. “Just watch.”

Brooke pays no attention, already scrawling a name on the board, grip shaky. Vanessa tries to tilt her head to read it. “Cain? Who’s Cain?”

Brooke bites her lip. “Not just a person. A family. They’re connected to all of this.”

“How?”

“It wasn’t just any men who showed up at the cabin,” Brooke starts, twisting the marker in her grip, “they were some of the men that work for that family.”

“I’m confused as hell.” A’keria’s lips are pursed as she stares at the board. “Who are they?”

Brooke swallows hard and Vanessa wants to reach out, squeeze her hand. It takes a second before she speaks. “They had hired me and a…colleague of mine years back, for a hit. My colleague then did another hit for them, and it didn’t go well. He killed the person that he was supposed to, but almost got caught. One of their family members, the matriarch, was convicted for it by police instead. Shuga Cain. They thought that she had done it. She’s now been locked up for years.”

Vanessa whistles. “Damn. That’s cold.”

“The Cain family was after my colleague for ages after, trying to get back the money for the hit since it wasn’t done right. When he didn’t have the money and instead attempted to pick them off one by one, they killed him. I found him, because he called me instead of calling 911. It was too late when I got there. Idiot.” Brooke pauses, looking down at the board.  

“I’m sorry.” Vanessa’s voice comes out soft, and she wishes she had something better to offer. But what can she say to someone whose life reads like an action thriller movie?

“It was years ago.” Vanessa can see the mask on Brooke’s face beginning to return, the one that settles into place whenever she shares too much, is too vulnerable. “They’ve been bothering me on and off since then. Wanting the money. Pulling guns when I don’t have it for them. Figure they want an eye for an eye, since my colleague killed one of theirs. So they’ve been going after me.”

“Lord Almighty Jesus.” Silky’s statement is punctuated by a sip of her soft drink. “You really know how to get yourself into deep shit, huh?”

Brooke shrugs. “Apparently so. It had been okay, though. I could keep up my job, keep them from getting to me as long as I was careful, extra vigilant.”

“Wow.” Vanessa thinks of the way that Brooke is always so wary, eyes constantly darting around, and the way her hand isn’t far from a holstered weapon at all times. Things start to make a little bit more sense. “How the hell haven’t you been losing your fucking mind? I would have lost it ages back, having to be so shifty.”

“Who says I haven’t already?” Brooke doesn’t smile. “I got used to it. Being vigilant only helped with the job.”

“How does that family tie in here?” Yvie’s voice is curious. The connection isn’t clear to Vanessa yet either, making her head spin a little.

“Him. They were working with him.” Brooke writes the name of the congressman that hired her, and connects it to ‘Cain’.

“What? How do you know?” Vanessa can’t help but ask. How would she know? Unless-

“In the cabin. When you were waiting in the car. I was trying to stall them, buy some time until I could figure out what to do, keep them away from you. Got them to spill their plan instead. Those men were not exactly the brightest tools in the shed.” Brooke shrugs.

A’keria leans forward in her chair, still looking a bit skeptical. “What was the plan?”

Brooke is unperturbed as she continues. “Some of the Cain family members made a deal with the congressman - they were going to complete the hit on Vanessa for half the price that the congressman was originally going to pay me, then frame me for it. Two for one deal. They’d get money - alot of money - from killing Vanessa, then get their revenge on me. Put me behind bars, the way that Shuga is.”

“That’s-”

“What the hell-”

“How-”

Silky’s voice cuts above everyone attempting to speak at once. “They told you all this?”

“It was very last manifesto, final villain speech. More gloating than anything. Not that it mattered, in the end.”

Vanessa snickers, ignoring the look that A’keria sends her way. “They sound like Scooby Doo villains.”

Brooke snorts. “Fitting. They aren’t exactly high on the Cain family totem pole. I think they were excited to have finally been successful for once. Or at least, they thought so.”

A’keria fixes her steely look on Brooke instead. “How do we know that you’re even telling the truth?”

Brooke shrugs. “You don’t. But what reason would I have to make it up?”

Yvie leans forward in her seat. “Sat in on their interrogations today. Both dropped the congressman’s name - enough for us to bring him in for questioning, at least, so it’s a start.”

Brooke looks at her in curiosity. “You’re not even from the precinct that they were brought in to. How’d you swing that?”

Yvie grins. “I can be persuasive when I want to.”

Vanessa doesn’t doubt it, from the way she could hear Yvie bickering earlier with Silky. “Did they mention Brooke? Or me?”

“They mentioned that the congressman had hired them to kill you, but clammed up after more questions. I think that’s when they realized they had gotten themselves into deep shit.” Yvie shrugs. “More than enough information to start off with. But it corroborates what Brooke is saying.”

