#i’ve got a week to decide if i’m sending nate back to school or not

[princessphilly]

Send For Me

This is my entry for @antoineroussel​ Summer Fic Exchange. This is for  @selfindulgentpoorlywritten who requested a reader insert fic for Nate MacKinnion, hurt/comfort, fluff, and smut. I inverted the prompt a bit and I apologize, it’s not as smutty as my usual smut. I hope you enjoy. 

The title comes from one of my favorite Old School R&B songs by Atlantic Starr - Send For Me.

Word Count: 2519

I can’t do it. I can’t marry Jim. We don’t love each other, he really loves someone else. Sorry for embarrassing everyone. Please forgive me.

You wrote those texts to your best friend, probably your former best friend now. You were supposed to marry her brother but you just had cold feet.

Shimmying into a pair of leggings, you hear the door open.

“What’s going on, Pumpkin?”

Nate, good old Nate, was standing there, his brow furrowed in confusion.

You replied, “I couldn’t do it. I’m jilting Jim.”

Nate blinked in disbelief. This was not the you he was used to, the one who would always do their duty, even if it was killing yourself inside. “What are you planning to do,” Nate finally asked.

“Get away and do something different.”

**

Three years later

It was great to be home.

You pulled your suitcase behind you, sunglasses perched on your head. It felt good to be back in Nova Scotia even though the last time you were here, you were breaking hearts. But time had passed and Jim was happily married to the man of his dreams. And it was time to finally fix the last problem you left.

You remembered the look on Nate’s face when you told him you were going to get away and do something different. The poor boy looked like his world was ending. Through the group chats and snaps, it was obvious to you that the boy had been in love with you and you leaving had broken his heart.

Part of you had been incredulous; how could he have been in love with you but willing to watch you marry someone else? But then he was not just a hockey player, he was a professional hockey player. Brains weren’t a priority for them.

Luckily for him, you had decided it was time to return home and maybe make his dream come true.

You had the flexibility; you had been working remote even before the pandemic. Now, you were vaccinated, the world had calmed down, and you were ready to see what could happen this summer.

“Welcome back! So good to see you!”

You smiled as Jim greeted you, his husband Mike with him. You gave him a hug, a genuine smile on your face. “It’s good to be home, again.”

As Jim chattered on the drive to your dad’s place, you looked around. You missed the gaily painted houses, the wildlife, everything that made Nova Scotia home. As the car pulled into the Cole Harbour town limits, you took in a deep breath. It was now or never time.

**

Nate scrolled his phone, looking through your instagram. It had been a week since you uploaded a pic and he was getting nervous.

“Are you still stalking her? Wow.”

Cheeks reddened from Sid’s teasing, Nate muttered, “It’s been a while since she updated.”

Sidney shook his head, laughing at his buddy before saying, “Oof,” as Nate threw a medicine ball at him. “Damn Nate, I’m sorry. But, couldn’t you ask for her number from someone?”

“The last time I saw her, she told me she wanted to be left alone for a while,” Nate muttered.

You had looked absolutely amazing in your anorak jacket, jeans, and boots as you got ready to fly to Vancouver. Your hair was wild, barely tamed by your headband. Nate had wanted to tell you how much you meant to him, now that Jim was out of the picture. But you were adamant that you needed to go away for a while. “I’ve never been farther than Quebec City, Nate! I need to do something different,” you had told Nate.

Nate joked, “How am I going to get ackee and saltfish if you aren’t here?”

“My parents love you, Nate, they’ll always feed you,” you had said. Then you gave him a kiss on the cheek before getting onto your plane.

For three long years, all interaction had been through IG likes and comments on each other’s posts. Now, you had been missing in action and Nate was inwardly freaking out. Then the door of the gym opened and Nate sighed. Dave must be here, it was time for a workout. Tossing his phone onto his gear bag, Nate stood up, expecting to hear Dave talk about their off season workout. Instead, it was you, eyes wide as you looked at him.

“Hey you,” you said, arms open for a hug. Nate was looking better than ever, finally grown into his frame. It was almost hilarious how quickly he came over to give you a hug.

However, as soon as your bodies touched, you felt that electricity, something that you never felt with anyone else. Before, you had always noticed it but you had written it off. Most of the time, when you hugged Nate, you were drunk or tipsy. Now though, you were sober, very sober.

Nate had to resist the urge to clutch you closer to him. He thought he had just missed you but now, he was sure it was an unintended heartbreak. As you pulled away, Nate gave you a small grin. “Good to see you.”

“Hey Pumpkin,” Sidney called out, the first time you’ve ever heard him use your nickname. “Thank God you finally came back.”

“Fuck, Sid,” Nate irritability yelled back.

You looked at Nate and then at Sid. Sidney had a shit-eating grin while Nate looked completely embarrassed. You shrugged. “It’s good to be back, Nate Mac.”

**

You had thought seducing Nate would have been easy. It wasn’t. It had been a month since you returned, a month of hanging out with the guys, reconnecting with friends, and watching Nate silently pine for you. Yet, every opening you gave him, he didn’t take. It was as if he was absolutely scared, that you were about to disappear again.

Such a silly boy.

Tonight, you were going to take matters into your own hands. Zipping up your dress, you were ready for a night out in Halifax. The golden yellow dress made you look absolutely amazing and you had your hair pulled into a bun. Your sandals finished off your outfit, the chunky heel perfect for dancing. If Nate didn’t get it tonight, you were over him completely.

Your outfit had worked perfectly; you were the center of attention but you were getting everyone’s attention but Nate’s. You had your best smile on your face but you were getting irritated as you watched Nate and Sid drink at the bar. Leaving your group of girl friends, you strode towards them. Sidney noticed you first, giving you a sly grin.  

“You look great, Pumpkin,” Sidney complimented you with a goofy wink.

You retorted, “I always look great, Cros,” as you bumped him with your hip. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Nate give his best friend a hard look. You slid between them, facing Nate. “Hi, Nate the Great.”

“Have you been drinking, Pumpkin?”

Nate gave you an arch look. You rolled your eyes; you had exactly one vodka soda and you’ve been nursing it for the past two hours. You had every desire of being fully consenting and in full capacity for when you finally got Nate in your bed. You finally replied, “I’ve just had this one drink in my hands.”

Nate snorted as he took a gulp of beer. He didn’t know what to expect from you. You flirted with him but you flirted with everyone. You were sweet to him but sweet to everyone. You had him tied up in knots like before, but this time, there wasn’t a Jim in the way. But Nate just didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want a summer fling with you but he liked having you back in his life even if it was just for a short time.

You looked at Sid and grinned. “Hey Cros, can you give Nate and I some space?”

Sidney snickered. He may have his own dim bulb moments but he could tell that it was time for him to go and find something else to do tonight. “Have fun, Pumpkin.”

Nate gave Sidney the finger as he made a suggestive face. However, he was so happy he wasn’t drinking when you asked him, “Why aren’t you paying me any attention, Nate?”

“Um, wow, ugh,” Nate stammered, his lisp pronounced as you put him on the spot. “P-p-pumpkin…”

“Did I waste my time coming back this summer?”

You pressed yourself closer to Nate as he gulped. A myriad of emotions came across his face before being replaced with one, desire.

“Pumpkin, you didn’t waste your time coming back,” he finally said. You smirked, ready for the kill until Jeff and some of the boys barreled into you two.

“Hey Pumpkin, hey Nate,” they all slurred, the moment shattered. You wanted to scream in frustration but at least you knew that you definitely still had an affect on Nate.

**

It was a clear night, slightly chilly as you sat out on the porch. You had helped your parents close down the shop tonight. You had started an IG restaurant for the shop and it was now super popular. They would need to hire new staff and you agreed to stay for the rest of the summer season to help train. Now, you were relaxing, enjoying the chilly night with your smoothie.

“Psst!”

You looked up, heart racing before you realized who it was. It was Nate, standing in front of his car. “You know, I’ve been here for five minutes before you noticed me, Pumpkin.”

“It’s been a long day,” you replied, happy to see him. “I closed the shop.”

“Ah, if I knew that, I would have come by for some patties,” Nate murmured. “Are you about to do anything?”

“Nope,” you replied, taking another sip of your smoothie.

Nate smirked and you felt something pulse inside of you. “Come on, let's hang out, just us.”

You jumped up, glad you already had your house keys and phone with you. Locking the door, you sent a quick text to your parents. “Let’s do this.”

**

It felt like old days as you two hung out at Nate’s new house. There was a stupid movie on, Nate was eating kale chips while you drank the remnants of your smoothie. The girl was trying to run from the killer, and of course, totally failing. You two spent the entire time laughing at the movie, making snarky comments. But now, your legs were in his lap as the movie ended, the girl finally safe.

“Wanna watch another movie,” Nate asked, his hands rubbing your legs.

You pretended to think for a moment before replying, “We can but nothing as stupid as that. Why did you choose that movie, Nate?”

“I figured that it was supposed to be scary, you’d jump into my arms when you got scared.”

Nate’s cheeks had bloomed red and part of you wanted to laugh at him for being that dumb to think that would work. But you were nice as you teased, “If you wanted me to jump into your arms, you could have just asked.”

“I could have but, Pumpkin, you make me so nervous,” Nate confessed. “Like you’re so hot, so smart, like what do you see in me?”

You definitely rolled your eyes this time before deciding to take matters into your own hands. Nate was so sweet but if you left him to his own devices, nothing would happen this summer. Shifting your legs out of his lap, you straddled him. “Nate, you are the sweetest guy but sometimes, you are so dim. If I didn’t love you, I would have never returned this summer.”

“Love, what-,” Nate started but you kissed him.

Luckily, as your lips met his, Nate figured out pretty quickly what time it was. You kissed him slow, sweet, your lips and tongues meeting as you finally loosened the lid on an attraction that had been simmering for years. Then his hands grasped your ass and you gasped.

Kisses turned desperate, hands everywhere as you both gave into an attraction that was now ready to burn. Before you knew it, you were on your back on the sofa, your bra and top off and forgotten somewhere, Nate in just his sweats. Nate’s fingers were inside of your leggings as you had gone commando when you got home, planning to go to bed rather quickly. Those fingers felt so good, the rough pads of his fingertips feeling so good as he caressed your clit. Then he just stopped.

“I’m not fucking you for the first time on my couch,” Nate said, embarrassed as hell as he sat up..

You snorted. Of course he would feel this way, the hidden romantic despite all his protestations that he wasn’t romantic at all.

“Then take me to your room.”

You squealed as Nate picked you up, depositing you on his bed. The smart remark on your lips died as he pulled your leggings down, his mouth on your core. The boy had a talented mouth, as Nate made you beg him for more, calling out his name as he made you cum with his mouth.

As your body shivered from the aftershocks, you licked your lips as Nate looked up at you. His lips glistened with your essence and he smirked at you before licking his lips. “You taste so good, Pumpkin.”

“I know,” you managed to snark as you watched Nate push his sweatpants and boxers down. You bit your lip as you watched his cock bounce, instinctively spreading your legs. Nate smirked as he crouched over you, reaching into his nightstand. Pulling out several condoms, Nate remarked, “I hope you aren’t helping out tomorrow at the shop.”

“I’m not,” you breathed as you watched him put on a condom. “I’m doing remote work.”

“Good,” Nate muttered as he drew his cock through your folds, coating his condom-covered cock in your essence. You both moaned when he finally entered you, slow and steady. It was soft, a “finally this is happening” more than a desperate need at this point. It was more than just fucking, an actual melding of souls together. But then thoughts were done, all you could focus on was the pleasure that Nate was giving you before giving in completely.

**

“What are you doing in September?”

You laid your head in Nate’s lap, looking up at the blue sky. You had just finished a workout with him and you were both sweaty and parched. You shrugged, “Dunno yet? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t want this summer to end, Pumpkin.”

You met Nate’s blue eyes. His eyes were serious as his fingers traveled up and down your arm. “Is this your way of asking me to come with you to Denver, Nate Mac,” you asked, teasingly. Your lease in Victoria was done and your passport was current since you worked for Microsoft. You could work literally anywhere in the world.

“Come with me, Pumpkin. We’ve waited long enough,” was all Nate said.

“Okay.”

#nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon #nhl smut #hockey smut #hockey fic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl rpf #hockey rpf #avalanche imagine #avalanche imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #summer fic exchange #smut #hockey fanfiction

[likesrandomstuff]

Avalance Fic Recommendations Part 1

After answering @puppetavasharpe's callout last week, here, about Avalance fic recommendations, I realised that I hadn’t seen a master list in quite a while (please let me know if there is another one around). With encouragement from @heywhereisperry, I decided to compile one myself. I took a deep dive through my 107 pages of relevant AO3 history, to get this list together.

This is Part 1 of 4

Each part has ten stories and are sorted by size. This post has what I’m calling the Bite Sized Fics, which are under 5,000 words. I’ll be posting each list over the course of the next week. For each story I’ve tried to write a summary of what to expect from that fic, as the descriptions on AO3 may mask the true gem that is inside. I did stick to completed works, with exceptions as mentioned.

I’d love for these posts to become a resource for the whole fandom, and obviously this is not every good fic out there, so please reblog and add anything you thinks deserves a shout out. I can only read English, so if there are any fics in other languages, that would be cool to find out about. My one request is that you wait for the appropriate post to add to. You can just list the name if you’d like.

If anyone would like more details on any stories, or specific recommendations such as top Soulmates AU/ Canon fics / College AU, feel free to send me a message. Without further ado

Bite sized (Under 5,000 words)

When you’re looking for something short and sweet

The Bet by fvandomtrvsh

My tags: it’s a competition of who can get the number of the cute girl at the coffee shop, Sara has a head start the boys don’t know about, Ava is not amused

It’s stupid, but so fun. Nate has a crush on someone he runs into each morning and reckons he can ger her number. Constantine and Jax think they’ll have more luck. Sara is tired of their antics. Ava is questioning what she did to deserve this.

Paper Hearts by KatrinaKenyon

My tags: High school AU, Sara has a crush on Ava, tries to be anonymous but fails

An author who has written so many great Avalance fics, and I almost forgot to include on here. This is super cute. Sara tries to be Ava’s secret admirer, but Ava’s too smart for that. It works out in the end after some embarrassment.

painted me golden by lucylikestowrite

My tags: Avalance meet at Ava’s sister’s wedding, basically everything you need

Lucy’s stuff is great, I think she’ll be getting a shout out in each section. I can just see this fic so clearly in my head. Sara’s there when Ava would rather be anywhere else. The characterisations are just, so great.

those unexpected worries come at inconvenient times by Notabeautifullittlefool

My tags: Avalance bedroom fluff, they’re getting ready for bed and talk, would guess Season 5 in the timeline

They are just so soft. Sara has thoughts about them moving in together, Ava has a concern that no one else would ever have. Like putting on a cosy jumper. The whole fic takes place in their bedroom, and mostly in bed itself.

make me forget that I'm not ready for love by pirateygoodness

My tags: Set between season 3 and 4, their second first date, aka the plans Sara mentioned in Aruba.

Author is a titian of the fandom. This is very soft. I remember when the Season 4 trailer dropped, and the surprise to see Avalance in bed together. And everyone expecting them to have a slow build-up back together, then first episode Ava’s asking Sara to move in. This fic fills in the gap between seasons, and how they got from sort-of back together to being partially kept.

forever with your hands in my pockets by plinys

My tags: Sara’s goal to avoid studying actually makes her study, College AU where Ava is the TA, Sara's a dance major

College AU where Sara chose a hard subject because the class times were good and decides that she’ll sleep with Ava instead of studying; that doesn’t go to plan. As someone who was required to attend lecturer contact hours after failing my capstone maths subject twice, know that very few people do go to those sessions.

she loves me, she hates me, she's my kind of crazy by SJAandDWfan

My tags: Sara is getting a bit obsessed with Ava, the Legends are confused to why, we know why

I would just like to take a moment to appreciate this October 2017 fic that gets their dynamic so on point. Canon light. Sara is keeping track of how many times she saves Ava, and Ava saves her, and trying desperately to have a higher score. The train together, which we needed to see in canon 4 years ago.

a ring (to remember you by) by softiesharpie

My tags: Ava starts stealing Sara’s rings, canon verse, set before or in Season 4

I might be the only one to notice, but Sara always wore a bunch of rings up to her kidnapping, but since she’s been back it’s just been the one thick one. Ava, on the other hand, normally has a bunch on now. Anyway, Ava starts wearing Sara’s rings. It’s cute.

Make the Yuletide Gay by swanqueenismagic

My tags: Doctor Sara, Christmas fic, the hospital is a great place to meet someone Ava

Nothing like seeing a title and being like “oh, I remember that”, and the AO3 stats saying you read it once in 2018. Make that twice now. Ava’s twin is having her baby, Sara delivers it, it’s cute, there’s cookies involved.

Sleeveless by the_nvisiblegirl

My tags: Arms, Ava loves Sara’s arms, we all love Sara’s arms

Set in season 5 when Sara is blind. Ava starts picking out her outfits. They all have something in common. No sleeves. Again, arms.

Click here to see all the parts

#Avalance fic rec #Avalance #Sara Lance #Ava Sharpe #fanfiction

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch.3

WARNING DECEPTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK

I understand seeing others go through this can sometimes cause panic or anxiety attacks in some and with the use of some imagery I've used I'd feel better if I gave a fair warning that there is a detailed panic attack early on.

,,,,,,,,,,

Whoever said eight hours of sleep was the right amount for humans has never met an insomniac who just spent the last six days and five nights awake. You hoped that fucker is in hell burning for his sins, he probably has more of them that you don't know of. But with bleary eyes looking at your phone you can barely make out that it's just a little past six in the morning. This is backed up by the slimmers of light shinning through the blanket you put over the window last night. Briefly the thought of keeping it up today passes through your mind as you try to curl into an even tighter blanket cocoon.

Stretching out your legs and toes you let your muscles melt into mush in the warmth and comfort of your bed. Closing your eyes and burying your head back into the pillow, you might not be able to go to sleep but resting is nice too. You're so relaxed it almost feels as if all your limbs are floating and you feel the buzz of energy come surging back through you, you hum along with it nuzzling into the pillows.

'Your car was broken into.' the thought flashes through your mind and has you jolting up right.

Chest heaving slightly as frantic eyes dance along the room that hasn't changed since the night before. The buzzing energy from just a few moments before turns into an icy feeling flowing in your veins. It chills you to your core and you've noticed the tremors in your arms causing you to tremble. There's a sick feeling that bubbles up your throat, as you feel the phantoms of tens of hands grabbing at your arms and torso. They move erratically all over and their grips are suffocating, there's a lump in your throat that you have trouble swallowing down.

Bringing a hand up to your throat you jab your thumb right above or right at where your larynx would be. The slight pain from the pressure helps ease the lump away and you're able to get out a few frantic breaths. You hardly notice the wetness on your face from the few tears slipping free from your eyes.

'Gross, gross, gross, gross.' is the only message that rings clear in your mind as you're assaulted by these phantom hands.

You're aware this is a panic attack, but it does little to calm you down. Putting more pressure on your throat and using your feet to propel you back into the mattress. Vaguely you're aware that tiring your body out should calm you or maybe it's the release of an emotional fit that calms you, you aren't sure which and you don't really care at the moment. So flailing your legs you let your feet forcefully slip off of their purchase as you push your muscles to their full extent with force. It doesn't take long before you can't feel your limbs and are gasping for breath.

The phantoms are gone, no longer touching you as they please, and while the lump still sits at the bottom of your throat making it hurt to swallow and breathe around you can begin to feel calm. Actually it's the numbness that takes over you, not a sense of calm. The sense of an empty shell broken from its exertion. One thing's for sure you can't take your car today. If you had a panic attack just by thinking of your car you don't want to risk actually getting behind the wheel.

Everything feels tense, the muscles in your legs are starting to ache and you're pretty sure you'll have a bruise at the base of your throat.  You check your phone with shaky hands to see it's now seven twelve. If you get up now and leave you think you can probably make it into town by eight forty giving you time to grab something from the Dunkin' on the corner across from the shop. Or you could call out, Nate would totally understand. But just the thought of being alone today sends a chill down your spine and the feeling of those phantom hands start creeping their way back into your personal space.

“I'm going to work!” jumping up and out of the bed, away from the grubby grabby specters.

Running around the room you throw on a pair of black shorts, unusual for you to wear at work but if you're walking you'll have to deal, sweaty jeans are uncomfortable and joggers aren't very cohesive to a work environment. Deciding on a binder made from a breathable swimsuit material for the same reason, sweaty bra is too uncomfortable and bra-less isn't really something you're comfortable with. Grabbing the first shirt you find, it's a black tee with the words “The only man for me is Mothman” printed on it surrounded by little white stars and a chibi lil mothamn.

Looking at your outfit altogether cheers you up. It's casual but cute, not to mention these shorts do a lot for your thighs and butt. But, there's no time to dwell on how handsome you are, you need to grab food and get out the door like ten minutes ago! Grabbing a mask printed with the word 'No' dead center and your headphones you leave your room. With the thought of grabbing Dunkin' before work you settle on a Pedialyte Pop to hold you over during your walk, nausea shouldn't hit you right away anyway. Checking your door was locked, thrice, you started your trek to town.

Most people would complain about having to walk or hike while wearing a mask, often times saying it was hard to breathe under the fabric. But you'd say they just didn't have the right size mask for their face shape. You'd run into a few masks that hadn't been the right shape or size throughout the years but you're thankful that your first three had been perfect. Had they been too big or small you probably wouldn't have fallen in love with wearing masks, they were so comfy and let you interact with people without your voice getting stuck in your throat.

You'd taken to wearing them after high school when you'd taken a job of watching an elderly hospice patient's corgi while her family worked on moving to Virginia and closer to her. Anytime you and little Russel went to visit her you'd had to wear a mask, so instead of wearing the disposables you'd bought a set of three reusable ones.

After noting the change in behavior she mentioned your Autism, she'd been a retired social worker and saw the signs when she met you and after spending nearly 40 hours a week together for half a year she was certain you somehow fell through the cracks. It was a shock to you when she threw out the off handed comment but after stating who your pediatrician was, she was sent into a fit of laughter.

“Anya is a dear and a great surgeon, but I think the cultural barrier has stopped her from diagnosing children for years.” she had said all the while wheezing through the oxygen mask, eyes crinkling in amusement.

She'd sat you down with a list of books to look into and written out all your symptoms, she said if you ever wanted to get tested having the list of symptoms would be more helpful than straight up asking for a diagnosis. Some doctors were too by the book back in the 40s so Autism has rarely been studied in depth. Only in the last decade or so has a movement gained momentum to spread not only a wider awareness of the disorder but also acceptance for it. But to a doctor it would seem like you were grasping for attention at least to anyone who spent less time with you than she had. But without at least six thousand dollars to spend on a piece of paper that confirms what you already know you'll just have to stick to coping by using methods you read about from forums and blogs made by people with Autism rather than their parents or someone who's “very close” to them. And like Mary Anne said before she died, “just because you don't have a diagnosis doesn't mean your symptoms aren't there.”. A statment that reassures you from time to time, when you think you must be faking it for attention. And that somehow you managed to fake tics your whole life.

Snapping out of your memories because you could hardly tell your mask was on, and has been for the past forty minutes or so since you'd finished your pop. It wasn't too hot at the moment and like the previous day Kepler's climate has no humidity whatsoever, a huge change from the coast. Checking the time again on your phone you see the clear white numbers stating boldly that it is eight o' nine. You don't feel any closer to town but figure that's normal when all you've seen is the old over grown road. You feel you should have seen the road leading to town by now,  you hope you see it soon or else you'd really over estimated how long it would take to get to town, then you'd be hella late and sweaty. With the way you still had signal to the spotify you doubt you've even made it far enough to reach the dead zone.

Sighing you look down as you walk hoping to maybe find a rock to kick, walking's really boring when there's nothing to explore and you're on a time crunch. A loud honk takes you out of your head and you startle looking up. Doesn't take more than a second before you see a car stopped in the middle of the road in front of you. It's well taken care of for sure but not necessarily new or anything, you don't know too much about cars other than it looks like a black Camry no wait that's the Hyundai symbol. Some type of sedan then.

The back window on your side of the car rolls down and a man leans out and calls to you, you don't hear him at first. Slipping your headphones down to hang around your neck he repeats himself, “Do ya need a ride?” He has a southern accent on the thicker side, not abnormal for West Virginia but you can tell it's not the same dialect, probably from further down. The man has blonde hair styled in that fluffy swooped faux hawk that a lot of gamers had back in 2017/2018. He's got slight thin stubble along his jaw, not quiet five o'clock shadow so he probably has trouble growing facial hair. His eyes are that hazel color everyone wishes they could have, the kinda that had the orangish yellow glow about them. He looks like a fuck boy.

You're nearly ready to point at your mask in an indication of 'no I don't know you creep' when you catch sight of the driver. A boy around your age maybe who looks apathetic, that's not what catches your eye everyone looses the will to live at some point. What draws your attention is the mask he's wearing on his face. He could potentially be like you, or maybe he's just sick and being considerate, or he could have allergies. Whatever the case may be you can't honestly be considering getting into a car with two random men just because one wears a face mask. Hell for all you know they've orchestrated this situation, they could've been watching you analyzing your every move to know that breaking into your car would send you into a state of panic where you wouldn't use your car the next day or two, then you'd be out in the open to kidnap on your walk to town where you couldn't call for help due to being in the dead zone. Why else would they be this far along the old dirt road?

“Ah...miss?” the southern drawl brings you out of your inner ramblings, and the words cause you to bristle.

“I'm not a woman.” you say calmly but firmly.

“Oh, ah sorry sir.” you can't help but huff a laugh at the quick apology, your eyes catch movement through the window. Oh they have a dog with them, a rottweiler at that. Cool kidnappers with a dog, who's wearing a vest how...wait dog in vest oh he must be a service dog. Cool not kidnappers then, just strangers, nice. Seemingly trans allys, slight common ground with the driver, and a service dog it might be safe to engage...or at least humor these men.

“It's fine, I'm They/Them for the record.” You say approaching the car, you make your way to the man leaning out of the window, somehow the presence of a service dog puts you more at ease, especially when the dog only spares you a single glance before his attention's back on the driver, who's not even pretending to pay attention to the two of you. His leg is bouncing up and down, it's not rhythmic and no one's paying attention even as it shakes the car. Probably has ADHD, your dad does that all the time when he's at a stop light, it's a subconscious movement he even does it in waiting rooms or anywhere where he has to sit still really.

“Oh, well sorry 'bout that Mx.” the man in the window stresses the “Mx” but not in the typical fuck boy way, more like he was reinforcing it to himself. “We just saw you walkin' and wanted to see if ya' needed a ride anywhere.” he says.

“If you're going to town, I'd appreciate one, but I wouldn't want to be a bother.” his smile brightens at this but you notice it doesn't reach his eyes, probably just being polite.

“Sure thing, hop on in.” He moves to slide back but you've already opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Effectively snapping the driver out of whatever haze he was in to look at you, he looks back at his friend with confusion.

“Hi” you say to the driver who gives his own wary 'hey' in response as you buckle yourself in. The driver looked even more apathetic up close, dark eye bags under his eyes that were such a deep brown you couldn't see his pupil he also had that fluffy brown e-boy hair. Not the frizzy hair marketing itself as fluffy but the type that's genuinely fluffy looking forming soft waves in his hair.

If they are kidnappers they're really bad at it, especially if all you have to do to stun them is sit up front in a seat that has the second most control in the car and can escape quicker if the need arises. However, glancing back at the dog you notice his attention's still on the driver, it would be really dumb if a kidnapper brought their service dog with them to do a kidnapping so you're reassured that it's just two southern boys driving through Kepler. And they happened to spot a “damsel” in distress, so they came to the rescue.

“Oh, don't mind Connor he won't bother you. He's here for Toby right now.” The man in the back says and you see the man beside you grip the steering wheel tighter. You nod in response and feel a tickle at the base of your skull, you'll try holding back the tic to not freak the two out.

Just as “Toby” is about to put the car in drive, a bark is heard from the back seat. A frustrated sigh leaves Toby as his hand leaves the gear shift, scowl clear even on his masked face. You guess Toby needs Connor to let him know when he's safe to drive, it's rude to ask about these things but you can't help but guess why that'd be the case.

Another bark leaves Connor right as your head snaps to the right moving back to place, then right, right, up, and right before cracking violently.

“There we go.” you verbalize.

Toby's looking at you in what you can only guess is shock, not the worst reaction you've had to your tics, meanwhile you notice Brian's looking to Connor who's looking directly at you now. Then his head whips around to Toby and he barks, like clockwork Toby's shoulders jerk forwards and his hands jolt up. Connor looks back at you and gives a bark, your head jerks three times cracking your neck two of those times. Connor's gaze is still on you and you know he'll be in an ongoing ping pong game between you and Toby if you keep triggering each other's tics the entire drive, if you'd even be able to get to that point.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you said looking at Connor while holding the sides of your head, trying to as your friend Emonie once said 'keep the bobble head away'.

Thankfully Connor must have had a training course similar to ones you've helped with because he looks away from you and focuses on Toby, who he gives several barks to. Following those barks Toby pops his knuckles and makes a 'mrrwo' sound, sort of imitating a cat, before his head jerks sharply into his knee that jerked up at the same time. You cringe at the sight knowing that must have hurt, hands still firmly pushing your head you see Connor settle down in the back, still on alert but laying down as if to say the muscle spasms have passed. You won't risk removing your hands, you still need a ride into town and this whole situation's put you behind to where you won't make it if you walk now.

“pfft...” you look back to the blonde and he looks ready to burst with laughter from what he just watched. Heat creeping up your face you turn and look away, sure the situation's funny but you don't know these two men and honestly you just feel so embarrassed right now. Especially with last night's incident at the mini mart still fresh in your memory.

“Will you fucking shut up!” Toby barks out, and the blonde tries harder to suppress his laughing fit. Toby glares at his friend before turning his attention back to the road, hand on the gear shift he waits for an alert before putting the car in drive and doing a U-turn back to town.

It's been a while since you've been a passenger in a car, you actually get to take the time to relax and enjoy the passing scenery as Toby drives. He's a surprisingly good driver, most guys his age are speed demons and always want to see how fast they can get away with driving. Toby on the other hand is abiding by the limit even on this open stretch of road with no other cars. But you guess it comes with the territory of needing a service dog to be able to drive, have to abide by the rules. The drive's quiet, you take it as a good thing that the men aren't trying to question or get to know you. If they were kidnappers or up to something nefarious surely they'd be trying to distract you right now with endless chatter to let your guard down. Especially if they'd been watching you and knew what a total chattering encyclopedia you could be when given the right topic. You're gazing out into the window seeing the sign of the town get closer finally when the thought hits you.

“So, your name's Toby, is it short for Tobias?” turning to look at the man, he spares a single side glance with his furrowed brows before responding with an uneasy 'Yea'.

“Cool, sorry if that was a weird question. Tobias is like the best name I've ever heard but I've only met three Tobiases, including you. Could I call you Tobias or do you prefer Toby?”

“I don't really care.” gotta love apathy.

“Cool, cool. Thanks for the ride Tobias!” you chirp out.

“Hey, forgetin' that I'm the one who offered the ride?” The man in the backseat speaks up.

“No, you just never gave me your name. You said Connor's” and ear twitch is all you get such a good boy, “and you said Tobias'. Never mentioned your own.”

“It's Brian, sugar.” you were correct, this man is a fuck boy.

“Yikes, that's gross.”that was a reflex and it was now Toby's turn to laugh at his friend. The man didn't even hide his snickers even had his shoulders bouncing up and down, you think you even caught a mumbled “I won't hesitate bitch”. Meanwhile Brian sat stunned, guess he was used to people finding his nicknames more endearing, meaning he probably meant nothing by it and it was probably the southern accent but it just made you think of the senior men who'd hit on you back before you moved out here.

“Yea don't call me 'sugar', anyway, I'm YN, it's nice to meet you three.”  Toby just nods as his laughter dies down a clucking sound resonates from his throat, Brian however goes right back to his friendly persona with a 'good to meet ya.' Again it's slightly off, it doesn't feel like he's trying to be polite...it feels like...you can't put your finger on it but it's familiar. Like when you fake a conversation with Nate or your mother on the days where exhaustion is nearly killing you, but Brian doesn't seem tired or sluggish.

The rest of the drive is relatively quiet as you direct Toby how to maneuver the streets and he parks in the parking lot of Dunkin'. While you were getting out you'd asked the men if you could get them anything from Dunkin' as a thank you for driving you. Brian tried to decline but Toby spoke over him with what “they” wanted.

“Ok cool, can Connor have a pup cup?” unsure if service dogs could have treats while working.

Sparing a glance to the good boy in question Toby shrugged “Yea, he's due for a break any-anyway.” he ends with popping his knuckles. You assume Connor only alerts motor tics when Toby is driving or about to start driving, since that tic didn't get clocked.

You repeat the order to the cashier once inside. You also get a frozen caramel coffee and an iced caramel coffee for you and Nate along with a box of donuts to pick from for the day. When she hands you everything you're able to balance Toby's order on top of your box and your drinks in the other hand. Walking out with the help of the next man coming in, nodding thanks as you pass him, you see Toby leaning against his car with Connor sitting next to him, no vest on.

It's terrifying how well trained Connor is, because the dog you left in the car barely paid you any mind. While this hyper pup's tail is wagging at just the sight of you, his paws lifting slightly in a tiny dance as you get closer. But he doesn't dare move from his sit, looking up at Toby for cues and looking at you who holds his treat.  Had you not worn a mask for so long you may have missed the smile Toby gave Connor as he pat the dog's head. The slight crinkles around the edges were a dead give away though. With a quick snap Connor is released from whatever command he'd been held by and runs up to you once you're five feet from them.

Drooling mouth opening and closing in an odd mute bark for a dog this size. You take note of the fact that while he's jumping excitedly and pawing the air he hasn't laid a single paw on you. Whoever trained him knew what they were doing that's for sure. Looking up to Toby you hold the one hand outstretched for him to take his items, a tray with Connor's pup cup and his iced coffee, and a white baggie with three donuts, strawberry glazed, maple glazed, and an apple fritter.

Once he's taken his items you balance your drinks on top of the box. Connor's attention hasn't moved from you even through the exchange. You're a little confused by the pup's antics but he probably thinks he can get a donut off you.

“Sorry bubbie, your dad's got your treat not me.” that dopey little face tilts to the left not understanding you aren't the treat giver at this time. You laugh letting him smell the hand that had the coffee in it so maybe he'd understand you didn't have his treat. He excitedly sniffs you, and gives you a few licks before sitting back right in front of you with a blur of a tail behind him. Such a silly boy, he deserves some chin scritches.

“He's smart, told him you'd give 'im this.” Toby says holding out the pup cup to you, as you bend at an awkward angle balancing food in one hand while scratching his dog with the other.

Connor's a little disappointed when his pets stop but jumps to all fours when he sees the pup cup. His tail is wagging so fast you'd be afraid his butt will fall off, if that was a thing that could happen. You go to put the cup in front of him but Toby stops you.

“Hold on, Connor sit.” As soon as his name was called his bottom was on the ground. “You already know his release word so when you want him to take it just say the release.” He says offhandedly while placing the bag in the passengers seat and his drink in the cup holder. You can hear murmured arguing from inside the car, but choose to ignore it. These guys clearly aren't kidnappers, and if they were it's so stupid to kidnap you in broad day light after you just made a purchase and with literally a street in between you and your work, where your boss is waiting for you.

Placing the cup in front of Connor you didn't think it was possible for him to get any more excited but his tail is now undetectable by the human eye. He looks from his treat to you, back, and back to you. Toby said you already knew the release, and there's only one thing you've said to Connor throughout the trip.

“Thank you.” it's immediate, for such a well mannered service dog on and off duty this pup has no table manners. There is whip cream everywhere it's on the ground, his paws, even behind his head. How on earth did he manage that? This must be Connor's only character flaw because Toby is back with what you can only assume are all the napkins he had received in the donut bag, and service vest under his arm.

Once the pup cup was utterly decimated Connor sat happily, butt wiggling, as his dad wiped the rest of the whip cream off of him. Showing the pup the huge glob he had behind his ear only had him licking it off the napkin before licking his dad's face.

“Wrong.” Toby called, a little bummed the pup calmed down a bit but his tail was still going. Toby paused before he slipped the vest back on Connor. Head jerking back twice he looked over to you.

“You wanna say 'bye'?” you perked at the question, if you had a tail of your own it'd probably be wagging just as fast as Connor's.

Do you want to pet a dog, what kind of question was that? Of course you fucking do. Yea you might be late to work but petting a dog is always worth it. Setting your breakfast and coffee on the hood of the car you bent down with Toby to Connor's level.

If that dog could talk he'd tell everyone you gave the best ear scratches, sure you may have smooshed his wrinkly face a ton. But you were so nice and was that baby coos, ah he loves you new best friend. Connor jumped up when you started cooing and gave you a ton of kisses to the face. You couldn't stop laughing and the repetitive motion triggered a tic. Thankfully your mask was on so Toby couldn't see you tongue poke out repeatedly as you said “bleh” in between giggles.

“Wrong.” he says gently pushing the drooling pup away. Shaking the spit off his hand before scratching the pup under the chin, right where the bottom of his ear met his jaw. The pup instantly melted calming into his handlers touch. With his dog now calm he whistles and Connor is standing up straight, Toby slips the vest over his head and secures it. Connor the puppy has turned back into Connor the good boy working pup.

Grabbing your stuff from the hood of the car you turn to Toby and Connor, “Thanks again for the ride, and for letting me pet your dog.”

You're met with a simple shrug, not much phases Toby you've noticed. Aside from his tics that is.

“See ya later Tobias!” with that you're on your way to cross the street legally, and by that you totally jay walked out into traffic in front of the sheriff. You may have jay walked in front of the sheriff, but he didn't do anything so you're fine.

#A cure for insomnia #proxies x reader #proxies #ticci tobyx reader #ticcitoby #ticci toby #timothy wright #timothy wright x reader #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas #masky x reader #masky x hoodie #masky #hoodie #creepypasta fanfic

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Introducing My Fallout OCs!

OMGGGG y’all, I can’t. I’ve apparently reached over 200 of you fantabulous followers and I am so ecstatic! I honestly don’t even know if this is considered a milestone or anything, but I was super psyched, so I'm doing something about it, dang it!

Also, just a heads up on me right now, I just started school again, so my posting miiiiiiight be a bit sporadic every now and then, but I’m determined to still try and get a few posts out every week, so we’ll see how that goes. I’m also pretty backed up on requests at the moment, I’m still accepting them for the time being, but I may turn off my asks if I’m finding difficulty getting to everyone.  

Anyways, I know I don’t ever really talk about my Fallout Original Characters, but I’m thinking of doing some stuff with them in the future, so this seemed like a good place to start  🤷‍♀️ So, here they are! One from each of the 3 FO games I write for. If ya’ll want to send in any asks about these folks, please feel free to do so! 

(Art for these peeps is pending potentially as well).

My Lone Wanderer: Hope

Appearance: 

- Basically like a black-haired, blue eyed Sarah Connor (y’know, from Terminator), she’s got a small frame, but is an absolute beast. She loves to change up her hair, but prefers the iron maiden, unladylike, or rude ridge styles and will often dye it bright-ass colors, cuz why not? She’s pretty pale considering the vault background and the fact she is constantly wearing full body combat or leather armor when she’s outdoors, and she has a few piercings she actually got before leaving the vault. 

What’s in a Name: 

- “Hope” was the name that her parents chose for her before she was even born, but she can’t stand it, she just tends to see it as a cruel joke in the world they live in. She instead goes by Effie (short for Ephialtes, cuz she’s edgy and dramatic and read too much in school). Hope tends not to tell anyone her real name, and if she does, you’d best not use it to refer to her, unless you like being enslaved. The only one who could ever get away with it is Jericho and a select few people from the vault (Stanley, and her father, but she’s still not happy about it.)

Sexuality: 

- Pansexual

Main Companion: 

- Jericho

Relationship(s): 

- She has a sort of “friends with benefits” type situation going with Jericho, but it ends up getting... complicated, and turning somewhat into a relationship.

Bestie(s):

- Even though he’s her boss, Hope likes to hang out with Eulogy when she’s in Paradise Falls. When she was in the vault, she spent a lot of time with Stanley, and was pretty close with Butch, Wally, and Paul as well. 

Fam Dam: 

- James and Catherine are/were her parents (obviously). But she also considered Stanley to be a sort of uncle to her. 

Karma: 

- Oh, the worst. She’s honestly awful. She steals, she murders, she enslaves, she blows up settlements, all of it. She’s got a lot of things she needs to work out...

Faction of Choice: 

- The Slavers of Paradise Falls. (Yeah... she sucks.) The Brotherhood and the Outcasts just never really struck her fancy, and her and Jericho found it was easy to make bank with the slavers. Hope also is a friend to Allistair Tenpenny and Mister Burke... and not the folks in Megaton. Cuz they’re all not really alive.

Vault Occupation: 

- Engineer

Fun Fact!:  

- Hope is really bad with empathy, and absolutely needs to experience something for herself before she can make any sort of judgement on it, or other people who have had that same experience.

My Courier Six: Sage

Appearence: 

- Sage doesn’t really consider herself very “flashy” in comparison to most folks in NV. She’s got shoulder length brown hair (blast back or clean cut style) and brownish-hazel eyes. She’s pretty damn tan (Mojave, you know) and doesn’t have many scars, but the ones on the right side of her forehead clearly indicate where she was shot in the head (thanks, Benny). She and Boone tend to twin quite a bit, with matching red berets and sunglasses.

What’s in a Name: 

- The poor girl has no clue what her real name was before she was shot, but she saw a box of labelled herbs in Doc Mitchell’s house when she was recovering from her headwounds and decided she liked the name “Sage.”

Sexuality: 

- Bisexual

Main Companion: 

- Craig Boone

Relationship: 

- Also Boone :) it’s a pretty darn slow-burn romance with lots of bumps along the way, but their love always seems to prevail. (Gross and sappy, I know)

Bestie(s): 

- Arcade, plus Rex, and ED-E. Also Victor and Doc Mitchell.

Fam Dam: 

- No clue, unfortunately. She eventually tries to find out something about her past and her family, if she has any, but she’s got a few things to deal with first (hint, one rhymes with pleaser’s fleegion).

Karma: 

- She may make mistakes along the way, but Sage really does try her best to be as good as possible. 

Faction of Choice: 

- Mr. House and the Followers of the Apocalypse. Would like to get rid of House, but can't bring herself to become responsible for everything once he's gone. She considers herself his personal empathy and tries to assist with the goings on of the Mojave even after the battle of hoover dam. Fucking wiped out everyone in the Legion. Her and Boone are a force to be reckoned with. And she never really cared much for the Brotherhood since she had such little interaction with them. She has a good relationship with Freeside and most of the settlements/other towns as well.

Previous Occupation: 

- Courier? She has no idea what else. But she’s oddly really good with medicine 🤔

Fun Fact!: 

- She supports Mr. House for a number of reasons, but one of the biggest is that she doesn't want to lose Victor. He saved her, and she considers the securitron to be her oldest friend (besides Doc Mitchell). She knows it's a little selfish, but she can't bring herself to put an end to him after he pulled her from her own grave and helped bring her back from the brink of death.

My Sole Survivor: Jolene Arvanidis-Ryan

Appearence: 

- She’s got auburn hair she usually keeps cut short (clean cut) or in a bun, green eyes, pale skin with a good amount of freckles and has exceptionally straight teeth (braces suck, but you know.) When traveling with Cait, people tend to think they’re related. Jolene tends to wear a black beret and, if she has the time and resources, she likes cat eye style eyeliner. 

What’s in a Name: 

- Her first name runs in the family... plus her dad really liked Dolly Parton, so that helped cement the first name for him. Nate’s last name was Arvanidis, and she tends to use that as her last name exclusively, she rarely reveals her maiden name (Ryan) to anyone. 

Sexuality: 

- Straight

Main Companion: 

- Paladin Danse

Relationship: 

- It takes a long time (post BB), but she ends up being with Danse. 

Bestie(s): 

- MacCready and Cait

Fam Dam:  

- Pre-war, her father was a carpenter and her mother was a major in the US military, she had no siblings and was very close with her father since her mom was often away on deployment. 

Karma: 

- Decent. Tries her best to do what’s “right,” but she sometimes has a hard time determining what that is. Is good at following orders, even if she doesn’t always agree with them (BB is the exception in this case).

Faction of Choice: 

- Brotherhood of Steel, at least until BB, then she tends to focus more on the Minutemen, but still stays by the BOS’s side when it comes to taking down the Institute. Despite her loyalty to the BOS, she always regrets what she did to the Railroad, and how she ended things with the Institute, and she holds quite a bit of resentment towards Elder Maxson for ordering her to pull the trigger that ended her son’s life, and the other lives within the Institute. 

Previous Occupation (Pre-War): 

- She was a Gunnery Sergeant in the US Military. (Trying to follow in her mother’s footsteps).

Fun Fact!: 

- She hates killing feral ghouls, but keeps it under wraps since she tends to travel with MacCready and Danse the most. After that random encounter where she found herself murdering her own neighbors, she can’t bring herself to look into the eyes of any feral ghouls she has to kill. 

Bonus! Fun Fact!:  

- She started out as my sort of "throw away" playthrough where I wanted to do a BOS run, just out of curiosity, but she ended up being my main playthrough… probably because Danse is just the best and I can't get enough of that tin can thesaur-ass.

#fallout #fallout 3 #fallout new vegas #fallout 4 #original character #fallout oc #thank you guys again #ily all so much #thank you for reading #you all are the best

[hedgiwithapen]

How about the Leverage Crew arriving in Central City in time for the that time Barry got accused of murdering DeVoe. Basically, Leverage Crew (Classic or Redeption is your choice) meddling in that plan. Because screw DeVoe. Can be in the same universe as The Central City job, or a brand new AU; your choice.

this one Long The courthouse was packed when a sleek black van pulled up to a loading zone. Nathan Ford turned from the passenger seat. “You all know the play?” “Mm, yup,” Parker said, clipping a badge to her blazer pocket. “The Boston skip.” “It’s not the Boston Skip,” Hardison snapped, fussing with his tie.. “You’re just grumpy because you have to play the lawyer again.” Eliot smirked. “Hey, you said only if it comes to a cross examine, I did my job, if you all do your jobs right and it doesn’t come to that,” Hardison’s voice pitched upwards. “If?” Sophie put on the emergency break. “If? Hardison, I’m hurt.” “Soph,” Nate sighed. “Let it go.” “For now. We’re having words later,” Sophie insisted. “Can we just get this over with?” Eliot asked, maneuvering to take the driver’s seat. “ you know I don’t like us splitting up like this.” “It’ll only be for a bit,” Parker said, squeezing his hand. “ We’ll be fine.” They left the van in twos, first Parker and hardison, briefcase and extraneous computer in hand, and a minute or two later Sophie and Nate followed-- and Nate with a plain folder tucked under his arm. Eliot drove in the direction of the police station, ready for the next phase of the plan. They hadn’t exactly called ahead, but that wasn’t going to be much of a problem. Cisco Ramon was the first to spot them. He goggled a bit. “What are you doing here?” he asked as Hardison approached the bench where Team Flash had congregated. Hardison smiled, knowing the prosecutor was watching. “I came to offer my services,” he said, sending a quick text with a thought. “ Where is Ms Horton?” “Here,” the short woman said, her eyes cutting between the two as Cisco checked his phone. “ Who are you? Cisco, who is--” Cisco looked up from the message--you didn’t see us coming?-- and relaxed slightly for the first time in weeks. “I’m part of Mr. Allen’s legal team,” Hardison smiled wide. “He’s ok, Cecile,” Cisco vouched. “ He and his, uh, coworkers have helped us in the past. With Z--wait, that was before you. Um.” “My firm helped get Henry Allen some money, after that unfortunate mess. And we’re here to see justice through again.” He hesitated. “ Or pick up where it leaves off,” he said under his breath. Cecile took in a sharp breath. “When did we hire you?” “Uh--” “Cecile, it’s really ok,” Caitlin joined the cluster. “They know about STAR. And apparently about the recent… developments.” “You think we don’t keep tabs on your crazy city? Now, Ms. Horton, as your co-lawyer, we need to discuss strategy. I’ve got some character witnesses I’d like to introduce, some crucial evidence that needs to be submitted, is there an office we might use?” He steered her away, nodding to Parker, deep in conversation with the prosecutor.

“You let that jerk stick around?” Iris jumped when she heard the voice in her ear. Turning she sighed with recognition. “ Lilli--Sophie?” “In the flesh.” She smiled. “I can’t stay long, but Eliot wanted me to ask.” Iris sighed. “If it’s Eliot asking, I guess you mean Harry. He’s been a lot better since Eliot kicked his ass, that’s for sure. And he has been helpful.” “I’m sure,” Sophie sounded anything but sure. “Listen, we’ve got this pretty well handled, but you and your friends may wish to be ready in case of reprisals. Have you upgraded security lately?” “Cisco’s worked on it,” Iris confirmed. “Good. Hardison would love to take a look, later. We’re probably going to be in the area, we’ve had word something’s fishy at that prison of yours.” When Iris opened her mouth Sophie shook her head. “Iron Heights. Point is, we’ll be around should you need anything.” “Thank you for the offer,” Iris said. She shook her head. “ These people are smart, Sophie. Dangerous.” “Not compared to my team,” Sophie smiled. “Save your worry. Look, see? Hardison’s in place, and Parker’s in the wings. I’ve got to go take care of my part. If you see your husband, let him know, will you?” “I-- sure,” Iris said, and she watched as Sophie stood and walked into a crowd. An entirely different person made her way past a bailiff and into the Juror’s box, leaning over to the man beside her and nodding in the direction of the door Barry Allen had just been escorted through. As Iris stood to take his hand across the gap between his seat and the benches, Sophie gave a little nod to the two of them. “It is strange,” the man said. “But I don’t think we’re meant to discuss the case until we’re in the back.” “Of course not,” Sophie said. “I was just thinking about it, is all. If it were a scene in a mystery novel, I’d call it too obvious.” “You do have a point,” the man agreed. “I’m actually a novelist myself.” “You don’t say,” Sophie smiled. “Classic red herring, am I right? And what a story. Two men in the same family accused of nearly identical murders…” She tapped her com, giving a quick signal. Nate was up. “Ah, a quick word?” Nate stepped away from the wall, flagging down Mrs. DeVoe and her companion. “No,” she snapped, putting on what Nate could see was a reasonably convincing mask of Grieving Widow. Convincing to a mark, maybe. But the Mako was right--you can’t con a conman. “Vultures, all of you.” “Oh, I’m not a reporter.” Nate said easily. He nodded to the tall man at Marlize’s Elbow. “Mr. DeVoe, I’m sure you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” He was pleased to see shock cross the face of Dominic Lanse. The man grabbed him by the arm, yanking him into an empty room. Mrs. DeVoe followed, locking it behind her. “Just so you are aware, there is video footage of you dragging me in here,” Nate said in his most helpful voice. “In case you decide to kill me here, probably not your smartest move.” he glanced around. “Private, though. Good.” He gave his signature infuriating grin. “Make this quick,” Clifford said in Dominic’s voice. “Court begins soon.” “Right, well, that’s going to be your problem.” Nate shrugged. “ Let’s skip the pleasantries. I know everything, about your plan at least. Your computer banks! Normal people couldn’t even find them, so you’ve got that going for you, though the security is lacking once you get past that, so B+. I am not Normal People. I have the best hacker in the multiverse, though, so,” he clicked his tongue in mock dismay, “like I said, my team and I --I’m sure you’re trying to think of who we are right now--know everything.” Marlize glanced at her silent watch, frowning. “Oh, no, no, I’m not a meta.” Nate shook his head. “But the thing is, I don’t have to be to destroy you.” “What--” “Again. I know everything, Thinker. Your basement prison, your hidden files, what you want with that satellite… you really shouldn’t have written everything down… twice even.” He fished a small book out of his pocket, and let them see the plain cover. Clifford’s eyes darkened. “That’s mine.” “Yeah, well, I also have the

multiverse’s greatest thief.” “Our home is under police protection and surveillance. There are officers--” “There right now, I’m aware.” Eliot Spencer, clutching a cup of coffee in one hand, flashed a badge at the pair of officers standing by a door. “Any trouble?” “Nope. She just left for the courthouse. Some work, huh? Just standing here.” “Hmm.“ Eliot agreed. “Though I guess if something did happen, the Flash would swoop in.” “Nine times out of ten,” the first officer agreed. “Or one of his buddies. “ “Maybe 8 times,” the second officer shrugged. “ You new?” “Just transferred from Keystone.” Eliot said. “Not so much nonsense there.” “I hear that. Good to have the backup though.” Eliot nodded. “ You do a walk through?” “Uh, no…. Like I said, no trouble, officer-- “Ted Crichton,” Eliot interrupted. “You haven’t walked through? What if someone’s in there, waiting to assault Mrs. DeVoe when she gets back?” “Well, uh, we don’t have a warrant--” “For crying out loud--” Eliot pulled a paper from his pocket. “See? Now let's go. You stay out here. Who has the back-- does no one have the back door? “ The officers hurried inside. “Don’t forget to check the closets,” Eliot called. -- “ Like I said. Best thief. Best hacker. Now, honestly--and you can run the numbers-- your best bet would be to cut your losses right here, right now. You’re already lying on the stand, so say you were coerced into implicating Mr. Allen--if you need someone to blame I do have a list of patsys that really need the jail time. You do that, put your little plan,” he waggled the book “ back in the box or write it up as the next dystopian best seller for High School English classes to dissect for decades to come, and you can walk away from this.” A laugh. “No one will believe anything you say. That book can’t be traced to me, and even if it could be, it doesn’t prove anything. So someone thinks I’m a supervillain. I’m dead. You have nothing that proves Mr. Allen innocent. You’re out of your mind, Mr. Ford.” “Oh good, you know who I am. Think a little harder.” “As threats go, it’s half baked,” Marlize challenged. “What are you going to do if we refuse? Break Allen out of jail so he can be a fugitive? He’d never go along with it. And the Flash can’t stop us.” “I’d run those numbers again, you’ve left out quite a few variables. But no.” “No?” “If you refuse, if you keep up your little game, lie on the stand, sell that sob story, maybe you're right and the Flash can’t stop you. But he doesn’t need to. I’ll destroy you.” “You.” It was not a question. “For someone claiming to be the smartest man in the world, I’m a bit worried about your memory. I said it already--I’m not here alone. But be my guest. Tell your lies. Right about now the Jury is thinking about what an embarrassment to the city Henry Allen’s trial was and how closely this resembles it… the similarities, the way the timelines don’t quite match up… “ “Really? You’re trying to convince the jury to ignore evidence and go with their hearts? A pathos appeal? That’s not going to work. There’s less than a 3% chance of that even ending in a mistrial, much less acquittal.” “I’m sure that’s what your numbers said,” Nate smiled yet again, this time sharklike. “Cute. I bet you think it’s difficult to get assigned jury duty. “ “It-- we checked all the names. We know--” “You know who they are, yes, yes. But you don’t know who we are. Another sloppy mistake. Now, the jury’s, you're right, not a total slam dunk. So, right now the prosecutor is getting word of some new evidence from a very well respected FBI agent about how helpful the Flash and Mr Allen have both been in assisting with a case against a known human trafficker--you know her, Ammunet Black. The one you bought your puppet from. FBI picked her up…mmm, ten minutes ago? And she had some very interesting things to say. You can guess what they were. Add to that the evidence--” “What evidence?” “The wire transfers between you and Ms. Black. In December and a few days ago. We didn’t even have to fake that first one, but even if the second

one looks a little fishy, the fact that--” “Nate, we got him,” crackled Eliot’s voice in his ear. “--the police just found a metahuman locked in your hall closet--Weeper, I think is what Ms. Black called him-- should make things clear. He wasn’t thrilled about having to stick around much longer but your basement is pretty hard for normal people to find so we had to nudge that a bit. But hey, you’re all for planting evidence. Anyways, court’s in ten minutes…. but the police will be arresting you in about three, if my math’s right-- care to check?-- so I can make this very quick. We have video of you threatening the Flash, holding him prisoner the same night as that wire transfer, proof of Dominic’s powers and sale--my hacker thanks you for all those cameras and bugs, by the way, made his job much easier-- and you add that all up and it sure looks like you got upset at the Flash and Allen for poking into your meta trafficking and decided a frame up was in order.” Nate hefted the folder, “and then there’s this.” “And what,” Marlize asked, shaking with rage, “ is that?” “A copy of files that will be delivered to the FBI, NSA and Dean of Husdson University if you don’t admit to the frame up.” Nate said, thumbing through them. “Proof that you, Mrs. DeVoe, fed information to certain entities across Africa and the Middle East where you were doing your research and aid work to assist in their terror attacks and human trafficking--ties in quite nicely to your work with Ammunet, if I do say so myself. And proof that the “late” Mr. DeVoe plagiarized his thesis, his dissertation, even the syllabi for his classes.” “Lies. No one will believe any of--” “Oh, it’s all very well forged. Except for the bit about the Syllabi. For shame.” Nate tutted. “And part of the dissertation. Can they take away a PH.d posthumously? Anyways, even if it wasn’t, do you really think that no one would believe a man who thinks that giving everyone on the planet late stage Alzheimer’s is going to solve famine and illness? What kind of legitimate history teacher doesn’t know about cholera or the effects of the agricultural revolution? Every lie has a kernel of truth to it.” Nate glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, that certainly was enlightening. And before you decide to simply kill me, run your little calculations with one more variable: Eliot Spencer.” DeVoe’s brow furrowed and what little color he had drained from his face. “ That’s what I thought. Three.. Two.. one.” Nate raised his voice. “ Help! I’m in here!” The door crashed from its hinges. “The Gloat is the best part,” Parker, FBI badge swinging, put an arm over Barry’s shoulders. He stood with Iris next to her and Eliot as the DeVoes were hauled away. “You know, I think I might have to agree,” Iris said, squeezing Barry’s hand. “Or second best, at least,” she added meaningfully. “So… what now?” Joe asked. “I mean, there’s still… the red tape, but… do we need to be worried? Don’t they still have--” “Oh, that sick chair and computer set up?” Hardison asked with a smirk. “I want it.” Harry announced. “When did you get here?” Hardison asked, affronted. -- Parker held up her badge as she pushed the crate up a ramp into Lucille. “Special Agent Hagen! Let me help you with that,” Agent McSweeten said, taking the dolley handle from her. Parker beamed, patting the side, careful not to dislodge the panel on the side. “Thanks!” -- “Anyways, you can’t just call dibs. You’re too late,” Hardison added, giving Parker a fistbump. “We stole it.”

#dammit hedgi day 2021 #leverage #the central city job #the flash

[pixie88]

Vicky

Chapter 19 - Always the Bridesmaid.

A/N: This chapter has 2 star guest appearances from 2 beauty's @secretaryunpaid and @ridgy--didge 😘😘 Again I’m going to try and start editing and publishing 2 chapters a week as I have 5 drafts in ATB and 3 drafts in Addicted to You (Series 2 of ATB) obviously if you wish to stop reading after series 1 I completely understand just let me know if you like to be untagged. Now offence taken. I hope you like it.

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff, Little Angst, Mention of drug abuse & Violence.

Song: Raye - Love of you life.

Word Count: 2303

Pairings: Laila x Harry

Enjoy!

As soon as she read the words she knew who had done this "The flat is all clear" Harry says as Laila just stares at the words on the wall "It was Vicky" she says without looking away. "Are you sure?" he questions her, Laila nods "She's done something like this before when I've given Zeppy advice to stay away from her while she's using in the past. So, she completely smashed up my car"

18 Years ago.

"Nate, you know everyone says she's a druggy right?" this wasn't the reaction he wanted when he told his family about Vic "Laila, she is done with all that!" he hisses at her "Whatever...it's your life!" she gets up off the sofa and heads back to her bedroom. Nate was only 16 and Vic was 2 years older, Terry and Liz didn't care about the age gap as they were the same age when they got together, but it was more the rumours they had heard about her half the time she's high and the other half she's trying to get money to score.

As much as they didn't like her, Terry and Liz knew if they expressed their concerns, this will just push him away and towards her. All they could do is be there for him, they didn't have to worry. 4 months into the relationship the day before Laila's 14 birthday, Vicky just disappeared for two years when she finally turned up she told him about Zeppy. Hoping that he would stump up maintenance for her, but a trainee mechanic didn't make that much. Nate had learned not to give her money for anything, so if Zeppy needed something he would go out and buy it for her himself.

When she reached 12 years old, Vicky relapsed again, Nate had lost count of how many times she had gone back to the gear. Vicky had ended up in hospital again, Nate was working so he had asked Laila to take her to see Vic. When they arrived Vicky was asleep, although she was only 4 years older than Laila, looked twice her age. Zeppy was in tears "Hey, she'll be OK! She always is!" Laila tried to comfort her.

Hearing Zeppy's voice she stirred but kept her eyes shut "Aunt Laila, sometimes I wish she wasn't! I wish she wasn't OK.....I can't keep going through this!" Zeppy sobbed "I get that...I do! Sometimes, you can only take so much before you start to wonder if you would be better off without them or keep putting yourself through it"

This angered Vicky.

3 Days later.

She discharged herself from hospital and caught the tube to Laila's work. She saw her car parked up, she took off her heeled boots and smashed every window, pulling out her house key she scraped it across the shiny black paint work before smashing in her headlights. With the alarm going off Laila and Daniel rushed outside, but the damaged had been done.

Vicky got 6 months in prison for criminal damage.

Nate felt so much guilt that he decided he would worked on her car until it looked like new but Terry and Grandad Carelli couldn't let him do it alone, so they got involved too.

That was Vicky's first attack on Laila...

Present day.

Harry didn't want her staying at the flat just in case, Vicky came back no matter how much Laila protested "Harry, I'll be fine here! I can handle Vicky" he's packing a bag for her "I don't care...Laila, you aren't staying here" although she wasn't scared of Vic, she found Harry's protective side quite a turn on.

The next day.

Harry is in the shower, while Laila is cooking them breakfast "Alexa play Harry's playlist" she calls out. Raye - Love of Your Life starts playing, Laila starts swaying her hips and sings along.

"Oh, I could make you confused

I could give you something to lose

I'ma wake you up in the morning

In the bathroom singing the blues

No, I won't clean up your plates (Your plates)

Got my hair all in your face (Your face)

And my legs wrapped 'round your waist (Your waist)

No, I could never give you any space but I

I could be the love, be the love

Be the love, be the love of your life

I could be the love, be the love

Be the love, be the love of your life

I could be the light, be the light

Be the light when it's dark in the night

Oh God, I could be the love, be the love

Be the love, be the love of your life"

Harry stops in the doorway admiring the view, she hadn't noticed him and continues singing. He watches her hip roll and booty pop. He's almost convinced she knows he's there, so she's moving like this to get a reaction out of him. Which by how tight his boxers have gone she had gotten one.

"Put your, put your ego down when you need to

Yes, I get stressed out if I can't read you

Bad London girl raised in the south

I run my mouth, I say shit that I really didn't meant to say

Got my hair all in your face (Your face)

And my legs wrapped 'round your waist (Your waist)

No, I could ne......."

She cuts herself off when he startles her by wrapping his arms around her from behind "Why does that song seem like it was made for you?" He asks before placing a soft kiss against her neck "Maybe because my legs are normally wrapped around ya waist?" she laughs, "That or the love of you life bit" he nips her ear.

He kisses her neck again "Harry, I'm trying to cook breakfast," he leans forward moving the pan off the heated ring "I'm hungry for....!"  he spins her round to face him before lifting her and placing her on the kitchen counter. His lips crash to hers, his hands slip under his t-shirt she's wearing, grasping the waistband of her underwear and pulling them down until their a puddle on the floor.

The pads of his fingers parts her folds, the kiss became more intense, she moans against his lips. She's ready for him, she pushes down his boxers springing him free, she lines him up against her apex. With one swift movement, he thrusts into her, he groans as he grips her arse pulling her forward. She grips his shoulders, his thumb brushes over her nipple making her moan.

A few hours later.

"....I found her washing the kittens in the toilet" Mrs. Hoges tells Laila stories of her 6 year old granddaughter in her southern American accent while she's cutting her hair "No!! How old were they?"

"5 maybe 6 weeks...I shouldn't laugh but it was quite funny"

As she finishes up, she hears her phone buzz.

She loves her friends, but they worry too much, Laila believes if Vicky wanted to hurt her she would.

15 Minutes later...

Laila calls in her next client Miss. Ferguson in "Hey! How are you?" she greets her "G'day, I'm great thanks, you?" She says in her rich Australian accent, Laila nods "So what are we doing today?" Laila throws the gown over her "I'm thinking chocolate brown highlights" Laila nods tearing the foil strips.

At the corner of her eye, she notices someone lean against the wall to her right, she glances over and rolls her eyes as she makes her way over "Harry, what are you doing here?"

"Don't worry Daniel said it was fine.... considering" he seems worried "As much I love you worrying over me...I will be fine" she can see he has no plans on leaving her anytime soon "But seems you aren't going anywhere make yourself useful and pass me those foils when I ask" they make their way back over to Miss. Ferguson.

Once her foils are done, Laila gets Harry to take her to the sinks and wash her hair "I..don't know how to wash women's hair," he whispers to Laila, who laughs "Dude! Come on, it's not that difficult! You know how to wash your hair just wash it how you would yours but we give them a head massage when you do the conditioner" she winks leaving him to it.

At the end of her shift, "Did you have fun being my trainee?" he looks over to her, she had made him do 5 washes, made endless amount of teas and coffees and sweep up hair "I have no idea how you do this everyday my hands are pruned" she laughs, "Aww, those delicate hands can't handle a little water?" she jokes as she grabs her stuff to leave. She checks her phone and saw Nate had text her.

Although Laila wasn't scared of Vicky, she was relieved that she had been caught "Vicky's in custody" she turns towards Harry, who let's out a sigh of relief "Thank...fuck!" He wraps her up in his arms "Let hope she's not released anytime soon" she smiles up at him. She sends a quick reply back.

"So, that means I lose my hunky trainee?" She winks at him, he chuckles "Would it be inappropriate to take my boss out to dinner?" She smirks "Well, now your shift has finished you're no longer my trainee! I'm guessing it's acceptable!"

They leave the salon and find a restaurant that can seat them. Once they are shown their table, they're looking through the menu she looks up at Harry then she spots him...Fuck!!!! She thought as she moved the menu to cover her face.

"Laila?" She hears Harry say "Yes?" She asked not lowering her menu, "Who are you hiding from?" She can almost hear him smirking "No one! I have no idea what you're talking about!" He shook his head "You know even if I can't see your face I can tell you are lying"

She pulls down the menu a little "After Josh, Nikki set me up on a blind date...oh my god the guy was awful. He was one of those who are someone in school, but after he's a nobody the whole date he was just reminiscing about his days at school. I was so bored, so I made my excuses to use the toilets which was right next to the exit and left" Harry howls "Laila!! You didn't?!" He wipes his tears from laughing.

"I did! It's the guy over there with the woman with the yellow dress" Harry is about to turn to look, "Don't look you'll make it obvious!" She hisses "I need to see what this guy looks like especially if you've ditched him!" He turns and he can't believe his eyes "Callum?" He turns back to her "Yeah, how did you know?" She questions him.

"He was the kid in school that used to bully me about my weight...well until Alec told him to back off" Harry starts to laugh again "What's funny?" She asks, "So, he came to my gym years later wanting a PT, I managed to get him into shape....but it felt so good having someone who used to bully me come to me for help and now? My girlfriend went on a date with him and done a runner!" Harry is in fits of laughter.

"Maybe I should go over and say hi" Laila gives him a look as of to say don't you dare, but its to late, he's up and walking over to their table "Callum! I saw you and thought I'd come over and say hi!" Callum looks up at him "Harry, mate how are you?" The pair shake hands "Good, just here with my girlfriend Laila" he points in Laila's direction she awkwardly smiles back.

"I feel like I know her from somewhere" Callum's date turns in Laila's direction, now all 3 are looking over to her. Fuck! Does he recognize me?! She thought. "I think she just has one of those faces" Harry laughs "So, who's your date?" Callum's date looks up at Harry.

Laila caught her checking Harry out, she holds out her hand, which Harry shakes and quickly drops much to Callum's dates disappointment. She watches him smile at him both before making his way back to their table.

"Please tell me..he doesn't remember me?!" She asks as he sits, Harry chuckles "He thinks he knows you from somewhere, but no idea where" Laila sighs with relief "Thank god! But the nerve of his date! Checking you out right in front of him!" Her tone was curt.

A grin appeared on his face "So, I didn't imagine it then!" She rolls her eyes at him "No, I saw it too!" She doesn't look impressed "They were on a first date too! Why do you sound jealous?" He loves this side to her "I'm not.... I just think its rude checking out someone else when you are on a date" he leans over interlinking his fingers through hers "Gorgeous....come on surely you know I literally have tunnel vision, if it's not you I'm not interested! Plus do you know how good it felt telling him that I was with you?! The chubby kid got the super hot girlfriend and at 34 he's still on his first date" His words make her blush.

They're interrupted by the waiter who takes their order.

They are laughing at a silly joke Harry's mum told him when he heads to their table "I figured out where I know you from!" Callum says in an airy tone "We went on a blind date set up by Nikki! You ran out on it"

Fuck he remembered! She thought.

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 20.

@lem-20​ @ridgy--didge​ @irisofpurple​ @secretaryunpaid​ @khoicesbyk​ @txemrn​ @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer​ @tea-me-kah​ @casualpostqueen​ @beautifuluknownvoid​

#atb #always the bridesmaid #harry x laila #pixie88 #Original Work #original character #original writing

[allisonxmoynihan]

always be my baby ~ p. moynihan

Note: This is Part Two of the fic! If you haven’t read part one yet, or need a refresher, you can do so here! Thank you so much for the endless support and I hope you enjoy! 

Word Count: 3,491

Life had returned to normal: you were back at school surrounded by your friends, exploring in your downtime, spending time with Olivia and Kelsie, and you and Pat were friends again. It wasn’t easy to forgive him, but a couple months after your dad’s birthday surprise you decided it was time, and the right decision, to at least let him back in as a friend.

It was the Tuesday of Thanksgiving week, and you had just finished your last class before Fall Break. You found yourself sprawled out on your boyfriend’s bed as he sat on a beanbag next to you playing video games with a few of his friends.

“Hey, babe, what time are you heading home?” Sam asks you, turning his head to look over at you.

You shrug your shoulders looking up from your phone, “I don’t know, some time tomorrow morning probably? Are you heading home at all?”

Sam turns off the game console before coming over and plopping down next to you, “Nah, I’m staying here for the break, my mom’s meeting me in Boston on Friday morning for brunch”

You adjust your head so that you can listen to the steady beat of his heart and you smile, content that today was a good day for the two of you, as his arms wrap around your waist, one hand going and twisting strands of your hair gently in his hands. It wasn’t that you and Sam had an unhealthy relationship, because for the most part everything was perfect, but sometimes the two of you would bicker nonstop to the point of you having a meltdown in Olivia’s dorm and him ignoring you for days afterward. 

“You’re going to eat crappy dining hall food alone on Thanksgiving?”

He sighs, “yeah, but it’ll be okay princess, they’re supposed to have mac n’ cheese that day too”

You lift your head up excitedly, “Why don’t you come home with me tomorrow? My parents are dying to meet you anyway, and besides no one should have to be alone on a holiday!”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, “anything for you, but you have to come to brunch with my mom then.”

~*~

Thanksgiving Day at your house was always hectic. Somehow your parents always got stuck with hosting, and your mom would be stuck in the kitchen all day as your dad and brothers played sports in the backyard as your grandparents sat at the kitchen table keeping your mom company. As soon as you got your driver’s license you got put on emergency grocery runs. 

“y/n, I don’t have the stuff for the pumpkin pie or the sweet potatoes,” your mom says as she scrambles about the kitchen, checking the turkey. “Oh, and I need stuff for brownies and stuffing!”

You stand up from the kitchen table and grab your car keys, “anything else?”

Your mom shakes her head fervently, “hurry,”

On the car ride to Shaw’s your favorite song came on the radio so you turn the volume up and start belting out the lyrics, a wide grin plastered to your face as you slow for a red light. 

Sam immediately goes to turn the volume back to an inaudible volume, “babe, really?” he asks, looking at you as if you were crazy.

You feel your face lose color as you continue to stare ahead, a little hurt that your boyfriend of the last five months would do something like this when he clearly knew it was your favorite song. You fight off the thoughts that Sam held you back from being completely happy, that Patty would never do something like this. You silently curse at yourself for constantly comparing Sam to Pat, as you turn into a parking space, but it was no secret that Patty would never treat you the way Sam did. 

In the five months of dating Sam, he was always quick to call you out on your weaknesses and shortcomings, using your poor grades on a test to boast about his 100%, and even getting annoyed when your goofy and childish nature was highlighted. But time and time again you decided that the good outweighed the bad in the relationship.

Completely disregarding your sudden and distant behavior Sam slips out of the car and strolls towards the door. You take a deep breath, grabbing a shopping cart and hurrying after him. You finally catch up with Sam who is waiting for you in the produce section. “What did your mom need again?”

You force a smile onto your face, hoping you’ll sound somewhat positive, “sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie stuff, and stuffing,” you say, starting to pick up various sweet potatoes and put them in a bag. 

“Here, let me get it,” Sam says, taking the bag from your hands and grabbing more sweet potatoes. You glance up, seeing Patty across the produce section and a big, genuine smile erupts on your face as you wave to him. Pat smiles back before going back to investigating which head of lettuce was the best. Sam clears his throat, directing your attention back to him.

“Why don’t you go get a box of stuffing mix and then meet me back here? Stuffing should be aisle three.”

You nod, walking off as Sam continues to fill a produce bag with sweet potatoes. Feeling a presence next to him Sam glances at the brunette boy next to him who is preoccupied with picking up various sweet potatoes, inspecting them, and putting them back in the crate, all while glaring at Sam.

“Who the hell are you? The boy finally asks.

“Sam Loughlin, what’s it to you?” 

“That’s a pretty douchey name,” the boy mutters under his breath as he finally selects a sweet potato and adds it to his cart.

“Excuse me?”

“How do you know y/n?” the boy asks, continuing his inspection process of sweet potatoes just like he’s probably seen his mom do a million times over.

“I’m her boyfriend, who are you anyway?”

The boy turns and glares at Sam, his eyes blank of emotion, “Patrick Moynihan, the love of her life.”

As if on cue you return at that moment with a couple of boxes of stuffing in your hands. Patty looks down at you, “Hey y/n! Tell Nate and Luke I say hi, and of course to your mom and dad.”

You smile, tossing the stuffing into your shopping cart, “yeah, same to you Pat, Happy Thanksgiving!”

Sam stands beside you possessively, snaking an arm tightly around your waist, and you go to look at him and see him seething with anger and you go to ask him what’s wrong but nevertheless he waves you off.

“Pie crust and pumpkin filling is all that’s left on the list. Let’s go,”

~*~

By the time you got home and dinner was ready you were exhausted and couldn’t wait for the day to be over so you could call Olivia and discuss your Black Friday shopping plans that occurred every year. And Thanksgiving dinner couldn’t have been any worse.

“Mommy, I wish Patty was here,” Nate whines, pushing his green beans to the side of his plate.

“Eat your green beans or no dessert, sweetie pie,”

“Daddy, do you think Patty will come over later tonight like he used to and have dessert with us and play football with us?” Luke chips in.

Your dad looks over at you, sorrow filling his eyes, “Uhh, no honey, I think Pat has his own family plans this year,”

Your mom, sighs, “well his jokes would be much appreciated right now after a long day of cooking,” she laughs as she places a spoonful of green beans onto Luke’s plate who groans at the sight.

“He wasn’t here to help with the turkey either!” your dad exclaims.

You glance up at Sam, hoping he’s not upset or angry, but to your dismay annoyance and disgust are written all over his face. And you know you’re going to hear about it after dinner.

Your grandma cuts up her piece of turkey, “y/n, what happened to that sweet boy we all liked? He was kind of tall. Goofy. Very goofy. But he had sweet eyes,”

“Marilyn, his name is Patirck,” your grandpa explains, placing his hand on your grandma’s shoulder who turns to look at him.

“Oh hush up and eat your stuffing, Charles”

You laugh, shaking your head at your grandparents, envious of their deep affection towards each other. 

Sam exhales loudly and you look up at him. He lifts his chin to the right towards the kitchen and dismisses himself from the table walking into the other room. Your mom looks at you worriedly, “I’ll be right back” you whisper, following Sam into the kitchen. 

You walk in to see Sam standing tall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. You immediately feel sheepish, like a small child that disobeyed their mother.

“I can’t fucking take anymore of this bullshit tonight” Sam says in a hushed tone,

“Take what? What’s going on?”

“That asshole from the store, your family raving about how great he is even though may I remind you he cheated on you. I didn’t really want to come here in the first place, especially if it meant you falling for your fucking ex all over again,”

You sigh loudly, “whatever, if you don’t want to be here then go, I don’t have to put up with your attitude either.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, a scowl taking over his face, “I’ll send you the address for brunch, and don’t embarrass me.” He says before walking to the front of your house and slipping into the shadows of the night.

Later that night you called Olivia to discuss your shopping plans but also to vent to her about the events that went down that night.

“I’m just so sick of Sam getting mad whenever a guy says hi to me or something, like he’s in a frat for crying out loud, he has girls on him all the time”

“Yeah, I don’t know y/n, it’s just weird”

“And he’s annoyed that my family was upset that Patty wasn’t there, like I’m sorry they grew attached to him in the thirteen years of knowing him”

Olivia sighs heavily, finally selecting on the blush pink nail polish instead of the cherry red one.

“What?”

“I don’t want to be mean, but y/n you’re my best friend and I just want you to be happy. But if you want my honest opinion, I’ve never seen you more unhappy than you are with Sam and that’s including when Pat broke up with you”

After finalizing your plans with Olivia for Saturday you find yourself painting your toenails and watching dance moms when you get a facetime call from Patty.

“Hey, Pat!” you smile, starting a second coat on your toes.

“Hey, what are you up to?”

“Watching dance moms and painting my nails, and I guess talking to you now,”

Pat smiles, “Remember when I let you paint my nails and you wouldn’t let me take it off”

“And all the guys chirped you for being ‘so whipped’”

Patty grins, “yeah, that was a good memory”

There’s a comfortable silence that falls over you before Pat starts telling you about his grandparents and how they’re doing, and also asking about yours. 

“Well I’m glad they’re doing well y/n, that’s great news,”

You nod slowly, pouring over your conversation with Olivia about Sam. You zone out contemplating what you should do. She did have a point, you were extremely unhappy and have been for awhile, but at the same time you saw how good Sam could be, and that potential was enough to keep you there.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Patty asks, concern filling his voice.

“Oh, it’s nothing,”

“What did that asshol you were with earlier do something? I’ll fight him.”

You laugh to try and fight the tears that were stinging your eyes, but they inevitably start rolling down your cheeks, “What’s wrong with me? Why am I not enough for anyone? Sam. You. Literally everyone,” you croak out, rubbing furiously at your tears.

Patty’s face softens, “c’mon don’t say that, y/n, you’ve always been enough,”

“Then why’d you leave me? Why’d you cheat?”

Patty sighs, rubbing his hand across his face, “I don’t have a good explanation. I was lonely and drunk and I missed you and didn’t know what to do about it, but that’s all besides the point. y/n you’ve always been good enough, okay? You’re too good for the majority of guys in the world, including me.”

You sit there, rubbing the seemingly never ending tears that were pouring down your face.

“Hey, c’mon, just like Abby says, ‘save those tears for the pillow!’”

You smile slightly, “Hey, there’s that smile!” Pat gushes.

You roll your eyes, “you’re such a dork,” you say as you wipe more tears away.

Pat continues to try and cheer you up by telling you knock-knock jokes, because they’re your favorite, recalling funny moments from the past, and filling you in on all the embarrassing moments from his time at school.

Suddenly Pat sits up in his bed, “you should just leave him,”

“What?”

“Leave Sam. He doesn’t treat you right, and I know I’m one to talk, but y/n c’mon, the guy treats you like an object,”

You lean over to turn your light off and slip in under your bed covers, getting comfy in bed. “I can’t leave him, Pat. He’s a good guy, trust me. You just don’t know him,”

Patty sighs and quickly changes the subject to the most random of things, his voice low and soft as you drift into slumber. Patty sits and watches you sleep for a bit, remembering the times you were falling asleep next to him, and before he hangs up he whispers ever so quietly, “I never stopped loving you,”

~*~

The next morning you were supposed to meet up with Sam for brunch with his mom, but you weren’t really feeling it that day. You strolled down the streets of Boston wearing your oversized sweatpants, Patty’s Nobles hockey sweatshirt that you had never given back, and a pair of birkenstock sandals. 

“The hell are you wearing, y/n come on, this is a nice restaurant and my mom is coming, remember?”

You roll your eyes as he looks at you disgustedly, “Yeah, about that, I’m not staying”

“Jesus, why do you always have to go and make a fool of me wherever we go”

“See that’s the thing, you turn everything on how it affects you, and sorry to break it to you but not everything is about you.”

“What the hell are you going on about now?”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore. I’m tired of always stressing about how I look and how my actions are going to impact you. I’m not even living for me anymore, I’ve become your puppet and you still can’t stand being around me”

He rolls his eyes, “Well if you’re leaving, go. I don’t really need you around”

~*~

That night your parents are out with your brothers at a hockey game, so you find yourself home alone in desperate need for a distraction. You find yourself baking brownies when you hear a knock at the door. You frown, dropping the measuring cup into the flour jar, and going to check who’s at the door.

“Oh, hey,” you say, stepping to the side to let Patty in who gladly walks right into the kitchen and taking a seat at the kitchen island. You follow him so you can resume your cooking, breaking the silence Patty says, “you still stress bake?”

You nod, whisking the eggs into the batter.

Patty is slow to nod, “Liv told me you might be upset and I wanted to come and check on you.” you look at him with a blank face and he stammers, “y’know because we’re friends. And that’s what friends do”

“I’m fine.”

Patty props his elbows up so he can rest his chin in the palm of his hand and watches you pour the batter into the pan. He takes you all in, the way your hair is falling out of its bun, how you have flour all over the front of your shirt, and how you gently scrape at the sides of the bowl to get the excess batter out. Deciding you have enough batter in the pan you start licking the extra batter out of the bowl and sucking your fingers that have batter stuck to them as well.

“What?” you ask looking up and noticing Patty’s stare.

“Nothing,”

“Is there batter on my face?” you ask as you smudge your hands across your face, wiping at the batter that was never there in the first place.

Patty laughs watching you, “no, you’re good,”

“Then why are you staring at me”

Patty’s face momentarily goes red before he shrugs it off, “I’ll help you with the dishes,” he stands up and takes the bowl from your hands and starts washing all the utensils you used.

Taking a seat at the island, you watch Patty wash the dishes and think about all the times he’s done this same exact thing before.

“Hey Patty?”

“What’s up”

“This is going to sound really silly,” you look down at your feet fumbling with the hem of your shirt, “but, um,”

Patty shifts his weight to one side and leans against the counter, “I’m sure it’s not silly”

“That’s because you haven’t heard it yet,”

“y/n what’s wrong?”

“Patty, I really miss you, and I’ve dated so many guys trying to forget what it felt like to have you by my side, but none of them are you”

His face softens, “I really miss you too,”

You laugh slightly shaking your head, “Everything in me is saying to give you a second chance like you asked five months ago, but I’m scared”

“y/n, please just give me a chance, I know I can be the guy you deserve to be with.”

You're silent and go to put the brownies in the oven before turning to grab some water.

“Kelsie says that you did it once before so you’re just bound to do it all over again, so how do i know you’re for real this time”

Patty sighs, grabbing a towel from your pantry and starting to dry the dishes in the sink.

“I know you’re just trying to avoid my question,”

Patty sighs, putting the towel down and turning to look at you, “you really want the honest story?”

You nod, going back and sitting at the island.

Patty takes a deep and shaking breath before he starts, “Because ever since we were six years old and I saw you yell at Timmy Moore for pushing Olivia off of the swing, since we were eleven and I forced Ciara to become friends with you so I could go to your birthday party with her, since we were thirteen and we started becoming really good friends. y/n it’s always been you; it was you on the playground on September 6, 2007, it was you when Ashley Turner had a big crush on me and everyone told me to ask her out, it was you at the eighth grade dance, it was you when I left Millis High and went to Nobles, and it was you the whole time in Michigan, and fuck, it was you at Providence too. It’s never been about anyone else but you.”

You sit there, dumbfounded, at a loss for words, staring straight back at him. He only shakes his head and goes back to drying the dishes before saying, “I can leave if you want,”

“Please don’t go again,”

Patty looks at you, walking slowly over to where you were seated, “y/n, i never stopped loving you”

A lump gets lodged in your throat as you look back up at him, “me too, patty,”

He cups your face in his hands, “please, give me a second chance, I won’t let you down,”

Your heart practically melts at his touch, at his words, and you can’t help but stare at his lips, “if you mess up moynihan I’m having my dad come and beat you up”

Patty laughs, pressing his lips to yours for the first time in a year, “if i ever hurt you i will come over just so he can beat my ass,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing them to yours one more time as the oven timer separates you two.

“Looks like i should be staying for dessert too,” Patty smiles watching you go over and take the brownies out of the oven,

“You’re such an idiot,” you laugh,

“Yeah, an idiot that you love y/n. An idiot that you love,”

#patrick moynihan #trevor zegras #jack hughes #ntdp #ntdp imagine #ntdp boys #hockey #providence college hockey #i never know what to tag things

[bqstqnbruin]

Hey girl! What about #5 under misc on the sentence starter thing! With my new fav Nate Mac if you don't mind lol I hope school is going well!!!

Girl, you probably already know how school is going lmao big yikes but ily 💛

5. “Can I pet your dog?” “Do I know you?”

Send me a player and a number and I’ll write a blurb about it so I don’t have to do my homework :)

Your roommate said this would be a good idea. You told her it wasn’t worth it. She said it would be, and after telling her multiple times that you didn’t want to do it because you already had no time as it was, you were both signed up on Wag as dog walkers. 

Today was the last day you wanted to be walking a dog, but considering the fact that your friends were planning on going out this weekend and your bank account had a solid two dollars and nintey cents in it, it seemed like you had to walk at least a few dogs in order to actually have a social life. 

The owner of Maisie had said it was alright to talk her to the nearby park, that if you let her off her leash, she wouldn’t go running off and if she did she would find you again anyway. If it meant being able to sit down and do some of your work and get paid for it, you were all for it. You just hoped that Maisie would actually do what you were told she would.

After struggling to pull her to the park, Maisie being a much larger dog than you had anticipated considering the amount of work you had brought for what the owner wanted to be a ‘two hour walk,’ you sit down on a bench and let her off her leash. She sits down at your feet, you breathing a sigh of relief that you didn’t have to go chasing her. 

You get lost in your work, trying to read about whatever psychological process your professor decided to teach you about that week. You snap out of working after a half an hour grind to hear Maisie barking at a group of guys who were gathered not far from you. They looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite figure out where you knew them from. Maisie had apparently gotten their attention, though, since they started migrating towards you as you tried to go back to your reading. 

“Can I pet your dog?” one of them awkwardly asks you, the guys behind him trying not to laugh at him as his face turns red with what you assumed to be embarrassment.

“Do I know you?” you ask him. You knew your face was scrunched up in a way that probably made it look like you were either angry or confused by him approaching you. “I mean, you look so familiar. Where do I know you from?” you reiterate, hoping that it doesn’t turn him away. You had to admit, he was really attractive. 

“We play fo the Avalanche,” a curly-haired boy behind him says.

“All of you leave,” the one in front says, the guys surprisingly doing as he says, but not without looking back and watching your interaction. “But yeah, I’m Nathan MacKinnon.”

“Yep, that’s it,” you say, thinking back to the game your roommate took you to earlier in the season. “But, um, she’s not my dog, I’m a dog walker, I guess.”

“You guess?” he asks, gesturing to the seat next to you so he can sit with you.

You nod at him, moving your bag closer to yourself, “My roommate signed me up for that dog walking app, Wag? If I want a social life, I need some sort of extra income.” He laughs, letting you just keep going, “I’m the only one of my friend group who’s still in school, and when they want to go out all the time, I need something.”

“I take it that means you guys are going out soon?”

“This weekend and I have less than three dollars to my name. I don’t think I can get much at the bar with that.”

“Hey, well, if I saw you at the bar, I would definitely buy you a drink,” he says, causing you to blush.

“I guess when I figure out where we’re going I’ll have to let you know,” you tell him. The two of you continue in the conversation, Maisie thankfully staying put the entire time. Checking the time, you had about fifteen minutes to get her back to her owner. “Hey, I’ve actually got to get going,” you gather your stuff, putting Maisie back on her leash.

“Hopefully I’ll see you this weekend?” he asks, getting up to go join his friends.

“Hopefully I’ll see if you’re good on your word for that drink.” 

“Maybe I’ll get to pet your dog eventually,” he says, immediately turning red in panic even though you couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounded so sexual, I’m so sorry.” 

#nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon imagines #does this count as an imagine? #nathan mackinnon blurb #ghstandpucks #colorado avalanche #avalanche

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (5/18)

Chapter 5: Do It Simply

Nick and Madelyn have a heart-to-heart while on a stakeout in Quincy. After some time apart, Deacon shows up at Madelyn’s apartment encouraging her to give the Railroad another chance. When she agrees, Desdemona sends them to a Bunker Hill contact who needs assistance in smuggling somebody out of the Commonwealth—somebody who may have been witness to Eddie Winter’s crimes. Outside of the Ticonderoga safehouse, a suspicious man catches Deacon’s eye and the entire operation goes up in flames.

“If you're going to kill someone, do it simply.” - Johnnie Aysgarth as played by Cary Grant (Suspicion, 1941)

x - x

[read on Ao3] ~  [chapter masterpost]

February 11th, 1958

“I should’ve warned you this would turn into a stakeout.”

Madelyn shivered as she glanced over to Nick from the passenger seat of his Cadillac, tugging the collar of her coat around her shoulders a little tighter. Of all the times they had decided to follow Eddie Winter across town, it had to be the night when a flurry had delivered nearly three inches of snow. Needless to say, she was freezing, half tempted to bum one of Nick’s cigarettes if only to heat up her body in some way. The smoke from his own wafted in the air above his head as he mumbled incoherently, binoculars glued toward the building a few hundred feet away. They’d been sitting like that for a few hours with no movement.

“Damn Winter, thinking we have all night to sit on him,” he muttered, cigarette bobbing between his lips.

“It’s not like we have much else going for us,” Madelyn replied, sifting through the small stack of case files across her lap, ones she had brought with them in their mad dash to Quincy. Ever since the Earl Sterling case, their primary focus had been on Eddie Winter’s activities, mostly because the agency hadn’t received a new job in weeks. There had been dry spells before, but this time it was obvious they were being punished by the Boston Police Department for their involvement in capturing Doctor Crocker. It wasn’t fair, it never was, but there was little they could do but keep investigating.

“Don’t remind me,” Nick grumbled, lowering the binoculars to look at her. “Are we sure this is the right place?”

She hummed, flicking through the various files. They were all labeled in her neat handwriting—WINTER—filled with various leads and rumors from the street, one of which had led them to the Quincy police department. With a nod, Madelyn flashed a sideways smile. “Maybe they’ve got a secret underground bunker.”

Nick wasn’t about to dismiss anything, eyebrow quirking up. “You might be onto something there.”

She softly chuckled, scribbling the words down, even if she felt foolish—not every organization in town had an underground tunnel system, right? As Nick continued to scope out the building, she flicked through her notebook absentmindedly until a loose-leaf of paper fluttered down to her feet. She had nearly forgotten about it, the instructions Drummer Boy had dropped off nearly two weeks ago, directing her to another meeting with the Railroad. Her conscious reprimanded her for making up an excuse for not attending, but at the time, she wasn’t ready to face the group again.

She hadn’t seen Desdemona—or Deacon—since their little adventure beneath Slocum’s Joe. Foolishly, she believed that space would set her mind straight, that her emotions would level out after introspection and some time alone. What she hadn’t realized was that her life had already been drastically altered: Nick believed the Railroad to be a valuable ally, she had an agent for a neighbor, and despite everything, she couldn’t get that stupid, silly, enigmatic man named Deacon out of her mind.

“Another mysterious note?”

“What?” Madelyn snapped her eyes up and over to where Nick was looking back to her with all the curiosity in the world. She couldn’t lie to him, not when it was his job to find the truth. “More or less of the same, requesting me to visit their headquarters beneath the church again. It’s…outdated though. I didn’t go.”

“You have been spending a lot more time at the agency,” he mentioned, stubbing out his smoke in the tiny metal tray of the Cadillac’s center console. “You ready to tell me what’s going on in that pretty head?”

“Don’t flatter me, Nick,” she playfully chastised, before shifting as her legs became restless. “We don’t have to cut the Railroad out as a point of contact, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He didn’t say anything, but the detective always had a certain look about him, a glimmer to his eyes when he knew there was more to the story being told. She sighed, staring back down at the typewritten note and continued. “I just…needed some time.”

Nick took a moment, glancing out the window to confirm that there had yet to be any movement on the building they were watching. Only then did he divert his full attention to her.

“I’ve been meaning to apologize,” he paused, waving his hand in protest when she went to interject. What did he have to say sorry for? “I overstepped some boundaries a few weeks ago, insinuated something I shouldn’t’ve between you and that Deacon fellow.”

Madelyn wasn’t upset with Nick, but hearing his words was somewhat comforting. Though, she was sure she would’ve been in her head about the situation regardless of the lighthearted teasing from her partner and his fiancé. She should be the one apologizing—for dragging her feet, for being distracted, for being stuck in the past. Nick wasn’t the only one she owed that to, but she didn’t dwell on that thought.

“My only hope is that one day, not tomorrow or even this year,” Nick said, treading lightly. “Is that you will be able to move on. It doesn’t have to be with the first handsome guy you meet that makes you smile, but you don’t deserve to live out the rest of your days alone. I don’t want to pretend to know what Nate would’ve wanted for you,” he hesitated, reaching over to place his hand over hers. The cold material of the prosthetic sent a shiver up her arm, but otherwise, his touch was comforting as always. “But this isn’t it.”

Madelyn knew that Nick was right—almost hated that he was. But she couldn’t be mad at his advice, or the mild-mannered way he delivered it. If she had been paying attention, he’d been gently nudging her towards this for months—the grieving counseling sessions, dinner parties, case work that had her interacting with all sorts of people. Her friend was doing the best he could to ensure she had all the opportunities to break out of the shell she had buried herself in for the past year, and for that she was grateful.

“I know,” she finally admitted, a truth that made her stomach uneasy. It was freeing, but the remorse still lingered. “Its tough Nick, to let people in. Not like before when I could trust everyone and anyone despite years of law school telling me otherwise,” she softly laughed, more to herself. “But now? I have my support group. I have my friends. To let anyone else in is dangerous, and to let anyone too close is foolish.”

She didn’t necessarily mean to think about a specific person—certainly not a certain Railroad agent who had stirred up these emotions within her in the first place—she tried to focus on the broader aspect of what Nick was stating.

“You’re right, but it’s so hard,” she steadied her breath so she wouldn’t break down in a fit of sobs like she had been doing so often in the last few weeks when she thought about her departed husband. Codsworth, her newly activated Mister Handy butler, wasn’t sure what to make of her outbursts. “I think of Nate, and the guilt is overbearing. It isn’t right—not when he’s dead, his killer still out there somewhere. I don’t get to move on like nothing happened.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Nick contended, calmly. He fidgeted, lighting up a new cigarette to calm his nerves, or perhaps get rid of the chill surrounding them from the snow outside the vehicle. “What I’m saying is that you should take one day at a time, just as you’ve been doing. Just—” he paused to exhale a small cloud of smoke, waving it away from her. “Be less afraid, especially when somebody dares to breach the walls around your heart.”

Madelyn let his words resonate with her and really settle in her mind. Ever since Nate’s death she had been taking life slowly, but at the cost of living a half-life. She wasn’t herself—hadn’t been for a long while—and even she knew it was well past a reasonable time to be wallowing in self-pity. Perhaps it would be okay to let her guard down, allow her personality to shine after months of fading to the background. She needed to do right by her husband’s memory and live—she couldn’t do that if she was constantly torturing herself. Finally, she nodded, signaling to her partner that she understood. More than that, she agreed.

“Speaking of the heart,” she deftly changed the subject, flashing a teasing grin. “Valentine’s Day is this Friday. Have any plans with Jenny?”

Nick smirked, anticipating nothing less from her. “If I didn’t have plans, it would be a disservice to the family name, don’t you think? Jenny would have me take her name at the registrar’s office.”

“Mr. Lands,” Madelyn snickered. “Lands’ Detective Agency,” she tested, imagining the flashing neon light that hung above the office door. “God Nick, we’re already suffering enough. We don’t need a name change to put a nail in the coffin.”

“Good thing I’ve got Friday in the bag then,” he smiled, without any indication he planned to indulge any details. “The future Mrs. Valentine won’t be disappointed.”

Rather than be jealous, she could only be happy for Nick and Jenny—two people that were so in love and so impeccably made for each other it was surprising they had waited so long to tie the knot. Madelyn was too close of a friend with both of them to feel anything but joy for their relationship, even when she had nobody to go home to after long nights on the job. Well, nobody except Dogmeat and Codsworth.

Maybe her time for happiness would come sooner, rather than later, if she allowed it.

“It’s late,” Nick spoke, interrupting her thoughts. He lifted the binoculars to take one last glance towards the Quincy police station, confirming there had been no further movement. “Time to call this a bust?”

Madelyn agreed. “Bust.” 

February 14th, 1958

Madelyn could hear Bobby Darin playing on the radio from the kitchen as she sat at her vanity that morning, smiling to herself as she listened to Codsworth rummaging around and yammering on while he conversed with Dogmeat in the kitchen. A year ago, she would’ve never assumed she would one day find this aspect of her life normal or comforting, but now, she couldn’t imagine her apartment without the robot butler or German Shepard.

After three weeks, she had finally adjusted to having Codsworth activated, the Mister Handy robot proving to be convenient in more ways than one. At first, it was alarming at how devoted he was to serve her—anticipating her every need and hovering over her every action. Madelyn was appreciative, but being the independent woman that she was, set some ground-rules for the robot to follow so she wouldn’t feel so crowded or coddled in her own home. With some semblance of a routine, she felt her life taking shape once again—even if it seemed more suited for a television sitcom starring Betty White.

She had just finished adjusting her curls when there was a knock at the door, the sound echoing through the hall to her bedroom. Codsworth’s chipper voice resonated from the front room after a few mysterious clanks of her pots and pans. “I shall see who is at the door, mum!”

For a fleeting moment, she figured it must be Nick, there for an early morning visit on his way to the agency. They would typically car-pool to the Fens district throughout the week but as she glanced to her flip calendar on the table, she realized her partner had more important obligations—Valentine’s Day. That’s when her mind switched over and began running through the rather short list of possible visitors who would be at her door before eight on a Friday morning. Piper would’ve called first. Jenny was with Nick. MacCready didn’t know where she lived, neither did Hancock—at least she hoped that was true. Drummer Boy would’ve slipped a note under the door. Madelyn groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose at the possibility it was Deacon.

“Miss Madelyn!” Codsworth sounded confused as he called for her and she was already standing, tightly securing the tie of her silken robe around her body for decency’s sake before striding down the hall towards the living room. The robot was hovering before her open front door. “This man claims to be the milkman, but I do believe we’ve already received our delivery for the week. Is this another alteration to the schedule?”

It was definitely Deacon.

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she approached to stand next to Codsworth, if only to confirm what she already suspected. Bright smile, black hair styled up and of course—it wouldn’t be Deacon without his darkened shades. At least the milkman costume was a nice touch. She had to admit that the effort the man went through for an act was impressive, if not amusing.

“I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me, Charmer,” he frowned, though she could tell he was bluffing.

Madelyn glanced to her Mister Handy unit, who—if she had gotten any better at reading the machine—appeared bewildered. “Codsworth, honey, what did I say about opening the door to strange men?”

“Oh! Right!” he exclaimed, raising his arms in defense. He moved so the bulk of his frame blocked her from Deacon’s view. “Shall I stick ‘em mum?”

She couldn’t contain her laughter, snapping a hand to cover her mouth at the sight of Codsworth hovering threateningly before Deacon, dressed in all-white with an equally entertained expression. She stepped closer, resting a hand against the robot’s cold metal frame. “That won’t be necessary, dear. I was only joking.”

“Are you to say you know this…milkman?” Codsworth questioned, before spinning his arms frantically as he moved back into the apartment on his way towards the kitchen. “Will he be joining us for breakfast? I will need to prepare another plate!”

Before she could interject or protest, Deacon was crossing the threshold with a beaming grin. He was carrying a metal basket just as a real milk deliveryman would and she wondered where he had managed to find such a convincing getup. Instead of white bottles rattling inside there was a brown packaged box and a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in parchment. Madelyn sidestepped around him to the door and contemplated asking him politely to leave but decided against being rude. She owed him a face-to-face conversation after so many weeks of silence.

“A Mister Handy unit?” Deacon spoke before she could, turning to face her. “I guess everybody needs a three-eyed metal husband.”

Madelyn snickered, glancing over to where Codsworth was balancing several tasks at once—eggs over the stove, coffee on the pot and bread in the toaster—all the while humming along to whatever song was filtering through the nearby radio. “Remind me to look into the legalities of marrying artificial intelligence. He may be flighty, but he knows his way around the kitchen.”  

“You just haven’t had me cook you breakfast yet,” Deacon replied matter-of fact. He lifted the basket he carried, changing the subject before she could respond to his remark. “I come bearing gifts.”

She nodded towards the kitchen island, motioning for him to sit on one of the barstools while she circled to the other side. It was a calculated move, wanting to put as much space between them as possible for now. Deacon placed the box on the counter and nudged it towards her. “This is from Irma. Said she couldn’t believe you walked out last time without one.”

Madelyn opened the package to discover a freshly baked blueberry pie, the smell an instant trigger for her mind, sending her back to the brief visit within the Memory Den. At least that all but confirmed what she already suspected—that Irma worked for the Railroad in some capacity. Deacon tapped a few fingers against the empty plate set before him and she sighed before turning to rummage through a drawer for a pie-cutter. Facing away from him, she heard his small chuckle.

“That’s a delicate little number you’ve got on,” he commented. She wasn’t alarmed by his statement, almost expecting it—if anything, she was glad to hear the mirth in his tone as if their quickly formed dynamic hadn’t changed.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, watching as he poured two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice from the pitcher Codsworth had placed. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”

Deacon let out a low whistle. “Silk and lace says otherwise, Charmer.”

“Had to look nice for my metal husband on Valentine’s Day,” she joked, sliding up to Codsworth who was none-the-wiser. It was a shame the robot had a difficult time processing sarcasm. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

“Mum, I do hope you aren’t planning on spoiling breakfast by eating that pie,” he responded, ruining her act. The Handy unit returned to preparing their morning meal, crisping the bacon on the griddle pan. Dogmeat whined as he circled around the kitchen island, stopping to sniff at Deacon’s feet. He regarded the dog with a smile before lifting the second item from the metal basket, handing the flowers to her and swapping for the pie cutter.

Madelyn examined the bunch of white daisies mixed with blue forget-me-nots, inhaling their sweet scent as she looked over at him. He was cutting slices, ignoring the way Codsworth was peering at him with one, zoomed in eye. The significance of the flowers wasn’t lost on her—forget-me-nots—it wasn’t entirely subtle, even for Deacon. She searched through her cabinets for a vase, delicately arranging the stems and petals as she poured some water inside.

“Irma insisted I couldn’t show up to your place empty handed, given the holiday,” he explained. “As you can imagine, all the flower shops from North End to Cambridge were out of roses.”

She had a difficult time determining if he was being sincere, or if he had really gone through the effort. For all she knew, he could’ve bummed the bouquet off some unsuspecting fella on the street corner. Madelyn decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that he had scoured all the floral shops along the Charles River just for her sake.

“I prefer these,” she replied with a soft smile. He regarded her with a softer expression, though she would’ve liked to know what his eyes looked like behind the sunglasses. Madelyn had resigned herself to the simple fact that she likely never would and would have to guess that they were trained on her—it certainly felt that way, with how her skin tickled with goosebumps.

“Good,” he replied, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. Deacon poked at the slice of blueberry pie he had set on the plate before him with a fork, scooping up a generous bite. “One bite won’t hurt.”

It wasn’t until his arm started moving across the counter space that she realized what his intentions were, and she reflexively stepped back, bumping into Codsworth who was ready to serve their food. She scrambled to move out of the way, realizing the only place for her was the empty barstool next to Deacon. Reluctantly, she joined him on the other side, unable to ignore the way he was still holding the utensil out in offering with a ridiculous, expectant smile. Madelyn braced her nerves and reminded herself it could be another exercise in trust—a rather bizarre exercise—and leaned over the short distance, wrapping her lips around the fork to take the bite. To his credit, the blueberry pie was delicious and so was his momentarily shocked appearance—he hadn’t expected her to comply.

“Breakfast is served!” Codsworth interrupted their strange encounter with his announcement, metal arms whizzing around as he placed the steaming piles of food on the center counter.

The two served themselves, eating in a comfortable silence with the occasional sideways glance and shared smile. The robot continued to whirr as he floated around looking for a new task to attend to while Dogmeat successfully begged for bacon scraps at their feet. Madelyn quickly noticed how domestic the scene looked and felt, even with Deacon dressed up as some imposter milkman. Just like having the dog and the Mister Handy unit was abnormally normal, she felt a strange sense of calm with having the Railroad spy next to her. She wasn’t ready to confront what deeper emotions she possibly had whispering beneath the surface, but intuition told her it was time to stop running and let fate do its job.

“I’ll be honest,” she started, clearing her throat as she set her napkin down. “I may have been avoiding the Railroad.”

“So, it wasn’t just me?” Deacon teasingly asked. “Listen, I know our organization can be a handful, intimidating even. You haven’t even met the rest of the gang yet. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted out,” he paused, head turned towards her. “It’d be a damn shame though.”

“I participated in one job,” she replied. “If you could call me following you around underground in a sewer participation. How is that impressive in any way?”

“I’m easy that way,” he shrugged. “Dez calls the shots, not me. Even if I told her you were dead weight, which I wouldn’t dream of describing you as, she doesn’t seem ready to let you go so soon.”

Madelyn had to wonder just what Deacon had described her as to the Railroad leader. Probably something with too many adjectives while being overzealous and dramatic with hand-movements, if she had to guess. She focused on the important part—despite her radio silence, Desdemona wanted her to stay aboard.

“Is that why you’re here now?” she asked. “To check up on Agent Charmer? Bring me back into the fold?”

He waved a piece of crispy bacon at her, frowning. “Don’t sell my social calls so short. You won’t see me buying flowers for Drummer Boy.”

“Maybe he should invest in silk nightgowns,” she joked, snatching half the piece of meat from his hand.

He let out an airy chuckle while she chewed, eating the rest that he had before shaking his head. “Dez doesn’t know I’m here. She thinks I’m at Bunker Hill, working on setting up a meeting with one of our old contacts. I thought I’d see if my partner wanted to join in on the fun before I go.”

The fact he still considered her his partner after one Railroad outing was endearing. Madelyn still had her reservations, but she knew the organization deserved more than to be written off after one excursion. She softly laughed to herself. “What is with you guys and tourist traps?”

Deacon’s smile gradually increased. “What can I say? We’re a quirky, history loving bunch.”

“What’s the job this time?” she asked, curiously.

“Carrington asked me to find out if one our old Bunker Hill contacts, Old Man Stockton, was still in operation,” he began. “He was a big player back when we were moving people regularly in and out of the city. Now that we’re down on our luck, he’s gone back to his old line of work.”

“Under our current circumstances, we wouldn’t accept an escort job, but the Doc made it sound imperative the subject be moved as soon as possible,” Deacon explained further. “If Dez cleared it, then we’re in the green to proceed.”

Madelyn was astounded by the notion that they could and would help a person willingly disappear but figured an individual must be desperate to turn to an underground organization instead of vanishing on their own. She wanted to know more and the only way to do that was to go along with Deacon again.

“What do you say, Charmer?” he asked, one eyebrow arced high above his shades.

She nodded, flashing a tiny grin. “You’ve got yourself a partner, Deacon.”

He laughed, reaching over to clasp his hand on her shoulder as he brought her in for a quick, sideways hug. Madelyn was startled by the show of friendliness but didn’t express it, swiftly channeling her alarm into ease—she didn’t mind the warmth and feel of his hand on her at all—she actually liked it. He leaned away, fingers trailing across her back before withdrawing fully.

“You know,” he said in a sing-song way. “I noticed you don’t flinch away from physical contact. You aren’t shy. Unlike most people.”

“Most people are uncomfortable with the notion of physical touch, sure,” Madelyn agreed. It figured he had been studying her behavior. “I—I find it comforting.”

Deacon turned to her and she could feel his stare through the reflective shades. Heat spread through her chest the longer the silence stretched between them until his lips pulled up into a sideways smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

February 16th, 1958

On Sunday, Deacon returned to Madelyn’s apartment with a dead drop from Old Man Stockton, confirming the rendezvous point in which a face-to-face meeting would occur. They were to meet the Bunker Hill contact at the Cambridge Catholic Assembly church after dark, long after the parishioners had gone home for the day. The two had been sitting in the empty church for what felt like hours, occupying one of the last few pews while they waited for Stockton to arrive. Madelyn found herself distracted by the moonlight pouring in through the picture frame windows of the towering steeple, dumbfounded that once again she found herself in a place of worship. Just as she began reminiscing about Nate’s funeral service and the hymns the priest sung, she shut her eyes tight, blocking the memory from overpowering her thoughts.

Deacon’s gloved hand bumped against hers. “Charmer?”

“Tourist traps, churches,” she mused. “Why can’t it be amusement parks?”

“You don’t want to know who runs Nuka World,” he mumbled, fingers idly trailing along her wrist where her watch rested until she opened her eyes. “I didn’t expect it to take this long. If we’ve been had…”

“I hope not,” she replied, glancing down to confirm it was midnight. “At this rate, you’ll owe me breakfast.”

He grinned and nudged his shoulder against hers. “I did promise you I, didn’t I?”

The church’s front door squeaked open, interrupting the two from their banter and they stood to meet the approaching visitors. Two men, an older one dressed in a business suit and coat, the younger one dressed in shabbier denim with a winter jacket and cap. The older gentleman approached as the other stood back, looking anxious.

“Do you have a Geiger counter?” he asked, signaling the Railroad key phrase.

“Mine is in the shop,” Deacon replied in kind. “Stockton, good to see you. Carrington sends his regards.”

Stockton nodded, though he didn’t seem concerned with pleasantries as he observed their surroundings before gesturing to the younger man. “I won’t be long. This is Henry. Henry, these are the people I talked to you about,” he shifted towards the back window where a lantern was. “I’ll fire up the signal.”

Madelyn extended her arm to Henry. “Nice to meet you,” she offered politely. “You can call me…Charmer.”

The man nervously gripped her hand and shook it meekly. “Thank you.”

“Time for me to go,” Stockton stated, still scanning the church as if he was waiting for someone or something to jump out and discover them. “Keep Henry safe. Someone will be here shortly.”

He regarded Deacon with one last steely look before making a swift exit. Madelyn glanced to her partner in confusion, wondering if the Old Man’s departure was all part of the plan. He shrugged but didn’t appear nervous about the change—she’d never seen Deacon anything but calm and collected, anything to the contrary would be alarming. The three stood quietly, Henry continuing to keep his distance as the lantern burned in the window. At twelve-thirty, footsteps echoed outside the church, but the doors didn’t open right away. Madelyn and Deacon exchanged a quick glance and at the sound of more rustling, she withdrew her pistol from her handbag—she figured he might be carrying as well but insisted if either of them was going to brandish a weapon it was going to be the one with connections to the District Attorney’s office.

The two blocked Henry from sight as the large oak door finally creaked open and a figure shadowed by the night creeped in. Unable to determine if they were friend or foe, Madelyn trained her weapon, even if she wasn’t entirely convinced that she would be able to shoot. Upon noticing the group standing near the pews the intruder stopped dead in his tracks, raising his hands defensively.

“Don’t shoot!” he exclaimed before hesitantly taking a few steps closer. Under the dim lighting, she observed the man’s appearance closely—dark skin, warm brown eyes and a black hair shaved down to the stubble. Even though it was still blistering cold out, he seemed unbothered, wearing only jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket with some laced-up Chucks. Even with a gun pointed at him, the man smiled. “Charmer, right?”

He flicked his gaze to her side but didn’t dare to move his arms. “And my man, Deacon. Still wearing sunglasses at night?”

Before her partner could react, she intervened. “Do you have a Geiger counter?”

“Right you are,” he responded, impressed. “Mine is in the shop. All good?”

Madelyn looked to Deacon who nodded, flashing a grin. “High Rise, it’s been a while.”

“Three months since I’ve seen your ugly mug,” High Rise laughed as they exchanged a firm but friendly handshake. He glanced over to Madelyn with cheeky smile as she made to place her pistol back into her purse. “So, this is Charmer? The one who helped with the Switchboard, while you sat on the sidelines.”

She shot a raised eyebrow in Deacon’s direction, but he only offered a sheepish shrug in return. She could only imagine the kind of fanatical stories he had been spreading about her while she had been away. High Rise continued, reaching his hand out to her. “Glad you joined the team.”

Madelyn reciprocated his handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Honor’s all mine,” he replied before tilting his head to get a better look at Henry who had hunkered down in one of the pews. “How’s our friend doing?”

With all the attention suddenly focused on him, Henry slouched further back into the wooden seat. Madelyn took a few cautious steps closer, not wanting to startle him any further. “Are you alright?”

“Mister Stockton…he said I shouldn’t talk too much,” he replied in a shaky voice, eyes darting between the group of people standing. She sat down next to him, deciding to take a softer approach.

“Would you like to tell me what brought you here?” she asked, carefully. At his silence, she nodded, encouraging him. “You can trust us, Henry. We’ll protect you.”

He still seemed skeptical—lips twisted to the side as he avoided looking at any of them. “I—I need to get as far away from Boston as possible,” he said, voice trembling. “I’m afraid for my life.”

“What’s got you so spooked?” Deacon questioned.

Henry shook his head, remaining tightlipped. “If I say, you’d be in danger too.”

“We’re already helping you get out of the city,” High Rise pointed out the flaw in Henry’s resistance. “Might as well double down and let us know of any potential threats coming our way.”

Another moment of silence passed as Henry contemplated answering, fidgeting in the church pew. Finally, he breathed out, looking to Madelyn like a safe haven. “I witnessed a murder. Not just any murder. Last month, I was working as a dockhand on the Harbor when I saw the car pull up—”

Madelyn started adding up the details in her head and interrupted, nearly blurting out the words. “Johnny Montrano Junior?”

Henry’s eyes widened in shock and realization. “Y—yes, how do you know?”

“Some of us have day jobs,” Deacon assured, raising his eyebrows at Madelyn, silently reminding her to reel it in. “Nothing to worry about, we’re still the good guys.”

She nodded in agreement, desperately hoping he would believe them and continue. Henry took a deep breath before resuming his story. “It was late, and I was the last to leave the warehouse but when I saw the men and the guns I ran and hid behind some crates.”

“What did you see?” Madelyn asked.

What she wouldn’t give to have a tape deck to record his statements—she wondered if she’d ever be able to compel him to speak again, if she could ever track him down after he disappeared. Even with Deacon and High Rise as bystanders, a court would likely dismiss it as hearsay unless they heard it directly from the witness himself—probably why Henry wanted to leave Boston in the first place.  

Henry shivered, eyes glossed over in memory. “Everything.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” High Rise spoke, signaling to the dwindling flame in the lantern. “But we shouldn’t hang around here. We can talk more once we get Henry to the safehouse.”

Madelyn’s wanted to argue but she instinctively knew that staying in the church wasn’t the safest choice. She stood, straightening the lines of her dark coat—Deacon had insisted she wear it so they could not only blend into the shadows but coordinate.

“Safe to assume Ticonderoga has been moved, right?” he asked, looking towards High Rise for the answer.

He nodded in answer. “If you drive, I can show you the way. It’s not far.”

Madelyn chose to sit in the backseat of Deacon’s Volkswagen with Henry, wanting to gleam more information about the night he witnessed Johnny Montrano’s murder. Deacon held the door open for her, closing it even though High Rise had yet to climb into the passenger seat and the two exchanged a laugh about it while she retrieved a notebook from her purse. The engine roared to life and slowly they drove away from the Cambridge church.  

“So, you having fun yet, Charmer?” High Rise’s lighthearted tone caught her off guard. Beside her, Henry shifted uncomfortably. “With Deacon, I mean. Of all the people Dez could’ve paired a rookie with, you got stuck with—”

“Excuse me,” Deacon interrupted, turning down a street when High Rise directed him to. “We already have a group codename. The Big Sleep.”

High Rise chuckled. “You’re no Bogart.”

“That’s what I thought,” Madelyn announced, suppressing her laughter at Deacon’s offended gasp. At the next stop sign, he took a moment to glance over his shoulder at her, eyebrows raised. To her surprise, even Henry seemed momentarily amused by the group’s antics.

“Maybe James Dean,” High Rise offered with a hum. “I’m being generous with your age. And if you take the fake pompadour wig into play.”

Deacon grumbled, turning towards the other man with his lips in a straight line. Madelyn thought she would’ve been more surprised, but considering who High Rise was talking about, the revelation wasn’t all the shocking. It also explained why curiously, his eyebrows appeared too fair in color and why his hats never sat straight upon his head. A spy had his secrets, she supposed. Noting the stretch of silence, High Rise shifted, turning as much as possible to face Madelyn.

“Deacon may be a terrible liar, but it pays to have him on your side,” he stated.

Madelyn wondered about that, glancing up at the rearview mirror to catch a glance of Deacon’s reflection. Her own face was mirrored back in the flicker of his shades as he offered a tiny smirk. In the short time she had known him, he had offered up plenty of little white lies—nothing extravagant or harmful—and was evasive enough that she still considered him one giant mystery. Nonetheless, she trusted him, and the stunning realization sent a shockwave through her system.

“Another right up here,” High Rise announced.

Before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, Deacon had pulled the car along the curbside outside a tall, unlit building. She looked to Henry and the notepad in her lap, sighing in resignation—she’d have to ask her questions inside just as it was recommended earlier—there would be time, even if it took all night. High Rise exited the vehicle first, delight in his voice as he pointed up at the skyscraper.

“Home sweet home,” he announced before turning back to lean against the roof, looking in at Deacon and Madelyn. “All in a night’s work for you agent types, huh?”

She smiled. “Just part of the service.”

“I think I’m going to like you even more than Glory,” High Rise responded, cheekily.

Deacon twisted his body, arm slung over the seat to face her and Henry and seemed poised to say something when the car was flooded with light from an advancing vehicle. It parked on the curb behind them and a few moments later, the headlamps went dark as the engine died. Immediately, Madelyn was on edge.

“We were followed,” Henry was quick to assume, scrambling to try and remove himself from the car.

Even though she had difficulty seeing through his glasses, she could tell Deacon had his eyes trained on the other vehicle and the person behind the wheel. From her angle, she couldn’t tell what the immediate danger was. In the quiet, they heard a car door open and close. Minutes passed before the echo of footsteps followed in the opposite direction of where they were. Instead of relief, Deacon tensed, his arm reaching out for her before waving towards High Rise.

“Get Charmer out of here.”

Madelyn didn’t have time to be afraid as High Rise hauled her out of the backseat with little decorum, encouraging her to run in the other direction as he rushed to help Henry. She ran as fast as her heels would allow through the soft blanket of snow, panic building in her chest at the fear of the unknown. For a split second she hesitated, looking back over her shoulder to see how much distance she had made when a faint click echoed across the quiet plaza. At the same time, Deacon was in front of her, his body meeting hers in a swift collision as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, toppling them both to the ground. They were propelled forward by a large explosion—though Madelyn wasn’t sure what had happened until she was flat on the icy gravel, her head pounding and ears ringing from the lingering sound.

Deacon was still perched over her, resting half his body weight atop her as he shielded her from the distant smoke and flames. Madelyn blinked hard, adjusting her vision before realizing that his sunglasses were askew. Even in the dark of night she could see the faintest hint of what was underneath, and her heart skipped a beat. Blue. With trembling hands, she reached up, pushing them back into place.

His lips twisted into a small, sideways smirk. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Reality sunk in as he rolled away, the two slowly leaning up to survey the damage. It was clear that the second vehicle had been planted with a bomb, set with a remote trigger and detonated by the mysterious driver. Deacon’s car was practically destroyed, and from where Madelyn was, she couldn’t see Henry or High Rise. But the devastation and intent was evident—they had been followed. The Railroad had been targeted again.

Ticonderoga Safehouse had just gone up in flames.

#fallout 4 #fallout au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #codsworth #this chapter has some of my favorite codsworth lines ever #more banter and EXPLOSIONS #also more slow burn #some canon dialogue is used here #boston after dark questline but noir

[xsecretblastsx]

1x12 - School lies

I’m back! It wasn’t my intention to take so long between the last recap and this one, but long story short, I was sans computer for a few days, and doing these on my phone is no fun.

So anyway here we go. Recap after the break.

Thoughts I had while watching the episode:

That looks like the most unpractical key ever

Nothing gives more the idea that this a party of super rich kids than the fact that they’re drinking in martini glasses, and not red plastic cups

Refreshing to see Nate being the one chasing after Blair, and I know she’s not avoiding him of her own volition, but he deserves it anyway.

Not that it wasn’t obvious but it suprised me that Chuck actually admits to Blair that the sight of her and Nate make his stomach turns.

I love Serena’s bathing suit

Someone should have told Dan that is annoying he keeps taking Vanessa to all these parties she isn’t actually invited to. 🙄

Gotta give it to the headmistress if she actually thought she could expell  2/3 of the Junior class

Blair’s rant with the headmistress is hilarious, it also sounds like the plot of a coming episode, about being innocent and then doing the stupind thing someone and the doing the stupid thing with someone else and pretend she have never do the stupid thing before 

Nate and his heartfelt letter to Blair, aww. Poor Chuck, still plotting, still getting nowhere, and I can´t help but feel a bit bad for him every time Nate makes an insinuation about his night with Blair, he ain’t pulling that indiferent face very well.

Sorry Rufus, but I kind of agree with Lilly on this one, he did send her mixed messages.

Seriously Dan stop taking Vanessa everywhere.

You can always count with Chuck to tell it like it is, though I do feel for Dan here, mostly because I can relate a bit, private school ain’t easy when you’re not part of the rich kids group.

Dan is so frustrating because even when I agree with him on principle he the way he says things to Serena, always trying to make her feel bad for being from “that wordl” annoys the hell out of me

For all Vanessa’s morals that was invasion of privacy, no but really how easier everyone’s lives would have been if Serena hadn’t met Dan Humphrey.. or more exactly if he hadn’t met her.

Vanessa telling Chuck that he’s sick, and yet she still takes the money. The sad fact of life that we can all have our morals, and yet money is still money. 

Dan and Serena really did have a variation of this conversation time and time again, it’s so tiring. Like the particulars may change but at the crux of the argument there’s always the same thing. 😪

Blair calling what Nate did the most romantic thing someone has ever done for her... I don’t even know what to say.

I feel really bad for Serena, because I just can’t help thinking how crappy every guy in her life must have been to really believe that Dan Humphrey is the best thing that ever happened to her, and a bit worrisome that she believes he’s the most important thing in her life.

For all her faults Lily does loves her children.

Nice Vanessa, you still preached and acted all morally superior, but that was nice.

I’ve always loved the scene between Blair and Vanessa in the cafe, it’s one of those moments I actually like Vanessa, and I love Blair reluctantly  doing nice things for others. Also that was a good joke on Chuck

Yes Serena! he’s making it and upstairs downstairs thing, he always does, he always will.

And so the first death of Rufly in favor of Derena on this show.

Nair is back on again... for now.

So, I actually ended up liking this episode more than I thought I would. It’s one of those episodes that I looked back as filler episodes, with a typical high shcool drama plot, and yet there are some interesting bits here. On this rewatch I realized  that this is a very Serena episode. Sure it’s focused mainly on her relationship with Dan, and I’m not a fan of the show making it like a big part of the reason Serena leave behind her wild ways was because of Dan, while in reality that was something she had decided to do for her self and she deserves recognition for that.

That being said is true that Dan was a big influence on her, and sometimes that’s good and sometimes not so much, it’s good to have someone that inspire us, that encourages us to be the better version of ouserlves, and Serena sees Dan that way, and it’s positive for the most part, the sad part is that he laces it with a dosis of judgment and he always frames it as if she should be ashamed of having a privileged life, among other things. This episode is very telling in this dynamic and also the importance Serena has gave to the presecen of Dan in her life, and seeing her talking to her mom about it is such an emotional moment for many reasons. It lowkey let us know how damaged Serena really is, and how love has been really lacking in her life. 

She clings to Dan because all of her life she had been gettin attention, being loved and adored, for all the wrong reasons, for very superficial reasons, and for her Dan is the person that really sees her, he wants to be with her because he likes her, the Serena that’s an actual person, the Serena that can be this amazing person, the better version of Serena. She was starving for that kind of understanding, so much that she gives him the center place of her life, and she wants it to last forever, because with Dan she feels her life is better, she’s better. There’s of course a lot of red sings on this way of thinking, she stil hasn’t learned how difficutl it really is to live to the expectations of Dan and the pedestal he puts her. But this makes it easier to understand why despite everything that happened later, she still sees Dan this way, and the way she feels here is why she sees this period with rosed tinted glasses later all.

Going back to her scene with Lily, I’ve always seen people calling her selfish for this, for telling her mom to pick Bart over Rufus, and yes it’s inherently selfish, but also again very telling of how her mother’s love life and how incosistent it made their lives really affected her, and Lily understands this, and that’s why she agrees to marry Bart, because she realizes how much she hurt her children, how Serena seems to be finally happy and in a positive way no less, and she owes it to them, and that’s why she sets her own happiness aside, because she had put it above her children for so long, and I’m glad she did, and it also was a moment of personal growth for her, and most likely I don’t think Rufly would have made it very far here, they weren’t ready yet it was too soon, and on a more selfish level the union of Bart and Lilly was the birth of another relationship I love a lot on this show. So thanks Serena.

And last bot not least this episode brings Nair back, the triangle between Nate - Blair - Chuck gets all set up for the next week episode, so I really won’t get into it now, just felt like mentioning that it was actuall nice seeing Nate put the effort for once, he’s a simply guy, a very typical guy in fact the kind that likes the girl when she doesn’t like him back, yet I felt for Blair getting the love, attention and romantic gestures she always wanted from Nate, and I’m glad she got it, it was after all the dream she had for them growing up. Their relationship is doomed obviously, even if Nate never find out about Blair’s affair with Chuck, the fact was they were getting back together for reasons that weren’t sustainable on the long run: she out of nostalgia and childhood dreams, him because he saw her as a novelty, a new Blair. Once a mistmatch, always a mismatch.

Random bits I noticed:

That shot of Lily on the restaurant watching everything around her really reminded me of that scene in Titanic where Rose is having lunch with her mother and some other ladies and she sees this little girl learning about manners and suddendly it’s clear as day how much of a never ending cycle of appareances that life is, how exhausting and how much of a prison that life is.

That classic car Rufu’s drive off was lovely, where can I get one?

#gossip girl #gossip girl recap #gossip girl rewatch #1x12 #school lies

[bentdownspoon]

Hi, How Are Ya? #1// Jeffree Star

I would like to remind everyone that I very rarely write for Nate, so unless you send me a plot I can’t resist the answer is gonna either be no or I’ll just write the request for Jeffree by himself. 

Feel free to request for Jeffree! 

################

You've just gotten home from an exhausting day at work. While you hold a regular job, you also do a small bit of modeling on the side. It was nothing serious for you, and you valued your position at your job more than anything else.

Putting your bag away, you allow your hair to fall free of its bun, making your way to your bedroom. Kicking off your shoes, you fall into the fluffy bedding and sigh. After a moment of relaxing, you reach into your back pocket and take out your phone. Scrolling through your Instagram feed, you remember the picture you'd taken the night before. You upload the selfie, editing it only a little out of sheer exhaustion.

Tossing your phone down, you get up to have a shower before you get too comfortable. When you finally return to your room, you can hear your phone going off at a constant rate. Raising an eyebrow, you pick it up and unlock it. Seeing Instagram notifications, you raise an eyebrow. You can't understand why you have a sudden flood of followers until you get to the last notification in your feed.

jeffreestar started following you

Raising an eyebrow at the random name, you click on the account. Your eyes widen when you realize how many followers he has...she has? You're a little thrown off by the pictures, but you couldn't help but think that whoever this Jeffree Star person was, he was hot. Hitting the follow button, you exit from his profile and go back to your feed. At least that explained the flood of followers. It wasn't the first time someone with a significant following followed you. Usually a ton of followers came your way afterwords. It wasn't really a big deal.

You were just about to close out the app, when you received a message.

jeffreestar: Oh my god, girl. Your Instagram is giving me so much life!

Y/N: Oh wow, thank you! Yours is amazing too

jeffreestar: So are you like, a model?

Y/N: I do a little modeling, but not full time. You're like one of those beauty gurus right?

jeffreestar: Something like that. I'm Jeffree by the way

Y/N: I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you!

Y/N: Hey I'm sorry to cut this short but I'm exhausted. I was just about to head to bed

jeffreestar: Oh no, I totally understand. Have a good night

Y/N: You too Jeffree. Talk to you later?

jeffreestar: Oh yeah totally goodnight Y/N

Y/N: Night Jeffree

You close Instagram and put your phone on its charger. Crawling into bed, you double check that you set your alarm and then finally managed to get some sleep.

##############

You didn't really hear much from Jeffree after that. He liked a few pictures, but other than that there wasn't much communication. You didn't dwell, but curiosity did prompt you to Google him. You'd come across some... interesting pictures and articles. You vaguely remember hearing about him and seeing him as a teen, but other than that, you didn't really know too much about him. You were never a fan of following public opinion, so you'd only read some of the articles. A lot of them painted Jeffree as an awful person, but he'd only been nice to you so time would tell.

Today you were doing a photoshoot for one of your friends. She was trying to launch a fashion line, and you'd agreed to take some shots with her newest collection. After over an hour of hair and makeup, you finally got to see the new line, and you absolutely fell in love with a red bomber jacket she'd set aside for the first outfit.

"Knock Knock," Kyla poked her head into your dressing room, "oh shit you look hot."

You turn to look at her, raising an eyebrow. You look at yourself in the mirror, seeing the baggy green joggers, the white crop top and the red bomber jacket. Your hair is up in a bun, and you're probably wearing more makeup than you've worn in a while.

"I really like this jacket," you tug at the sleeve, "I look cute."

Kyla laughs, nodding at you, "keep it. You do look cute."

"This is why we're friends," you wink at her, "you ready for me?"

"Yeah, Josh is just setting up the next shot," she nods, leading you to the shoot.

"Speaking of Josh," you smirk, "has he asked you out yet?"

"Oh my god, shut up Y/N," she gives you a look.

"I'm just asking, since he's been eye fucking you since I got here. He should at least buy you dinner first," you laugh at her expression.

"It's not like that," she insists.

"Whatever you say, babe," you wink at her, just as you make it to the set.

"Oh hey, I was just about to ask where you guys were," Josh looks up when he sees you, "everything all set?"

"Of course," you nod.

"Great," he nods, "ready whenever you are."

The day and the shoot go by in mostly a repetitive blur. You change outfits at least 10 times, but you manage to get some amazing shots. Kyla is there to keep your boredom to a minimum, and between laughing and the music, the day doesn't feel too long. Before you really know it, everyone is settled into a booth at a local restaurant not far from your apartment, ordering drinks and food.

"Oh my god, all the pictures turned out amazing," Kyla gushes, swiping through some of the pictures on her phone.

"Send me that one," you point to your favorite, "I want to post it on Instagram."

"Ok hold on," she taps on the share icon, while you glance down at the menu.

You're not sure what to order, so you're a little distracted when your phone goes off. You glance at the notification, seeing the message from Kayla. Unlocking your phone, you save it and immediately go to Instagram. You have to crop it a little to fit the upload requirements, but you do that easily. Tagging Kyla and her company, you leave your phone alone and tune back into the conversation going on around you.

"What do you think, Y/N? You coming with," Josh gains your attention.

You frown a little, smiling apologetically, "I literally have no idea what you said, sorry. Coming where?"

"To this bar downtown," he repeats himself, "I know the DJ who's working tonight so we can all get into VIP."

"Oh," you nod your understanding, "actually I gotta get home after this. I have work tomorrow."

"You're always working," Kyla gives you a brief glance, before turning back to her phone when it begins to chime continuously, "oh my god!"

"What," you raise an eyebrow at her shocked face.

"Um... Jeffree Star just followed me," she freaks out, "I don't even know why! You think he likes my line?"

You glance at her phone, and then back to your own. You smile a little, deciding to let her assume what she wanted to. Her clothes were really good, so she deserved to feel better about it.

"So you know who he is," you decide to ask her opinion, which you trusted more than the internet.

She looks at you like you're crazy, "did you never have a MySpace? He was probably the most popular person on there. He was the gay PewDiePie"

You laugh at the comparison, "PewDiePie? Really?"

"Yeah...if PewDiePie was really flamboyant and problematic," she shrugs with a smile, "I used to be obsessed with him as a teen. I went to Warped Tour every year of high school just to see him. He's had some controversy, but from what I heard he was a lot different."

"I've seen articles," you admit, "I wasn't really sure what to think. I don't really know who he is."

"That's crazy," Kyla shakes her head, "he was literally everywhere, but I guess you were just too much of a nerd."

"Well this nerd has a good job and I'm hot now so it doesn't matter," you wink at her.

#############

By the time you got home, you were only slightly buzzed and ready for bed. You'd lied about needing to go to work, you just didn't want to go out with Josh and his frat boy friends. As much as you liked him for your friend Kyla, when he drank he was just annoying to you. You'd rather be home, catching up on work or watching TV.

Your phone chimes, causing you to glance away from your TV, and pick it up. You smile a little, seeing a new message from Jeffree.

jeffreestar: Wow you're killing it in that outfit, girl

Y/N: Thanks! It's one of many from my friend's line coming out in a few weeks

jeffreestar: I saw. I followed her earlier. Her clothes look really good. Especially on you

Y/N: Yeah I was there. She freaked out. Apparently she was a big fan in high school

jeffreestar: And what about you? Were you a fan?

Y/N: Honestly I had no idea who you were until she told me. I wasn't really on social media, I'm still not besides Instagram.

jeffreestar: Oh ok. I mean I'm a little surprised, but it's no big deal. At least I know you're not a fan trying to steal a lock of my hair.

Y/N: Why steal it when I can just ask nicely 😉

jeffreestar: I'll give you whatever you want if you ask nice enough

Y/N: Oh my god 😂 I'm entirely too gay for this conversation

jeffreestar: So you're a lesbian?

Y/N: I wouldn't necessarily say that. I've dated guys too. I just like who I like, male or female as long as we click.

jeffreestar: yeah totally get that. So have you done any modeling for anything else besides clothes?

Y/N: Not really. I did an ad for a shoe brand in Europe in college, but nothing besides that. Why?

jeffreestar: I'm working on a project and I'm looking for a few models. Everything is really hush about it right now

Y/N: I see...well, I'm assuming it's nothing crazy so I'm sure I could get the time off if you needed me 😉

jeffreestar: You'd take off of work just to be in my shoot? That's insane!

Y/N: I pretty much make my own schedule for the most part unless I need to attend a conference or some kind of business trip. Luckily I trained my employees to be able to function without me for a few days when I need it

jeffreestar: Oh wow, that's impressive. So you're the top dog, huh?

Y/N: I'm always the top in anything I do 😏

jeffreestar: That's...wow. Ok, work. 😂

Y/N: I'm joking... mostly.

jeffreestar: No I'm all for it, girl. I'm actually on my way out the door, but I'll definitely be in contact.

Y/N: Have a good night, Jeff.

jeffreestar: You too!

###########

Weeks pass, with you speaking to Jeffree nearly every other day, if not every day. You'd grown to the point you would consider him a friend, even if you had never officially met him. He lived in Los Angeles, and while your job sometimes took you there, you hadn't had any trips recently. You knew, of course, that it was the time of year that you'd be sent off to inspect various wearhouses along both coasts.

Working in logistics had it's perks, which usually included travel and relatively flexible hours when you could work from home. You'd just come back from inspecting a chain in New York, which took way longer than you'd first assumed it would because the whole place was falling behind on orders. It ended in most of the management being fired, and lower level employees either being promoted or shuffled around from wearhouse to wearhouse.

The best part about being the boss of so many people was that you really didn't have a boss yourself. No one really could criticize your decisions, since your actual bosses trusted pretty much everything you do. It gets them the money you promise, so they don't really think about it, or care. But, the downside was that you often had to deal with people being extremely critical of you, especially if they got fired. It was the biggest downside.

As you checked your emails, you hear your phone go off. Glancing at it, you smile a little when you see a text from Jeffree. You were still surprised that he trusted you with his number, but he'd explained that he trusted you. You guys clicked, and it sometimes felt like you'd always known him.

Jeff The Beauty Killer 🔪👄

Hi gorgeous, how are ya?

Y/N

I'm fine Jeff 😂 how's your project going?

Jeff The Beauty Killer 🔪👄

It's actually going surprisingly well. That's so crazy you ask, because that's why I'm texting you

Y/N

Oh? What's up?

Jeff The Beauty Killer 🔪👄

I'm in a meeting, and I have to make final cuts for the models I'm using. I need to check if you're still interested and if you're free to come to LA next Thursday?

