#so glad for auto finish tag thing

[alice-the-arcane]

*mystical witchy sounds as i beat the shit out of bad vibes with a broom*

#original post #drunk witch posting #wiccan #wicca #pagan #wiccanism #paganism #witchcraft #magick #witchblr #witch community #witches of tumblr #so glad for auto finish tag thing #otherswise all of those would have been misspelled #but allso i know my keyboard like the back of my hand #i could do this shit blindfolded if i wanted to

[spencers-renaissance]

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #my writing

[kippykasey]

Grace - Chapter 5: Hydra

Pairing: Howard Stark x F!Reader , Bucky x Reader [Eventually]

Word Count: 3522

Series Summary: A young nurse is recruited by Dr. Abraham Erskine to join the SSR to assist on Project Rebirth. Following her work with the SSR she is drafted into the US Army Nurse Corps in the war against the Nazis...and HYDRA.

Chapter Warnings: violence, torture, bad things because Hydra

Author's Note: Surprise?! I wasn't even expecting to get this done but I literally just finished and thought, eh why not. So here it is! Also I hate hurting my characters so this was a bit eh to write but I hope all is well!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the gifs they are either found on google or under the gif tag provided by tumblr. Any language other than English was translated using Google Translator, and translations will be posted in bolden italics after. I am not a nurse or in the medical field although I may do some research medical treatment written may not be correct.

Grace Masterlist | Snowdrop Masterlist | Masterlist

Pain. A throbbing, harsh pain echoed through my head from the temple. The throbbing beat opposite that of my heart. The second thing I noticed was how cold and damp it was. After battling with my body to force open my eyes I squint through the dimly lit room. A deep voice spoke in another language… German it was German but my head hurt too much for me to understand it. Seconds passed before I realized that I was sitting on the ground in a cell. The door opened and two men walked in flanked by four additional soldiers than the one that had been watching me.

“Ah Fräulein (L/n) glad you have finally woken up.” Miss.

“Who are you?” I cursed how weak my voice sounded at that moment. Though the man didn’t seem to find me a threat of escape as he spoke. “Johann Schmidt. You see we have a common acquaintance… or, well, had.” The grin he wore made my stomach drop and he didn’t need to verbally admit it for me to realize this is the man behind Abraham’s death.

I raised my head in defiance and although it made the pounding in my head worsen I pushed myself from the ground and stood within the cell. “You’re after the serum.”

“Ah, clever girl. You were Abraham’s assistant when he made the serum.” The second, much shorter man spoke. “Fault in your plans. I don’t know how to make the serum.” Schmidt smiled at me and it took all my self control not to shiver from his intense look. “I was hoping you would say that,” His eyes turned off me to the soldiers. “Bring sie zum Stuhl. Probiere es an ihr aus. Vielleicht wird ein kleiner Elektroschock Ihr Gedächtnis auffrischen.” Take her to the chair. Try it out on her. Perhaps a bit of electroshock will refresh your memory. As Schmidt talked his head also turned towards the shorter man.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I moved back against the wall. Three soldiers stepped towards the cell. One man opened the cell door before the other two stepped inside to detain me. I managed to elbow one in the face in my struggle but it was useless. The two soldiers dragged me from the cell, out of the room into a brighter lit hall. We were in some kind of warehouse. My eyes zeroed in on a chair that looked right out of a nightmare. Stronger hands forced me into the hard chair and held me down while I was struggling against someone’s attempts to strap me in. My struggling did nothing but get me a slap to the face. The strength of the slap disoriented me long enough for them to strap me in.

The shorter man who followed us now stood next to my head. I could see the reflection of myself in his glasses. “This is only going to hurt a lot, try to hold still.” He instructs lowering two plates down around my face. It was only a few short moments before the electricity forced its way into my head. I had no control over my body as it thrashed in the confines of the chair. An agonizing scream of pain carrying throughout the building went ignored.

That wasn’t my first time in the chair but it was the only time I had passed out in the chair. Spent 30 minutes in the chair 3 times a day, sometimes longer. After a week I had to start muttering things to myself in my cell so I didn’t forget who I was. The Nazi soldiers gave me the bare minimum to survive as far as water and nutrients goes. I cracked halfway through October. I gave the short scientist, Armin Zola, the list of what I would need before I was taken back to my cell after yet another time in the cell. I was given parchment and a pencil to write things down with but it kept coming in flashes.

Nights were the worst. Mouth dry from lack of water, eyes trained on an iron grate in the ceiling. I realized two weeks into my daily chair visits that I had forgotten my brother’s name. When I noticed it caused me to cry to sleep that night. So whenever I could I would mutter to myself facts I could remember starting with my name, rank, and where I was from. The list of facts got shorter every day. Somedays I remembered more than others. There were times all I could bring myself to do was hum Amazing Grace to myself to deal with the pain.

The first time I was in the lab I tried to escape. I was left with just one guard and I thought I could take him. I smashed a beaker using a shard like a knife. I ended up knocked unconscious, my hand bleeding from the self inflicted cuts caused by the makeshift weapon. From then on I was chained to the lab table and three soldiers kept watch. I wasn’t given anything to test the serum on. So I never tested unless I thought it would work because I used myself as a test subject.

I was unconscious for two days once from a failed serum. Others cause excruciating pain. Days came and went and I lost count of days but I knew it was still October. Yet a month was close to passing as November began to be discussed amongst soldiers around me. Pressure was placed on me to recreate the serum. Each day if I didn’t recreate the serum I was sent to the chair for the torturous electroshock. That is how I figured out I had been successful in a recreation. The serum, when tested, did nothing but make me drop to the lab floor in pain. I wasn’t even given time to recollect myself before being dragged off to the chair. I lasted longer in the chair than usual. I heard the instruction to increase the power. I don’t remember what happened after that.

It took me nearly half a day to recover, then as soon as I had I was back working in the lab. Suddenly I was pulled away from my work and escorted quickly back to my cell. “Neue Soldaten wurden gefangen genommen.” New soldiers have been captured. I pressed myself up against the bars for a chance, a glimpse at the soldiers being brought in.

It was silent as the Nazi Hydra soldiers dealt with the new poisoners. Suddenly two soldiers appeared with smiles on their faces. “Komm Mädchen. Zola und Schmidt wollen dich sehen.” Come girl. Zola and Schmidt want to see you. The soldiers yanked me up and practically dragged me to the room where the chair was. My body trembled involuntarily at the sight of the chair. It wasn’t me going in the chair, given someone was strapped in but given the uniform he was American. “Ah, here iz our lovely nurse. You’ve been asking for a test subject. Here you go.” Schmidt waved at the man strapped into the chair. The man lifted his head just barely and my heart went out to him. As soon as the hands left my arms I moved to the soldier in the chair. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“S’rg’nt Jam’s Barn’s,” His voice wasn’t clear but it was clear enough for me to understand what he said. The nurse turned to Zola and Schmidt. “I wasn’t done recreating the serum when you had me pulled from the lab. I will need time to work and he needs time to rest or the serum will kill him.” I tried to give him whatever comfort I could in those brief moments before we were pulled apart. His head rose just slightly and I caught a glimpse of stormy blue eyes as he was dragged out of the room.

I never got to return to my cell that night. As my eyes zoned in on the blue chemical mixture in front of me I felt a haze cloud my mind, it wasn’t abnormal to experience but I also felt like I was losing myself when it happened. Following my own written instructions I was able to continue my work. The only other thing I forced my mind to remember were two things.

I am First Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps. Soldier boy is Sergeant James Barnes.

The words became a mantra in the blank canvas my mind was currently in as I blindly worked by instructions of my very own that I don’t even remember writing. My body moved on auto pilot as I was taken to a crude looking examination room. In the center was soldier boy Sergeant James Barnes strapped to the table. As my mind raced to catch up with me, flashes of memories clouded my mind from when Steve Rogers got the serum, the explosion that followed, Dr. Erskine being shot. My body tensed at a passing memory of being in the chair passed through being replaced by the pain I felt giving myself the serum.

A hand pressed firmly in between my shoulder blades pushing me forward. I stumbled to the table catching myself with a hand on his arm. Wasn’t he wearing an army jacket before? My eyes landed on the serum filled syringe in my hands reminding me of what I was about to do. “First lieutenant (Y/n) (F/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps.. You are Sergeant James Barnes.. I’m sorry for what I am about to do. You’ll be okay. I’ve used it on myself. It will hurt.” My voice sounded so… robotic and monotone as I spoke to him. My hands pushing up his sleeve.

My hands worked from memory and out of second nature my mouth moved and the hymn fell from my lips. The melody of the song was the only comfort I could offer as I injected the poor man with the serum that would change his life forever. His eyes looked up at mine until the pain of the serum changing his body caused them to shut tightly. The leather restraints holding him in began to rip as he pulled against them. Discarding the empty syringe I tried to soothe him more but the second my hand touched his head I was shot with a sedative.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Steve Rogers has dressed up performing on stage like a dancing monkey to sell war bonds since he was given the serum. His first time on foreign grounds and he was performing for soldiers he should have been fighting alongside of. All to be booed off the stage by disgruntled men who just wanted to see a pretty dame.

Steve finally looked away from the rain but not quite at Peggy, “At least he’s got me doing this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.” Blue eyes finally met the face of Agent Carter. “And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know.” Her wording might have been a bit rude but the point got across. There was a moment of silence between the two but Steve had this look to him. “What?” Peggy inquired.

The man was drawing in the rain when a familiar face popped up. “Hello, Steve.” Peggy Carter approached him from behind, making him turn from his drawing to greet her, “Hi.” She mimed his ‘hi’ back before laying her jacket down to sit on while Steve asked, “What are you doing here?” Peggy looked at Rogers and let out a small sigh, “Officially, I’m not here at all. That was quite a performance.”

Rogers looked away disappointed that she had caught the horrible show that happened earlier. “Yeah. I uh, I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I’m used to are usually more, uh, twelve.” Steve explained looking out at the drenched ground and falling rain. “I understand you’re ‘America’s New Hope’.” Peggy states watching him. “Bond sales take a 10% bump in every state I visit.” Steve comments like a robot. “Is that Senator Brandt I hear?”

“You know for the longest time, I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted and I’m wearing tights.” Steve kept looking down at his journal then squinting out through the rain. A horn alarmed behind them as a medical vehicle slid to a stop in the mud. Medics ran from the infirmary tent to help unloaded soldiers on gurneys. “They look like they’ve been through hell.” Peggy turned back towards Rogers. “These men more than most.” Steve looked up at Peggy knowing she had more details. “Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men were there to back up an already injured fleet, they went up against him and less than 75 returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th and 34th.” Steve slowly turned his head feeling bad for the men who were lost but his attention snapped to Peggy at the mention of the divisions involved as she finished, “The rest were killed or captured.”

“The 107th?” The confirmation had him darting out into the rain, Peggy following holding her jacket over her head for coverage from the rain. The two ran all the way to the tent Colonel Phillips was sitting in signing condolence letters. “Colonel Phillips.” Steve called for the man’s attention as he approached. “Well, if it isn’t the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?” The colonel responded looking up at the pair now standing in front of him. “I need the casualty list from Azzano.” The tone he used was definitely fitting for the role he plays on stage. Phillips however did not appreciate it. “You don’t get to give me orders, son.”

“I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th.” Rogers responded un phased. Phillips pointed his pen at Peggy, “You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won’t enjoy.” Steve was insistent though and again requested the information he wanted, “Please tell me if he’s alive, sir. B-A-R..” “I can spell.” Phillips cut him off before muttering, “First Stark and now this.” He stood from the table and paged through the letters he just finished signing. “I have signed more of these condolence letters today that I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry. To the both of you.” Phillips looks from Rogers to Peggy and the woman knew he was referring to her friend from the 34th.”

“What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?” Rogers was something else, optimistic maybe. “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.” The look of disbelief that Steve sent the colonel as he spoke might have been the first red flag for Peggy Carter. “But if you know where they are, why not at least..” Phillips once again cut the man off, “They’re 30 miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe.” Phillips was eyeing the spot on the map as he talked about it, even pointing the place out directly. “We’d lose more men than we’d save. But I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl.”

The colonels' dig at Roger’s lack of status didn’t seem to phase the man but it did fuel the plan he was formulating in his head while staring at the map, memorizing it. “I think I understand just fine.”

“Well, then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you got someplace to be in 30 minutes.” The colonel walked past him giving Rogers a very clear view of the map marking out exactly where he needed to go, and where he was. “Yes, sir. I do.” Perhaps the time staring at the map was the second red flag that Peggy noticed. As her eyes flickered between him and the map as he left the tent it all clicked into place and she hurried after the taller man.

“What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?” Peg asked as she entered the tent used as the changing room. “If that’s what it takes.” Steve answered not looking up from where he was struggling with boots. “You heard the Colonel. Your friend, and mine, are most likely dead.”

“You don’t know that.” Steve disagreed as he continued to get ready. “Even so, he’s devising a strategy. If he detects..” Steve cut her off as he put on a brown leather jacket, “By the time he’s done that, it could be too late.” He snatched up his bag and shield and headed for the exit. “Steve!” Peggy called following him to the vehicle he tossed his things into. The rain had stopped leaving the sun to rapidly evaporate the water leaving puffs of smoke in the air. Steve looked at the brunette in front of him. “You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Then you got to let me go.” Steve turned to get into the jeep and started the engine before Peggy was at the side. “I can do more than that.” She told him.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Peggy hadn’t lied. She got them a method of transport much faster than the jeep. Howard Stark sat in the pilot seat flying a plane with the slight chance his fiancée may still be alive. Stark was devastated when he first found out that the 34th was attacked and that only doubled when the attack at Azzano took out the 107th as well.

“The Hydra camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges.” Peggy infomed Rogers as she pointed to the map she was holding. “It’s a factory of some kind.” She gave him as much information as she could. “We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep.” Howard called over his shoulder.

“Just get me as close as you can.” Steve called back up to the pilot. He looked back over at the woman in front of him. “You know.. You two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land.” He was worried about her getting into trouble for him but she looked at him just as worried. “And you won’t?” Steve dismissed her worries, turning his head. “Where I’m going, if anyone yells at me, I can just shoot them.” There was a small click of a loaded gun.

“They will undoubtedly shoot back.” Peggy surmised. Steve turned to the shield he had been using on stage giving it a knock, “Well let's hope it’s good for something.” Steve turned back to her just as Howard called back, “Agent Carter? If we’re not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue.” Howard was teasing the agent, the smile on his face hidden from those being him. Peggy shifted in her seat choosing to ignore him and keep conversation going with Rogers. “Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen. He’s mad enough to brave this airspace. We’re lucky to have him.”

Steve however was still not fully over the comment Stark made. “So, are you two… do you…” There was an awkward pause as Steve thought of the proper way to ask if they were seeing each other by reusing Stark’s words, “..Fondue?” Stark tried not to laugh from the pilot’s seat as Peggy simply shook her head and handed him a device. “This is your transponder. Activate it when you’re ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.” Steve took a moment to look at the device now in his hand before calling up to Howard, “Are you sure this thing works?”

“It’s been tested more than you, pal.” Howard defended seconds before gunfire hit the side of the plane. The plane shook as bullets pelted the sides, shaking the aircraft from the force. Steve stood grabbing his shield and heading towards the door. That he opened. “Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!” Peggy ordered yelling over the wind rushing into the plane. “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!” Steve ordered back over the noise of the wind, gunfire, and the pinging of bullets on the plane.

“You can’t give me orders!” Peggy disagreed.

“The hell I can’t! I’m a Captain!” Steve looked over at her, giving her a smile that made her weak in the knees. He grabbed the goggles from his helmet, lowered them over his eyes and launched himself out of the plane. Peggy watched him fall towards the ground before the red fabric of his parachute was visible in the night sky from the flying bullets. Howard turned back as instructed by the Captain. Now all they could do was wait.

#grace #howard x reader #bucky x reader #catfa #bucky barnes #steve rogers #peggy carter #howard stark #female reader

[starsstruck]

cloudbusting; part one.

a classic coffee shop story. harry is a painter that quickly becomes a regular at his neighbourhood cafe, and it just might have something to do with a certain barista. hazy opening shifts, paintings on walls, and new regulars.

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language words: 8.3k

art by holly warburton. (i have no vision for the mc of the fic, people in the images of paintings i use are purely because this is how i envision harry’s art to be !)

series masterlist | story tag

a/n: first part !! i am so excited (and slightly nervous) to start and share this story i really hope everyone enjoys <3. as always, please share if you can and i would love to hear your thoughts !

There was a lot you liked about the city, especially the city in the morning.

The walk you always made to work wasn’t too long, the day still early enough that there were only a handful of people out along with you. Some joggers, some dog walkers, some people heading to work and likely some heading home.

Grateful for the sun being up before you were, the July morning already heating up the early air of the day. Feet moving you quickly through the Brooklyn Heights neighbourhood, you walked the last few blocks that led you from your apartment to the coffee shop.

The one thing you didn’t like about the summer morning, was that the air was making your eyes itch.

It was that fresh morning haze, the one that held the night’s humidity and somehow the night’s pollen as well, having you rub your nose for what seemed like the thousandth time that morning.

The sky had turned a light blue, a warm glow just rising over the buildings as you crossed the road, your hand already in your bag to fish out your keys.

Grabbing the newspaper that was placed on the street by the door, tucking it under your arm, and unlocked the door to the café. Stepping inside and promptly closing and relocking the door behind you. The air inside was stuffy and hot as it always was in the summer especially after a lack of airflow all night.

Punching in the security code, haphazardly throwing your bag and keys on the counter before shrugging off your jacket, already finding yourself feeling too hot. It was always the same path you followed, every opening shift.

Turning off the alarm, dumping your things on the counter, moving further behind the counter to turn on the iPad where POS were made, before walking into the even hotter back room to turn on the sound system. One of your playlists was already queued, soon the sound of Lizzo blasting through the shop while you moved to prep and bake the pastries.

Your body worked on auto pilot, not even having to think that much; preheating ovens and unwrapping thawing croissants. The air conditioning was slowly settling in the large space, grabbing yourself a glass of iced water to help cool yourself down.

Opening didn’t take very long; it was just the food prep that took a bit longer and needed you to come in a slightly earlier than necessary.

The café would be opening in about twenty minutes, and all you had left to do was brew the drip coffee and dial the espresso. It was always simultaneously your favourite and least favourite part of opening.

It gave you your first taste of coffee of the day, but it also meant you had to take multiple sips thus drinking too much coffee at once in the morning. Scrunching your nose at the acidic taste of the first shot you pulled, promptly dumping it out in the sink and rinsing out your mouth with some water.

Every opening shift was the same, hands moving without your mind as you pulled a few more shots, adjusting the grind of your espresso.

Two minutes until opening; you flipped through the daily newspaper and easily found the crossword, taking out the section that contained it to put it aside.

Grabbing the sign that would sit outside in one hand, you unlocked the front door and placed it on the sidewalk by the door. Moving the patio furniture that was kept inside at night, laying it out along the side of the café across the windows.

Changing your playlist as the clock changed to 7:00, the soft sounds of Leif Vollbeckk filling the space. Grabbing your laptop from your bag, hoping for a slow morning as you pulled up order forms you needed to fill out for next weeks deliveries. Filling a glass with ice, deciding to finish off the rest of the cold brew –knowing there wouldn’t be enough to fill up a cup to sell to a customer.

“Morning!”

Smiling at the sound of the familiar voice, diverting your attention from the spreadsheets on the screen to see the older man walking up towards the counter.

“You’re here early today.” Grinning, you pushed yourself away from the counter and grabbed the crossword puzzle and a pen that were put aside earlier.

“I’m going for lunch with my son later,” Dani sat himself in the plushy chair he loved so much. “I still wanted to make sure I could come in for my coffee.”

Handing him the crossword that was always saved for him, knowing he loved to get to it first.

“Let me know when you want your coffee,” you hummed, hands resting on your hips.

“I’ll take it right away today.” He told you, as you watched him reach in the paper bag he brought with him, pulling out a bagel.

He often brought his own food. You really didn’t care that he didn’t patronize the café for its food, and only the coffee. He came in nearly every day, sometimes two times in a day and he was definitely one of your favourite faces to see walk through the doors.

“I brought you some breakfast.”

Another reason why you really didn’t care was that he often brought you a little treat along with his own. He was familiar with everyone who worked with you, constantly asking about the schedule and who would be working when so he knew who to expect. But you knew that you were his favourite, and he never forgot to tell you that.

“You didn’t have to,” you smiled, as he waved off your comment and handed you your own bagel. “Thank you.”

“I know how you are in the morning, always running out of time and forgetting to eat.”

Leaving it with him at his table, making the short distance to go back behind the counter to get his coffee ready.

“It’s going to be hot out today.”

You listened as Dani spoke to you in the empty coffee shop, making the obliged daily weather talk. “I know. It was far too hot in here already when I came in.”

The big windows that didn’t have blinds acted as heaters in the morning, the rising sun shinning through them and heated up the entire coffee shop. The air conditioning that was recently turned on was starting to help with the air flow, but it was still heavy and humid around you.

Your hands working on muscle memory alone as you twisted your arm, tamping the espresso and clicking the portafilter in on the machine. Grabbing the little scale you used to weigh out the water, still early in the day and tinkering with the grind of the espresso, making slight adjustments.

Steaming the milk until you felt it hot enough, knowing Dani liked it extra extra hot no matter the time of year. Tapping the air bubbles out until you were satisfied, filling the paper cup up only halfway, just the way Dani wanted it.

“For you,” walking back to the regular customer, placing his coffee in front of him and seating yourself in the empty seat beside him.

You watched as he took a sip of the coffee, smile on his face. “Excellent as always.”

It was mostly a joke amongst everyone, that Dani would always personally review everyone’s skill at making his drink. It still gave you little ego boost every time he commented on how well you made coffee.

“I’m glad,” you said, swirling the ice around your glass before taking a long sip. You sat together for a bit, eating your bagels together while Dani told you about how his grandkids were doing.

This was probably one of your favourite parts of your job, getting to know the regulars. It was always so nice when you saw them walk in with a big smile, asking how you were doing and how things were going in your life.

Dani was obviously by far your favourite. He sometimes brought in his kids and grandkids, a big order of coffee going around as he bought everyone their drinks. He had lost his wife a couple years back, telling you that ever since then he was always looking for a new routine, and you were so happy to be a part of his daily pattern.

Your conversation was interrupted as a couple and their child walked into the shop, recognizing them as regulars as well while they waved hello to you.

Making your way back to behind the counter, putting their orders through. You knew they lived in the neighbourhood; you often saw them around. It was endearing, how often they came in for a little breakfast and coffee together with their daughter who couldn’t be older than four.

Things were starting to pick up slightly, a few other people stopping by for a coffee and breakfast to go on their way to work. You kept darting your eyes over to the big window that faced the street, checking the time over and over knowing that you had a milk delivery coming in at any time.

“Are your croissants baked in house?”

“Yes,” you nodded, not technically lying. “We get them frozen from a bakery, and we proof and bake them here every morning.”

“So are they fresh?” The middle-aged man asked, eyes glancing over to where the food sat in the display case.

“Yes,” you repeated. “They were baked this morning.”

He nodded again, pausing for a second. “I’ll just take this.” He grabbed for a muffin that sat in front of him.

You only nodded, blowing out a quiet sigh from between your lips. Already finding your patience running a bit thin this morning. Really for no particular reason, other than it would finally be your day off tomorrow.

Putting his order through, grabbing the itemized receipt for yourself so you wouldn’t forget what his drink was and bagged up his muffin.

You heard the door open, glancing up to see someone else walk through the door. “Can you make mine right away?” The man who had just ordered glanced towards the door as well, seeing the other customer walk in. “I’m in a rush.”

Only nodding, narrowing your eyes at him slightly in annoyance. If anything, him telling you that he was in a rush made you want to make his drink even slower. Still, ever the good customer service employee, you pulled the shots you needed. Steaming the soy milk and making a bit of a messy design with the milk, not quite caring about how his latte turned out.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You didn’t hide the wrinkle in your nose at the use of the pet name, the man not even noticing as he struggled to get the lid on, spilling a bit of the latte on the counter before he headed towards the door.

Plastering your fake smile on your face, going back to the till to take the order of the client who had been waiting. “Hi there, thank you for waiting.”

You glanced around the space by the register, knowing that the pen you liked the use was sitting on the counter somewhere. “What can I get for you today?”

“Do you have bulletproof coffee?” Deep accent pulling your attention away from the search for your pen, facing the man standing on the other side of the counter.

“Uh –” you paused and bit your lips together for a beat, trying not to show your distaste. “No, I’m sorry.”

“That’s too bad,” the customer hummed, craning his neck to look at the menu board that hung behind you.

Is it really though? You saw your pen tucked between two receipts on the counter next to you, gripping it between your index and middle finger.

“I think Garden Coffee might have it? They’re a couple block down.”

Pointing in general direction of the neighbouring coffeehouse, personally not finding a liking to their coffee. It was a very similar set up to where you worked, but in your opinion, they tried far too hard to mimic a trendy third wave coffee shop and came off highly pretentious.

“No, no that’s okay,” the guy smiled at you. “I’ll have an espresso. Are they doubles?”

Nodding, you put his order into the system. “All the espresso drinks come as doubles, but I can do a single if you’d like? Or a shorter shot.”

You were mindlessly flipping the pen between your fingers, eyes continuously darting out the window just knowing the milk delivery was about to arrive. “No, a double would be perfect.”

“Sounds good,” you said. “Was that going to be for here or to go?”

“Here,” he nodded, opening his wallet.

“And was that going to be all for you today?” Not even fully paying attention, speaking through every line you asked customers before finalizing their order.

“Yeah – thank you.”

Telling him his total, opening the till as you dug out his change.

“Any reason you don’t have bulletproof coffee?” He brought your attention over to him again while you double checked you had the right amount of change.

It’s gross. “It’s not very popular,” you told him truthfully. “We don’t get asked for it too often either. Plus,” you tried to hide your grimace at the thought. “It’s a bit of an odd order. Not many people like it.”

He laughed at that. “Guess it is a bit of a refined taste.”

You could only nod, refined not really being the word to come to mind but you weren’t going to tell him that. Heading over to the corner where the espresso machine sat, quickly going through the same motions all over again and waited for the little mug to fill.  

Taking a sip of your water as you watched the seconds pass on the machine, the slow and steady pour of the espresso landing right into the cup.

The man who had just ordered had wandered over to where orders were to be picked up, glancing around the space. “I’ve never been here before,” he was standing opposite of the espresso machine, half of him hidden behind it. “It’s a nice place.”

“Yeah, I like it,” you nodded, not glancing up at him to stop the espresso, tapping the little cup on the counter once the pour ended. You never knew what to say when people complimented the coffee shop, saying thank you seemed a bit odd since you weren’t the owner, but any other response always sounded the slightest bit off.

“Espresso for here,” you smiled, placing the little cup on a plate, spoon next to it and slid it over to the counter towards him. He was leaning closer to the wall, arms crossed over his chest and eyes slightly narrowed, likely observing the paintings that hung up on that wall.

Your name was called through the café, attention being pulled away to see Dani now standing, empty cup in hand.

“Bye!” He called, waiting for you to walk to his side of the counter as he handed back the pen that you had lent him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“No,” you shook your head, watching a look of mock shock dawn Dani’s face. “Even I need a day off.”

“That’s true,” he laughed. “Get your rest, I’ll see you Saturday.”

Waving bye to him once again, attention turning to another patron that was waiting for you by the till. Another morning regular, putting their order through quickly and heading over to make it.

“How does one get their art up here?”

“Sorry?” You weren’t paying attention, small diversions all around you.

The incoming milk delivery being on the top of your list of things to think about; next to making the iced americano, cleaning up some milk you spilt, and the shrill cries coming from the toddler seated directly across from you.

“The art.” The guy who had asked about bulletproof coffee was still standing in the same spot, small mug in hand, by the series of paintings that covered the wall. “Who – I mean how could I get my art up there?”

It was a common question, but not one you could get into right away because it was just then that you saw the familiar logo on the white truck pull up across the street, signaling your milk delivery.

It was like this every week, but you hated when you were alone and this delivery came. Since it was one that you had to put away right away, and if customers came in they would get fussy because you had to be in the back, putting away all the dairy since it couldn’t exactly sit out for that long.

“Uh –” you smiled at the regular when you handed him his iced americano, turning to the other customer who had the question about the art. “Sorry, just a sec.”

Watching through the window as the delivery man made his way with a dolly packed with crates. Moving from behind the counter and taking the short walk to the front door, propping the door open for him.

Greeting him as you usually did, grabbing the order form from him to sign while he brought the dolly around the back, knowing where the milk went. Quickly signing your name at the bottom as you reviewed the order, shoving your pen back into your pocket to go fill up the back fridge with rows and rows of milk jugs.

The delivery man had already left, and you knew he was going to be coming back with more so you worked as quickly as possible, keeping an eye on the front counter to make sure there were no impatient customers waiting for you.

Stepping out of the back room, searching for the folder where you kept receipts and order forms from deliveries. Delivery man promptly returning, leaving another stack of crates for you before he headed off to use the restroom.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Jesus,” you couldn’t help the small curse at the unexpected voice and presence that made itself known next to you.

Accented voice pulling you out of your thoughts once again, seeing the bulletproof coffee man standing far too close to the inside where only staff were allowed in. Realizing he was offering to help with putting away the milk, you narrowed your eyes slightly at the odd offer of help.

“What…” you paused, fully taking in his appearance for the first time. He was young, probably around the same age as you. Brown hair that fell in floppy curls around his face, square jaw and bright eyes that completed his whole charming look.

“I’m good, thanks,” you took a step towards him, hoping he would get the hint and take a step outside of the space that was really just for staff. He seemed to catch on, watching you with a little smile playing on his lips.

“Sorry,” you found yourself apologizing, remembering he was waiting for an answer about the paintings. “I just have to –” sticking your thumb to point behind your shoulder, motioning to the dairy that was left to be put away. “I’m nearly done.”

“No worries, take your time.” He smiled, and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit watched as you walked through the narrow back room to where the fridge sat in the back, unloading the rest of your delivery.

Finishing up, waving goodbye to the delivery man you knew very well you’d see again in a week’s time as he wheeled away empty crates on his dolly.

Searching for where you last placed your coffee and half eaten bagel, grateful to not have seen a single new customer and you added some more ice to your now watered down cold brew.

Eyes flitting over to where the bulletproof coffee drinker stood by the counter where you had left him, seeing him currently glancing at the space around him. You yanked open the messy drawer next to the till, rifling through it while you looked for the business cards you knew you kept somewhere deep down.

“Here,” grabbing the attention of the man who was observing paintings on the other wall, leaving the inside from behind the counter, to the open floor of the café.

He turned around to face you, eyes dropping down to the card you extended out to him. “The art doesn’t go through us. This woman here,” you motioned to the card. “She runs it, in a few coffee shops actually.”

You had only met Janeen a handful of times – when the art got switched out and a couple other times when she came in for a coffee. She was probably in her late fifties, a painter herself.

“Some of the art up right now is actually hers,” you glanced around, pointing to a few you were fairly certain belonged to Janeen, all for sale.

“Great thank you.” He gripped the card between his fingers, eyebrow furrowing slightly as his eyes skimmed over the name and email on Janeen’s card. He really must be an artist. Catching what you assumed was dried paint on his hands, the deep blue swiped over his skin standing out.

“Do you know how I should like, submit art to her? Or if there’s a process or anything?”

“I don’t, sorry,” offering him a small sympathetic smile. “It’s out of our hands, best bet would be to talk to Janeen about it.”

“Is there a manger I could ask?” He was glancing behind you as if you weren’t working alone.

Narrowing your eyes at him, knowing it was an easy mistake and was not at all meant to be a rude comment towards you, but for some reason you found yourself so socially exhausted so early in the morning.

“I am the manger.”

It came out a bit harsher than intended, but you didn’t care too much by this point. You saw his eyes visibly widen, mouth part slightly. “Oh -” tripping over his words as he held your narrowed gaze. “Sorry, I… I didn’t mean anything –”

He was cut off, saved by the bell if you will, to a group of young women walking through the door which meant you had to excuse yourself and head back behind the counter.

Mind drifting as you took their orders, feeling slightly peeved with the way the conversation with the apparent artist went. You knew you shouldn’t take it personally, customer’s said things all the time that really shouldn’t be taken seriously.

But it was small things like that, that had your mind trickling down a drain of will I ever be taken seriously and what am I doing with my life.

You loved your job, for the most part at least, you really did. But there was always that little voice of doubt inside of you, telling you that you weren’t doing enough with your life.

And when someone seemed to doubt the things you accomplished in life, it left a bad taste in your mouth and an unhealthy train of thoughts bringing your mood down.

At its core, it was pretty dumb to be irked by a comment asking for the manager. It was obviously because as the manager, you felt like maybe your position wasn’t well deserved, or like it shouldn’t be what you’re doing.

After making two iced mochas, cleaning up the small mess of spilt chocolate on the counter before digging out the folder where order forms were a bit haphazardly placed. Deciding now was the best time as ever to start putting them in order.

Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just barely past 8:30. You realized you still had about six hours left on your shift. Your eyes quickly shifted around the shop, seeing mostly empty tables as most of the morning customers got their orders to go. There weren’t any dishes pilled up anywhere, not yet at least.

The man who had been asking you about the art seemed to be finally seated, hunched over a table in the corner with a little book in front of him, twirling a pencil between his fingers the same way you did. You felt a bit bad for snapping at him, but you didn’t feel like entertaining conversation with him again.

Heading to the back room again, deciding that soft indie guitar wasn’t really the mood anymore, you changed your playlist once again.

A soft sigh left your mouth again, already feeling done with this day. You don’t really know why you felt so on edge. It was likely because today was the last day before a day off, after working a long stretch of shifts without much of a break.

Hours trickled by, the day never really picking up with just a slow stream of customers coming in. It gave you time to finalize the upcoming weeks schedule, sending it out to the rest of the staff.

It was just before one o’clock when Aleena came in, bright smile on her face when she greeted you.

Aleena as by far your favourite co-worker. She was in her mid thirties and was an absolute sweetheart. She was, for lack of a better term, your work wife.

When the both of you worked together you were always on the same page, not having to talk to know what the other one was thinking. The two of you would take turns bringing each other lunch, or snacks, or just little treats for each other.

“How has today been?” Joining her in the back room, shooting a glance to the front to make sure no customers were coming in.

“Hey Leena! It’s been okay,” you shrugged, watching her hang up her purse. “Pretty slow, which is kind of nice. I’m just,” you blew out a sigh for what felt like the hundredth time. “Tired today. I don’t really feel like talking to customers.”

She offered you a sympathetic smile. “You’re off tomorrow, yeah? Hope you have the time to relax, and see your friends.”

“I am! I’m seeing Mae tomorrow, she managed to get the day off too.”

“That’ll be good! You know if its slow it’s okay if you want to leave early today.”

You had an hour left on your shift, a small overlap between workers. It was unusual, to have one person working alone all day. Usually one person opened and then was joined by another later in the day, and the two people would close together with some staff changes in the middle of the day.

But with a last minute shift change due to someone getting food poisoning, you spent all day alone and Aleena would be closing alone. You had offered to come back in later in the day to help her close, since it was a bit of a feat to do alone, but she has insistently refused and said you needed your time off.

“I think I might…” you smiled at her. “If you’re okay here! I doubt it’ll pick up, the sales today have been really low.”

“Of course,” she waved you off. “Go, go. I’ll be okay.”

Forever grateful for Aleena, wrapping her in a little side hug as you bid your goodbyes and promised you’d bring her some baked treats next time to thank her.

“Oh! And the schedule is out, and I’ve already done the ordering for next week so there’s nothing else to worry about. Take it easy today.”

Gathering up your things and making yourself some iced tea for the road, swinging your bag over your shoulder and dreaming of the next day and a half of putting your feet up, and seeing your friends, not giving the shop one more look now that you were off.

You were never really one for routines.

Rather, you weren’t really one to be setting routines, instead letting them work into place for you. In a sense, you still really didn’t a set routine, forever slightly disorganized.

Your weekly schedule was always a bit different, depending on the shifts you had. Sometimes it would be the same ones for weeks on end, being able to find a good groove with them.

But that never lasted. You didn’t mind though, always saying that you were just taking life as it came.

The one big consistency was the walk from your front door to behind the counter at work. No matter the time of day, it was always the same. Walking the steps down from your building and out to the street, sometimes taking your time and sometimes your pace quick.

And when you opened the door to work, you would head to the back room first, take a few seconds, and then face the rest of your day.

This Saturday was no different at all.

Waving hello to your, after the much needed day off, shutting the door to the staff room behind you for a second of peace before the long shift started.

“How’s the day been?” After taking a minute by yourself, you walked out and stopped to ask one of your coworkers, Erinne, about the sales so far.

“Busy,” she sighed, turning away from the till to face you. “Finally slowed down for a bit, but I’m sure it’ll be the same this afternoon.”

You only nodded, glancing around the space to see Aleena and another colleague, Noah, working on bar. They were cleaning up grounds that littered the counter and arranging milk in the small fridge underneath the bar.

Signs of a rush that hit the café, the quick clean up that was needed before another wave of people came in.  

“Well, I’m off.” Erinne said from next to you, clocking out of the system.

You didn’t have a single bad thing to say about any of your coworkers, or least you pretended that you didn’t. When you became manager, you knew that you were no longer able to gossip too much or talk about baristas you didn’t like.

Still, you couldn’t help but slightly dislike Erinne. She showed no sign of ever really listening to you, only doing half a job even when you reminded her to finish her duties.

“Have a good rest of your day,” you smiled to her, watching her reach for her phone that was in her back pocket as she headed to the back to grab her things.

Walking over to the back, greeting Aleena and Noah, promptly making yourself a drink to get a little caffeine boost. “How was your day off?”

“Really good,” you nodded, smacking your lips at the slightly bitter espresso, making a mental note to double check that later.

Filling in Aleena on your day off, before the conversation was ultimately interrupted by a group coming in. She went to the till, taking their orders while Noah stayed on bar to make the drinks. You saw them not needing that much help, no yet anyway, deciding to grab the dish bin to collect the emptied mugs you spotted left behind on tables.

Walking to the back of the shop first, finding a few mugs stacked and abandoned. Propping the dish bin against your hip, gathering up the dishes to be cleaned. Eyeing over seated customers, catching snippets of their conversations as you walked by.

Your eyes fell to a table tucked in the corner, recognizing the man who had been asking you about who to contact in relation the paintings on that hung on the wall. He had the same black book in front of him, pencils laid out around the table with one in hand, tapping it against the table.

He glanced up at you seemingly when you walked by, eyes flitting over to yours. He sent you a small smile as you bussed the table across from his, your eyes briefly leaving his to glance up to the front of the café, making sure the line wasn’t that long.

“I emailed Janeen.”

His voice pulled your attention back to him, as you picked up the buss bin again, not seeing any more dirty dishes that needed to be run through the dishwasher. He was obviously talking to you.

“That’s good,” you didn’t know what else to say.

He put down the pencil he was tapping against the table, closing the book in front of him. “I – I’m sorry about the other day –”

You were nearly embarrassed about snapping at him. Shrugging as your lips twitched to a little smile, gaze falling over the table in front of him. He had another espresso in front of him, this time over ice. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I didn’t mean it like – you couldn’t be manager or anything. Just –” he motioned with his hands, as if replacing his words. “Looking to get some more exposure for my art.”

“Is a little coffee shop really the best exposure?”

“I mean,” he shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“That’s fair.” Assuming the conversation was over, glancing back up to see Aleena taking someone’s order.

“How long have you been working here?”

“Hm? Over two years now.” Glancing back at him, hearing the door opening and most likely welcoming more paying customers.

“That’s a while,” he nodded, shifting in his chair again.

You nodded absentmindedly, seeing two large groups walk in the café, knowing you needed to head over to work behind the counter. “Sorry – I need to head back.”

“Of course,” he sat back again. “Sorry again.”

The sound of your name on his lips stopped you in your tracks. You turned back towards him, brow furrowed and mouth slightly gaped open.

“Heard a customer say your name last time,” he spoke before you could ask how he knew your name. “I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” words mumbled, quick nod in his direction before you were walking back towards the counter with your dish bin in hand.

It wasn’t uncommon, that customers would learn your name. No one wore nametags, so it gave a slight ounce of anonymity.

Obviously, regulars like Dani got to know you pretty well.

But it wasn’t all of them. Some customers would introduce themselves to you and ask for your name even though you swore you’d only seen them once, and some would come in everyday without the slightest inclination of wanting to get to know you.

Harry watched you walk away, disappearing to the back room before he heard a loud clang of dishes, assuming you set down the bin that you had been holding. He saw you reappear again, quickly walking over to the register and putting a hand on your coworkers’ shoulder, telling her something.

He looked around the coffee shop again, glancing at the paintings that decorated the walls. He had already taken his time to look at each and every one, nearly all of them by the same artist. They were all beach scenes, the talent of the artist very apparent in the way that they painted the reflections off the water.

Though the only one that really stood out to Harry was one depicting a sunset, bright oranges and reds filling the entire frame.

He glanced down to his own orange coloured pencil in hand, the haphazard shapes and scribbles that were on the page in front of him. He hadn’t made much progress as he tried to plan out his next series. All he knew is that he was currently very drawn to orange, tangerine to be exact, and that he wanted this next series to be big.

He still had yet to find it, the small idea that would start to form in the back of his mind that would grow into something huge. His inspiration usually came from little mundane ideas, liking to take his time to observe everything around him.

The warm glow from the sun cast through the windows, the harsh hiss of the steam wand from the espresso machine, the crumbs that fell around a child eating their croissant.

He took the last sip of his coffee, crunching the spare bits of ice that fell out of the cup and under his teeth.

Sketching random faces he saw around him, eyes moving all around the space. Gaze flitting over to where he saw you reappear for a very brief second, placing a now empty dish bin out for customers to fill, before spinning way and disappearing from his line of sight again.

The scuffed white floor wasn’t one that was particularly nice, per se, but it gave a feeling that this shop was lived in and well frequented. There was one wall that was all wood, with little shelves lined against it. Potted plants and random books placed on the shelves, next to a little sign that read “take a book, leave a book”.

He had no idea how he’d never seen this café. He must have passed it a few times at least, never really noticing it until the other morning when he walked a different route.

It was big and open, but still felt warm. The ambiance inside wasn’t stiff or off-putting, instead it was inviting and bright.

Even on a day like today, where the lineup at the register never really seemed to go away, there was a calmness in the air and not intensity or stress.

Which is why he came back a couple days later, bright and early on Monday morning. He realized it was a slight oversight on his part, getting there a bit too early, before the doors were even unlocked.

Seeing as he had about ten minutes to kill, deciding to take another walk around the block while he waited. Going down the street and walking past the shop, squinting lightly to gaze through the windows.

Harry saw you at the counter, gloved hands holding a knife as you carefully sliced a loaf, one he assumed to be banana bread. Your eyebrows were lightly drawn together, concentrating on the task at hand.

Amused to see you grab what appeared to be a thinner piece away from the others, breaking off a corner and popping it into your mouth. He didn’t realize he had stopped walking, until your attention diverted away from the cutting board in front of you and up out the window.

He immediately heated up as your eyes found his, embarrassed to be found watching you through the window. He was already certain he hadn’t made a great impression on you, and this wasn’t really helping his case.

Your lips moved in a small smile, eyes darting away from his for a beat. He followed your gaze, assuming you were looking up at the clock that hung on the wall.

The next time he glanced at you, you had placed the knife on the cutting board and were walking around the counter until you reach the door to his left.

“Were you waiting to come in, or?”

Propping the door open a bit, waiting as Harry walked the few needed steps over to you. “Yeah! I know you’re not open yet so –”

You moved aside, keeping the door open. “You can wait inside, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” he said, after a slight pause. He was a bit shocked to have you inviting him in like this even with only a few minutes left until the shop opened.

“Yeah, no worries,” you closed the door behind him after he walked in. “Although,” you spoke again, already walking back to the counter. “I won’t serve you for another eight minutes.”

He could hear a small smile in your voice, even with your back turned to him. He only laughed in response, putting his bag down at the same table he sat at last time, secluded and tucked away in the corner and with the sun’s rays hitting the wall next to it.

Suddenly the music around him changed, mood going from loud and upbeat, to soft and soothing with what seemed like the volume being turned down quite a bit. Harry couldn’t see you form where he sat, but he heard the occasional tap turning on and whir of a coffee grinder.

He waited a bit longer, making sure it was past seven before he walked up to the register. You were standing in front of the espresso machine, swirling a little clear glass a couple times before you took a sip.

“Espresso this morning?”

You hadn’t moved from your spot, taking another little sip from the glass in hand.

“Please,” grabbing his wallet from his pocket, digging through for some folded bills. You walked the short distance to the till, standing in front of him with the counter separating the two of you.

Wordlessly grabbing the money from the counter, putting the order through and counting up the change. “Oh, keep the change.” He smiled, refusing your extended hand.

“Thank you,” you murmured, palm opening to let the coins fall into the tip jar in front of you.

He followed you, from opposite sides of the counter as you moved to the back where the espresso machine sat. “It might be a bit bitter,” your voice cut through the shop. “I’m still adjusting it a bit, so let me know if its no good.”

“Will do,” Harry nodded, hearing the whir of the grinder as you prepared his coffee. He didn’t know why he was suddenly finding himself so unsure of what to say to you, very aware of the emptiness of the shop.

A beat of silence passed, the only noise in the shop coming from the music blaring through the speakers. He’d never heard it before, quickly finding a liking to whatever you were playing.

“Have you heard from Janeen?”

The question took him aback slightly. “No, not yet anyway.”

You hummed from behind the counter, tapping the cup on the counter like you had last time, before placing it on a little plate and sliding it over to him. “I think they’re changing the current painting’s soon. She’ll for sure be in for that so I can ask her about it if you’d like.”

He beamed. “That would be great! Thank you.”

Getting a taste of the coffee you had just made him. “It’s good,” he nodded. “Not too bitter.”

Another moment of silence fell, and that would be when Harry should’ve grabbed his coffee and walked away but for some reason, he didn’t want to leave the counter just yet.

You broke the silence again. “You’re here really early for a sit-down coffee, and not a to go.”

“Is that odd?” Harry was curious of why you brought it up.

“I mean,” you only shrugged, moving from where you stood to do something behind the espresso machine he couldn’t quite see. “Not really but – usually early morning regulars who get coffee for here are above the age of sixty. At a minimum.”

Harry laughed, watching you fiddle with the blue mugs that sat on top of the machine. “I’m just up early I guess. I like the sunrise.”

You smiled in return, and Harry thought that maybe he hadn’t made that bad of an impression on you after all. He didn’t know why he was so suddenly drawn to this café, drawn to spending his free time here, but he warmed when you mirrored his grin.

But when he heard the door open behind him, and you moved to greet the customer that came in, he realized that it was simply your job to be nice to him.

“Someone’s here before me!”

Harry recognized the older man from the other day, the one who had called out your name when he said bye to you.

“I thought I got the first coffee of the day?”

You laughed, grabbing a cup from where they sat stacked. “You didn’t get the first, but you get the best.”

Moving to make Dani’s drink, pulling a shot and steaming the extra hot milk, bringing the cup over once the drink was made to where he sat at his usual table.

Harry had gone to sit back down, once again hunched over a black book with a pencil twirling between his fingers.

You took your time to fully notice his appearance. He loose fit blue jeans, with an off-white teeshirt that read something you didn’t quite catch, slightly tucked in. You had never fully noticed the tattoos that covered one of his arms before, only briefly catching glances of them but in this moment, they seemed to stand out even more.

His hair was falling over his forehead as he leant over the table, and you couldn’t help but admire the clear cut of this jaw that was apparent to you as you gazed at his profile. Your eyes fell back to his hands, fingers toying with a pencil. Even from slightly further back, you could see some green splotches of paint on his skin.

You were slightly curious to what he was doing.

Always a bit nosy, especially with customers that you recognized to come in more than once. Whether they were writing a novel, reading a book, working from home; you liked to see what people would come in to do.

Both you and Aleena loved to discuss the personal lives of regulars, mapping out your own stories for the lives your customers lived. Based off who they came in with and small tidbits they would share with you.

You liked to think that you were good at reading people, and that you could more or less understand people just based off small interactions.

It was obvious to you that Harry was going to become a new regular. He had already come in three times in the past five days.

You wished you weren’t working alone, because you found yourself needing to talk to someone about him. Although you knew nearly nothing about him. Only the fact that he for some reason liked bulletproof coffee, that he was an artist, and that he liked to wear vans.

Another thing you did know, was that making him his coffee was going to become part of your work routine.

He always ordered an espresso, sometimes over ice. From the few times that you walked past his table and stole quick glances at the sketchbook that he always carried, he seemed to be working on bright colourful sketches. Always using pencil crayons, and never pencils or pens.

He had become such a quick new regular, that even Dani was talking to him. The both of them often came in the earliest out of anyone else.

In the past three weeks, he had come in nearly every day that you were working. He usually came in bright and early, right after the doors were unlocked and would seat himself comfortably in the back.

On the days when you weren’t opening and would stay to close, he was already there and would leave sometime in the afternoon. A few times he came in later in the day, staying close to closing as the coffee shop emptied out.

He had kept asking you about Janeen, and if he could get his art up on the walls one day. You had seen her one day when he wasn’t there, briefly asking her about the process of how she decided about who’s art went where.

You knew that her little painting rotation ran in a few other shops around town. She said that she wasn’t looking for anything new for a bit, but she was keeping all the submissions she got on file.

“Did she say when she would start looking again?”

“No,” you shook your head, after repeating what Janeen had told you to Harry the next time you saw him. “Sorry. But I’m sure it shouldn’t be too long.”

Harry nodded, glancing down at the glass of water between his hands that he had gone up to grab, before you went up to him with the news from your talk with Janeen.

“Why isn’t it run through you guys?”

“What?”

“I mean,” Harry paused. “I’m just curious about how it works. Why is it Janeen who does all the art if she has nothing to do with this café?”

“Honestly I don’t know,” you told him truthfully. “The owner set it up with her, long before I started.”

“Oh okay,” he nodded. “It’s a neat thing, to have local art for sale like this.”

“It is,” you glanced at the art. “But honestly we don’t sell them very often. I think only two or three times in my time here I’ve seen one sold.”

That surprised Harry. “Really? I mean, I guess people don’t come for coffee to buy a painting. Still, it adds a nice atmosphere to the café.” He paused, watching your lips quirk up to a smile. “Would be nice to have my own art up, but…”

Your eyes narrowed on him slightly. “Can I see this art? That you so urgently need to put up in here?”

He tried to stop the beaming smile that was building, biting his lips together for a second. For once feeling like it wasn’t him incessantly asking you something or bugging you, this time you asking him something about himself.

“No,” he heard himself saying, watching your eyebrows jolt up in surprise.

“No?”

His smile was sly, idea forming. He quickly walked back to his table and ripped out a small piece of paper from his sketchbook. He turned back around, seeing you hadn’t moved from your spot by the register.

“Here,” he said once he returned to his side of the counter where he had left you. “I have a few pieces up in a show next week. It’s just for one night, at a little gallery downtown.”

Writing down the date of the show and the name of gallery, he handed the scrap paper over to you. “You should come.” 

#harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #I HOPE everyone enjoys enjoys !!!! #please let me know what u think and share if u can !! <333 #cb

[440mxs-wife]

Lessons in Love

Pairing: Castiel x Reader. Other Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jack Kline, Emma Turner and Mavis (OFCs)

Word Count: 5924

Warnings: None really, except some mutual pining, but generally fluffy goodness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Your agenda for the day included a trip into town to run some errands, along with a supply run to fill the fridge and pantry. Dean had ordered a part for one of the cars in the bunker, and he asked if you would pick it up for him. As if there weren't already enough books in the bunker library, Sam had reserved a book from the library in town. It was one about serial killers, his not-so-secret obsession, so you agreed to pick it up for him.

"Anyone want to tag along? It's a beautiful day outside, you know," you offered.

Sam and Dean both declined your invitation, and Castiel was not in the bunker. "I'll go with you," Jack responded.

You smiled. "Well, all righty, then. Jack, please meet me in the car in ten minutes," you replied. Jack jumped up from his chair like he was sitting on a spring and bolted up the stairs to the garage.

First stop was at the auto parts store for Dean. The order was already paid for, so it was no problem to go in and pick up the package. You placed it in the back on the floor behind the driver's seat, then you and Jack headed to the town library.

The head librarian, Mavis, greeted you and Jack warmly as you approached the counter to retrieve Sam's book. You noticed that Mavis had some help today, a young lady who looked to be in her early 20's. She had medium-length, wavy, strawberry blond hair and a pair of inquisitive blue eyes.

You watched as she loaded the returned books onto a cart, then sorted them so they could be put back on their respective shelves. Turning to say something to Jack, you noticed how his gaze was carefully following the young lady's every move. He had started to wander away from you, still watching the apprentice librarian, but keeping out of her line of sight. Hmm. Somebody's a little smitten, you thought with a smile.

"Here you go, that book that was put on reserve about serial killers. A little light bedtime reading, perhaps?" Mavis teased.

You laughed. "No, no, it's for a friend of mine. He's the one with the weird fascination with serial killers, not me," you grinned back. "Hey, Jack? Would you mind taking Sam's book out to the car please?" you asked.

With Jack's bright smile, he agreed, which allowed you to ask Mavis for some information about her young assistant. "Oh, that's my niece, Emma Turner. She'll be helping me out for the summer, here at the library. I believe she's due to start college in the fall, but I can't remember where at the moment," Mavis concluded.

"Good to know, thanks," you replied. "See you later!" you called out over your shoulder as you left the library.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sound of the bunker door opening caught Sam and Dean's attention. They expected to see you and Jack, returned from running errands, but instead it was Castiel. He stopped at the table in the library where the boys were looking through the internet for cases. He scanned the library, then asked where you were. Sam explained that you were out in town, running errands with Jack.

"The two of them should be back soon, Cas. Why, is something going on?" he asked.

"N-nothing's going on. I'll just wait here for her--them to get back," Cas replied.

Dean leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "You sure nothing's going on, Cas? You seem kinda anxious to talk to her," he smirked, then turned to Sam. "Must be important," he whispered.

Cas turned to Dean, eyes narrowed. "I'm sure, Dean," he muttered "It's just been a few days since I've talked with her, I-I mean, with Jack, so I'm checking in. Is that all right with you?" he retorted.

Dean held up his hands in surrender. Using his laptop, he resumed his internet search for a case. A few minutes after he got settled again, the bunker door opened, with you and Jack on the other side. "Yoo hoo! A little help up here, maybe? There's more stuff in the trunk that needs to be brought in, please," you called.

Castiel raced up the stairs to meet you, his trench coat billowing behind him like a cape. "Here, let me help you with these," he offered with his signature smile.

"Thank you, Cas," you replied warmly. "It's wonderful to see you. I'm so glad you could stop by today," you remarked.

"I am sorry to have been away for so long. I-I came to see how Jack was doing," he responded.

"Oh. O-only to see how Jack is doing?" you inquired hopefully.

"Well, also to spend time with you-you all, my friends, of course," he stammered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You felt your heart sink just a little. Friends. Not like what you felt for him, which was something beyond friendship and more towards the romance end of the spectrum. You don't know when it started, but the bottom line was that it had, and there was no turning back. After what you'd just heard, though, you realized you'd have to be even more careful to keep your feelings hidden. Especially since you now had proof that he didn't feel that way about you.

You first met Castiel after finishing a particularly nasty werewolf hunt. The injuries were of varying degrees between you, Sam and Dean, with you taking the worst of it. Despite that, you made sure the boys were patched up before you let yourself be checked. However, by then, you were drifting in and out of consciousness from losing too much blood. So they called Cas in, just as a precaution.

When you awoke after some rest, Sam and Dean had gone on a food run, leaving Castiel behind to watch over you. He sat with his legs on the bed, crossed at the ankles and his back against the headboard. Your head was resting in his lap and his fingers were brushing gently through your hair. You could hear him whisper or almost sing words of comfort in what you can only assume was Enochian. A sense of peace washed over you, allowing you to relax in the safety and care of your protector.

There was so much you loved about him, like his fierce sense of loyalty and dedication to his family and friends. His sapphire eyes that went perfectly with his jet-black hair that you longed to run your fingers through. That adorable tilt of his head whenever he was a wee bit confused about something. And whenever you heard your name fall from his lips in his deep, gravelly voice, it made you a bit weak in the knees.

If only I had enough courage to tell Cas how I feel about him. But, there's no sense in confusing things or ruining my friendship with him, just because of a one-sided attraction, you thought. Guess my feelings will just have to stay under wraps until further notice. With that, you pushed your affection for Castiel down even further until it no longer threatened to bubble to the surface.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Hey, where's that car part you picked up?" Dean bellowed.

"Relax, Dean, I left it in the garage. I thought it was better to leave it where you'll need it, than to bring it in here and risk it being misplaced," you replied wearily. "And before you ask, Sam, your serial killer book from the library is on your bed."

Both men mumbled their thanks as you continued to put away the groceries. When you were done, you retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and took a seat at the table. Your mind was so consumed with your swirling thoughts, that you didn't hear Cas calling your name.

"Sorry, Cas, what were you saying?" you asked, shaking your head.

He reached over and placed his hands over yours, forcing you to look into his ocean-blue eyes. "I was asking if you were all right, because you seem a little....distracted," he remarked.

You slid your hands out from under his and gave them a pat on the knuckles. "Oh, I'm fine, Cas, don't worry about me. I have a lot on my mind at the moment. I'm sure it'll pass though. Can I get you anything?" you inquired.

"Not at the moment, but if you need someone to talk to, I would be glad to listen," Cas offered.

"I know, and thank you, Castiel. It means a lot to me," you replied. Your brows furrowed as you saw Jack enter the kitchen with a confused look on his face. "Jack? Is everything okay?" you said as you put a hand on his arm to catch his attention.

"Can I please talk to you?" Jack blurted out.

"Absolutely, Jack, what's on your mind?" you asked. He continued to look uncomfortable, so you asked Castiel if you could talk to him later, when he joined you for Dean's Movie Monday. Cas reluctantly agreed, and left the kitchen area. "Now, Jack. What can I help you with?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Remember that girl from the library today? The one with the beautiful blue eyes who was putting the books back on the shelf? I-I want to ask her out on a date, so we can get to know each other better," he finally admitted.

"Jack, I think you're better off getting your love advice from Sam and/or Dean. Anyone but me," you muttered the last part softly under your breath.

"But I already asked them," he hastily replied. "Dean was telling me I should say things like, 'Even if the Earth had no gravity, I'd still fall for you.' He called it an 'opening line' and said that it would make it easier for girls to start talking to me," he explained.

You smacked the palm of your hand to your forehead and groaned. "No, no, no, Jack. Please forget whatever Dean told you about 'opening lines'. There are other, less cheesy and more charming ways to get a girl to start talking to you," you remarked. "Out of curiosity, what advice did Sam have for you?"

"Sam mostly just argued with Dean about the advice he was giving me, that there are better ways to talk to girls. Like what you said," Jack replied.

"Well, Jack, here's something you can try the next time we go to the library. Have a subject in mind that you want to read about. Maybe like....I don't know, dinosaurs or something. Start walking up and down the aisles, pretending to look for your book. When you see the young lady, ask her if she'll help you find what you're looking for," you explained.

"How will that help me?" Jack asked, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

You smiled. "Because you will have opened the door for more conversation by asking her for help. Personally, I think it feels good to help people. I mean, it's what we do," you remarked.

Jack looked pensive. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right," he responded.

"And who knows? The subject you choose may be one she's particularly knowledgeable about. Which means she'll want to tell you everything she knows about it. Even if not, she'll tell what she is interested in, and you can build on that. You'll get to talking with her, and before you know it, an hour or two has flown by. But, in that amount of time, you will have gotten to know her just a little bit better," you finished.

After a few moments of thought, Jack's smile gave way to a large grin. "Okay. I can do that. Ask her to help me find a book, then go from there. Thank you," he said. As he got up from the table, he pecked your cheek, causing you to giggle to yourself.

"You're welcome, Jack," you whispered. "Now if only someone would go to that kind of effort just for me," you added wistfully.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Little did you know, but Castiel was standing just outside the entrance to the kitchen. He happened to overhear your entire conversation with Jack, including your last remark. Cas was grateful that you tried to steer Jack in the right direction with the advice you gave him.

What he couldn't understand is how you weren't romantically involved with anyone. He knew how the hunter lifestyle could be a barrier to long-term relationships. He had once heard you talk about an ex-boyfriend named Kyle, but from what he remembered, it didn't end well.

Castiel thought back to the first time he'd met you, after that werewolf hunt. The moment he set his eyes on you, he was overwhelmed by a need to protect you. He insisted on staying behind at the motel to care for you while Sam and Dean went on a food run. As he sat on the bed with your head in his lap, he gently combed his fingers through your hair. He softly sang you a lullaby in Enochian to ensure that you would stay asleep and get the rest you so desperately needed.

As time went on, his feelings of protectiveness gave way to something else he couldn't quite name. His heart seemed to beat a little faster whenever he was near you, and he sometimes had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He felt his happiest when he was in your presence, and experienced an emptiness whenever he was called away from you.

Cas also began to discover little things to love about you. To him, you'd always been beautiful, and not only on the outside. You were patient, whether it be explaining pop culture references for him or answering Jack's seemingly endless questions. When you smiled, it was like the sun had just come out, and your laughter was his favorite sound in the world.

So, what do I do now? he asked himself. How do I create an opening to talk to her so I can eventually ask her out? Wait, she said something to Jack about finding a subject, and then I should ask her about it, he told himself. A grin slowly grew across his face and his eyes lit up as he devised the perfect plan.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You rolled over in bed and glanced at your alarm clock, its red numbers glaringly displaying the time '7:07 a.m.' at you. After another ten minutes of staring at the ceiling, you threw the blankets off and made your way to the showers. Thirty minutes later and you were fully dressed, ready to take on whatever the day could dish out.

Humming to yourself, you bustled about the kitchen, first making a full pot of coffee. Rule #1 with Dean was, don't even think of interacting with him before he's had his first cup. Those who ignored Rule #1 did so at their own peril. Once coffee was brewing, you started making the blueberry pancakes on the griddle, while bacon was getting crispy in a separate pan.

As you were putting the last of the bacon on the platter, Dean wandered into the kitchen. He was wearing his gray robe, a T-shirt and sweatpants. His eyes were only open enough to see where he was going and his hair was spiked up in every direction. Dean took a moment to determine what you were doing and grunted at you in greeting. You, in turn, merely pointed towards the coffeepot and his mug sitting in front of the machine, waiting for him to fill it.

One by one, the other inhabitants of the bunker filtered in. Sam, fresh from the shower, grabbed some plates out of the cupboard, while Jack set out more coffee mugs and silverware. "I'm almost finished frying up the last of the eggs, but you can get started on the rest," you directed.

Sam, Dean and Jack commenced to fixing their plates from the steaming pile of pancakes and mounds of crispy bacon. "Hey, are you cooking those eggs in the bacon grease?" Dean asked, a little more awake by now.

"Of course, Dean. Can't let it go to waste, now can I?" you replied. Soon the last of the eggs was finished cooking, so you put it on the platter and carried it to the table.

"THE best eggs ever are the ones cooked in bacon grease. All that bacony good flavor seeps into those eggs and BAM! A masterpiece is born. Thank you, sweetheart," Dean grinned and pecked a kiss to the side of your head.

A sour look briefly crossed Castiel's face and set his mouth in a grim line as he glared at Dean. A surge of emotion he couldn't quite put a name on was currently running through him. Am I jealous? he silently wondered.

"Cas, are you okay?" you asked with concern. You reached out and covered both of his hands, which were clenched together in front of him.

At the sound of your voice and touch of your hand on his, the trance was broken, and his calm demeanor had returned. The frown lines were smoothed out and his lips were returning to the smile you loved to see. "I am fine, just have some things on my mind," he explained, covering your hand with his free one. "Not to worry. By the way, have you any plans today?" he asked.

"Well, I have to clean up the kitchen from breakfast, then I was going to put a load of laundry in the washing machine. Why?" you inquired.

Cas rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, a sign to you that he was nervous about something. What would he have to be nervous about? you wondered. "I was hoping maybe you and I could do some baking today," he replied.

You chuckled a little at his suggestion. "But Cas, you don't eat anything, because you say everything tastes like molecules," you reminded him. As you saw his face fall, you hurriedly grabbed his arm. "However, our supply of baked goods around here is dwindling," you blurted out. "So, if you wanted to help me, I could sure use the extra hands. But, no angel mojo," you quickly added.

His winning smile had returned, his gaze locked on yours. "I would be delighted to spend time baking with you," he remarked. "I promise, no angel mojo. And this way, I'll get to learn all of your secrets," he winked.

Your cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire, but you quickly recovered. "Well, I won't show you all of them, but I would love the company," you added. You started to clear the table, but were stopped by Sam and Dean.

"Uh-uh, no way," Sam interjected. "You made breakfast, it's only fair that we return the favor and clean up from it," he explained. "Go. Relax. Won't take too long, then you and Cas can have the kitchen back," he promised.

"Fine," you rolled your eyes in mock exasperation and took a seat at the map table. You decided to play one of the card games on your phone until Sam gave you the 'all clear' from the kitchen.

Around a half an hour later, Sam came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. "All yours, and Cas' too," he grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

"Thank you Sam for the clean-up from breakfast. Oh, and by the way? Here's where you do that little thing called 'shut the hell up'," you retorted playfully as you passed him on your mission to bake. "Ready to do this, Cas?" you called out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Castiel was waiting for you at the kitchen table to tell him what he could do to help.

"First thing we're going to do is have you take off your trench coat and your tie. Wouldn't want anything to get spilled on either of those two items," you explained.

"Good idea," he agreed and removed the two articles of clothing. As he was rolling up his sleeves, he asked what was next.

"We wash our hands. Then, the fun begins," you grinned mischievously. You handed Cas an apron and assisted in tying it behind him, only to have him do the same for you.

"What shall we bake first?" he asked you, rubbing his hands together, as he was eager to get down to work.

Hours later, you surveyed the finished products. The baked items were perched on cooling racks, occupying nearly every flat surface of the kitchen. There were cookies, pies and loaves of sweet banana and pumpkin breads.

As you baked, you shared some memories with Cas about baking, particularly ones involving your mom, who had been gone now for several years. You told him that it was her recipes you were using, and that she was the one who taught you how to bake. He could see the love for your mom shining in your eyes, which endeared you to him that much more.

The aroma of cinnamon, sugar and various fruits hung in the air, and was almost enough to knock anyone back out of the kitchen. When Dean stopped in to get something to drink from the fridge, he was hit with the tantalizing smells from the baked goods. He was on a break from his project in the garage, and had stopped by to check your progress.

"Whoa, you two have been busy! This looks phenomenal," he remarked as he reached for a cookie.

"Ah ah ah, mister, not till you're done with whatever you're doing in the garage and are all cleaned up," you admonished.

"Okay," he replied reluctantly. You had just turned back around to chat with Cas when Dean went running out of the kitchen, laughing maniacally. He triumphantly shouted, "Ha ha ha, I got one! Victory is mine!"

You stood up to check the cookies, and sure enough, there was a hole in the row previously occupied by a cookie. "He is SUCH a child," you muttered, shaking your head. A small grin twitched at your lips, which told Castiel that you weren't as angry as you may have sounded.

Cas shook his head in amusement as well. "Yes, he may be the older brother, but I have noticed how immaturely he acts sometimes," Cas agreed.

"I guess that's part of his charm he thinks he has," you added. "By the way, Cas, thank you so much for your help with all of this. It probably would've taken me two days to get all of this done, with or without angel mojo," you joked.

"You are entirely welcome, I enjoyed spending time with you today. And thank you for sharing your memories with me," he took your hand in his and pressed his lips to your knuckles.

Warmth bloomed in your cheeks as you fought the urge to look away from his mesmerizing eyes. "Would you like to stay for a bit? Maybe watch a movie?" you asked.

"I wish I could, but I am afraid my services are needed elsewhere," Cas replied.

"Oh. Okay, may-maybe some other time," you murmured.

"Another time," he whispered. With a flurry of his wings, Cas disappeared.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About a week later, Sam's serial killer book was due to be returned to the library, only to have him put another one on reserve. As before, Jack accompanied you so he could see Mavis' niece, Emma, again. You slipped Sam's book into the return slot and then you wandered into the main part of the library.

Emma was re-shelving the returned books, just like she was the last time you visited. You gently nudged Jack and gestured with your eyes in her direction as a signal to put his plan into action. He discreetly nodded back at you and set about his mission.

While Jack wandered the shelves, you did the same, but you went in the opposite direction. You heard a young lady's laughter as you rounded a corner of the bookshelves. Way to go, Jack, you silently congratulated him with a smile.

After your unsuccessful search, you started walking back towards the front desk. You caught up with Jack and Emma, who both had bright smiles on their faces. Definitely smitten, you thought.

"Aunt Mavis? I was wondering if I could take my lunch break, please? I'd like to take Jack over to the diner for something to eat," Emma asked.

Mavis looked at her watch, which said 12:30 p.m. "I suppose that would be all right," she agreed.

Jack turned to you and asked for your permission, and you consented as well. The pair were almost to the door when you called for Jack. They walked back to where you were standing and you fished out some cash and handed it to Jack. "Here, get some lunch for the two of you, my treat," you added with a smile. Jack flashed you a wide smile in return and said thank you.

As the young couple turned back towards the door, you heard, "Wow, your mom is so nice for treating us to lunch," Emma said.

You called out to correct her, "Oh, I'm not--" but Jack interrupted. "Yeah, she's really great," he replied. Right before he walked through the door, he caught your eye and gave you a wink, then continued towards the diner with Emma.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tears threatened behind your eyes at Jack's declaration. His choice not to correct Emma's assumption about you being his mom made your heart swell with pride. He spoke of Kelly often, and of the things he remembered from her before he was born. That he thought of you in that same capacity was easily one of the most amazing things anyone had ever said about you.

You left the library and headed for the bakery, where you purchased a chocolate chip scone and a mocha latte. After a short walk, you ended up in the park across the street and down a little ways from the diner. While Jack and Emma had their lunch, you settled on a park bench to enjoy your snack.

There was a light breeze, not enough to cause a chill, but gentle enough to be refreshing. In the distance, several children of various ages were playing on the playground equipment. You closed your eyes and smiled at the sounds of their playful shrieks and peals of laughter.

You glanced at your watch and realized it was time to return to the bunker. You had a feeling that Emma's lunch break would likely be over soon as well. Disposing of your coffee cup and scone wrapper, you started walking back to the library. Jack and Emma arrived about a minute before you did, walking hand in hand.

"I'll just be a minute, I'm going back in to pick up Sam's book. Then, we should be heading home, Jack," you remarked. He nodded in agreement, then returned to his conversation with Emma.

Having picked up Sam's book, you exited the library, where Jack and Emma were still talking. Jack was getting his phone back from Emma, so you realized that they had just exchanged phone numbers. A knowing smile on your face, you opened the car door and slid behind the wheel.

On the way back to the bunker, you asked Jack what he had talked about with Emma to start the conversation ball rolling. He said that he had asked her about Australia, and she mentioned that she spent some time there with her parents. She told him about all the great places she'd visited, the animals she had seen and how she wanted to go back there someday.

"I asked her if she would want to go out with me to a movie on Saturday night. She said that she needed to ask her Aunt Mavis first. If she says yes, do you think you or Sam or Dean could bring me back to town?" he asked.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," you answered with a grin. "I'm happy for you Jack. She seems like a very nice young lady," you added. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you rumbled down the highway towards home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A few weeks later, Sam and Dean were standing by the map table, discussing something. You strode up to the pair and handed Sam his latest book from the library. Without another word to either of them, you went straight to the kitchen for a soothing cup of tea.

The boys looked at each other, then in the direction you'd just gone, not knowing what to make of your behavior. They silently debated with each other about whether or not to follow you and see if they could figure out what was wrong.

Sam wanted to leave you alone, figuring that you'd talk about it in your own time. On the other hand, Dean couldn't stand to see you looking so troubled, so he wanted to go after you. In the end, Sam relented, and they went in under the pretense of getting a snack. They each grabbed a beverage from the refrigerator, and sat down at the table with you.

"Hey, guys. Is everything okay? You need something?" you asked.

"We were just about to ask you the same thing. You look a little upset, and we're worried about you. If you want to talk, we're here for you," Dean offered.

"Is it something with Jack? His relationship with Emma?" Sam queried.

"Oh, no, that's going well, they're really a cute couple. Seeing them together makes me think about....never mind what it makes me think about," you muttered.

Dean hooked his index finger under your chin and tilted it up so he could look into your eyes. "Makes you think about your feelings for Cas?" he suggested.

"Pffft. What? No, no, maybe....yes. Am I that obvious? I keep trying to ignore my feelings because I don't want to lose the friendship we have. Especially when he doesn't feel the same way," you added softly.

"Who says he doesn't feel the same way about you as you do for him?" Sam interjected.

"Yeah! Haven't you noticed it these past few weeks? You've been giving Jack advice about his girlfriend. Then, Castiel shows up and does something that coincides with what you've said," Dean pointed out.

You thought back on the day you spent baking with Cas. About the flowers that had magically appeared in your room one morning while you were in the shower. How Cas took you on a picnic, and you spent the entire time talking and how great that was. "Maybe....I don't know. Can we please talk about something else?" you implored.

"How do you feel about him?" Sam asked, ignoring your attempt to change the subject.

You looked up at the ceiling, then down at the table, suddenly very interested in the pattern in the wood grain. "How should I describe it? He's so wonderful....kind, generous and attentive. When I'm around Castiel, it's like my world has gone from black and white to color. With him, I feel cared for, protected....cherished, even. I know that my heart would be safe in his hands if I were to entrust him with it," you explained.

"Sam? Dean? Would you please excuse us," a deep voice commanded.

Your head shot up, looking around for the source of the voice. Finally, your eyes landed on the trench-coated figure standing in the doorway to the room. "Cas," you whispered, then averted your gaze to your lap.

Sam and Dean got up from the table. "We're just gonna....um, yeah," Sam stammered as both he and Dean squeezed your shoulder on their way out. You also left the table and walked over to pour your cup of now-cold tea down the drain. Afterwards, you stood in front of the sink, bracing yourself. Your back was to Castiel, but you knew he hadn't left the kitchen.

Cas stood behind you and gently rubbed his hand on your upper back between your shoulder blades. He stepped impossibly closer to you and moved to embrace you from behind. Cas rested his hands so they were covering yours, fingers intertwined. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

You shook your head, not quite trusting your voice yet. You swallowed hard and tried again to speak. "That depends on how much you heard," you finally replied hoarsely.

"I didn't hear anything," he replied, causing you to sigh in relief. "Except how you feel protected and cared for when we're together. And how safe your heart would be if you entrusted me with it," he remarked. "I'm paraphrasing, of course," he added.

You felt your heart drop in your chest and tears prickling behind your tightly closed eyelids. "That's a fairly accurate translation, Cas. But, I know you only see me as a friend, like Sam and Dean are your friends. No matter how much I wish it were otherwise, I would never want to jeopardize that," you explained.

Cas carefully turned you around in his arms, his hands then reaching out to cradle your face, then your neck. "Oh, my darling Honeybee. Remember when you were talking to Jack about how to gain the attention of his young lady friend?" he asked and you nodded. "I heard everything you told Jack, and I took your advice. Only difference is, I used it to get closer to you, to show you how I feel about you," he confessed.

"Hmm. I see," you replied with a wry grin. "So, the flowers, the day spent baking cookies, the picnic, all of that was to get my attention?" you inquired and Cas nodded. "Well, it must have been pretty good advice if both you and Jack each got your girls," you remarked softly.

"Very good advice," Cas agreed. He reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, slowly leaning forward. Your right hand reached up to curl around his neck to tug him ever closer until your lips met in a slow, tender kiss.

When your lips touched together, it was like fireworks exploding. You closed your eyes and melted into the kiss, which seemed to deepen with each passing second. Your left hand slid up his chest and into the short, jet-black hairs at the base of his neck. Not certain what it was, but you’d swear you heard a noise that sounded almost like a growl rumble through Cas' chest.

His hands roamed up and down your back, while keeping you pressed close to his body. His tongue ran along the seam of your lips, begging for entry, which you readily granted. The more you ran your hands through Cas' hair, the more heated and insistent the kisses grew.

Finally, the need for oxygen interrupted your kisses and left you both trying to catch your breath. "Cas, that was amazing. I've wanted to do that for so long, and I sort of never thought it would happen," you admitted, dropping your gaze.

Cas hooked his finger under your chin and gently tilted it upwards so he could look into your eyes. "I, too, have wanted to kiss you for quite some time. I suppose good things do come to those who wait," he grinned.

"Very good things. I love you, Castiel," you declared.

"And I love you, my Honeybee," he responded, just before pulling you in for another heated kiss.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

@followfantastickpopshiptrash @goksturges @pan-with-a-plan2020 @angelofthetrenchcoats @minnie-bby @cordelia-of-asgard @rose-ellis @lyarr24 @babygurltt @akshi8278 @miss-nerd95

#castiel x reader #castiel #spn #supernatural #spn imagines

[winchester-purgatory]

Fake marriage, snobby mother and booty calls | Dean Winchester x OC

Summary: Awsten’ sister tells their parents she’s married - she isn’t. Dean accepts to play along when her parents comes to visit for dinner

Word count: 1670

Notes: I wrote this for the Christmas bingo I participated back in December but only now got to finish it

-

Dean Winchester wasn't husband material. He liked old cars, 80s rock music, had a bit of a drinking problem and had been in jail. He hated to wear ties, being more of a flannel kind of guy, and always had oil or grease stained hands from fixing cars.

Her mom was going to hate him.

He was also a bit of a ladies man, but that part didn't need to be mentioned at the Christmas gathering.

''Are you sure this is a good idea?’’

''You gotta be there,'' Awsten insisted, looking at Dean over the island countertop where they were having breakfast. ''My sister already told everyone I was married. I would be the family’s laughingstock if I they show up for dinner and there is no man in my apartment after such a big news.''

''I still don't get why you couldn't tell them it was a misunderstanding. Why make things complicated when they were initially simple?''

''Because they're from another generation and won't understand. They won't find it funny that we played the 'just married' card to get free alcohol. Or that we only hook up on the daily.'' The redhead sighed, taking a sip of her hot coffee. ''If Charlie hadn't tagged us on social media, my sister would've never seen the picture and caption...''

Dean reached out, squeezing Awsten’s bare thigh on the bar stool, and looked at her with apologetic eyes. ''Charlie’s really sorry. She didn’t think the picture would get to your family.''

''I know. It’s okay. I made my peace with it. Now, we just have to play pretend.'' She stood, taking her empty plate and putting it in the sink to wash later.

Today was going to be a long day and Awsten was dreading all of it. Having her parents and sister over for Christmas wasn’t part of her December plans. For the last two years, she had escaped the family reunions and had intended to do it again this year. She didn't hate her family, they were just so strict, judgemental and draining to be around.

She'd rather rent a cabin in the mountains with a couple friends - Charlie and Dean included. At least, that promised a lot of fun.

Dean joined her by the sink, doing the same with his dishes.

''Thank you for doing this, Dean.''

As insane as the situation was, Awsten was glad to have someone like Dean. Not everyone would have agreed to partake in her crazy plan and play married couple for the holidays, even for one night. And, he will definitely add some spice to her family's Christmas dinner.

''It was my idea in the first place to get the alcohol. And, I wasn’t going to say no to free turkey.''

Awsten scoffed. ''The turkey might be free, but you are helping me. I’m not gonna do all the hard work by myself, Winchester.''

''I would try to eclipse myself, but since you did most of the work last night, I guess I could help you for today,'' he said as he slid a hand under Awsten's tee shirt to cup one of her cheeks and gave it a small squeeze.

.

After six hours of chopping, whisking and seasoning, the faux-married couple were finally ready to receive Awsten’s family.

The redhead has put a red tablecloth to mask the chips on the wooden table, something that would've definitely not gone unnoticed by her mother, and pulled out the pretty candle set she had received three Christmases ago to decorate the center.

Dean lit up the Christmas tree filled with miscandellous, non-traditional ornaments and hoped no one would point out the missing Christmas crib under the tree. It was somewhere in the storage closet and Awsten didn't feel like fetching it.

As they were setting the table, Dean caught the silver ring on the redhead’s finger. ''Just so you know, I would've never offered you this cheap ass looking ring. My wife deserves something better than a plastic rock.''

Awsten narrowed her eyes. ''I did with what I had and with the time I had, Dean! I couldn't get myself a real wedding ring. Diamonds are hella expensive.''

''You didn’t even get me one.''

''I forgot. But, knowing my family, they won't even notice. They'll be too occupied looking elsewhere,'' she promised.

''You mean my charming smile?''

She glanced at his flannel and stubbles, both red flags in her mother's book. ''Among others.''

It was around six o’clock when the doorbell rang. Awsten smoothed her velvet dress and checked her lipstick in the hallway mirror before opening the door.

''How can you get married and not tell us? I didn't raise you like this,'' her mom asked, skipping the greetings and walking in like it was her own place.

Awsten contained herself, forcing a smile. ''Hello to you too, Mom…''

Richard and Emilie, Awsten’s dad and sister, followed inside, shutting the door behind. They shed peeled off their winter layers and hung them on the overflowing coat hanger.

The elder woman peered into the apartment, looking for the handsome man her daughter had married. ''Now, where is that husband of yours? We didn't make all that travel for nothing.''

''I’m right here, Mrs. Torres,'' Dean replied, coming to the entrance to greet the guests. He kissed both her mom and sister’s cheeks and shook hands with Richard, his politeness surprising the Torres.

Although he had succeeded to impress her with his politeness, Dean didn't earn Cecelia's approval. She gave him an up and down look, disapproval casting itself on her face almost immediately.

''Shall we move to the kitchen? Dinner is ready.''

.

''What's your career, Dean?'' Cecelia asked, attacking him with questions as soon as they sat down around the table.

The redhead gave her mother a dirty look, knowing exactly what she was doing. To most, it looked like Cecelia was being nice and trying to get to know Dean, but she was being a snake and trying to find valid reasons to not like Dean to back herself with when she’ll later confront Awsten.

Dean swallowed his bite before responding. ‘’I'm a mecanicien, ma'am. I work at my uncle's auto-shop.''

''Ah.'' She glanced at her cadet daughter and back to Dean, disapproval in her eyes. ''Are you planning on taking over the business?''

''I love cars, but owning an auto-shop isn’t in my plans for the future.''

''What is, then?''

''Owning a bar. Commercializing my own beer...or whiskey, perhaps. Something along those lines.''

''I assume you are studying business?'' Mr. Torres asked, suddenly taking interest in the conversation, owning himself a business.

Dean shook his head. ''No. I’m not in college, Sir. College isn’t for me.''

''How did you meet?''

''Was it like the movies? Your car broke and he repaired it?'' Emilie asked with a snicker, making fun of her sister.

Awsten glared at her. ''No. We met through Charlie, my roommate. You remember her? She and Dean are long date friends.''

As the dinner progressed, Cecelia’s disdain toward Dean was getting more and more apparent - and she made little efforts to hide her feelings.

''If you'll excuse us, I need a drink. Awsten, darling, will you come help me in the kitchen?'' She flashed Dean a forced, bitter smile and stood, heading to the kitchen for some privacy.

.

''You don't like him.'' taking a glass out of the cabinet to

''With reasons! Have you seen this guy? I don't know what you find in him. He looks like...a lumberjack. You are worth so much more than him, Awsten. Guys like him don't go far in life,'' she said in true Cecelia Torres fashion, always quick to judge others.

''Well, we're already married, Mom. What can you do?''

''Is this why you got married in secret? Because you knew we wouldn't approve.''

An unsurprised laugh left the redhead's lips. ''Of course you would think that… Yes, Mom, I married a guy solely to spite you.'' Awsten poured the strong alcohol in the glass, the amber liquid gliding over the baby Yoda shaped ice cubes. ''Is it so difficult for you to believe that I love Dean? Just because I was raised in high society doesn't mean I wish to follow that kind of life.''

Cecelia huffed. ''You say that now, but you'll change your mind.''

''I doubt it.''

''Did he...force you into this? Marrying him.''

Awsten's eyes widened. She couldn't believe the words that left her mother's mouth. ''I'm leaving. You're being crazy.'' She took the drink she had prepared for her mother and left the kitchen, needing it.

''What about my drink?''

.

''Congratulation, Mom hates you. You’re everything she didn’t want for me.''

''Aw, damn,'' Dean said with sarcasm, helping Awsten clean up. ''I thought I had made a good impression.''

The redhead bit back a smile. ''I’m sorry for how she behaved toward you. For the way she talked about you. She’s insufferable sometimes.''

Dean shook his head. ''Don't apologize for her. I don't care what she says about me.'' He brought the leftovers to the fridge, trying to control his grin at the thought of stealing a tupperware of turkey for his lunch tomorrow. ''And it's not like we really are married - not that I'd care more then.''

''Now you get why I never visit my family. They're all similar variants of my mother.''

''They say family wants the best for you, but it's not always the case. I've stopped caring about others' opinion of me long ago. I can take a snobby mother who believes I forced her daughter into marrying me.''

Awsten stopped washing the plate, her stomach dropping. ''Oh no... You heard that?''

Out of all the disgusting things her mother had said tonight, this took the crown. Awsten had hoped Dean hadn't heard, but the kitchen wasn't very soundproof.

She opened her mouth to apologize once again, but Dean beat her.

''Don't say it.'' He turned around to face the redhead, eyes soft on her. ''She can assume whatever she want of me, but I'm still your main booty call,'' Dean added with a smirk.

''Dean!'' She hit his shoulder at his crude words, holding back a smile.

He shrugged and continued what he was doing.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fic #reader x dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fic #fake marriage au

[katfett]

ROXANNE (MOD!HVITSERK X OFC)

A/N: Will have multiple parts. Essentially Vikings meets Sons of Anarchy. This just happened when I was trying to write to my other stuff.

HAVEN’T TAGGED ANYONE, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO A TAG-LIST, HOLLA AT ME.

Summary: Roxanne gets stood up at the altar, instead of a reception, her girlfriends take her bar hopping for beers, dancing and singing. She got more than she bargained for in the form of Hvitserk when they wind up in the bar of Lothbrok Auto, the clubhouse of the Vikings MC Mother Charter.

Warnings: Smut.

Tag List: @bloooferladyy

Music: There is a playlist I listened to while I wrote this, from the obvious ones to some weird ones just cause they help me focus.

Playlist found here.

CATCH UP: PART TWO PART THREE

***

PART I

Bar hopping hadn’t exactly been on her to do list. Heck, her to do list today consisted of getting married. It hadn’t been checked off. Roxanne had been embarrassed when she realized he had not shown up. Cold feet had been the excuse from his family. Yeah right.

“Come on Roxy, no dwelling on it,” Tatiana said, taking hold of Roxanne’s elbow. Her friend had been quick to act earlier when they had realized she wasn’t getting hitched. Her bridesmaids had promised her a night of bar hopping and karaoke.

That’s where Roxanne found herself, in some bar in a small country town, about to be dragged onto the stage to sing some terrible pop song. She wasn’t nearly as drunk as she needed to be for this. Stage fright was such a bitch.

“Can we just go do shots at the bar?” Roxanne pleaded, trying to turn and book it to the bar. Tatiana wouldn’t let her go and she whined as Sally helped to turn her. Fiona helped them drag her up onto the stage, even as Roxanne protested the entire way. It probably looked hilarious to the people watching.

***

Hvitserk watched as Ivar lined up his shot. They were playing pool in the back, Ubbe was locked in a kiss with Torvi as Sigurd watched the game. He’d opted out, disliking the way Ivar always managed to beat him. Hvitserk turned and motioned for a sweet butt to hand him his beer. She did so. Hvitserk took in the main floor of the bar.

Ragnar’s place hadn’t changed much over the years, Bjorn had seen to that. Being born to the founding member of the Vikings MC had its perks. They were patched young; it was the only life they knew, and they embraced it wholeheartedly. It gave them time like this, where most of the other patched members kept their distance.

It was a little more packed than usual, they’d been celebrating Floki’s release and return to the fold so there were people mixed in with the club he didn’t know. The bar operated like any other, until you passed the bathrooms. The back corridor into the members rooms beyond was off limits to non-club folk. There usually wasn’t an issue with Whitehair usually acting as a bouncer back there.

He chugged most of his beer as he watched the stage, the karaoke thing had been his mother’s idea. It’d been dead most of the night, but he quirked an eyebrow as he watched three women pull another up onto the stage. They weren’t sweet butts, he knew them all, by name and cup size. He smirked as he watched the three brunettes shove a microphone into the blonde’s hand as they kept her in place.

“Hvitserk,” Ivar called, signaling it was his turn but Hvitserk waved him off, leaning against the railing that separated the pool tables from the main floor. He settled in, nodding as the sweet butt switched out his empty bottle for another one.

This was going to be good.

***

Roxanne growled at her friends. They were the best, and the worst. The microphone in her hands was awkward, she could just drop it, but she realized that would likely turn more attention on them. Her scrambling to get off the stage likely had been a sight. Tatiana had body blocked her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and dragging her back.

The three of them were pointing to the machine where the songs to select from were resting. Riley rolled her eyes. She looked at the songs - Teenage Dream by Katy Perry, fuck nope. I want it that way by backstreet boys, eh, fun but this bar didn’t seem like it would enjoy that. Her eyes scrolled across the next few songs and then her eyes lit up. Oh, that one.

Wild Thing by Tone Loc.

She smirked, if they were going to make her do this, she was going to get them back. Tatiana, who had a sixth sense for when Roxanne was going to fuck with their plans, reached out and hit a different song. Apparently, she’d been taking too long.

Gaping, offended and dramatic as fuck when drunk, Roxanne slapped her hand looking at her incredulously. The beat to Rihanna’s Rude Boy kicked in and Roxanne couldn’t help herself, her hips started moving with the beat. She was going to kill Tati for this. Her friends loved this song, Roxanne loved booty shaking to this song. Not singing it.

Tati wrapped herself around Roxanne and kissed her cheek before forcing her to move with her and Roxanne almost blushed at the whistles and catcalls as they moved in tandem. They had danced many a times to this. Grinding against one another wasn’t the embarrassing part, they had an audience. A bar full of guys in leather.

***

Hvitserk was grinning as he watched the four women grinding and singing, albeit a little terribly, to the song. This was far more entertaining than he’d thought. The blonde and one of the brunettes were grinding against one another. They got lost in the song, not even singing as they nearly put on a whole other show for the boys. The club members were cheering the four on. Hvitserk glanced across at Sigurd.

“Hey bro, you got the music lined up?” When Sigurd frowned at him, Hvitserk pointed to the four on the karaoke stage. “Who needs strippers when you can have drunk city girls.”

Sigurd laughed. Ivar rolled his eyes from where he was engaged in a conversation with Ubbe. “I think I can manage something.”

***

Okay, Roxanne had to admit she was having a blast. The song ended and so did the dancing - to a loud chorus of boos. Instead of the next karaoke song starting up though a heavy rock song filled the bar.

Roxanne grinned at the familiar beat. She loved this song, especially since it shared her name. Fuck it, it was meant to be her wedding night, she would’ve been having her first dance right about now. May as well dance like the single woman she was.

***

Hvitserk was hypnotized. He had been watching the blonde bump and grind to every stripper song he could pump Sigurd to play. She was shorter than her friends, her denim shorts fitting snugly, showing off the curve of her ass as she swung her hips. Her tank top was gaping at the sides, revealing a white lace bra. Long curly hair was damp and frizzy. Hvitserk wanted to bury his fingers into it as he rode her. The sweet butt at his side had gotten bored when he didn’t show her a hint of leaving with her to his rooms in back and turned her attention to Sigurd, joining him by the controls for the music.

Hvitserk finished off the last of his beer as the girls finally tired and started to climb from their stage. A few of the boys helped them down.

Hvitserk ducked under the railing, setting his empty bottle down and running a hand across his jaw as he watched the petite blonde move through the boys heading for the bar looking like she was on a mission. He grinned, perfect.

***

Roxanne leaned over the bar, the woman behind it nodded at her as she asked for water. She was buzzing. The combination of drinking and dancing was doing all the right things to make her happy.

“Hey Hvit,” the bartender greeted with a smile and Roxanne’s brows furrowed. The woman was looking behind her. Turning, Roxanne was taken back by the man standing incredibly close. Hot damn. He was a good head or so taller than her; he was fair, a little bit of stubble and a mop of dirty blonde hair braided back from his face, tied into a man bun at the back and the sides shaved. He had tattoos covering his neck and arms. He was staring at her and Roxanne was all too aware of his deep blue green eyes. It was intense. She didn’t know it was possible in real life for someone to fuck you with their eyes, but he seemed to be doing just that and Roxanne felt a shiver creep down her spine.

Hello hunky biker boy.

The telltale leather vest over his white shirt gave him away. Roxanne smiled at him, not saying a word, and turned back to grab the bottle of water on the bar. If her dancing hadn’t dehydrated her, he certainly had.

“You sure like to grind these hips.”

Another shiver crept along her as he spoke, his deep, raspy voice accented and showing through. It was the hand resting on said hips of Roxanne’s that got her attention; strong fingers dug gently into her hip as the other moved so he could lean against the bar and by default her, given she was standing between them.

“Glad you enjoyed the show,” she said and managed to dislodge him by grabbing her water and ducking under his arm. Tati and the girls were across the sea of bodies.

“Wanna give me a private one?”

Roxanne actually laughed as she took a sip, spraying water back into her bottle at the terrible pick-up line. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He was leaning casually against the bar, watching her. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

The challenge hung between them and the biker disarmed her by gracing her with a smile that was simultaneously cheeky and devilish. How did someone look so cute and dangerous at the same time?

“I think you’ll scream for me first,” he said calmly. Roxanne blushed; people could hear them. The bartender was smiling, trying to appear busy as some of the men around them laughed. She turned, determined to ignore the biker, and ducked into the sea of bodies. She didn’t get far. An arm wrapped around her elbow and she nearly dropped her drink only a hand caught it and then she was pulled back against a warm body.

He didn’t let go of her hand holding the water as he crowded behind her, grinding a little against her ass. Roxanne licked her lips. This was so not how she pictured tonight going.

“Come on, I dare you,” he whispered into her ear.

Hvitserk could feel the tremble in her hand as he spoke. He was loving every second of this. He’d been determined to, at the least get her name, and maybe a quickie in the bathroom but the challenge hanging between them made him want more. He could drag this out.

“I think I’m super drunk,” she mumbled, he grinned having only just caught it.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, his free hand dropping to her waist, slipping beneath her tank. Her skin was warm to touch, and so soft.

“Cause there is no way a hot biker is offering to fuck me senseless the same day I get stood up at the altar.”

He paused and glanced down at her with a quirked eyebrow as she turned her head to look at him a little. He could see the flush deepen in her cheeks. She was serious. He grinned and pried the water from her hand, someone took it from him, and he brought his hand up to tip her chin towards him.

“You got lucky, you didn’t marry an idiot then,” he muttered and then kissed her.

Roxanne whimpered into the kiss. Holy jeez. Her knees were weak from a kiss. She was drunk, very drunk apparently. Not enough to be blackout and not understand what was happening but with her lowered inhibitions she gave in far easier than rational, sober Roxanne would. Heck, sober Roxanne wouldn’t have even been here. His fingers ghosted along her jaw, the hand touching her bare skin at the waist of her shorts was drawing lazy circles across her flesh. The kiss itself was slow.

He didn’t seem to be in a hurry and Roxanne leaned into the kiss. His lips were soft, full, and tasted sweet. Her fingers curled into his leather vest just behind her hip. His hips ground into her, and Roxanne was sure that any man like this shouldn’t exist. His fingers massaged her neck and she moaned, moving in slow motion with him to the music pounding through the speakers. If this wasn’t get you in the mood to fuck music, Roxanne didn’t know what was.

She almost whined as his mouth broke away from hers, his eyes assessing her intently in the dim light.

“Please tell me there is a room somewhere,” she said. He grinned and nodded, loosening himself from her so he could steer her towards the bathroom hallway. Roxanne wasn’t a prude but the idea of fucking in a toilet stall was, well it wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

He didn’t turn into the bathrooms though, instead he led her deeper through the hall. Coming to a door with a large biker guarding it, Roxanne was surprised when the older man simply moved to the side without a word, just ducking his head in a nod as the biker guided her into another dimly lit corridor.

The door shut behind them and the music became a distant pound. He had his hand joined with hers and a little worried now they were alone, she clutched at it and stepped in close to him, letting him guide her through the hall, past a few rooms. One door was ajar, and Roxanne saw a man with a woman tied up in the strangest position.

At the end of the hall, he turned left to a door. He let go of her hand as he fished into the back pocket of his baggy blue jeans. Roxanne was really doing this. Tati hadn’t stopped her, and why the fuck would she? It was Roxanne’s night to just do whatever the heck she wanted, right?

The soft click of the lock in the silence brought her back to the moment and she glanced up as he looked at her over his shoulder. He was broad compare to her; he was also the total opposite to what she was usually attracted to. Maybe that was why drunk, heartbroken Roxanne was so keen to strip off and let him fuck her.

The door opened and he stepped to the side and motioned for her to step inside. Roxanne let out a soft breath and stepped through the doorway.

The room had a large bed against the opposite wall, the sheets were all messy. A few pieces of furniture were scattered about. A large flag of what she assumed was their biker iconography hung above the head of the bed. She was a little surprised when she noticed that the ceiling had a mirror over the bed. Interesting.

Roxanne turned to face the biker. She hadn’t even got his name. She assumed Hvit was a nickname, they usually gave themselves nicknames, right? He was leaning against the now shut door, tossing the keys onto the chest of drawers to his right.

“I’m Roxanne, by the way,” she said.

He grinned; he really needed to stop doing that. It was enough to make her belly giddy. “Like the song. Hvitserk.”

She nodded, softly testing his name out on her tongue. They stood in a heavy silence, the only sound the bass reverberating from the bar.

“So-“ she started, tapping the sides of her thighs.

“You’ve never done this.”

Roxanne paused, pursing her lips, and looked at the floor, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “A one night stand? No.”

He was smiling and suddenly all her drunken courage seeped out of her as she realized he wasn’t nearly as drunk as she was. “Take off your shirt.”

Roxanne blushed, the tank didn’t really cover much, she used it at the beach a lot, but she’d been hot in the summer night and just thrown it on as Tati had pushed her out the door of the hotel room.

She crossed her arms over and grabbed the ends. He didn’t move, just watched her. This was far more intense than if they were just sloppily going at each other. She tugged the tank up, sliding out of it and looking around for somewhere to toss it. There was a chair nearby. She chucked it over the back of it, then glanced at him.

For a moment she was kind of glad she hadn’t stripped off the white bra and underwear that matched because it made her boobs look incredible and she knew it.

***

Hvitserk had asked for a private show but his fingers itched to touch. Usually, he’d be balls deep in a sweet butt already. The dark grey tank was pulled off and he smirked. The white bra was expensive, this was what her husband would’ve been looking at if the fool hadn’t left her at the altar.

Her tanned skin stood out across the delicate white. He really wanted to touch.

Pushing himself off the door, Hvitserk shrugged out of his kutte and draped it over the back of the chair with her tank. She had her hands buried in the back pockets of her shorts as she watched him. She looked like an angel and he was about to make her fall.

***

Roxanne could feel her heart racing in her chest as Hvitserk laid his leather across the chair, he was careful with it. She smiled at the way he handled something so simple with such care.

“Come here.”

The soft order was direct and straight forward. Roxanne closed the distance between them and stood toe to toe with him. His hands sunk into her curls and she moaned softly as his fingers kneaded her head for a second. His mouth crushed hers, the slow kiss out in the bar was gone. He pulled her in close, holding her captive as he devoured her mouth, teeth biting at her lower lip.

Roxanne moaned into the kiss; it was incredible. When Mike had kissed her, it was usually sloppy. Her fingers found the end of his shirt and she dragged it up his belly, slipping her hands underneath. Hot, hard abs met her fingers, and she traced the sculpted six pack up to his pecs. One of his arms dropped to encircle her waist and drag her completely against him, crushing her hands between them as he slid his tongue into her mouth. Roxanne’s knees buckled as his tongue found hers. Jeez, this man knew exactly what he was doing with his mouth.

She dug her nails into his chest beneath his shirt, grinning as he hissed.

He pulled back just enough to reach over his head and tug his shirt off. Roxanne’s eyes took in the sight; underneath that baggy white shirt was a hard, tattooed body. His arms and shoulders were well defined and that delicious six pack dropped down into a deep v that disappeared beneath the waistband of his briefs which rested a little above his jeans.

Roxanne let out an appreciate breath. “I might have bitten off more than I can chew.”

He chuckled, those hands finding the curve of where her ass met her thighs and effortlessly lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around that trim waist as he peppered kisses along her jaw while taking the few steps to the bed. Instead of laying her back against it, he sat himself down, so she straddled him.

“Wanna dance for me?”

She thought back to her words out in the bar and groaned, dropping her head back as he chuckled. She had pretty much thrown the gauntlet down.

It was hot though; he wanted a private striptease.

Roxanne wasn’t used to drawn out foreplay. She was used to a rough blow job, Mike didn’t know how to pace himself and then he’d be on her like a horny teenager. He hadn’t changed in the four years they’d been together. Roxanne realized she had accepted it because she thought she’d been head over heels. Now, she had this hot biker asking her for a lap dance and realized that there was a lot she had been missing; like the way Hvitserk had stared at her in a room full of people like he wanted to drag her to the floor and thoroughly fuck her there.

“There’s no music in here,” she said, glancing round.

He smirked, leaning back on one hand, and shoving a hand into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his phone and unlocked it. The glow of the phone light highlighted his handsome features.

How did she get so damn lucky on one of the most humiliating days of her lives? A hot biker had intentionally sought her out, turning her drunken partying to forget the misery of this morning into this. She had no doubt he could pull women in easily, the calm casualness of him was gravitating and women likely felt the same thing she did when he focused on them. He tapped away and Roxanne realized just how comfortable she was, half undressed sitting on his lap. Yeah, she snorted internally, she was definitely drunk.

A moment later, Ginuwine’s Pony started up. He looked at her from over his phone, the smallest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he locked his phone and tossed it to the floor.

Roxanne slowly peeled herself from his lap. He leaned in towards her as she slowly rolled her hips, resting his hands between his legs. Those eyes were so damn intense and made her feel like a fucking million dollars as she slowly ground to the beat. She turned away from him, her fingers unbuttoning her jean shorts. She shimmied her hips, leaning her ass back to him a little as the fabric slid down and then pooled at her feet.

***

Hvitserk watched as she pulled herself off his lap, he put his hands between his legs to keep them off. Her hips moved to the beat and his fingers itched to reach out. He didn’t though even as she turned away from him. That ass in his face, even clad in denim was giving him a hard on. She wasn’t his usual type, he was used to tall, leggy slim brunettes and yet, as she slid those shorts down, he swallowed as that firm ass was revealed. Fuck, he swore to himself. The thong matched the bra. He wanted to bite the globe of flesh that shimmied in front of him.

She straddled him, her ass pressing back into his crotch and Hvitserk moved his hands, reclining back on them as she grounded against his hard on. That curvy figure wriggled and ground so damn perfectly against him. Her legs were draped over his and Hvitserk spread his knees, spreading her own.

Fuck not touching. He leaned back further and reached round to grasp her throat, his hips grinding up into hers.

“Open your eyes,” he said as they ground against one another to the song.

***

Roxanne was loving the feel of him, loved the way he ground up into her, the way he gripped her throat gently. She did what he said and opened her eyes. The mirror. Fuck it was hot. She could see herself grinding against him, her legs spread over his as he watched them through the mirror as well, he smirked, that grip on her throat squeezing softly before it slid down over her chest.

Roxanne was a little discombobulated by the fact she was watching his every move above them. She moaned as his fingers grazed her nipple through the fabric of her bra, arching her chest into his hand.

His thumb rolled over the hardening bud as Roxanne writhed across him. The song forgotten as he started to touch her.

Her hands steadied herself by his hips on the bed. Her ass pushed back into his groin, where his hard on was becoming evident. She was swimming in a haze of alcohol and pleasure when he suddenly pinched her nipple and she squealed. He chuckled by her ear as she comically slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Like that?” Hvitserk inquired, his eyes still on the mirror above them. His hand moved up to where her hand covered her mouth, gently prying it off. “I wanna hear you. Pinch your nipples, Roxy.”

Roxanne swallowed thickly, her hands moving to her breasts. She whimpered as she rolled her thumbs across the sensitive buds, pinching like Hvitserk had done.

“Fuck,” she breathed as her eyes slid shut, her head finding purchase in the crook of his neck. A strong, rough hand settled on her knee as she continued to stroke and pinch her nipples. It was more erotic having him watch her do it to herself she found. The hand on her knee slid up along her thigh. Right to the top of her thigh.

He was going to win. She was not up to this challenge. He was too good at this. Roxanne’s belly was warm, liquid heat flooding her system as she touched herself with him watching her. His thumb drew idle circles across the top of her thigh.

Roxanne stopped grinding as she focused on her breasts, letting that delicious heat between her legs build. She hadn’t even gotten her underwear off and she was a mess atop him.

“Lean up,” he said. Roxanne did and felt his fingers undoing the clasp of her bra. The straps loosened and she rolled her shoulders with a grateful sigh. She pulled it off and threw it across the room. Large hands cupped her breasts and she moaned as his thumbs found her nipples and stroked and pinched as his lips brushed the back of her neck. Those hands were delicious. She covered them with her own, encouraging him. She was close, and he’d only been touching her nipples. Roxanne needed his hands elsewhere. She dragged one of his hands down her belly, shivering as his hand delved beneath her underwear without her needing to voice what she needed.

She gasped as his finger slid along her clit, then groaned when his fingers went further, sinking between her wet lips and thrusting into her. She murmured out a yes as he alternated between pumping into her and stroking her clit.

His teeth scraped across her shoulder. Roxanne was panting, legs trembling as he pinched her nipple and stroked her clit. With a curse, she crumpled. His legs trapped hers from closing as she came, twitching as she whimpered, trying to squeeze her legs shut.

***

She hadn’t screamed for him. Yet. He hadn’t expected her to orgasm so quick. How long had it been since she’d had a good fuck? A while by the way she was reacting to him. He loved the way her body shuddered against him as he brought her undone. He hadn’t gotten to see her face as she was facing away from him, her head leaning into his shoulder.

He slowly dragged his hand from her underwear. She collapsed back into his chest and he grinned. She was a cuddly little kitten post orgasm. He pressed a kiss to her temple as she came down.

“Wow,” she whispered. He chuckled, the deep rumble under her back shaking her a little.

After a moment, she slid off his lap to kneel between his legs. Her fingers went to his belt as she peered up at him from beneath her lashes. Fuck, she looked good like this.

Hvitserk leaned down, his fingers grabbing her chin and pulling her to him for a kiss. He stood, letting her shuffle back on her knees as he pushed her hands from his belt. He undid it and then his jeans were undone and dropping to the floor. He was hard, painfully so. Delicate, soft fingers tucked into the waistband of his briefs and then they were pulled down. His cock sprang free and he groaned softly at the release.

***

Roxanne was impressed. She glanced up at him from where she knelt. He had his head titled back, and she leaned in then, grabbing his thighs and pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss to the underside of his cock. He was hard and ready, but Roxanne was determined to give as good as she got from him. His grunt above her was rough as his cock twitched under her mouth. His head dropped forward to his chest and he was staring at her. Roxanne kept his eyes locked with hers as slowly licked up along the underside of him. There was a strangled noise from him, and Roxanne smirked at him as her fingers closed around the base of him.

Her grip firm but not intending to hurt, stroked along him, her thumb gliding over the weeping head. What surprise her was the sudden whimper from the man above her as she closed her mouth around the head of his cock, her tongue sweeping over it like she was trying a lollipop.

“Fuck.” Fingers buried into her hair as she slowly swallowed him; relaxing her throat to try and take him all in. Those fingers tightened on her hair as she hummed around his cock.

***

Hvitserk nearly wept as the hum in her throat caressed his cock. She was good. Fuck, he’d gotten head before, but this was so different. There was no hurry to it, no quick get him hard and then get him in her. No, Hvitserk was going to enjoy this. His legs trembled as she came off him, only to swallow him again, her teeth just gazing the underside of his cock.

He moaned, tightening his grip on her hair. He needed to thrust, he needed to move but he was trying to so desperately to let her set the pace of this, knowing he could hurt her if he was rough. Her tongue stroked him, and he whispered out another curse. He needed to fuck her, now.

***

Roxanne winced a little at the grip in her hair as she tried to sink back down on him. He held her in place as he pulled back and then he was dragging her to her feet. Roxanne moaned into the bruising kiss. He sought her hungrily, hands slipping to her hips, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her thong. He rolled the fabric down her hips all the while kissing her like a hungry predator.

She quickly toed off her booties and kicked them away as he let her underwear drop to the floor around her feet.

His hands found her ass and thigh and he was lifting her up. She gripped his neck and shoulder, her thighs tightening against his hips as he turned and rolled her beneath him onto the bed. He settled down over her and Roxanne sighed into the kiss, massaging the back of his neck as that slow and unhurried pace washed back over them.

His head bowed to her breasts; bruised, swollen lips found her nipple. She moaned, suddenly grabbing at the sheets under her as he slowly moved down her body, planting open mouthed kisses across her chest and belly. His tongue carved a hot path from her navel down. Looking down, Roxanne found the sight of a muscular, tattooed biker settling his head between her thighs erotic in a way she couldn’t place. She wasn’t used to getting head, Mike just didn’t like doing it, thought it was too difficult. Now she had a gorgeous man burying his face between her thighs like he was right at home.

***

She was tense, he could feel it in the way her thigh muscles bunched by his head. “Relax,” he murmured, turning to press his lips to her inner thigh. “Lay back.” He looked down the length of her body to her face. She looked hot; swollen pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and messy curls. She still looked uncertain but whatever internal debate she was having with herself, his words got through and she slowly relaxed back into the bed.

***

Roxanne stared at the mirror above them. Okay, she got why he had it. The sight of her, stretched out across the bed, clutching at the blankets with her thighs slung over Hvitserk’s shoulders as he nipped and sucked his way along her thigh was fucking hot. She could only see the back of his head and his back as his muscles flexed as he moved. She adored his back. One of his arms curled around her thigh and held her steady.

His mouth came to her clit and Roxanne’s hips bucked off the bed. She blushed as she watched his head twist to glance up to her face. She wouldn’t look; she would just keep her eyes on the mirror. His chuckle was sexy as he returned to her clit.

Roxanne moaned as his tongue slid along her. Fuck, he was good at this. She clutched hard at the sheets he slipped two fingers into her and she swore as her hips bucked into his mouth.

***

Hvitserk smirked against her, enjoying the way her thighs squeezed against his head. He held her thigh in place so she couldn’t run from him as his tongue circled her clit. Her hips bucked against him as he pumped his fingers into her, curling up against her. She was a hot mess above him, whimpering and moaning as he kept going. Her hand buried into his hair and Hvitserk grunted against her tug but didn’t stop. He was going to make her scream; he’d promised her she would, and he wasn’t going to fail on that.

***

“Fuck,” Roxanne breathed. The sight of herself completely at his mercy in the mirror was incredible. The licking of heat spread from her belly and out over her body. Her toes curled as Hvitserk sped up, guessing she was close. She gripped his hair tight and cried out as she came, her legs trembling and her hips rocking into him. He didn’t stop and she whimpered as he carried her through her orgasm.

She was shivering as he finally gave her a break, his mouth carving a hot, wet path across her belly. Her body was heavy; a combination of the alcohol in her system and the two orgasms were making her tired. He hadn’t even fucked her. Roxanne glanced down at him; he had his head resting against her belly. She scraped her nails against his scalp and grinned as he shivered before glancing up at her. He was so incredibly hot as he pulled back from her. She let him go, leaning up on her elbows as she watched him get up and reach for his jeans.

He had his back to her, and Roxanne was able to admire his ass as he rummaged through a back pocket. She leaned back on the bed, staring up at her reflection in the mirror. Her fingers absently trailed over her stomach as she listened to him rummaging around.

***

Hvitserk glanced at her, she was laying back, staring up at her reflection. He grinned; that mirror was the best damn thing he’d done to this room. Her legs were drawn up slightly and he watched her. She was breathtaking post orgasm, and he was a little surprised at how he couldn’t imagine the guy who’d stood her up and left her at the altar. How? Why?

He pulled the condom from out of his wallet and tossed them back down to the floor. The soft thud drew her attention. He grinned, holding up the packet. She blushed and he was taken back by the sweetness of her.

“I have a request,” she said into the quiet between them as he stood there.

“Oh? What would that be?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest as he stood profile to the bed, waiting for her to answer.

“Can you wear your vest?” It was a whisper. She was shy about asking. If only she knew just how many sweet butts demanded he leave it on while fucking them; it wasn’t that weird, most women got hot under the collar because of the kutte, the bad boy image that the club members projected. He’d experienced it since he’d been a prospect and the girls at high school had shown him the effect it had.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, and nodded. “Your wish, is my command.”

He grabbed his kutte as he came back to the bed, the condom packet between his teeth as he shrugged the leather back on.

***

He stood at the bottom of the bed, shrugging into the leather and she let out a shaky breath. It was so damn hot to see his bare inked skin against the black. He put his knee down onto the bed between her legs and his hands found her knees. He still had the condom packet between his teeth as he came down to her, his fingers smoothing along her thighs. He was still hard and ready to go.

She reached out and pulled the packet from between his lips as he got within reach. She opened it and tossed the packet aside as he knelt over her. She reached between them, her fingers closing around him. He hummed in the back of his throat as she stroked him slowly, enjoying the way his hips rocked into her hand. She rolled the condom onto him and kept hold of him. He watched her, his eyes hooded as she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him down to her. He was so gorgeous and for just a night, she got to be with him. She wouldn’t see him again, and so Roxanne committed every little detail she could to her memory and prayed she’d remember it when she was sober.

He came down and kissed her gently, his lips brushing across hers as he smoothed her hair back from her face and she smiled against him, releasing her grip as he sunk down into her. She moaned, her hips shifting to meet his as he pulled back a little. He stopped kissing her, his forehead resting against hers as he sunk back into her. He groaned, his head dropping to her neck. His hand held her hair gently as he kissed her throat, searing himself deep in her. Her hands slipped under the leather and found his back, digging in and holding him close.

Roxanne felt so good, loving the way he filled her. He ground his hips against her slowly.

“Fuck,” she breathed as he hit that deep spot in her that made her gasp. He didn’t lean away, using his elbow to support some of his weight as he kept up the slow pace and grinding. Roxanne was swimming. This was unreal.

***

Hvitserk was kissing her neck, his teeth nipping at her flesh as he ground against her. She felt so damn good. He didn’t usually go this slow but fuck if he wasn’t going to savour being balls deep in this messy, thoroughly fucked angel. He sought her neck out, his teeth leaving love bites across her tanned skin. She clung to him and for a second Hvitserk felt a pain in his chest. Fate was funny in the way it had pushed them into this and yet, it was only one night. They were two different people, worlds apart and nothing good could come from him dragging her into the life he and his family lived. He didn’t want to rush and let her go. He needed this. Her thighs clutched at his hips and he kept his grip on her hair. He didn’t want to let her go.

***

Roxanne was not use to slow sex. Mike had preferred finding the end as quick as he could, only concerned about getting off. This was incredible; Hvitserk was incredible. She slid her heel over his ass and dug into the firm flesh. He grunted as she raised her hips to meet him. His thrusts quickened as he buried himself in closer against her. Roxanne moaned as his leathers brushed against her nipples. She pushed him then, shoving his weight to the side and followed him. He grunted as his back hit the bed and he looked up at her as she threw her leg over his hips.

***

Hvitserk grinned up at her as she grabbed his kutte for purchase and sunk down onto him, her head dropping back as she moaned. His hands found her hips, helping her set a steady rhythm and he groaned, leaning back to watch the mirror above them. She was leaning back, giving him the best fucking view as she rode him. He groaned as she sunk down and then ground her hips. His fingers dug into her flesh as her speed quickened.

***

Roxanne bit her lip as she rode him; hands holding his leathers and bracing against his chest for purchase. He grunted and bucked his hips to meet hers, the frantic pace they were reaching a signal he was close to the finish. She leaned over him, her teeth biting at his lower lip. He returned the kiss, fighting her for dominance.

He sat up then, his arms sliding around her back and holding her to him. Roxanne leaned her head back as his teeth sunk into her throat, keeping hold of her as he took control. It was animalistic the way he suddenly gripped her, holding her throat in his teeth but not hard enough to hurt. Her hands buried into his hair, messing up his man bun and braids.

He groaned her name, long and deep suddenly and his movements became jerky as he came.

***

They collapsed backwards, Roxanne dislodging herself so she could sprawl out beside him, staring up at their reflections in the mirror. He was breathing raggedly and smiling. Roxanne grinned, leaning against his side. She bit his chest playfully and he hissed, chuckling.

He rolled away from her for a second, taking off the condom before coming back to her.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and made her look at him. “Are you okay?”

She smiled, nodding. “Yeah, though I should probably go find Tati and the others. We need to head home.”

The smile slowly faded from that handsome face and she internally cringed, realizing she’d broken the spell clinging to them in here. “I’ll help you round them up.”

He surprised her when he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead before he pulled away and climbed from the bed, pulling his vest off as he went to grab his briefs from the ground. Roxanne had to reason that she needed to break this, whatever it was, so she could go home, back to whatever was waiting for her there. She climbed from the bed and located her underwear, dressing quietly as he did.

***

Hvitserk found a packet of smokes on the chest of drawers by his keys and pulled one out, lighting it as he pulled his kutte back on. He could hear Roxanne dressing behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He wasn’t angry that she’d brought them back to reality. She was right, she needed to go back to her own life and the sooner she did it, the easier he figured it would be. He wasn’t used to this; the wanting someone to stay.

Margrethe, his only true serious relationship had been teen angst coupled with her being a sweet butt that knew how to play club members like a fiddle. She’d done a number on him, and Ubbe. Sigurd didn’t speak of it, but they all knew he still saw her when he ventured to the chapter in Florida where their mother had sent her to avoid the drama of the sons of Ragnar in fighting. Hvitserk didn’t miss her, he’d just never really trusted someone again.

Sweet butts tried to get close, but he kept them at arm’s length. He glanced over his shoulder at where Roxanne was shimmying into her jean shorts and felt something deep in him feel sick. She wasn’t what he had expected when he’d first seen her tonight, but jeez, he’d loved every second of it.

It was going to hurt watching her walk out of here.

***

Roxanne let him lead her back towards the bar. He stopped at each door, knocking and asking for the girls for her. Imagine her surprise when a blonde appeared in the doorway, sans everything but a pair of boxers as Sally and Fiona appeared behind him half naked. Biting her lip to stifle a smile, she watched as the blonde spoke to Hvitserk in a language Roxanne didn’t know. Hvitserk looked comfortable, not worried about the two barely clothed women as he spoke between smoking.

“Sorry ladies, guess the nights over,” the blonde said, pouting at her friends who giggled and they disappeared back into the room to get dressed.

Hvitserk glanced at her. “He’s my brother.” She nodded slowly.

“You two look nothing alike.”

He grinned and jerked his head down the corridor. “Come on.”

***

Hvitserk helped her find Tatiana. Her best friend had taken to helping the woman on the bar clean up some of the chaos about the bar. Sally and Fiona reappeared, clothed with Hvitserk’s brother and Tatiana gave her a wide smile as she saw them approach. She linked arms with Roxanne, giving her a raised eyebrow as she glanced at where Hvitserk was talking to the woman at the bar to organise a ride for them back into the city.

Roxanne whispered that she’d tell her back at the hotel.

Tatiana just smiled.

***

Hvitserk and his brother led the ladies outside. Roxanne was surprised to see a man sitting on a lunch bench out on the lot smoking. He didn’t speak to them. Hvitserk pulled out another smoke as they stood waiting in the cool night air for the taxi. Roxanne felt the chill and wrapped her arms around herself as she huddled with Tati while Sally and Fiona chatted up Sigurd, or so he’d introduced himself to her as.

She felt him behind her then and the warmth of his body drew her in; Roxanne leaned back into him a little. He talked causally to his brother over her head and she was reminded just how small she was compared to him. They didn’t touch each other, just stood as close as they could.

The taxi arrived way too quick. Sigurd helped Sally and Fiona into it, and Tatiana climbed in next. Roxanne’s feet didn’t move, suddenly anchored to the spot. This was it; this was goodbye. He hadn’t moved from behind her. His hand found her hip as he flicked the smoke he was finished with off nearby. Like inside when he’d followed her into the sea of bodies, he took her chin and made her look at him. His fingers ghosted over her jaw and she leaned into it, smiling weakly.

“You’re gonna be hard to forget,” he said softly and then kissed her. She pulled away first and nodded at him, letting out a shaky breath as she stepped towards the taxi. His hand stayed at her hip until she was out of his reach and then she was in the taxi. Sigurd shut the door for her.

“Wait, how are we paying you?” Tatiana asked suddenly to the driver and Roxanne smiled as it distracted her and pulled her attention away from Hvitserk standing outside, hands buried into pockets as Sigurd spoke to him.

“You’re not,” the driver replied. “I owe the club a favor. All things considered; this is a cake walk.”

Roxanne didn’t want to know; Sally and Fiona were talking. She’d gotten lost in her thoughts as the taxi pulled out of the lot and her heart sank a little as she glanced back to where Hvitserk had been standing to find him no longer there.

#hvitserk #vikings #smut #fanfiction #part one #vikings hvitserk #modern vikings #modern hvitserk #romance #biker hvitserk #Hvitserk x ofc #hvitserk x oc #alternate reality #hvit #Hvit try #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvietserk #fanfic #modern!hvitserk

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

** Writing Challenge **

I know, I know, my next one isn’t quite wrapped up yet, buttttt this idea came to me when my cousin and I were taking a walk down a ridiculous part of Memory Lane and I got excited. I’m guessing this has been done before at some point -- that’s not stopping me from presenting to you: 

I love fluff. And I wanna see more of it! 

Below the cut you will find some prompts that, in the context of Twilight, are absolutely cringe-worthy. My challenge to you is to take that prompt and make it something we can love. 

Disclaimer: I’m not Twilight-shaming ANYONE. I literally sat and watched all of Eclipse and now want to watch both Breaking Dawns. It’s more about sentiment, and the occasional girly giggle for me, but ... yeah. No judgement here, friends. 

Guidelines, prompts, and tags are below the cut! (Yes, I copied and tweaked from my last writing challenge. I’m being efficient, thank you! :P )

Please read all of the information carefully!

Rules, Guidelines, Important Dates:

Sign-Ups start when this post is live and will go through to December 30, 2020. I will accept two people for each prompt, one prompt per author.

Please send your sign-ups to my ask box so they’re easier to keep track of. I will answer them privately so I’m not flooding anyone’s dash!

In your ask, please include your preferred prompt and a backup option, as well as your pairing (so I don’t take the same pairing for the same prompt). Also, please let me know if you’ll be posting from a URL other than one you’re asking from.

To be included in the challenge masterlist, please post your fic (or the first part, if it’s a series) by Decemeber 31, 2020.

Please include an author’s note tagging me and mentioning the challenge in your fic post; include #BetterThanTwilightWC in the first five tags. If the tag doesn’t work, you may DM the link to me, also. If you decide to write a series, please tag me in the masterlist.

Please give me up to 48 hours to read your fic before checking if I have seen it. If I have not liked it after 48 hours, please DO check. (You know, since we’re all aware of how unreliable tumblr is. And how unreliable my mind can be. Yikes.)

The challenge masterlist will be posted between January 1 and January 4, 2020.

There are no word count limits, but please use the Keep Reading feature if your story goes beyond 500 words. Additionally, if your fic goes beyond 5000 words, please consider splitting it into multiple parts. This is not a requirement, only something to think about.

Yes, this is a FLUFF challenge, so you MUST have fluff as your main genre. You’re more than welcome to include other genres, but you MUST have a happy and/or hopeful ending.

You’re welcome to think outside of the box! Just because I’m talking Twilight and love stories, doesn’t mean there has to be romance! Give me  amazing friendships or strong family bonds or self-love. Or romance! Whatever you’d like. 

You're welcome to change pronouns in the prompt as necessary! Heck, I tweaked a few of ‘em so they’re not Twilight-specific.

For personal reasons, I do not read and will not accept into the challenge (which means I will not reblog or add to the masterlist) stories that include: non-con/dub-con, underage sex, adult-child romantic/sexual relationships, spouse-bashing, child abuse – I could go on, but I think you get the idea. If you’re not sure about something, I’m always happy to answer questions!

Bring on the ships, OC’s, reader pairings – I’m trying to be more open-minded as of late, but I can’t promise that I will read everything. Again, for personal reasons. But I will reblog everything! 

Characters and RPFs from Marvel/MCU are both welcome. 

If you need an extension or need to drop out, please know that I am extremely flexible when it comes to that deadline/due date. In the words of Captain Barbosa, “It’s really more of a guideline.” Just shoot me an ask or a message and we’ll work something out, no worries! 

Prompts: 

1. “I have always loved you, and I will always love you.”  2. “The clouds I can handle. But I can’t fight with an eclipse.”  3. “I know what you are.”  4. “You held out your hand and I took it without stopping to make sense of what I was doing.” 5. “You have a connection with her that I’ll never understand.” 6. “I’m glad she has you.” 7. “It will be like I never existed. I promise.” 8. “I knew who I wanted to be. I wanted to help people. Brings me happiness.” 9. “That will take a while to get used to.” “We have a while.” 10. “What if I’m not the hero? What if I’m the bad guy?” 11. “I’d rather hear your theories.” 12. (sarcastically) “Super. That makes me really happy.” 13. “You’re like my own personal brand of heroin.” 14. “Maybe I shouldn’t be dating such an old man. It’s gross. I should be thoroughly repulsed.” 15. “It’s an extraordinary thing to meet someone who you can bare your soul to and they’ll accept you for what you are.” 16. “I’ve been waiting for what seems like a very long time to get beyond what I am.” 17. “I feel like I can finally begin.” 18. “He’s totally gorgeous, obviously. But apparently nobody here is good enough for him.” 19. “He did say I couldn’t step inside the door. I came in through the window.” 20. “I know things. Like how to hunt somebody to the ends of the earth. And I know how to use a gun.” 21. “Now I’m afraid.” “Good.” 22. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m only afraid of losing you.” 23.  “About three things I was absolutely positive ...” 24. “You’re so stubborn.” 25. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?” 26. “I can’t even think about someone hurting you.” 27. “The only thing that can hurt me is you, and I don’t have anything else to be afraid of.” 28. “Don’t antagonize her. She’s the strongest one in the house.” 29. “All right. That’s enough experimenting for one day.” 30. “It never made sense for you to love me.” 31. “I wish there had been someone to vote no for me.” 32. “It’s just a little baby.” 33. “How strongly are you opposed to grand theft auto?” 34. “I’m not missing another fight!” 35. “No one can hide like me.” 36. “If I asked you to stay in the car, would you?” 37. “I have one condition, if you want me to do it myself.” 38. “I had an adrenaline rush. It’s very common. You can Google it.” 39. “How did you get in here?” “The window.” 40. “I love a happy ending. They are so rare.” 41. “You should put your seatbelt on.” 42. “Can you talk about something else? Distract me so I won’t turn around.” 43. “I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist.” 44. “After all the thousand times I’ve told you I love you, how could you let one word break your faith in me?” 45. “Maybe that’s why they kicked me out.” 46. “All of my best nights have happened since I met you.” 47. “You know everybody’s staring?” “Not that guy ... no, he just looked.” 48. “She wishes she was that awesome.” 49. “Does he visit often?” “Yeah, all the time.” 50. “Lie ... Lie better.” 51. “I’m Switzerland.” 52. “That should have been our first kiss.” 53. “Would you like to hear my story? It doesn’t have a happy ending -- but which of ours does?” 54. “Another party?” “It’ll be fun.” “Yeah. That’s what you said last time.” 55. “You are the only one who has ever touched my heart. I will always be yours.” 56. “The way he watches you. It’s like he’s willing to leap in front of you and take a bullet or something.” 57. “Kill me! Not him!” 58. “Stay.” “Give me one good reason.” 59. “Yeah, it’s and off day when I don’t get somebody telling me how edible I smell.” 60. “Damn it! You’ll be the death of me, I swear you will.” 61. “If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I’m not afraid of it.” 62. “Do I dazzle you?” 63. “I’m tired of trying to stay away from you.” 64. “Bring on the shackles, I’m your prisoner.” 65. “You are my life now.” 66. “And then we continued blissfully into this small, perfect piece of our forever.” 67. “Nobody’s ever loved someone as much as I love you.” 68. “I don’t know what happened.” “You love him.” 69. “All of sudden it’s not gravity holding you to the planet, it’s her. Nothing else matters. You would do anything, be anything for her.” 70. “You really love her?” 71. “I don’t see the whole point of the rest of the world without her.” 72. “Then I found a promising site ... I waited impatiently for it to load, quickly clicked closed each ad that flashed across the screen. Finally, the screen finished -- simple, white background with black text; academic-looking. Two quotes greeted me on the homepage:” 73. “I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.” 74. “I’ll be fighting for her, too, and I’ll be fighting twice as hard as you will.” 75. “It’s always been him.” 76. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you.” 77. “They’re coming for her.” “They’re not gonna touch her.” 78. “Doesn’t he own a shirt?” 79. “You know, if it weren’t for the fact that we’re enemies and that you’re also trying to steal away the reason for my existence, I might actually like you.” 80. “You have disappeared. Like everything else.” 81. “The absence of him is everywhere I look.” 82. “I don’t have the strength to stay away from you anymore.” 83. “Your number was up the first time I met you.” 84. “We all like to drive fast.” 85. “It’s too easy to be myself with you.” 86. “I’ve never given much thought to how I’d die, but dying in the place of someone I love seems like a good way to go.” 87. “Don’t tempt me too far. My patience isn’t that perfect.” 88. “His tone questions my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfect delivered line by a skilled actor.” 89. “What’s he mad about?” 90. “No measure of time with you will ever be enough.” 91. “I promise to love you forever, every single day of forever.” 92. “We’re gonna be great friends!” 93. “If I had my way, I would spend the majority of my time kissing him.” 94. “Until your heart stops beating.” 95. “I touched the cool miracle of his ski, and I was home.” 96. “Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.” 97. “This isn’t the time to make hard and fast decisions. This is the time to make mistakes.” 98. “Leave it to you ... you have to start hanging out with the first weirdos you can find.” 99. “I love him much more than I should, and yet still nowhere near enough.” 100. “I refuse to be affected by territorial disputes.”

Tags for possible interest/signal boosting (if you’re so inclined): 

 @captain-s-rogers​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​​​​​​​​​ @hurricanerin​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @horsesandbandsforlife​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @im-not-an-armrest-im-short​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-rogers-beard​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @shynara51​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @sea040561​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @pinknerdpanda​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xtina2191​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @jackryanplz​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @beakami​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @heartsaved​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @fullprunerebelstatesman​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @blackwidowismyhomegirl​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @the-murder-strut-murdered-me​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @shield-agent78​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @jennmurawski13​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @okay-maybe-i-like-marvel-too​​​​​​​​​​​​​

#betterthantwilightwc #twilight writing challenge #prompt list #queue and i remember budapest very differently

[edxwin-elric]

Darkest Roads - Ch. 1

Chapter 1: 30k Cens

(art by @ayanthos​)

Rating: T

Pairing: Edwin/Edward Elric x Winry Rockbell

Disclaimer: I don’t own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Total Word Count: 15k

Chapter Word Count: 4.5k

Description: Edwin Street Race AU - fluff/drama

Edward, an angst-ridden teenage daredevil, has it rough. Practically living on the streets, constantly worrying about his younger brother, and always looking over his shoulder has hardened him, giving him a reputation on the streets of Central City. Though, in truth, his bark is worse than his bite—something Winry finds out when a search for a rare car part lands her in the middle of illegal street racing. One look at the innocent blonde mechanic standing alone among the loud voices, revving engines, and squealing breaks, in a haze of exhaust and cigarette smoke has Ed ready to throw himself at her feet. But his sins are piling up, and he knows better than to try to involve an adorable auto shop princess in his mess. But Winry has secrets of her own, and despite all of his efforts, she’s impossible to resist.

A/N: It's finally here! FMA Big Bang!! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I'm super grateful to @ayanthos​ for her AMAZING art contribution to this collab! I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know in the comments, and please check out the other works from this event!! @fmabigbangs​

ffn || ao3 || tag

next chapter

Winry

Glancing at the GPS on my phone, I stop walking and look at the street sign. I lean forward a little, my feet shifting on the sidewalk, and glance down the dark alley. A shiver runs down my spine, but I take a deep breath. I bite my lip and look at the time. Past midnight. This is a reckless idea… but I can’t go home now, not when I’ve come this far.

“Okay,” I concede softly to myself, trying to calm my nerves. “I mean, this is where it says to turn.”

I step off the main road into the shadows, pulling my jacket closer to me. I hear something scurrying to my right, and I start to walk faster. Gripping my phone tight in my pocket, I continue to follow the twists and turns it gives me until I turn left onto Cardinal Street, which actually looks almost habitable, and hear engines revving nearby.

As I get closer, the blind panic starts to dissipate, only to be replaced by a new kind of anxiety.

“Paninya, what have you gotten me into?” I mutter to myself as I turn the last corner and—

Choke.

I’m suddenly lost in a haze of cigarette smoke. Coughing, I stumble to the side, only to find a tall, angry person, who pushes me away.

“Sorry,” I sputter.

Crap. This is not going well. I move away, and wave my hands around my face. The air clears enough to give me a decent view of the stretch of crowded road in the hazy streetlights.

Yep. This is definitely the place. Sinners’ Lane. (That’s not the official name of course, but…it might as well be.)

To my right, loud bass music thumps out of various car speakers. On top of those cars are couples in various positions of…intimacy. I feel a blush spread down my neck, and I turn the other way. To my left are the angry smoking guy and some other guys who are also smoking and look just as angry, though some of them seem to be holding cigarettes while some are holding what I can only assume are joints. Past them are clusters of girls dressed…scantily. Not necessarily distastefully, though, I just don’t think I’d ever be able to pull off a look like that. I squint at them… Is that a shirt or a bra?

The loud sound of an engine revving makes me jerk. I look past the girls to the main attraction.

A street race.

Two rumbling sports cars inch forward until they’re waved at to stop at the makeshift starting line. I see the two drivers throwing up rude hand gestures to each other, and one says something that makes the other one jerk his neck and rev his engine.

“Remember,” a spiky-haired guy wearing a fur-collar vest calls out, as he walks in between the cars. “It’s the first one to the second stop sign. Winner take all. Anything goes.”

He slaps his hands on the hoods of both cars and spins around, facing the drivers.

“You can go when my lady, Lust, gives you the signal. Good luck!”

He walks off to the side, and a lady with hair down to her knees walks out in his place. Her hips sway in ways that shouldn’t even be possible, and the way her chest is contained in that strapless dress defies the laws of gravity and…other physics.

“Play nice, boys,” she calls seductively, and the guys in the surrounding crowd whoop and whistle.

Then she whips out a green flag from…somewhere and the two cars fly past her. I barely have time to turn my head before they’ve roared by, heading for the end of the street. The Dodge wins by a split second. They slow and turn down opposite side streets, and I can only assume they’re driving back around to settle things.

But I didn’t really come here to watch. I’m on a mission.

“So…” I whisper under my breath. “If I were selling car parts to these guys, where would I be…”

I scan the street again, and…honestly, I have no clue. Looking back at the starting line, two new cars are setting up to go. The guy with the leather and fur looks like he’s in charge. I guess maybe he can help me.

Moving through the crowd, I inch past different groups of people, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, until I’m fairly close to where the guy was standing during the last race.

A loud bang! catches me off guard, and I jump. I look toward the sound to see the boss guy holding one of the potential racers by the front of his shirt. He’s got him pulled halfway out of his driver’s side window, and they’re practically nose to nose.

I feel my throat lock up as cold races down my spine.

“Don’t you ever try to short me again, little punk.”

“I’m s-sorry, Mr. Greed, sir,” the driver whimpers. “I swear, it’ll never happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t,” the boss guy snarls, “or you know what’ll happen.”

The driver visibly swallows, and I can almost see his fear like an aura surrounding him.

“Good.” The boss sets him down in his car and pats his shoulder. “Glad we understand each other.”

When he moves away, he turns toward me, and I freeze when his eyes meet mine. Or rather, his circle sunglasses. Who the hell wears circle sunglasses at night? Or at all?

He grins at me, and I take a step back, stumbling into someone.

“Hey! Watch it!”

I turn around and duck my head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“Oh really?” a sarcastic voice snaps back. “Is that some sort of short joke!”

“What?” I blink and look up at the guy talking.

He’s a very angry blonde guy wearing a red leather jacket, black leather pants, and black combat boots. The leather gloves are a nice touch. His hair is tied up in a ponytail except for his bangs that fall in his eyes. Honestly, he’d be kind of cute if he weren’t vibrating with rage.

“You trying to say I’m some kind of pipsqueak!?”

“N-no,” I say softly, confusion muddling my brain. I mean, he’s taller than me—only by a few inches, but still. Plus, I don’t even know him. “I j-just…”

“You are a pipsqueak, Elric.” A guy with a dog collar walks up and throws his arm around him.

“WHAT?” Blonde Guy twists violently out of the guy’s embrace, looking murderous. “Get your hands off me, Dolcetto!”

“Give the girl a break, kid. She’s clearly lost.”

Oh no. Is it that obvious I don’t belong here?

“I’m not lost,” I protest, but my voice wavers, and I know I’m blushing.

The blonde guy looks at me again, and his face loses some of its anger. And I was right. He is kind of cute.

“No, seriously, what are you doing here, princess?” he asks, crossing his arms. “Aside from assaulting the locals.”

“Don’t call me ‘princess,” I snarl, “and I wasn’t assaulting–”

“Giving our guest a hard time, Edward?”

I feel a shadow fall over me, and I shiver at the smooth voice behind me.

“What? No. I was just talking to–”

The shadow moves closer, and the blonde guy drops his arms, his hands clenching into fists. I catch his eye, and it’s like I can hear him telling me to run for it. But I can’t move. There’s a moment of deafening noise as the cars behind us take off, and then the voice speaks again.

“Did you need something, Miss?”

Slowly, I turn to face him, the guy with the circle sunglasses, the one who is way scarier than I first realized.

“Um, n-no. I was just… I was just–”

“Are you cold?” he offers gently, his current demeanor nothing like the guy who threatened the driver a few seconds ago. “I can get you something warm to drink. My name is Greed. I’m sort of the boss around here.”

“No.” I shake my head, hugging myself tighter. “No, thank you, Mr.…Greed.”

I might be shivering, but it’s not from the cold.

“Just Greed is fine.”

“Oh, okay. Um. Actually, I was hoping to find someone who sells rare engine parts,” I tell him in a rush before softly adding, “I’m a mechanic.”

“Oh, a mechanic?” He grins broadly and holds out his arm, his other sliding around my shoulder. “Why didn’t you say so?”

He starts pulling me down the street, and I feel panic flood my veins.

“I know just the person to help you with–”

“I can help you.”

I jerk my head toward the voice only to find the blonde guy—Edward, I guess—watching us intently. I plead to him with my eyes to save me. I’m not sure if he’s really any more trustworthy than Greed, but something about him feels…safe.

Or safer, I guess.

“It’s no trouble, Elric,” Greed tells him, his voice thinning slightly. “I can take care of Miss…”

“Rockbell,” I supply without thinking.

I immediately want to rip my tongue out when I see Edward wince. I’m so dumb. Obviously, I shouldn’t tell any of these people my name.

“Miss Rockbell,” Greed finishes, his voice clearly sugar-coated now.

“But aren’t you busy with the races?” Edward cuts in quickly.

“Dolcetto and Martel–”

“I just saw three half-drunk guys with a ‘Vette pull up in the back. They look like the usual trust funders and ripe for the picking.”

“A ‘Vette you say?” Greed’s tune changes sharply. “Hmm. Still…Dolcetto and Martel should be able to handle a few–”

“And you know I know all the best dealers on this block,” Edward jumps in again. “It would make more sense for me to take her.”

Greed releases me slowly and looks between me and Edward before nodding.

“Aha. I think I see what’s going on here.” He grins again and waves me toward the blonde boy. “Go ahead, Elric. Show her the, uh, dealers. Just make sure you wrap up first.”

I blink at him confused before Edward mutters some profanity under his breath and shoves his gloved fingers through his bangs.

Did I say he was cute? Because he’s not. I’m not sure what happened, but all of the sudden, he turned…hot. Like really hot.

Oh my God. I don’t have time to be thinking about that right now.

Greed saunters off wearing a smirk, and I take a step toward my attractive would-be savior.

At least, I hope.

Edward

Shit. How did I end up here?

Not racing, like I want to be, but instead staring at a perfect blonde princess that Greed basically just told me to go fuck in an alley somewhere.

“What was he talking about?” she asks quietly.

“Huh?”

“What he said just now—Greed. What did he mean?”

I blink at her, and glance away in bewilderment, before looking back.

“What exactly are you referring to?” I return slowly, hoping her question doesn’t mean what I think it meant.

“About you ‘wrapping up first?’ What does that have to do with auto part dealers?”

I press my lips together, and reach up to rub the back of my neck. I mean, did she really not get he was referring to use having sex? Fuck. She really wound up in the wrong place tonight.

“Nothing,” I mutter when I realize she’s still waiting on an answer. “Just, um…ignore that.”

“Oh. Okay.” She nods, not quite meeting my eyes. “So, you were going to show me where to get engine parts?”

“Yeah. Follow me.”

I turn around and start down the sidewalk. I figure I’ll start with Donovan. If he doesn’t have what she needs, he���ll know who does. I pause at the corner of the alley and look over my shoulder, only the princess isn’t there.

“What the hell?” I hiss. “Where did she go?”

Weaving back through the crowd, I find her where I left her, shivering and looking around wildly.

“I told you to follow me,” I growl, grabbing her hand.

“What?” she gasps. “Oh!”

I pull her out of the way of some stumbling drunken assholes, pushing her against the wall and shielding her with my body.

“You okay?”

She licks her lips and looks anywhere but at my face.

“I’m fine,” she whispers finally, and it’s hard to ignore her flushed cheeks. “I didn’t see where you went, and I…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I step back when they’ve moved off down the sidewalk and start to pull her after me again.

“Hey, Edward?” she calls, practically jogging to keep up with me.

“Yeah?”

“Is your hand, um, automail?”

I freeze mid-step and round on her again. “What of it? Is that a problem for you?”

“No,” she glares, and I’m almost surprised. The princess has more guts than I realized. “I was just curious. You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

I wince, and then shake my head. I don’t have time to feel sorry for hurting some random girl’s feelings.

“Come on. I thought you needed auto parts.”

Without waiting for her to answer, I grab her hand again and take off. We reach Donovan’s without any more interruptions, but his lights are off, so I stop at the bottom of the stairs and tell her to wait while I go knock.

She nods, and I go up slowly, knocking on the cracked doorframe three times, and waiting. I hear the sound of bolts sliding back, and finally, the door cracks a few millimeters.

“Who is it?” a low voice asks.

“Tell Donovan it’s me,” I answer, leaning on the frame.

“Elric? I thought he told you to piss off. He won’t do business with the Devil’s Nesters anymore.”

“I’m not here for them,” I say quickly before the door shuts. “I have a new buyer looking for engine parts.”

“Name?”

“Rockbell.”

I hear the princess gasp, and I wave at her to shut up.

“Wait here.”

I sigh as the door clicks shut. After a few seconds, I jump over the stairs onto the street, landing in a crouch in front of the girl. She flinches in surprise, and I laugh silently.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she hisses. “What did he say?”

“I’m waiting to see. If Donovan will see you, you’ll probably find what you need.”

“Oh. Good.”

“You said your name was Rockbell?” I turn to her, and she tucks her hair behind her ear.

I instantly notice a string of piercings along the delicate curve. I’m tempted to touch them.

“Yes.” She nods.

“Is there a first name to go with that?”

“Well… I mean…”

“You know mine,” I remind her. “And if you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to keep calling you, ‘princess,’ all night.”

“Winry,” she tells me with a huff. “I’m Winry.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.”

She opens her mouth to say something I can only expect will be sassy when the door opens and Donovan’s huge frame fills the entry.

“Come in, and make it quick.”

I lead us in, and he locks the door immediately. Winry stares at the five deadbolts and two chains with wide eyes, and I bite my lip. She’s fucking adorable.

“Don’t panic,” I say, as she squeezes my automail tighter. “He’s just paranoid.”

“I think you mean cautious,” Donovan booms as he moves past us to his living room. “Come this way.”

Winry sits close to me on the couch while Donovan takes up residence in a large chair. There’s no sign of whoever I spoke to at the door, but that’s not really a concern right now.

“What is it you need, Miss Rockbell?”

“I’m looking for this.”

She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a detailed design drawn on a thinning piece of graph paper.

Donovan takes it, and I watch his eyes squint with a frown.

“This is…hmm.” He studies the image closer. “What did you say you needed this for again?”

“I didn’t,” Winry answers softly. “But that shouldn’t matter, should it?”

She looks over at me, and I shrug one shoulder. I’m not curious about her reasons, and when I contact dealers for parts, they all know better than to ask me what I need them for. That probably has to do more with my relationship with the Devil’s Nest than my street cred, but either way.

“I suppose not,” he mutters gruffly, still scrutinizing the paper.

Eventually, he sets it down and turns to her. “That piece is very rare. Difficult to track down.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “That’s why I came here.”

“I can get it for you, but it’ll be a few days, and it won’t be cheap.”

“I can pay.”

“Edward, will you be running point on this?” Donovan looks at me before turning to Winry. “Or how should I expect to get it to you when I have it?”

“I, um…”

“I’ll take care of it,” I volunteer. “Just let me know when it’s in, and I’ll handle the exchange.”

“Fine.” The large man stands. “In total, the cost is two hundred. I require half now, and half after Ed delivers the part.”

“Two hundred cens?” her musical voice pipes up, and I shoot a look at Donavan, who is frowning deeply.

“Thousand,” I hiss at her.

“What?” she gasps.

“Two hundred thousand cens,” I clarify, hoping she catches on quickly.

“Right, um, okay.” Winry reaches into her jacket again, looking flustered. “I have… I have, um…”

Her hands are shaking as she pulls out a wrinkled envelope. I reach out and put my hand on hers, fully aware of Donovan’s eagle eyes on us.

“Do you have it?” I whisper, trying not to let her hear the dread in my voice.

Her eyes take on a sheen of tears, and I already know the answer.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

She doesn’t have the money, and Donovan will be pissed we wasted his time. Even more pissed at me because I knew better than to bring in a buyer who couldn’t pay.

Shit.

“Is there a problem?”

“Just give us a second,” I answer without taking my eyes off of her, trying not to let her see my panic. “How much do you need?”

“Thirty thousand,” she ekes out, glancing at Donovan and then back at me. “I get paid tomorrow, and I have the rest at home, I just didn’t know I needed that much at once. I–”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll cover the difference.”

It’ll suck but it’s way worse than the alternative.

She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head, but before I overthink it, I slide three bills out of my wallet and into her envelope.

“Edward–”

“Here you go.” I grab the envelope out of her frozen fingers and stand, handing it to him.

“Excellent.”

I stand there while he counts it, and then turn to collect Winry as he leads us to the door.

“Thank you for your business, Miss Rockbell.” He shakes her small hand in his large one before turning to me. “Edward, I’ll be in touch.”

“Until then.”

We duck out, and the door closes behind us.

“Now what?” Winry asks as we walk down the steps to the abandoned sidewalk. “Do we go back to the race?”

“No. Now, I go back to the race, and you go home to your castle.”

“I don’t live in a castle–”

“You do in comparison to this shithole,” I interrupt her harshly. “But that’s not even my point. You can’t come down here again. Ever.”

“But…then how am I supposed to get the part I need?”

Not by coming to the Lane.

“I’ll bring it to you.”

Somehow. My baby’s sitting on blocks at the Devil’s Nest garage. That thirty thousand I just gave her was supposed to be the last payment I needed to finish her body work. And since I spent tonight leading Winry around, I didn’t get any racing in, so Greed won’t be inclined to give me a cut of the profits. Usually I can make at least a hundred grand on a night like this. Plus, I told Al I’d go to the grocery store this week. We need bread and milk—milk, ew, I might forgo getting any of that—and I think the toilet paper is running low.

“You have a cell phone?”

“Um, of course.”

“Give me your number.”

She freezes, and I tilt my head at her, waiting.

“You want my number? Why?”

I roll my eyes slightly and then back to her. “So I can text you when your part comes in and we can meet somewhere?”

I watch her eyes close and her face turn pink.

“Right. I’m an idiot.” She shakes her head. “Here, give me your phone, and I’ll put it in.”

“Sorry. Battery’s dead.”

She blinks as if that’s an entirely foreign concept to her, which it probably is.

“Okay, then let me write it down.”

She reaches into her jacket again, and I wait.

“Oh. I forgot. I don’t have a pen or anything.” She meets my eyes again. “Um…”

“Just tell it to me,” I say, trying not to grin. She’s too adorable to be real.

“What?”

“Your number. Just tell me. I’ll remember it.”

“Are you sure? I bet I can, um–”

“You’re not going to find a pen around here if that’s what you were about to say. Seriously, just tell me the number.”

She exhales, and I’m temporarily stunned by the way her lips part.

“Okay then.”

She says it slowly, and then repeats it, giving me time to commit each digit to memory. After, I echo it back to her, just to be sure.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“Excellent. I’ll text you when I have it.”

“Should you give me your number, so I know it’s you?”

“Will you remember it?”

She rolls her eyes, and I bite my cheek, so I won’t smile at her. Fuck, this girl is dangerous to my reputation. If Greed caught me smiling at a girl, he’d own me for life.

“I have my phone right here.” She pulls it out of her pocket and holds it out to me. “You can just save your number right now.”

I could, but…where’s the fun in that?

“That’s okay.” I wave her off. “Trust me, you’ll know it’s me.”

“For some reason, I don’t doubt that,” she mumbles. “Well, I guess this is goodbye then.”

“Do you know how to get home?”

She holds up her fancy cell phone. “It has GPS, so I think I’ll be okay.”

“Right.” I glance over my shoulder and then back at her. “Listen, go straight home. Don’t follow me back toward the race, and don’t wander around. Walk fast and try to stay in better lit areas if you can. This area isn’t safe, especially for pretty girls on their own.”

God, it’s a miracle she even made it here, now that I think about it. Especially with that huge amount of cash in her purse.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“What?” I frown at her. “No.”

She raises her eyebrows, and my hands clench into fists.

“You’re completely missing my point,” I growl. “This area is dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself.”

She tosses her head, and I feel some of my irritation fade. She is just so damn cute. And that’s the problem.

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” I confess gently, “but all the same you need to be careful.”

“I could text you when I get home,” she suggests jokingly, “but you’d have to give me your number for that.”

I’m half-tempted to take her up on it, but the last thing my piece-of-shit phone needs are texts from a girl to kill its crappy battery even faster. Fuck, I need to put a new phone on my list of Shit I Need But Can’t Afford.

“That’s okay. As long as you go straight there you should be fine.” I slide my hands into my jacket pockets and start toward the race.

“Okay. Bye.”

I nod at her over my shoulder just in time to see her turn around and start typing into her phone. I shake my head and take a left down the alley. When I make it back to Dolcetto, I feel a surge of guilt.

What if she gets lost? Or mugged? Or worse.

A sickening feeling spreads through my stomach, and I start to turn back.

“Edward, what happened to your pretty new friend?” I groan internally at Greed’s voice. “Did you two get the part she needed?”

“Yes,” I answer flatly, turning to face him.

“And did you get what you needed?”

“I didn’t fuck her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Ah, but you wanted to.”

My jaw pops, and I tilt my head back to glare at him. He doesn’t need to know he’s a tiny bit right.

“There’s no point in denying it,” Solaris, or Lust, I guess, since we’re in public, sidles up to him, and slides under his arm. “I could practically smell the desire rolling off of you.”

“Leave her alone,” I snap. “Besides, it’s not like she’s coming back anyway.”

“Ouch.” Greed fakes a wince. “You struck out that bad?”

“Aw, let him be, Greed,” Lust smirks at me, resting her cheek against Greed’s fur collar. “Can’t you see he’s trying to be a gentleman?”

“Elric? A gentleman,” he scoffs with laughter. “Please.”

“Look, you made his face all red,” Lust purrs.

“I’m pretty sure I can find something better to be doing right now,” I mutter, turning away.

“Wait, Elric,” Greed calls me back, and I sigh because as much as I’m ready to get out of here, he’s sort of someone I can’t ignore.

“What now?”

“Tomorrow I expect you to actually race something. As short-fused as you are, you’re the best driver I can put behind a wheel. Tomorrow is the start of winter break for Central U, so I expect more of a turnout than tonight. Don’t miss it.”

I open my mouth to tell him I’m supposed to close tomorrow at the butcher shop where I work part time, but then I shut it. If I tell Sig I need to take off early to go to the grocery store, he’ll probably let me, even though he’ll also probably know I’m lying. Still, it should be fine unless his wife is around. I can never get a lie past her.

But I can’t worry about that right now.

“I’ll be here.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Greed grins. “Now, go home to that brother of yours and get some sleep.”

He turns away, and I feel like I can breathe again. Getting mixed up with the Devil’s Nest was never something I planned on doing, but when you grow up on these streets you don’t have a lot of options. Still, I can hold my own better than most, and generally, I just keep my head down and do what I have to.

Someday, I’ll get out of here, and I’ll take Al with me. Until then, I just have to stay focused.

No distractions.

#fma big bang #edwin #edward elric #winry rockbell #street race au #modern au #edwin fic #my fic #my edwin #darkest roads #30k cens #fma fanfiction #edwin fluff #fma fic #edwin fanfiction #fmabb #fma #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fma fanart #edwin fanart #otp: tears of joy #fueled by fire

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.1

this arid world has turned my deep heart dry

This is the first chapter in my new ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Chapter Summary: follows S5E1 and Spencer's depression and disordered thinking is introduced.

TW: depression, disordered thinking, loneliness, the events of s5e1 (guns and knives)

Word Count: 3.4k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

"She simply said this arid world has turned her deep heart dry, there was just one way she knew of to finally feel like she was free, and it was 1400 feet beneath the cold and stormy sea." — Erin Hanson

Spencer’s entire body feels heavy as he drags himself into work, and it’s not exactly a good sign when he can’t even find the energy to press the button for the right floor; he just stares pitifully at the array of numbers as if the elevator will read his mind and resolve the issue for him. Eventually, he brings himself to move his finger the short distance, cold metal colliding with cold flesh, and the doors shudder close, catapulting him up several storeys towards his fate.

Some might call the emotions Spencer’s experience typical burnout, far too common in the FBI and even more so in units that deal directly with horrific crime on the regular, but he knows it’s more than that. His entire life is operating in a minor key, he’s functioning entirely on auto-pilot, and chunks of his day are a blur, almost impossible to recall. He knows he’s depressed. Knowing such a fact, however, does little to cure the actual problem. He has no idea what to do with information like this except bottle it up and shove it as far down as possible while pretending as much as possible that absolutely everything is fine.

Emily and Derek are laughing about something as he approaches their group of desks. Only weeks ago he would’ve been crushed when they don’t so much as look over to say hello, but now he’s glad to not have to fake a smile, invent a story to tell about his weekend, pretend he’s not currently being held together with slowly peeling sellotape.

Instead, he focuses on feeling grateful that no one’s commented on him arriving a whole hour later than he used to as he unpacks his messenger bag. It’s not like it’s his fault he can’t pull his exhausted body out of bed in the morning, but since he’d rather not disclose such sorry information and finding an excuse is way too much effort, spending the morning in solitude seems the only option.

He doesn’t really understand how he’s gone from being a genuinely happy person, thick as thieves with everybody on the team, to this. It’s almost as though somebody’s cut the rope tying him to the others and now he’s drifting away, sinking without everyone else’s buoyancy to keep him afloat. He can see them all still tied together, barely seeming to notice their drowning team member, clearly not missing his presence.

This misery over his inevitable isolation, though, is his own fault: he can’t believe he let himself forget his place. He’s useful, good to keep around for his intelligence, his reading speed, his problem-solving skills, but it doesn’t go beyond that. Spencer is not friendship material. And he certainly isn’t relationship material.

The day starts off slow, everyone burying themselves in their paperwork, but Spencer finishes it far too quickly for it to really serve as much of a distraction. Depressingly, it’s still miles slower than he’s used to. Since his pile of consults seems too exhausting to even look at, he decides another coffee is very much in order.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ says happily as soon as he pushes his way into the breakroom. She’s leaning casually against the counter as she drinks her coffee, reading through what looks like case notes at the same time.

“Hi,” he says, trying for a smile but he knows there’s no way he could possibly match her relaxed grin. Instead of trying to converse, he just heads straight for the coffee machine, fixing his eyes on the steady stream of coffee pouring into his mug already piled high with sugar.

“You alright?” JJ asks, sounding a little suspicious. Not concerned, Spencer notes, just suspicious.

“Hmm?” He looks up and catches her eye before deciding he should probably answer verbally. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been acting a bit off the past few weeks.”

Spencer sighs. Maybe this is an opportunity to actually communicate his feelings. He doubts JJ will be able to help but really he’d just like a bit of comfort: he’s in so much pain that a hug would feel really nice right now. And besides Penelope, she’s probably the team member he’s most comfortable with. If he’s going to share with anybody, it should be JJ.

“I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, I guess,” he admits, looking up as his left-hand fidgets on the hot ceramic side of his coffee mug. He resents how vulnerable his voice sounds, he’s giving far too much of himself over to hands he’s not sure he can trust, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“Really?” JJ sounds surprised. Spencer recognises the tone as that of anyone who has a certain perspective on him realising that he also has feelings alongside his intelligence, and it hurts. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

Spencer just presses his lips into a thin line and nods awkwardly in thanks.

“I mean… at least you’re not going through what Hotch is,” she offers, completely unhelpfully. “He’s still trying to cope with his divorce and isn’t seeing Jack as much as he used to. Derek was almost killed by the Reaper just a few months ago, Emily only recently lost a childhood friend — I mean, the whole team has been through a lot. Keep your chin up.”

She smiles at him, patting him on the shoulder, before leaving the break room and heading back to her office, leaving Spencer standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. He wants to shout that he was literally poisoned with anthrax only a month ago, if they’re tallying bad things happening as a method of tracking who has the right to be miserable. The others might be going through a lot, that’s true, but it doesn’t lessen any of the pain thudding in his chest and stirring in his stomach.

As he walks back to his desk, he realises he’s learned one thing: opening up = not a good idea.

As completely fucking miserable as he might be, there’s exactly one person in this world who doesn’t deserve to be burdened with any of it, so he carefully tucks it away in his pockets and plasters on the mask he’d perfected so many years ago. It might be a little rusty, after all, it’s been little used in recent years, but it works just as well as it used to do when he pushes the door open to Penelope’s office.

“I bring blueberry muffins,” he says as cheerfully as he can muster, and something inside him does warm as Penelope’s face lights up, squealing a little as she reaches her arms out eagerly, making grabby hands at the paper bag he’s holding.

“Oh, you have no idea how much I love you,” she moans, keen to rip the bag open as he pulls up a chair next to hers.

“I think I do,” Spencer chuckles, and it’s one of the only genuine reactions he’s given in months, “mostly because you tell me every day.”

“Mm, that’s right,” she concedes through a mouthful of warm muffin, pointing a finger at his chest. “I love you even more than I love coding.”

“That’s a lot,” Spencer says, trying for serious but he can’t stop a fond smile slipping across his face.

Penelope swallows her rather large bite of blueberry muffin and passes him his one. “It is,” she says. “How are you, anyway? You look tired, poor baby.”

Spencer looks down for a moment, schooling his expression for a second before he forces himself to look back up at her. “Yeah, I didn’t… didn’t sleep well last night, I guess.” He tries for a reassuring smile but he knows it’s more of a grimace.

Penelope’s face immediately morphs into one of grave concern. Spencer knows that that’s just the way she is, melodrama and fierce protectiveness is virtually her brand at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t any less agonising to see, or the anxiety of being found out any less paralysing. He decides not to give her any room to actually address it.

“I’ll be fine, Penelope, don’t worry,” he says, turning away to brush some muffin crumbs off the desk and into his hand, purely so he doesn’t have to attempt another pathetic smile. “A good night’s sleep tonight will fix me right up.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, still looking far too worried for Spencer’s liking.

“Of course, Pen.” He feels sick at lying to her, but he has no idea how to broach any of the tumultuous emotions raging inside of him, especially after JJ shut him down so brutally. “It’s only a bad nights’ sleep.”

He’s saved from her inevitable continued line of questioning by Emily poking her head round the door and asking for Spencer’s opinion on a consult.

While getting out of bed in the morning might be an almost impossible task at the moment, the idea of getting into it at night seems rather depressing, really. That’s probably the reason he’s still at the office, despite the time nearing 8 o’clock and exhaustion settling into every muscle fibre of his being. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it’s just a little more time in close proximity to one Aaron Hotchner.

Of course, he’d had to accept the fact that he was maybe, just a little bit in love with his boss a long time ago. He just refuses to admit that he’s this embarrassing about it. Perhaps staying late to spend more time with someone you like this much wouldn’t be so weird if there was a reasonable chance of conversation — if he ever even saw him — but there isn’t even that: Spencer sits and works quietly at his desk, Aaron sits and works quietly in his office.

Today, though, today his lingering finally pays off.

Aaron is on his way back from the photocopier when he stops by Spencer’s desk. He doesn’t see him coming, though, is the thing: he has no time to try and make himself look even a smidge less miserable or to school his surprised yet utterly lovesick expression.

“Won’t you want to be heading off soon, Reid?” he asks, clearly curious as to why Spencer remains at his desk when there’s no real work to be doing, but he cleverly paints it in a light-hearted tone. Even though Spencer is completely aware of what Aaron’s doing, he doesn’t feel attacked or under pressure.

“Oh,” Spencer says unintelligently, stammering a little as he scrambles desperately at a somewhat coherent reply, “yes, yeah, I’ll get going soon.” He doesn’t want to lie when he doesn’t have to, so he doesn’t try and offer an explanation for his staying late, and he knows Aaron won’t push. He manages an almost entirely genuine smile, though, which must count for something, even if it’s only because he’s hopelessly in love with the man leaning casually against his desk.

“Right then,” Aaron says, offering a small smile in response, letting his hard exterior drop in the nearly empty office, and even though it’s nothing special, not really, Spencer carefully files it away as his heart pitter-patters against his ribcage and his stomach pools with warmth. “See you tomorrow, Reid.”

Spencer just nods in response and gathers his things, placing them carefully in his messenger bag and shrugging his jacket on before walking out of the building. When he glances back, just as he pulls the glass door open, Aaron is watching him carefully. He doesn’t turn away but instead offers a small wave, which Spencer returns bashfully, blushing scarlet in the elevator and on the walk out of the HQ and during the whole trek down the street and sat on the metro train and on the final stretch home. He fumbles with his keys and curses himself for being so goddamn pathetic.

He doesn’t consider it for long, though, because he’s utterly exhausted and his tired bones collapse on the sofa, and who is he to try and get them to move again? Sleep is a mercy.

🌧

The case is gruelling and stressful enough without the endless and constant worry about where on earth Aaron is. He never turns his phone off and Spencer can’t think of a time he’s worked a case without him, not properly; he’s always the first one at the office, the first one on the plane, the first to jump out of bed towards the chance to make a real difference in the world. It’s so out of character for him and it’s utterly distressing.

Nevertheless, he focuses all his attention on the job; on protecting Jeffrey and Tom Barton, on bringing justice to the perpetrator when they inevitably find them. He offers lame and desperate excuses for Aaron not being there, all the while knowing full well that none of them are likely. Something is wrong and he’s powerless to help.

Emily tells him why. He sort of forgets how to breathe.

Getting shot in the leg while simultaneously petrified for the livelihood of the person you’re in love with is inconvenient at best when trying to talk down an unsub and protect a victim and eventually fatal at worst, but somehow he half-manages and Tom escapes unscathed, though he isn’t quite as lucky with the unsub.

That’s what matters, really, isn’t it? That others are safe, even if it means he’s in danger? After all, Tom Barton has lives to save and a son to raise, a wide social circle, and a loving family. What does Spencer have? No, it’s much better that he’s the one hurt than anyone else.

Of course, once the adrenaline of the situation starts to wear off and medics arrive on scene, he realises quite how badly he’s hurt. Already feeling woozy, energy seems to seep out of him as roaring, raging agony takes its place. It’s the first time he’s ever been shot and it’s worse than he could have imagined: no amount of studying literature and anecdotal evidence could prepare him for the feeling of a small metal ball tearing through the flesh and muscle and tendons — though, hopefully, and judging by the amount of blood he’s lost, no arteries or large blood vessels — of his thigh.

His team arrives, minus Emily and minus Hotch, and they’re concerned, of course they are. That is, until he presents them with someone they see as much more important, someone whose life is worth something, someone they care about deeply being hurt. And they leave.

He doesn’t get a chance to tell the medics that he doesn’t want narcotics, so the ride to the hospital is a blur of morphine and voices talking to him, though he can’t quite piece together what they’re saying. He wonders vaguely where everybody is, whether Hotch is alright, whether he’s about to die, but no real emotion is attached to any of these thoughts, they just… are.

He’s rushed into surgery almost immediately after he arrives at the hospital, and the next thing he’s aware of is a dull, ever-present, agonising ache in his upper thigh and exhaustion settled into his bones like his body is pain’s home, fatigue’s resting place. The last time he’d blinked himself awake in a hospital bed, blinding pain burning in one part of his body or another, Derek had been sat by his bed, eating jello.

There’s nobody by his bed this time.

A PCA pump is resting by his right hand but he doesn’t touch it. Clearly, nobody from his team has informed the hospital staff of his previous addiction; he doesn’t even know if they’re at the hospital; if they know what’s going on. The morphine he’s already had is going to be hard enough to deal with, he can feel the future cravings itching beneath his skin already, scarred-over track marks simmering away.

It’s over twenty-five minutes of lying helplessly on a hospital bed in a cool, impersonal room, feeling a certain kind of emptiness sitting in his stomach, before a nurse comes by. She looks pleased enough to see him awake, but he doesn’t care about her satisfaction, he cares about his team, about Penelope, about Aaron, and he’s too exhausted to do anything about it.

“Good, you’re awake,” she says cheerily and for once, he doesn’t try and conceal his despondency. It’s oddly freeing. “I’ll get the doctor to come and explain the situation.”

She bumbles out of the room, clearly not fazed by Spencer’s expression, so he resumes staring at the wall, allowing his thoughts to wander, still not managing to attach much emotion to them other than a miserable sort of emptiness.

The doctor is nice enough, making sure he understands his injury and the procedures he’s had done, as well as the recovery ahead of him, but he just can’t bring himself to care. It’s as though this is the last straw; this is the proof, the evidence to win the case he’s been fighting in the court of his mind. His team doesn't care. His life is worthless. He will always, always be alone.

JJ stops by briefly. This feels like it should be a consolation, but it isn’t. He learns of what’s happened to Aaron, what his family is going through, and suddenly he feels selfish: how dare he demand and crave attention when Aaron is far more hurt and injured than he is? When he’s far more important and far more deserving of the team’s attention? Self-loathing creeps up his throat and settles into grey cotton wool that won’t melt in his mouth.

Spencer doesn’t know how to react to the incredibly overwhelming events of the day, and JJ doesn’t seem to have time for this. “Right, Spencer,” she says, visibly impatient with his emotional floundering, his lack of verbal response, “I need to go. We need to sort this out for Hotch. We owe it to him.”

She leaves, and all Spencer can think is how much more worthless not being able to work on his case makes him. If he can’t even work to save the man he loves; if he can’t strive effortlessly to protect him and make him happy, then what is he doing here? Aaron will be furious when he finds out Spencer laid in bed lazily instead of diving headfirst into the case.

No. That’s not true. He’ll be sickeningly nice about it, while on the inside suppressing his disappointment, and Spencer will feel even more guilty, he’ll be even more irate with himself, and life will seem just a little bit bleaker.

He’s discharged a few days later, and nobody has visited, barring JJ’s fleeting, impatient stop by. He goes home in a taxi and struggles up the stairs on his crutches, almost glad he didn’t have many personal items at the hospital. Then again, that was because he was completely isolated. And if he did have people to bring him things in the hospital, then he’d probably have someone to help him up the stairs too.

It’s a moot point, really. He dives straight for the non-narcotic painkillers he’d been prescribed as soon as he sits down on his dusty couch in his messy apartment, desperate to relieve at least some of the agony throbbing in his leg still. Clearly, the universe decided he wasn’t in enough pain already; that the unrequited love and the growing depression and the recurring stomach cramps and clenches in his chest weren’t quite sufficient.

He knows the team is working flat out on the Foyet case. But even Penelope, who probably works the hardest of all of them, has had time to send him an encouraging text message promising to pop round as soon as she can. Other than that, his phone is dry and his heart slowly freezing over.

Truthfully, he’s not sure how much more of this he can stand. He’s feeling the same way he did as a child: isolated, othered, hurt, and utterly, utterly alone. When he’d joined the BAU and was welcomed immediately into the arms of a family, he promised himself he’d never feel like that again. He would never, ever allow himself to sink so low; not when he was surrounded by so many people who proved day in day out how much they loved him. Surely, feeling like this would simply be impossible.

For once, Doctor Spencer Reid is proved wrong. And it burns, festers, and screams like nothing else.

Chapter Two

taglist:@criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch (taglist form)

(I'm tagging my usual hotchreid taglist but let me know if you would not like to be tagged in this fic OR if you'd only like to be tagged once it's complete! Either fill in the taglist form again or DM me.)

#hotchreid #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #hurt spencer reid #spencer reid whump #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #spencer reid/aaron hotchner #hotch x reid #spencer reid x aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #my writing #RCT #RCT 1

[joyfulfryer]

Gourmia Air Fryer 6 qt Reviews in 2021: Good choice?

Today we bring you the Gourmia air fryer 6 qt reviews!

There are tons of air fryers with different functionalities and performance capabilities in the market today. We really like this one made up of the sleek stainless steel (it has been staying out on a counter, so looks do matter), and because of its size – we do get a decent size of French-fries out of this.

It is actually easy to use, like so smooth. And all of the things get ready really fast. Apparently, you could cook so many things in this (comes with a great recipe book!) We have been busy with the French-fries, breaded veggies and egg rolls, and egg rolls, and super glad about our tasty, healthy results!

Making crispy dishes is a breeze utilizing little to no oil with unique combinations of time and temperature is easy. This device comes with an easy to use LED screen, which we really admire and super easy to use – you cannot go wrong.

This makes a meal that is not only easy and quick to make. However, it tastes really delicious as well as much healthier.

Here Comes the Expert Review

CHECK PRICE ON AMAZON!

NON-VEG DISHES 88% VEG DISHES 90% SNACKS 92%

This medium-sized air fryer is a classic appliance that functions as it must with tiny to no issues. It has a fabulous looking LCD screen and a basket that is dishwasher safe.

It’s relatively expensive for what you are getting in return, as the GAF265 model has only a tiny amount of functions and a modest cooking capacity.

Specifications & Pros/cons

SPECIFICATIONS Appliance Weight 3.99lbs Capacity 4-Quarts Dimensions H13.31″ x W10.16″ x D12.36″ Min/Max Temperature 100°F/400°F Dishwasher Safe Yes Available Colors Black Wattage 1200W – –

PROS Attractive Appliance Impressive LCD Display Dishwasher Safe Highly durable 8 Presets Among the most versatile air fryers at its price

CONS Cylindrical Design isn’t appreciated by all.

CHECK GAURMIA 6QT PRICE ON AMAZON!

Looks

Appearance is not the be-all and end-all, but it is great to have a good-looking appliance in the kitchen, and this air fryer doesn’t disappoint. The cylindrical body is not the most efficient design (we will circle back to that later). However, the black plastic exterior and the silver trim provides the appliance a glamorous look.

The touchscreen LCD display adds a hint of class to the front, and all the lights are resplendent in a royal blue.

Capacity

While the overall appearance of the GAF265 is quite appealing, the real design is somewhat inefficient. The whole body of the appliance is cylindrical; after all, compared to a square-shaped air fryer with identical measurements (width, height, and depth), it’ll have a tinier capacity despite having an identical exterior footprint.

That being said, the four-quart capacity is a modesty device that can cook for around two to three people with no issue.

Focal Features of Gourmia air fryer 6 qt reviews

Recipe Presets: Gourmia’s four-quart air fryer includes 8 presets programmed into the machine. With the touch of a key, you will have the right temperatures and times for your desired meal. Those preset are; Cake, Fish, Poultry, Bacon, Steak, Shellfish, French Fries, Bread.

Auto Pause: Just like GAF228, this particular model also has the auto-pause function to make sure that your cooking time is not compromised at all when detaching the basket to check the meal or provide the contents a shake.

Dishwasher Safe: Unlike any cheaper model, the basket for this device can be put in the dishwasher, which makes it easier to clean.

Performance & Cleaning

There is one little question that Gourmia mainly focuses more on the performance of air fryers over features, functions, and extras. There are relatively many complaints from users regarding model problems or failure with their appliances. Simultaneously, most users are delighted with how the machine cooks their meals consistently and reliably.

Cleaning the model is made basic with the ‘Dishwasher safe’ basket. For those that do not own a dishwasher, basically use soft, warm, and sponge soapy water to get the task done. There are no complaints from users about it being tough to clean.

Should you buy this 6 qt. reviews?

While marginally ideal than the GAF228 model, with a bigger cooking capacity, a more pleasing look, and 8 presets, it’s double the cost of its tinier sibling.

It is not a bad kitchen appliance, were you to be given one, you will be delighted with this awesome air fryer, but there are far better examples of these tiny kitchen appliances on the current market for an identical price point.

CHECK GAURMIA 6QT PRICE ON AMAZON!

Other considerable models besides Gourmia air fryer 6 qt model

There’s no ultimately perfect air fryer out there to buy. all come with definite benefits, and we’d say the same with the 6 qt model that we finished discussing. thankfully, the same brands offers a few more superb air fryer models. Here, we’re describing the most appealing ones, which cleared our testing.

Gourmia GAF718 7-Quart Air Fryer

CHECK PRICE ON AMAZON!

NON-VEG DISHES 90% VEG DISHES 89% SNACKS 92%

Simplicity is the biggest sophistication” – If Leonardo Da Vinci’s quote is pretty accurate, the Gourmia GAF 2.2-quart air fryer should be one of the sophisticated appliances available today.

It is not; however, it’s an entry-level air fryer that is very basic to use and comes with a low budget price tag. It comes with relatively some features, but it will perform the way it must.

SPECIFICATIONS Appliance Weight: 6.64lbs Capacity: 2.2-Quarts Dimensions: W8.36″ x H11.14″ x D10.23″ Min/Max Temperature: 175°F/399°F Dishwasher Safe: No Available Colors: Black Wattage: 1000W – –

PROS Easy to use Highly durable Low cost Compact overall size Great customer reviews Highly versatile

CONS Not Dishwasher Safe Small Capacity

CHECK GAURMIA 7QT PRICE ON AMAZON!

Looks

The GAF228 is one of the great entry-level air fryers, and it’s one of the cheapest kitchen appliances on the market today. Because it’s so inexpensive, some allowances should be made, and customers should accept that this isn’t a high-quality product.

This air fryer’s look has been kept as simple as possible, presumably to keep the value of this machine down. It has a basic black-plastic body with silver trim and handles, while the LCD screen is unobtrusive and small.

Capacity

This 2.2-Quart model is one of the tiniest air fryers on the current market in terms of cooking capacity. That isn’t necessarily bad if you are new to air frying, live on your own, or are looking for a kitchen appliance to supplement your oven.

Just you should be aware that you’ll not be capable of cooking full meals for 4 with the Gourmia GAF228.

Features Auto Pause

When you are cooking particular meals, the recipe might require the need to shake the ingredient of the basket halfway through.

The GAF228 model auto-pause function will send the LCD screen into sleep mode when the basket is removed, pausing the timer, then resuming the operation upon inserting the basket.

While it does sound like a commonsense function that should be present on all types of models, there are some kitchen appliances on the market that do not feature an identical function.

Performance & Cleaning

To keep the price of the GAF228 low, Gourmia has majorly focused on air fryer performance, resulting in ninety percent of consumers rating this kitchen appliance from 4 – 5 stars. It air fries meat, French fries, fish, pizza, and bread as it should.

As there are not any presets for the LCD screen, this kitchen appliance is straightforward to utilize, which many customers find appealing.

The cleaning operation is a little bit more complicated than any other models since the basket isn’t dishwasher safe. It will require to be cleaned by hand manually using warm soapy water and a soft sponge.

Should you purchase the GAF228?

While there is virtually nothing bad with this air fryer, it is tough to recommend a kitchen appliance that provides little in return for the rate tag. It is not overly expensive at all.

It does adequately operate the task it sets out to do. But for a similar outlay, there are tons of other kitchen appliances on the market nowadays that do the same task but will have a few more whistles and bells.

Let’s conclude Gourmia air fryer 6 qt reviews

FINAL WORD Now, when we get filled with the desire to get healthy and improve eating habits, efforts shouldn’t matter much, and a time comes when you start hearing to your taste buds rather than your heart, isn’t it?Yes, tasty food most of the time gets you off the track of getting fit, and an air fryer is something that fulfills the desire without letting you get off the track.Buying the Gourmia air fryer 6 qt model is a superb decision, and you can feel every penny that you pay for it getting returned to you in the form of performance! You may not believe it, but one of our testers was going to buy a microwave, but this little air fryer changed his mood!Gourmia air fryer 6 qt model is cool for a 4-member family, and the food prepare inside this magic pot is truly magnificent! Oh yes, there’s absolutely nothing stopping us from recommending this 6Qt. model to you!

#Review #Blog #tumblrpost #tumblraesthetic #tumblrtextpost #tumblrposts #tumblrquotes #tumblrphoto #tumblrtextposts #tumblrstuff #kitchen #airfryer

[offbrand-outlaw]

RDR2 HCs, because I'm high and I'm very happy

Arthur is just great and wonderful and everyone goes out of their way to tell him. Hosea makes a point of telling others to thank Arthur for all his hard work around camp. Anyone who doesn't gets a Stern Look directed their way from Hosea.

Despite being a major pain, Hosea cares for Dutch very much. Sometimes he'll stop teasing him for a while and insist they spend the whole day together. Just sitting around and loving their time together.

Dutch knows he can be annoying, so he tries to be quieter and not so overwhelming for Hosea sometimes when he feels he needs a break.

Whenever Hosea looks like he really needs it, Lenny will make him some tea. He'll grab him a blanket and have him sit down and just relax.

The only reason Jack doesn't call Hosea "grandpa" is because the one time he did Hosea was crying from joy and Jack thought it upset him.

Jack has it in his head that Lawmen are bad but not much anyone else. He has a tendency to easily trust strangers very easily. But, he understands that not everyone is good and he never really gets hurt

Plus, there is always a member of the gang around to look after him.

Agent Milton and his sister will sometimes get together and have a sleep over in his room. They'll get sweets together, an old book from their child, and blankets and just talk about their life or some of the silly things they did as a kid.

John works every day to make things up to Jack . He always does his best to be involved and do his best to raise Jack to be a good man.

In the end, Jack

Sorry my Wi-Fi went out and erased the rest I added so I gotta retype.

In the end, Jack doesn't ever remember a time when John wasn't there for him.

I hope I finish this I keep zoning out.

Sean, Lenny, and Kieran all became best friends in time. They loved hanging out and making each other laugh. When ever they have free time, Kieran will take them all fishing or Lenny will try to help them learn to read. Sean always goes out of his way to make everyone laugh. Especially on bad days.

Outlasting his friends fills Lenny with a deep guilt and he isn't sure how to handle it. He only hopes he can make it through everything so that, in a way, they made it too.

Sorry, I'm back I was eating

Okay, I'm so glad my auto correct is so good or this would be a mess.

Javier will leave camp sometimes to be alone. He'll play some music for his family. He'll hope that one day he could see them again. But until than, he plays a song for them.

Before things got bad, Bill tried to work on his behavior in camp. After things got bad he started to careless.

Karen realized before others that they would fall apart. Once she realized it, she spiraled into her darker depression. The last and biggest eye opener she had was Sean's death.

Yoo. . Agent Milton will lie awake at night and wonder if the gang that hurt his family all those years ago were ever brought to justice.

I I'm sorry I gotta go. I need to stop I'm zoning out way to much.

So, I hope you enjoyed. I'm sorry if it's wack I'm a little high. Am I allowed to be high on here? But hey at least my phone has good auto correct. 👌 Uh I gotta do tags now.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 headcannons #okay who all was in it #lenny summers #jack marston #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #uh i thi nk #john marston #sean macguire #javier escuella #bill williamson #karen jones #let me check #kieran duffy #agent milton #my fav pinkerton #andrew milton #my man #j's rdr

[a-lbeit]

2020: a goddamn year in review

man oh man 

rang in the new year drunk as hell with incredible company at a party we crashed; kissed at least 3 people

went to work the next morning still drunk and laughed all through my shift. it was blake, abby, and jacob’s last day

tried sushi for the first time and had one last juke joint evening before britt left 

discovered the roof next to carnegie with rozi 

slept over at blake’s apartment with britt the night before we all had to move out and the program officially ended. it was a nice way to end it. man, who knew what was to come with the rest of the year

finally saw the holiday version of small world the last night that the park had the holiday decorations up. looking back, i sure am glad i was able to see that

blake was able to continue living in carnegie because of his professional internship. rozi and i snuck in and slept over at his place once or twice, running through the halls before the new set of CPs moved in. most of the apartments were unlocked, so we went up and saw our old place all empty and dark. we all climbed up to lyndsay’s top bunk and blake put his head on me. the next morning, we were all having breakfast when a couple of cleaning people came in lmfao 

got a spot for the cast preview of rise of the resistance. that’s a fucking cool ride, i gotta give it up 

went to the autopia drive-in. that was certainly something i’ll be forever grateful was able to happen. we all sat in the cars and watched incredibles 2 with hella snacks. it was unique and memorable and special. i remember sitting next to benny in the break room, although we didn’t know each other at that point

went to an event in la with rozi, taleeah, taleeah’s sister, and her boyfriend (now her fiancé, soon to be husband). got as drunk as i did on new year’s, ate some random hot wings, and puked in the uber. yikes 

called in an hour late to work the next day, even though my start time was already at 1pm lmao. i remember talking to matt about the night. i miss him sometimes. 

went on my first hike since my ankle broke. what a joyous moment, sincerely. to be back on my feet, in my hiking boots, on dirt, climbing between the valleys and hilltops. that first moment when the world is gracious enough to let you return to a large raison d’être. you feel indebted, truly. you feel like things really will be all right in the end. it is like nothing else--pure, fresh, and humbling.

got closer with my coworkers. i still miss them like hell. i think i always will. there was so much we were going to do together. i began to realize that i felt happiest at work.

one day at work, my coworker brenda and i were Y1 and Y2, and my coworker benny was track 2 line 3. he came up and told me something, i believe a joke about how he couldn’t hear my spiel (i’d always be pretty loud during my spiels lmao, enough for a couple of my leads to tell me to quiet down a bit). when he went back, brenda leaned across and said that she thought he thought i was cute. i’ll always remember that moment, i think. i still think about whether the guests waiting in the cars heard her and tuned into the gossip. i was taken aback, to say the least. i thought he was cool, but he hadn’t really been on my radar. that changed right then.

a few days later, i came back up to her and asked if she meant what she said. she said yeah, and asked if i thought he was cute. i said i think so. a few days after that, it was a rainy day and auto was closed. i was talking to her and asked her why she thought that. she finally told me that she’d heard it from her close friend josh, who hung out with benny. i was honestly fucking shook lmao. it was all so juvenile, but it was fun to think about.

went to troy’s birthday party, expecting to see benny. he didn’t show, but i had a great time anyway. i got the kind of drunk where you’re still in control, but you feel like you’re on top of the world.

had a lunch and park date with lexi and cassie. i told them about benny, and when cassie and i rode autopia, he was at auto 3 and we pretended our car had broken down. he played along.

went to alejandra’s 21st birthday party. i wasn’t too close to her; i only knew her through rozi. i’m glad we got so much closer over the course of the year. 

my self-confidence sort of skyrocketed. i bought new clothes and felt almost beautiful for once.

went to the cast preview of the new parade that was going to be at disneyland. lmfao that sure did go to shit. 

had a beautiful day at the parks with my coworkers. i wish i could have attended more of those days, but things changed quickly, as we all know. 

finally got off probation at work (which had been paused for the 3 months i was on medical leave) and found out i had been okayed to learn the nemo ride. i was excited to learn a second ride so soon after my probation ended, and i was excited that it was so unique. i mean, driving a submarine? come on. people may think it’s a lame attraction, but it’s not something you see everywhere. plus, it was also the other ride that benny knew. i had been trying to interact with him more at work in that coy way you might see in high school flirtation. like i said, it was juvenile. i claim it. 

started working toward becoming a trainer—lexi was really helpful, and it was nice to talk with anthony and jeff about it and to know that all these leads thought i would be a good pick

found out through brenda that billy thinks i’m hot LMFAO. an ego booster of sorts

my new coworker melissa started getting closer to me, and she’d message me and text me. she eventually said she was interested in me, and i was a little on edge for a while, but we’re close now. i like her a lot. (her ex ended up also sort of coming on to me months later lmao)

the week before the closure came about, went to arizona with rozi and blake to visit britt. what a weekend. it was short, but certainly meaningful. we were able to meet and hang out with her beautiful family, catch up, have some great laughs, eat fire food (including my first dutch bros experience 👀), and explore a new area. it was my first time in arizona, and we got to see a tiny bit of phoenix and spent a windy afternoon in flagstaff. i feel like that was the last time things were so easy between all of us.

started training at nemo for the majority of what would become the last week i would be working before the closure, which was announced only like 3 days before it actually happened. 

slept over at trev’s LMFAO 

passed my PA on thursday amidst a weird 101 with the attraction. i remember looking across the way at my coworkers in the auto pit (because autopia also had to go down when nemo was down), and benny saw me and waved at me, and then everyone else did, too. a nice moment. a small group of them finished their shift when i was at greeter at nemo, and when they walked by, they all waved again. 

after the closure was announced--something that was so unprecedented but also not taken seriously (it was just going to be a 2 week vacation, right? corona wasn’t that big a deal)--i picked up billy’s opening shift for friday, march 13th, the last day before the closure. i wasn’t excited for this “vacation” (like i said, i was happiest when i was at work. i was going to miss that place for the 2 weeks it would supposedly be closed), so i was very grateful to work once more at auto, one of my favorite places to be. it rained all morning, and we were only open for maybe an hour or so. i did a track walk with lexi, and i goofed around with all my friends. it was michelle’s birthday, so some of us brought some food for a potluck. i had lowkey hoped to see benny, but he didn’t work that day. oh well. it was a really great shift that would end up being my last, something that is so strange to say even after all this time. i even got up the courage to ask anthony to write a letter of rec for me for grad school.

a couple hours later, i met up with rozi and alejandra as guests in the park to get in some final fun before (what we thought would be) the 2-week closure. it was incredible, and at the end of the night, all the characters lined up at the train station to wave bye to us all. i know it’s disney and cringy, but i felt warm, albeit a little on edge.

the next evening, got pizza with some coworkers and went back to one of their houses. it was actually the brother of my nemo trainer lmfao. i followed benny on instagram that night while sitting at the dining room table. like 5 minutes later, he followed me back. 

a day or two later, had brunch with some other coworkers before everything shut down for real. i’m grateful for kiley for arranging those types of get-togethers. 

before the closure got extended indefinitely, before i started wearing a mask, before we really came to understand the gravity of covid, we had fun for a couple weeks. rozi and i went back to the roof next to carnegie with blake and we got caught. we went on a couple hikes. we’d go on almost daily evening walks and we’d do stairs in the morning. went to the beach. i really started to get into exercising, since i was no longer able to get the 20,000 steps i’d log at work each day. did those instagram tag games with my coworkers. engaged in all the activities that the early naïveté surrounding the pandemic brought, like whipped coffee. things weren’t great, but they were all right. we were still getting paid by disney, something that i do have to give props to the corporation for. they did what they could while they could. 

taleeah, rozi, and i all finally united over our mutual dislike of our other roommate. i started to avoid being in the same place as her, so i’d often sit on the floor in the living room since we didn’t have any furniture at the time. i sort of miss it. 

rozi moved out at the end of march. we hadn’t found anyone to replace her. we started splitting the rent evenly 3 ways. was it fair? not necessarily, but i mean, it wouldn’t have been fair any other way, either. that’s the way it goes. and you have to accept it.

benny remained in the back of my mind. my coworkers would have zoom calls, and i joined a couple of them at the beginning of quarantine. it was nice to talk to them, although i mostly just listened to their conversations. i hate video calls. 

even though the closure was indefinite, we all kept saying we’d be back by june, august at the latest. 

blake got laid off and ended up driving back home to tennessee. i hate that i cried when we said goodbye. 

rozi came back to visit for the first time at the beginning of may

started getting a bit creative with my meals. just a bit

my unemployment finally started coming in, and i felt rich for a minute

rozi would come back about once a month or so. we’d take nice photos, get açaí and coffee, and pretend everything was gonna be over soon 

rozi, blake, britt, and i all talked about meeting up again. we decided to fly out to tennessee at the end of july, coinciding with my birthday, actually. we bought our tickets and had plans to stay with blake and his family. it was going to be a beautiful reunion.

paid off my credit card for the first time since the end of 2017 (after having to load it up during my medical leave when i was the brokest i’ve ever been). it was incredibly freeing.

mindy moved back to oc, and we hung out for the first time since florida. it was a nice reunion, and i’m glad to have her as a friend who lives nearby

the end of may rolled around, and in the days following george floyd’s murder, there sure was a big change all around. the fire died down eventually, like it always does, but it hit harder this time around. saw one of my coworkers at the protest i attended. it was, and still is, a moving time marked so clearly with disgusting and incessant realities.

daisy moved in. i’m so incredibly grateful we’ve crossed paths. she is genuine and generous and a kind soul.

got açaí and coffee and went mini-golfing with rozi and a couple of her friends for her birthday. left my sunglasses at the course, took a chance and went back to look for them, and was overjoyed when i saw them resting at the 14th hole. thank you, whoever you were who put them there rather than taking them.

dalenna went out of town for 10 whole and beautiful days, and i completed the chloe ting 2 week shred. i’m so glad i did. it was the beginning of workouts that i actually enjoy doing and feel accomplished about doing. i feel strong and i look strong now, and i really do feel sort of indebted to chloe, as stupid as that sounds. seeing the bones in my hands, i like myself nowadays. i still treat myself probably way too much, but i feel disciplined. 

started graduate school, something that i’m still shook was possible during these times 

had a picnic with some coworkers, the first time i’d seen them in months. catching up with them was like nothing else

bought roller skates lmfao, and went roller skating with mindy because the rink reopened for a while

a couple days later, went back with rozi and taleeah

we ended up cancelling our plans to fly out to visit blake. covid was hard to deal with, obviously. it didn’t seem safe, and things didn’t seem right—with the world and within our group. i really hate what’s become of it. i miss the relationship i had with blake before rozi joined in, if i’m being honest. 

tried to skate outside of a rink, but it’s just not for me lmao. i’m happy to have my own pair for whenever the rinks reopen again, though

for the 4th of july, taleeah and i got bomb food and ate in a park. i’ve really grown so close to her over the past half year or so, and i’m thankful for it. we’re different, for sure, but i think that she and i have a very similar understanding of life.

my ipod had broken a couple months back, and i finally bought a new one, although i didn’t actually set it up with my music until months later 

went to laughlin with alejandra, taleeah, and rozi for a couple days. we melted in the triple digit heat, got a lot of dutch bros, did a drive-by of vegas (my first ever view of it—what a sight to see, all empty but still lit up), swam in lake mohave, and even drove over to the grand canyon for a day. i couldn’t help but be smitten with the grandeur of that part of the country. alejandra threw up several times while we were doing a hike, but she never stopped smiling and laughing and even flirting with a man from iowa. i admire and respect her endlessly. 

for a few days, that instagram meme of random names being put on random objects (like a frog or a seinfeld screen cap) was huge. i went through many of those, sending them to everyone. i sent a couple to benny. and i even said fuck it and sent one to tucker. he responded almost immediately and we started catching up. it was strange, but it was so incredibly nice. i told him my grievances, and he apologized. and we started talking like old friends again. 

went to downtown disney on the 65th anniversary of disneyland opening. a strange sort of homecoming in the midst of crippling uncertainty (something that still overwhelms me--but at least i’m not in the purgatory of furlough anymore. at least I know my fate)

with my birthday coming up, i had decided to rent a car for a few days (i had a couple free days with hertz) to explore southern california a bit, an activity long overdue. on disneyland’s birthday, there was a special zoom call that my coworkers were having, and i hopped on it for a while. benny was on it, like he always was. part of my plan—the main part, actually—was to go to salvation mountain, slab city, and the salton sea. i told everyone about it, and benny and i got to talking about it for a couple minutes because he had done a photoshoot there for his band. it was the most we’d talked in months. then i got off the call to facetime tucker LMFAO. we flirted a bit. we hung up after a while and i actually got back on the zoom call because i felt so good. that evening was a real high for me, socially speaking.

in the days and weeks that passed, tucker and i got close again. he’d call me cute and say he missed me. he was into me again, that’s for damn sure. it was nice for a minute. i even thought about flying out east to visit my parents and to see him in december

2 days before my birthday, i drove around all day, up to solvang and san luis obispo and back down to malibu to try to see the comet that was rolling through. it was pretty stupid of me to think malibu would be a good place to see it. it was cloudy as hell, but it was still beautiful. then i drove home along the worst part of the PCH just because it was the PCH. the next evening, taleeah and i went to the top of the world in laguna and we think we saw it. several people had the same idea, but i enjoyed the sense of community we all had. earlier in the day, i had driven to the us-mexico border where the PCT starts and walked along the first mile or so. it was incredible to see that in person. maybe one day, i’ll see it as a thru-hiker. who really knows. anyway, after the comet, we drove back home and stopped to get my free dozen birthday doughnuts from krispy kreme. 

the next day was my birthday. the night before, i asked taleeah if i should invite our other roommate. we decided it was probably a good idea to, just to be nice, even though we don’t like her. it was very last-minute of us, so we thought she’d say no. she said yes. lmao. it was pretty fun, though, and i’m glad i invited her. it’s nice to be inclusive. we drove to the desert, blasting my music that i so rarely get to blast while driving. seeing salvation mountain in person was a really fascinating experience. it was faded from the sun and it was empty. sheer beauty. i love the unassuming presence of the whole area and how everyone lives off the grid. then, we went to bombay beach and the salton sea. the gritty art next to the toxic waters made for some really fucking cool vibes. it was hot as hell, of course, and i didn’t mind, but dalenna did get a bit overheated. she doesn’t drink water, ever. it was all right, though. she was a trooper, i’ll give her that. i had a great day, and i hope taleeah and dalenna did, as well. we ended the day in riverside, seeing the mission inn that my father and his sisters often speak of.

i got so many birthday messages that day (including from benny). it made me feel really loved

honestly, i loved that rental car. the sound system was crystal clear

i had gotten really fucking tan by this point, since i’d go on walks and be outside so often. the socal kiss of summer really is something

did the hollywood hike for the first time with matty. seeing those letters up close and personal makes you really think about the history of the area, the rich (albeit troubled) cultural history of the silver screen

got extremely drunk with rozi at my apartment and facetimed tucker. it was the beginning of the end with that, even though he said he would love to have me over

reached the end of my first quarter of grad school. the last day, i took the train into la and met up with rozi so that we could gallivant around the city in an attempt to find billboards advertising blackbear’s new album—there was a contest on twitter that rozi was trying to win. it was one of the best days, really. we went to the grove and the pink wall and a bit of the abandoned la zoo. it was so fucking hot, but it didn’t even matter. when i got back to anaheim, i submitted my final group project and even had time to meet up with a few coworkers in a park to doodle and gossip. one of my favorite days of the year, honestly

the next day, i treated myself to my free bagel and cream cheese from bruegger’s and a latte, ate in the noguchi garden that i love so much, and ordered a new computer (which came with free airpods). the computer took a month to get here, but i had my airpods 2 days later 

then, a couple days after that, rozi and i went on the road trip of the year all the way to portland (i won’t say exactly how many times we stopped at dutch bros, but it was...a lot)

we started off by driving to this kitschy western-themed shop about 3 hours north. then we drove all the way to redding in norcal

the next morning, we did a hike in shasta national forest. seeing snow on the mountain in august was like nothing else. it finally felt like fall

on we went, getting a quick photo in the town of weed, of course, before making our way to bend, oregon, to see the last blockbuster standing. i bought a tote bag. it’s one of those things you just have to do. we finally rolled into portland at the end of the night

the next day, we explored the city a bit before meeting up with my friend katie who i met while working in florida. it was so fucking beautiful to see her again. we reminisced and caught up and she showed us around her neck of the woods in vancouver

the day after was a hiking day for sure. rozi and i went to multnomah falls, one of those things you always see in photos and feel so lucky to be able to see in person, and then to the bridge of the gods, where cheryl strayed ended her PCT hike. walking across that bridge was another favorite moment of my year. then we wound up in mt hood national forest. the hike we did had wild huckleberries along much of the trail that we snacked on, feeling like true foragers. again, the snow on the mountain makes you feel some type of way.

our last day in that area, we drove through some of washington, stopping at some ice caves and then going all the way to mt st helens. crazy stuff. we vowed to come back to do the hike around the crater someday

our journey back began, and we drove down the oregon coast. those cloudy beaches and coastal drives are something of an emblem of the tail end of a PNW summer, it seems.

the last day of the trip, we met up with rozi’s friend in sausalito, gazing out at sf across the bay, and then with her other friend in carmel (after driving over the golden gate and blasting scott mckenzie’s “san francisco,” something that just must be done). i want to have a more prolonged experience in the monterey area. so unique a place.

seeing the skies tinged orange from all the forest fires was something else. what a year of burning.

slept over at trev’s again lmao, maybe for the last time. had the best kind of la day afterwards, wandering celebrity graves at the hollywood forever cemetery and treating myself to bougie drinks at peet’s and groundwork coffee at the grove. i even saw the charmed house before taking the train back. it was the one-year anniversary of breaking my ankle and i had grown so much, come so far, felt so full. even if the midst of all the shit, i was happy. happiness despite my surroundings is sort of a theme of the year, as tone-deaf as that may sound. i am content with my life, sure, but i am not blind to the despair.

got really pissed at and hurt by tucker again, and learned my lesson this time. his mixed signals sure are something else. whatever. we’re cool now, friendly acquaintances. 

my next quarter of school started. 4 classes, all for free (i’d done 3 the previous quarter). i always try to remember how goddamn lucky i am, even when i’m feeling lazy

the one-year anniversary of my surgery passed on september 26th. again, i couldn’t believe how fortunate i had been with my recovery journey. i am indebted to that injury more than i can fathom. it brought the change i had been in desperate need of. i was happy previously. a little too naive, though. that injury developed me and made appreciate so, so much the life that i have, the abilities and strength that i have. over a year later, and here i am, still writing about it as if it happened a month ago. i’m thankful for that test. 

took a trip to santa barbara for the weekend with rozi and taleeah. rozi showed us around her old stomping grounds from when she attended UCSB, and we chilled out in some hot springs. we stopped in oxnard on the way back and hung out with taleeah’s family, going fishing and eating lunch with them. 

i saw on benny’s band’s instagram that they were having a real live show the day we were coming back. i was disappointed i couldn’t go, since i wasn’t in the area. i’d always wanted to go to one of his shows. i hoped there would be more. 

my new computer finally came in lmao

a couple days later, went to san diego for the weekend, this time with rozi and alejandra. we got to know the city a bit; it was a short introduction but i enjoyed the beach and the architecture. we all even played crazy 8s with tucker 

amidst all of that, 28k layoffs at disney were announced. we knew in the back of our minds that we’d be a part of those. 

the movies theaters reopened, and i started going again. it was a nice, simple way to spend my evenings.

the conflict between armenia and azerbaijan escalated around this time, and rozi was deeply affected, of course understandably so. i can’t empathize with what she was going through, but i really felt for her. and i checked up on her. but she ghosted everyone and was really sort of tunnel-visioned about how people should react to and discuss the conflict. and i realized that i had come to rely on her presence too much. so i distanced myself from her. i also realized that she is most of the reason that britt, blake, she, and i aren’t as close as we once were. she has a very dominating presence, and i’ve realized that i don’t like that things often have to be on her terms or are dictated by her—not in terms of what we do, but in terms of the general vibe of a relationship. so i keep that in mind now. i love her, truly. but i’ve been able to step back. i don’t jump to text her whenever i have news anymore. maybe that will change again. but anyway.

hiked in crystal cove again, the first hike i had done after my ankle healed back in january, this time for one of my classes. it was a really nice day to myself

submitted my absentee ballot. i really didn’t know what was going to happen. it sure was a case of hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. 

did my first hike with daisy and rich, something that became incredibly fun the few times we did it, even though this first time, we didn’t get too far. we’re hoping to get back into it relatively soon 

did the hollywood hike again with matty 

went with taleeah to get her tattoo. she got the email about getting laid off that morning, but she didn’t let it get to her. a couple days later, i got my email.

i had seen that benny’s band was doing another show, and i was determined to go. taleeah said she would go with me. i was scared as hell, but i messaged my coworker troy and asked him about it, since he’d gone the show a couple weeks prior. it looked like a real possibility. i didn’t message benny at all LMFAO

on october 30, i got my eyebrow pierced. it was something i’d had in the back of my mind for years. now that i didn’t have to worry about staying in disney look anymore, i decided to say to hell with it. later that day, i did go to benny’s show. another one of my favorite days of the year, for sure.

i was messaging troy beforehand so that i could meet up with him. i was too scared to go with only taleeah. i needed someone that benny and i both knew there. 

i saw benny, and avoided him like hell. i hadn’t been this nervous in a long time. 

troy finally showed up with his girlfriend, and we all talked for a while. finally, benny was about to go on, and he was putting his instruments on the stage. he saw me. did a double take. put down his drum immediately to hug me. it was nice. 

after his set, taleeah and i sat at a table outside, and this other person we’d been talking to, brandy, sat next to taleeah and talked with us. then benny joined, sitting next to me. we talked all night. 6 hours absolutely flew by. i was on cloud 9. we all made a group chat to go hiking. and it actually ended up working out. benny hugged me goodbye and asked for my number, although i merely said it was in the group chat LMAO

hiked again with daisy and rich, and we got farther this time. it was autumnal up there in the mountains. 

went to a sexy santa halloween party that mindy threw. i looked good as hell

election day came and went without a winner. nerve-racking. 

went to downtown disney with melanie and delaney. it was nice to catch up with them for the first time in months 

biden was eventually officially projected to win. it was a surreal moment, a calming moment, a moment of peace. what a long, strange trip it’s been, that’s for damn sure. 

actually went on a hike with brandy and benny. unfortunately, taleeah had been getting bad vertigo and had to bail. i couldn’t believe it had worked out in some form, though. i was hanging out with benny outside of work. 

my quarter was once again coming to an end, and i finished it pretty unenthusiastically. although i had registered for the next quarter, i knew that with my impending layoff at the end of the year, i wouldn’t be able to continue on for free. eventually, i withdrew from the next quarter. i’ll probably pay out of pocket, but i’m still weighing my options. that was probably the most devastating part of my year. getting over halfway done with a master’s degree for free, well on my way to complete it in just one calendar year, and then having that ripped away. but i do try to remember that i got over halfway in 2 quarters. that’s nothing to sneeze at. and i’m beyond grateful. and i will finish it, hopefully in the next year or so. 

brandy randomly called me a few days after our hike and asked if i wanted to do another hike. i said sure, although not that same day. we did another hike, this time just us two. i wondered if that meant anything. i hoped not. he did ask me out at the end of that hike. i turned him down, and it wasn’t a big deal at all. i’m very glad we’re friends. we continued to do hikes separate from the rest of the group, and i actually told him the next time about benny.

hiked with daisy and rich again, this time in snow. it was absolutely beautiful, although terrifying sometimes. what a way to kick off the holiday season. 

benny invited us to a bonfire at his place, and i was the only one of our group to go. i met his friends

got my 1 year service pin LMFAO 

started really going on weekly hikes with brandy, usually once during the week and one on the weekend with benny and taleeah, as well. the weekend get-togethers turned into sometimes doing stuff other than hiking 

went to downtown disney and the newly opened buena vista street with rozi and alejandra. once again, i looked good as hell. rozi posted a picture of us all on her insta, and tucker hit me up LMFAOOOOOOO

zuri invited me to thanksgiving with her family. they were so fucking lovely and welcoming to me. i will never forget it. 

the next day, met up with rozi in la and went to citywalk for the first time. then we went to hollywood blvd just because. we met up with alejandra and were tourists for a minute, ending the night at the grove, where we went to umami burger and i got a black burger bun that turned my shit green LMFAO 

went with alejandra to get her tattoo. it was so much quicker than taleeah’s and i was surprised lol 

went to company d a few times toward the end of the year, including once with mindy; afterwards, we went to the knott’s version of downtown disney 

later that night (december 8th, to be exact), taleeah, brandy, benny, and i all went to downtown disney in the evening and then came back to our place to watch the princess bride. what a night. what was supposed to be an innocent wine and movie night turned into benny and i getting extremely, extremely drunk. we decided to put on white christmas after princess bride ended. that was when i was really starting to feel drunk. benny and i ended up on the couch together, and i was lying on him after a while. i remember pointing out how hot the skinny bitch in white christmas is, and i remember him saying that i have better curves than her. we sort of started flirting. the movie ended, and brandy needed to go home. benny ended up deciding to stay over. taleeah walked brandy down, and basically immediately after they left, i asked benny if he’d ever kissed anyone. he said no. i asked if he wanted to. he said yeah. we kissed. and then kissed some more. lmao. we laid together on the couch for the rest of the night, dozing off and kissing in between. we went to my apartment’s rooftop to see the sunrise and talked for a while. he left around 8am or so. we kissed goodbye. i sat on down on the couch and thought and thought and thought. 

i was absolutely shook. goddamn. rozi came over later because we were going to go to laughlin again with alejandra for a few days. i enjoyed rehashing the events of the night.

we left for laughlin, and the morning of (in the dutch bros line, coincidentally), benny texted me to officially ask me out. it was cute. 

it was great couple days—we went to the hoover dam and then to oatman, where there are wild burros that roam the streets of that dated section of route 66, and even spent a night in vegas at the stratosphere. rozi and i went on the rides at the top of it, which was fucking insane, and we all walked the strip, which i’d never done before. i always think of the partridge family when i think of vegas. 

after coming back from laughlin, taleeah, brandy, benny, and i all went on a super short “hike” and then came back and watched white christmas for real this time. benny and i hadn’t gone out yet (this was the first time since that eventful drunken night), and we barely touched all night. all 3 of them separately told me how awkward it was, but i didn’t really think so.

finally went on our date. it was the first real date i’d ever been on, apart from the in n out thing tucker and i went on more than a year prior. it was cute, innocent. benny doesn’t drive, so he had his friend chauffeur us to this hipster food hall 😂. we ate and talked (i do lowkey hope to educate him on some social and economic issues), and then he had had plans for a bonfire at the beach, but it was getting late and the beach was closing. so, we went back to his place and had a bonfire there. he finally asked if he could kiss me again, and we ended up taking things back to his bedroom. it was really late by that point, and i didn’t want to make his friend drive me back home. so i stayed over. it was a good night. when i left in the morning, i told him to buy condoms.

brandy, benny, and i hiked black star canyon finally—a good hike, although we lost brandy for a bit because he was rock scrambling so much faster than us.

the evening of the 23rd, benny and i had our second date; we went mini golfing and then came back to my place because my roommate had thankfully left that morning to go home for the holiday. this was the first time i’d ever brought a guy to my place (apart from a couple hours at carnegie with tucker). we watched home alone 2 and a few episodes of seinfeld, and we finally had sex. it’s the only time we’ve done it so far just because it’s so goddamn hard for us to have time alone, but it was nice. i liked having him next to me in my own bed for once. 

the next morning, he left. it was christmas eve. it was the best christmas eve ever—i ate a shitload of food and just chilled without having to deal with my roommate. 

christmas morning, i woke up and had a lovely morning—worked out and chilled out and even had a zoom call with my family. daisy and rich invited to me to spend christmas dinner with them, which was such a kind gesture. we had delicious food and watched some of die hard and then the jim carrey version of a christmas carol. i came back for a peaceful evening by myself.

i was honestly missing benny and still had one more day before any of my roommates came home (and a few more days until my actual roommate came home), so i invited him to stay over again. i like just being in his presence.

brandy and i went on one final outing before the new year, working out and doing a short hike in bolsa chica. views of the snow-covered mountains on one side and the goddamn pacific ocean on the other made me think about the unusual, very particular perfection of southern california. 

my roommates and i decided to have a very small kickback for new year’s eve. in the couple days leading up to it, we bought decorations and planned food. taleeah and i returned our costumes finally, the layoff to go into effect the next day. it was strange to think only now, 9 months since we’d last worked, were we to officially separate from the company. it was a good run. 

that same day (the 30th), taleeah, brandy, benny, and i all had one final hangout of the year--a boat cruise in newport to see the holiday lights that the rich people put on their houses. benny put his arm around me. we were close to each other while we gazed at the lights. i was happy. one last bit of holiday fun before the worries of 2021 arrived at our doorstep.

new year’s eve started out uneventful, but became an incredible night. i wore a fucking hot dress. (it’s become so nice to see myself and be proud of the way i look. i know it’s probably shallow to have become so focused on the way my body looks, but i am proud. i have become strong. i have become pretty fit. and i like that about myself. i think it reflects something so much deeper about my outlook on life.) the only people we ended up having over were benny and taleeah’s date, martin. brandy ended up having a sinus infection and couldn’t make it last minute, and i had invited mindy and her boyfriend, but they spent the evening at his family’s house. so it was just taleeah, martin, benny, dalenna, and me. lmao. it was pretty fun, though, once the boys had arrived. we played a music trivia game, listened to music, and ate pizza. benny and i were the only ones really drinking, although taleeah had a bit, as well. a little before midnight, we found something to stream for west coast time, and when the clock struck midnight, we all toasted with the fancy prosecco that benny had brought (minus dalenna) and i kissed him. i’d never had a new year’s kiss, especially not one right at midnight. it was wonderful. and then we went onto the porch and blew our noisemakers and yelled out happy new year, and fellow residents came out and said the same. it was nice to have that human connection, even in times like these. and then we decided to go to the roof, and we again yelled out happy new year on our way across the street, and people came out onto their porches and said the same. we gazed at the lights of anaheim and the lights in the sky. we saw a few fireworks. benny and i were making out, and so were taleeah and martin. benny and i snuck off for like an hour to a dark little section of the roof you’re not supposed to walk on. eventually, we rejoined the other two and we all talked with a guy playing his guitar named cowboy chris. it was cold, so we came back to our apartment after a while. benny left around 3 or so, i believe, to catch a flight to cleveland with his friend. i walked him down and we procrastinated the goodbye for a good few minutes, and then i came back and went to bed. and then i woke up, and 2020 had truly been kicked out, and 2021 had started with a nice stimmy direct deposit. 2021, be good. there is so much promise for this year. i’m excited, albeit wary, to see how it all plays out.

over the year, some things were constant or else developed slowly over months:

really grew to love working out. i still absolutely hate gym culture and i really don’t like to broadcast my exercise, but i love doing it so much.

listened to music truly in a new light—who would have thought i would come to branch out more than i ever have, to see how cool and beautiful and noteworthy absolutely everything is? i know that that is not news in any way, and i know that i have a lens that i look through that i need to work on widening. but at any rate, i am so thankful to my friends for letting me in to their own libraries. 

missed driving, as always, although i am very content to not have to deal with the stresses and expenses of having a car. i just wish i had more friends who also didn’t have cars so i didn’t always feel indebted.

missed my job like nothing else. autopia is the best place I have ever worked without a single doubt in my mind. the people i work with, the leads, the job itself. it is fun and involved and just plain cool. i hope to return, although i don’t really think i will. who knows, though. 

tried to support gavin newsom with all my heart. he has made his best efforts, but i just wish he wasn’t so hypocritical. i will continue to support him, though, i think, but without such a star in my eye.

toward the end of the year, played among us a few times with my group from florida. i forgot how much i miss them all.

songs of the year: “before the deluge,” jackson browne, “all the debts i owe,” caamp, “which way are you goin,” jim croce. browne’s lyricism and intonations just strike you--gently, but with a certain meaningful force that i don’t feel too often. i think of “before the deluge” a lot and i relate it to my own life throughout 2020, in an abstract sort of way. 2020 gave so much to me, yes, and i feel gratitude for it. but it certainly was a deluge unlike many of us had ever seen before. and we haven’t gotten past it yet, but we are doing our best to “keep our spirits high” and “keep our children dry”--and songs like this make it easy for me to keep up that state of mind. “all the debts i owe” always makes me think of blake, how he had to leave but maybe he’ll be back one day. i remember listening to that song on the bus to work back in january and february, so captivated by it. i had no idea how the lyrics would soon become so close to me. and then “which way are you goin.” croce will always have relevance in the most unpretentious and poignant manner. 

what a goddamn whirlwind. 2020, the year that no one could have fathomed, the year that we’ll say we barely got through—hell, so many of us didn’t make it at all. and that is unjust. the pandemic made its mark on us all, transformed us all. and i’ll speak to that in a minute. but the conflicts, the war crimes, the ignorance, the unwillingness to listen and compromise and communicate. this year, people strayed far too often into grotesque, violent, and inhumane realities. azerbaijan’s control of artsakh was such a blow for armenians, the result of an awful and unnecessarily (and unjustifiably) violent war. and the western world often glossed over it, and continues to. i unfortunately still remain pretty ignorant on the issue, but it seems easy to see the layers of hatred and disgusting desire for control that have fueled that conflict. nigeria’s protests against sars spoke to the issue of major police brutality that so deeply impacts many cultures, and it’s disheartening, to say the least, that the western world also willfully remained ignorant through it all. it’s so common a grievance, but one that doesn’t seem to change. it doesn’t seem like it can, not unless some major cultural and even psychological reform or rebirth comes about. it’s the same reason i believe in communism, but i don’t believe it’s realistic in this world (although i could change my stance in time). anyway. 2020 threw obstacles like nothing else. obviously, as someone living in the us, i easily get wrapped up just in domestic issues. i’m glad so many movements gained such serious traction in a time when people are often home and are attached to their information sources. it made everything strike more deeply, i think. nothing has resolved, though. resting on laurels will make any prospect of development completely futile. persistence is fundamental.

at the end of the day, a few things stick with me absolutely always, in spite of any hardship. this life is beautiful. it is unmatched. it is authentic, challenging, full of grit and light and purity. it kicks us sometimes, and then it pats us on the back. and it is an honor like absolutely nothing else to be able to be a part of it. i let myself feel bad; it’s part of the human condition and experience, and one that has value. but through it, i never find it hard to keep in mind the grace that the planet has for us. the gratitude overwhelms my entire torso and i cherish it.

“a victory lap through these impossible days”

#about me #me #a year in review #2020

[bloodandpaintchips]

A Second Draft

Tagging→ Andrea Sheldon, Gunnar Leidolf  Time Frame→ November 4, 2020 Location→ Sangren, Colorado General Notes→ The blue tape had to come down eventually.

The bed in Andrea’s new room at Johnny’s was like a giant pillow. She’d only left once, to look at the moon and to find someone to feed on (a nondescript patron at Ted’s who she merely compelled to forget that 10 minutes so he could keep drinking). Now she was back in this really soft bed and alone with her thoughts. And now that she was back in town, those thoughts were drifting to Gunnar a lot. It was a sore spot, as she couldn’t think of him without thinking about August and the things August took from her. She got to feel the things she felt with Gunnar after the fact, and she’d so often find herself closing her eyes and trying to place herself in the murky memories. She had to get out of this bed. That buzz from having just fed was right under her skin and she knew just laying around missing him, miles away from where she remembered he stayed, was a little ridiculous. She was in her van in moments, driving to her father’s house and hoping he’d been long asleep. Her features changed momentarily and she could feel it. She had a lot of emotions to regulate, especially looking at her old house, but she was here with a purpose -- in and out. 

Climbing the side of the house near her bedroom was incredibly easy and she briefly thought about how she’d probably be getting used to random discoveries of what she was capable of for a long time. The window was open, considering Frank probably just avoided the room, even when he was waiting for her to come back. Slipping inside, Andrea scanned the area and quickly gathered her work boxes, one full of graphite and brushes and markers, the other full of bulky acrylic paint tubes. All right where she left them. She was back outside in moments, tossing the boxes in the passenger seat before getting in, starting the engine and taking off to Gunnar’s. Not wanting to waste time when his place came into view, she got out, grabbed the boxes and locked the van before making her way up to his door. A few seconds were spent wondering how he’d even react or how she’d explain showing up years later to make good on an art promise, but she shook her head finally and knocked.

Gunnar had spent the better part of the hour hauling in a brand new television. And he wasn't sure if that was responsible or a little bit sad. A rare day off and when he'd left the auto shop he'd decided shopping was a good idea. Granted, he needed the new TV but the normalcy of it all was odd. And oddly comforting. The large flat screen was set up, cable installed, and he was settled on the couch with some mindless comedy when he heard the knock. 

Strange, that. He sniffed the air, finding no trace of something unfamiliar or unwanted (no cloying honeyed smoke), and shuffled to the door. Whoever, whatever it was, it wasn't like he couldn't handle it. More than likely some poor sod selling something that knocking on any other door would've gotten him a bite for his troubles. He wasn't, however, expecting to see her. The arched brow was the only indicator of surprise, eyes unreadable as they studied the pretty features of the girl who had disappeared in a cloud of mystery and remained as such for so long, Gunnar wasn't sure what to believe about the why and when, if ever she was going to return. But there she stood. Different, but not. Changed, yes. And so he stepped aside and gave her a short nod. "Come in."

When he opened the door, even though she had no clue what to expect, she smiled a little. True, she missed him and seeing his face again just reminded her how much. He looked exactly the same, only his hair was short. Still thick, though. Eyes still very blue. At his invitation, she walked in and set the boxes down in the nearest convenient spot before facing him completely. “So um,” she started, kicking her foot toward where she set the boxes. “I came to work on that.” She turned her head to look around the space, eyebrows raising when her gaze landed on the gridded blue tape -- still there. Fixing her eyes back on him, her smile returned despite her efforts to keep it subdued. “Fuck.” With that, she bounded toward him, practically jumping up to wrap her arms around him in a hug that she hoped would transfer all her feelings. “I’m sorry. I missed you,” she said into his shirt. 

He watched her enter his space, eyes shifting briefly to the box and then to the wall. It would be a lie to say he hadn't thought about the blue tape still outlining the long-abandoned art project. Hard to, considering it took up the entire length of it. He'd long stopped tossing the odd and errant glance at the thing and eventually it faded into the background, usually only coming up whenever a visitor, rare that that was, had inquired. And he'd never actually give a response, simply shrugged. But there she was, the prodigal artist returned. No worse for wear, barring the change in diet. 

And the strength. Jesus. That was wholly unfamiliar. Odd to place to the very human, very delicate Andy of old. This one, still pretty, but with a considerably stronger grip. He returned the hug, instinct not to put his full strength behind it. Difficult to break, the old habit. Andy, less so. He didn't understand the apology at all, and his lips lifted into a brief smile that he pressed into her hair. "Only a little late," came his reply, the dry humor of it all hidden in his hug. "Missed you too."

Laughing at his words, she held onto him a little longer before pulling away and running a hand through her hair. “I would’ve been on time, but some stuff happened,” she replied, smirking and giving a small shrug. “I probably should have called. Or something. I don’t really know what’s polite. But I brought all my crap with me to paint. I also figured I should tell you what happened. Well not should, but I want to tell you. If you’re still willing to have me talk your ear off and put creepy stuff on your wall.” She found herself taking him in, possibly trying to fill in those memories again. “I like your hair.”

"Figured as much," he replied, letting his smile linger as she pulled away. "Don't worry about it. What's done is done. Still glad to see you." Calling probably would've been the right thing to do. But Gunnar could understand the urgency that came with getting the hell away. Andy had ties, though. And she hadn't struck him as the type to disappear into the night. But all things considered, he got it. "Don't mind either. The talking or the art." Her compliment made him laugh, a short gruff sound and he raked a hand through the shorn blond locks. "Thanks. Got tired of combing it. Needed a change. See you did too." He nodded towards her own hair. "Suits, though. You want something to drink? Beer? Tea? Do tea now. Big changes."

She picked up her boxes and walked over to the wall, setting them down and looking it over to get a feel of just how big the space was. “Good.” She thought about all of the things she wanted to tell him, where she would start, and how to say it all. The idea to paint the wall was honestly a way for her to figure all that out without just taking up space in his loft. Working with her hands also just opened her up in a way she’d never been able to explain. “Beer is cool. Thanks,” she replied, getting her graphite sticks out and a small piece of tarp to set them on the floor. “So I’m just gonna go with my gut on this and hope you don’t regret still letting me do this. I used to have a plan but those are kind of leading me to shitty places lately, so I’m gonna go with the flow.” She smiled, turning to look at him. “I think I’m in the right place for it.”

Gunnar left her to sort out her supplies and headed to the kitchen to retrieve their beers. "Don't think I would've kept the tape up if I changed my mind," he told her once he returned, handing off one of the chilled bottles. "Been some time, but I still remember you're a dab hand with paint and art. Sure that hasn't changed." The 'right place' part was interesting, and Gunnar was sure she wasn't just talking about the wall. He wondered what other places she encountered and what had finally brought her back to this one. "Not much you could do that I wouldn't like."

Taking the bottle, she brought it to her lips and downed most of it before setting it on the floor near her supplies. “Guess I was thirsty,” she said, smiling briefly before grabbing a piece of graphite and picking a corner of the grid to start mindlessly outlining a figure. Her hands worked quickly, weirdly keeping time with her brain in a way that she wasn’t used to. She filled in shadows until finally, she spoke again, not tearing her gaze away from what she was doing. “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?” She had things she wanted to say but she wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eyes about it yet. So she kept sketching.

"Looks like." His own bottle rested comfortably on his denim covered knee once he settled back on the couch. Gunnar sipped his beer and chuckled. Knocking back beers; another newly acquired quirk. The television was on, saving them from a long gap of silence while she worked and posed a question that Gunnar had wondered himself, plenty of times. Still, he didn't answer right away. Curious about the way her fingers moved easily, as if no time had passed. Or the way she asked without actually looking at him. "Been some time, pet" he answered honestly. "You wanting to know something specific?" He paused, taking another sip from his bottle. "Think it was when we were out on my bike. Took us for a ride."

She was already finishing up on a figure outline, moving on to another as she gave him time to answer. When he did, she stopped, setting the graphite down and turning to him. “Yeah, it was when you took us for a ride,” she replied. The memory was a happy one, but it didn’t make her smile. “I remember too. And after you brought me home, I got roughed up real nice, fed on, and then compelled by August to believe it was him. Again.” She tucked some hair behind her ear and sat against the wall, facing where he was across the area on the couch. “Actually, every time I was with you, barring the first time, was...in my mind, with August. I guess he was grooming me or something. He’d been changing my thoughts repetitively for months and I had no clue, until he took the trust I had in you and tried to use it to take my virginity. Well he didn’t try. He did. And this happened,” she said, quickly gesturing at her face as it turned, only for a moment. “The wedding’s off though,” she joked, the smile not reaching her eyes. She didn’t look at Gunnar yet, unsure of how her word vomit would land and trying to subdue the flecks of anger she already felt describing it all.

Gunnar let her talk, expression unchanging as the words hung in the air. The truth of the matter that had left them both confused (and much anger on his part) finally revealed. The haze of those happenings had bothered the hell out of him. Knowing something was amiss with the dandy that seemed intensely occupied with Andy. And now he knew why. Her bouts of forgetfulness. The bruises. Christ, her face. He knew that, of course. Sussed it out from Johnny, what August had done to the girl. And part of that rage lingered in him. Angry with himself, for not noticing who and what the asshole was, put the pieces together in time. It'd been too late for Andy then. She was different now. He tried to suss out where her emotions lie, difficult in the almost clinical way she spoke of August twisting her mind and taking and tainting the memories. Nothing to that smile, or the gallows humor. But then he sensed it, fleeting spark of anger. Familiar in feeling, but foreign coming from Andy. But understandable. A justified rage, metered but not mindless. Nothing less than what she owed to herself, and the unfortunate situation she was put into, against her will. He pushed the beer bottle to the coffee table, and regarded her, unsure of what to say.

When she finally looked up, grabbing a piece of graphite to twirl in her hand, she kept going. “I know this is a lot. There’s like, no way to make it not a lot, if that made sense. But yeah.” Sometimes she liked being able to cry, but as liquid began to burn at her lids, this wasn’t one of those times. She didn’t even know what kind of tears they were — angry, remorseful, etc, she just wiped them away quickly. “He’s dead now, I killed him pretty much immediately. Before I even registered that I could kill anything. But all I felt was red, for months. Like I couldn’t even control it or my actions, and when I was finally able to, I was still fucking lost. I was afraid of what I would do but most of all I just felt shame?” She met his eyes, hers a bit bloodshot. “And once my mind was clear enough to really assess what happened...why every time I was with him it felt like a copy of something, why I was telling myself I was in love with him but I kept trying to leave with you somehow, I felt...stupid kinda. Like it was my fault. I know logically it wasn’t but I couldn’t even be here. I made up some great journey in my head to find my mom but it was all me trying to run from the reality of what happened. I think I still am a little, but I needed to come home. I left a lot here.”

No one could fault her for taking off. Gunnar surely didn't. Mostly. He knew what it was like, having that kind of rage inside, first glimpse of it, and the impulsive need to get the hell away from everything. Gunnar watched her, the tears she brushed away, and he felt nothing but grim satisfaction at August's end by her hand. Learning the full truth, the dandy deserved far worse. His fingers twitched against his denim-covered knees but he didn't furl them into fists. It wasn't needed. Andy didn't need his anger. Words, words were better. Even though they were never really easy for him, he liked trying for her. "Know you wouldn't leave if you didn't have a reason. Same for coming back. S'not your fault. Even if you know it, doesn't hurt to hear it. Did what you had to do. What you thought you had to do. Just glad you remembered you had things worth coming back to."

She let a tear fall and smiled, genuinely this time as she listened to him grumble out those things she really needed to hear from him. Andy knew he wasn’t much for words; he expressed himself in other ways, but he tried for her and it was evident. It made her feel happy to be back and regretful at the same time. “I did think I had to do it. I thought I had to do a lot. I’m always thinking. Vampirism didn’t get rid of that, unfortunately.” She put the piece of graphite in her hand back on the tarp and pushed herself off of the floor to go sit next to him on the couch. “I’ll probably finish the wall in a week. It’s gonna be all the faceless things I always saw in my head. Easy to duplicate, the eyes and hands and just, curtains of darkness. I’ve committed it to memory. But right now I wanna sit here,” she told him, tugging at a band on her wrist. She was quiet for a few moments, gathering her thoughts again. “I’m sorry. I know that might sound silly to you but I don’t know how else to express the things I feel, one foot away from you. I just have these memories of you that feel like they’re fifteen years away because they were so fucked with and maybe I’m just sorry in general. I feel like it’s all a bunch of sorry. But I won’t bore you with all of my regrets and sorries. I just wanted to say it one more time I guess. Now I have to move forward and I’m...not great at that,” she said, turning to look at him and smiling again.

"Might be a good thing, that Andy overthinking. Balance out the impulse control." His lips lifted in a light grin. "No rush on the wall. I'm around mostly, and I'll give you the spare key. Pop in whenever." Gunnar shifted slightly when she sat beside him, glad the distance was reduced. She'd been far away long enough. Carrying, from what he gathered, a pretty heavy weight. August. Her road trip. Something about her mother. What happened with them didn't need to be another one of her burdens. "S'not silly. Can't say I think you need to atone for anything, least with me. Sometimes moving forward, might be better." He exhaled and reached out, stilling the fingers that were still tugging at the band on her wrist. "Can't undo what he did, taking those memories. It's proper fucked up. Still us, though. Some changes. Give it some time. You work on your wall. We'll be alright."

Her fingers stopped moving under his and she blew out a breath, sinking into the couch a little more and feeling a relief she didn’t even know she was searching for. “I feel like I forgot what it feels like to relax,” she said quietly, letting herself slump over and rest her head on his shoulder. “Everything happened so fast, and then I was just feeding and running and searching in an endless loop. Always so much energy directed in different places...now I’m talking about making art again, something I haven’t even thought about since I left. And I’m here, and your place smells the same and you smell the same. I was almost getting used to the upheaval, but I’m remembering what content feels like again,” she explained, laughing a little. “It’s nice to not be freaking out about something for a bit.”

"Not much to freak out about here," he told her, surprised that it was true, for the most part. Things in Sangren were always strange, but familiar in its weirdness. Human Andy was always so cautious. This new Andy lacked the body heat but was no less warm in actions. Head on his shoulder. Rambling. Not the same, but similar in the ways that mattered. In the Andy ways he'd missed. "Pretty new for you, pet. Feeding, and the like." His smile was brief at the sound of her laughter. "'Spect you'll fall into the rhythm again. Different now, you being all super strength. Can't make you tremble anymore if we ever spar again."

She nodded against his shoulder, silently agreeing. She had become her own greatest fear, so while Sangren felt so familiar, it also felt like a completely new place for her to get to know. But having a place to stay in Johnny’s home where she felt so safe, and sitting here with Gunnar and feeling the warmth and activity under his skin -- it wasn’t overwhelming. “Feeding...yeah. I’m still not totally used to it but it’s interesting being able to just…” she started to focus on his arm, running her fingers down his veins and turning into his neck a little more. “Smell and feel everything? And hear everything.” She paused, taking in what he said and laughing a little. “Super strength or not, that’s still very much a possibility. The trembling was attributed to a few things there.”

He hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but hearing Andy admit to the trembling being more than just their afternoon spar made him laugh. "Guess that's true enough. Gave you plenty to tremble about." It was strange to think about her feeding. Not in a bad way, just a wholly different picture of the girl he'd last seen. The timid one who wouldn't have been as bold, tucking her face into his neck or initiating touches. "Do I have to worry about you sizing me up for a meal or for a fight?" he asked, the question dripping with amusement as he dipped his head, letting his faint grin brush the top of her head in a brief touch. "Takes getting used to, I'll bet. Senses in HD. Blood is a rush. That I know. Guess you're less about the spilling than the savoring, though."

Andrea thought about how much that would have made her blush before, but it just made her smile. “As for nervous trembles, you’d probably still get those. A little. Despite this practically new body, I haven’t…” She stopped, biting her lip and trying to find the right words. “Sparred like I probably could. I haven’t even felt the hunt since those first couple months when I couldn’t control it, and that was like just seeing a dissociative red for an extended period of time. I don’t know my strength yet, which anyone could tell from my now-crinkled steering wheel.” Honestly, she was afraid to know it -- the scope of what she could do. It was like she didn’t know her own hands anymore, the only thing making her think that wasn’t true being the way she just eased into working on the wall again. It told her maybe she was different but not entirely, and maybe she could know herself fully again. Maybe more than she did before all this. “You don’t have to worry about me trying to eat you. I may like your scent more than usual and maybe I can hear the blood flow in and out of your heart, but I don’t wanna eat you. Maybe taste but only with consent,” she joked, shaking her head. “But you’re right. Feels like an understatement actually. Trying to balance living life still, but through this whole new lens.” She didn’t comment on the last part, knowing her feeding method was so inefficient and probably wouldn’t last her. But she didn’t want to talk about that.

"Yeah? What makes you nervous lately?" He listened as she recalled her experience, seeing red and feeling that out of control strength and something like understanding tugged at Gunnar, because he got it. Knew the thrill, the taste and feel of it, and the slippery sensation of fear that went with it. "Like to tell that you get used to it, but you don't. Adapt, though. That happens. Evolve with the change. Takes some time. Test your limits. I could help with that. If you're ever feeling like you need a show of strength. Work out that energy." That...well perhaps that was meant a few ways. Gunnar smiled at her little joke, letting his fingers slide through her slender ones. "You smell different. Not bad. New, is all. Few days of playing in paint, remind me of that Andy scent." His fingers brushed her knuckles, eyes holding a thinking look as he considered his words. "Dunno if tasting's a good idea, pet," he rumbled. "Never had a vamp at my neck. No telling what my blood'll do. Wouldn't want this mess in here to harm you."

“I’m not sure how to explain it, but mostly I make me nervous. It’s weird knowing you’re capable of a lot, but not what exactly.” She appreciated his honesty, and the fact that it was from a reliable source -- they weren’t the same, but there was a bit of overlap and it made her happy to at least be talking to someone who knew what it was like to have to subdue something all consuming; to know that not being able to regulate emotions could lead to carnage. He’d felt that for so long, and she felt like she was joining a fucked up club. For a moment she remembered the fear in her father’s eyes when he saw her change and sighed. “It’s time for me to adapt to a few new things.” 

She leaned up a little to meet his eyes, searching them for a moment before smiling a little. “That could be fun, having my limits tested. I constantly have more energy than I know what to do with. You should definitely help me out.” She cleared her throat, getting distracted at the feel of his hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “Just wait till I’m covered in paint. It’ll happen very soon considering how many layers of it I’m gonna need for what I have in mind.” She glanced over at the wall, smiling and feeling a little spark at the thought of creating something big again, still bigger than anything she’d done. His little warning made her swipe the skin of his neck with her nose again, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away slightly, smirk in place. “Just say no to Gunnar blood. Got it. Wouldn’t wanna lose myself.”

"S'good, you having that bit of nerves," Gunnar said with a short nod. "Means you're not far gone. Can always come back to yourself. Seen plenty of types lost to the wildness. Nearly been there myself." He shrugged. The sigh that followed was curious, but Gunnar wasn't one to pry. Andy would talk on her own time. He liked the easy flow of their talks. Missed it over the years. And he wasn't surprised that she'd readily agreed to his offer. He could sense her strength, the raw power rolling off her in waves. That kind of energy always called to his own, even if it wasn't exactly the same. "Whenever you want us, then. I'm around." Andy's excitement about the wall and diving back into her art was infectious. It'd been so long since nothing but that blue grid, a strange reminder to that time that seemed forever ago. It felt full circle to have her back like this. Sitting with him and talking art...the blood chatter, that was new. 

There was more boldness, the brush of her nose against the line of his neck, keen sense of smell making his skin twitch. She was definitely full of power, and that was a curious, new thing. "Aye. Wouldn't say no to a nibble or two. But drawing blood, no telling what's to be made of that. Always been curious about it. Not curious enough to risk you, though."

“Can always come back to myself,” she mumbled, repeating him. “I think I’ve wanted to hear that for a while, Gunnar.” She sat with that for a moment, thinking about how for someone who usually didn’t chat too much, sometimes he said exactly what she needed to hear in the most succinct way. She pursed her lips at his words, listening and nodding in agreement. “Nibbles good. Bites bad. Best to leave the unknown where it is.” Some of his words stuck out to her and she inhaled a little, circling back to something he said. “Anytime I want? You promise?” She finally let her free hand wander, running her fingers through his hair, liking the smell of that too. “Cause sometimes people regret stuff like that.”

"Glad I could help." It was sincere and he backed it with a brief smile. It was good she'd agreed about the blood. There was enough already to sort with her memories of their previous encounters. Not to mention the bloodlust. He wasn't entirely sure where she was with control, and the last thing anyone needed was a test. The raseri didn't burn as hotly now and he hadn't dulled it with drugs in some time. But he was always aware. Always cautious. He did lean into the caress of her fingers. That was nice and familiar. He was amused by her playfulness, the suggestive of it all. "Promise. Haven't regretted anything we've done so far. No need to start. Especially since you remember now."

Andrea had been testing her limits, afraid to cross boundaries although she knew by merely coming to see him, the heightened aspect of it all mixed with her attraction would be intense. And he looked at her like he wanted her, and she could smell his breath, and his hair was soft on her fingers. She felt it all so acutely. His response only established some things, especially his mention of her memories. She wanted one that was clear, hers and never muddled with. Yes, she got them back but it was through a fog. She couldn’t remember how he felt. So she leaned up, tilting his head gently by his hair before brushing her lips against his. The contact made her want more immediately so she kissed him, releasing his hand so she could lean against his form and touch his face. “I’m sorry, I just,” she whispered once she was able to pull herself away, lips a little puffy from her excitement. “You just...I should probably be good and work on the wall.”

Gunnar accepted the kiss with a small grunt, more surprise than instinct. It was brief, and then Andy was pulling away, with apologies and an energy that was very much like her former self, so much that Gunnar could've smiled. Instead he reached for her, long fingers skimming her jaw, lifting her face to his so he could give her another kiss. Lips slanting over her own, soft and cool and he savored the feel of her mouth, dropping feather light presses before shifting back. "No thinking Andy," he told her, paralleling the impulsive words he'd given her on one of those muddled nights long ago. Daring her delicate human self to give in to those base instincts. He dropped his hands, letting his arm flop across the back of the couch as he regarded her. "Go be good now. Work on your wall. Don't wanna stand in the way of art. I'll be over here."

#p #para: a second draft #ch: gunnar leidolf #gunnardown

[amazingflyingdick]

sitting duck.

WHO: Dick Grayson @amazingflyingdick Jason Todd @thatsjasonfkntodd, Slade Wilson @terminator-deathstroke, and special guest: Poor Jim Gordon @commissionerjg WHERE: Star City Jail / Star City Police Department WHEN: June 1st, 2020 WHAT: The Bratva know Jason being behind bars makes him an easy target. Chaos ensues and prisoners escape (or don’t)

Jim: Jim was still responding to calls alongside his duties as Commissioner far more often than he would have liked, and he was the only one available that afternoon to deal with a report that came across of a massive fight downtown. By the time he got there, nobody had been able to tell him how it started, but it had spread out to involve five different men. He’d had one other officer with him, and between them they’d managed to break things up and haul everyone involved back to the few open cells they had left until it could be dealt with. 

He was going through the process of actually booking them when the whole thing went to hell. They hadn’t had weapons on them, and the whole story spun during the arrest had led him to believe they didn’t know each other. That assumption had completely off base, judging by the way they suddenly collaborated to overwhelm him. Jim had enough time to draw his pistol, but only got off a single shot at nothing before something slammed against the back of his skull. His vision tunneled and the last thing he saw was the floor rapidly coming toward him.

Dick: Dick’s shift ended hours ago, but he was still at work, holed up in his office so he could get some work done without any outside distractions. He was always reluctant to leave the office with Jason locked up and his identity public knowledge. It was a bad feeling he couldn’t shake. The only reason he even knew about the incident downtown was because he could hear Officer Moore bragging about it even through his closed door. He was curious, but he figured he’d go check it out as soon as he was finished with the report. Gordon would just be annoyed he hadn’t gone home yet. 

It wasn’t until he heard the gunshot that he knew something was wrong. He was up and out of the office in seconds, sprinting across the empty station, but before he could even reach the security desk he heard a distinct buzzing. Rounding the corner, he saw an unfamiliar man in the booth disarming all the systems and cameras; the security officer was crumpled on the floor, unconscious. Dick didn’t even bother asking questions before getting the stranger in a headlock. Even though he had him out in seconds, he knew it was much too late to secure anything. And he heard more commotion down the hall. Cursing softly, he made his way in that direction, toward the cell block, and his min ran rampant with possibilities. On the way he passed Commissioner Gordon slumped over the intake desk, but he stopped only long enough to make sure he still had a pulse before continuing.

Jason: Part of the issue with turning himself in was that, as both Roy and Dick had pointed out, it put a big target on his back. He’d been laying low in the manor because the sheer volume of people that Red Hood had crossed basically ensured that someone would come for him. Once word got out that he’d been arrested in Star City, it was just giving them a map. He knew that, but he’d done it all anyway. 

As the doors opened, both his and Slade’s, with nobody immediately visible to account for it, Jason got to his feet. He was immediately on edge. He’d heard what sounded like a gunshot, but it had been too many walls away for him to be sure of it until right then. Some kind of bullshit was definitely going down. He had time to take about two steps forward before he heard voices. Two (maybe three) men were speaking and he tagged the language right away as Russian. “Where is he?” 

Well, fuck.

Slade: Slade sat in the cell across from Jason Todd, who he had considered trying to kill on about six different occasions now, when the doors to their cells clanked open. It was taking his lawyers an inordinate amount of time to get him out of this damn jail, but things were certainly more bearable given the change of circumstances with Grayson. 

 It didn't mean that he wouldn't consider the gift horse that was being offered to him. How had this happened? Would it be better if he just stayed right where he was? He didn't really have long to decide before he heard the same voices that Jason did. He didn't speak Russian, and he certainly didn't love not knowing what he was about to get into. Still, he watched the pup creep out of his kennel before backing back into it. "Problem?”

Dick: The gates to the cell block were open and the everything behind him had gone dead quiet. 

Did they already take everyone out? The only reason he knew they hadn't bothered to look for Dick was because he wasn’t even supposed to be there. He’d been holed up in his office for the last few hours. He was glad he listened to his instincts and didn’t immediately head home like usual, because he had been prepared for something like this to happen. His Nightwing suit was always underneath his clothes when he went to work lately, the new design slim enough that it wouldn't be noticed even though it wasn't as heavily armored. It allowed for faster movement and, judging by the people that would come after Jason, that seemed much more important. Jason could always handle the brute force required. Dick would rather have immediate access to Nightwing's weapons. 

He made it to the entrance of the cell block, discarding his outer clothing and tossing them in a storage closet. Creeping up the stairs, he saw men ahead of him and assumed they were on their way to Jason. Dick followed, reaching the area in time to hear the angry voices, and his jaw clenched at the familiar accent. He knew who these men were because he'd helped Jason with them before. They were even one of the groups he suspected might show up. Without hesitation he reached for a smoke bomb and tossed it at their feet. Within seconds, everyone's vision would be obscured long enough for Jason to either get the upper hand or evade them entirely. In all the commotion, he assumed Slade might have already taken off. Dick wouldn't blame him. This wasn't his fight.

Jason: “If you consider the Russian mafia a problem," Jason answered, taking one look around his cell for something that could be used as a weapon. The whole point was that there wasn't anything, but that was really only because he hadn't been trying. The thin mattress was on a bed made of metal, and he could make that work. He turned his back on the open door, maybe foolishly counting on Slade having better things to do than pick that moment to also come for him, and threw the mattress to the side. With some effort and a heavy stomp, he kicked at the springs until he had two of them loose enough to rip free. They were heavy enough, and the method of removal left the edges sharp as hell. That'd do. 

He turned just in time to see two men finally walk up to the edge of his cell. "Are you boys looking for little old me?" he asked them. Jason made an abrupt switch to Russian to add, "Long time no see." A second later, he heard coughing and saw smoke rolling down the hall. It filled both cells and everything else in the time it took him to take that first swing. He could have done perfectly well with fists and feet, but he didn't want to start out bare bones if he could help it. He didn't know how many of them were actually in the station, but he was willing to bet the smoke bombs weren't from any of them. That meant he had a little help. 

The spring made a sick sound as it connected with the side of someone's temple. Jason held his breath, trying to keep as much of the smoke out as possible, and narrowed his eyes as he brought one leg up to kick his first assailant backwards toward Deathstroke's cell.

Slade: Slade had done work for and against the Bratva at some time or other. However, he thought it would be odd for them to be coming for him. And it was clear shortly after that they were there for Jason. They were likely human, which meant they would pose little threat to Slade unless the jail activated their inhibitors. Even then, he had enough training to get by. As it was now, though, he wasn't even sure he wanted to interfere. Why should he? And if he stayed in his cell and watched it happen, would they even bother him? 

He watched one idiot come careening down the hall as the smoke filled the area. As the Bratva smacked into the cell door, Slade looked down at him, still undecided. But the smoke bombs meant Dick was here. Would it even be worth it to help out? Nightwing and Red Hood probably had it covered. But if he assisted, then perhaps it would accelerate the process of getting the charges dropped. He was getting sick of being stuck there. 

So he moved, grabbing the Bratva through the bars--he hadn't bothered to step out yet. "Weapons?" He asked simply. When he got no response, Slade gave a sigh before slamming the guys head against the bars and coming around to casually pick through his gear, as if Jason wasn't fighting two others nearby.

Dick: Between the smoke bomb and his own ability to outmaneuver opponents, Dick reached the cell block and brought another guy down fast. He still knew better than to underestimate their abilities. There was a reason Jason asked for his help in taking them down in the past and he wasn't ready to relax just yet.

Even before he had the chance to complete the thought, there was the sound of more men bursting into the cell block now that the station was unmanned and there was no security to stop them. Even though Dick couldn't see them, not yet, he heard the sounds of guns being cocked downstairs. Slade was still there. He heard his voice. 

Because he'd done this dance with the Russian Mafia before, he rattled off the weapons he knew they carried once he was close enough, but skipped over the ones he knew wouldn't make a dent: "Knives. Possible Semi-automatic rifles, sub machine guns, and pistols. There might be snipers outside with SVDs and optical sights." The men who made it to Jason's cell were down, but apparently they were the first wave. Dick had taken Jim's service pistol as well as the firearm that belonged to the downed officer in the security room. He slid one to Jason, and then paused before providing a second to Slade. He kept his own. Deadly force wasn't something he ever wanted to use, but even he knew that it might be necessary if they wanted to get out of this alive - especially if Slade chose to back out of the fight.

Jason: Once he'd taken down one of them with the springs, which were uncomfortable as fuck to use and sent shocks up his arm he couldn't contend with in a larger context he crouched down next o him and immediately started grabbing what he could. In short order, he had a short-bladed knife, a pair of brass knuckles, and a loaded pistol. It wasn't going to be enough by the sound of the footsteps, but it'd work in the short term. 

"You sticking around or fucking off?" he asked Slade, not caring which answer he got. He just wanted to know how much he needed to prepare for. Did he only have Dick, or was he getting Deathstroke, too? Temporarily, anyway. 

No matter the answer, he took his newly acquired weaponry and headed back down the hall toward the sound of Dick's voice. The other footsteps were closer by then, running, and Jason saw the silhouette of someone coming toward them as the smoke truly began to dissipate. He wanted to save the gun to have some range, so he took the knife and in one fluid motion launched it through the air until he heard a scream that meant it hit something. "Better find us an exit, Nightwing, unless you want to get cornered."

Slade: “You don't seem to need my help," Slade said simply. "And I heard they have steaks in the cafeteria for the officers." Of course, that joke died when he heard Dick's voice rattling off information to him, like he expected Slade to stay. 

He very nearly sighed before simply agreeing by reaching for the pistol. "Surprise you trust me with this, little bird. Hope the cameras aren't watching. He already was beginning to break down the situation. "Do you know how many and are there any metahumans?"

Dick: Dick's mind was already working. The block was two stories and, from the sound of it, the men were already below them. There were no upstairs exits. "Two exits downstairs. Likely both guarded. If they do have snipers they'll be posted at the North exit. It's just the fire escape, but there are a lot of vantage points to get a clean shot." 

The only thing that kept the men below from seeing them now was because the confinement cells were tucked in the corner, in their own hall, and facing each other rather than open. "Then go, but the only way out is through them." Even if Slade weren't sticking around, which Dick actually didn't expect, he wasn't going to leave even someone like Deathstroke to face down machine guns without something. 

He shook his head. "I don't know how many." He paused to listen as the men spread out to search, trying to hear distinct voices. The metahuman question made him look at Jason curiously. "Have you ever known them to have metas?"

Jason: Jason glanced toward Dick’s utility belt. “How many more of those smoke bombs do you have? Anything with a bigger bang?” That was something he would’ve carried, but Dick wasn’t him. “Flash grenade?” Anything to get them to an exit. Otherwise they were trapped like rats, and it wasn’t as if the Bratva was going to be lacking men. 

He raised one shoulder in a shrug and moved past Dick to go toward the man he’d just hit with the knife. “No, but that doesn’t mean shit except they didn’t think they’d need them last time. Bet on yes and overcompensate.”

Slade: "My armor is equipped with all of those things," he said simply before considering, eyes darting around the room. "You just need a distraction?" He said simply. "Because I can do that." 

Bending down, he lifted one of the bodies at his feet. He could take countless bullet wounds, he'd fought off ridiculous numbers and could go for hours. Cakewalk. "If any of you has a katana hidden down your pants, now would be the time to hand that over. If not, I'll make it work." Slade wasn't in the mood for this mafia bullshit anyway. While he didn't usually like to just slaughter for no reason, sometimes the occasion called for it. Besides, he hadn't had a real challenge in so long.

Dick: "I have four more. And no, I don't have grenades." Dick hissed. "I have knockout gas. One rebreather." It was enough to protect himself, but the knockout gas was potent. It had floored metahumans before, but it wouldn't work on all of them and he didn't know who they were facing up against. It wouldn’t be worth the risk.

Frowning, he watched Slade lift up the body. "Hold on." He handed Jason a smoke bomb, then sighed and also slipped one in Slade's pocket since his arms were full. "We have a better chance at going through the station. I know an exit they aren't going to have covered. Meet me at the the South door to this room. It's downstairs." He nodded in the direction of the door. There was no chance they would be able to all stay together. "Slade goes first. Then I'm dropping another smoke bomb. That should be enough distraction for all of us. Let's go.”

Jason: “You got a janitor’s closet I can get to without getting shot at?” And if not, it might not be worth it. Even he couldn’t make an explosive in the blink of an eye. It was too bad, though, because using Jim Gordon’s stash of lighters to set it off would have been damn funny. 

Jason yanked a second pistol off the man with the knife just below his throat, who was still alive but probably not for much longer, especially after Jason removed the blade. It immediately promoted a nasty gush of dark blood that he stepped away from before it could pool. He swept his hand toward the door. “Lead the way, old man.”

Slade: Slade didn't really need telling. He'd been heading to the end of the hall even as Dick spoke. His mind could follow where Jason's had gone, and the right chemicals could cause some trouble. 

Honestly, if he had his mask he could flood the place with ammonia and bleach. He was pretty sure he could walk away from it either way, but not the birds at his back. 

Kicking open the door, Slade made his way to the top of the stairs before using the weight of the man on his shoulder. The body flew hard and fast as Slade put all his strength behind it. The desired effect of most of their would be assailants falling down the stairs had him grabbing the rail to flip his body over it, turning in the air to land with far more grace than one might expect from a man of his size. He had done enough research and trained enough now that he had more than one trick up his sleeve. "Keep up, kids," he called as he caught one the long metal rods in the railing of the stairs. Giving a grunt of exertion, Slade tore the rod free before he was moving to attract the bullets. He definitely got hit once or twice, but he soon had a table overturned and up as he pulled one of the two pistols he'd collected.

Dick: "Let's get out of the cell block first." They were sitting ducks here. It would be easy for Dick to manually lock the doors behind them and effectively trap the men that were there, but he didn't know if there were more scattered throughout the station. 

Stepping back, he waited only a beat for the men to be distracted enough by Slade before he followed. The second bomb was tossed over the railing a second later and the place was once again filled with smoke. Dick leapt over the railing to the floor below, watching the movement in the smoke to make sure he wasn't about to drop right on top of someone's head. 

Staying low to the ground gave him a better visual, and he could detect heat signatures by just a tap on the mask. He swept the first lackey he came across off his feet and disarmed him. It took seconds to break apart the gun and then he was moving on.

Jason: Since Jason had neither his gear like Dick or a metagene like Slade, he was going to have to compensate by actually paying attention rather than barreling forward. The Pit had given him a leg up on most normal humans, but not so much of one that he’d be shaking off a stomach full of bullets or a slit throat. So he let Slade he the distraction, Dick’s second smoke bomb sew some confusion, and then he moved. South door, bottom floor. That’s where they were heading. 

He followed Dick over the side of the rail, pistol in one hand and the bloody knife in the other, and moved past his brother until he was nearly on top of one of the other Russians. “I’ve really missed you guys,” he said in quick Russian before engaging. The man swung at him so hard that he didn’t need to see it, he could hear the movement. Jason ducked low and pushed the blade of the knife deep into the man’s calf muscle to bring him down.

Slade: Slade had managed to clear a number of the assailants with well placed bullets from a practiced soldier. If you hit in the right spot, you only needed one bullet per victim. 

As Jason and Dick began to clear the way, Slade took the time to carefully make his way over to join them. They were moving in the the direction of the door, but they'd need to clear the area enough to actually get out. And Dick had mentioned snipers. He wanted his fucking gear. 

"What'd you do to piss them off? Talk to them for more than five minutes?" As he spoke, Slade's eyes watched the room. Catching note of a gunman on the second floor aiming for Dick, Slade moved fast, catching the other and yanking him from the person he was fighting just in time for the bullet that was meant for him to bring the guy down. Pulling the second pistol from his waistband, Slade aimed before firing two shots at the would be sniper.

Dick: Dick was more distracted than usual. It wasn't that he thought Jason couldn't handle himself, because he knew he could, but that didn't change the fact that he was at a disadvantage without his gear and a real weapon (other than the pistol, that is.) His attention was divided even during the close hand-to-hand combat with a Russian mobster who was nearly twice his size. The last time he'd fought him, Dick left a nice scar on the larger man's forearm. "Been a while, Isaak. How's the family?" 

When he felt someone grabbed him he twisted instinctively, reactive, and had one of his escrima sticks out and ready to strike before he realized it was Slade. It took another second for him to track the trajectory of the bullet, but he figured out what happened quickly and relaxed. "Thanks." 

Movement by the door caught his attention and he threw the stick that was still in his hand, the voltage downing one of the guards who'd been rushing in Jason's direction. The smoke was clearing, but there weren't many of them left.

Jason: “I told them I didn’t want to share my sandbox,” Jason belatedly answered Slade just as he got back to his feet. 

The man he’d stabbed was scrabbling to get the knife out of his leg, and since Dick had so helpfully taken out another one with one of his sticks, he took the extra second to get in a solid kick to the face to put knife-guy temporarily out of his misery. That time, he didn’t retrieve the blade. 

He turned in time to see someone who’d still been in the upper level start to make his way down. Enough visibility had returned for Jason to be able to take a shot. He lifted the pistol and fired a round that tore right through his throat, an almost exact replica of the dart shot he’d managed with Slade, though with wholly different results.

Slade: Slade gave a nod to Dick before turning his attention back to the Bratva in front of them, his makeshift staff not as strong as he'd like but would do when augmented with his strength. 

He caught sight of the shot that came from Jason's gun and he felt his eye narrow. So it had been Jason who had drugged him. For a very brief moment, he considered turning his attention on him, because the shot did feel a little like a taunt. He knew the risk wasn't worth it, however. Not with two Robins and the remaining Russians. So he filed the knowledge away. For now. 

"Think we can get out of here now," he remarked, jerking his chin toward the door.

Dick: If he noticed what Jason did or Slade's reaction, Dick didn't outwardly react to any of it. The smoke had finally cleared and he was too busy taking apart the remaining guns to take notice of much else. He didn't want to leave them with any weapons. Gordon would probably ultimately use tear gas to overpower them, but he wanted to eliminate all risk. 

Nodding, he nudged an unconscious guard out of the way with his foot and opened the door. He waited until the other two were through before locking it back, then went on to the second gate. He slid it open as quietly as he could, even though he didn't see any movement in the hall, and made sure it was bolted securely behind them. "Up ahead is a row of interrogation rooms. We're going past them to the elevator and taking it down to the basement."

Jason: By the time they were through that door, they’d taken out over half a dozen Bratva already, and while Jason wasn’t convinced they were completely done with them it seemed unlikely they’d sent a whole fucking army just for him. Even he wasn’t that self absorbed. They had to be nearly through them. Still, he kept the pistol drawn, just in case Dick was wrong about that particular exit being secure. 

“This isn’t going to look great on the security tapes,” he pointed out, as though Dick wouldn’t have already realized that. 

He was still debating himself what the fuck he was doing. He’d turned himself in so he could give testimony against Deathstroke, and if he just left then it had really all been for nothing. But staying there was obviously putting anyone at the station at risk, too, not just himself. Jason was not and had never been a big fan of the police, but he didn’t intend to let them or the people working for them like that red haired girl just take his hits for him, either. 

As his mind wandered, he tried to reign it back in once they hit the row of rooms. “How many exits in the basement? Are we about to walk into another group?”

Slade: "I think that it'll look however Dickie wants to spin it," he said. "Self-defense is a strong argument if you have a good lawyer." 

Or they could both just disappear. Slade was going to be pissed if that was what he was forced into, but he'd do what he had to do. He had wanted to lay low, and then Dick had had to show up and screw it up and then twist him around. 

"If we are, more bullets would be nice. Are we anywhere near evidence lock-up?" He figured the basement made sense for where that might be.

Dick: Dick rolled his eyes when Slade called him Dickie, annoyed, but he shook his head. "They already got to the security room and disarmed our systems. The cameras have been offline the whole time." As much as he hated to admit it, he was grateful for that. This would be impossible to explain to Gordon. “There’s only one exit in the basement, but no one knows about it except the people who work here. That means Bratva probably doesn’t know about it and therefore won’t have eyes on it. And they shouldn't be down there, because you need an elevator key, but I can’t say for sure." There was no reason why men specifically after Jason would steal the elevator key from an employee and go check out the basement, but anything was possible. 

 "The evidence room is in the basement," he said, frowning. There was also supposed to be an evidence technician on duty. The guy might have wandered upstairs to investigate the commotion, but he could also be hiding. Dick didn’t want there to be any surprises. “Let me check things out first once we hit that floor. There might be someone working down there." Not only did he not want his co-worker to get hurt, but the last thing poor Kevin Barnett needed to see was Dick strolling along with two prisoners in tow. His vigilante identity was public knowledge now.

Jason: “Better watch your ass if you’re going alone, little bird.” He definitely hadn’t missed that nickname. Slade was way too comfortable being comfortable and Dick was letting him, so he deserved the snark. 

He stopped just beside the door and spent the few seconds it would take Dick to get to the basement checking the pistol he still had. He cut his eyes briefly toward Slade. “Are you staying or going?” Because, though Jason was only there because of Slade, he knew that if he bailed that Deathstroke was getting out of jail one way or the other. He either took off during the commotion or, with no testimony from Red Hood, he walked.

Slade: Slade quirked a brow before giving a scoff. He would call Dick what he liked. If the dog had a problem with it and wanted to yip, he didn’t care. Why should he? “Feeling left out, Red Hood?” He asked with a quirk of his brow. “Still haven’t made that name for yourself, have you? At least not on my radar.” 

The question had him quirking a brow. He suppose he did have to decide. “Dick,” he said simply. “I want the charges dropped and I want you to call off you dog and pet bird. No tricks, and I’ll make your life easier by sticking around.” Jason taking off would nuke his credibility and the trial would drop. He wanted the assurance. “Not more fake jobs and irritating bullshit.”

Dick: "Can we focus?" Dick's voice rose, but he was also mindful of the situation. Jason and Slade tossing passive-aggressive comments at each other was putting him on edge. He was two seconds away from using knockout gas on both of them. 

They were in the elevator now. Gritting his teeth, he pressed the door hold button so they could finish the discussion before he went on alone. "First of all, I'm not the DA. They're the ones pressing charges and they're the ones who drop them. It's out of my hands." He ticked off the next point on his fingers. "Second of all, I'm not stupid. You have everything to gain by sticking around and a lot to lose if you take off. You're the one who should be asking me for favors, because there are more charges I could level against you just based on what happened upstairs. And if my word isn't enough - " Doubtful, but he was making a point. " - my suit has a camera." 

Dick looked between them, narrowing his eyes. "So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to show Jason the way out. Then I'll put you in a holding cell. In the next few days you'll walk out of here. I'll call off whoever I have to, pay off the contract like I said I would, and in exchange you're hands off in Star City."

Jason: “Yeah, old man, the Bratva are in here after some nobody. If you think you’re the first washed up piece of work to try to get under my skin, I’ll go ahead and burst your bubble. It won’t work. The only reason I’m not on your radar is because I don’t lap up every penny somebody tries to stick under my nose.”

Dick’s warning fell on deaf ears. He didn’t have any desire to play nice or quiet when he knew everything was completely fucked either way. Keeping him in the jail had been stupid on their part. The SCPD was lucky the only people who’d died for it were a handful of Russian goons. He made a disgusted noise as he heard the rest of the plan. All for nothing. Every bit of it. Deathstroke got to walk away free, get handed an absurd amount of money, and for what? Agreeing to travel outside of city limits for work? “What a fucking joke.”

Slade: "You think you understand anything about my business, pup, but you know a fraction of my world." He took a step into Jason's face, well aware that he could and would kill this little asshole if he needed to. "Call me when your jobs are seven or eight figures and require you to kill gods. I can choose my shit and I only pick jobs that I want to do. And usually that isn't spurred on by self-righteous bullshit about good and evil or as a way to stick it to my daddy." He knew Jason because Jason and Rose weren't so different at all. Slade may be a terrible father, but it didn't mean he didn't know his kids. And Rose was too old for the 'no one understands me and i know everything there is to know' angle, too. 

His head whipped to Dick before he gave a laugh. A mirthless and bitter sound. "I don't take orders, kid." This was beginning to piss him off. "Last I checked, you were right there next to me upstairs, and so was Jason. So unless you want your brother permanently behind bars with more physical evidence of him killing people--because the law never seems to care if they're bad or good, do they?--then that footage is worth nothing." Not necessarily. It would be worth Deathstroke off the streets until Billy sprung him. But somehow Slade didn't think that Dick would put the satisfaction of possibly locking him up over little brother's life. "Besides," he added. "I think you know a few things I could get off my chest, too. If we want to throw around threats." 

Looking over at Jason, he raised a brow. "Something more from the peanut gallery?" He might just call it right here. It'd be a pain in the ass to be a fugitive until his job was done, but he'd be leaving Star City after that anyway. He'd disappeared before. He'd do it again if he had to.

Dick: Shocked, Dick immediately pushed between them protectively, facing Slade, and some of his anger finally slipped to reveal something more intent and desperate even though his tone remained even, "Stop it." Jason wouldn't think he'd need protecting, but his healing factor didn't compare to Slade's and Dick knew who would come out on top under these circumstances. In those seconds it was hard to believe he ever thought Slade wouldn’t cross the line by hurting his family. "Stop." 

It was true that Jason was there (and so was he) and he couldn't exactly edit the footage without it looking suspicious. What Dick said before hadn't been a true threat, the thought of using blackmail left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he didn't want Slade to think he could call all the shots. There had to be a compromise they could reach. Something that wouldn't force Dick into a role he didn't want to play anymore. It felt a little selfish to want something other than anger and suspicion, but he was tired of feeling weighed down by it. If Slade went back out on the streets eager to fulfill his contract, it meant losing any hope for an alliance, albeit a shaky one. It also meant losing something else, whatever something else was, and he was annoyed to discover that he'd wanted it. 

At this point it shouldn't have surprised him that Slade was willing to exploit something so personal for his own benefit, but the suggestion hit him harder than he expected. Dick blinked, visibly rattled, and it took some effort to smooth over his expression again. 

He said nothing in response. Instead, he pressed the door open button and spoke in a controlled monotone. "Stay here. Maybe ignore each other." He didn't wait for an answer before heading in the direction of the evidence room. He tapped his mask to look out for heat signatures, walking as quietly as possible on the off chance that Kevin was still down here.

Jason: “What kind of a god was that? The patron saint of egomaniacal old men? Did he bestow his powers on you? They’re working.” Jason wanted to take a swing at him so badly his hand was already curled into a fist, but his deathwish wasn’t that strong and he wasn’t that dumb. He kept that hand at his side and just stared up at him instead until Dick got in the middle. 

He hadn’t missed the expression on Dick’s face, and he had a good guess at what Slade’s threat was about. It made him want to hit him more. Still, he bit it back until Dick was gone. 

“You’re fucking stupid,” he informed Slade as soon as Dick was out of sight. “And that’s not a lazy insult, it’s just letting you know.”

Slade: "What wisdom," Slade responded, voice dripping with venom. The only reason he hadn't smeared Jason against the floor was because he wouldn't do that to Dick. He'd never forgive him if he hurt Jason. Didn't bother Dick that Slade had hurt him, but he knew it was all over if he hurt Jason Todd and it wouldn't be worth the moment of satisfaction. "That I didn't ask for. So if you could shut your mouth before I shut it for you, it'd do us both a favor." 

He wanted to fight more. If there were more Bratva, that would be great. Another part of him even considered going back upstairs to wail on them some more. He crushed it beneath his unshakable control, working to tune Jason out.

Dick: Kevin had abandoned his post. That was immediately obvious as soon as Dick rounded the corner and detected no one nearby with his enhanced vision. The basement wasn't large, he even considered the guy might have taken off through the hidden exit already (or he could be upstairs), but he would check every room just in case.  And surprisingly, he heard him before he saw him. A soft clatter from the nearby break room followed by shuffling and the sound of shoes squeaking against a linoleum floor was a better indicator than enhanced vision. When Dick opened the door, he immediately caught the infrared shape of a man crouched behind a counter.

It was possible to leave Kevin alone and find a way to barricade the door, but it wasn't worth the risk of being seen as he was backing out. Instead, he moved quickly and caught the man from behind before he had a chance to see his face. It would take less than five seconds to knock him out. 

What Dick hadn't counted on was that Kevin was wise enough to snag a knife from the evidence room. He didn't even see it until he felt the blade sink into his side, but the effort was weak and Dick snagged the man's wrist just as he went limp. Stitches were nothing new. If anything, it would bolster the story that Dick was taken out early on. Even though the entire office assumed he went home hours ago, he had no intention of letting the department handle this mess on their own. It didn't matter how exhausted he was. He couldn't just go home. 

Pocketing the knife, he continued on to check the rest of the basement. It was empty and the secret exit was still locked up tight. There was no sign the Bratva had even been down there. 

It was less than ten minutes later when he returned to the elevator, his expression impassive. "It's clear. Let's go." Leaning in, he pressed the elevator hold button just in case there were more Bratva upstairs. With any luck, the remaining men were posted at the other entrances and no longer in the building.

Jason: It was an incredibly long few minutes. It stretched on enough that Jason was debating whether or not he should go see if something had happened, though there had been no sound to indicate fighting. 

Before he made any move to do it, though, Dick finally made his way back. “There some reason Big Guy needs to tag along if you’re just putting him back in the pen?” he jerked his head toward Deathstroke. As far as he’d understood Dick’s big plan, the only part left of it was Jason leaving.

Slade: Slade watched Dick approach. He hadn't heard any signs of a struggle, but he'd know if something had happened. He was intimately familiar with the other's movements, the beat of his heart, the way he walked. His eye narrowed as he watched him favor one side. "You alright, little bird?" He asked him, glancing at him. He couldn't be sure, but he had only glimpsed a slight change.

"Surprised that you can't get out by yourself," he answered Jason without looking at him, gaze still fixed on Dick.

Dick: Dick started to answer Jason, but he stopped when he realized Slade noticed something was off. Even though it hurt, especially now that the adrenaline wore off, he had a high tolerance for those things and didn't think he'd made it obvious that anything were wrong. "Fine," he said simply. "Technician was smart enough to dig a knife out of the evidence room. No big deal. Maybe a stitch or two. Gives me a good cover when I talk to Gordon later."  

Changing the subject, his brow furrowed as he looked back at Jason. "I'm following you to the end. There's still a possibility they're waiting to ambush you. They might have an informant." He gestured for them to follow him back in the direction of the evidence room. "And you need to arm yourself just in case. I remember how those guys operate."

Jason: Jason immediately looked at Dick’s side. The suit didn’t look wet, which probably meant he wasn’t losing a lot of blood. What were the odds of getting knifed by a technician after getting away from the Bratva without a scratch? “Don’t be dumb and leave it for too long,” was all he said. It wasn’t like it was going to make any sense to sew it up for him if he needed it for credibility. 

He very nearly made a comment about adding the second katana to the collection, but Slade likely didn’t know he had the first one, so he caught himself before doing it. 

As soon as Dick had let them into the room, Jason started shifting through firearms. “Could do a line of cocaine and really give them a party,” he suggested dryly.

Slade: Slade's eye narrowed as he studied Dick's face. Was he downplaying it for the good of the mission? He could see Grayson pulling bullshit like that. But he seemed decently good at keeping himself together. He had to trust that maybe he knew his limits. 

The suggestion from Jason when they reached the evidence room had Slade smirking in spite of himself before spying his name on one of the containers. He could run instead of stay. There was that notion that maybe this was all too high risk. Why did he care if he had to leave Star City? Maybe he just should go. But if he didn't... that opened other doors. Doors that perhaps he had closed prematurely. 

"I should go back to my cell. Hopefully you don't run into anyone else." He was resolved. The closed doors it was.

Dick: "Please don't." Jason on cocaine didn't sound like a force he wanted to reckon with. Dick waited silently while he picked through the weapons, not electing to take anything himself, but he had his own defenses. 

He noticed Slade watching him and he was sure not to even flinch. It wasn't a critical wound and he wouldn't bleed out, but it did hurt. He could also feel the blood soaking the leg of his costume. If Gordon brought forensics in here, he didn't want his blood everywhere, so he pulled a bandage out of his belt and made quick use of it. 

Slade's words made him nod and he handed over Kevin's elevator key he'd left behind in his rush to go hide. "Wait by the elevator. I'll unlock a cell for you in intake, but I need you to knock me out after that." He had to get this suit off and change back into his clothes if he were going to deal with paramedics. Faking unconsciousness was always an option, but Gordon wasn't born yesterday.

Jason: “Damn, if I knew knocking you out was on the table, I might have rearranged things a little.” By that point, Jason had a machete-looking thing and a couple of extra guns. Since he was just trying to get the fuck out and not take everyone down with him, he just needed enough to make a break for it, assuming someone was waiting on the other side. 

He headed back to the door of the evidence room, loaded down with what he could easily carry, and glanced at Dick. “Ready when you are. Set me free.”

Dick: Dick gave Jason a look, but there was no real annoyance behind it. In truth, he was relieved despite the conflicted feelings he had in general. He did take an oath when he joined the department, but there were too many instances when he found himself breaking it. As much as he hated to leave, he couldn't continue like this. 

"If we get separated, just go to my place and listen in on the police scanner. It’s in my room. I don't think they'll come looking for you there, but..." Trailing, Dick shook his head. "I don't know. Like I said, Gordon's not an idiot." 

He was leading Jason down the hall as he talked. At the very end there was a large door with a tiny little window. "So this was the original location for Tarasov." Opening the door, he went in first and held it open for Jason since he was weighed down by weapons. "And the tiny hall we went down was death row."

Jason: “He was police commissioner in Gotham for most of my life and all those nutjobs are still free, so I can’t say I’ve got the same unwavering faith in the man.” But he wasn’t there to debate the merits of Jim Gordon, Slade Wilson, or anybody else. His own plan had failed spectacularly, so for the time being he’d listen and go along with Dick’s. 

“Hey, Death Row. I might have been calling that home sweet home.” California did technically still have the death penalty, and for all he knew both he and Slade might have been looking at it if the whole thing had gone the way Jason planned it. How the fuck would the state of California have killed Deathstroke? That was probably a joke anyway. 

Once they got to the exit, Jason paused and checked to make sure all the guns he’d lifted were actually loaded. They were, minus a few rounds, and he got one of them ready. “What’s the range on that mask of yours? Can you pick up signatures more than a few feet away?”

Dick: "He can only do so much. He's one person." Dick was defensive of Gordon since he knew how hard he worked. It wasn't his fault he had to deal with incompetence. Hiring was slim pickings with the salary they could offer. There just wasn't more money to go around. 

Scowling, he elbowed Jason hard. "You wouldn't have gotten the death penalty. Too many mitigating factors." Dick testified at enough sentencing hearings to know that Jason's traumatic experiences and upbringing, as well as his connection to Bruce Wayne, would have granted him privilege he probably would have resented.  But he wasn't sure about Slade. The thought made him go quiet. 

The exit was a steel door. Heavy. Dick got it open without much effort, however, and removed a flashlight from his belt. Ahead of them was one long dark tunnel. "Range is half a mile, Jay. The challenge is walls, especially these." He couldn't exactly see heat signatures through concrete. "Tunnel is 350 meters long. They took the bodies out this way so they wouldn't disturb the other prisoners. We'll end up under the bridge." He was already leading the way.

Jason: “Mitigating factors,” he immediately scoffed. “That’s the thing with the law. There’s always mitigating factors. That’s how people better off dead keep ending up back on the streets instead.” He’d never be able to wrap his head around how Dick could stand to play at being a cop when he knew from the other side how easy the law was to twist and the ones tasked with upholding it were to corrupt. He’d grown up in Gotham, too, for fuck’s sake. “Can’t be disturbing the living prisoners with the dead ones. That might actually be a deterrent.” 

The darkness meant he had no choice other than to stay close to Dick. The tunnel was too long and the walls too thick to hear anything from the outside and he had to admit that it was a little unnerving. It would have been oppressively dark without the flashlight, which was one of the few things that Jason did not do well with, and he got more agitated the further they had to go. 

“I won’t stay at your place long. I’ve got a few ideas for a safehouse, just need to set it up.” He said eventually, just to avoid the silence.

Dick: "The court system isn't fair." Dick testified in too many cases to idealize the judicial system at this point in his career. It was the same system that sent Joker to Arkham over and over again. It was the same system that gave kids life sentences for selling cocaine, but eight year sentences to pedophiles. His own job was less complicated, but he found himself hesitating when leveling drug charges whenever he thought about the punitive action the court would take in response. It made things harder and much less black and white. 

Jason's anxiety didn't go unnoticed. He almost asked him what the matter was, but when he actually thought about the possible reasons why Jason might be nervous, he thought better of it. After a few minutes he handed over the flashlight with the pretense of changing the settings on his mask. 

He nodded, unperturbed. "I'll enjoy the company while it lasts. Cordelia's, that is. I'm actually thinking about getting a dog. Have you been to the shelter before? ...Okay, nevermind, dumb question. Want to go with me? If I don't have someone to keep me in check I might bring them all home."

Jason: When Dick offered up no real argument or defense against what he was saying, Jason had no reason to keep pushing and for once dropped the subject quickly. 

He took the flashlight without saying anything, neither knowing or caring if Dick gave it to him on purpose, and just kept on walking. “Will you stop calling her that? Cordelia isn’t even a dog’s name. I’ve been gone two weeks.” There was no heat to it, though. Jason hadn’t come up with a real name for her because he hadn’t wanted to get attached, but at that point he’d had her for over a year and was far past that point. “Yeah, fine, if it’ll keep you from bringing home sixteen dogs and a parrot or something.” 

By that point, the beam of the flashlight was on another heavy door at the end. Finally.

Dick: "You named her dog and girl. Your opinion is officially cancelled." Even Damian named his animals. "Besides," he said after a beat, casting Jason a side glance. "She likes it. It makes her feel classy." Jason's dog was more than a little spoiled at Dick's apartment. He even let her sleep in his bed. 

It never occurred to him that a shelter would have anything but cats and dogs. Bruce never let him have a dog as a kid and Dick never got around to acquiring his own. He was too busy to give a dog a lot of attention. "They have parrots at the shelter? Then I can't promise anything. Who wouldn't want a parrot?" 

Dick readied his keys to unlock the door. It was harder to open, the dirt was packed along the bottom, but he managed. When there was enough of a gap he focused on what he could see. "...This is the worst angle," he muttered quietly, even though the door made plenty of noise just a few seconds ago. 

He could hear the roar of cars on the bridge above them. The tunnel emptied into a concrete channel above the river. "I don't see anything, but the bridge would give them the perfect opportunity to pick us off as soon as we walk out." As he talked, he was already using his holographic interface to hack into nearby security cameras so he could get an idea of possible positions. "Okay. So three on the bridge. One right above us and two to the left of him. Two more are down here with us. One is fifteen feet to my right and the other is closer, six or so feet to the right, and standing further back. They heard the door so they're waiting on us. Real gentlemen." He paused. "I'll get fifteen feet and you get six. I have an idea. Just make sure you get your guy back and under the bridge so you're out of their sights.”

Jason: It had been awhile since Jason had really let anyone else call the shots, and he’d taken orders from Dick more than once already that day. He almost wanted to argue on principle, but he wanted to leave more. It wasn’t worth it when the plan would probably work anyway. “Yeah, got it,” he muttered, clicking the flashlight off once they had a little light from the outside to replace it. 

He got one of the guns and the blade ready and gave Dick a nod. He’d been pent up in that cell for two weeks and the fight with the Bratva at the station felt more like an appetizer than the main event. Jason had energy and frustration to burn, and Mr. Six-Feet-Away got to help him do it. He moved quickly, not wanting to risk the sound of gunfire if he didn’t have to, and before the guy could get a shot off of his own Jason was on him. He slashed with the machete, taking a finger or two and the gun, and sent him stumbling back beneath the bridge as promised.

Dick: In situations like this, Dick had a natural tendency to take charge, likely left over from his time with the Teen Titans. Bruce was a skilled mentor, there was no denying that, but he didn't excel at leadership. It was something Dick learned on his own and through some trial and error. He'd been hard on his teammates, at times, but patient. With Damian and even during these moments with Jason, he demonstrated an attitude more cooperative than commanding. After so many years on the receiving end of wait heres and stern distrust, Dick understood the importance of respecting the people around him - especially if they were working together. 

As soon as Jason gave the nod he was moving. Fifteen feet gave the tall Russian time to fire a round at his head, but Dick dodged the bullet as soon as he saw the twitch of his finger on the trigger. The gunshot incited yells from above followed by the sound of several people running. In seconds, Dick had 15 feet on his back, rolling with him as he tried to get his arm around his neck. In the struggle, 15 feet's head struck a jagged piece of concrete and he was out like a light. That works too, I guess. 

His gaze found Jason as he removed the rebreather from his belt. In the distance he could hear shouting as the rest of the men clamored down the hillside. They still had a minute or so before they'd reach them. Ducking down so he wouldn't be seen, Dick addressed Jason over 6 feet's screaming and wailing. "I only have one of these masks and this knockout gas is strong. Go on ahead. I'll meet you the other side." Dick nodded in the direction the men weren't charging from as he slid the rebreather over his face. "I'm right behind you.”

Jason: Without a rebreather, he had little choice either way. It wasn’t as though he had immunity to the gas. Jason slammed the handle of the blade against six-foot’s temple and let him slump to the ground before he took off, though he only went far enough to put himself just out of range. 

He turned back toward Dick with one of the guns drawn. One of the Russians got closer than he wanted before the gas was activated and Jason took his shot: a perfect bullseye right through the right kneecap. It took him down immediately, practically right at Dick’s feet.

Dick: The shot startled Dick, but the knockout gas filled the air seconds later and he didn't even see the guy land. He heard it, though. 

He waited until some of the smoke cleared just to make sure all the men were out. He'd have to come back this way in a few minutes and he didn't want any surprises. 

Seconds later, he joined Jason on the far side of the bridge. He was already taking out his apartment key. "I'll be back in a couple hours. If you hear anything on the scanner, make sure you let everyone know not to text me anything suspicious." Even though Dick didn't want to think Gordon would investigate his possible connection to this, he knew Jason being the only escaped prisoner looked bad.

Jason: Once Dick reached him, Jason was already putting away the two smaller pistols. He had nowhere inconspicuous for the blade or larger gun, though. “You want to shove these back in the evidence room or am I just sticking to the rooftops on the way to your place?” He needed to do that anyway, all things considered. 

When he gave the rest of the instructions, he finally couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes anymore. “Yeah, Dick, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been doing the bad guy thing for awhile. I know what laying low means.”

Dick: "Rooftops. I might not be able to get back." If someone came to while they were gone and called the police, Dick might not have the opportunity to stage the scene he had in mind. He had contingency plans for that possibility, even though he’d rather not use them. 

He laughed. "Sorry, force of habit. But if you could actually take Careful as your middle name on your way back, I'd appreciate it." The comment wasn't serious. It was a way to add a little levity to a situation that could have turned out a lot worse.

Jason: “Alright. Me, my three stolen guns, and my blood machete are heading back to your place. Good luck.” He meant it, too, because Dick was going back to a fucking mess and Jason knew it was his fault. It was his plan to turn himself in, his plan that got the Bratva there, and it was all for fucking nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

It brought his mood down fast, but all he had to do was leave, so he wiped all that off his face for the few finale seconds. “Yep. Jason Careful Todd.” He took the key from him, threw up one hand in a kind of mock salute, and took off.

Dick: The men were still unconscious and would be for a while. Dick made sure the gates to the tunnel were locked before he headed back, as quickly as he could, but his side ached and the fighting he did with 15 feet didn't help. The bandage was soaked through and he unwrapped it, winding it between his fingers and tucking it in his belt. He couldn't keep it on there if he were going to be playing victim. Now that he was alone the guilt of having to lie to Jim settled over him, but he knew he made the only decision he could have. 

Eventually he made it back to the elevator where he asked Slade to wait. He retrieved his clothes from the storage closet and quickly changed into them. He hid the Nightwing outfit in a drawer of an unused desk that had been pushed in the corner. Using the knife from the evidence locker, he tore a gash in his shirt right where the wound was. Gordon was a detective, Dick wasn't about to underestimate him, and he tucked the knife in a different drawer. "Come on," he said to Slade, his voice quiet and his skin pallid. "The intake room has a cell." It was also where Gordon had been left slumped over the desk. Judging from the complete silence inside the station, it didn't seem as if any of the officers regained consciousness yet. That was very much a good thing.

Slade: "Fine," Slade answered, watching Dick go through his preparations. "You should get rid of that, you know," he said, meaning the knife. "They're going to search this place thoroughly. What's your story going to be, anyway?" He had helped with the fighting, but he didn't much worry about their alibis or explanations, only his own. He was curious, though, what Dick had come up with. 

He didn't like how the other looked while he really got a good look at him and Slade reached out. "Dick," he said sternly. "You're bleeding too much." If Slade knocked him out, how long before someone came? He didn't want him to keep bleeding while he just waited around. And what? Slade was just supposed to sit there?

Dick: Dick considered it for a second. It was unlikely, but a bloody suit could be explained to Gordon a lot easier than a knife. He finally removed it and slid it into his pocket. No one was going to be searching him. "I'm going to tell Gordon that I heard the gunshots from across the street. Ran over. By the time I got here they were already in the cell block and Jason was gone. You escaped and locked them in. I got you secured and took out my phone to call 911, and that's the last thing I remember." It was a plan he'd thought about the whole way back. 

"It's fine. Doesn't even hurt." He already had his phone out and dialed the numbers, then put the phone on mute. With his other hand he unlocked the cell and handed over the keys. "Toss them through the bars once you lock it back. Try to get them as close to me as you can." Dick sighed, the phone still in his hand. "And hit me hard enough for it to be believable. At least leave a contusion or something." Pausing, he couldn't help a faint, somewhat humorless smirk. "I can make it more satisfying by firing off some bad puns first."

Slade: "Got me secured? I'm not taking the fall for stabbing you if that's what you think this is going to be. I was compliant and so I'll be allowed to walk. I'm not adding assault to this little rap sheet you've cobbled together." He shook his head, but he wasn't aggressive. 

For the most part, he was worried about Dick. Dick and the blood loss. Slade narrowed his eyes. He didn't like the idea of hitting the kid while he was already bleeding. "You look pale," he explained, catching his face to turn it this way and that. "How quickly will they respond?"

Dick: "Not you, someone else. You can't stab me or knock me out if you're secured, Slade. Even if you did manage it, not even you're so good that you can make a knife disappear. I'll tell them I fought with another guy first if you're that worried about it. Happy?" Dick felt tired. He didn't want to argue. This was all going to be over soon and he had mixed emotions. 

The memory of what Slade said in the elevator brought a fresh wave of agitation and anger. Yet here he was, somehow still disappointed that there wasn't much longer to this forced arrangement. Batting Slade's hand away, he shook his head. "Typically 15 to 20 minutes, unless the city's gone crazy again."

Slade: As Dick pushed his hand away, Slade's eye narrowed but he didn't push him. If he thought this would work, then they'd do it. It wasn't his fight. So instead he considered for a long moment. "Then I guess I'll see you on the other side, right?" He said simply before leaning in to steal a brush of lips to Dick's. 

From there it was just the matter of knocking him out. He could do it with a well placed chop to the neck. It would be an instant drop if the person delivering the blow was well skilled and knew exactly how to hit. But he hesitated. Because Dick had said to leave a bruise. And he wasn't sure the Bratva wouldn't just punch where they could instead of taking him out quick and clean. 

He didn't wince as he punched Dick hard enough to give him a hell of a shiner. It was a hit that would lay him out on the floor. He swallowed before bending down to roll Dick on his side so he'd bleed out more slowly. Then he locked himself into the cell. All that was left was to wait.

#c: discord #dick grayson #jason todd #slade wilson #jim gordon

[ofravensandgenesis]

IT IS FINISHED no seriously, this took ages. First couple of days were fine and motoring along with progress, then I was laid out for a week-ish with health problems. Then once I was well enough again I was back to being fixated on finishing this piece of my lad Joshua here for another handful of days, so I’m super glad this is done now. More talk about the painting, details and process under the cut:

Art Entry 01, Joshua Rook, Junior Deputy of Hope County. Regarding the painting’s execution, stylistic choices, practiced methods, and speculation on further experimentation for skill and stylization. _____________________________ Honestly I thought that the uniform’s large swatches of green fabric would be more difficult than it actually was. Turns out that was the easier part compared to the shoulder patch and metal badge. x’D The metal badge design is based off of and inspired by a custom-ordered cosplay badge design I found while looking for references, in this post here (link,) from v-i-d-e-n-o-i-r’s blog and Far Cry 5 cosplay. There are some differences in the painting’s rendition above, namely I flattened the middle section and made it all concentric polished metal instead of painted and the great seal rendition in the middle doesn’t have silver lineart either. Those choices are as much for aesthetic reasons of eliminating the blue ring so it was all a fairly simple mono-material-looking surface as it was for simplifying having to forego painting the foreshortening that a spherical dome might entail. Also just because the rest of the metal turned out looking good enough that an additional bit of shiny metal seemed like it’d fit right in for this. That being said, the badge design that inspired this one is rad and awesome looking—and I totally didn’t realize it wasn’t quite like the badges from in-game assets until after I’d painted it. x’D So, I decided to stick with this one since it’s simpler and has cleaner lines, and less engraving to pick out highlights on. Metal is very hit or miss for me to get right, so I’m very pleased with how this one came out! :D I think I did well on that one. The shoulder patch originally I was looking at real world references and ended up changing the shape once I actually looked at in-game references on Staci and Joey—who I discovered have slightly different details on their uniforms, like the font for their name tags—Staci’s has an old-timey-looking-font with serifs, Joey’s is a non-serif more modern-style font. Some pictures have them having different buttons on their uniforms either in color or shape (the former being exported assets, the latter being in-game gifs/screenies/etc.) This is also how I learned that the little landscape with the shovel, pickaxe and plough/plow are part of the great seal of Montana. I had no flipping idea that was what it was, looking at the patches in-game. The cosplay community does some great work for that, for which I’m grateful. I ended up looking up references of what the state seal’s design was so as to see the smaller details, and to find out what the motto meant ”Oro y Plata,” meant, leading to etymology googling adventures from there, as usual. All important details to paint though I think here, since Joshua’s deputy uniform is symbolically significant to him and will remain so throughout his story as part of his internal conflict for a couple of reasons. One thing I knew I should’ve done from the start, and reminded myself to do, was the fact that I should paint all skin sections at the same time, so as to ensure they all came out the same shades. I did not do this. x’D I’ll have to actually try to do that next time honestly. Same with the hair sections, while I like how they came out, I do feel the differences between the three major segments in terms of brushwork is not as coherent as I’d like, even if beard hair is not necessarily similar in how it lays to scalp hair, particularly with length and such taken into consideration. Still, not bad. Could’ve used more refs for the backlighting and figuring out how the highlights would fit best on the ponytail, but I think the hair curves turned out nice there in particular. Overall, Joshua’s hair ended up messier than I’d thought with how the locks all end up looping this way and that across his head, but it does actually fit him well as a character for his hairstyle to be messy and loosely held together, but functional. It did end up longer than I’d intended, so we have him likely ending up with a nerdy Jesus hairstyle when it’s down. x’D (Thanks to @undead-gearhead​ for that mental imagery, I shall take great amusement in that should I get around to drawing Joshua with his hair down.) Aside from that, I think I’m slowly improving on figuring out how to paint glasses, though I’m thinking in the future I should test more layered reflective light on them or something where the frames are in contact or close to skin, particularly around the glasses’ bridge across the nose and such. Then there are the other deviation details added—like using dark green instead of the black for the uniform accents. The faded black looks great in-game, but I do think the buttons pop more against dark green instead for this painting. I’m a little bit surprised how well the button-placket section came out, Clip Studio Paint crashed when I painted the first rendition of it, sadly losing all that work. I thought it’d be okay but turns out it didn’t quite get to auto-save that recently enough, but the second go around turned out quite well I think, possibly better. I was originally planning to try to put more textured brushwork across the flat sections of the uniform material, but decided to skip it for speed—I’ll test that elsewhere perhaps, though I think it came out well with the watercolor brushes layered on top of one another like that as is. Among the other smaller details, there’s some tweaks and such for how Joshua’s eye shape, eyebrows, nose shape, hairline etc came out compared to references of Greg Bryk in his role as Joseph Seed. I think Joshua did come out looking like he’s obviously related to the Seeds as I was hoping for, but I’m kind of on the fence that people would look at him and automatically assume it’s Joseph specifically that he’s descended from. I hope so, but either way, that’s how he’s written in-fic. x’D Overall, I would consider this painting a success, though as usual I do wish it’d been faster to finish. I do think this was good practice for detail work, and metal shading, also: buttons. Still haven’t figured out how to paint lips with more pink or red tones, I don’t like the way they look when painted sadly, unless it’s lipstick. That may end up being a stylistic element perhaps, along with how I paint the lines for fingernails and other such details. Fun fact: I have to leave the shading on the eyes for last, or else my brain goes “The eyes are done! We’re done! Call it a day.” I’m not sure why, but so far, leaving them as flats until the end seems to work a treat for keeping me focused on finishing the rest of the work with less mental dissonance. Now if only I could figure out why despite knowing I should do all the exposed skin portions at the same time, I don’t follow through on that naturally as far as inclinations go. Maybe it’s a layer organization thing and perception of wanting, say, the cloth to be done first before working “down” to the hands and such in the sense of working from the head down? I’ll have to think on that some more and test things in the next painting. Perhaps color coding the order of layers to paint will help? CSP does have a nice layer-icon-color function that I’ve dabbled with here and there. There are so many brushes, I really do need to test out more of them, I use, what, four or five total, but primarily somewhere around two or three. Hm, but what to do with texture, and how to utilize it so? Hmmm, as far as personal appeal for methodology goes, I might prefer to use textures in select pieces for more emotional emphasis? If I can figure out how to do that in a messier speed-paint style of things. Rougher textures for conflict, for example. That sounds like an interesting idea to explore, I’ll have to remember that for a later piece. Maybe more heavily textured brushes will also help with the mental itch to refine things to a cleaner-level of refining instead of leaving it in a more organically rough state. Hm, maybe it’s a “mental texture” aversion or something, as far as an interplay between the brush’s texture and the flow of the linework/brushstroke. Perhaps more uneven brushes echo that in a complimentary fashion to better allow less mental discomfort for me personally when trying to paint in a faster, looser fashion? Honestly, very tempting to go try that out sooner rather than later on some art ideas I have, but I’ve been missing my writing very much of late with two time-demanding paintings back to back. So, ideas for a later time to experiment with.

#Far Cry 5 #FC 5 #Far Cry 5 AU #FC 5 AU #deputy joshua rook #my art #ofravensandgenesis's art #art talk #chatter #writing about art #writing about fanart #queue