Brooke’s slowly covered the board in notes, drawn lines and connected them in an intricate web. It looks like the one that she had made in the cabin, though more detailed. Speaking of which-

“The board in the cabin! Is it still up? Ain’t the police gonna find it?” She and Brooke are so, so, screwed if they do, what if Brooke’s written something about being hired by the congressman-

But then Silky and A’keria look at her with matching sheepish expressions.

“We may have committed a felony by tampering with evidence and torn it down during the chaos, when we came along with the police. No one was watching us anyway.” Silky’s voice is comically defensive.

“Not while they were cuffing those guys and tending to Miss Brooke Lynn over here, bleeding out on the ground,” A’keria shrugs, “very easy to do.”

Vanessa’s speechless. She knows her team is good at getting away with things, shady in their actions when they need to in the political realm. But how’d they not get caught with so many officers nearby? “Y’all are something else. Truly something else.”

“You’re welcome, bitch. You would be in such deep shit without us.” Silky’s grin is satisfied as she high fives A’keria.

Vanessa shakes her head, impressed. They’re not wrong.

Yvie raises an eyebrow. “As an officer of the law, I’m gonna pretend that I didn’t hear any of that.”

“You,” Silky points a finger at her, “of all people, cannot talk. You’ve known Brooke’s a hitwoman for years! Ain’t that some obstruction of justice?”

“Well…” Yvie pauses. “Yes. Let’s just all keep our mouths shut, shall we?”

And here Vanessa thought that politicians were the most shady of all. Turns out everyone is at least a little bit shitty. It’s a bit reassuring, in a strange way.

Brooke’s smiling, a real smile, looking like she’s having the same thought as Vanessa. “Looks like you all are coming to hell with me. I’ll pack snacks for the journey.”

“Do not even joke about that.” Silky’s immediate protest makes Vanessa giggle. “I am a woman of God, a good Christian lady and will not be coming with y’all, thank you very much.”

A’keria brings their focus back, pulling out doctored paperwork to go over with them - fake contracts of Vanessa hiring Brooke as a bodyguard, fake business cards that describe Brooke’s services in private security. Brooke whistles, looking up at A’keria. “You are powerful. Scarily powerful, you know that?”

A’keria’s smile is satisfied. “That’s my job, baby. Keeping Vanessa out of trouble. And you too, now. Vanessa’s whining would be too much to deal with if you got arrested.”

Silky and Yvie snicker when Brooke and Vanessa protest at the same time, though Vanessa can’t even deny the words.

The three of them leave after that, their loud conversation echoing down the hallway. Vanessa can tell that the methodical planning and mapping out of the details has helped to give Brooke back some sense of control and feel less helpless. She’s glad it worked.

Brooke turns to her then, as their voices in the hallway eventually fade. “You don’t have to stay, you know. Not gonna make you sit here with me in that uncomfortable chair, you probably have better things that you want to do now that no one’s after you anymore-”

“Absolutely not.” Vanessa cuts Brooke off before she can even finish her sentence, because how can Brooke even think that? “I ain’t leaving you, not now.”

Not ever, Vanessa thinks, though the words are a bit too scary to say out loud.

“You shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything, after all this.” Brooke’s voice is small. “I basically kidnapped you and took you to that cabin.”

“You’ve been thinking about that, huh?” Vanessa raises an eyebrow at her.

Brooke won’t meet her eyes. “No.”

“Brooke,” she starts, then pauses, because how can she even put it into words? “I’m not here because I feel like I owe you for saving my life. Though you did, so thanks for that.”

Brooke giggles at that, though Vanessa can hear the sniffle in her voice.

Vanessa continues. “I’m here because I care about you. It don’t matter how we started, not when we look at where we are now.”

“Where are we, then?” Brooke’s voice is a challenge, as if she’s wanted to talk about it too.

“I dunno. Where do you want to be? What do you want us to be?” Vanessa is almost afraid of Brooke’s answer. What if, after all of this, she’s done and wants to move on-

“All I know is that I care about you too.” Brooke almost whispers it. “I haven’t done this in a long time, I don’t even know what to do but I don’t want to lose you. I hate that I almost did.”

“Bitch, I’m the one who saw you get shot.” Vanessa has no conviction when she says it because her heart is soaring - Brooke doesn’t want to be done, she cares about her, and yes maybe Vanessa already knew that but hearing it out loud? Makes all the difference.

The reminder of two days ago (has it really been two days since the cabin?) makes Vanessa bite her lip. “I nearly fucking lost it on the paramedics, you know. Thought they were taking too long, thought they wouldn’t be able to save you. I thought I was losing you and it was going to make me lose my mind.”

She doesn’t want to think about it. What if it had happened? What if Brooke had died underneath her, a pool of blood staining her shirt and had never opened her eyes again? What if she’d have to go back to the campaign trail and pretend that everything was okay, and she didn’t just lose someone who had very quickly become the most important person in her life?

