#imagine what his passport pages look like

[stagandsteer]

Is Froy in Slovakia ??

looks that way! 🤔

this better not be another Grenada mystery situation that we never learn why 😂

#froy gutierrez #world traveler #imagine what his passport pages look like

[unforth]

We are one Iowa caucus into the absolute shitshow that is going to be the US 2024 elections, and I'm already sick of seeing takes downplaying the risk that Trump and his fascist followers represent.

Look. Around 1900, my mother's grandparents immigrated to the Lower East Side of New York City. They brought with them children born in Europe (Poland? Ukraine? which country they were in depends on what year we're talking about) - we're not 100% sure they were THEIR children, even, but there were three, and they were young, and they came. But my great-grandparents had siblings, parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, huge families. And while my understanding is that an attempt was made to convince those folks to move to the US, none of them ultimately opted to.

They all kept in touch as they were able, exchanging letters and pictures, but through World War 1, through the 20s, through the Great Depression, through the worsening situation in Europe in the 1930s, my entire extended family who chose not to immigrate...continued to stay.

I think we all know how this story ends.

I have an entire family photo album of people whose names I will never know, because after every single one of them died in the Holocaust, my great-grandparents and grandparents couldn't bear to even label them. And they were PEOPLE, poor, vibrant, eager to maintain connections with their loved ones abroad. One was a Klezmer musician, and we have photos of him with all the different instruments he played. They're so real on the page, and they all ended in ashes.

And you know how that started? Fascism started with every inch allowed, with every well-intentioned moderate who tried to maintain a middle position even as the whole ground shifted right beneath their feet and even "middle" became extreme, every "no that change isn't coming fast enough, I want instant full improvement NOW" liberal who felt that doing nothing was better than accepting a slower improvement in the (truly awful!) post-World War 1 living situation in Germany.

Most of the members of my extended family also downplayed the risks. They never imagined that the worst could happen to them. They never fathomed how bad things could become.

And now I have their example always before me to know and to scream:

I KNOW HOW BAD THINGS CAN BECOME. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FAMILY THEN.

I WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO MY FAMILY NOW.

People look at me like I'm crazy when I say I've got our passports ready (and have had since before the 2020 election).

Look. I don't know what will happen if Trump is elected, but there's a very real possibility he will, and he's been extremely clear about saying what he'll do. He did a lot of the things he said he'd do last time. I expect he'll continue to do the things he says he'll do. And the things he say he'll do will lead to the deaths of more people than we can imagine - in the US, in Palestine, throughout the world.

Don't tell me there's a middle ground here. Don't tell me I'm over-reacting. Don't tell me the worst won't happen. Don't tell me the risk is mild. Don't tell me we're safe.

We. Are. Not. Safe.

The lives of dozens, hundreds, of members of family were lost in the 1940s amid the horrifying statistic "6,000,000 dead Jews."

I will not let my life (as a Jew), my wife's life (as a disabled woman), my son's life (as a biracial boy), my daughter's life (as a biracial trans girl), be part of the statistics that come from our a second Trump presidency.

If you won't vote like YOUR life depends on it, vote like someone ELSE'S life depends on it, because IT DOES.

And if you can't even do that much, at least shut the fuck up and stop spreading your poison around. You're wrong. The danger is real. Downplaying it now won't make your conscience feel any clearer when it actually happens, and comforting everyone else downplaying it will just make you that much more complicit.

#unforth rambles #politics #us politics #genocide #genocide tw #i don't know how to tag this #i wish the album was here instead of at my mom's #i want every one of you who think this doesn't matter #to stare at the smiling faces of my long-dead relatives #and see these people who were shot and stabbed and burned and raped and destroyed #who died in rebellion or despair in hopelessness or desperation #no matter how much or how little they fought #they're all ashes now and nothing will bring them back #i have no family in europe #not a single person survived #i won't let my family be the ones who stay too long because we don't take it seriously #and neither should you

[actual-lea]

Believe it or not, this fic is definitely still a thing so read it if you wanna?

AO3 | First chapter | Previous chapter

"You'd better come and see this," is the first thing that Milo, Theresa's nurse, says to Abigail when she walks through the door. He's out of breath from running halfway down the stairs, and the startled look in his eyes is so alarming that Abigail doesn't even pause to step out of her shoes; she just follows him up to Theresa's room without a word.

When she enters, Theresa turns to look at her. To look at her, not through her, and not her five or ten or God knows how many years younger. Abigail approaches the bed cautiously, in case any sudden movement might break the spell.

Theresa smiles. “Good to see you, Abby.”

Abigail laughs at that, because she doesn’t know what else to do. “Supposed to be my line, you know,” she says. Distantly, she notices that Milo has gone, leaving her alone with her sister for however long this lasts.

Theresa’s gaze, still lucid and more focused than it's been in years, drifts around the room, taking in the small space. When she turns back to Abigail, there’s something like realization in her eyes. “What year is it?”

Abigail hesitates. Informing Theresa of the current date has never been a good idea, based on past experiences. But then, she’s never directly asked for it before. “It's 2007."

Instead of panic, those focused eyes light up with something like excitement. “Bring me a pen.”

Abigail has to leave the room to find one, her movements hurried, almost frantic; what if she returns to find Theresa gone again, lost somewhere in the past, if she’s even conscious at all?

But no, Theresa’s right where and when she left her, sitting up in bed with her hands neatly folded over the edge of her blanket. Maybe it’s only Abigail’s imagination, but she looks healthier, less pale than usual, an impression that’s only helped by the way her face lights up again as Abigail hands her the pen. There's a notepad on the table beside the bed, and Theresa leans over to reach it.

"What is it?" Abigail asks as she starts scribbling.

"It's a long story," Theresa says, and her silence spells out the unspoken implication: there isn't enough time to explain. "Is your passport still valid?"

Abigail blinks. It's been years since she thought about her passport at all. She'd gotten it in preparation for a holiday to Australia that never materialized. That was before everything; before their father's cancer diagnosis, before the accident. "I'd have to check, but I think so," she replies. "But, why–"

"I need you to fly to Los Angeles, and give this to Daniel."

Another blink. "Come again?"

"I can tell you exactly where to find him," Theresa says, as if it’s a perfectly reasonable request.

"Are you out of your head?" Abigail says without thinking, and Theresa looks up from the page for the first time. “You want me to make a bloody pilgrimage all the way to the States, just to see Daniel Faraday? Why in God's name would I do that?”

“You want me to get better, don’t you?" Theresa says, unfazed. "This is how I get better. This is how it all starts." She sketches out some sort of diagram while Abigail watches in stunned silence. “On the twentieth of September, this year, you’ll find him at this address.” She flips the paper over and scribbles something down before resuming her drawing on the other side. “He’ll be sitting outside on the north end of the building. He’s carrying a plastic bag and wearing a red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.” She pauses and smiles, like she's laughing at a joke only she can hear. “His right shoe is untied.”

Abigail stares at her, bewildered. Theresa's spent years adrift in the past, but she's never predicted the future before.

"I know it sounds strange," Theresa says, as if reading her mind. "But you have to trust me, okay?" She pauses again, looks up, waits for Abigail to nod once, mechanically, before ripping the paper free of the notepad and handing it over.

She blinks at it, more confused than ever. "What...is it?"

"Daniel will know what it means," Theresa says with certainty.

Abigail is quiet for a long moment. This is absurd. Her sister's mind must be lost, again, somewhere different than usual, and yet...

She meets Theresa's steady gaze. There's an almost unsettling clarity there, a firm sense of conviction and purpose that Abigail hasn't seen since...

Well, since before the accident. Before her sister was taken away from her, by the very man that she's being asked to seek out.

"Be nice to him, okay?" Theresa adds, reading her mind again, and Abigail tries not to flinch. "He's going through a lot."

She laughs at that. "Trying to talk me into it?" She looks up at Theresa again. "Honestly, getting to see that bastard miserable isn't the worst incentive I can think of, if–"

But her sister isn’t looking at her anymore. She’s staring down at the blank paper in her hands, thumbnail picking at the side of the pen like she isn’t sure what to do with it anymore.

Abigail’s heart sinks back into the pit it had only just managed to climb out of. “Theresa?” she says gently. “Are you still with me?”

Her sister turns to her, eyes wide and distant. “I had a bad dream,” she says, in a small, childish voice.

------

“So, what does it mean?”

Daniel shakes his head at Abigail’s question without looking up from the page. Gun to his head, he could never have conjured a mental image of her elegantly scribbled handwriting, but seeing it now in front of him, there's no question that the diagram is definitely Theresa’s handiwork.

Nine neat circles, with labels like Event A, Event B, and so on, all connected within an intricate web of lines, four of them named: real time, space-time, imaginary time, and imaginary space. The rest aren’t labeled at all, but instead denoted by equations, complex formulas with vaguely familiar symbols and constants, concepts that he can’t quite wrap his head around anymore, at least not without a cheat sheet to remind him which letters mean what.

"This is…really advanced stuff,” he says, finally, a laughable understatement. “I mean, this is beyond the scale of anything we ever…”

The most inscrutable pieces of the puzzle are the words scrawled across the top of the page: FISSION CHAIN REACTION. The equations all relate to theoretical physics, not nuclear reactions. How would fission factor into any of it? Unless, somehow, that’s what one of the “events” refers to.

But no, that can’t be right. A fission chain reaction describes an ongoing process; he would never call the day-to-day functions of a nuclear reactor an “event” in space-time. It would have to be a specific instance – some kind of sudden, massive release of energy, something on the scale of Chernobyl, or…

He looks up. “Wait, where are you going?”

Abigail turns back to face him with a sour expression. “I’m going home.”

“But, we–" He gets to his feet with a slight wince. “We’ve gotta figure this out, if Theresa–”

“No, you’ve gotta figure it out,” she corrects. “I did what she asked, and I don’t want anything else to bloody do with you.”

He blinks. “But you– You're not even the least bit curious about-”

He shrinks against the wall when she whirls around to stomp toward him. She stops just short of shoving him, though, like reaching the end of an invisible tether. “I've done what she asked,” she repeats through clenched teeth. “So we're finished.”

And then she storms across the grass to a taxi in the parking lot and disappears without looking back.

------

The SUV is still parked by the hospital’s entrance, and so is Abaddon, who watches Daniel approach with a faintly amused look on his face.

“I’ll need full access to everything you have,” Daniel says. “Every single piece of intel Widmore has about the island.”

“Of course.” Abaddon opens the door for him.

“I’m not finished.” Daniel settles into the backseat and pauses to catch his breath while Abaddon gets behind the wheel. “There's some additional information that I… Things I can’t research on my own. Secrets that only someone with Widmore’s influence might be able to get their hands on.” He fiddles with the seat belt. “I mean, really secret stuff. Classified military operations, that sort of thing.”

“That can be arranged.” Abaddon’s eyes bore holes into Daniel’s forehead from the rearview mirror. “In the meantime, Mr. Faraday, I’m here to take you anywhere you’d like to go.”

“I gathered that.” Across the grass, the city bus he’d intended to board pulls up to the crowded stop. He could still make a run for it, theoretically, provided that his lung doesn’t give out halfway.

Instead, he digs his journal out of his pack and gingerly folds Theresa’s diagram to place it inside, along with the photographs he’d taken from his mother’s office in the church - more fragments of the bigger picture that refuses to fall into place.

He finds Abaddon’s eyes, still watching him expectantly. “Do you have a phone I can borrow?”

------

“So, your girlfriend can see the future?” Hurley says.

Daniel scratches his head. “…Yes?” He’s drowned out by a particularly loud truck speeding past on the nearby highway. “Not exactly,” he says instead once the sound fades. How any of the patients milling around the small green space of Santa Rosa can be unfazed by the constant road noise is beyond him.

Hurley waves away a fly from the half-eaten sandwich on his plate and slides his bishop across the chessboard. "Then, how'd she know where you'd be?"

"It's…hard to explain," he says, for what must be the fifth time since the start of their conversation. "Time doesn't move in a straight line for her, it…” His eyes land on the board game boxes stacked on the other end of the picnic table. “It's like a puzzle, with all the pieces switched around. Even though some of the shapes still fit together, the picture doesn't make any sense. But occasionally, a few of the right pieces match up with each other through pure luck, and you get a glimpse of how it's actually supposed to look."

Hurley stares at him blankly. "Uh…"

He shakes his head. "Essentially, a piece of her mind from sometime in the future happened to link up with her mind in the present. That future version of her was coherent enough to realize what was happening, which means that version of her must have gotten better somehow." He taps the sheet of paper on the table. "That's why she gave me this, so that I could set everything in motion to make that future a reality."

Hurley rubs one eye. "I still don't get what any of this has to do with the island."

Daniel stares at an empty square of the board. "I don't…fully understand it, either," he admits before absently making his next move. "But I know that the island can heal her, and that's reason enough to find a way back. I can figure the rest out later."

"Dude, I'm not sure going back is such a good idea," Hurley says with a frown as he captures the last of Daniel’s pawns. "Plus I'm not even sure how you would do it."

"That's…why I'm here, actually." Dan clears his throat. The DHARMA orientation photo from 1977 is still tucked between the pages of his journal, weighing down his pack like a chunk of radioactive metal. There will be no un-opening that can of worms, so he's saving it as a last resort; if all else fails, he can show it to Hurley as proof that the decision has already been made. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the board and picks a piece at random to move. "I think the key to getting back is you, and Jack, and Kate."

Hurley’s frown deepens. "What makes you think that?"

“It's hard to explain.” Daniel shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Uh, it’s your move.”

Hurley moves his queen. “How do you know the island will fix her in the first place?”

“Because… It’s what fixed me.” He clears his throat again in the uncomfortable silence and moves his knight another three spaces to block the queen’s path. "Before the island, I was… I– I had a condition that was…similar, to what Theresa's been living with."

“But, you weren’t in like a coma or whatever before the island, right?” Hurley guesses, to a hesitant nod from Dan. The queen takes the knight. "So, you must've gotten some better without it, right?"

"Yes, but…" He shakes his head and moves his one remaining rook. "It took years, of…specialists, and EM therapy, and–"

"Did you take her to the same specialists?"

He has to stop himself from saying that he could never have taken Theresa anywhere, not without incurring the wrath of her sister. "The process was…prohibitively expensive," he says, grimacing at how pathetic the excuse sounds.

Hurley doesn't seem to notice, or he doesn't care. "I can pay for it."

"I'm not asking you to do that,” Daniel says, shaking his head automatically.

“Why not?” Hurley leans back in his seat. “I don’t know if you keep up with the news, dude, but I’ve kinda got more money than I know what to do with. Even from in here,” he gestures to their surroundings.

Daniel shakes his head harder. “I really can’t ask you to do that. It’s not– This isn’t your responsibility, and besides, if her sister found out it was my idea, she’d never–”

“So don’t tell her,” Hurley says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Look, all I gotta do is talk to my parents, they talk to the finance guy, finance guy talks to the doctor or lawyer or whoever and then boom, everything’s covered.”

“Hurley–”

“So it’s settled!” Hurley says with a grin, like a gotcha, relief in his voice. “I'm gonna pay for it, and she's gonna get better, and then nobody has to go back to the island.” He looks down at the board, grins even wider, and sweeps his own rook across the board triumphantly. “Check and mate, dude.”

#lost #fanfiction #daniel faraday #abc lost #lost show #a place to call home #the way home

[josefavomjaaga]

Hello! To start out, I REALLY love your page! The detail put into your posts and responses are so fun and interesting to read. I especially love when you interpret quotes with, like, I guess “stage play” versions. They’re so funny.

So I wanted to ask something of you for the first time. I’ve been writing a story that takes place in the Napoleonic Wars era for a while now, so I’ve been doing a lot of research in that era (and a lot of that research is guided by your posts haha). There are several important characters who are supposed to be police in an 1805 French town, but I’ve been having trouble finding good info about them, like what those police wore, what they carried, what their responsibilities were, etc. I’m not even sure if they have like a police station kind of headquarters or something in 1805 France. If you have anything that’ll help me out just about those french police at the time, that would be much appreciated. So far, I’ve been drawing comics about them, but whenever a police shows up I just draw him in the normal napoleonic soldier uniform…although that’s probably not accurate. Thanks!