You raise an eyebrow, turning back to your computer to double check your emails to see if anything has changed about your schedule. You see an optional request from a regional manager on the west coast, asking you to come in and help evaluate some of her employees. It didn't come directly from your own boss, so you could easily turn it down, but a quick glance at the location had you smirking. LA. Perfect.

Y/N

As it happens, I'll be flying out to LA tomorrow morning as soon as I can get a flight. I can just request that week off starting Thursday. Does this mean you'll finally tell me what's been going on?

Jeff The Beauty Killer🔪👄

Oh my god, that's actually perfect! I'm so excited! Yes girl, I'll tell you everything as soon as I get done with all of this. I'll send you an email with the contract and the details about pay and everything else

Y/N

I'll be on the lookout for the email but you don't have to pay me, J. If I don't charge Kyla, why would I charge you?

Jeff The Beauty Killer 🔪👄

We'll argue about that later! Thank you so much I'm so excited about this whole project and honestly I can't wait to finally meet you in person!

Y/N

It's about time! And I'm excited for you I know how stressed you've been about... whatever is happening.

Jeff The Beauty Killer 🔪👄

Honestly it's been so annoying having to keep it a secret because I've come so close to just telling you so many times but I'm like calm down Jeffree, you can do this 😩

Jeff The Beauty Killer 🔪👄

But I really have to go, I'll call you later girl! We HAVE to talk ☕

Y/N

I'm off for the rest of the day, so I'll be waiting. 👀

You put your phone down, and go about both booking your flight, and responding to your emails. Once that was done, you busied yourself with looking over the employee records attached to the requested email. It would help to know a little more about the situation you were stepping into, so you could get the job done effectively.

As you settled in, you wondered briefly what it was you'd signed up for with Jeffree. Whatever it was, it sounded like a big deal given his apparent fame and popularity. You couldn't stop the anxious feeling that settled into your stomach, but also there was a part of you that was excited to finally meet him.

In such a short amount of time, Jeffree had become important enough to you that it was weird that you'd never met him in person. What if you absolutely hated him when you met him? If his vibe was weird, you'd be forced to distance yourself. That would suck because of how close you'd already gotten. It was the first time you actually truly considered someone online a genuine friend, so it was a little weird.

Brushing the troubling thoughts aside, you instead focused on the work in front of you. Whatever happens, happens. Stressing out will only cause problems, you'd learned that the hard way.

#jeffree star #jeffree star imagine #jeffree #celebrity imagines #lesbian imagines #female reader #shane dawson #imagines #imagine

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 37

AO3 link here

“You need to go collect the children.”

“Peggy?” he asks, though he knows it is. But her voice has a particular tone of calm in emergency that he hasn’t heard in years, not even last month when Rose tripped coming up from the basement and cut her head open so badly that she had needed a half dozen stitches and they’d taken turns scrubbing the steps with bleach.

His keys, still in his hand from dropping Emma off at school (he’d just come in and had to run to pick up the ringing phone), seem suddenly weightier, sharp against his palm.

“Someone started following me,” she says. “About five miles from the house. I’m not sure who. I can’t be certain about how much they know or if they’re part of a larger organization.”

He starts, “Are—” but she cuts him off, still with that voice, low and precise.

“I didn’t want to tip them off that I’d made them; I went into a bank branch to deposit a check and I’m using the manager’s telephone. There’s only another minute before it will look suspicious.” She speeds up her speech only barely, still enunciated, meticulous. “I’ve called in to the office and they’re sending unmarked vehicles to intercept. Take the children, go ahead of me, and I’ll meet you when I can.”

“Peg—”

“I love you,” she says, and hangs up.

Steve almost puts the keys down on the counter as he hangs up the receiver. He shakes his head at himself, puts them in his pocket instead. “Okay,” he says aloud. “Okay.”

He calls the kids’ schools first, citing a family emergency. He stays on the line while they check that the kids are in their classrooms, insists on having them brought to the main office to wait. He’ll be there as soon as he can. Then he calls Bucky, his work number. Even as he quickly runs through what he knows and what will happen next, there’s a strange awareness in Steve’s mind of Bucky’s office, the cup full of pencils he always keeps on his desk, Gerry who works next door and always brings the smelliest sandwiches for lunch.

“I’ll call Ma, prepare her,” Bucky says, and Steve shakes himself and thanks him and goes to take care of the next step.

They’d planned for this sort of eventuality, laying out the steps. They’d even reviewed it and changed things when they’d moved from New Jersey, though the essence had stayed the same: check on the children, call Bucky (there’s never been any evidence of his being pursued since they got him back, but he’s something of a target too), drive up to New York, stop off at the motel for the night so they can turn back if it was a false alarm, stay in the Brooklyn safe-house for as long as necessary - presumably not long. He supposes, though, that he hadn’t truly believed that something like this might happen. They have had so many years with no real worry. He doesn’t have bags prepared, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. He has to go pack them himself, climbing the stairs to the bedrooms with a feeling of strange unreality rather than the focus that used to come over him in moments of pressure, the ones that were once so much more common.

He puts together a small suitcase for each child, guessing at how many changes of clothes to include, adding extra underpants and socks into the crevices. He packs his own bag automatically, but Peggy’s he does with care, folding things fastidiously, taking the extra minute to decide between pajamas and a nightdress, in the end including both. Another sweep back through the kids’ rooms to pack books and games, coloring pages, whatever he can think of to keep them entertained on the drive.

He sets the bags by the front door, turning away quickly so he doesn’t really have to take in the sight of them there. In the kitchen, he stares into the refrigerator. He knows the pantry won’t tell a much better story; he meant to go shopping this morning. Thinking of his mother, he does what he can with what he has, packing up half a loaf of bread, lunch meat, throwing condiments on top, adding whatever canned goods they have, some softening whole fruits and vegetables, a knife and peeler.

At the last minute, he remembers blankets and pillows. The motel he and Peggy had selected to rest at might be only a few hours away, but it was better to be safe and make sure the kids would be comfortable even if they were driving for longer. Make sure they would have something familiar if it came to that.

He’s passing Nate’s room, arms full, when he spots Edward the bear sitting on the bookshelf, no longer a usual bedtime companion. Balancing everything carefully, Steve picks it up anyway. You never knew what familiar comforts you might want when pulled away from home.

His hand is on the doorknob, ready to pack the car, when the phone rings again. Picking it up, he finds his shoulders have braced even as he tries to sound normal.

“It’s alright,” Peggy says from the other end. “It’s fine.” But she doesn’t sound relieved. She hasn’t completely lost that tone of hers; it is, if anything, more brittle within her words than before. “I’ll explain when I get home and it will be a late night, but everything’s alright.”

“I’m glad,” he says. He finds that he understands her: he is still so tense with the possibility of things that relief cannot find its way through. He can’t relax, not even as he calls the school again, talks to Bucky again, puts everything back the way it was, to the perfect inch, unwinds the last twenty minutes as if they hadn’t happened. Except that they have, even without signs.

He does the shopping, because that was the plan, and because they need food, and because Peggy said it was okay. But he feels cut off from communication in a way he hasn’t in a long time; it’s been decades since he had the expectation that he should be able to be contacted at a moment’s notice. He keeps wondering what would happen if Peggy needed to update him now, what would have happened had he already been out of the house when she had called this morning, if he had been out and it hadn’t been a false alarm. He has the thought for what is, oddly, the first time, that if one of the kids got sick or hurt, he would have no way of knowing until he got home. Regardless of how much he loves his kids - and how well he knows the existence of the supranatural and the miraculous - when something happens, he is suspended in some sort of Schrodinger's experimental bubble, the event having already occurred and he unknowing of it.

It’s a distant hope that he’s gotten everything he needs as he goes to check out. He is too distracted, anxious to go back to an empty house where he’ll have nothing to do anyway but think himself into further worry.

The kids notice nothing when they get home, chattering over each other, filling up the house as usual. Steve feels as some sort of imposter self, clinging to the tracks of routine: homework first, preparing dinner, reminding Drea that it’s her turn to set the table. He tells the kids that Peggy has to work late tonight and they barely even acknowledge the words; it’s a common enough occurrence - just last week, she’d had to go out of town with only a day’s notice - and Emma’s telling a story about getting both bonus words right on her spelling test, and Rose is trying to talk about a girl in her class announcing that her mother was pregnant and how another girl has stood up and said, “She can’t be, mine already is!” The others laugh. Steve picks at his food and is quiet.

He forces himself to do the different voices as usual when he reads aloud that night, but he feels as if it’s someone else doing the reading, can’t really take in the words.

Perhaps they do sense that something is amiss, because none of them fight against bedtime. He thinks he would snap if they did, his worry and preoccupation bubbling over, transforming into something ugly and unknown to them, unknown even to him.

When he goes to check on Nate one final time, the last door on the hall, after the rest have gone to bed, his son sweeps a sleepy kiss against his cheek where he has knelt by the bed. “It’s okay, Daddy,” he says, so dreamy that it’s hard to tell if he even realizes he’s said it.

I hope so, kid, Steve thinks to himself as he goes downstairs.

Peggy’s case, her jacket, the shoes she wore out of the house this morning, are sitting in their place by the entryway, but she isn’t in the kitchen or the family room and he would have seen or heard her had she come upstairs. He checks down in the basement. Coming up again, he glances through the window over the kitchen sink.

He closes the door to the back deck quietly behind him, then opens it partway again; his ears are pricked for any change in sound from inside the house. Peggy is sitting in one of the lawn chairs they keep out here. It’s been mild and clear this fall, and they haven’t needed to put them away. Seeing her posture, so straight, at angles as if determined by protractor, he approaches carefully (though not, perhaps, as carefully as he would have had her limbs been curled into herself, vulnerable).

"He was a former trainee," Peggy says, still looking out over the expanse of the backyard, trees and the slumbering beginnings of the garden here. "He passed the physical testing but failed the psychological, although he had not disclosed his previous diagnoses. I hadn't even realized he had come into headquarters last week demanding an explanation. Apparently as he was storming about, he caught a glimpse of the directions home for the driver who was fetching me from the airfield. Not our address, but enough to be waiting, watching for me. He hoped to convince me personally to give him a second chance."

"He'll get help?" asks Steve. He is over her shoulder now.

"There's a doctor in Michigan whom I trust," she says. "Both for ethical and security concerns, and the distance as well. His family has agreed to have him evaluated there. He will have support and treatment."

The words are Peggy's but he can barely hear his wife in them, barely hear even the agent he once knew. They are too even, carefully cut. Then her hand spasms on the armrest. She says, "I don't know how I could have done this," and there's a break, tiny, slivering, and it pierces at him.

"You didn't do anything," he says.

It is as if she hasn’t heard him. She is so deeply within her own mind. “It could have been anyone - a foreign government, Hydra, even a family member of one of our targets hoping to make some sort of trade for clemency or exact revenge.”

“But it wasn’t,” he tries. “It was one person, and it was handled.”

"I trust you to take care of yourself," she says. "But I chose to allow the children into our lives. And they—"

"They can take care of themselves too," he reminds her. He leans over her shoulder to indicate the yard where she teaches them self-defense. "Better than most kids their ages. Even many adults."

"But that's just it." She wrenches her face toward him, and he is surprised to see, as her eyes catch the light from within the house, that she has been crying. Her voice was so clear of it. "The only reason they have to be different than other children is because they’re mine." The wind picks up a bit, adding some chill to the air, but she doesn’t press her arms against herself. She waits for the rustle of the leaves to die off, as if she really wants him to hear her, and then she says, “If I could go back, I wish that I had never—”

“Stop.” He steps away from her. Even if he knows what she is trying to say, knows that she feels guilty for the target she believes she’s painted on their family, understands entirely the terror of it, he cannot listen to her express this particular sort of regret. Words spoken low into the space between them, he says, “Those are our goddamn kids, Peggy. No matter what you might be feeling right now, they’re ours, and I can’t—” He turns away. “I’m going to bed. Maybe we can talk about this in the morning.”

He lies there in their room and doesn’t sleep, and it’s because Peggy still isn’t lying in the bed with him, and also because her almost-spoken words are.

In the morning, he knows without opening his eyes that she is beside him. It is early, before the rising of sun or children or world. He turns over and watches her. The moments stretch. Eventually she wakes, rolls onto her side and sees him there. Her eyes meet his. They breath the same rhythm.

“I love our children,” she says, and hearing the quiet words, he is struck by how they are only for him, relayed with heads placed close and the rest of existence far outside of them. “I love being their mother. But I cannot stand how dangerous the world is for them, and how my work makes it even more so.”

He does not suggest that she give up her work. Instead he says, “And you’ve made it less dangerous too. It isn’t as if we went into this thoughtlessly. We’ve planned for whatever added danger there may be. We’ve prepared as much as we can. And it feels overwhelming now because it’s the first time that we actually had to act on the theory, but we had steps to take and we followed them.”

“And if that isn’t enough?”

He draws closer to her. “I don’t know.”

“That isn’t precisely encouraging.” She leans into his arms, the skin of him.

“It’s the truth, though. We’ve done our best, we’re doing our best, but I have the feeling that this is one of those parts of parenting that just has no answers. It’s impossible to protect them from everything that’s out there, whether you’re director of SHIELD or not. If you quit your job tomorrow, if you had never been involved in the first place, there would still be dangers - and some of them would come from who our kids are, not who their mother is. And so we’ll keep doing what we can, and have to live with the doubt.”

“I don’t like it very much,” she says. Her cheek is against his shoulder.

“I don’t either. But it’s what we have.”

And they hold each other into the morning, and don’t know, and don’t know, and will not know, and must only hope.

More chapters here

#Steggy #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #things left behind fic

[roseamongroses]

Antithesis: (1) “cracks knuckles its time to get educated fools”

Summary: For their Junior project, Roman is unceremoniously paired with Dmitri. 

He's hardly interacted with the guy, a strange occurrence since Virgil has had a weird/unexplained hate-hate relationship with him since middle-school. But it isn't like he's complaining. Dmitri's cute, he compliments Roman, and damn can he paint.So Roman may or may not catch feelings, and he may not be wiling to uncatch them anytime soon.--Dmitri returns the sentiment.

[General Warnings:] Misgendering, Past Misgendering, Past Bullying, Mild Sexual Content,  implied emotional abuse, Cursing [Tags/mood:] highschool au, project troupe, fluff and angst but its all good, chat fic, teen stress, its flordia no snow we die like men [Pairing:] Roceit (Roman Sanders/ Deceit Sanders), hinted future/possible logince/roloceit/loceit [Characters] Roman Sanders/Deceit (Dmitri) Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Remy (Sleep) Sanders, Nate Sanders, Dragon Witch (Diana) 

(1) (2)

R: hey this is Roman[star] [crown] [star]

R: what do you have in mind for the project??

---

As simple as that text was, according to his very reliable memory, it took him exactly an entire decade to work up the nerve to send that. And he was not a coward mind you- reasonably afraid of sudden movements, sure, but no damn coward. He made sure to inherit the fight gene when he was in the womb with Virgil, around the same time he graciously decided not to absorb the little shit.

As if to further emphasis the magnitude of his fetal sacrifice, Virgil gulped down the rest of the milk. Straight from the pint. Just as Roman poured his cereal.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “What’s got you all riled up prin-cy?” he tossed the pint. Even though Mom wasn’t there to rag on him for being an absolute heathen, she could still do so later if he left behind evidence.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He ate his cereal dry, carefully avoiding Virgil’s scrutiny.

“Oh--” Virgil choked, “Oh shit, what did you do.”

“Excuse me,”Roman squawked, “I did nothing, you here? I am a good child.”

“Fuckface,”

“We have the same face,”

“Fuckface,” Virgil flicked his dyed purple, and regularly straightened hair for emphasis, “Last time you didn’t actively shout your problems, we found several stray cats in your room--and then there's the time you lit grandpa’s shed on fire with your self care candles and then there was the homecoming incident of fres-”

“--Ok,” Roman interrupted, “--wow Virgil, drag up my entire hero’s journey while you’re at it,” he pouted, “It’s no big deal, really.”

“When the hero’s journey could make a convincing argument in a court of law that you’re unreasonably fire-prone, then yes it's a big deal Ro, spill.”

“I’m just a little,” understatement, “Overwhelmed, by our junior project--” It's definitely not the project, definately definately, definitely not the project.

“That thing?” Virgil frowned, confused, “Me n’ L, going down to the space-station to do interviews, and a couple of presentations, what's going on in the art department?”

“Fuckin’ nerds,” Roman snorted, stabbing his cereal again, “Pat jus’ had to switch last minute to help the new kid out, so Dee and I got paired together and he--”Roman looked up,suddenly very aware of how Virgil’s normally slouched position became deathly straight, face calm, “Uh...Virge…?”

Roman feels like he forgot something important.

Virgil smiled, “What did that snake-fucker Dmitri do?”

Bingo, that’s what he forgot.

It wasn’t like Virgil’s thing with Dee was something that could be traced back to one particular incident, more like a culmination of the two being forced into being in each others general vicinity when they did not in fact want that company.

Roman avoided that drama, mainly because Virgil and him could hardly stand each other at the time either. So most of what he knows is second hand.

Though Virgil has explained it as, “When he opens his mouth, my flight or fight response is activated.” and as far as Roman knows Dmitri just returned the sentiment.

Roman shoved another spoonful of cereal in his mouth, “Chill, it’s Nothing, really, just, he said something that caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed, “If he does it again, tell me,” he said, “Logan says I can restart the prank war with probable cause.”

Roman shrugged,“-Kay” he said

He will most certainly not.

---

D:Sanders? from 3rd block?

R: ye who else would i be??? where is this other roman???

D:Who knows? How do I know you’re not Virgil w/ Roman’s phone?

R: //gasp// i am no fake. 

D: Proof?

R:[Picture: Roman’s knees are pulled to his chest, him pouting at the camera. 

His hair dyed aubrun and  thrown into a messy bun, paint and freckles littering his  brown skin]

[ThatOneGuyThatVirgilHates <3’s a picture]

D: Oh thank god you are the cute one

---

[out of the way fives]

Hotleg: so.

Sipsipsippin: dammit roman.

Hotleg: i didnt even say anything how dare

Sipsipsippin:hon, i dated you, i know.

Hotleg: we made out like once

Sipsipsippin: i know.

Hotleg: it was like, eigth grade

Sipsipsipin: i k n o w

Hotleg: ok, ok wise and powerful, remington. Guess who it is, bitch.

Sipsipsippin: ill bite

Sipsipsippin: logan?

Hotleg:....

Hotleg: id say ew, but,,,im not entirely agnst that, ,,, i

Hotleg: nope no, it is not infact logan

Sipsipsippin: FUCK i owe pat a five

Hotleg:????betrayl??????in my sanctum????

Sipsipsippin: shh, i did not type that and you saw nothing

Sipsipsippin: gah give me a hint

Hotleg: hes,,,, good with his hands ;)

----

Remy slammed his hands down the table, “Roman you filthy animal tell me who it is.”

A few people nearby looked up, startled, but not entirely surprised. Patton still winced, pointedly looking at his book and pretending like he didn’t know these actual public disturbances but didn’t bother to move. Which is hard to do regardless, when one Roman has made your shoulder his home.

“Sorry can’t speak english,” Roman said, exaggerating his drawl. He picked off of the leftovers on Patton’s plate, avoiding the daggers being driven into him from behind Remy’s tinted frames.

“Patton, do you know?” Remy asked.

Patton frowned, “Know what?” He flipped a page.

“Our wittle Roman’s got a cwush.” Remy slid into a chair, grabbing a fry.

Patton tilted his head, giving Roman a smile, “A crush you say?”

“Shit.” Roman moved to scramble out of his seat, but Patton somehow managed to put down his book, and fit his arm snug around his waist, tugging him lightly back down.

“Pattonnnn,” He whined, “This is an abuse of my need for affection.”

“Poor baby boy,” Patton hummed, “So, about this crush.”

“C’mon Pat, it could just be a squish,”

“Ro, do you find all your squishies that attractive?” Remy said.

“I find all of my friends aesthetically pleasing, I love you all, lots. I would kill for all of you without hesitation.” Patton rested his chin on Roman’s head, “Did he talk about their hands?” he asked pointedly.

“He wrote poetry.”

“Not to romo,” Patton said, “but yeah it’s a Roman Crush™.”

“I just said how much I loved you guys and this is the betrayal I receive? I thought y’all were the Evagiline to my Ray- instead you’re the animation industry to my animators.”

“Bitch, you bugged me all last week about the same shit,” Remy shot back, lovingly, “Karma’s here, so tell me his name or I’m stealing your toenails and feeding them to your first born.” He sipped his drink, face victorious.

Mid gasp, Roman felt Patton’s grip around his waist tighten. He turned around curiously finding Patton’s attention no longer at the table.

Roman followed his line of sight, blinking, “Dmitri?”

“You have a crush on D--fuck,” Remy hissed, rubbing where Roman’s heel dug into his thigh.

“Sorry can’t hear you,” Roman gritted through his teeth, “--call again after the beep bi-Hi Dee!”

Patton leaned back in his chair, picking up his book again but had yet to remove his arm.

Dmitri shifted the tray in his hands, “Uh, hey,” he smiled, “Can I talk to you?” His hair was down today, the short bob barely falling past his shoulders, but his clothes were noticeably covered paint, yet frustratingly enough other than that, nothing seemed ruffled or half assed. All clean lines and angles.

“What about?” Roman’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” Remy chimed, waggling his eyebrows, “What abou-oW.”

Dmitri ignored that, “Can I talk to you,” He glanced at Patton, “Privately,” he emphasised, “I found some old art magazines and projects in the library storage room, Mrs. Ider said we can check it out.”

“Uh, okay,” Roman nodded dumbly. He hopped up, snagging a fry before he followed Dmitri.

Walking down the long stretch of hallway, Roman found himself checking his watch several times- something he hardly ever does. Yet, the uncomfortable silence lingered, with only Dmitri’s avoident gazes and the clicks of Roman’s boots to fill the silence.

Lucky for Roman, his tendency for avoidance was relatively short on supply.

“Did I do something wrong?” Roman forced himself not to wince at how needy he sounded.

Dmitri opened the door for him, blinking, “Of course--” his voice dropped to a a whisper as the entered, “Of course not, why do you say so?”

“You seem different?”

“We’ve hardly talked before, aside from text.” Dmitri reasoned, tone awfully similar to when Logan’s trying to justify consuming an entire jar of Crofters in one sitting.

“Dee,” Roman said, raising an eyebrow, “That’s true, but you’re hardly one to get… nervous,” he said, “I’ve heard enough stories from Virgil alone to know.”

Dee froze, neither smiling or frowning, “What… type of stories.” His cheeks were delightfully pinched pink. “Tell me what I did wrong and--” Roman switched on the light to the libraries storage room, hiding a wicked smile as he glanced back, “And I’ll tell you some of my favorites.”

“Just wonderful,” Dmitri muttered, stepping inside as well, “But truthfully you did nothing wrong, I just don’t quite know how to do apologies.”

“Same,” Roman said, “Where are the ‘zines?” he distractedly asked, dragging the step ladder from behind the door.

“Back, left shelf,” Dmitri replied. He steadied the step ladder as Roman climbed up searching the dusty shelves. “What were you trying to not apologize for?” Roman asked, dropping magazines to the floor beside him.

“The...flirting?”

“Oh just the flirting?” he paused, holding a magazine to his chest, “Oh.” he repeated, now breathless. Dmitri looked way, ”Yeah, it didn’t mean anything, sorry,” he said, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, I swear I’m usually only a little sleazy.”

“So,” Roman dropped the next magazine, ”It was a joke.” He said a bit quieter, the magazine slapped the ground with more force.

“So is everything cool or…?”

“Uh,” Roman breathed in, blinking rapidly, “Uh, yeah it's all-- Wait, did you say boyfriend?”

“Yes...Is he not?”

“Who, who would--Oh. Oh, No, Patton isn’t--” Roman’s shoulders sagged, “We’re just friends.”

Roman stepped down from the ladder and was met with Dmitri’s look of skepticism.

“Oh, then I meant every word.” Dmitri said, all too casually, “Are you always so touchy with your friends?” he questioned, voice softer.

“Only if they want to.” Roman shrugged, “What do you and your friends do?”

“I don’t have… that many,” Dmitri admitted with a shrug of his own, the two of them hefting up their own pile of magazines, “And the ones I do would probably punch me if I tried anything like that.”

“Do you want to be able to do that?” Roman questioned, tugging open the door with ease, holding it open for Dmitri with his back. Dmitri was quiet, the two settling the stacks onto a table.

“Hey you don’t have to answer it’s really no pressu--”

“No it's fine,” Dmitri said, hugging his arms, “I’d… think I would, but I doubt any of my friends would want to…” His nose curled, “They’d tell me to piss off and get a girlfriend,”

“Well,” Roman said, “I’m your friend, and I’m certainly not going to promote the heterosexual agenda, unless that’s your thing, so I guess the awful duty of cuddles befalls on me,” He winked.

Dmitri looked at him again, “...I guess it does.”

Ao3

#Roman Sanders #Deceit Sanders #Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides Fanfiction #Virgil Sanders #Remy Sanders #Patton Sanders #Deceit's name is Dmitri #Sympathetic Deceit #Roceit #Romantic Roceit #Multichaptered #Antithesis #Crossposted

[femslashy]

x

#i’ve got a week to decide if i’m sending nate back to school or not #currently leaning towards the virtual option #ik he wants to be back at school #but i just don’t know rip #the Popular Onion among the parents in the t1d fb group is to do virtual at first to give the school time to adjust #but also bc it’s less of a hassle to already be virtual when the schools inevitably close again #bc texas sucks and i hate it here lmao #truly a terrible time to be a parent honestly #half joking #sigh #if i can get a plan in place that ensures he still interacts socially with other kids #and a plan to help him learn at home #like be able to focus etc #then i’ll feel better about keeping him home #his endo says he’s not as risk to catch it easier but he is at risk for liks #Complications™ if he does and that’s enough to make me hesitate more #also why don’t i check out that fb group more often it was so helpful #mayhaps social media is not the root of all evil lol #hmm #ALSO the school sent an email with a link to page with all the plans for the school year #only they forgot to MAKE THE DOCS ACCESSIBLE TO EVERYONE #will email if not fixed by tomorrow #why am i ranting here i don’t know #shut up katie 🤪

[chasholidays]

Hello and Happy Holidays! Would love to see an Alternate POV from Monty or Miller for "though it's always pricking me."

Original fic here!

When Monty heard that Dropship was going to be in town over the summer, he was not expecting that he, personally, would have much interaction with them. Everyone knows why they’re coming back, knows how Aurora Blake is doing (not well) and how much Bellamy cares about his family (a lot). The whole town is abuzz with the news in the way only small towns can be, and people who know that Bellamy was in school with Monty are definitely eager to hear all about him, but Monty knows he’s not going to be at the top of Bellamy’s list of people to see, nor should he be. If not for the band, Monty probably would have largely forgotten Bellamy existed. Bellamy might not have ever known Monty existed. Monty wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

Still, the whole thing is kind of exciting, in a silly way. Everyone at school who knows where he lives now also knows that he’s going to be in the same geographic location as Dropship, and odds aren’t bad that he’ll run into at least one of them. If it’s Bellamy, he’ll maybe have a conversation, and then he can ride that wave of coolness for at least a week and possibly longer.

It would be a pretty great way to start off senior year, and he sees no reason to set his expectations higher than that. Even that’s pretty optimistic.

Jasper, of course, is more optimistic.

“He’s going to be bored! You know he wants to hang out with us. We’re very lovable.”

“Speak for yourself,” Monroe says, and Monty frowns.

“Sorry, are you saying you’re not lovable? Are you negging yourself?”

She pauses, frowns at her beer. “Yeah, that didn’t really work. I’m just saying, the odds of Bellamy Blake even getting a Facebook invite, let alone responding to one, seem really low. Does he even have his own Facebook? Isn’t it just one of those celebrity profiles?”

“It probably couldn’t hurt,” Wells says, the voice of reason as always. “But if you send it and he doesn’t respond and doesn’t show up, you’ll never know if he saw it and decided not to come or never saw it or saw it and hates you and–”

Jasper holds up his hand. “Okay, okay. I get it. I will not invite Bellamy Blake to our weekly drinks, and none of us will ever be discovered as secret rock geniuses–”

“You definitely wouldn’t be,” Monty puts in.

“Just let the record show that I tried to make us rich and famous, and you guys were like, fuck that.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” says Harper, dry.

“It’s on the record,” Clarke adds. She’s been quiet, but she definitely had a crush on Bellamy back in high school, so she’s probably stressing more than the rest of them. If Monty’s high-school crush had disappeared off the face of the earth and then reemerged as the lead singer of a hit band, he’d also probably feel kind of weird about it. “This is the only bar in town, if they want to drink, this is it.”

Jasper raises his own glass. “Here’s hoping.”

Clarke smiles a small, private smile. “Yeah, here’s hoping.”

*

“Wouldn’t it make more sense if I didn’t come to this?” Nate asks. He’s not actually that opposed to going to the bar–Arcadia is not an exciting place, and anything that breaks up the monotony is good by him–but if he doesn’t put in at least a token protest, they’ll just assume he always wants to be sociable, and he’s got a reputation to maintain. If people start thinking he just enjoys doing things, he’s going to be on the hook to do things all the time.

“Why, because you suddenly don’t like drinking?” Bellamy asks. He’s been doing minute adjustments to his hairstyle for what feels like an hour, and Nate can admit he is curious about that one. Bellamy with an actual crush is new and different.

Or old and different, really. Apparently Bellamy’s been nursing this one for a long time.

“I can drink here, I don’t have to go to your shitty hometown bar.”

“You get to go to his shitty hometown bar,” Raven says. “How do you not see this for the opportunity it is? All of Bellamy’s high-school friends telling m us all the dirt they can remember? You know you want in on that.”

Nate sighs theatrically. “Fine. But if it sucks, I’m taking a taxi back and leaving you assholes.”

“You say that every time we go anywhere,” Bellamy says, finally finishing with his hair. “And you’ve never actually left us.”

“So far. There’s a first time for everything.”

The bar itself is nothing special, larger than their usual hangout in the city but otherwise unremarkable. Standard bar stuff, as far as Nate is concerned. It’s decently busy for a Friday night, but not packed, and it feels a little like a scene in a Western, when the outlaw walks into the saloon and and everyone stops talking and the piano stops playing. He doesn’t think everyone looks at them, but he feels conspicuous even before some scrawny white kid in goggles starts to call Bellamy.

Another kid, Asian and cute with short black hair and a stoner vibe, shuts him up before he gets it out, and Bellamy snorts, shakes his head.

“More friends?” Raven murmurs.

“Monty and Jasper. They’re probably about your speed, Miller.”

“Where’s your girl?”

“She’s not my–” Bellamy protests, but Raven takes over. “Cute blonde at the bar,” she says. “The one pretending not to look at us.”

“Cool.” He gives Bellamy a thump on the shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

The goggles kid–either Jasper or Monty–has calmed down by the time Nate makes it over to his table, and he manages a friendly, pretty normal smile. “Hi! We have a pitcher, want beer?”

The other kid, the cute stoner, adds, “It’s very shitty beer.”

“How old are you guys?” he asks, frowning. “There’s no way you get away with a fake ID in a town this small.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” says the goggles kid. “We’ve been successfully buying illegal booze since high school.”

“We’re twenty-one,” the other one supplies. He seems to be the straight man to his friend’s goofball, a dynamic Nate is used to. He doesn’t know a lot of goofballs, but for a gay guy he makes a pretty great straight man. “Two grades lower than Bellamy in high school. I’m Monty, and this is Jasper.”

“Nice to meet you guys. I’m Nate.”

Jasper frowns. “Everyone always calls you Miller.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird introducing yourself by last name.”

“Fair enough. You want our cheap beer or not?”

“Love some, thanks.” Monty pours and slides him one, and Nate takes a drink, making a face. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Of course we weren’t. Who lies about buying cheap beer?” Monty asks. “It’s Bud Lite, there’s a special for pitchers, and not all of us are famous rock stars. But if you want to get something better for the next round, we won’t say no.”

“How generous of you.” He takes a chug of the beer; the faster he drinks it, the less he has to taste. “So you’re in college, right?”

They are, rising seniors–Jasper at Oberlin and Monty at Cornell, which actually throws him a little. He knows most people don’t go to college with their high school friends, but something about how the two of them are together made him think they were always this joined at the hip.

“We’re planning to go to the same place once we graduate,” Jasper says, so at least there’s that. “Maybe move in together.”

“Jasper is hoping he’s going to have a serious girlfriend by then and he can move in with her instead of me.”

“The power of positive thinking, Monty! If I believe, it will happen. You should try it, you could get a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend!”

The addition comes in a hurried way that makes Nate assume it’s new and still not totally natural, but without any kind of judgement. Monty is newly out as queer and Jasper is still updating his perceptions, but he’s trying. That’s always nice.

And, well, interesting. Monty started off cute and keeps getting cuter.

“I think I’d have to do more than just believe to find a significant other,” Monty says, dry. “I’ve heard that it requires some bare minimum of effort.”

“Yeah, but believing is easy and it can’t hurt to try.” He turns his attention back to Nate, his gaze surprisingly sharp for how drunk he seems. “How’s dating as a celebrity? Weird?”

“I dont date much, but it probably would be weird. It’s always kind of–” He pauses, trying to figure out the right words. “I had a boyfriend when the band got big, and we tried to stay together, but it was just too complicated, you know? He was always kind of worried I was cheating on him when I was out of town.”

“That sucks,” says Monty.

“Were you cheating on him?” Jasper asks, and Monty elbows him. “What, I’m curious! He can tell us, we don’t know his ex.”

“If you cheated on your ex would you want to tell two random strangers in a bar?”

“It sounds better than telling friends or family.”

Nate has to smile. “I didn’t cheat on him. Bellamy’s really paranoid about this stuff, it rubs off. Not that I was ever tempted, but even after we broke up, he got in my head about people I slept with bragging to the Internet or something.”

“So you’re a rock star who doesn’t get laid?” Jasper asks, in the tones of a kid who just learned Santa isn’t real.

“I don’t usually hook up with civilians. Industry people, the ones who are more used to the lifestyle, that’s usually easier.” He shrugs. “I don’t worry they’re just doing it for a story to tell.”

“So you aren’t interested in sleeping with Jasper,” Monty supplies.

Nate snorts into his beer. “I didn’t think I was the uninterested party there.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m interested, but I’d definitely do it just so I could say I fucked a famous person. Honestly, I’d probably be over there trying to flirt with your drummer except that Wells already is and I’d feel like a terrible person.”

“You could go for Bellamy.”

“I don’t ever want to get on Clarke’s bad side. Wells I’d feel guilty, but Clarke would actually destroy my life.”

No wonder Bellamy likes her so much. “So I’m at the bottom of your Dropship hookup chart?” he asks Jasper. “Dude, come on.”

“Just practically speaking. I’m pretty straight, so Raven’s first, and I figure Bellamy and I have history, so–”

Monty snorts. “You barely talked to him in high school. Also I remember you in high school, I don’t think that’s really working in your favor. Jasper didn’t start developing muscle mass until college,” he adds, to Nate.

“This is Jasper with muscle mass?”

For a second, he’s worried he went too far, that the thoughtless quip actually hurt Jasper’s feelings and there will be a “Nathan Miller was super mean to me in a small-town dive bar” post doing the rounds on social media tomorrow, but then they both crack up.

“I’m secretly ripped!”

“You’re secretly less scrawny than you look,” says Monty. “Which is definitely an accomplishment, but less of one.”

“Screw you both,” he says, cheerful. His phone buzzes, and he checks it. “Literally screw you both, I’m leaving.”

“Did that girl text you back?”

“The power of positive thinking!”

“You’re going to miss out on the fancy beer Miller’s buying us,” says Monty.

“You can drink mine and tell me about it later.” He flashes Nate a smile. “Nice to meet you, hope we see you again, sorry not sorry I’m going on a date.”

Nate can’t argue with that. “Fair enough, have fun.”

“Thanks, you too!” He salutes, and then he’s gone, and Nate and Monty look at each other for an awkward second.

Nate breaks it. “So, next round. Is there an expensive beer you like?”

Monty’s face relaxes into a smile. “I think I can come up with something.”

*

I can’t believe you left me ALONE with NATHAN MILLER.

Monty sends the text while Miller–Nate, he can call Nathan Miller Nate–is in the bathroom, about an hour after Jasper leaves. Clarke is still talking to Bellamy and Wells is still talking to Raven, and it makes Monty feel weirdly paired off, even though he wasn’t trying and was definitely not prepared. He didn’t even do shots with Wells to get ready. He’s a little stoned and a little buzzed, but not enough of either and paranoid about getting worse. If he was drunk, he wouldn’t be thinking about it at all, but since he’s not drunk enough yet, he’s self-conscious about getting sloppy. It’s the actual worst.

yes it is amazing how good a friend I am, Jasper texts back. have fun!!!

If Monty had thought it was unlikely he’d see Bellamy, he had been unable to even comprehend seeing Nathan Miller. It was so outside of the realm of possibility that it wasn’t even worth thinking about, beyond unrealistic. If he had seen Miller, he’d thought that was all it would be, just admiring him from afar. He wasn’t supposed to be talking to him, getting a drink with him, hanging out with him like a normal person. Like those pictures of him in a mesh vest from some weird photoshoot last year hadn’t been the final straw that tipped Monty into identifying as bisexual.

The good news is that it’s not going that badly, but that’s bad news, at the same time. If he was an asshole who wasn’t giving Monty the time of day, it would be easy, one of those never-meet-your-heroes moments. Even if he’d just been friendly, it might not have been that bad. He could have been a perfectly nice guy with whom Monty had nothing in common, and they would have spent the evening making slightly stilted conversation before parting ways.

Instead, they’d gotten another round of drinks and Miller had asked if he was into video games and that was it. Monty had hesitantly offered that he was really into Fire Emblem right now, and Miller had apparently been playing it on the tour bus, and from there they branched out into favorite games, first gaming systems, upcoming releases they’re excited about. If Miller was just a guy he’d met here by chance–deeply unrealistic, as Monty is not the kind of person who meets new people at bars–he’d say they were hitting it off. He might be trying to flirt.

But Miller is Nate is Nathan Miller. He’s been profiled in Rolling Stone. He’s not quite a household name–that’s Bellamy, as the band’s front man–but if he said “I had drinks with the bass player for Dropship,” everyone would know what he was talking about, even his coding professor, who brags about not having learned anything about pop culture since 1989. People hear about Dropship just by being alive, and Monty doesn’t care that much about prestige, but this is going to be one hell of a what I did over the summer.

Assuming he tells anyone. Does bragging about getting drinks and talking about video games count as scuzzy? He doesn’t want to be one of those guys who takes advantage, who makes Miller feel like he can’t talk to civilians.

So when he gets back, Monty just asks. “So, can I tell my friends about this?”

“About what, exactly?”

“How Nathan Miller likes video games and drinks pretentious local IPAs.”

He snorts. “I talk about video games in like all my interviews, it’s not exactly a scoop.”

“You know what I mean.” But he raises his eyebrows like he doesn’t, forcing Monty to clarify, “I don’t want to be one of those people who just brags about–talking to you.”

It’s slightly awkward, both because it feels like he’s using “talking” as a euphemism and because he feels like he’s always slightly awkward, especially without Jasper, who tends to give him easy things to play off of. It had worried him, when he went off to college, that he’d never survive on his own, and he’s fine, has made plenty of friends, but then he’ll be back with Jasper and remember how much easier it feels, to be social with him.

Miller doesn’t seem to notice; he just smirks. “Nah, I love when people brag about talking to me. We can take some selfies if you want.”

“So when does it cross the line into bothering you?”

He drums his fingers on the table. “Good question. I think it’s more–just a vibe. It’s not hard to figure out the people who are just sucking up. Most people–even most super fans–are fine. Kind of nervous at first, but they just want to talk. I never mind people saying they met me. Except that it’s fucking surreal.”

Monty has to laugh. “Yeah, I bet.”

“You didn’t really seem that excited,” he observes, casual.

“I never seem like I’m showing that much emotion compared to Jasper. It’s kind of nice. Takes the pressure off.”

“You always get to be the cool one.”

“Or at least the calm one. It is pretty exciting,” he adds. “Meeting a celebrity.”

“You know Bellamy.”

“Not that well, like I said. And it’s not–” He glances towards the bar, Bellamy leaning into Clarke, the two of them in a world of their own, just like the old days. “I didn’t get to vote on his senior superlatives, but I would have said he was most likely to make it in show business. He’s got charisma. So it’s cool, but not much of a surprise.”

Nate nods. “Yeah, I remember when I first met him. I knew he was going to take me places.”

“You’re twenty-three, right?” he asks. “His age?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head. “I feel like you’re too young to be famous. I’m still worried about having a real job, and you’ve been making a living for years.”

“We got lucky,” says Nate. “Shit, so fucking lucky. We only had a few months of shitty gigs before someone decided we were the real deal. And it still took time for us to be able to quit our day jobs.”

“So your life is weird.”

“So weird.”

“Is it better or worse being way out here?”

He shrugs. “It’s different. Our profile is a lot higher. In New York, if someone sees me, they’re not sure it’s me. But everyone knows we’re here, everyone knows Bellamy, so there’s no question. But you’re also really paranoid about coming off weirdly, so–”

“So everyone’s like me.”

That makes him think. “Nah, not everyone is as cool as you are.”

The bar’s lighting is low enough that Monty doesn’t think the flush will be obvious. At least his voice is steady. “I didn’t think cool for rock stars involved playing a ton of video games.”

“You play good video games, so yeah. You’re cool.” He considers. “You said you didn’t have a PS4 yet, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You should stop by sometime and play,” he says. “Bellamy’s too bad at video games and Raven’s too good.”

Monty’s jaw doesn’t drop, but it’s close. “You want to play video games with me?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Because you must have better people to play video games with?”

“What’s wrong with you?” He clucks his tongue. “Full disclosure? You’re cute and chill and I want to hang out with you more. You want to tell all your friends that you spent part of your summer vacation playing games and flirting with a guy in a band, I’m cool with that.”

The words come out easily, somehow. It doesn’t even make sense, he’s never smooth, but talking to Miller–to Nate, to this guy, who’s chill and down-to-earth and nice–is natural. They get along. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he says. “So if you ever want me to keep quiet, all you have to do is kiss me.”

Nate laughs. “Yeah? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I hope it’s not.”

“I hope so too. So, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Jasper is going to be the worst possible combination of smug and jealous, but he’ll live. He’s flirting with a cute boy who likes video games; it’s awesome. “Nothing so far.”

“Cool. I’ll figure out when my asshole bandmates aren’t around and give you a call.”

“You don’t have my number.”

“Not yet. But we’re not even done with our drinks. I’m not going anywhere yet.”

They have two more rounds and take the same taxi back. Nate gets dropped off first, takes a minute to study Monty’s face, lingering on his lips, before he says, “I’m not kissing you tonight.”

“No?”

“I want you to have a couple stories you can share.” But he does peck him on the cheek. “Night, Monty.”

He texts Jasper immediately. You’re never going to believe what happened.

The response takes a little longer; hopefully his night was good too. I’m the best friend in the entire universe?????

Honestly, Monty replies, smiling in the dark of the backseat, you just might be.

*

“So, it sounds like both your bandmates did pretty well for themselves in Arcadia,” the interviewer tells Nate, like he doesn’t know Bellamy and Raven have significant others now. He found out way before the media did. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous of what, exactly?” he asks, with a shrug. “Wells isn’t my type. Clarke is even less my type. And don’t even start with Bellamy being my type.”

She laughs, apparently genuinely amused, which makes Nate like her more. Most of the questions reporters ask aren’t really their own fault, especially for shit like this. They’re doing rapid-fire press for a new single and everyone only has a few minutes. This website likes gossip, so the interviewer wants gossip. Nate doesn’t blame her.

“Trust me, even I’m getting tired of asking if you and Bellamy are secretly sleeping together. I was relieved I could stop asking about Bellamy and Raven. But is it tough? Being the last single member of the band? Does it get lonely?”

On the surface, the question is absurd. Bellamy and Raven are dating people, not off to war. He’s not alone. He’s not even single, although he hasn’t told anyone about Monty yet, not even his bandmates. They were fairly casual over the summer in Arcadia, didn’t even hook up very much. It was like having a friend with benefits, except the benefit rarely went farther than kissing. Nate didn’t mind, he liked the closeness of it, the intimacy, like getting close to Monty, but the last few months have been a weird sort of limbo, Monty at school, applying for jobs, figuring things out.

He is lonely, but not because he’s single and his friends aren’t. And Monty’s graduating next month, already has an apartment lined up in the city. Him and Jasper together, despite Monty having a boyfriend–they agreed they can work on cohabitation once they’ve been in the same place a little longer.

“I guess that’s not how it is for me. I don’t feel worse about being single when my friends aren’t? Maybe I will, I get why people do. But I like Clarke and Wells, so mostly I’ve got more friends. And they help out keeping an eye on Bellamy’s sister when we’re busy. Not to get too sappy, but mostly being in Arcadia means my family grew. Hard to be lonely when that happens.”

She looks dubious, for which Nate can’t blame her. If he didn’t have Monty, he doesn’t know what he’d say, but as it is, it’s pretty easy. Arcadia was good to him too, and his life is about to get better. Maybe he’ll do another interview with her, when everything is said and done and he and Monty have decided to go public. Let her know how he was really feeling.

For now, though, it’s just for him. Him and Monty, Jasper, the rest of the band. All the people who really matter.

“So, nothing big to report? No one special in your life?”

“Everyone in my life is special,” he says, with a shit-eating grin, and she laughs again.

“Of course, sorry. Anything else you’d like our readers to know?”

“I’m good,” he says, meaning it. “Great, even. No one has to worry about me.”

Once he’s out, he texts Monty: Ngl, I’m looking forward to telling people I’m kissing you.

I’m ready to brag whenever, Monty shoots back. Can’t wait to get all those dating a rockstar points. Finally, I’ll be cool.

Nate smiles. You’re the coolest, he says, and puts his phone in his pocket as he waits for Bellamy and Raven to finish up so they can leave. It’s not exactly the life he was expecting, not this time last year, not when he was in high school, not when he was a kid, deciding what he wanted to be when he grew up.

He never thought it could be this good, and in another month, it will be even better.

He’s got no complaints.

#camillegshotts