She hates the thought.

Brooke’s hand is on hers, eyes searching her face. “I know the feeling. And I’m here, I’m okay. And you won’t lose me - not if you don’t want to.”

The words lift the heaviness in Vanessa’s heart, a little. She squeezes Brooke’s hand. “I want you and your murdering ass around. Though you may have to find a new career path.”

Brooke lets out a snort. “I’ll go on Indeed as soon as I’m out of the hospital.”

“But yeah, I’m serious. I’m staying here again tonight. Not because of obligation, but because I want to. As long as you’re okay with me curling up on this chair beside you.” Vanessa keeps her voice hopeful.

Brooke pats her bed. “Not feeling confident about climbing back in here, huh?”

“Are you kidding? And get chewed out by Asia again? No thank you. Though maybe you can convince me, somehow.”

Brooke rolls her eyes at Vanessa’s obvious flirtation. “You have to wait until I’m not in a hospital bed anymore, Ness.”

Vanessa shrugs. “Hey, it was worth a shot.” She leans over and places a kiss on Brooke’s forehead nonetheless, feeling the warmth in her heart begin to grow when Brooke’s cheeks turn slightly pink.

“There will be time for more of that after, I promise.” Brooke smiles at her. “We’ll make time, even though we won’t be in a little cabin anymore.”

The promise is there now between the two of them, and it settles some of the worries that have been floating around in Vanessa’s chest (ones that she paid less attention to during the past day, concerns about Brooke’s immediate safety more prominent). It’s nice. Brooke’s willing to make it work, give it a try.

They could make it happen. Vanessa has no idea what it’ll look like, how her campaign and publicity will affect their dynamic, but she doesn’t care right now.

They’re gonna have a future. A real future.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #holtzmanns #game of survival

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

A Woman of Letters (Getting a Feel for Sam Winchester) - Chapter 36

Summary:  You’ve just opened an occult bookstore in Lebanon, Kansas, when you fall for a tall, handsome customer…literally. You soon find out that there’s more to the world than you ever suspected, including you. Discovering your heritage puts you directly in a witch’s crosshairs, though, so the Winchesters offer to take you in and teach you how to protect yourself. As you discover your own family history with the supernatural and your own hidden talents, you can’t help but wish a certain brother was as excited about your interest as you are.

Total length: 43 chapters, 70,247 words - Read on AO3 - Series masterlist

Chapter word count: 1548 words

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Canon-level angst and violence

Sam

As Dean was driving them back to the bunker, Sam’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he found a text from Y/N. As he read the text to Dean, his worry for her welfare calmed a little bit. Sam tried to call her, but the call went directly to voicemail. He huffed in frustration, then told Dean about the text.

Dean hit the steering wheel angrily, then rubbed it with his hand as if to apologize to his Baby for the violence. “Dammit. So, what, is he in love with her or something? Why the hell is he doing this? What’s in it for him?” Dean and Sam both jumped when Crowley’s voice came out of the back seat of the car.

“Well, she stays safe, and I get a Moose and Squirrel heeding my every beck and call. So now all of the resources that are at your disposal are also at my disposal, including the library in that bunker of yours. If my mother wanted it, even though she once had Hell’s library at her fingertips, then there must be something there worth wanting. Really, Squirrel, I would have thought you could have figured all this out by now.”

Dean pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned with Sam to face Crowley in the back seat. “Like hell, Crowley! We’re not giving you anything until you give her back! How do we even know she’s alive? All we have is a text message that you could have sent!” Sam felt his heart thundering in his ears again at the thought that Y/N really could be dead or hurt.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and a piece of paper appeared in his hand. He held it out toward Sam and indicated he should take it. “Here, Moose. Proof of life, and health. I expect the next time I call you, you’ll be more amenable to my requests.” Sam took the piece of paper and Crowley disappeared.

On the piece of paper was a complicated web address and a password. Sam pulled out his laptop while Dean put the car in drive and got back on the road. When he brought up the web site and put in the password, Sam gasped.

The screen was split four ways, and each quadrant was a security camera feed of a suite of rooms. Sitting on the edge of the bed in one of the feeds was Y/N. Sam’s heart ached. She was just sitting there, looking around like she was lost and didn’t know what to do. As Dean was pulling the car into the bunker’s garage and turned to see what Sam was looking at, a message scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

“Behave, and you’ll get sound.” Sam felt his throat close for a moment while Dean slammed his hand on the steering wheel again.

“Son of a BITCH!” Dean got out of the car, slamming the door. Sam slowly closed the laptop, knowing he had to get out the car, and couldn’t carry it open like that, but not wanting to possibly sever the only remaining connection he had to Y/N. He almost held his breath while he walked to the library until he opened up his laptop again, and the security feed was still there. He watched as Y/N started pacing around the room, wringing her hands, and felt tears prick his eyes when he realized she was crying. He watched her until she lay down on the bed, obviously cried out, and fell asleep.