Well, first of all: Thank you! 💖 Truth be told, I often feel quite impertinent, mocking all these illustrious personalities, who have both achieved and gone through things I cannot even imagine. But sometimes I just can’t help it. Laughter is the weapon of those without power (and in my case, without merit). Plus, it renders all these grim warriors a lot more human, and, as far as I am concerned, more amiable.

As to your question – as I’ve said in the other Ask below, it’s quite easy to find the end of my knowledge 😁. That would be one of those cases.

I actually have read up a bit on the development of what we call police today, but only for German territories. But I presume developments in France were similar, with innovations usually starting a little earlier. The German word »polizey« originally was applied to all sort of public tasks, from the organisation of markets to cleaning of the streets. It was only during Napoleon’s time (and presumably under French influence) that the term was somewhat reduced to public security measures (but that still included, for example, firemen). When it came to crimes, it usually meant what we today would call a »secret police«, i.e., surveillance of the population rather than investigation of crimes already committed.

But investigation could be part of it. Napoleon’s famous minister of Police Joseph Fouché (that one has to be named first) is mostly known for his spy network and his detailed files on pretty much everybody who was somebody in France. But, for example, after the »infernal machine« asassination attempt his men did some excellent investigations and found the culprits within days. I do not know where in Paris the Ministry of Police was located.

One of the main task of the police was to look after foreigners in town and to issue passports, as in theory nobody was allowed to travel without one.

For Paris, the police headquarters was the Préfecture de Police. It still exists today, but I do not know if it’s still in the same location. The different arrondissements of the city all had their own chief of police, who answered to the préfecture. An interesting personality to look into more might be Jean-François Réal, a co-worker of Fouché and possibly more the kind of »policeman« as we understand the term today.

As to keeping up security in the capital, that was – I think! - at least to some degree also the job of the gouverneur de Paris (who commanded the military forces stationed in the city and for a very long time happened to be one Andoche Junot, so I hope maybe @snowv88 can either confirm or correct me 😊).

It is to be noted that Fouché’s (secret) police was not the only police under Napoleon’s rule. Actually, there were several police organisations all spying on each other. On top of that, the army units had their gens d’armes who kept order and investigated possible violations among or by soldiers.

From what I have read, outside of Paris the police may have been subject to the préfet of the départment, but I am not even entirely sure about that. There seem to have been »bureaux de police«, police offices, so some kind of headquarters for the local police agents must have existed.

And that, I fear, is already all I have. I very much hope for input from people with more knowledge, because now I’ve gotten interested and want to learn more myself.

Thank you for the question and all best wished for your stories! Please share whenever you feel like it!

#napoleonic era #police #fouché

[kjmsupremacist]

something sweet, a peach tree (mark/jaehyun)

Mark begins the summer after his junior year with an unpaid internship and no other plans. But when he agrees to go pick his baby niece up from her music lessons, her teacher, Jeong Jaehyun, catches his eye. Too bad he's off limits, and not just because Mark's niece is involved. Jaehyun is 41 to Mark's 20.

To sate his curiosity about older men, Mark decides to look into becoming a sugar baby. He could use the money, after all. And he seems to find a willing patron right away. But for the first time in Mark's like, he finds he might be in over his head.

Chapter 1   |   next   mlist

Characters: Mark, Jaehyun, other members of nct throughout

Genre: romance, angst, smut, age gap, sugar daddy!au

Pairing: Mark/Jaehyun

Warnings: AGE GAP (older jaehyun, younger mark), alcohol mentions, poor decision making perhaps

Rating: Teen And Up (for this chapter)

Length: 3.1k

mandatory disclaimer: I'm not trying to romanticize or condone real-life age gap relationships because of the inherent power imbalance, blah blah, I'm writing this for fun and if you don't think you'll have fun go ahead and leave now, etc.

Mark drums his fingers against the cold metal pole as the bus lurches to a stop. He checks the time on his phone—5:25 p.m. He should just make it, unless this prehistoric bus takes any longer to open its doors.

After what he swears is a full minute of ominous creaking, Mark steps out into the muggy air. It’s still only the beginning of June, but already this summer seems like it’s going to be absolutely scorching. Mark supposes he’ll be doing a lot of swimming.

He crosses the street and heads up the sidewalk to the cluster of buildings beyond a small, uneven parking lot, squinting to make out the sign. Little Hands Musical Academy. It’s smaller than he imagined, somehow, but kind of quaint.

A receptionist greets him when he enters the lobby. Though the outside of the building is a bit understated, the inside is clean and bright. Mark says hello back to the receptionist, looking around as he steps up to the counter.

“Uh, I’m here for Lucy Lee?” he says tentatively. “I’m Mark Lee, I’m her uncle. My brother said he put me on the, um, the list?”

The receptionist nods with a smile, typing something in and then looks up. “Could I just see some ID please?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, one sec,” Mark stutters, fumbling for his wallet. He hands the receptionist his passport, feeling a little silly as she leafs through to the right page.

It’s all a little silly, really—that Mark is even picking Lucy up in the first place. He can’t drive, which is mostly fine since James’ house isn’t that far, only like ten minutes on the bus and a few blocks of walking, but Mark thinks if James and Annie are that worried about safety, having an irresponsible, driver’s licenseless twenty-year-old come fetch their only child is hardly helpful.

Still, they asked, and they also bought Mark a new AC unit after his old one finally kicked the bucket the very first day it was over eighty degrees, so here he is. James doesn’t get off work until 5:30, which is the pickup time, and though Annie works from home and can come drop Lucy off in the afternoon, she said she’d rather get a head start on dinner in the evening. And Mark’s internship lets him go at 5. So maybe it is kinda helpful, as long as Mark doesn’t lose his three-and-a-half year old niece on public transport.

“You’re all set,” the receptionist says, handing Mark’s passport back to him. “It’s the classroom at the end of the hall. A lot of parents are already here, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Mark says, putting his passport away and heading out of the lobby towards the back of the building.

There are many parents gathered outside the large window that looks into the classroom from the hall. Mark sidles up next to the group and spots Lucy’s pigtails instantly. She’s plunking away on a tiny keyboard. As Mark watches, the teacher—at least, Mark assumes he’s the teacher; he’s the only adult in the room—strolls by and pauses to say something to her. Mark can’t hear anything, but when the teacher walks away, Lucy is wearing a big grin.

After a couple more minutes, the teacher opens the door and gestures for the parents to file in. Mark gets his first good look at the teacher’s face and swallows. He’s hot. He’s also definitely a little older—forget Mark, he’s visibly older than James. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucking pretty, with handsome dimples appearing every time his expression leans towards a smile. 

Mark is so busy staring that he ends up last in line, but it turns out to be a good thing because the teacher stops him at the door.

“Sorry, would you mind if I just checked your ID really quick?” His eyes are a warm brown, Mark’s brain notes unhelpfully. “I’m sure you already got cleared by the front desk, but—I just like to make sure, you know?”

“Oh, totally, no problem,” Mark says, once again struggling to extract his wallet. 

“Come with me, I have the list over here,” the teacher says, waving Mark into the classroom.

“Mark-samchon!” Lucy zeroes in on him right away and totters over, pigtails flouncing with each step. “I played the piano today.”

“I saw,” Mark says, grinning at her. “Hang on, your teacher just needs to check that I really am your uncle and not a bad guy, and your Appa really did say it was okay for me to pick you up.”

“But he really is my uncle, Jaehyun-seonsaengnim,” Lucy says to her teacher.

Jaehyun, apparently, has produced his list. He gives Lucy an amused smile. “I think I’ll be the judge of that,” he replies. “Can’t let my students walk out with just anybody. Thank you,” he adds to Mark, accepting the offered passport. After a second, he hands it back. “All set,” he says. “Sorry again about the trouble, it’s nothing personal.”

“No worries!” Mark says swiftly, filing his passport away and pocketing his wallet again. “It’s cool that you’re looking out for them.”

Jaehyun gives him a somewhat wry smile, nodding. “I try,” he replies. “Well, see you in a couple days, Lucy! We’re doing percussion next time, you don’t wanna miss it.”

“I like the shaky ones,” Lucy tells Mark very seriously.

Mark’s pretty sure she means stuff like maracas. “Yeah, those are pretty neat, huh?” He holds out his hand to her and she takes it. “Thanks—ah, Jaehyun-seonsaengnim, right?” Mark’s never sure about honorifics in a mixed setting like this—they’re mostly speaking in English, and they are in America, but the area they’re in is really Korean, so he just goes for the way Lucy called him and hopes Jaehyun will correct him.

He’s right. Jaehyun’s smile turns warmer. “Just Jaehyun is fine,” he says. “It was nice to meet you, Mark.”

Mark’s stomach flops. “You too,” he replies, then hurries out of the classroom before he does something stupid like trying to flirt in front of his niece. 

Mark lets Lucy chatter about class as he walks them down to the bus stop. He wants to be paying closer attention to what she’s saying, but his mind keeps drifting back to her handsome music teacher. Jaehyun. It’s not like he needed a reason to do his brother a favor—and besides, Lucy’s reason enough—but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt. 

They get home in one piece. James stops working to play with Lucy and Annie tells Mark to stay for dinner. Mark’ll take a good, free meal with his family over a shitty expensive one alone in his apartment any day, so he stays and helps with the dishes, too. They send him off with leftovers, and Mark can hear Lucy’s laughter all the way down the street as he skips backwards, waving at her until the front porch of his brother’s house disappears behind a line of trees. 

He sighs, slowing to a walk as he turns to face forward, dropping his hand to his side. In some ways, he wishes he was like his brother. Found his person early, finished school, got a good job, settled right down and started having kids. A life that’s small and perfect, full of little excitements and little joys.

But Mark’s not like that. He readjusts his grip on the leftovers, leaving thoughts of his family behind him as he focuses his attention on tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. He’ll have the time for excitement later. He can settle down when he’s satisfied. For now, his life has to remain boring—busy, and boring. 

And from the looks of it, that’s how his summer’s shaping up to be. Busy and boring. And honestly? Mark doesn’t mind that one bit. 

///

“Damn,” Johnny says as he pulls into a parking spot. “Didn’t know you had a thing for DILFs.”

“Wha—dude, no, he’s not a—a DILF,” Mark splutters, already regretting telling Johnny anything. “He doesn’t have kids.”

“How do you know?” Johnny arches an eyebrow at him as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“It came up once,” Mark says. “I didn’t ask! He was saying it’s nice his job is to hang out with kids, basically, because kids are fun and he doesn’t have any of his own.”

“Hasn’t it only been a couple weeks since you started going to pick Lucy up?” Johnny throws this over his shoulder before getting out of his car. Mark hurries to get out, too, so he can argue.

“Lucy has lessons twice a week,” Mark says. “So I’ve seen him three times, which is more than enough times to clock if someone’s hot or not. Woulda been four, except my fucking boss made me stay late on Thursday.”

“I’m telling you, man, unpaid internships are straight up bullshit,” Johnny says.

“If I could’ve gotten a paid one, d’you think I wouldn’t’ve gone for it?” Mark retorts, grabbing his guitar from the back and slinging the strap of the case over his shoulder. “If this shit doesn’t get me a good job after graduation, I’m suing the entire career counseling office.”

“I got a good job after graduation and I didn’t have a single internship,” Johnny points out. “You’ll be fine. Unless you let this hot children’s music teacher distract you.”

Mark shoves him once they’re through the mall entrance. “I just like to look at him, that’s all. Though, I mean—I wouldn’t say no, is all I’m saying.”

“Yeah. He’s how old?” Johnny asks.

“Shut up,” Mark grumbles. 

Though they’re technically here to get Mark’s guitar looked at—one of the strings fucking snapped, he doesn’t know how—they meander through the mall on the way to the music store. Johnny ends up buying a couple of pieces of clothing and nearly convinces Mark to get a matching hat with him before Mark remembers, woefully, that he isn’t getting paid and truly doesn’t have the money to spare.

They finally get to the music store and Mark hands his guitar over, then follows Johnny away from the counter while they wait for it to be fixed up, poking through their record collection.

“Mark?” The voice is familiar, and Mark whips his head up to see Jaehyun of all people standing a few feet inside the door. He’s not in his usual casual clothes; instead, he’s dressed in smart business casual, a patterned button-down tucked into cropped pants. 

Mark swallows, trying to put a single sentence together instead of staring at his waist. “Jaehyun,” he manages. “What are you doing here?” It comes out way ruder than he means it, but luckily Jaehyun just smiles.

“I own this store,” he says, tipping his head to one side and looking around at all the instruments hanging on the walls. “I founded this brand, actually.”

“Really?” Mark would’ve never pinned Jaehyun as a businessman of any kind, but here’s the proof—one of the employees at the store has come up to Jaehyun with his hand extended. 

Jaehyun greets the employee, accepting the handshake. “I’ll come back in a minute,” he says, then turns back to Mark. “I wish teaching music class for kids paid the bills, but, ah…” He gestures vaguely. “Speaking of which, I missed you in the pickup line on Thursday. Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” Mark silences the part of his brain that immediately starts trying to make a pun about pickup lines. He can feel a flush rising up his neck, both pleased and embarrassed that Jaehyun noticed he wasn’t there. “My internship just kept me late is all.”

“Hope they don’t keep you too often,” Jaehyun says, and Mark absolutely does not know how to take that. “Lucy looked kinda put out her mom was there to get her instead of you.”

“Oh,” Mark laughs, wondering why he feels kind of disappointed. “Well, that’s probably because I’ve started bringing her snacks.”

Jaehyun nods, grinning. “That’s always a good way to win them over,” he agrees. “Well, it was a welcome surprise to run into you in my store! I probably shouldn’t keep them waiting, but I’ll see you next week—I hope.”

“Y-yeah, see you!” Mark stammers, giving an awkward half wave, watching Jaehyun disappear into the back of the store.

“That was painful,” Johnny says flatly. “You don’t just think he’s hot, you like him.”

“Shut up,” Mark hisses. 

“You wanna fuck your niece’s music teacher,” Johnny continues blithely. “You really wanna fuck him.”

Luckily, the employee that was servicing Mark’s guitar appears at this moment and spares Mark from coming up with an answer. Because, he thinks somewhat miserably as he heads up to the counter to pay, the thing is Johnny isn’t wrong. But, fuck, Jaehyun’s literally fucking beautiful, and good with kids, and also apparently a rich business owner. What else could Mark ask for?

“I’m just saying, dude,” Johnny continues as they head back out to the parking lot. “If you wanna fuck that old man so bad—”

“Oh my god, he’s not old, he’s like maybe in his early forties at most,” Mark interjects, grimacing in embarrassment.

“If you wanna fuck that middle-aged man so bad,” Johnny plows on, undeterred, “at least get him to fuckin’ pay you or something. You’re young and hot, don’t waste it. No homo.”

Mark resists the urge to bash Johnny over the head with his newly-repaired guitar. “Shut the fuck up.”

/// 

Mark can argue with Johnny all he wants, but it won’t change the fact that he’s right. He wants to fuck that old man. It’s kind of all he thinks about, outside of basic things like work and what he’s going to have for dinner—and even then, the thought of Jaehyun is still percolating in the background, waiting for whatever has grabbed his more immediate attention to be completed so it can muscle its way back to the fore.

He sees him again the next week when he picks Lucy up and it’s all Mark can do not to drag his gaze over Jaehyun’s body as he waits for the parents in front of him to grab their kids. When he goes home, he scours Instagram until he finds him—a public account, a small mercy considering the fact that he only has three posts, but still. Mark pores over the pictures, thumb hovering over the Follow button before closing out of the app altogether and opening his text chain with Johnny.

Dude I’m spiraling &lt;;<<

>>> The dilf?

yeah &lt;;<<

It’s bad. fuck me man &lt;;<<

>>> uh, pass

>>> I mean maybe you’re just horny

>>> download tinder or something

And get stuck in the talking phase all summer? &lt;;<<

Or find someone to hookup with and it’s like their first time &lt;;<<

I’m not teaching someone how to kiss again I know I’m just some guy but I deserve better than that &lt;;<<

>>> ok fair

>>> if it’s experience you want……… go on one of those sugar baby websites

>>> remember what I said about him paying you

>>> your internship’s getting enough of ur free labor as it is

Mark sighs, dropping his phone on his mattress and flopping back. Maybe Johnny’s right. Maybe he just needs a good fuck and he’ll be cured. And there has to be some kind of market for gay sugar daddies who are bottoms, right? Besides, God knows he could use the money.

okay im gonna do it &lt;;<<

>>> fuck the dilf???

NO try the sugar baby thing &lt;;<<

>>> if it works out, gimme a cut of your profits

>>> since it was my idea and all

what are you, my pimp? &lt;;<<

I’ll take you out to a meal, how’s that &lt;;<<

>>> deal

So Mark does exactly that. He does a little research, chooses an app, and downloads it. He sets up his profile, just some basic information about who he is and what he’s looking for. The app suggests he not upload any pictures, for privacy, and Mark’s secretly glad the pressure’s off on that one. He’s not sure if it would help or hurt, but at least this way, the playing field is level.

He could scroll profiles if he wanted to, he supposes, but he has a feeling he’s going to start eliminating people because they don’t seem like Jaehyun, and that’s not going to get him anywhere. He’ll wait and see who’s interested in him, and go from there. 

He sets his phone down instead and heads into his kitchen to see about dinner. But he’s only just pulled a couple things out of the fridge when his phone gives an unfamiliar buzz. With a sigh, he puts the eggs back and goes to his phone to see a new message on the app.

>>> Hey Minhyung!

>>> Are you new to sugaring? Know what you’re looking for?

Mark scans over his profile. CEO of his own business, dog person, plays guitar. Not looking for something too serious. Income between 600k and 800k. 

Hi Yuno! Yeah, this is my first time sugaring haha but I did my research &lt;;<<

I’m hoping for something more casual. I work during the week but my weekends are usually pretty free &lt;<< 

Not expecting a lot, just hoping to have a little extra spending money &lt;;<<

Yuno is typing before Mark even sends the final message.

>>> sounds like we might be a good fit :)

>>> do you want to talk it over in person? We could go get coffee, get to know each other, see if we’re compatible

Sure! I’m free this weekend &lt;;<<

>>> Perfect. How’s Saturday at 3?

Mark glances at his calendar just to double-check, but as expected, it’s empty. When he looks back at his phone, he sees that this Yuno guy has sent a coffee shop in the city, not too far from Mark’s apartment. 

>>> there’s this booth in the back corner I like, let’s plan to meet there

>>> if it’s occupied, we can meet at the tall tables by the windows instead

Sounds good! &lt;;<<

See you on Saturday! &lt;;<<

Yuno likes his message but doesn’t reply, so Mark pockets his phone and goes back to cleaning. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, pulse jumping in his neck. It’s not like he’s in danger or anything. They’re meeting in public, and Mark likes to believe he’ll be able to tell if the guy is a total creep or not. Worst case, he wastes five dollars on a coffee he’s not even going to enjoy and has to keep searching. Besides, he’s not going to be young forever. He might as well give it a shot while he still can.

#works #nct #mark #jaehyun #jaemark #mark lee #jeong jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct mark #nct jaehyun #mark fanfic #mark fanfiction #nct mark fanfic #nct mark fanfiction #nct jaehyun fanfic #nct jaehyun fanfiction #jaemark fanfic #jaemark fanfiction #mark x jaehyun #mark/jaehyun #markxjaehyun #jaehyun x mark #jaehyunxmark #jaehyun/mark #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction

[jule1122]

Malex Fic - All I Want is You

How much fluff can I shove into 1100 words?  The answer is a lot.  I am over the moon about Alex Guerin being canon, and wanted to write something about that.  Michael also has a lot of feelings about being married so this fic is nothing but them continuing to be madly in love.

All I Want is You on AO3

Title from U2's "All I Want is You" because that song fits their marriage perfectly. 

Summary: When they get back from their honeymoon, Michael has a husband and Alex has a new name.  Neither of those things will ever change. 

“Hi honey, I’m home,” Michael yells as he opens the door.

“In here,”  Alex answers back.

Michael follows the sound of his voice and finds his husband at the table, laptop open, working his way through a stack of papers.

“I thought you weren’t back at Deep Sky until Monday?”  Michael asks with a slight frown.  They returned from their honeymoon a few days ago, but both had cleared their schedules for the rest of the week.  Michael had spent the afternoon catching up with Isobel, but otherwise neither of them had left the house.

“Oh, this isn’t work,” Alex reassures him.  He gestures to the papers next to the computer, “Just getting started on the name change.  I’ve got Social Security, VA, MVD, the bank, the mortgage company, utilities, passport.  Once that’s all done I can update my will and other legal documents.”

Just listening to Alex list all the forms overwhelms Michael.  “Can’t you just hack into something and have it all done at once?  Or get someone at Deep Sky to handle it?”

“I could,” Alex says with a laugh and a shrug, “but I want to do it this way.”

“Why?” Michael asks as he sits in the chair next to Alex.

“I don’t want it to just happen.  I want someone to read this form and know my name is changing because I want it to, that this is a choice.  I want them to look at our marriage license and think ‘he must really love his husband a lot if he wants to share his name.’ I want everyone who has to change my name to know how lucky I am.”

Michael leans back in his chair and lets out a breath.  Sometimes he still can’t believe all this is real, then Alex says something like that, and it hits him all over again.  He’s quiet long enough that Alex starts to look uncomfortable.

“I know it doesn’t really matter,” he starts.

“No,” Michael takes his hand, rubbing his thumb along Alex’s ring.  “I get it.”  And he does.  It’s the same reason he can’t stop calling Alex his husband.  He’s said it so much, Isobel had hung up on him twice.  But he can’t imagine not saying it, not telling every person he talks to that he has a husband, not taking every chance he can to remember that they finally got here.  If Alex needs fifty bureaucrats to look at their marriage license, Michael will help him stuff the envelopes.

“Maybe you should send a picture too,” he teases.  “Make sure they know exactly how lucky we both are.”

“I don’t think we need to go that far,” Alex squeezes his hand before pulling away and picking up his pen.

Michael gets up and stands behind him, watching as he finishes the form to update his driver’s license.  He sets it aside and reaches for another stack of papers, but Michael can’t stop staring at “Alexander Manes” written in Alex’s neat, block handwriting.  He looks at the bottom of the page, and Alex’s new signature.  There’s a scrawled “A” followed by a scribble that leads into a large, fancy printed “G.”  The rest of “Guerin” is written in a slanted hybrid of cursive and print, each letter easy to recognize.  Michael traces it with his eyes and wonders what it will look like in a year, five years then fifty.  He wonders when it will be second nature for Alex to sign with “Guerin,” when he won’t have to think about it.

“Hey, can you grab the stapler for me?” Alex asks without looking up from where he’s adding a copy of their marriage license to the MVD form.

“Sure,” Michael clears his throat and heads to Alex’s desk.  As he walks away, he sees Alex turn to look at him, a soft smile on his face.  He looks back because he’ll always look back to Alex.  It’s hard to believe there was a time he looked at Alex and saw nothing but pain and regret for the life they didn’t have.  Now he looks at Alex and sees forever stretching out in front of them.

When he brings back the stapler, Alex takes it with a distracted, “Thanks, babe.”

Michael kisses the top of his head and goes to start dinner, leaving Alex to finish his stack of paperwork.  He sneaks glances at Alex as he cooks, smiling at his complete concentration at the task in front of him.  He probably won’t even notice Michael’s started dinner until Michael puts a plate in front of him.

But Alex surprises him by coming into the kitchen just as Michael turns the heat on the sauce down to simmer.

“Smells good,” Alex compliments him as he passes Michael on the way to the cupboard.  “Paperwork’s all done so I’ll set the table while you finish up.”

When Alex reaches up to get the plates, Michael wraps his arms around his waist.  “No hurry,” he stops Alex before he opens the cabinet door.  “We have time.”

“Oh, do we?”  Alex turns in his arms, smiling into Michael’s kiss.

“Mhmm,” Michael confirms, without breaking the kiss. He presses Alex up against the counter, kisses him soft and slow because they do have time.

He can’t help but wonder if it will always feel like this, like there’s nothing in the world but this. Maybe one day his breath won’t catch when he sees the wedding pictures Isobel framed and placed on their mantel and dresser while they were on their honeymoon.  Maybe one day he won’t find Alex staring at the shadow box Maria made them, filled with the boutonnieres, his mother’s handkerchief, Mimi’s bracelet and the original wedding invitation Rosa drew for them. 

Alex shifts in his arms, trailing kisses along Michael’s jaw and down his neck.  Michael spares a quick thought to turn the stove off completely and slides his hands down to rest on Alex’s ass, giving it a quick squeeze. Laughing when Alex nips his collarbone in return.

Maybe one day all of this will feel ordinary.  They won’t take the time to linger in memories of their wedding day or take the extra time to make sure everyone knows they have a husband and name chosen for love. Maybe one day he won’t fall asleep silently humming the song Alex wrote for them and his last kiss of the day won’t be Alex’s lips against his wedding ring.

Michael doesn’t think that day will ever come because he intends to spend every day just like this one.  Interrupting dinner to kiss his husband in the kitchen and loving Alex with everything that he has.

#malex fic #rnm fic #my fic #post canon #ALEX GUERIN #fluff #husbands being in love #they are still in the honeymoon phase #Michael thinks it will last forever #he's probably right #have you seen the way they look at each other

[thisoneisbatter]

Holy: Chapter Eight

This is a new fic that is completed but I think I’ll be rolling it out chapter by chapter because it is a long one. It’s brat tamer, jaded widower Sheriff Hassan in full effect. This fic does contain some very rough sex and consensual sexual violence in some chapters so please do not read if that is a trigger for you. Otherwise, please enjoy and leave feedback!

Holy

Chapter Eight

Word Count: 1k+

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Deep family secrets are finally revealed.

Hassan had promised to take the weekend to help Leslie go through her mother’s things. His intentions weren’t entirely altruistic. The state medical examiner hadn’t issued his report, but had said off the record that it definitely seemed like foul play. Unofficially, poisoning.

There wasn’t much evidence to collect in the guest room closet that could tie someone to Cindy’s murder, but maybe he could figure out what the hell was going on on the island and why someone would want to poison her to begin with.

“What’s in this box?” Hassan reached for a hat box at the top of closet. He’d been handing things down to Leslie, most of which she’d stuffed into a black trash bag. A stack of old National Geographics, a pair of dry rotten men’s penny loafers, exactly the types of things you’d expect to find. This box was different. It was leather and very old but well cared-for.

“Uhh, I think it’s like my adoption stuff.” She gestured to the bed where they’d been putting the things she wanted to keep; photo albums and a few of her mom’s old dresses. “It can just go over there.”

“Do you-can I look at it?” It felt wrong to ask. Something so incredibly personal. He was more prepared for her to say no than yes.

“It doesn’t have who my birth parents are or anything like that. Its just like, basic info.” She replied flippantly. “I’m going to take a couple of bags down to the trash. You can look at whatever. I don’t have, like, giant family secrets or whatever.” She shot him a mockingly crazy look, laughing a little at his interest.

Fifteen minutes later, when Leslie returned, Hassan was sitting in a chair by the window deeply engrossed in the papers he couldn’t even read. It was almost entirely in Romanian. A stack of handwritten notes, typewritten documents on impossibly thin paper, a photo of a crying baby wrapped in a threadbare blanket, and a maroon passport with a picture of a pale toddler in pigtails. The name was Lavinia Eder. It was Leslie.

“Your name is Lavinia?” He chuckled a bit.

“And your name is Hassan.” She pointed out the obvious with a smile.

“Why do you go by Leslie?” He couldn’t imagine calling her anything else.

“Lavinia sounds like an 80 year old woman with a hunch back selling potatoes. Not very in line with my personality.” It amazed him how little she seemed to care about her personal history. Maybe it was something she had already worked her way through earlier in her life, but it was surprising to him nonetheless.

“Can you read Romanian?” He asked, lifting the papers to indicate that he needed translation.

“Kind of.” She took a seat on the floor next to him. “I can read these ones,” she pointed to the typewritten ones, “but not the cursive notes.” She took the first fragile page from the file, staring at it for a long time, trying to process the letters through the out of practice dictionary in her mind. “Uh, okay. It says infant girl,” she smiled at him and mouthed <i>me</i>, “found at Biserica Neagra, which I guess means like, Black Church or whatever, in Brasov. Weight 2.2 kilograms. Infant found beneath statue of Saint Petroclus. I don’t know if I’m saying that right. January 21st, 1998. And that’s my birthday.” She winked. His heart was breaking imagining this tiny newborn left in the cold, and she fucking winked. “And then it just says I was moved to an orphanage in Bucharest, which is where my parents adopted me.” She handed the page to him, taking the next one in the stack. “Okay, this one is their request to adopt me. It just has my mom and dad on here saying they want the infant found in Brasov on my birthday. My mom told me she read about it in the paper.” She took the next page. “This one is saying that I am Lavinia, I’m 2 years old, I weigh 11 kilograms, it says ‘no damage’ but I think that’s talking about, like, disabilities and stuff. I think it’s just info about me at the orphanage.” She takes another page. “Uh, yeah, okay. This one is saying I’m being adopted by my parents on October 6th, 2001. They get me, my clothes, my blanket, and some papers.” She shot him a final smile. “And that’s it. Nothing that interesting.”

Hassan let her brush it off while they finished clearing out the upstairs rooms her mom used for storage. They ate pizza on her bedroom floor and had kind of boring sex before he called it a night. His mind was elsewhere.

He’d taken pictures of the papers in the box, more specifically, the handwritten notes. He knew it was a violation of her privacy. She hadn’t given him permission. For all he knew, she was saying she couldn’t read them because she didn’t want to. He just had to know.

The next morning, Hassan went into work early. He jumped head first into a Google rabbit hole almost immediately. At face value, Leslie’s adoption was unusual, but not extraordinary. Cindy, a Romanian woman living in America, saw that a baby was abandoned at a church and wanted to adopt her. Stuff like that happens. Once he started adding it all up, the details spelled something bizarre.

“Hey, Les.” He caught her the second she sat down at her desk. It was 8:30. She was late, but he had way too much swimming in his mind to even address it. “Come over here. I need to talk to you about something.”

“What’s up?” She rolled her chair to his desk, looking only mildly concerned.

“I know you’re probably going to be upset, but I took some pictures of the papers in your adoption file and looked up what they said.” He braced for impact.

“Whoa, Hassan, what the fuck?” Her look of disgust stung a bit, but he’d expected it. It was a violation of her trust after all.

“It’s uhm,” He leaned forward, smoothed his hand down his beard, and rested it on Leslie’s knee. “You’ve got to know there’s something weird going on there.”

“What, then?” It was her turn to find him incredibly annoying. “My parents were weird people. What did you find?”

“Okay,” Hassan pulled out his notepad and leaned back in his chair, ready to elevator pitch Leslie’s own life story to her. “So you were found in the Black Church in Brasov. Brasov is in…Transylvania.” He drew the word out, cringing a bit at her mocking raised eyebrow. It sounded so stupid out loud. “The statue you were found under was Saint Petrolcus of Troye. I tried to look stuff up but came up really short until I realized that your family isn’t Catholic. They’re Eastern Orthodox, right?” She nodded, starting to slump in her chair. He was right. The story wasn’t as cut and dry as she’d believed her entire life. “In the Orthodox church, he is the Patron Saint of Demons and Fever, and his feast day is January 21st.”

“So what does that mean, then?” She looked confused, but mostly angry. Either this was the coincidence of a lifetime, or she’d been lied to at some point by her own family.

“I’m not done, Leslie.” He almost didn’t want to tell her the rest. It sounded crazy. It was crazy. “Do you know how hard it is to find some kind of translation for cursive Romanian? It took me all morning, but I did find it.” He put his phone on the desk at their side with the photos of the three notes pulled up. “These papers were stuffed into the blanket with you when you were left.” He pointed to the first one, which read <i> morții să rămână în pământ</i>, “’May the dead stay in the ground.’ Weird thing to put on a baby. The second one,” he pointed to one reading <i> salvatorul nostru de îngerii căzuți</i>, “Our savior from the fallen angels.” He flipped to the last photo, this one more of a scrawl than the rest, clearly written in haste. It said <i> ea va ști unde poate fi găsită lumina </i>. “She knows where the light can be found.”

Leslie had her head in her hands now, not looking at Hassan.

“Now, Leslie, I want to think that you definitely didn’t know what these notes said, because you’d have told me. And it could also just be the scribblings of a crazy person. I’d believe that last bit for sure if it wasn’t for an email I got from the old Sheriff before I ever even moved to the island. It said, that if I need anything, I should ask Leslie, because she knows where everything can be found. That’s a strange way to word that, right? ‘She knows where everything can be found.’ I did a little extra research on Sheriff Henry. He was pretty well loved by everyone, but one thing he wasn’t was a Catholic. And neither am I, and neither are you, or your mother.” He leaned as far forward as he could, taking her head in his hands and lifting her face to be just inches from his. “Tell me why there are suddenly missing people on an island that hasn’t had more than a fender bender in almost 100 years, a woman is screaming about demons and then suddenly turns up dead, and her daughter, a Sheriff’s Deputy, has a few too many weird connections to be just a fluke.”

Leslie was in tears. Gasping, inescapable tears. Hassan suddenly became hyper-aware of his grip on her and pulled his hand away.

“I don’t understand what you’re accusing me of.” She gulped down a sob. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.” He sat back, taking stock of what exactly he was doing. “I guess I’m accusing everyone else of something. I just don’t know what yet.”

“So what, Hassan, demons came to Crockett and killed my mother?” She didn’t sound entirely sarcastic. Maybe it was a start. Maybe she’d believe him.

“No, I think that Bev Keane killed your mother.”

#sheriff hassan x ofc #sheriff hassan smut #sheriff hassan #rahul kohli smut #midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction

[yeah-sure-why-not-you]

I went to the Wonder Tour in Seattle! Here’s my experience.

Backstory:

I became a fan of Shawn Mendes at the beginning of my freshman year in college, back in 2018. This was during the time he was promoting Shawn Mendes the album. I saw YouTube videos of him performing and was like “Wow. He’s amazing at performing.” And then I spiraled into watching his other recent  performances and interviews. I found myself going through his Instagram page. I knew of his music before (mostly the radio hits) but I never really paid any attention to Shawn as an artist. After falling into my Shawn Mendes rabbit hole, I was instantly hooked onto his music. Moving through college, I kind of fell out of my freshman year obsession with Shawn. But when he announced the Wonder Tour, I had to get tickets. On the first day of my final year in college, my friend and I ditched class to buy tickets. The concert would be on June 28 of the next year and that date felt so far away - it was after our last finals as undergrads and it was after our graduation ceremonies. But June 28 came by way faster than I had anticipated! 

Concert:

I got the silver VIP package. Those with VIP waited in line separate from general tickets. The silver VIP package included a nice tote bag, a tour passport, and a poster. We had the opportunity to go through an interactive museum that displayed articles throughout Shawn’s career - outfits, guitars he owned/played, awards, etc. There were also backdrops and props from album covers that you could take pictures with. It was cool but honestly, it was underwhelming. I only got the silver VIP because of the seats. I would have bought the VIP tickets that included meet and greet but they were out of my price range in Seattle. I’m sure those are more worthwhile. 

I sat right next to the catwalk of the arena stage setup. When I got to my seat, there were already fans standing right next to the barricades. Security made them sit down until the show started though. It had something to do with the fact that people who didn’t pay to sit in that area were taking other people’s space (from what I heard). When Dermot Kennedy (who was the opening act - his voice is insane) finished performing, the lights came back on. But when the lights dimmed again and Wonder album Intro played, we were all screaming with excitement! Fans rushed to the barricade. The lights began strobing in tandem to the intro music. And at the center of the stage was a dark silhouette growing taller. Once Shawn appeared, I could feel tears forming in my eyes. I didn’t cry. But damn, this was something that I had been dreaming about since I was a freshman in college. Now I was fresh out of undergrad, experiencing a Shawn Mendes concert for the first time. Based on videos and pictures, you can see that Shawn is an attractive person. But on stage? In real life? That man is absolutely glowing. He’s beautiful. 

I’ve been to other concerts where there’d be backup dancers and large choreographs. Those are always super fun to watch. Still, I would have to say that watching Shawn perform was even better. You can tell he loves what he does. He just has so much energy on that stage. He fills up the entire space with that energy. And he goes ham on that guitar. I’m surprised the strings don’t snap. And his VOCALS? Don’t even get me started. His voice is absolutely amazing. All of the songs sound even better live than in studio. Those high notes are killer - and he hits a lot of high notes. You don’t have to be a fan of his music to admire his talent. He’s magnetic on that stage. He also looks so comfortable on the stage. And it’s not comfortable in a bad way or a lazy way. Shawn looked like he was home. 

Shawn uses up the whole space during his performance. At some points, he performed solely on the main stage. During some songs, he walked up and down the catwalk. For other songs, they were sung at a smaller stage at the end of the catwalk. He performed one song (Can’t Imagine) in the middle of the catwalk. He also engages with fans a bit! Some talking while transitioning songs. It’s the usual that you would get from a performer - thanking the city and the audience for being there, explaining what a certain song meant to them, etc. He also touches fan’s hands as well and engages with any props that fans bring. Also, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll come home with a guitar pick he tosses into the crowd. 

The final song was In My Blood. Near the end of the song, Shawn got off the catwalk and went by the barricades to touch fans, hug them, etc. I wasn’t lucky enough to have the chance to touch him but my friend did! She hasn’t washed her hand since then. She had it vacuum sealed. 

Overall, it was an incredible experience. Shawn Mendes is an amazing performer. It exceeded my 18 year old expectations. It also launched me back into my Shawn Mendes fangirl phase. 

My only wish is that he interacted a little bit more with fans. Take Harry Styles for example. I think he does pretty well with interacting with fans while he’s on stage. There are points in his show where he’d have a short and funny interaction with a fan and they’d even talk! Or he’d respond to a funny poster. I think that would be fun! 

Also, I just want to add something here about the postponement of the Wonder Tour: take the space you need for yourself, Shawn. 

Tips: 

- If you want to hug or touch Shawn at a concert, buy tickets next to the catwalk and be at the barricade. He interacts with fans a lot there. 

- If you want to stand out even more at the catwalk barricade, make a funny poster. My friend did (it was my idea! I think it was pretty good) and I’m sure that’s why he started at her area when he came off the catwalk to hug fans. 

- If you bring a poster and you want Shawn to interact with it or you, make sure it’s something easy, like “blow me a kiss” or something. He doesn’t engage too much with fan posters. He’ll definitely see it though. 

If you have any questions about my experience of about his concert in general, comment! 

#wonder tour #shawn mendes #wonder the tour #wonder

[shig-a-shig-ah]

Shigaraki’s been scribbling a lot of shit down in notebooks in AtBI, which got me thinking about his stationary preferences, which means I spent way more time than I should have this week looking at different notebooks trying to decide what his go-to would be.

I cannot imagine many people are interested in this analysis, but I’m giving it to you anyway.

1. Size. This was the biggest consideration, for a number of reasons. I assume our little gremlin man is going to want something that says ‘convenient to shove in your pocket with your dead dad’s hand’ which immediately ruled out any full size notebooks. But, at the same time he’s got those big-ass yaoi hands and a destructive quirk, so anything too small is probably going to just lead to frustration, which means none of that passport-sized nonsense. Seems like something right around A5 size (~8 x 5 in/21 x 14 cm) would be the sweet spot; small enough to shove in a hoodie or even the pocket of a pair of normal men’s jeans, but big enough to not be a pain in the ass.

2. Thickness/flexibility. Very related to the above. Assuming that he’s going to be periodically shoving this beat up thing in some pocket means I ruled out anything with a hard cover; I also pretty quickly ruled out anything with a high page count, because anything too bulky will take up space, and won’t nicely conform around his thigh when he’s shoving it in the pocket of his jeans or whatever. So, he’d need something thin--probably somewhere between a 50-80 page count. He also seems like the type to like folding the cover all the way back or whatever for ease of use. Technically a spiral notebook would do the trick in that case, but would be way more uncomfortable to haul around in a pocket, and might not be quite as flexible if it’s getting forced into odd shapes. So, in addition to a soft cover, he’d need something that was thread or glue-bound.

3. Line ruling. There’s a lot of options for what pages look like--college or wide rule, graph paper, dot grids--and I think he’d want none of them. There’s a really good meta somewhere on all the newspaper clippings he has up in his room, and how he’s probably a visual learner, and I pretty much agree with that. I think he’d prefer blank pages so that he doesn’t necessarily have to jot things down in any neat order, and can just kind of let chaos unfold on the page as he marks stuff down or processes information on paper.

4. Aesthetic. This is not to say that I think Shigaraki cares about aesthetic stationary; the opposite in fact. I think he’d specifically go for something minimalist and utilitarian--basically blank covers, no frills or bells or whistles or anything.

So, after all that and a lot of googling, I was left with three contenders:

1. Muji Thin Pocket Notebook. This one is slightly smaller than an A5 size, but is thin with a nice shape and obviously very portable. But it lost points because it is a little small, and because I don’t think Shig would be into the built in bookmark thing. I think he’s very much a ‘dog-ear relevant pages’ kind of guy.

2. Muji Paper Bind. These actually come in a couple different styles, like the standard linked there or a similar one with rounded corners.

3. Moleskine Cahier, large size. The large size of these is actually A5 sized paper, so exactly what we’re looking for. They’re also completely unadorned--plain cover without even the little stripe the Muji notebooks have--and the only frill they offer is a little folder insert in the back (or, what would be the front for a Japanese user.) 

After ruling out number one thanks to the tinier size and bookmark, I… well I ordered the other two for comparison. Don’t mind that the cahier in the pic is lined—that’s for me since I needed a lined notebook, lol.

As you can see, the cahier is a little smaller than the muji one. I also found that the binding was more flexible—it’s less squared off than the muji, making it easier to lie flat, or fold in half. The cover of the cahier is also a little softer, which is another plus. And, it comes in a 3-pack, which is super convenient if you’re a NEET who hates running errands.

Even after all that, I was admittedly a little hesitant to commit to a non-Japanese brand, but it does look like Moleskine stuff is common enough there, too. So, in the end I think the Moleskin cahier (large size, with plain pages) wins for being a villainous boy’s notebook of choice. I do think he’d go with black or the plain brown as far as colors though, if he could be bothered to do more than just grab the first ones he saw.

And, shoutout to @arozaur and @feral-creep for listening to me spend way too much time talking about this nonsense the other day.

#this is THE most useless thing I have ever written #shigaraki #shigaraki thoughts #ghuleh.speaks

[marshmallowprotection]

Saeran’s Passport Package

I’ve been waiting since the 19th to get my hands on this baby and I’m glad that it got here today. It took me a little bit to sit down and go through everything cause I wanted to cry about it the entire time. 

Spoilers Ahead, everyone. So, if you’re not interested in seeing what’s in the Passport set AFTER the events of Saeran’s After Ending, then do not click Read More, got it? I’ve made it clear to you. I will say that it’s worth the money if you’re debating buying it. 

So, we can go over the contents in the box, first as an overview. You receive a letter stamped with a cute sticker as well as the passport itself which holds the notes that Saeran’s been taking and drawing since this all started. I just think that’s cute. My brain said don’t open that passport until we review the letter first so, why don’t we go over the letter first? The little details are really cute. There’s just so many stamps on this baby. 

The little touches are what sell it. You’ve got this man putting his love all over it and there’s a CUTE NOTE of CATS. Sir, was that a touch to Saeyoung? I know you know that your brother is a dork. Homage to brother who is an idiot but too glaringly obvious. It got a chuckle out of me. I know this man, and it’s just getting to me. 

The passport itself is also really cute. It has the art from the promo banner but instead of everyone hustling around together, there’s new poses and all of that jazz. Jaehee isn’t rushing around. Zen’s got a selfie stick, no surprise on that front. Jumin just chilling. Seven and Yoosung... doing what they do best and you know it. RUN, YOOSUNG, RUN.

Saeran and MC... being cute on the inside made me go, “Aw!” Ice cream. They can really just put ice cream and it’s going to make me cry, huh? Really? Is that how easy this is? Am I a joke to you, Cheritz? Is that what this is? 

Now, if you want to talk about the contents in the letter, you get this sheet that is listed in three languages, surprised me, Korean, Spanish, and English, and it lets you tick off little things that you like to do. An itinerary sheet. I feel like this is purely Jumin crafting these. It asks about Cats. Literally. Cats. Wine? Yeah, this is on Jumin. You always come in flex, Jumin, but oh boy, I’m chuckling over here at these little touches. 

You get 2 boarding passes. One with Saeran’s name and one with a blank to fill in your name. I thought that was cute. Tying in that with the CG of the passes in the game with this just makes it more real to me. I’m holding this in my hands and it just makes my immersion feel much more real than it did when I was holding my phone in my hand and playing this out. 

I think merch like this just makes you feel more apart of the story then you do when you’re able to talk and chat, you know? If you really like feeling like you are involved with the game, this is how you do it. You wanna know how I know that Jumin is the one setting this up with Saeran? Flip over the fucking passport and you realize that Elizabeth is on the back.

I’m still laughing. 

I’m trying to imagine this and now, like, I’m starting to see why Jaehee is so damn tired because Elizabeth really is on everything that he can get his hands on and she’s good too many files to sort through when it comes to whatever the photographers take of her. Jumin can’t take photos. He’s either got Jihyun to do this for him at some point, or he’s straight up hiring photographers for her cause he can’t do it. 

I mean, we all know that Jumin will put Elizabeth everywhere but I just— It’s on the BOARDING PASSES? JUMIN! 

There’s also a postcard within the letter that is once more, written in all three aforementioned languages. Saeran says that it feels like a dream when he is with you, like this is where he’s always meant to be. His promise of happiness is made truest when he’s with you. I teared up a little. I know that he means well when he does that but damn, does it take an arrow to the heart every single time he does it. 

Saeran put a lot of thought into this in a very short amount of time. I know that he did this plan likely with the idea that he may not be able to go with us but he wanted us to be able to see the world for him. You know, how he implied that he wanted Saeyoung to see things for him? To live for him? Even if he was dead, he wanted Saeyoung and the player to be happy and free. 

The blurred state on those... doesn’t have names. It doesn’t name Saeran in this photo. 

The implication of his sacrifice with the boarding passes kind of hurts because this is a side note of the fact that Saeran Did Not Know If He Would Live To See This Through. He made it thinking maybe.. if things worked out, it would be an okay future, but this was... God. I just. I’m thinking about the weight of the AE and what that felt like. I almost glossed over the Boarding Pass because I was just so upset with him.

I’m the type to try to sacrifice myself for others, too. I have that in common with Saeyoung and Saeran. 

I think that we’d argue over who should die for the others and while that’s macabre, it’s just the kind of people that we are. We love these people so much that we’re willing to die if they’re safe and sound. Knowing that, I understand what Saeran tried, and even what Saeyoung tries, but it’s hard cause I want to make sure they’re happy in comparison to myself. 

This is where being selfless is a bad thing. 

Does anyone know what a big deal it is for Saeran to have a passport? He’s never had an ID or paperwork in his entire life. If he did, he would’ve been killed, so would his brother. They’re both never had IDs. Unless you count the ones from the Agency and Mint Eye. They’ve got them in the Believer box with their names and faces, but that’s not official. That’s not paperwork that everyone else has. That’s just... 

You know? 

Seeing this tangible thing in my hands is a testament to Saeran Choi being alive and thriving. He’s not afraid of showing his face. He’s living. He’s a free man and nobody can kill him for existing. Does that not weigh on anyone here? It hit me and I wanted to cry. I might break down thinking about this later because I just take this too seriously. Look at him. Look at HIM. Okay? Did you look? Now, LOOK AGAIN.

Okay, I’m not going to share every single page inside of the passport but I will give you little snippets of the journey ahead and show you what he writes and draws. Yes, he’s drawing. I knew that he was talented because he is great at doodling and drawing, but he knows how to have such a cute style that I want to gush about and he probably has no clue about how cute it is because nobody’s ever told him!

Okay, so the trip is broken up over a few months and into segments. You know how I was surprised by the 3 languages? Yes, this passport is written in three languages and it stays that way. It implies that Saeran knows English and Spanish, or at the very least, he’s been studying them, I get that it’s kind of a neat tie in to make sure that all languages are included but I only English and I can only read Spanish, I suck at conversational Spanish, so I could only read the English and Spanish sections. 

So, if anyone wants to throw in what the Korean segments say, please do. I have a rough idea, but it’d be nice to know. The first segment of the trip is spent traveling over Korea. You see the things that he packed in the bag! 

I almost had a heart attack because I thought the vitamins were Caffeine Pills. I was about to beat my Husband and make him go to bed. Thin ice, Saeran. Thin ice, the Special Believer package implied you take more then ten and I want you to go the fuck to sleep at night. 

He packed his hanbok! Look! You remember? From the title screen event? The blue shirt is the one that he matches with MC in. There’s so much I’m screaming about it. 

It shows you things that you do. Like, biking, karaoke, gardens... is there a locket bridge in Korea? You know? If you put them together on a bridge, it’s said that your love lasts forever. I forget where that came from but I guess there must be one in South Korea, too. Oh, and food. Can you believe that he can eat whatever he wants now? I’m sobbing. 

Please. 

HE’S IN HANBOK. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Okay, here’s the thing. I only have one gripe with the Passport Package and I’m going to say this again at the end, but I really wish that they had included big photos for this because the Passport itself it rather small and I wish that I could have bigger photos of this. It’s my only complaint. Literally, it’s the only thing I have to say about the box that will affect my rating. Look, we’re doing cheesy couple stuff! 

HE’S DOING THE HEART THING WITH HIS HANDS.

A KISS. 

KISS.

GUSHING.

DYING. HELP. ME. 

God, I wish I wasn’t broke. I would commission someone to do this for my MC. 

The second and third portion of the trip are spent in the U.S.A. and Mexico, I was so surprised by that! New York and Hawaii specifically are what they name and I was. Well, those are really far apart, huh. I mean, those are very popular spots. I’m not surprised. I’m chuckling because he’s got matching outfits. 

Saeran Choi, you really want the embarrassing couple look, don’t you? Well, if it’s for you, I’d do it. Did... Saeyoung or Jumin set us up, are we fucking loaded? There’s mad bank here. 

Saeran and MC basically are living per Jumin and Saeyoung, to be honest, because Saeran’s never had a job and MC is... your MC literally agrees to go and test a game in the woods, how good can our lives be? I’m broke, boy. I ain’t got nothing. So, I like to think that those two are offering to let Saeran be as happy and free as he wants. No expense. Like, kindness. The RFA is too damn much, I’m gonna cry. I’m starting to understand why the RFA didn’t hear from us for months. 

The final Check-In with the RFA is set 6 Months after the events that take place when we save Saeran. The events of this Passport cover 3 months. So, we go back to Korea after this adventure and met up with Saeyoung, because we know that we’re hanging out with him in the conclusion. So, if they haven’t really heard from us, that means that we’ve been traveling more with him. 

I kind of like that. 

We’re spending time with Saeran alone and time with the brothers together, and that’s sweet! I love that. I need to write more about it. 

I’m trying not to laugh about this Mexico portion but it looks like he passed out from an ice tea... lemonade...? It’s surely not alcohol. Maybe too much sugar, I know that crash can hurt. I’ve been there. I just know that you’re not implying the man with alcohol trauma is gonna drink. Nope. Neither he nor Saeyoung ever will do that. I stand by that statement and I’ll die by that statement. Bite me my tongue if I’m wrong, but I stand by that. 

Saeran is at least mindful of the sun. He’s also made notes that the perfect time for sunset is 18:34. Cute. He notes that it’s time for the Day of the Dead as well, so that’s fun!

IS THAT A FUCKING V CACTUS—

TWO V CACTUS—

There’s actually a portion in here where he asks you certain questions and you have the space to fill in it. I like that it’s interactive. 

Do you have favorites sweets? Are there things about yourself that you hide? Did you make sure to ask Santa what you wanted? I’m wheezing. The food doodles are one thing, and the Christmas photo is one thing, but he really drew himself as a butterfly and the MC as a bug catcher. 

“CATCH ME, MC.” 

Help me. 

I’m laughing so hard.

Saeran, you fucking goofball.

And, the last page of the passport is us assumedly returning home with all kinds of trinkets and gifts. Flower crown, snow globe, cactus, hats, listen, there’s a lot of details in this photos that I really wish I could have it blown up. 

That’s really my only complaint about the Passport Package. I really want to have bigger photos that are shared. I wouldn’t have minded if it was the photo of the final CG in the game, or the Christmas photo, I really would have enjoyed getting that to have for myself. 

You know? The passport itself is roughly like 5 x 7 or so, so while it’s not big, it’s still like. I would love to see the details blown up. It’s smaller then the diary, that I know for sure. I think it’s the only thing stopping from giving Cheritz a 10/10 on this item. 

I’m going to have to give them a 9.8/10 simply because it feels like we are lacking one big photo. 

I guess I’ll print my favorite CGs and decorate my room like that. But, all and all, I really enjoyed reading this and it made it feel like I was there and I was able to reflect on Saeran’s vacation with the player. Like, he was doing this as we were going using his little doodles... I’m in love with this fucking sap. I’d say that this is worth the money. 

For sure. 

My only gripe aside. That’s a personal problem, not really a content problem. I love this bastard. 

Look at him, he’s GOT A PLUSHIE. I have so many things that I want to write about now thanks to this. Saeran, darling, sweetie, my love, I am dying. Either way, I’m glad this arrived when it did. I needed this. I justified getting this for myself because I don’t expect to get anything for my birthday in early February but I’m happy I have him.

It’s been five years since I found this game in August 2016. I’m happy that it’s been here with me. 

#SaeranAfterEnding #saeran ae #saeran after ending #mm #mysme #mysticmessenger #mystic messenger #mystic messenger saeran #saeran mysme #saeran mystic messenger #saeran mm #mm saeran #mysme saeran #saeran #saeran choi #choi saeran #saeray #ge saeran #mod kait #spoilers #spoiler #long post

[teacup-crow]

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

Fun bit of survivors’ guilt for @badthingshappenbingo, based pretty heavily off Don’t Poke the Bear and Variations on a Theme. Post-finale.

They take it in turns to keep watch for when he wakes up: Doug, Reneé, Isabel, first names still such a novelty. Just his luck, he opens his eyes to the impassive face of Captain Lovelace.

“Hi, dickbag. Sore head?”

“Unnnnhh…” he whines as if he’s lying under a ton of rocks rather than a cosy quilt on Renee’s living room floor. His face is a patchwork of bruising. “Aspirin?”

She takes pity, and passes him two and a glass of water. The sitting up takes longer than he thought it would.

“You look terrible. Lucky for you, Renee makes a mean chilli con carne. Never would have guessed she could cook.”

“No thanks, I should, should be going-”

“You need food in your system, that’s non-negotiable. First thing’s first, though, you’re having a shower, and you either go willingly or get dragged bodily, because you goddamn stink. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles automatically, and he remembers the Colonel - Warren? Was it on a day he could call him Warren? - once saying something similar and his head pounds. ((“mr jacobi, of all the irresponsible, stupid shit i have seen from you this really takes the-“))

“Bathroom’s on the second floor, just past the master bedroom. Dominick put a pile of clean clothes in there before he left for work. And it’s Isabel, okay? Not sir. Not Captain. Never again.”

***

“Who did this to you?”

He grips his mug of sweet tea like it’s thousand dollar whiskey. He’s still ashen. “I did this to me.”

“You beat the shit out of yourself? Okay, yeah. Don’t buy that one.” Isabel repeats the question. “Who did this to you?”

“Just some guys I pissed off. I don’t know how many. I don’t know who. Happy now?”

The room goes silent. Isabel continues:

“And did you go provoking them deliberately?”

Not for the first time, Renee wonders whether they should have included Doug in this little intervention. He’s been through so much just like the rest of them, but he doesn’t know it, and he’s clearly freaking out at the situation.

“Why would he want something like that to happen? He looks terrible!”

“I don’t know, Doug,” Isabel says levelly. “Care to answer, Jacobi?”

He’s not on a first name basis, apparently.

“Not… I didn’t... no. No, no, no. I was too drunk and… picking fights, but suddenly there were too many of them, okay? But I got out. And if I want to drink then that’s my own problem, so thank you for the hospitality but-“

Renee cuts in there. “When you drink yourself into a stupor, get attacked by a gang in a back alley, and stumble into my doorway at 0300 hours after six months of radio silence, it becomes our problem.” Her look of pity makes his stomach churn even more than the chilli did. He breathes in, hold, out; in, hold, out; in-((alana’s breathing technique and why why why is she everywhere in everything why does he have to see her out of the corner of his eye when it’s been so long he can’t properly remember her face-))

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“You are a good man and you saved every single one of our lives and we need to understand why you’re so intent on throwing yours away.”

Jacobi starts laughing then, guttural laughs that worsen the ache in his head and bones but he can’t seem to stop them. “...me? I’m a good man? Oh my God, Lieutenant, that’s hilarious. Give us another.”

“You need to take this seriously! This is a form of self harm! You could have died!” Isabel is pacing up and down. She and Renee do good cop, bad cop like it’s a professional sport.

“Boo fucking hoo. And the world would forever be worse off for my passing.”

Isabel stops, and turns back towards him with some heat in her gaze. “I have lost too many crew members who deserved to die far less than you do. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Do you need me to reconfirm that you are a an asshole? Do you need to hear about how Fisher, and Hui, and Fourier, and Lambert were all far better people than you will ever, ever be? Or will you accept that you are good in there? That deep down you’re on the right-“

“We burned their letters.” He’s staring at the duvet he’s wrapped in, running his finger over the flowers on the pattern. “Okay? Still think I’m a good person?”

“...wait. What?” She laughs a little, in shock perhaps. “But you told me…”

“I told you what I needed to tell you to make you trust me. We burned your crew’s letters. Lambert’s… I remember those especially. His hands were shaking really hard when he wrote them, weren’t they.”

It’s not a question.

Isabel stops pacing, and Jacobi grins again but it doesn’t reach his bruised eyes when he looks up at her. “More than mine, even. You could tell he was sick. They didn’t make any sense. We laughed at them. The irony of a Communications Officer who can’t communicate. Are you listening to me? We read their letters and we burned them and we laughed about it-“

Renee loses her softness. “Jacobi, that is enough!”

Isabel has a hand on her chest as if something has hit her there. She counts to ten in her head, ((fisher’s technique to try and stop her fighting with sam, never worked but still stuck in her head, or this copy of her head, or whoever she is now-)) and leaves the room.

They hear her slamming drawers in the kitchen.

Doug glances at Jacobi and shakes his head, before hurrying after her.

“How could you,” Reneé says. “How could you.”

“I don’t know. Will you let me go and ruin my own life now?”

“Never,” she replies. “Because, God help me, you’re still a member of my crew.”

At that, his eyes prick with tears he can’t explain. He rolls over on the air bed, and closes them.

***

“Lovelace?” Jacobi finally makes himself walk into the kitchen, grimacing like each step is on hot sand. The words are monotone. “I’m so sorry. What I did and said is... inexcusable.”

“Nope. That’s too large a word for your vocabulary. Come back to me with an apology Renée didn’t script,” Isabel snaps, going back to scribbling in a sketchbook.

“Look, I’m not much good at this-“

“You’re telling me.”

“I’m… really used to people yelling at me and hitting me until they feel better. Or you can shoot me if you like!”

“Jesus. Well, I am not about to do that to ease your guilt. You look like you’d snap if one more person poked you. So apologise properly.”

“I’m sorry…”

“For?” Isabel prompts over the top of her book.

“I’m sorry for burning your crew’s letters.”

“You did what you were ordered to do. It is what it is. I’m not condoning it.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Jacobi realises she’s waiting for him to continue. “And… I’m sorry for bringing it up. That was… needlessly cruel. It sucked.”

“It really did,” she replies, putting the book down. “Tell you what: that sounded somewhat genuine, and Goddard brought out the shit in all of us. You look so pathetic, I’m going to forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I don’t bear grudges. Not anymore.”

She holds out a hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you.”

“Wow. That actually hurt for you to say.”

Jacobi nods. He sits down across from her at Renée’s huge darkwood table, and thinks about how she and Dominick must have bought this when they moved in together with plans to have people over for dinner every other night. Maybe even plans to have kids.

He wonders if Dominick ate at it alone while his wife was gone.

“So, you gone on that holiday yet?”

“No, actually. I’ve legally been dead for about seven years, so getting a passport is proving pretty tricky.”

“I can imagine.”

“Where have you been, anyway? We tried to get into contact with you. We drove down to your old apartment - got your address from the Goddard database - but it was cleaned out.”

Jacobi looks sheepish. “Yeah, well, I’d mostly been staying at Alana’s for the last few years or overnight at… yeah… so I’d not been a very good tenant and turns out they took ‘lost in space’ as the perfect opportunity to kick me out. So I’ve been sofa to sofa, on the streets a bit-”

“For heaven’s sake, Jacobi. We would have helped you, you stupid asshole! All you had to do was ask and you could have stayed here! Renee and Dominick would probably even let you have a cheese collection or whatever the fuck it was.”

“Guess the amount of drinks it takes for me to lose my pride is somewhere over eighteen?”

“How do you have a functioning liver?”

They sit in an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes, Isabel reopening her sketchbook.

“I never knew you drew.”

“You never knew me outside of a life-threatening situation.” Isabel sighs, twists the pencil between her fingers. “I don’t think I did. Before. The old ‘me’, I mean. But I was bored and I can’t get a job because of the ‘being dead’ issue, so I thought I should take up a hobby or something. Might be therapeutic. I’m not very good at it…”

“Can I see?”

“I, uh,” Isabel suddenly looks uncertain. “I drew her. Maxwell. I drew everyone, actually. Are you sure you want to look?”

“Yes.”

He leafs through the pages, at first simple doodles before branching into full portraits. Eiffel, upside down and smoking a cigarette. Hilbert, looking troubled at a shadow behind him he can’t quite see. Two ghostlike figures in lab coats staring out at the star, the man with a prophetic terror etched on his face - must be Isabel’s old crewmates. Mr Cutter smiles up at him with far too many sharp teeth in sharper lines where the pencil was pressed far too hard and he turns the page quickly. There’s Kepler, mid-whiskey speech and it almost stops his heart. He pauses. Maxwell.

In the picture, her eyes are shining as she stares at Hera’s console, fingers nothing more than a blur - the three-day stint she spent trying to get the AI online. Aside from the orange and blue of Wolf 359, elsewhere in the book Isabel has barely used colour, but here the room is bathed in a serene green light from the screens. Behind Maxwell, Jacobi sees himself, little more than a stocky, sketchy outline, waiting for her to finish.

He looks so proud of her.

He looks so… content.

After staring for a long moment, Jacobi closes the book and hands it back. “Thank you.”

“You can keep the pictures of them, if you like,” Isabel offers, but he doesn’t know whether he would like, so he says:

“Tell me about your crew.”

“What?”

“Your old crew. Tell me about them. Was Lambert the one staring at...?”

“No. No. No, that was Kuan Hui, our senior astrophysicist. He was whipsmart and funny and fearless, until the time Goddard Futuristics played around in his brain, stretched out his perception of time. He was completely alone in the dark for two weeks. His smile never really reached his eyes after that.”

Jacobi sips tea awkwardly, even though it’s cold.

“Something like that, it stays with you. At least he had Fourier, though.”

“That’s the woman behind him?”

“Junior physicist. Victoire Fourier had eyes like stars. Cleverest person I’ve ever met. She played six instruments, spoke four languages and she had the most gentle soul. She used to read to Hui when he got sick with Decima. Coughed up every organ in his body. I thought it would break her, but she was made of stern stuff. She vanished off the space station in the final days and I still don’t know what exactly happened to her-”

“I… do. If you want to know, I mean.”

Isabel shakes her head. Then pauses. Then shakes her head again. “I get the feeling whoever is to blame is long gone.”

Jacobi shrugs. “Who else?”

“Well, there was Mace Fisher. Fisher… Fisher died because of me, not Goddard Futuristics. Asteroid shower tore him from my hands. He had a boyfriend waiting at home. He was sensitive, sensible, grounding. A real older brother type. I- I didn’t deal particularly well with his death. Well, you know that much.”

((Pill popper!)) Jacobi gulps more cold tea.

“And Lambert?”

“Sam Lambert. Officer Samuel Lambert had a stick up his ass. He was whiny, and authoritarian, and he treasured his copy of Pryce and Carter more than Reneé and Kepler combined did. He drove me nearly insane, and I drove him likewise. The best second in command you could ask for. A damn good man. Sam got sick after Hui, so we knew what was coming. What it meant. He was brave, though. At first.”

((“C-Captain, please shoot me, please, it hurts, it hurts, Captain, please, I just want it to-”)

She falters.

“Lovelace?”

“Yup?”

“You know, it’s not even really about the Hephaestus. I keep… it’s insane, but I keep thinking about… I was an explosives guy for the Air Force. Before Goddard. A trigger failed and two men died. Andrews and Sullivan. I haven’t thought about them in years and suddenly-“

“They’re everywhere?”

There’s a sudden understanding between them.

“They’re everywhere. Them and Maxwell and Kepler. They’re in mirrors, in the back of my brain, around corners.”

“Flashes of them.”

“And if you just reach out far enough, maybe-“

“Maybe-“

“Maybe.”

((let’s go be monsters)), Jacobi’s brain echoes. He grits his teeth.

“Did it stop for you? When does it stop?” He finds himself asking. Isabel doesn’t answer.

#wolf 359 #bad things happen bingo #Daniel Jacobi #isabel lovelace #w359

[prairiesongserial]

18.6

Friday was doing just fine. 

Val had gone to grab a couple of beers and returned to find her laughing, panting from exertion against John’s chest, as the last notes of a song vibrated in the air. She squeezed John’s hands, then whispered something in his ear, her eyes dancing.

Friday bounced back fast - Val had always admired that about her.

He watched her for a little while from the edge of the party, sipping idly on one of the beers, figuring she might notice eventually and come get her drink. John had to tap out after another dance, but by that time Friday had attracted the attention of one of the Good Guys. Val finished his beer. He had an itch to find Johannes.

He had progressed to picking the lock on Johannes’s trailer pretty fast, he supposed. He hadn’t been able to find Johannes at the party, and when Johannes didn’t even say anything when Val knocked, Val started imagining him slumped over the table next to a bottle of bourbon. In the moment, breaking in had seemed reasonable.

“I didn’t know you could pick locks,” Johannes said, his phone call finally over.

“I’m out of practice,” Val said. He’d locked himself out of the church last year, but besides that, he hadn’t done any breaking and entering since his and Valentine’s idea to open every door in the convent. They’d gotten bored after about the tenth closet. 

“How’s the plan coming?” Val asked.

“It’s coming,” Johannes said. He walked over to the big table that took up nearly the entire trailer and sat down heavily. “How good are you at forgery?”

Val took a seat across from him, watching Johannes down the beer Val had given him like it was water.

“Not good,” Val said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve never forged anything.”

“Well, I have, and it takes hours,” Johannes said. “Your indenture papers, for instance.” 

Johannes began to leaf through the papers on the table, but eventually gave up on trying to find them. “Eh, whatever. Point is, I made those, and they were fake. Just a tactic to get you guys to stay until it was too late to leave.”

“You really trust that I like you enough for that not to make an impact,” Val said, eyebrows raised.

Johannes raised his eyebrows right back, as if to say don’t you?

“Point is,” Johannes said. “I have a plan now. It’s going to take all night. And if you can’t forge a Canadian seal then you can at least keep me company.”

Val interpreted the petulance as the wrapping paper he knew it to be and took Johannes’s meaning.

“Sure, I’ll stay.”

Val got Johannes’s plan in bits and pieces over the course of several distracted hours. The table was cleared off, paper of different weights and textures was compared against Johannes’s collection of stolen documents. He had drawers of passports, visas, even letters of introduction.

The table began to accumulate new clutter as Johannes picked out what he’d need to draft the documents.

“I have no idea what Lady knows,” Johannes said. “I don’t know if Ezra told her we’re not planning to deliver. I’m 90% sure that Ezra wouldn’t completely fuck us, but if that 10% gets us killed…”

Johannes trailed off, got distracted, and never picked up the thread again. He was looking for a set of magnifying glasses.

A while later, when Johannes had settled back into his chair and begun transferring measurements from a passport to a blank page, he began to explain how a person got into Canada, where the official entrances were, and what was required to justify crossing the border.

“A passport like this costs thousands,” he said, his ruler sliding over the page. “If she was nice, Iris would meet us at the border with legitimate papers, but she’s not, so I have one night to create a convincing copy.”

“So we’re going to Canada?”

“It’s the obvious solution. We’re right by the border, and Lady won’t be able to murder us once we cross,” Johannes said. A spiderweb of pencil lines had taken form on the page. “We could run around the States forever - we could start running now - but Hemisphere is everywhere, and eventually, Lady wins. So, Canada. Hope they need a circus.”

Johannes didn’t seem happy with his plan - or maybe it was the effect of speaking through his focus.

Hours passed. Johannes talked the plan out in circles, until finally Val began to see the full picture. They weren’t going to stop for Lady at all. Confrontation would only cause trouble for Hamlin and the Good Guys. Instead, the circus would blow straight past the rendezvous spot to the border crossing, present their forged papers, and get out of town for good.

“I like your plan,” Val said, when he found a gap in the conversation.

“Wish I’d thought of it earlier, before we called in every favor we had getting my dad’s people and the Good Guys to schlep up to Maine,” Johannes muttered. “Grab me the silver foil, top drawer?”

Val got up and went to the cabinet that Johannes had pointed out. He’d done this several times tonight, fetching everything from special glues and paintbrushes to cigarettes and coffee.

Johannes groaned, pushing his hair out of his face and setting his pen down. “I don’t want to leave. I actually thought we could go back to the way things were after…you know. And that was never going to work. We’re a circus. We have firecrackers, not guns. Well, we have a few guns, but -”

He got up and began to pace the trailer. He had done this more than once over the last four hours as he cycled between determination and despair. It was best not to comment, Val had learned.

Val found the silver foil and returned to the table. He peered over at the travel papers Johannes had made up. They looked identical to the originals, except that they had the name of the circus and Johannes’s picture. At a glance, Val really couldn’t tell what the foil was supposed to be for. Of course, Val wasn’t a border agent.

“I just - this is our home,” Johannes ranted. “My family has been doing this route for decades - it never occurred to me that we would have to leave, even though of course Hemisphere would never let us stay in the States after what we’re about to do.” He laughed bitterly. “Can you believe - I had this idea that eventually we would go back to our route, and I’d get to show you what a real circus season is like. I thought we’d make New Orleans a regular…” 

Johannes stopped speaking abruptly. Val watched as his face turned red.

Val didn’t understand why, at first, but then the gears started to turn. He set the silver foil down.

“Because my family is in New Orleans?” he asked. “For me?”

Johannes was apparently at a loss for words - for once. He kept pacing, his face still burning. It made Val want to keep Johannes on the hook.

“You haven’t asked me to stay,” Val said. “Now that I know those indenture papers are fake, you’re going to have to convince me.”

“Of course they were fake, they were obviously fake - as soon as you knew about the plan to collect your bounties, the indentures had to be fake, you had to know they were just part of the whole… And John knew from the beginning. He nearly shot me, so we told him,” Johannes babbled, laughing in that manic way that meant he’d lost control over the situation. “You never really thought you were stuck with me, right?”

“Johannes, I forgot all about them,” Val said.

Johannes paused, staring at Val with his eyes round as saucers, hands in his hair, his clothes rumpled from sitting up all night.

“God, you’re teasing me,” Johannes said. He looked just about as tense as a piano wire. He kept meeting Val’s eyes and looking away again as he resumed pacing - like he was trying to figure out why.

Val nodded, biting his lip so he wouldn’t smile. He felt incredibly fond.

“I…I have to finish this,” Johannes said abruptly. He went back to his chair and started applying the silver foil like a man possessed.

“You don’t want to talk about New Orleans?” Val asked. He walked around to the same side of the table and sat down on the table itself, just to the side of Johannes’s work.

Johannes glanced at him, furrowed his brow, then returned to forging a seal.

“What’s to talk about? We’re going to Canada.”

“You might ask me to stay with you in Canada,” Val said, keeping his tone light and neutral.

Johannes didn’t flinch - he couldn’t, Val supposed, or he’d ruin the passport.

“Okay,” Johannes said, after a minute. He didn’t look up, but his brush stopped moving. “Will you come with us, in Canada?”

“I don’t know,” Val said. “I’ll have to see what John and Cody and Friday are planning on doing.” 

He jumped when Johannes slammed the tiny paintbrush down.

“Are you kidding me?” Johannes yelled. “What is happening right now? I haven’t slept, I have to finish this - ”

Val supposed he wasn’t being fair. He couldn’t expect Johannes to read his mind.

He slid off the table and hovered over Johannes, bending over nearly double so his face was even with his, just inches away.

“Then please,” Val whispered, “Finish already. Because dawn is in a couple of hours.”

He watched Johannes’s throat bob. He didn’t want to move, now that he had gone this far. If he sat back down, Johannes might go back to making that fucking passport, and the sun would come up, and they’d have to hold their breath and wait until Canada.

Val felt like he’d been holding his breath for a very long time.

“I’m sorry I teased y…” Val began, because one of them had to say something. He gasped as Johannes’s hands went up his shirt. Johannes’s warm, dry palms slid over his sides, squeezing slightly, then spreading his fingers. He stared up at Val with a look that made Val’s hair stand up.

Val bent down and kissed him. Johannes kissed him back, matching Val’s intensity. His hands slid up Val’s back, pulling him closer and kissing him harder, until both of them were out of breath.

Val broke the kiss as he felt his mutant arms slipping free of the sleeves Johannes had sewn for them. Johannes was unbuttoning his shirt, then moving his hands up Val’s stomach.

“So you’ll come with me?” Johannes asked, grinning. “You’ll follow me across Canada wherever I go?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Val said. He gasped a quiet “Oh my God,” as he felt the hand of one of his mutant arms close around one of Johannes’s fingers. It held on gently, even as Johannes moved his hand.

He couldn’t look at Johannes’s face, but Johannes seemed to get the point.

Johannes pulled him down into his lap. He whispered in Val’s ear, and Val nodded, his face on fire.

18.5 || 18.7

#story

[cinebration]

Written in DNA (Booker x Reader) [Part 5]

An incident occurs at the motel.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue

Tagged: @lucy-sky​, @city-of-weird​, @all-the-right-regrets

Warnings: none

Gif Source: sonsofeorl

You showered while Booker worked on the passport. It was slow going, given the lack of tools, but he made progress nonetheless.

Something about the work grounded him. Doing something had an effect, though he tried to ignore its significance.

He was thinking about the 7-Eleven he had seen on the way in. He had enough cash on hand for exactly one bottle of the brown stuff.

He just had to be patient.

It didn’t help he was so thirsty his hands shook, threatening to butcher the forgery.

Useless.

By the time Booker decided the thirst was too great, you emerged from the bathroom, thwarting him. Gritting his teeth, he noted duly that you had slipped back into the clothes you had been wearing. They were like grey scrubs, now that he looked at them.

Clinical, they seemed. Uniform, stripping away individuality.

You caught him staring. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“You need new clothes.”

“No kidding.” Flopping onto the bed, you say up against the headboard and pulled open the bedside table’s drawer. You pulled out the Gideon Bible therein and cracked it open.

Booker sat slumped in his chair and watched you read it for a few minutes, wondering yet again how Quynh had known about you and why she needed you.

“Are you the only one?”

You peered over the book at him. For a moment, it seemed like you wouldn’t answer. The muscle in your jaw jumped as you ground your teeth, deciding.

“I answered you,” Booker pressed. “Only fair that you answer me.”

“I would if I could,” you mumbled, dropping your attention back to the page. Your eyes didn’t move, however, fixating on one spot. “It is a logical assumption that I am not the only one. Whether or not I am the only successful one remains to be seen.”

“You never met any others?”

“No.”

The carefully controlled yet still pained look on your face reminded Booker of Andy. How long had she been alone before finding Quynh? Centuries, if not longer.

Thinking of her and Quynh made Booker’s stomach churn. He needed a drink, and he needed it now.

“I’m going to sleep,” you announced. Placing the bible back in its drawer, you rolled over and immediately fell asleep.

Booker waited twenty minutes before sneaking out of the room. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he did his best to saunter over to the 7-Eleven, trying not to give away his desperate need. The skin on the nape of his neck crawled the further he walked from the motel, as though eyes were following him. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to identify the source.

Nothing.

The withdrawal had to be hitting him hard for him to be imagining surveillance. He ducked his head and hurried to the store, his gummy mouth already anticipating sweet liquid relief.

~~

The SUV rolled silently to a stop two streets over, headlights doused to avoid drawing attention. The doors immediately opened, disgorging dark figures from the vehicle’s bowels. They moved quietly, their footsteps making only faint crunching noises beneath their rubber soles as they moved across pavements and sidewalk.

Hawkins, at the head of the group, slowed, consulting the device in his hand. A small green dot blinked steadily toward the north. His north star, he considered it, guiding him to the target.

Orders stipulated that the target be apprehended alive. Harm was acceptable so long as it wasn’t lasting damage.

Hawkins, along with his men, carried riot-control shotguns in their hands, the metal painted matte black to reflect as little light as possible. Equipped with bean-bag rounds, the shotguns would damage and subdue the target.

Attached to Hawkins’s hip was a bowie knife. Orders had said the target was lethal close-range.

He led his team to the back of the motel until they were nearly atop the blinking light. Positioning themselves around the window of the target’s room, they waited. Hawkins motioned to four of his men to follow him around to the front of the same room.

His second-in-command shot out the streetlight illuminating the nearby sidewalk, plunging them into more darkness. Clouds scuttled across the moon, minimizing the moonlight much to Hawkins’s relief. The evening wasn’t late enough and the motel wasn’t far enough away from the main street to ensure they wouldn’t have witnesses, but the intermittent shadows helped.

The blinking light remained stationary. Turning off the device, Hawkins motioned his second forward. The man carried a handheld battering ram.

They waited.

The sound of shattering glass was their cue. The flashbang went off, blinding the room in light and sound.

Hawkins’s second smashed open the door. Hawkins and his team poured inside, sweeping the room with their shotguns. Three of his men climbed in through the window, closing in on the target.

The bed was empty.

Alarms rang in Hawkins’s head. He swung around, trying to decipher where the target could be.

A shape moved in the semi-darkness.

~~

Booker took his time returning to the room, not wanting to stumble inside with the whiskey bottle in hand. Instead, he pulled at it frequently, dousing his senses in the alcohol, and told himself he would hide what remained of the bottle in the car.

He soon found himself with an empty bottle. He cursed himself inwardly and tossed it away down the darkened street, managing to sink it in the nearby outdoor trash can. It smashed into pieces, but at least the glass remained inside the container.

Fumbling with his key, Booker went to let himself into the room. He glanced aside at the adjacent one.

The door was smashed, hanging ajar from a destroyed doorjamb. Booker yanked out his handgun, suddenly sober. He pushed the other door open with his shoulder, swept the room.

Chaos.

He counted seven men lying down in puddles of their own blood, heads and arms and legs twisted.

And you standing in the center of them, blood running down your hands and off the bowie knives in both of them. A flat, expressionless look fixed itself on your face as you surveyed your work.

“We have to move,” you informed him.

He lowered his gun, met your impassive expression. You brushed past him, leaving him alone with the corpses.

#Booker x Reader #Booker #Booker imagine #Sebastien le Livre x Reader #Sebastien le Livre #Sebastien le Livre imagine #Matthias Schoenaerts x Reader #Matthias Schoenaerts #Matthias Schoenaerts imagine #The Old Guard

[qqueenofhades]

my sister also moved this week, its such a mental and physical hassle. hopefully your move went/is going well!!

at least we can just imagine PEL! fivan also having a disaster move in Moscow/Brighton Beach as a coping mechanism (if we have to suffer so do our faves)

The customs line at New York JFK is a mile long, has not moved for almost an hour, and the reek of hot, tired travelers, as babies scream and people shuffle papers passive-aggressively, as if this will magically make more agents appear and stamp the damn things, is almost overwhelming. Fedyor wipes his forehead again and shifts restlessly from foot to foot, staring balefully at the whopping two whole booths which are currently open. It’s August, it’s hot, he didn’t nap much on the plane, and his sweat is dripping stingingly into his eyes. His phone doesn’t work and it won’t until he gets an American SIM card, which he can’t do until he gets out of this fucking line. Which, by all appearances, may be literally never.

Next to him, Ivan looks even more stressed out. It’s how he’s looked ever since they landed, and Fedyor doesn’t blame him. Ivan can follow a conversation in English, sort of, if the other person is speaking slowly, but absolutely nobody in New York does that. Likewise, he can barely read it, and so this is an incoherent, cacophonous, wall-to-wall barrage of America, the first time Ivan has set foot in the West and already has no option but to stay here. Shuffle, shuffle. Wow! One whole meter forward! Someone call the newspapers!

At long miserably last, they get to the front of the line, and hand over their Russian passports, helpfully opened to the visa page. They have just temporary visitor visas for now; they had to pay through the nose to get them expedited, and they’re lucky that Fedyor had enough money saved to afford it. His parents have grudgingly agreed to ship over his stuff, and since that’s as close as they have ever gotten to approving both his relationship with Ivan and his decision to leave Russia, Fedyor is not ungrateful. Once, you know, they have an actual address to send it to. They have a lawyer, or rather a law student (though Nikolai Lantsov is a name to conjure with, no matter the technicalities of his employment status) who has promised to help them, a friend of a friend of a friend in the Russian community of Brighton Beach who has offered ditto, and a booking in a downtown Manhattan hotel for the next week. After that – well, who knows. Hopefully something works out. That, or –

“Mr. Kaminsky, Mr. Sakharov,” the ICE agent says, reading their passports. (Of course he pronounces it wrong, Sack-a-roff instead of Sa-hha-rov.) “How long are you planning to be in the United States of America?”

“We’re…” Fedyor is the one who has to do the talking, and though he has faced down Kremlin agitators and Russian riot police and God knows what else without turning a hair, he’s freaking out. “We’re in the process of applying for asylum, actually. So it’s not clear.”

The ICE agent eyes them up and down, as if trying to judge what their reasons for claiming asylum might possibly be. Ivan is tense from head to foot, and hopefully does not look like a Chechen terrorist trying to sneak in past the noble guardians of American sovereignty. Fedyor knows that he hates this with his entire being, throwing himself on their mercy, even if he agreed to do this and to come here. He pulls out the letter. “This is from Nikolai Lantsov, at Hyde Perrier Claremont LLC in Manhattan. It explains our situation.”

The ICE agent takes it and scans it, looking bored. Ivan’s tension, if possible, increases. He theoretically knows that they’re not about to be arrested for being gay here (though any other reason is certainly possible) but the idea of just letting this officious, bureaucratic stranger know, just like that – what the hell. It’s completely insane. Impossible. They can’t get in, Fedyor thinks suddenly, forcing down a sick surge of panic. They’re going to have to turn right around and return to Russia. Their visitor visas are valid, but after that –

“Here.” Fedyor sounds too nervous, too solicitous, as he passes over the letter of invitation from the president of the Russian Citizens of Brooklyn Neighborhood Alliance. “This too.”

The document is likewise collected. The ICE agent reads, taking his sweet time, as the line shifts and sighs and stamps behind them. He holds up each passport and compares the photo to Fedyor and Ivan, asks them to confirm their date and place of birth, and then finally, stamps his approval cursorily onto each temporary visa. “Welcome to the United States.”

Trying not to shake too visibly with relief, Fedyor and Ivan take back their passports, thank him, step through the control point, and head down to baggage claim, checking screens to see which one has Aeroflot 102 from Sheremetyevo. It takes a while until their suitcases appear, they haul them off, and finally, after using the restroom and refilling their water bottles, step out into the sweaty evening, alive with honking taxis, jostling buses, droning recorded announcements, rental-car shuttles, rideshares, and other madness. Ivan looks like he’s overloading, and Fedyor grabs his arm. “Vanya, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Ivan takes a deep breath. “Yes, I am.”

“Just a little longer,” Fedyor promises. “Then we can sleep.”

He takes charge of hailing them a taxi, and the guy pulls over, loads their stuff into the boot, and starts the meter, as they pull out and almost immediately come to a dead stop on Grand Central Parkway. It’s the height of city rush hour, and once again, they are reduced to creeping forward a few feet at a time. Planes roar low overhead, landing and taking off from JFK and LaGuardia, and the driver has the Mets game on the radio, the air conditioner cranked up to bone-chilling levels. Hearing Ivan ask Fedyor how long this is going to take, he says, “Where is it you guys are from?”

“Uh,” Fedyor says. “Russia.”

“Huh. Nice there?”

“I guess.” Fedyor unaccountably chokes up. He is settled in his decision to leave, but right then, he misses it so desolately that it seems impossible to bear. “Yeah.”

At least the cab driver doesn’t care much aside from that – in this job, you meet people from all over the world – and once they inch through the toll plaza and onto Robert F. Kennedy Bridge, they move consistently, if slowly. Fedyor glances in every direction at their new home, trying to see as much of it as he can, to make it familiar. He’s only been to America once, during his final year at MSU when they visited Washington D.C., and this is plenty new for him too. Finally the driver pulls up at their hotel, they get out, and Fedyor pays him in cash, with a nice tip. “Thank you,” he says, as Ivan silently unloads their suitcases, in the honking, flashing, noisy, whirring, chugging ambiance of the city around them, the sweat and heat and hustle of lower Manhattan. “Have a good night.”

The driver thanks him, climbs back into his cab, and drives away, and Ivan and Fedyor step inside to check in. They collect their key and ride up in the elevator, and find that their room has a decent view of midtown, the glittering skyscrapers and the iconic needle of the Empire State Building. Ivan throws his bag down on the floor and collapses on the bed without another word, eyes closed. Fedyor pauses, then goes over and curls up next to him.

At once, Ivan shifts so he can pull him closer, and Fedyor buries his face in his neck. Muffled, he says, “Are we totally crazy?”

“Maybe,” Ivan admits. “But either way, Fedya. I’m glad that I’m with you.”

#heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #pel asks #a phantom in enchanting light #anonymous #ask #(and thanks) #(we are super definitely for real leaving tomorrow so we have to pack and clean AGAIN tonight) #then two days of driving and more camping #welp? #moving is the worst truly

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time-Ch 5

I'm back! lots of things to come, and a slightly longer, Tim centered, chapter! and...the build-up to the Timari subplot! 

Yay!

 I know that is what everyone is actually here for lol.

Tim was tired of looking for Jason.

He wasn’t at any of his normal safe houses, and none of his usual contacts had heard from him in the last few weeks. Three weeks after the ridiculous scandal had broken, the press had all but forgotten Tim for the time being. As he ducked through alleyways, the teen couldn’t help but be thankful as he climbed back on his bike and sped back towards Wayne Manor.

He was done waiting for his brother to show up. There was something sketchy going on in their city, and if Jason wasn’t going to show up, then it was no longer his concern.

When he got home, Tim found Bruce waiting for him in the study looking over the side gardens. The older C.E.O.’s face was grim.

When Tim approached the desk, Bruce handed him a stack of papers. As Tim started to page through them, he had a flashback to when Jared Stone had brought the pile of tabloids.

As he flipped through the new stack, Tim realized that it was Jason’s credit card statement. And-was that…? “did he buy a ticket for Paris? Why didn’t we get notified about his passport passing through customs? Why is Jason in France of all places?” when he looks back at his adoptive father, the man’s face was grim.

“I don’t know, Tim. But we sure as hell are going to find out. Go to his apartment. I know you have a key. We need to see if he left anything out from before he left.” Bruce paused before adding, “he’s been gone for two weeks. There has to be a reason.” Tim nodded as he moved to stride from the room before Alfred spoke, shocking both Bruce and Tim.

“Maser Bruce, did you by chance call Master Jason? Last I remember, his cell phone was still working.” The father and son froze, before turning to the family Butler, slack-jawed.

“We really are stupid.”

 Damian didn’t see anything wrong with Todd being gone. It was quieter around the Manor and it meant that the 13-year-old was allowed to patrol through Crime Alley by himself, something none of his predecessors had been able to do at his age.

As the young teen flew over the city, his mind raced. He found this the most relaxing part of his time with his father.

At the manor, there was always something going on and there was always someone looking over his shoulder. Here, as he went rooftop to rooftop, arching over this city, the boy was able to finally find some peace.

A sound over his earpiece broke Robin from his quiet elation. “Robin, how are you doing? Is everything clear?” oracle’s voice filtered through, bringing him to relax. Oracle he could handle.

“it’s a regular night, Oracle. A few of the regulars. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“perfect. Finish up and head back, B wants you back before 2 because you have school tomorrow.”

The annoyed “Tch” that came down the line made the redhead laugh from where she sat at the computer.

 Tim had texted Jason before he had left for patrol. When he got back, there was a response waiting for him.

Jason: in Paris. I’ll be back soonish

Tim: Jay, what’s soonish?

Tim: there’s a situation we need your help with.

Jason: kid, I'll be back when I can.

Jason: if B cares, tell him Gina kidnapped me. I’m staying with her right now.

Jason: otherwise, just wait. It's personal business.

Tim: Jay, we are your family. Doesn’t that make it our business too?

Jason: in this case, no. fuck off, replacement

Tim: See you when you get back Jay

 The teen sighed. It was just like Jason to try and handle everything himself. This time, Tim couldn’t play interference either, he was stuck across an ocean. He just hoped this Gina person wasn’t as impulsive as his older brother. If she was, they would all be in trouble.

 As he made his way to his room, having showered and gotten himself ready for the next day, Tim paused by his desk.

He had taken the time to compile a file on the girl from a few weeks ago but hadn’t read it yet. He knew that if he was to read it, it would be violating her privacy, but he did that every day, so was this any different? To Tim, the only difference was that this girl wasn’t someone to watch or take in. she was just a normal girl with a normal life, who had run into him for a split second.

It wasn’t like he was going to meet her, right?

The teen shook his head and flopped onto his bed. It wasn’t worth it tonight. He could have the moral debate with himself when he was properly rested.

 Maybe he should have called in sick. Tim was definitely finding a way to leave early, as he looked at the list of meetings that he had been scheduled for.

Why had he agreed to this again? He could have sworn that he had told his assistant that Wednesday was his day to go home and work on his college classes. Instead, Tim had a feeling that he was going to be at the office late.

On his off night too.

 Partway through the day, he noticed an email that he didn’t recognize in his personal inbox. The inbox that he probably shouldn’t have been checking on the company computer but…

After a moment of hesitation, the young C.E.O. had clicked on the new email and blinked at what pulled up.

  From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Mr. Drake,

My name is Marinette Dupain Cheng. I believe that we ran into each other quite literally a month and a half ago, approximately. As I am sure that you have at least seen the fictitious stories floating through the media, I assume that you are aware of the interaction that I am referring to.

Originally, I had no intention of reaching out, but a friend of mine encouraged me to reach out. (had actually was the one to give me your email. Does the name Jason Todd ring a bell?) I do hope that this whole press fiasco hasn’t hindered you too terribly.

Kindest Regards,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Tim blinked once before rereading the short email that the girl had sent. No. no way. She knew Jason? And what did she mean, Jason was the one to encourage her to reach out? Opening up a new draft, Tim hesitated before flicking his wrists to rid himself of tension and trying his reply.

 From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Miss Dupain Cheng,

I was surprised to receive your email, but it seems that it came at a fortunate time. Yes, I do know Jason Todd. I know him quite well, actually. He and I were adopted by the same man, Bruce Wayne. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet my brother?

I must apologize, for the whole scandal from last month. I know that neither of us were directly responsible, but I do feel bad for any trouble it may have caused you. If it is not too much of an intrusion, I might also ask, how were you able to respond so quickly? The only reason I knew about the incident was Bruce’s old friend Jared. The man came into my office in a fit about the nerve of the photographer.

(if you ever meet the man, you will understand what I mean when I say that he never does things halfway. He had picked up a copy of every magazine or tabloid that ran a story about it. When he came in, he actually brought his crocodile as well. Fang scared the lobby staff more than anything has for the past bit, I believe.)

I hope this finds you well,

Timothy Drake Wayne

 After reading through his email one more time to make sure it sounded professional enough, Tim hit the send button and let out a deep breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that this was the start of something important.

Suddenly, Tim was very glad he hadn’t read the girl’s file.

 As he was preparing to head to yet another meeting later that afternoon, Tim glanced at his personal email again. To his surprise, the teen was met with another email from the French girl.

 From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Mr. Drake (or is it Drake Wayne?)

Jason was sitting next to me when I opened your last email. Imagine my surprise when he panicked. Apparently, he had decided against informing any of his family of his departure. I must say, his reaction was quite entertaining.

Onto your question from your email, Penny Rolling, a good friend of mine, dropped off a box full of the tabloid trash that her husband, Jagged had shipped to her as soon as she got it. After my initial reaction, the two of us got a good laugh out of the whole situation. Especially when we heard that Jagged tried to bring Fang into your office! I guess to you, he would be Jared, but to me, he will always be my Uncle Jagged.

In other news, I thought it would be polite to pass on that Jason will be returning in the next few days. He has been fretting over a family emergency, not that he will tell me what it is but, there is only so much I can do. However, I thought it might be prudent to forewarn you that he will be bringing my grandmother back with him. Nona said it was something to do with one of his ‘side hustles’. Knowing those two, however, makes me think that Jason has gotten himself into something significantly illegal this time.

No need to apologize for something that neither of us could control! You did not ask for the photographer to take that ridiculous photo, nor did you ask for the fiction writers who work for the tabloids to write a piece of the photo. That said, I do feel that it has opened many new avenues. I know that Jason and I reconnected because of the photo, and it has given my lawyers something to focus on while we wait on proceedings for other matters.

Have a good day,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Jason was coming home sooner than he planned. It seemed like Tim’s text had actually gotten through to his older brother.

With a sigh, he marked the email as important so that he would remember to respond to it before he started on his homework.

The teen C.E.O. snagged his thermos of coffee on the way out the door, he had a meeting to go to.

And...there it is! this week I'm going to try and work out my posting schedule. what did everyone think of the emails?

  i know that there are a lot more people in the Wayne/bat family, so I'm going to work them in a little bit at a time. as far as Dick Grayson is concerned, btw he knows about the scandal but not about Jason's sister or that he's not in Gotham.

MasterPost

Tag List

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter 

@trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh @m0chick0furan @susiej1118@t1dwarrior-of-earth

#a moment in time fic #miraculous ladybug #ml x dc #mlb #timari #timinette #sibling!jasonette #Cat!marinette

[raindancer2004]

Alec and his Cinderella

Word Count: 3,195 Alec x reader Part One Warnings: Alec is aged up. Fluff, Angst

Alec was sitting his room reading although he wasn’t enjoying the book; having read it many times before. He came to the realisation that he was bored; he needed a change of scenery, something new to do but he wasn’t sure what. “Are you ok brother?” Jane asked “You’ve been looking at the same page for ten minutes” Alec didn’t answer her right away “I’m just…a little bored. I mean I’ve read this book many times before….” “Well of course it’s your favourite” Jane cut him off “I know…but…oh I don’t know…” He ran his fingers through his hair “I suppose I’m…bored. We haven’t had a mission in weeks” Alec continued, Jane nodded “I didn’t realise it had been that long brother.”

Aro called a meeting with the elite guard “Thank you for coming dear ones. My brothers and I have something we would like to discuss with you. Renesmee is now fully grown and has requested the chance to go out into the human world; attend High School, see what it’s like but doesn’t wish to do so with her family. She got in touch to ask if it was ok for her to do so seeing as her father told Caius that he would keep her hidden from the human world” “Glad to see one of the Cullen children has a brain cell” Caius said snidely, causing the guards to smirk; Aro rolled his eyes at his brother and continued “She has agreed that one of you accompany her instead. I just need a volunteer” “No chance” Felix mumbled “I’ll go master. I think a change of scenery will be good” Alec replied “Fancy your chances with her do you?” Demetri asked winking at Alec “Oh yeah totally” Alec replied sarcastically and rolling his eyes.

“Will you be coming too sister?” “No. I couldn’t possibly leave Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum on their own for that length of time, imagine the chaos” Jane replied nodding in Demetri and Felix’s direction “Ha…I do love the affectionate nicknames you give each other” Aro said smiling “I doubt he’d say that if he knew some of the names we call her” Felix said low to Demetri, who choked back a laugh.

“That’s settled then Alec will be going to forks and the three of you will stay here and cover his duties. Although I might get Afton to cover Alec’s guard duties” Caius said with a wicked smile. “How soon do I need to be in Forks?” Alec asked “In a rush to see her are we?” Felix asked grinning “Grow up” Alec glared him. “You can leave as soon as you are ready, my boy” Aro answered “Give our best wishes to them won’t you Alec” Marcus said low “Of course master” He replied and returned to his room to pack.

Sometime later Demetri, Jane and Felix stopped by “So how come you volunteered so quick to go High School? I thought you hated humans” Demetri asked “Not to mention the Cullens” Felix added “I came to the realisation recently that I am bored and would like a change of scenery…and well this will provide me with that” Alec answered “Rather you than me mate…I mean the Cullens are bad enough but to be around that Dog all the time, no thanks” Felix said scrunching up his nose at the thought of the Wolf pack. “Just remember you have to play nice with the humans Alec…They’re your friends now so that means you cannot eat them” Demetri says smirking pointing his index finger at him; Felix and Jane cant help laughing “Get bent” Alec growled “Really sister?” He asked turning to face her “I’m sorry but that was funny, it was like weird dad advice” She said giggling “Don’t eat your friends…ha” She continued to laugh “If you need me to attend parent / teacher conferences, you only have to call” Demetri added smiling, Jane was practically doubled over with laughter “Can you…i-imagine it…Demetri attend-attending…those meetings...he’d flirt with all your teachers” “At least Alec would get good grades then” Felix added laughing “Thank you so much for your support in this…it’s truly overwhelming” Alec said not sounding amused “Sorry brother…you have my full support…honest” Jane said trying to sound serious now “Yes…you have my full support too…son” Demetri smiled and gave Alec a playful wink. “Mine too” Felix adds.

A few days Alec arrived in Forks, Esme collecting him from the airport “Hello Alec. It’s nice to see you. I trust you had a good flight?” She asked him “Hello Mrs Cullen. It’s nice to see you too. The flight was ok if you don’t count the child that spent half the flight crying and screaming” He replied “Sorry to hear that. No need for Mrs Cullen, you can call me Esme” “Thank you Mrs…Esme” He replied “We have set you up in Edward’s old room, there’s a bookcase full of books, a desk even a TV and a bed, should you wish to relax in your own space” She told him with a smile “Thank you for letting me stay with you” “You’re very welcome Alec. It’s the least we can do seeing as you are helping out Renesmee. I do have to tell you though there is one rule that must be followed during your stay. You aren’t allowed to…satisfy your dietary requirements shall we say in Forks. You will need to leave the city for that” “I understand…we have a similar rule back home…Volterra is out of bounds when it comes to...satisfying our dietary requirement” Alec responds.

Esme pulls up on the drive and sees Renesmee waiting for them “I should warn you Renesmee is really excited you’re here so…be prepared for a hug” Alec nods ‘surely she wouldn’t’ he thought to himself. “Alec! You’re here” Renesmee calls out; running and wrapping her arms around his neck giving him a hug, Alec hesitantly wraps his arms around her waist “Told you” Esme says smiling as she walks past them. “Ha…you owe me $10 Jas” Emmett calls out laughing.

That night Carlisle, Esme, Alice and Jasper sat in the family room with Alec and explained the cover story the school were told regarding himself and Renesmee. “It has been several years since any of our children have attended the school here; so we had to come with a plausible cover you and Ness, especially as no one really knows about her and I still work at the local hospital” Carlisle began, Alec nodded “Just a bit background for you first regarding us. Jasper poses as Rosalie’s twin and they use her last name Hale and it is known that they are the niece and nephew of Esme’s late brother. Emmett, Alice and Edward all use the name Cullen as Esme and I adopted them” Carlisle added. “Ok, so how do Renesmee and I fit into the family?” Alec asked “So Jasper had the idea that you and Ness should pose as siblings and use his last name of Whitlock. You would be the Carlisle’s niece and nephew and after losing your parents recently you have come to live with us” Esme explained. “That sounds alright actually. You’re good at this” Alec smiled. “Oh and we thought it would make sense if you and Ness were twins so you’d be in the same year at school” Alice added smiling “I have your new ID too courtesy of a friend” Jasper said handing Alec a birth certificate and passport “Thank you Jasper”

The day before school starts Renesmee pays Alec a visit “I’m going to hunting, would you like to come?” She asked him “You mean animals?” He asked in return his nose wrinkling at the thought “Not necessarily…I mean prefer your diet to ours…so I game either way” She smiled and he noticed the mischievous glint in her eyes “As much as I’d love that, I do not think your family would approve of you switching to my diet during my stay” Alec answered “Well then that means you can try our diet during your stay. Come on I’ll show you how to hunt animals” She sounded excited at the thought of showing someone how to hunt so he didn’t tell her that he had hunted animals previously on a mission albeit decades ago.

“Oh my god! You were so fast and you took down that Mountain Lion quicker than dad usually does” Ness said grinning as she and Alec entered the house “You taught me well Ness” Alec praised her “Thank you Alec” Edward chuckled having read Alec’s thoughts that he had hunted animals before but he appreciated Alec’s little lie and the hunting trip had helped them bond a little.

“Where have you been? Why are you with him?” Jake almost growled giving Alec a disgusted look “Shit” Emmett said from upstairs “Get lost Jake. Where I go and who with is none of your business” Ness replied “Come on Alec” She grabbed his hand and went to walk around Jake but he side stepped blocking her path “That is where you are wrong. It is my business” Jake raised his voice and before Ness knew what was happening Alec pushed her behind him and squared up to Jake “You have a problem with Ness, you have a problem with me! And for the record Ness doesn’t report to you, she can do whatever she likes. NOW MOVE!” Alec growled and stood his ground ready to defend Ness if needed, after all she was his ‘sister’ and no one was going to hurt her. Jake snarled at Alec and began shaking “Take it outside Jake!” Jasper warned from the top of the stairs “Don’t make me tell you a second time” “FINE!” Jake shoved past Alec on the way out “This isn’t over” He mumbled as he slammed the door behind him. “Thank you Alec” Ness said low “You’re welcome. Come on you promised me a movie night remember” Alec replied walking upstairs and Ness followed.

“I didn’t expect him to protect Ness like that” Emmett said to Jasper and Edward “Posing as siblings is easier if you think of one another as siblings” Edward replied “You mean he…he thinks of her a sister?” Jasper asked “Kind of. Think of it like this he is so used to having Jane around and doing things with her and although he knows she can take care of herself, he still protects and defends her. He has fallen into that brotherly role easily with Ness because A) she is alot younger than he is B) he didn’t like the way Jake spoke to her and C) he’s unsure if Ness could fully defend herself against Jake’s wolf form if she was ever put in that situation” Edward answered. “It’s a good thing he’s here then, maybe Jake will back off and respect her decision” Jasper replied.

Alec and Renesmee start High School the following week, the start of a new school year and Alec was surprised to discover that he was excited about this new venture. Although he missed Jane it was nice having Ness around and he had to admit he liked her company. Her view on things, on life was different; refreshing, as she was seeing everything for the first time, experiencing everything for the time and he had become fascinated by her and her reaction to the world. Ness introduced him to the world of Disney and the many princesses that lived within it. He decided to introduce Jane to the world of Disney once he was back at the castle.

The atmosphere at the Cullen house was quite relaxed compared to the castle; it definitely had a ‘family home’ vibe that he got used to very quickly, Esme and Carlisle making him feel as though he was part of their family from day one. He got along with Jasper easily as they would talk about history for hours; exchanging ‘war stories’ at times too. Emmett and Alec bonded over Emmett’s computer games; Alec would often beat him at Mario Cart, but would lose to him when playing Killer Instinct. Alice reminded him of Jane when it came to her knowledge of fashion trends; the season’s newest colours, her love of shopping and having her nails painted. Rosalie taught Alec about cars and he was amazed by her knowledge and love of them.

The first term of school went by rather quickly; Alec and Ness joined the chess team and Alec is elected the team captain. They both scored top marks in their ‘team project’ for history; Alec having been around during that time gave them an advantage.

They went to a school field trip to the Seattle Museum; something Alec and Ness found interesting and amusing “Hey, I’ve just realised something” Ness said low to Alec; who raised an eyebrow at her “You’re probably older than some of the exhibits Alec” Ness whispered “Are you saying I’m old?” “No not at all Alec…I’m saying you’re ancient” Ness said laughing “You say ancient, I say experienced, young one” Alec replied smiling “Young one? – Ha. You’re funny Alec” Ness responded.

A few days later Jake arrived at the Cullen house whilst everyone was out except for Alec and Ness “Ness! Ness! Where are you?” Jake yelled as he made his way through the house; Ness purposely ignoring him “So Alec, I’m struggling with question four, can you please explain it?” Ness asked as she and Alec were doing their homework together. “Of course. So…” “What the hell Ness? Did you not hear me call you?” Jake cut off Alec “And why are you here with him?” “I did hear you call and I chose to ignore you and what does it look like I’m doing?” Ness replied “Don’t take that tone with me!” Jake growled out “You should be at home not here” “You don’t own me Jacob and I don’t have to answer to you” Ness replied “That is where you are wrong! You belong to ME” He growled getting closer to her “And I forbid you to spend time with him outside of school. Is that clear?!” Ness didn’t answer “IS THAT CLEAR?!” He growled louder, mere inches from Ness when black mist swirled around him removing all of his senses but one – hearing “Listen to me Jake. Ness doesn’t belong to you, she doesn’t belong to anyone. Ness can do what she wants, when she wants and with whomever she wants. If you ever speak to her that way again I will RIP you to pieces and burn them. Is that understood…DOG?!” Alec got louder as he spoke. “Ness doesn’t want you. You should leave…NOW!” Alec added calmly but authoratively and returned Jake’s senses; Jake was preparing to lunge at Ness but Alec was quicker he pushed Ness out of the way and threw Jake across the room. Jake crashed through the glass balcony doors and landed in a heap outside, right at Emmett’s feet. “I think that means you’re not welcome here Jake” Emmett smirks as he steps over him making his way inside. Carlisle and Esme flash to Alec’s room to find Ness crying and being in Alec’s arms “You’re ok…I’ve got you. You’re safe…I promise” Alec whispered and tightened his hold on her. Carlisle and Esme took a seat on the bed and Alec filled them on Jake’s visit and apologised for the damage to the doors.

The High School decided to throw a ‘Winter Masquerade Ball’ with the emphasis on being the ‘mystery behind the mask.’ As ball got nearer, Alec and Ness went shopping for their outfits and masks. Ness picked a deep purple sleeveless floor length dress, a purple and black mask, and a pair of black shoes. Alec chose a dark grey suit with a deep purple shirt, a light grey tie and black shoes. His mask was black and grey. “I’m really excited, I’ve never been to a ball before” Ness said grinning ear to ear “I must admit it has been a long time since I attended a ball. The masters used to hold them regularly at the castle, but there hasn’t been one in quite some time” He told her.

Y/N attends the ‘Winter Masquerade Ball’ at the High School and Alec noticed her the moment she entered the school hall dressed in a pink sleeveless prom dress with white flowers scattered over the dress with a pink and silver mask. “Sorry Alec, am I keeping you from something or someone?” Renesmee asked with a smile when she noticed him look over shoulder towards the door “No…I…Er…What was you saying?” Alec responded “I was just asking if you think you’ll dance with anyone here tonight?” Renesmee replied “Well…erm…a girl in a pink dress just came in on her own, so I could ask her…but what about you?” “Go ask her to dance, I’ll be ok. I can ask Matt from English class” Ness replied “Thank you Ness. How will you which one is Matt, the whole point of tonight is the ‘mystery behind the mask’?” Alec asked curious “I heard Matt tell Lee what colour mask he’ll be wearing” Ness replied.

Alec approached the girl in the pink dress “Would you like to dance?” He smiled and held his hand out to her. “That’d be nice thank you” Y/N placed her hand in his and he led them to the dance floor.

They danced and spoke to one another throughout the night; never exchanging names. Alec found himself becoming intrigued by her; the way she moved elegantly around the dance floor with him, the warmth he felt holding her in his arms during the slow songs, her voice was soft and her laugh was quickly becoming his new favourite sound. “Would you like a drink?” He asked her “Yes, please a drink sounds good” She replied “Wait here. I’ll be right back” Alec made his way to the drinks table and got the girl a drink, making himself one too. He turned and started to make his way back to her when he saw her look at the clock and then turn and run from the room. Alec set the drinks down on a table of full of teenagers and followed her out; being careful to run at a human speed. He couldn’t see her; she had disappeared before he was able to say goodnight, before he could get her name or number, something he was going to do at the end of the Ball. He tried to pick up her scent, follow her to ensure she got home safe but that’s when he realised that he hadn’t recognised her scent whilst dancing with her, so that meant they didn’t have any classes together. ‘wait she had no scent, not one I can remember anyway’ he thought to himself. He felt frustrated as he had never felt so at peace around a human before and now he’s lost her;  the only reminder that she was real, the only clue he had to try and find her was a silver shoe she left behind as she ran off into the night.

#alec volturi #jane volturi #demetri volturi #felix volturi #aro volturi #caius volturi #marcus volturi #renesmee cullen #esme cullen #volturi #the cullens #jasper hale #emmett cullen #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #bella cullen #rosalie hale