Over the next week, Crowley gave Sam and Dean a few little assignments, each of which they grudgingly completed after Crowley threatened to cut off the security feeds, or remove whatever thing Y/N had found to do most recently to stave off boredom. Sam had watched Y/N refuse food for the first day and a half, until Crowley pointed to the cameras. After a short discussion, Crowley left, and Y/N spent some time just staring at them. Sam watched as she suddenly got up, pulled out paper and a pen from the desk, and started writing. When she was done, she walked over to one of the cameras and put the piece of paper in front of it so he could read it.

“Sam, I love you. I’m okay. This part of Hell isn’t so bad. I miss you, and wish I could see you like you can see me. Don’t worry about me. Stay safe. I love you.”

Sam took a screenshot of the feed while Y/N was holding up the letter and saved it for later. After Y/N threw away the paper in the bathroom, she returned to the camera, and blew a kiss into it. With a teary smile, Sam pretended to catch it and hold it to his heart, even though he knew she couldn’t see him.

When he wasn’t staring at the screen, watching Y/N’s every movement, or running one of Crowley’s little errands, he was trying to formulate an ironclad plan to get her back. It wasn’t the first time Sam had broken into Hell, but instead of unexpectedly rescuing one innocent soul among billions, this time he’d be rescuing what would be considered a high-value asset to the King, and they would be expecting him. Y/N was most likely very heavily guarded, and was probably very close to wherever Crowley spent most of his time. Sam had watched Crowley take many meals with Y/N, even though he didn’t eat. He tried not to be jealous when he saw Y/N relax around him, even laughing at something he’d said a few times. Y/N was kind-hearted, always looked for the bright side of any situation, and could find something to love about anyone. The fact that she loved him proved that.

Sam shook his head to clear it. He needed a plan to get into Hell, find Y/N, fight through the highest security Hell would have to offer, and get out again. All without Crowley finding out. That meant no interrogating demons for the info. Sam sighed.

After a week, and after Sam and Dean had found and handed over a cursed item to Crowley, the security feed suddenly had sound. Sam had been lying in bed, the laptop open on his night stand next to him, trying not to sleep because he was watching Y/N fold laundry. Why she had to fold her own laundry was anyone’s guess, and Sam figured she had begged Crowley to let her do some of her own chores simply to alleviate boredom. As Sam’s eyes were drooping, he heard Y/N’s voice out of the blue.

“If you’d told me ten years ago I’d be begging to do laundry, I’d have called you bad names and had you sent to the loony bin.” Sam’s eyes flew open, and his tired mind tried to figure out if he was dreaming or not. As she kept on talking, letting fly a running monologue on laundry, the clothes Crowley had provided for her, the laundry facilities in the bathroom, and really anything that came to her mind, Sam realized it was really her he was hearing. Sam almost kissed the screen. As he watched and listened, he heard a knock on her door, and heard her yell for whoever it was to come in. A moment later, Crowley showed up in the living room and greeted Y/N.

“Hello, my dear. I’m hoping you’re doing well. I just came to let you know that I’ve wired the feeds for sound, so your beloved Moose can hear you now. No more love letters to the cameras needed.” Sam watched Y/N’s face register the surprise, and then she shrugged. “Besides, you were going to clog the plumbing with all that paper.” Sam chuckled. So much for hiding the evidence of what she’d been doing. Y/N’s eyes kept traveling to the nearest camera while she and Crowley had a pleasant chat about things she needed or wanted. As soon as Crowley was out the door, Y/N rushed over to the nearest camera.

“Sam?” Y/N sighed. “Yeah, I know, you have no way to respond. I don’t know why I keep listening and looking. Anyway, I hope you’re not just spending all day and all night watching me. That’s got to be the most boring TV show ever. And I apologize in advance for the stupid things I say when I’m talking to myself. Godfrey isn’t a talker, Crowley isn’t here much, and the guards just grunt and nod, so intelligent conversation is at a premium around here.” Y/N sighed again and looked around. “I don’t know what to say. I’m here. I’m fine. I love you. And don’t waste too much time watching me, okay? I’m trying to keep busy, I’m reading, I’m watching movies, but I’m more bored than anything, so watching me be bored has got to be doubly boring for you. I love you too much to think of you glued to your laptop 24/7 watching me be bored.” Y/N paused and looked around. “Well, I guess it’s back to laundry for me.” Y/N blew a kiss at the camera and smiled. As she turned away, Sam saw her wipe something from her face and sighed.

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #mrswhozeewhatsis writes #WOL - GaFfSW #sam x reader #sam fluff #sam angst #sam smut #sam winchester #sam winchester fan fiction #sam winchester fan fic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic