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Eight Chapter 3:

Rachel walked the grounds of the mental institution. A clicking followed the young adult female. Rubbing the tired from her eyes she continued to walk the grounds. Pausing for a moment she looked at the lab building next door, or really half a mile away as the buildings here were quite large. Thoughts ran rampant of what could possibly be happening within that building. Even some fun fantasy ideas, like if they were creating bio-weapons to take over people on earth. Or infect everyone with some sort of mind control. It was quite fascinating to think about. Turning her head she looked back to her building before suddenly from her side someone walked into her vision. "He-" "EEK!" Rachel squealed and jumped a little before laughing a bit. "Oh, sorry." Her male coworker said, waving it off Rachel shrugged. "You're fine." "I should- probably not walk up on people like that. Anyway, do you have anything to pass down?" Rachel shook her head, "Lia tried to escape again. " "yeah?" "Mhm, she even was able to get out of her straight jacket." "Wow really? I wonder how she managed that." Rachel shrugged, "Beats me. But she was wandering the courtyard when I found her and convinced her to go back to her room." "How'd you convince her?" "Well I tried the nice way first- until she tried to attack me with her bitten fingernails. So I just had to tackle and wrestle with her till she finally gave up." The coworker chuckled a bit. "Oh wow, that's sounds rough. Is that why you have-" The male then gestured to his face and eye, Rachel smirked. "Yep, that's why I've got some battle scars." "My hell." The man grunted, "Did medical help you or-" "Nah don't need it. She was cleaned when she got here so I'm pretty sure I won't have any rabies." Rachel teased making her coworker laugh some more. "Alright well I'll take over. You and your sister take care now." "Thanks." Rachel nodded and began to walk away before the guy spoke out once more. "Hey uh- your sister is Lucy Ochroma right?" Rachel paused "uh yeah. What's up?" Turning she asked before the guy looked a bit surprised. "Oh well.. just curious." Rachel nodded a little before turning, "Have a good night." "Yeah you too."

"Jeeze what took you so long?" Lucy asked as Rachel took her hair out of her braid before hopping into the SUV. "Just passing down to Victor about Lia." "Ah gotcha. Is she still raging on about her dad?" Rachel nodded, "yeah." Lucy clicked her tongue as they drove out of the driveway of the clinic. "Poor lady, I couldn't imagine being schizo so young in her life." Rachel nodded. "Yeah." The night was calm as the girls drove home. Rachel looked out the window as she enjoyed the view, all the trees and flowers that had been blooming. Even if she couldn't stop sneezing every hour of the day, it was still a beautiful sight to see. Rachel closed her eyes and whispered a small prayer of gratitude for the wonderful day. Yes maybe her allergies were bad, her face now had scratches on them and she had a headache from the earlier fight. Maybe even the fact Bruce was gone and she had to deal with school for another decade or so to become her dream job. All these factors were reasons to complain that her day wasn't great. But in truth, everyday was good due to the simple fact it was another day. A new opportunity to chase her dreams, to achieve new goals. Hell, the sky wasn't crashing and fiery rocks weren't falling from the sky. While the earth was breaking and crumbling hence killing everyone. That, would be a bad day. But the sky was still blue, birds were still flying, Rachel had a cute home to go to. Where she could receive hot and flavorful foods.

Today, was still a good day. Regardless of the issues she was dealing with.

"Oi!" "Huh? What?" Rachel snapped from her thoughts as he turned and looked at Lucy. "Did you want anything?" Lucy gestured to the ice-cream fast food place that she had pulled up to. "Oh, uhm no thanks I'm good." "Not even some fries?" Rachel's eyes widened as she turned to Lucy and looked at the board of the golden, salty, wonderful picture of the fries on the billboard. Rachel felt herself bitting her tongue and nodded. "Oh- yes I'll take some." Lucy only laughed and nodded as she then ordered an extra large fry. Pulling past the ordering table she parked at the window. "You and your fries huh?" "Potatoes is the only carb I can't live without." Rachel mumbled as she looked out the window. "Ha- yeah I can't without bread." Turning her head Lucy took Rachel's card with her fingers and held it up to the cashier. "I feel so rich holding cards like this, Rachel chuckled at Lucy's fun words. "Alright hold these." Lucy handed Rachel the bag of food before handing her back her card. Then she waved goodbye to the servers and drove off. "Alright we'll get home and eat an- are you eating already?" Lucy looked over as she heard crunching only to see 13 or so fries hanging out of Rachel's mouth. "Hm- oh don't look!" Rachel said muffled as she covered her mouth to hide all the food she was shoving into her face. "Do you have one of MY Mozzarella sticks?!" Lucy said before moving her friend's hand and seeing indeed there was a mozzarella stick hanging out. Only before ripping the half hanging out off and tossing it into her own mouth. "You dork I asked if you wanted anything you should have asked!" "I didn't see your stick in my food!" Rachel said with all the mashed potato madness in her cheek like a chipmunk. Lucy rolled her eyes, "You can have a bite of my spicy chicken sandwich if you want it." "Oooh, thanks!" Rachel said before digging in and Lucy only shook her head as she drove to their house.

"Movie night!" Lucy hollered as she went to her room and went to change. Rachel climbed carefully up to the loft to not bump her head. As she then put on a black nightgown with black shorts. Taking her hair down she climbed down to sit next to her friend on their couch. The two sat with popcorn in between them as they started a horror movie. Lucy couldn't help but snicker and giggle as out of the two. Rachel was more of a tomboy and tougher woman. However when it came to horror movies, it was a different story. As Rachel would lean into Lucy who hadn't worked out nearly as much as Rachel did- and looked to her friend for protection as she had her eyes covered a lot. As time passed though the two began to get tired and Lucy felt too lazy to get up and take off her makeup. Hence both of the girls fell asleep.

The next morning, it was a sunny and bright. Rachel was up and listening to a song as she cooked. Grabbing some meat from an earlier bbq she sliced them before tossing them into a skillet with butter. Grabbing some potatoes she washed then diced them up as she put them in another skillet and seasoned them. With pepper, onion and garlic salt, followed by paprika. However knowing her friend loved spicy foods she substituted the paprika for some chilli peppers. Taking both pans and flipping them with both of her hands one handed she stirred them before grabbing a bowl and cracking some eggs into them. Taking a fork she stabbed the yolks and then stirred the mixture incorporating air. Letting the bleeding yellow mix with the clear whites and bubble up into a perfect mixture. Taking a green onion she washed then sliced it up finely before putting the greens in the egg and again stirring the mixture. Finally she took the potatoes and meat into one bowl. And mixed them up while leaving some more butter to sizzle and brown in a hot skillet. While leaving the other skillet to cool a little. Grabbing the tortillas she places one in a pan before then adding her eggs to the buttery skillet. Taking a spatula she stirred the bubbling eggs within the pan around while adding salt and pepper. Lightly pressing down onto them she felt small but satisfying bubbles popping. Chopping up the eggs and placing them into the bowl with the other fillings she then placed another tortilla into the pan as she then flipped the other tortilla over.

A few minutes later..

Rachel laid the warm tortilla onto a plate before scooping the filling into the tortilla. Adding a sprinkle of cheese inside the soon to be burrito she then tossed some cheese into the pan. Folding and rolling the burrito she then placed the opening side of it onto the cheese and held it as the cheesy goodness melted and hardened onto the tortilla making a temporary seal. Rolling the burrito on the rest of the cheese as it stuck to the tortilla she then placed it on a plate before turning and seeing Lucy up and dancing. To the latino music "This beat bops!" Lucy smiled before grabbing Rachel "You forgot the most important step! To dance!" Rachel laughed a bit as the two danced together, Shaking their hips and moving their shoulders, Lucy incorporating more footwork as Rachel used more leg, lower abdomen, and hip movement into her moves. The two laughed as they continued to party.

As the two danced Rachel felt her aching heart beating a bit better, but the dancing, food, hispanic music. It- all felt a little too much. Slowly she lost her rhythm as flashes of a large but thin smile entered her mind as she thought of the brown hair bouncing in the air. His arms shaking in the air, reaching for her. Rachel paused as she looked past Lucy, out to the forest, swearing it was only her imagination. The figure dancing outside, beckoning for her, in his camouflage apron. "Hey, where'd you get that from? I've been looking for it everywhere." "Huh?" Rachel snapped out of it as she looked at Lucy who gestured to Bruce's apron Rachel was wearing. "Oh... he left it in the apartment's kitchen." "Ohhh. ok, uhm. It looks good on you." "Thanks." Rachel nodded before the two stopped and instead began to eat. Rachel looked outside once more, hoping he was outside. But nothing, there was nothing and never would be again.

As time had passed on it had been a few months, Rachel was quite thankful for it to finally be fall as her eyes were no longer itchy. Nose no longer runny, and her sneezes could ease, as well as Lucy's teasings for having a kitten's sneeze. Which she denied every time it was brought up for the sake of her tougher image. This day was a Sunday which Rachel used to study her many classes while Lucy was out and about driving around. As Rachel worked however, listening to her cello study music. The door opened, looking up Rachel let out a loud grunt as she was shoved to the ground. Something was upon her, wiggling and jumping on her stomach as it dived at her face. Yelping Rachel tried to fight back and finally grabbed its head and went to shout when she paused.

A very fluffy, white, orange, and partially brown husky almost dog was on her. Panting with its big sparkling eyes as it heaved in her face and tried to lick her frantically. "Rachel! Rachel! Oh I'm so sorry!" Lucy tried to tug the dog off yet it would not budge. Grabbing the dog's back leg Rachel flipped it over in her lap and wrapped a leg in between its. Before then grabbing its head in a headlock and holding one of its paws. Not pushing any pressure to hurt the dog Rachel huffed and looked at Lucy. "LUCY! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" She shouted over the dog's hyena like barking and whines. "Well! I found him on the road and figured we needed a pupper! Plus I couldn't just leave him! Look how cute of a baby he is!" Indeed the dog was dirty and wore no collar, making it pretty believable he was homeless. "Ugh! Why didn't you text me?" Rachel growled lightly as she stood up and dusted herself off. "Well sorry!" Rachel rolled her eyes and looked down at the dog. "Now what are we gonna do with him?" "Well... we could give him a name." Lucy pointed out "A name?" Rachel said with her brow raised as she had her hands on her hips. "You asked and I think its the least we could do." Lucy shrugged.

Rachel sighed and went to open her mouth when she heard something behind her. Turning she saw a gaping hole within the world. Blue and silver streaks licked reality as the hole opened up more. Lucy gasped as she watched a window of a different world on the other side. It was like they watched a movie of what was happening or had happened that moment in time for them. Seeing themselves arguing about not telling the author's name? Before they saw a taller figure wearing black with a blue eye then calming them down. "You had one job, to ask the readers to comment what they wanted the dog's name to be. Which would also have given them a shouted out when the next chapter and this book is later published." The girls apologized until suddenly the scene was snapped. Cracking in the middle a figure with a silver sword stabbed the screen like history before then popping her head forward. Leaning into the world as the female characters were shocked. The strange woman leaned out her long arms and then cupped the dog's face. "Hi stinky! Oh whose a good boi I love you so much!" Looking up with her masked face she spoke. "You should name him Sirous. Or Si for short." Looking back down she kissed his head as she waved goodbye. "Ok by stanky, pretty, boi I loved you." In her puppy voice before finally leaving back into the warped hole that disappeared and left the new reality.

Shoutout to my bestie Twisted, a future writer and partner of mine for the name of the dog in my story.

Dog:

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Met a VERY cool 4 y/o at the Cattle Decap show last night. She was there with her mom and dad. Great big earmuffs for the sound. Found out she dressed herself - incredible fit - sparkly boots, a cape, sparkly makeup. Was like genuinely shocked at how into it she seemed. I think she's gonna grow up really cool

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BNHA scenario: You can’t feel pain

You were born with a heightened reflex quirk but you were alsoborn with a very rarebirth defect called chromosome 6 deletion,that causes you to not feel pain, hunger or fatigue, and you have like zero sense offear & self preservation, your boyfriend only knows about your Quirk, you've kept your medical history to yourself, until you have an accident and he notices something off and start asking questions!

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Dabi: He hadn't see you in a couple days and got worried, he then got a call from you asking to take you to the slums walk-in clinic, (I like to think, that the villains have whole a network of black marketdoctors that sympathizewith them and run pop-up clinics, you have to have a password to to know where and how get in.) He checked his burner phone for a pop-up clinic and found one near by.

He got to your location and was stunned when he saw your right arm with a large knife jammed into it and a dead guyon the ground sporting a broken neck, He checked out your arm and winced realizing he couldn't pull it out without causing you anymore damage, He then examine your face, expecting tears, but... you seemed more annoyed by this whole situation then anything, Dabi was expecting you to be cryingand whining athim to stop pokingand moving your arm around... He thought you were in shock at first, but something was nagging at him that this wasn't normal.

Dabi was silent the entire way to the clinic, his eyes were burning holes into the back of your head, when you both arrived... and the first words the guard said to you was. "Y/n back again, for what? out of pills?" he sighed as you narrowed your eyes at the idiot and raised yourinjured arm up to show him, his jaw dropped and opened up immediately letting you both in. "What did he mean by that?" Dabi's voice was tense suddenly speaking up, "Why do you need pills?" You stiffened obviously hesitant to say anything, knowing full well Dabi doesn't like people keeping secretsfrom him!

"Just wait for Dr. Yuhei to come..."

"You're on first name bases with the staff now too?"

"...Dabi."

"..."

The cremator crossed his arms asa middle age man came in looking very happy to see her! "Y/n? what the damage today dislocation? burn damage, (cue Dabi flinching) road rash, broken bones..." His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas as he ohand awed at seeing the knife lodged in your arm. "Ha! you got knifed! I love it!" he exclaimed jubilantly while slapping his knee as he took out his tools.

Dabi just looked at this man like he was madas aMarch hare! "What fuck is wrong with you?!" he demanded out getting the doctor's attention, it took a moment for the man to respond.

"Oh! Are you the boyfriend I've been hearing so much about!" the cremator's brows furrowed as Yuhei shook his hand congratulating Dabi for finding a real diamond in the rough! "Not many doctors can say they've worked on a patient with Chromosome 6 deletion!" the raven haired man blinked incredulously. "Chromo what?" now it was the doctor's turn to be confused. "She didn't tell...You didn't tell him?" he watched your faceand saw your fraught expression.

"Huh...Well I'll be. That's certainly new!"

The doctor hummed before telling Dabi what was up about your condition,your boyfriend kept a neutral face butinside his emotions werechurning. "Her reluctance to inform you of this...is probably to closesadduce tofearI've ever seen her display." Your face felt hot as youstaredat Dabi expecting to him storm out instead, he just watched as the doctor pulled the knife out of your arm in fixed you with no anesthetic or pain-killers , Yuheiinformed you that the knifehad cracked the bone soyou had wear a sling for a couple weeks, then reminded you to change your bandages properly, then handed you a refill of melatonin.

The walk back home was awkward as hellDabi had yet to say anything... Before you reached your safehouse you felt Dabi fingers grab your jacket sleeve while keeping his eyes on the ground. "Listen... this thing you have, did I ever hurt you?" You cocked a brow bemused before recalling Yuhei asking you about your injuries, he mentioned burns... and realized where Dabi was going with this, had he burnt you any given point and not known about it due to you not noticing or not telling him.

You really wanted to say no... You really did! but accidents happen. "Not on purpose..." He winced hearing this as you continued."sometimes during sex or when you're in a combat high."You reach up and patted him on the head making him flinch before relaxing into your touch. "If it'll keep you sane I'll tell you if I get hurt when we go on a run." Dabi hummed holding you close to him, needless to say the cremator became a tad more wary and protective of you during and after missions insisting he check your body overany injuriesyou hadn'tnoticed before leaving.

=====================

Hawks: "Can you feel that?"a Nurse asks baffled as You let out a bored sigh as she andthe doctor reset your left leg. "No." you huffed for the umpteenth time,wanting to leave the damn hospital already! but Keigo insisted you needed the hospital, cos your leg was swollen and turning purple after really, rough fight with a villain who had gotten a hold of you by the leg and toss you off like a rag-doll as a snapped echoed through the battle field!

I didn't takelong for you to figure out your femur was broken and you were a sitting duck!until Endeavor and Hawks showed upthey beat the villain, then noticed you sitting in the road with your left leg in your hand hanginglimply in your grasp like a wet noddle!

Your lack of impulse reaction caused them to think you'd gone into shock! Keigo quickly gathered you up flew to the nearest hospital! Telling you not panic everything was gonna be fine, you were gonna be alright! If only he knew the whimpering you were making wasn't from crying, but from laughing at him!

After the docs had reset your leg (with nomeds.) and put it in a cast again withoutany medication, you rolled your wheelchair out into the hall in time to see the doctor telling your fiancée about your one a billion condition! You can see how nervous the blond was he almost seemed skeptical,Hawksaskedthe doctor if he was overexaggerating a bit?"...I don't think you get it Hawks! this condition so rare that only 40cases have ever been recorded globally!" you felt your stomach twist... this was definitely not how you wanted Keigo to findout about this. Your original plan had been to sit him down some time next week and tell him about it!

You were brought out of your thoughts by a someone's gaze burning into your head, you looked up and met Keigo's analyzing gaze as he observed your condition, not in a bed, not hook to an I.V.and certainly not under the influence of any sort of pain medicine... He seemed a little pale as he approached you. "Hey... can we talk?" he asked you nodded as the two of you got on the elevator to the roof. You could feel him still leering at you as you arrived at your stop.

"So..wha- what are youdoing?!" You asked watching Keigo pinching your arm hard! and realized he wastrying to invoke a reaction, but it was useless task as all it did was annoy you, this was the first thing people do when they find out about your chromosome 6 deletion, checking and seeing if you werefaking it, Keigo felt panic bubble in his belly as he observed your reaction... or rather your lack ofreaction. "Keigo..." You yelped suddenly feeling something tickling you under you chin, causing you to squirm and whimper as you tried not to burst out giggling.

You looked and saw the feather necklace Keigo had given you to be the culprit. "St-stop Keigo! stop!" When he heard youlaugh, the blond relaxed, when the doc said you couldn't feel pain... he started wondering if your other senses were numbtoo, *of course that would be dumb!* he thought thinking back on how you react during sex and how you were acting now, pretty told him that everything else running fine. "Why didn't you tell me about this Chromosome thing?" You pretty much explained how you were, well... scared wasn't the right word, as you have no sense of the feeling, it was more like you were nauseous that his reaction would be negative...

Hawk looked at you wide eyed. "Wait, you...can't feel fear?"He asked curiously you nodded explaining that you lack of pain has pretty much dampened your instinctive senseof self preservation, which why you tend to go on for so long in a fight even when things get dicey... "So that whimpering on the way over." you nodded. "I was trying not to laugh..." You said bluntly Hawks went oh then curiously asked if he had accidently hurt you during intimate moments?

You were straight with him, he may have gone a little overboardduring ruts, but nothing serious. Keigo didn't seem to like this answer. "Hey look at me." you huffed making gold eyes metyour [y/ec] eyes. "I know you'd never hurt me on purpose, and if it makes you feel better you can check me over personally and pull me off patrolif you think somethings not right, does that work for you?" you waited as Hawks thought this over before nodding,The next day neither You nor Keigo were prepared for the tabloids headline: #2 Hero Hawks engaged to Bionic woman!You both cringed at the tacky tile!

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Bakugou: "Stop you idiot!" Katsuki shouted as he watched you get up after one his explosions had sent you flying and crashing into one of the simulation buildings on the training field, as you looked around bemused as everyone was panicking, Toshinori aka your dadand Aizawa came up to you worried,the black haired teacher used his scarf as a bandage on you profusely bleeding head... which you just noticed."Get a stretcher!" the teacher ordered.

"I don't need one I can wal-" Bakugou cut you off. "Get on the fucking stretcher Y/n!" You robotically obeyed as the medical team carried you to Recovery-Girl, who just shook her head when she saw you come in, she knows about your condition. "Y/n back again today, I'm started to wonder if you and Midoriya are related?" she teased causing you sweat-drop as Bakugou listened intently, and was very confuse when the old lady said this wasn't your first visit today....

"Oi, whatexactly was she talkin' about?" the blonde huffed eyeing you suspiciously and was put off by you lack of reaction over your injuries. It didn't take a doctor toknow that the knockback from his explosion should've cracked your skull and may have also broken your back, when you hit that building. "Oh, I had a little fall earlier,nothing to worry about." you said nonchalantly Your dad who was trying to keep himself from coughing up blood on the other hand spokeup. "I wouldn't call getting hit by a car a "Little fall" Y/n." Katsuki's eyes widened, oh if looks could kill. "YOU WERE HIT BY A CAR AND DIDN'T TELL ME?!" He bellowed as All-might jumped back in shock while You stared at your boyfriend with a blankexpression.

He was frothing at the mouth as you listened to the blond rage like a chihuahua on caffeine, you looked at you dad having a metal conversation with the honey blond skeleton who nodded giving you the okay! you were gonna tell your boyfriend about your condition...With a sigh you calmly reached up and pinched Katsuki's nose between your index and middle finger. "Breath damn you!" you hissed the ash blondstilled and looked at you with annoyance for being interrupted.

"I get that you're angry... But you need to know something." Katsuki let out an inquisitive growl as you looked at him seriously. "I can't feel any of this... at all." You chortled his red eyes widened as you continued. "I was born with a rare Condition, Chromosome 6 deletion?" You looked at your dad, Toshinori nodded you let go ofBakugou's nose. as your dad continued. " In short Y/n can't feel pain, fatigue or hunger, so naturally she lacksa sense of fear." Recovery girl returned wiped the blood off your forehead, and kissed your cheeka few seconds later your head was healed, Katsuki stayed silent as he absorbed everything you and All-Might had told him the teen was really quiet which worried you.

Your dad sensed the tension and suggested the two of you go for a walk and talk this out, it was silent as you and Katsuki walked to a different part of the school that was more private, You turned to face you and were met with a fist flying at you! then stopping a few inches from your face, You didn't even flinchjust gave him the same impassive expression from earlier. "If that was supposed to get a scream out me of you failed...royally." you hummed as as the blond frowned putting his fist down you can’t feel fear, even Half-n- Half’s eyes twitch when Katsuki psych’s him out!

"Why didn't you say anything anything about this?" he asked voice hoarse from yelling, You hummed trying finds the right words. "Well let's just say back in middle school I had a bad fricken time, kids can be cruel! you hummed not going into details on how others would exploit your medical condition for their own twisted fun. "I was...Scaredis not the word, Sick the thought of you reacting the same as them made me feel sick." you were surprise when Katsuki pulled you close resting you head against his chest. "I would never hurt you likethose brats did." he huffed wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Don't shut me out like that again," he kisses you nose causing you to blush."fucking tell me if you think somethings wrong so I don't have to worry about your ass!" he huffed keeping one of his arms around you as you two walked back to class. After that Katsuki was a tad more protective of you often asking where that scratch/bruise came from? and checking to make sure you haven't broken anything during class or missions he was like Toshinori2.0...

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“crushed”

Sam and Deena are completely oblivious that their feelings are mutual, especially when Sam thinks Deena and Kate are together and Peter enters the picture.

pairing: samantha“sam” fraser x deena johnson / media: fear street trilogy

genre: friends to lovers, angst with hurt/comfort & fluff / word count: 2.6k / rating: pg-13 / warnings: bullying, a bit ofswearing

a/n: so this is an au where deena and sam aren’t exes so sam never left shadyside (& kate isn’t all“screw ur ex” ya know). also kate is bi and no one dies. this is based mainly off 1994 (since 1666 hasn’t come out yet haha). please lmk if you like this & want more fear street fics from me. enjoy! :)

"I still can't believe you're dating a Sunnyvaler," Kate said, popping a potato chip into her mouth.

"Doesn't that totally go against the rules of this town?" Simon chimed in, stealing a tater tot from Sam's lunch tray.

"Oh, please," Sam scoffed, swatting Simon's hand away as he reached for a second piece. "He's actually a nice guy if you got to know him."

"Since when has the star quarterback ever been a nice guy?" Kate replied, earning a raised eyebrow from Simon. "Look, just because I cheer for them doesn't mean I like them."

The stiff wooden table rattled as Deena dropped into a seat across from Sam and next to Kate. She tried to pull her bomber jacket around herself quickly--

"New shirt?" Kate asked.

--but she wasn't quick enough.

"No," Deena sighed, letting the jacket hang open to expose a black, skin-tight tank top underneath. It used to be her favorite, previously baggy in all the right places, but it returned from her last laundry day one-size-too-small. "It just shrunk in the wash and I was running late." She kept her eyes down, focused on the unappetizing cafeteria food in front of her.

Kate eyed her for a moment, then looked over at Sam, who was practically drooling over this new shirt that provided a perfect V-shaped view from where she was sitting.

"I know you're not a fan of tight clothes," Kate countered, "but it looks nice on you. Makes your boobs look amazing."

Deena playfully elbowed Kate's arm, a small smile brightening her downcast expression.

Sam watched the two girls as it unfolded - the low-cut shirt, the raised eyebrows from Kate as she scanned Deena's body, the laughter following her joking shove. Had she imagined the flickers of lighthearted tension between them? She averted her gaze, envy bubbling up in her throat. She pulled her tucked hair out from behind her ears to cover the burning, red blush she felt building there.

"So, what were you guys talking about?" Deena asked, insecurity still swimming in her mind despite Kate's compliment. She looked up at Sam, who appeared to be too interested in her tater tots to hear the shirt dilemma. Although she was somewhat relieved, she felt a pang of disappointment at Sam's disinterest; she was the only person Deena had hoped would look at her.

"Sam's got a new boyfriend," Simon answered, his voice half-muffled by a mouthful of dull-brown burger, oblivious to the sideways glances being thrown around the table.

"And he's from Sunnyvale," Kate added, spitting out the town name as though it tasted worse than the school lunch.

"What? Isn't that, like, against town law or something?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Simon accidentally spewed small chunks of meat on his tray in the midst of his excitement.

"What's his name?" Deena covered herself with her jacket again.

"Peter."

"Peter? Oh, come on, you could've at least picked a guy who didn't have a basic name," Simon rolled his eyes, as if 'Simon' was the most unique name on the planet.

"Honestly, yeah, kinda sounds a little too basic," Deena said, her eyebrows furrowed. She felt a heat tightening within her chest. She was angry at herself, at Sam, at the world.

"I'm not making him up, if that's what you're suggesting." Sam cast a glare across the table, but it didn't stop them.

"Which Peter? I mean, there's Peter Williams, Peter Anderson, Peter Moore..." Simon counted along on his fingers.

"Oh, no," Deena interrupted, a smirk pulling her lips. "He goes to another school. You wouldn't know him."

The two threw their heads back and laughed. Deena felt the fury in her chest loosen slightly, a bit of relief found in the pain she caused others. It was her defense mechanism: when the world turns to shit, you act even worse - that's how you survive.

Sam was on her feet, her eyes full of tears and frustration. "His name's Peter Brody, and he's number 29 on the Sunnyvale football team, and he's actually a good fucking guy, unlike you." Her eyes narrowed, focusing on Deena, who suddenly didn't find the whole thing all that funny anymore.

And with that, Sam picked up her lunch tray, turned on her heel, and walked out of the cafeteria.

***

Monday dragged on, every class seeming longer than usual for both Sam and Deena as they sat in separate silences. Though apart, they each felt the same waves of guilt, anger, and sadness wash over them in cycles as clocks ticked their way to the end of the school day.

Deena was walking out of band practice, which had only extended her already-exhausting day, when she spotted a familiar head of blonde leaning against the cinder-block wall across the hallway.

"Hey," Sam said, reaching her hand out slightly. Her hair was tied back, adorned with an azure bow, and she wore her cheerleading uniform to match.

Deena stopped as guilt flooded her lungs once again. "Hey," she replied in a whisper muffled by her emotions.

"I just got out of practice. Want to walk together?"

Deena could tell Sam was lying. Kate normally waited with her, and they would both be shiny with sweat. The water bottle in Sam's hand was almost empty, meaning she had likely been waiting for quite a while.

Deena nodded, and they started to make their way towards the exit that led to the student lot.

"I just wanted to say sorry," Sam began, "for earlier. It was pretty shitty of me to say that."

"Yeah, but I was being shitty, too." Deena pushed open the heavy, navy-blue door. Sunlight blinded both of them. "I just can't believe you'd get a boyfriend and not tell me."

Sam stayed silent, unable to come up with a reply. Deena had been the first person she wanted to tell, but Kate saw Peter grab her ass after last weekend's game, and suddenly her boyfriend was all anyone could talk about. Sam didn't even know why she had agreed to go out with him in the first place. Everyone had said it must've been a prank, because why else would a Sunnyvaler date a Shadysider? Something about the whole relationship gave Sam a twinge of nausea if she thought about it too much, so she just tried not to think about it.

But she had wanted to tell Deena. She had wanted to see if she would be even a little jealous at the idea of her having a boyfriend. It just hadn't played out that way.

"See you tomorrow?" Sam said, stopping at the curb.

"Is your dad picking you up?" Deena looked around for the familiar, beat-up Ford that Sam's father drove, but to no avail.

"He should be here soon."

Deena knew he had a tendency to flake on his daughter, despite being the one who got custody in their divorce battle. Although Deena hated him for his neglect, she was silently, selfishly grateful that Sam didn't move to Sunnyvale with her mom. Regardless, if her dad wasn't here now, the sun would probably set before he'd remember to show up.

"Come on," Deena said. "I'll drive you home."

The drive was almost-silent. A disc played Pixies at a volume low enough to just barely understand over the sound of rumbling tires on uneven gravel. Sam's house was a bit out of the way for Deena, but as she was slowly realizing, she'd do almost anything for her.

"Thanks for the ride," Sam smiled sheepishly, pulling her backpack up from the floor. She started to open the car door, then hesitated. "Actually, wait, can I ask you something?"

Deena's heart leapt into her throat. "Shoot."

"Are you and Kate, um... like, together, at all?"

"What? No, no no no." A chuckle slipped past Deena's lips at the idea.

Sam must've thought Deena was laughing at her, because she felt her ears grow warm in embarrassment. "Oh, sorry, I just thought... I saw how you two were at lunch today and it just, I don't know. I thought you weren't telling me something." Sam looked at her sneakers, almost pristine white with the exception of faded grass stains on the toes.

"No, we're just friends, I promise. We've been best friends forever. I mean, she was there when I first got boobs, so, I mean, that's just how we are." Deena immediately cringed at that sentence. Way to make it better, dumbass, she thought.

"Oh. Okay. She just talks about you all the time to me, whenever we're at practice, you know? She'll say things like 'Damn, didn't Deena look really good today?' to me, like, all the time."

Deena let herself laugh at that. "Oh, really? Wooow. Good to know."

"I mean, from that I just kind of assumed that you guys had a thing. How could I not, right?"

Deena nodded, understanding that Kate's comments were her attempts at being a good wingman and not confessions of underlying feelings. "Kate and I both like girls, yeah, but not each other, not like that." Deena's gaze flickered over Sam's face, taking in her eyes, her ears, her lips. "Definitely not like that," she added in a soft whisper.

Sam looked up and smiled sweetly, her stare lingering for a moment too long before she returned to the moment. "Well, thanks again for the ride. See you tomorrow." She gave an adorable little wave as she stepped out of Deena's car.

"See ya," Deena replied, her stomach fluttery.

***

The days passed, and the friend group of four had returned to almost-normal. The only thing out of place happened on Friday night, after the second football game of the season. Normally, they would all grab pizza and watch a movie after the game, but this time was different.

"Peter invited me to a Sunnyvale party," Sam explained when they met in the middle of the field as the crowd started to file out. "Maybe next week?"

So Deena, Kate, and Simon ate their pizza without Sam, feeling a tangible emptiness where she would normally be.

Kate's house was on the so-called "good side" of town, where the roads had less potholes and the houses had more structure. It was the most Sunnyvale-esque part of Shadyside. Her living room was homey, with family portraits on the walls and a couch that was lived-in but not worn-out. They had rented Candyman from the town's Blockbuster, which played on Kate's boxy TV.

"I don't like this," Simon said, chewing a pepperoni slice.

Kate responded without looking at him. "The pizza or the movie?"

"Actually, I like both of those things," Simon replied with conviction. "I was talking about Sam. It feels... I don't know, lonely?"

"What are we, chopped liver?" Deena joked.

"I mean, some days you can come close to it," he teased back.

They all returned their attention to the movie, red and white light bouncing across their faces. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door at the exact moment a jump-scare flashed on-screen, causing the trio to startle.

"I'll get it," Deena offered, jumping up from her seat.

She opened the front door to reveal Sam, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her hair was slick and her blue uniform looked damp. Her arms were wrapped around herself as she shivered in the cool October air.

"What the fuck happened?" Deena stepped out of the way to let Sam in.

Simon and Kate scrambled to join them when they realized who had arrived.

"Oh my God, what happened?" Kate plucked her school cardigan off the coatrack and wrapped it around Sam's shoulders.

"Did Petey break up with you?" Simon asked. "I mean, you guys were only dating a week. It couldn't've been that serious, right?"

Kate elbowed Simon in the stomach at his insensitive comment, eliciting a pained groan from him.

Sam hugged the cardigan around herself, but moved her arms enough to reveal "IT" scribbled in black Sharpie under her cheerleading uniform's "SH".

"What the fuck?" Deena repeated, this time more to herself than Sam.

"God, those assholes really have no idea how much uniforms cost," Kate muttered.

"And they... they p-poured ice water on m-me," Sam stuttered just as Simon returned from the living room with a throw blanket. She gave him a grateful smile as she enveloped herself in it.

"C'mon, let's sit down, alright?" Kate suggested. "You want a hot cocoa?"

Sam nodded and followed Deena and Simon to the couch, while Kate split off to the kitchen.

"They poured ice water on you?" Deena asked as she sat next to Sam, a hand around her shoulders.

"Th-they got someone to hold my arms back so they c-could write 'shit' on me, and then someone came outside with a bucket, and-" A small sob came out of Sam's throat, and another tear rolled down her cheek.

Deena didn't stop herself before reaching up and wiping it away. She let her fingers stay there for a moment, unable to think clearly.

Simon stood up quietly, making a hushed excuse about helping Kate with the hot chocolate before disappearing into the kitchen.

"He's such a douchebag," Deena muttered, furious that someone would hurt such a sweet creature like Sam. "I'm so sorry. I'll kick his ass for you."

Sam chuckled at her offer. "Can I watch?"

Deena laughed softly at her response, then realized that her hand was still pressed against Sam's cheek and pulled it away. She let it fall onto her leg, but Sam reached over and rested her own hand on Deena's.

After a minute of silence, Sam had almost stopped sniffling when she spoke again. "I don't even know why I agreed to go out with him. Like, damn, he's not even that hot. I could've at least gotten played by a hot guy." Sam half-giggled at herself then sighed. "I should've seen it coming."

"Hey, it's not your fault," Deena said, placing her other hand on top of Sam's. Her hand was cold and delicate between hers, and she hoped that holding it would provide some warmth to her.

"If I'm being honest," Sam continued, "I think I only really went out with him to forget about this other crush."

"Hold up, you never told me about that. Who is it?"

Deena's obliviousness faded away as Sam looked up at her with wide eyes. The jealousy, the talk in her car, the longing that filled the space between them now - at this moment, it all clicked into place.

"Oh," Deena whispered.

"Deena," Sam spoke, hushed as she leaned forward. "Can I...?"

"Please," Deena breathed as their lips touched, soft and scared and new all at once. The thought of crossing a line beyond the point of return flashed through their minds, but it seemed as though they both wanted to push the boundaries. Sam's free hand cupped Deena's cheek shyly, as Deena squeezed her other hand between hers. They treated each other carefully, as though kissing too hard might break the other, which would be a crime worse than death.

"YES!" Kate shouted, giving Simon a high-five. Some hot chocolate spilled out of the mug in her other hand and onto the floor, but they were both too enthusiastic to care.

"Finally, you guys!" Simon ran over to them, wrapping them both in a wide hug from behind the couch as a giant grin spread on his face.

"You guys were watching?!" Deena asked. She felt her cheeks flush as she pulled away.

"Duh!" Simon answered. "We've been waiting for this!"

"Took you guys for-fucking-ever," Kate said with a smile, handing Sam her cup.

Sam held the cup up to her newly-warmed lips, courtesy of Deena, and took a sip, looking over the edge at her. Deena saw her blue eyes crinkle into a smile, and her mouth returned the sweet sentiment.

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honesty and promise me part 6 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Ah, the age old question: what to get for the guy who has everything and also when you’re trying make up for the fact that you actually missed his birthday entirely while spending as little money as possible?

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Percy asks as they wait their turn to disembark. “I haven’t been to Staten Island in ages.”

Annabeth has never been at all. She knows there’s a handful of Greek revival buildings in the Historic District, but she’s never had a car to get there, or the stomach to get on the ferry. Percy had practically climbed onto the bow, his own personal reenactment of Titanic, arms thrown out to the wind, while Annabeth attempted to keep her breakfast down.

Having spectacularly flamed out last week in Philadelphia, she can’t let Percy’s birthday go without some sort of commemoration. The Staten Island Ferry is just part one. “All in due time,” she says, checking her phone for directions. They still have a bus they need to board, and Annabeth is getting sweaty in her leather jacket. Thank God Percy volunteered to carry the backpack with all their gear; otherwise, when this jacket comes off, it’s going to smell worse than his tights at the end of a long day.

Like a magnet, his gaze is glued to the strips of the bay he can spot through the bus windows, his head resting on his chin, a soft, serene smile lifting his lips. All the tightness, all the stress he’s held in his shoulders the last few times she’s seen him, it melts away at the sharp, salty tang of rust and sea air which suffuses every corner. She doesn’t even mind that he isn’t looking at her.

Hand in hand, finally, they get off the bus, and walk to the overlook. Slinging the backpack off his shoulder, he sets it down at his feet, eyes fixed on the strip of shoreline which can be seen, even all the way over here. “What is that?” he breathes, shielding his eyes against the glint of the sun on the water.

“That,” says Annabeth, “is the Staten Island ship graveyard.”

Still stewing in her guilt over how she missed his birthday--despite the fact that he didn’t even tell her--Annabeth decided to swallow her pride and ask for help. It took an inordinate number of coffee orders and one instance of her actually getting down on her knees and begging, pleading to their long friendship together and swearing that Annabeth would never use this information for evil, but she had finally wheedled the secret out of Thalia: Percy’s greatest love, after the ballet, was sailing. Ship construction, naval battles, maritime history, they were, according to Thalia, the only things which could entice Percy to actually set down the tights and “get some frickin’ sunshine for once in his life.” Annabeth hadn’t believed her, until Thalia had dug up an old photo which had never been posted to his socials--and Annabeth had certainly scoured them for long enough, she would have recognized it had she seen it before--of Percy, on a glittering, jewel-like sea, a rope wrapped around his fist as he leaned over the side of a sailboat, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide in a graceless, unrestrained joy.

“Back in the eighties, there used to be over four hundred ships down there,” Annabeth says, coming up beside him. “A lot of it’s been scrapped or sold, but there are still maybe a hundred or so boats, including the USS PC-1264, one of the--”

“One of the two predominantly African American crewed Navy ships from World War II,” he interrupts, eyes light. “No way!”

“Yes way,” Annabeth grins, unzipping her jacket. The midday sun beats down on them, the air sticky and heavy, and she needs this thing off, pronto. “And, there’s a ship that was supposedly the command post for the General Slocum disaster.” Not that she really knows what that is.

He whirls around. “The Abram S. Hewitt is there? Holy sh--”

His jaw drops. His eyes bug out.

Part two of his present was the ship graveyard. Part three is the outfit.

Annabeth, one hand on her hip, slings her jacket over her shoulder with the other, the leather hot against her bare skin. She has chosen to forgo a shirt entirely, wearing nothing but her nicest pair of black jeans with the thick suspenders and a shiny, red bra. And yes, she had Thalia touch up her hair, five inches of curls lopped off on one side, undercut sharp and severe.

“I thought we could have a picnic here,” she says, a smile curling her lips without her permission. “Then, if you want, we could do some light trespassing? See the ships up close?”

Percy swallows. He breathes in through his nose, shuddering. “Sure,” he whispers, hoarse. “Sounds good.”

Dropping to the ground like a rock, studiously not checking her out, Percy unpacks their picnic, laying out the blanket, something blue, old, but soft Annabeth had knitted in a fit of pre-finals’ anxiety in college. Annabeth had hinted the night before that he should make them some food, as no one could make a grilled cheese like Percy, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to buy them some prepackaged, tasteless garbage.

Percy’s sandwiches, just like the man himself, are stacked: thick, sourdough slices (which she suspects he made himself), bacon, turkey, apple, tomato, lettuce, avocado, mayo for her but none for him. She’d always been under the impression that dancers needed to watch what they ate, endlessly in pursuit of some unattainable ideal of beauty. Nope. Percy eats everything and anything he can get his hands on, high carb and high protein and high everything else. It makes sense, she guesses, for someone who basically has to bench their own body weight daily. Every inch of him is tailored for power and velocity, to propel him out of the grasp of gravity--rabbit food just isn’t going to cut it here.

Munching down, he maneuvers himself into a number of splits and stretches, unable to give up his routine for a single day. “When I was probably thirteen or fourteen,” he says, halfway through a tirade of reminiscence, “my dad took me and Triton and Kym to Cyprus, for some family bonding time.” He rolls his eyes. “You can probably imagine how well that went. Most of that trip was… well, Cyprus was definitely the best part. We went to Kyrenia Castle, which has this amazing museum that holds one of the oldest known ships in the world. Like, this thing was operational during the lifetime of Alexander the Great, and it sank about a mile away from the harbor.” He takes a heroic bite, chewing with his lips firmly shut.

“Cool.”

He swallows. “Very cool. I love really old ships, but you can imagine how few of those are still left, and not just because we haven’t found them.”

Annabeth feels her neck heating up, despite the shade they sit in. “Well, I hope these ones are old enough for you.”

“Oh, these are incredible--don’t get me wrong! I had no idea there was anything like this so close to home. Who needs Cyprus when you have Staten Island?” He grins, placing his sandwich down, throwing his arms in a stretch.

“I know it isn’t Tokyo or Moscow or anything…” she trails off, self-conscious even as she doesn’t actually ask the question that’s on her mind.

Shamefully, she has found that she still thinks about what Will had said at his apartment over a month ago at this point: Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous. But if she actually asks, it will make her look like some totally jealous girlfriend or something, like she honestly cares about Percy’s past sexual conquests.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t.

He’s just led a really interesting life, and she wishes she could relate. That’s all.

“It’s not,” he agrees, bending his back with an audible pop. “It’s better.”

“Really? A little ship graveyard is better than the sites of Tokyo?”

“I didn’t see any sites in Tokyo,” he said. “Mostly just Mittie’s hotel room.”

“Mittie?”

Percy looks at his sandwich, suddenly very interested in the crust.

“She’s someone important, then?”

Silence.

Annabeth laughs to break the tension. “Okay, I'll bite--who’s Mittie? Another model?”

Taking a small bite of sandwich, he chews, methodical and deliberate. He swallows, clearing his throat. “Margherita Savoy.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Who?”

“Princess Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia.”

Her mouth drops open a little. “A princess?”

Percy shrugs. “Technically. The throne of Sardinia doesn’t exist anymore, obviously, but she’s big into the money and the titles and stuff.”

A princess. A fucking princess. “But she lets you call her Mittie.”

He looks a little constipated. “She didn’t… until she took me to Tokyo.”

“Oh,” she says. Because what else is there to say? She’s certainly no princess.

“She was nice,” Percy says, softly. “You know, eventually. Once we got to know each other.”

Her phone is hot in her pocket, like it’s preemptively searching Google for pictures of Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia, downloading them all so Annabeth can scribble all over her face like a bad high school movie. “A pretender?” She scoffs, exaggeratedly, her fists tight against the grass. “Talk to me when you get a real princess.”

His ears go red. “Um…”

No way. “No fucking way.”

“Look, Eugenie was just kinda pissed when Triton broke up with her, and so she just thought that we’d have some fun.”

“Oh my god.” She says, looking at him in something like horror. And telling herself at least it wasn’t her distant cousin Madeleine.

“It was only for like a week or two,” Percy protests. “We went to a club in Berlin she knew Triton liked to go to so he would see us and get annoyed.”

“A princess dated you because she was pissed at your brother?”

“Only twice,” he says, casual, like any of this is normal and not absolutely insane. “Eleonore is one of Kym’s friends. And she’s technically, like, an archduchess, not a princess. But I don’t know. A couple of his other girlfriends wanted to get back at him, and I was in Europe and available, so we just…” He trails off. She can hear the ellipsis, hanging hot and heavy over them, each dot dropping like a stone. What is this, fucking Mamma Mia?

“When was the last time this happened?” she asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

He rubs a hand over his mouth, gaze unfocused as he thinks. “Um… not since the week after Frank left, I think. Mittie wanted to go to Bora Bora but she didn’t want to go alone, you know?”

“No, I meant,” she pushes through as her stomach flutters, tight and uncomfortable, “girls using you to get back at your brother.”

His face falls, just a bit. “Oh. Last year, I guess.”

“Who was she?” And where is she so Annabeth can punt her off a building?

“Calypso Atlas.” He sighs, wistful, with more reverence than he had given any of the princesses, and Annabeth’s stomach flops, different from the flutter. Painful this time. “She actually liked me.”

“Everyone likes you,” she says, faintly. Maybe wearing the leather jacket is giving her heatstroke.

“You know, they really don’t. Not how it counts, anyway.” He picks at a blade of grass, rubbing it between his fingers. “Most of the girls who wanted to use me to get back at Triton only did it because they knew how much he liked to bitch about me--the ‘half-breed bastard.’” He rolls his eyes, huffs a laugh. “And even Kym’s friends didn’t actually like me. Like, yeah, they’d fly me all over with them, but they didn’t want to be seen with me. Mittie and I were on and off for years, and she gets photographed constantly. I’m not in any of them.”

Annabeth thinks she might actually be sick.

But he doesn’t stop. “It wasn’t so bad when they went around saying that I was a dancer with the Paris Opera, because I was, and I was proud of it. But it wasn’t… I don’t know. It wasn’t like with Frank, whose family does have a ton of money, but who only ever dated me because he liked me.” He picks another blade of grass, tearing it between his fingers. “Calypso, though. She was different.” And he smiles, a little.

“How?”

That smile grows wider. “She just called me one day, out of the blue, and very publicly asked me to be her date to Milan Fashion Week after she and Triton broke up and he immediately turned around and got engaged. She was super up front about it, didn’t try to sleep with me or anything, even though I know she was friends with some people and probably heard about my various talents.”

She knows exactly which talents he means. He winks at Annabeth, ironic and self-conscious, and she forces out a little laugh, as though the idea of him going down on someone else is charming.

“But then we actually had a good time together, and a few weeks later, she called me up again, and again, and again, until eventually she introduced me to her father--which was a hell of an experience, let me tell you. The Atlas family puts the Olympianides family to shame as far as dysfunction goes. But it was nice, in its own way; if I’d ever asked Mittie to introduce me to her dad, she’d have laughed in my face.”

“Sounds like you were pretty serious,” Annabeth manages.

“That was the problem.” He looks away, towards the sea. Always towards the sea. “She wanted to leave Paris, travel the world. And she wanted me to go with her.”

“To leave the Paris Opera?”

“To leave ballet entirely. I just…” He holds the silence for a moment, lost in the fog of reminiscence, the mist of possible futures long since dissipated. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. So, in March, she went to Dubai, and I started making calls back to New York.”

“You broke up with her this year?”

“She broke up with me,” he clarifies, turning back to her. “It was all very romantic. I always left my comp at the box office for her. She didn’t come to my show, but she showed up at the stage door the day before she was set to leave, telling me that she had an extra ticket with my name on it. I turned her down.” And then he looks her in the eye as he says, “I don’t regret it at all.”

She swallows, her face flushing, tongue numb as she searches desperately for something to say to that. “Atlas, you said her family was? It sounds familiar.”

“Oh, you’re probably thinking of Zoe Atlas,” Percy says, easing off for the moment. “You probably know about her because she and Thalia were archenemies in boarding school. Or maybe girlfriends? I have yet to get a straight answer.” Annabeth’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. Thalia, in boarding school? What? “But I like Zoe. She’s an activist, and absolutely hates her father. Like I said, there’s a lot of dysfunction. And she came to my first show way back when, and she wasn’t even weird when I dated her sister when we ran into each other in Paris. So that was nice.”

“She went to your first show?” What in God’s name is up with these one-percenter families? It’s like they all overlap in one big incestuous slurry. And as the daughter of the Chases and the Pallases, she tries not to think where she might fit into that.

“Thalia brought her. Her first not-date. It was Thalia’s first ballet ever, too. It… it meant a lot.”

“What show was it?”

He smiles, wistful. “The Nutcracker. I was one of the kids at Clara’s party. Most scared I’ve ever been. When I got out backstage after intermission, Thalia was waiting for me with my mom. She punched my shoulder, called me ‘Kelp Head,’ and told me I did great. Then I hugged her,” he says, snickering. “She punched me again.”

Annabeth laughs, huffing through her nose. “Good to see some things never change.”

“That’s our Thalia for you--looking out for everyone, even when it kills her inside.” He glances at her pointedly.

It’s her turn to share.

Annabeth’s mouth is dry, like sandpaper.

She grabs her backpack, pulling out a sketchbook and a pencil. Beside her, Percy sighs, deflating a little.

Annabeth flips open a new page, and starts drawing.

Each sketch delivers a challenge: bringing order to the whole through design, composition, tension, balance, light and harmony. Sometimes, buildings spring to life on the page, fully formed. Sometimes the page stays blank, an empty pencil.

Pencil to paper. Letting whatever wants to come out, come out. “My mom invited me to lunch one day,” she says. Her eyes follow the line of her pencil, ninety degree angles and symmetrical shapes. “I had moved to New York like six months before. Single girl, in the big city, to follow her dreams.” She’d gone to boarding school in New York before that, but it wasn’t the same as picking out her apartment and taking the train to the Manhattan skyscraper her office was held in. Sometimes she’d walk down the street, feeling like she was smack dab in the middle of Sex and the City, which she and Piper use to watch in secret, huddled under the covers in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. “Unfortunately, my mom didn’t love my dreams.”

“She didn’t approve of anarchist architecture?”

Annabeth’s laugh is hollow. “She thought I should have been charting some new path in business for a woman. But not in a feminist way. In, like, a capitalist way. But architecture was not really negotiable for me. And once that became clear, she had her own expectations about that, too.”

Annabeth has always been a prideful know-it-all. If all her mother had wanted from her was ambition, they probably could have made it work. Annabeth wanted to reshape the skyline, she wanted her name on buildings that would last and impress.

But even Annabeth couldn’t do that in six months.

“She wanted the best schools, the best companies, the best projects.” She sighs. “I was lucky to find a job in New York that wasn’t just carrying coffee.” She had gotten a bigger offer from a more well-known firm where she had interned one summer, but it had been for an assistantship, heavy on the assistant. Her eventual Junior Architect label hadn’t been great, but it had been something, being a rising star at a smaller firm. It seemed like a good fit. “I did not make my mother proud. I… she lived in New York, and I lived with my dad all over.”

Percy frowns. “Your mom didn’t have custody of you?”

“My mom didn’t want custody of me,” she laughs, bitter. God, it feels weird to tell someone else this. Piper and Leo and Luke knew, obviously, but they had witnessed it all firsthand. Telling someone else, out of the blue… Well, Percy had divulged his tragic backstory without complaint. It’s only fair that she does as well. “I mean, my dad didn’t either. But when it became clear my mom wasn’t an option, well, there we were. He stepped up as best he could. That wasn’t always a lot, but when compared to my mother, he seems like a perfectly involved parent.”

“Are you trying to make my parental situation seem more reasonable?”

“Is it working?”

“If you ever meet my dad, we can compare notes.” He shudders at the thought, playfully. “So, what happened with your mom?”

“She made her displeasure known.” Annabeth sighs again, shading a corner. “I mean, she’s always made her displeasure known. I wasn’t getting good enough grades, I wasn’t in the right activities, I wasn’t going to get into the right school, yadda yadda yadda. But for a long time… I don’t know, it at least seemed like she was worried about me.” She thinks of the Eta party, of the man in the brown suit, tutting about Athena Pallas’s druggie daughter, and scowls. “My mother has always had an all or nothing outlook. If I wasn’t the best, I might as well be nothing. But the thing was, this time I thought I was making real progress. And when she invited me to lunch after six months in the same city, I thought she would see that.”

She had not. Because to Athena Pallas, having a daughter who was an architect instead of an executive Vice-President on her way to CEO, having a daughter at a small but growing architecture firm instead of the best one in the country, was like having a daughter who was drunk in a gutter somewhere.

And Annabeth had realized as much that lunch.

All her work was never going to earn her mother’s love.

And suddenly, she wasn’t sure what work had been her’s and what had been her mother’s ambitions.

She’d started crying. In the cafe and right now, on Staten Island, with Percy. “I’m sorry,” she sniffs, wiping her nose on her arm. “Wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He reaches over and wraps an arm around her, gently, rubbing her shoulder, and she more or less crumples into his side. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

Her arm, still free, keeps moving. The drawing takes a shape that she can’t quite name yet. A tree, maybe, in a box. A window to another world, possibly. She spills tears on the paper.

“She disowned me.” Her thin line trembles, before righting itself. “I ran out of there. I stumbled into the first tattoo parlor that didn’t smell like piss, and got my owl done.” She brandishes her left arm, the grey shape blurry and faded against her elbow. She had had a stuffed owl as a little girl, her protector against the spiders in the closet. “I cut off my hair, got my eyebrow pierced, found a club, and just… had a rough couple of days. Got really really drunk that night.” Like, too drunk. Crying on the floor of a filthy bathroom drunk. “Thalia found me under the bathroom sink, took me back to her place, helped me kick the hangover the next day, and that was that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Annabeth says. And most of the time, she isn’t. She wipes her eyes, smudged makeup getting smudger.

“Your mom sounds like she sucks.”

“She does.”

“What about your dad?”

She sniffs. “What about him?”

“You just haven’t really mentioned him. What’s he like?”

Shrugging, she wipes a tear from her cheek. “He’s a history professor.”

“And?”

“That’s about it.”

“I mean, do you like him?”

She shrugs again. “Sure.” There was a lot to like about Frederick Chase. “I haven’t really spoken to him in a while.”

Mouth in a sympathetic twist, he brushes the curls from her eyes, a gesture so sweet it makes her heart pound. “You should call him,” he says. “I’m sure he misses you.”

Her phone burns in her pocket, heavy with the weight of unread texts. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to change the subject?” he asks.

“Please,” she blurts out, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “God, please. Let’s go back to your cute backstory. Tell me more about your first ballet. I want to hear all about the time you were in the Nutcracker.”

Percy fishes out a napkin from somewhere, handing it to her. Grateful, she blows her nose into it, wet and disgusting. “I hate to tell you this,” he says, “But I have been in the Nutcracker, like, fifteen times.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he nods, “It's the big moneymaker. Have you ever seen it?”

“It's a holiday classic,” she scoffs, a little wetly. “Of course I’ve seen it.”

He snorts. “Like, for real, or the recorded one they play on Netflix with Macaulay Culkin?”

“I've seen it live! My dad lived in San Francisco when I was in high school. They have a fancy ballet there.” She’d seen it as a little kid in NYC, she thought, too. Maybe when her parents were still married, or her mother was still willing to take her for Christmas.

“Would you be willing to see it again?”

“Like, for real,” she parrots back at him, “or the recorded one they play on Netflix?”

“Ha ha. I mean for real.”

“I mean… maybe if they switched things up a bit.”

“It's a classic!” He protests. “I mean, it isn’t like we do the Balanchine everywhere, every time. But… it's a classic.”

“I’m sure the dancing is fine.” Annabeth says. She remembers going with Luke in Boston and thinking it was nice, but also hoping Luke would kiss her at the end of the night, so she hadn’t really paid attention. “But they get to design a land of magic and sweets and fairies, and every time the costumes and the sets are just, like, pink glitter and white gauze mixed with weird racial stereotypes. There’s no imagination.”

“Well, okay then.” There’s something in his smile, in the turn of his head that she can’t quite identify. “What would you do?” he challenges.

She holds his gaze for a moment, looking into those eyes that almost reflect the color of the sea around them. Her eyes feel a little puffy still, but he doesn’t look away. Then, without breaking away, she flips open a new page in her sketchbook.

“Space,” she says. “It needs space.”

“Outer?”

“Negative. Lots of space for dancers to move around.” Her pencil scratches over the paper, familiar blocky shapes springing to life. Doric fluted columns split the wings, because of course. “It’s Christmas, so we want color: no sterile, snowy landscape. We know it’s all frozen over--we don’t need to see it again. Obligatory Christmas tree here,” she sketches a crude triangle off to one side, approximately along the golden ratio, “and a big fireplace in the center, preferably a functional one.”

“You know there was this dancer in the nineteenth century that died because her costume caught fire, yeah?”

Annabeth tilts her head, capitulating. “Fair point. We’ll raise it up on a pedestal, keep it out of the way.” She draws a little platform beneath it. “But color is key.” Up above, she draws a pediment crowning the proscenium. She scribbles in the empty space, a placeholder. “Everyone knows the story, so you lay it out up here, episodes merging into each other from start to finish.”

Percy peers down at her page, his chin perilously close to resting on her shoulder. She can’t draw like that. “Kind of reminds me of the Parthenon.”

“You’ve been?”

He nods, his hair tickling the side of her face. “Couple of times. I thought you said you wanted color, though. The Parthenon’s all white, isn’t it?”

“Not originally,” she says. “Do they not explain that on the tours?”

“Um…” Sheepish, he looks away. “I, uh, I’m not always great at listening.”

God. It’s so endearing. What the hell. She kisses him on the cheek, enjoying the way he flushes lightly. “Me either.” He is so fucking handsome. “But no, the original Parthenon, all those white statues, they were painted. Ergo, color.”

He blinks, momentarily stunned. “Wouldn’t--uh, wouldn’t that distract from the dancers? People would just be staring at the ceiling.”

“Then… it’s only lit up before and after the show. During the show, you turn the lights down, bring the focus back down onto the stage.” She considered it. Something she’d worked on for a production once, a fashion show Piper had done at Pratt. “Or, you set it up so the colors are mostly lights. Lights that shine through during the snowflake dance and when Clara rides off with the prince. But then you also get the white for the frosted look. But, they’re still too pink, so I don’t think some color variety is bad.”

“So, not to kill your vibe,” Percy says, pulling back a bit, “but I gotta say, I don’t see how this is that different from the billion other Nutcrackers out there.”

She glares, lips pursed. He’s trying so hard not to laugh. Dick. “The set is only half the problem,” she says. “You'd need to redesign the costumes, too.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you come see my show in December, and then you can tell me all about how you’d fix it.”

“Me and every tourist in New York at Christmas time?”

He nods, like he was expecting it. “Then come to my current one. September isn’t Christmas, so it’ll be a lot less crowded.”

“I don’t know,” she grimaces, sketching a star in the corner of the page. “I don’t really think I’d fit--'' Fit in with those people like the ones from the Eta awards, who thought not being her mother’s lackey was the same as being in rehab.

“Annabeth.” Percy takes her drawing hand, lifting it off the page entirely. The pencil is caught between them, an ineffectual barrier to the sweet, rubbing thumb on the mound of her palm. “I want you to come to my show. I’ll leave you a ticket. No one will care what you look like, I promise.” He stares at her, baby seal eyes in full effect.

Fuck.

“As long as you leave me a ticket,” she says, weakly. “I mean, I wouldn’t be able to afford a good seat.” The lie slips out, easy as anything. She can’t help it.

He smiles, soft and warm and way too inviting. “And in the meantime,” he says, softly, you can come with me tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I’m going to my parents’ for dinner. It’ll be just my mom, Paul, and my sister. They’d love to meet you.”

“I can’t,” she replies, immediately, almost without thinking. “I’ve got--I’ve got work to do.”

She doesn’t. But boys don’t bring girls like Annabeth home anymore. She isn’t meant to settle down. She’s meant for grimy bars and ship yards. She'll leave it to the princesses to be brought home.

He deflates, just the slightest bit. If she hadn’t had so much up and personal time with his naked chest and the movement of his shoulders, she probably would have missed it. “Maybe next time, then?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, not entirely certain if she means to follow through. “Maybe next time.”

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The INXS Life Chpt 19 Sneak peek

Smutty Christmas Edition....

“Congratulations Betty and Jughead!” FP cheered proudly, holding his glass to the sky in a joyes toast.

“Yeahhhh!! Wooooo!” The crowd of Serpents yelled, holding up their glasses and clinking them together. Their voices echoing around the cleared out SouthSide Auto Repairs and Mechanics shop while the first snow of winter fell outside.

After Betty and Jughead told their close friends and family about their engagement, Jughead couldn’t talk FP out of throwing them an engagement party. It also doubled as their annual Serpent Christmas Eve bash but it was more fun that way.

Jughead and Betty raised their glasses with everyone. Beer for him and Water for Betty. Their eyes met with delight as they gazed lovingly at each other forgetting they were surrounded by a mob of people. Betty tightly tucked into Jughead's side. Jughead could see Betty’s eyes twinkling as a wide smile spread across her lips. A moment he would never forget. A moment he would replay over and over in his mind for years to come. Betty couldn’t wait to be his wife and she was so glad she had everyone’s support. This was it. Their real life, the one they were always meant to have together, had begun.

“And Merry Christmas to everyone! Drink up big!!” FP laughed, bringing his speech to an end.

Jughead leaned in close, scooping the back of Betty’s head into his hand and moulding her lips into his. He didn’t care who was watching or how many catcalls and whistles they got, kissing Betty made all the white noise disappear. Although this time, the smile on Betty’s lips made it a lot harder for him to dip his tongue into her mouth and taste how sweet she always was. She just wouldn’t stop smiling and neither could he.

As soon as they parted Betty laughed and fell into Jughead’s chest, her cheeks hurting from how much she was grinning. She’d always imagined what this would feel like one day, but it paled in comparison to how ecstatic she felt now. Being engaged, pregnant, surrounded by friends and family.

Finally she had a normal life. It felt fucking amazing.

The night passed by in a wintery Christmas blur with Jughead always by her side. Always finding little ways to touch her and make her blush. Later Betty found herself slow dancing in Jughead's arms to soft christmas music as everyone else drank and danced around them.

“How long do you want to stay before we blow this joint and head home?” Jughead purred into Bettys ear, brushing his lips over her sensitive skin. He was trying to hide the fact that he was slightly drunk but his dancing was a dead give away.

“I thought the Serpent tradition was to see Christmas in at midnight?” Betty teased him, lifting an eyebrow at him sheepishly. She knew what he meant just by the tone of his voice.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I'm not planning on going home to sleep,” he Kissed her neck with more tongue than lips, making Betty giggle at his neediness. She really hoped Jughead would still be this desperate for her when she was the size of a whale in the months to come.

Betty could only concentrate on making sure she was breathing as Jughead ran one of his hands over her stomach while the other still stayed firm around her waist. He did that a lot now, feeling their baby. Letting him know that his dad was close, keeping his mom safe. Loving and protecting them.

Betty smiled as they swayed together to the soft music. She loved it when he did that. It made her insides curl and twist, turning her on to no end. Giving her a primal urge to jump his bones every time. But these days everything Jughead did turned Betty on.

“This is the best fucking Christmas gift I could ask for,” Jughead whispered with such love Betty wished the baby could hear him. His lips tickling her cheek as he spoke sending goosebumps down her spine.

“You're both more than I ever wished for Jug. I don’t know how I got so lucky.” Fisting his leather jacket she kissed him desperately. Teasing his lips and diving deeper the second he gave her access.

They left soon after, sneaking away when no one was looking. Their impatience making the walk home seem a lot longer than it was. It was freezing cold with the Christmas snow getting thicker but that just made Jughead hold Betty tighter to his side as they walked.

Eventually Betty led a Tipsy Jughead into their trailer and straight to their bedroom, her heart racing with every step. She turned to face him when she reached their bed, giggling as he stumbled right into her and he fell on top of her in a Clumsy playful mess.

They both laughed together hysterically between attempts at sealing their lips together. But their playful antics soon turned heated when Jughead trailed his lips down Betty's neck and lower over her bulging tits, leaving harsh deep marks in his wake. Biting and sucking like a hungry animal. Betty’s breathing turned ragged, her body shivering with delight when she rolled on top of him finally winning the battle for power and pressed her mouth against his in a messy kiss.

She straddled his lap, grinding hard against him. The weight of his hooded eyes looking up at her as their bodies rolled together instantly made her soaking wet. Her pussy was throbbing against his hard dick the friction not enough. Betty moaned helplessly needing to be inside him. There was no time for games or teasing tonight.

She leaned back, holding his gaze as she tugged her sweater and bra off throwing them aside. His hands gripped her waist painfully moving her back and forth across his crotch faster and faster.

“You want my dick baby?” Jugheads eyes watching Bettys tits bounce.

“Ahuh,” Betty whimpered, fisting jugheads hair tightly as she leant her body down and pressed her mouth to his. Frantically fiddling to undo his jeans and belt.

“Then fucking take it,” he taunted in her ear pulling her panties to the side under her skirt. Jughead knew he was tipping her further over the edge with each word he spoke. “I want to make you come.”

Jughead looked up at Betty as she eased down onto his dick. Betty’s face contorting with pain and pleasure. “FUCK!” They both groaned when Jughead suddenly thrusted up, impaling Betty harshly on his thick cock. He was pressed so deep inside her he almost came there and then and they hadn’t even started yet.

“Shit your pussy always feels so good Betts. Every goddamn time.”

Jughead started to move then. Greedy for his climax. Greedy to make Betty come undone. Growling like an animal he pounded up into her pulling her down at the same time driving into her.

“I need it deeper Jug.” Betty wailed knowing that there was no physical way he could possibly go deeper but she needed more of him. Every time he hit her cervix her adrenaline spiked.

Jughead sat up so they were both in a sitting position rolling together “I can’t Betts Fuck I’m already balls deep.” He took one nipple in his mouth and bit down desperately trying to hold on longer.

She cried and moaned against him, even louder when Jughead fingered her clit. Teasing and touching it just the way she liked it. Betty could feel his eyes on her watching her build and Betty slowly looked to him focusing on him through her pleasure haze.

“What?”

But Jughead didn’t answer. He just removed his hand from her clit and placed it over her swollen belly with his other hand. Smoothing over her skin. Gently Betty placed her hands on top of his in a loving embrace of their unborn child.

“I didn’t think I could love something else as much as you Betts but I fucking love my son.”

Betty almost broke down. She was so close to coming all over his dick and frustrated as hell that they had suddenly stopped but how could she be mad when Jughead spoke those perfect words.

“If you weren’t pregnant right now I would pump you so full of my cum over and over until you couldn’t fucking take it and my kid was inside you,” Jughead suddenly flipped them so he hovered over Betty now on her back. Bettys was too far gone to even speak.

“And you know what baby once we have our son that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Jughead growled pounding into her again. Both of them needed release. “You said you wanted a big family righ?”

“Mmmmhuh,” Betty cried her insides shaking, clenching around Jughead. Quivering at his relentless pace.

“Then let me give it to you. Because I fucking love seeing you pregnant. It fucking turns me on.”

“GOD -,” breathless and out of her mind Betty could barely register Jugheads hand creeping around her neck, starting to squeeze. “Get me pregnant again Jughhh-,”

“God I’m going to use your beautiful fucking pussy so much.” Jughead had lost control. Using his position on her neck as an anchor to hit inside her over and over, making Betty come undone. Struggling for air as her release racked over her body. Pulsing and shaking she clenched so tightly around Jughead he let her go only to fist the bed head and shoot his own warm come deep inside her.

“Merry Fucking Christmas Baby.”

118 notes · View notes

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

47 notes · View notes

My Beginning - Part 3

Differences – Lee Jeno

Part of the Bad Boy Series.

Badboy!Au, Streetfighter!Au

Warnings: Mentions of mental health, Disability (blindness), Mild Violence, Mentions of suicide.

Word Count: 5.3k

“It’s hard being a father.” Renjun’s words rang through Jeno’s head like a school bell echoing through empty halls. The words bouncing around and causing his headache to build every time his head repeated the words in his brain. He let out a sigh, his head resting against the back of the sofa and his eyes shut, not that it would matter if they were open, he couldn’t see either way. He just preferred to keep his eyes closed, it meant he didn’t have to remember to blink when his eyes started to dry out or irritate. For the past week, Jeno’s world had been pitch black. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. With blindness came a sense of self-pity, boredom, and the overwhelmingness of relying on others to do basic tasks. It wasn’t only the blindness that was dousing his normal way of living with stress and worry. It was also the fact that you were carrying his unborn child. A child he did not want. Despite having you with him almost 24/7 because of his accident, the two of you still had yet to talk about the elephant in the room. You both kept putting the topic off and instead focused more on how to cope with Jeno’s lack of sight. You had quit university. It was a decision that was hard for you to make, but you knew it was the right thing to do. Jeno only had his friends to rely on, and they couldn’t be there for him as much as you could. So you quit your studies. Jeno had a lot of money saved up and had gotten Renjun to sell his car on for a hefty price too, so you could both live comfortably for the foreseeable future. Of course the money would run out eventually, but hopefully by that time, you would have solutions to your problems.

Jeno could still hear your whimpers echoing around his head with Renjun’s words. The whimpers you had let out when you’d walked back into the hospital room with a cup of water and found a doctor examining Jeno’s eyes, only to be told your boyfriend had lost his sight because of the damage done from the accident. Your knees buckled and luckily Jaemin had caught you before you’d hit the floor. Jeno just laid there and listened to you sob into his best friends’ chest for what seemed like hours. He felt numb, despite all the pain he was in, and he was at a loss of what to do. He was blind, with a baby on the way. He’d never felt more useless in his entire life as he laid in that bed and stared at the darkness. Jaemin had calmed you down, with promises whispered into your hair of everything being okay. The doctor had told you that it was rare for people to lose their sight permanently from head injuries, but it could happen, and only time would tell.

“When they’re babies, you think it’s easy to take care of them and then boom, they get diarrhoea, they wiggle around a bit, and shit goes all up their back.” Jeno could almost hear the smirk in Renjun’s voice. He let out another sigh and shook his head.

“Shut up.” He grunted, clenching his fists by his side as he tried to keep calm.

“You have to be cautious of the three S’s, screaming, sick, and shit.”

“You have to be cautious of my fists Renjun.” Jeno growled, lifting his head and turning it into the direction of Renjun. “I may be blind, but I can still hear you, and I will beat the fuck out of you if you don’t shut up.” He mumbled, his threat sounding weak causing Renjun to know he didn’t mean it.

“Alright daddy, keep your diaper on.” Renjun sniggered, reaching out and patting Jeno on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine Jen; you have all of us here to support you and I am the best dad in the world. Jiyeon is still alive!”

“You forgot her name yesterday...” Jeno deadpanned with a frown on his face.

“That was because all I’ve heard for the past few days is baby names! You know I’m about to have another one, it’ll be arriving any day now.” Renjun and his girlfriend had decided not to find out what gender their baby was, instead waiting and discussing baby names constantly. She was 4 days overdue and the baby would be arriving at any time.

“I’m pretty sure she is the one who takes care of you most of the time.” Jeno let out a soft laugh, his head turning to the sound of the door as it creaked open.

“Hey.” You greeted quietly as you walked through the door, smiling at Renjun and placing the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. “Is he okay?” You mouthed silently at Renjun, to which you received a smile and a curt nod. You rushed over to the sofa and slowly sat beside Jeno, not wanting to alarm him. He had been flinching a lot more and his nerves were constantly on edge if he couldn’t hear where everyone in the room was. “Hey handsome.” Your voice was soft, and you took his clenched fist into both of your hands. Jeno let out a long sigh and roughly pulled you into a tight hug. He breathed in, basking in your scent and rubbing his cheek against your own. This was the most affection he had given you since before his accident, and you felt like crying at the sudden love he was projecting onto you.

“I’m tired and fed up of hearing Renjun’s voice.”

“Fuck you, blind ass bitch.” Renjun muttered with a laugh.

“Do you kiss your daughter with that mouth?” Jeno shot back, pushing himself to his feet and lacing his fingers with your own.

“Do you know how to use protection?” Your eyes widened as the boys kept trying to push each other’s buttons. You knew they were both only jesting and that neither of them meant any harm, so you silently started to tug Jeno towards his room as he continued to argue with Renjun.

“Right back at ya, whore.” You closed the door once you’d gotten Jeno into his room, letting out a sigh and gently pushing him to sit on his bed.

“Well I’m glad that you’re still arguing with your friends.” You laughed softly, taking off your jacket and sitting behind Jeno on the bed. You grabbed a hairbrush and ran your hand through his hair, brushing it gently and being careful of the wound he had gotten from hitting his head on the floor. “How’s your head?”

“Painful, I have a headache too.” He sighed, leaning into your touch and relaxing. You’d gotten used to taking care of him as though he was your own child. He could probably do more for himself than you would allow him to, but you didn’t want him to hurt himself yet, so you were just being extra cautious with him. Silence fell between you both, and you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, having to lean up on your knees to reach. “We have to talk about the baby. We’ve been avoiding it since we got home, and it needs to be talked about.”

“Okay.” You sighed, moving to sit beside him and looking down at your feet. “I should have made you aware I wasn’t on the pill, I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault too. It takes two people to make a baby and we were both irresponsible.” He faced forward, his voice sounding low but with a soft timber to it. You felt nauseous just from the conversation, not knowing where it would take you and what decisions you would make between the two of you. “I’m not ready for kids…I had it in my head that I would never be a parent, so this is…fucking with my head.” He ran has hands over his face and let out a groan. You could see he was battling with what to say, and you had a feeling he was going to lose his temper more than once in the upcoming months.

“Well…we should have talked about this before we started having sex. We had sex nearly everyday and you came inside of me nearly every time! Why did you not think to ask me about whether I was on contraceptive?!” You felt frustration coursing through you at how things had happened. You were too caught up the honeymoon phase of your relationship to even think about talking to him about what you both wanted in the future. You knew you wanted kids, and it didn’t bother you when you had them, especially since you were so infatuated with Jeno, you just felt like you were ready. Had you known he didn’t feel the same way, you would have done things different.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me not to finish inside of you?!” He shot right back at you, his own temper flaring up at your tone of voice. He couldn’t see you, which was making him frustrated because it was hard to tell how you were reacting based just off of your words and tone of voice.

“I wasn’t exactly a sex expert! I just laid on my back most of the time and let you do your thing, you know you’re my first for this, how was I supposed to guess that you were going to finish inside of me every fucking time!” It was starting to turn into a shouting match as you both expressed your opinions. Jeno didn’t want to admit that his breeding kink was what caused him to do it, because honestly, he felt stupid for not being cautious with his kink.

“This isn’t what I fucking wanted.” He stood up quickly, his fists clenching. He needed to hit something, but he couldn’t see what he was hitting, and there was no way in hell that he would endanger you by throwing fists blindly. You didn’t say anything to him, staying dead silent as you stewed in your thoughts and feels. Your silence made him snap. “Say something!!!”

“Are you going to leave me…?” The heart-breaking tone in your voice had Jeno’s hands unclenching and his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath. His pause had tears welling up in your eyes, and you were glad he couldn’t see your watery eyes.

“No.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair and gripping it tightly. You sniffed, trying to make sure that your voice was stable.

“Do you want me to get an abortion?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, warm tears falling down your cool cheeks and siting on your chin, waiting for the heaviness of more tears to fall to drip onto your tensed hands.

“No.” He answered faster this time, his own tears pooling in his eyes.

“Do you still love me?” You reached out and took one of his hands in both of your own. His fingers laced with yours, and he used your hand as a guide to sit himself back down on the bed.

“Of course I do.” He raised your hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to your fingertips. “Look, it’s going to take a long time for me to adjust to this, and I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I’m happy about having a baby. But I love you, and I don’t want to lose you. So we’ll make it work and I’m going to be there for you and the baby…our baby.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him. You squeezed him tightly, burying your head into the crook of his neck and letting out a soft sob.

“Thank you.” You whispered, kissing his jaw with a quick peck and relishing in being in his arms once more.

---

Haechan had never seen Jeno more down and depressed before in his life. It was hurting his heart to see Jeno sit on the sofa and wallow in self-pity, with the cloud of his disability and despair sitting around his head like a poisonous fog. Jeno was someone who needed to let go of his pent-up emotions, and he always did it with fighting. But he couldn’t do that easily without his sight. Haechan had been worried about Jeno’s mental health, especially because Jeno couldn’t wrap his head around the fact he was going to be a father. He’d created a life, and he knew he’d have a responsibility he had never originally signed up for. It was when Haechan had walked in on Jeno laid on the floor on his back with tear streaks on his cheek that Haechan had finally snapped.

“Get up Jeno.” He snapped with a dominating tone, kicking Jeno in the leg lightly.

“No.” He grunted back at him, not even moving a muscle.

“Get the fuck up. We’re going somewhere.” He left the room, leaving Jeno on the floor to quickly pack up a bag of things in Jeno’s room. When he came back, he saw Jeno sat up on the floor. “Get up!”

“Why?!”

“I’m fed up of you sitting there feeling sorry for yourself all of the time, we’re going to the gym. Come on!” They were teetering on it being an argument as Haechan grabbed Jeno by the collar and lifted him to his feet. Jeno shoved Haechan away roughly.

“Fuck off. I lost my sight and I’m having a baby I don’t fucking want. If I want to feel sorry for myself then I fucking will.” He growled, smacking Haechan’s hand away when it landed on his shoulder. “Don’t act like you suddenly give a fuck about me. Leave me alone.”

“Jeno you’re my fucking brother, I’m done with you not doing anything, it’s been a month and all you do is sit around and mope about the cards you’ve been dealt like no one else has any problems!!!” He shouted, causing his girlfriend to come out of their room with wide eyes.

“Hyuck, what are you doing?” Her voice made Jeno’s head hurt more.

“You can fuck off too!!!” He couldn’t help the words from leaving his mouth. She flinched, her eyes widening at the sudden attack. “You broke my heart and then tell my new girlfriend about what I’m like when I’m sleeping?! Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that, it was as though you were trying to sabotage my happiness, but poor Jeno is a fucking push over who always lets everyone use him as a fucking doormat, so he never said anything!!!” He practically screamed, finally getting everything off of his chest. Jaemin and Renjun also appeared from their rooms, ready to step in in case anything happened. “Everyone thinks they can just say whatever they want to me or screw me over because I’m too kind to do anything about it. Fuck you all!” Jeno had tears streaming down his face that had everybody’s stomachs turning in guilt.

“Jeno calm down, this isn’t good for you.” Jaemin’s voice nearly had Jeno calming, but then his back went back up again and he shook his head, turning to where he had heard Jaemin’s voice come from.

“Don’t tell me to calm down you hypocrite, you’re the first person to get yourself into a state so bad that I have to talk you out of not killing yourself! Have I ever told you to calm down?! No! Because I know it doesn’t work. You don’t understand the pressure you put on me Jaemin, I’m constantly worried about whether I’m going to lose my best friend to depression.” He started to sob more, all of his thoughts spilling out because he couldn’t deal with them all being bundled up in his head anymore. Jaemin’s face fell and his stomach dropped through to the ground floor of the apartment building.

“Jen…” He rushed over to his best friend and bundled him up into his arms, Jeno broke down completely, his knees almost buckling as he sobbed on Jaemin’s shoulder. Jaemin silently cried as he cuddled his best friend. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t do it anymore; I can’t see, I’m not ready to have a baby, and people need to leave me the fuck alone.” He whimpered into Jaemin’s shoulder. “I need to process this in my own time, but everyone is rushing me!”

“Jeno, it’s going to be okay. Let it out.” He rubbed Jeno’s back, swaying them both gently. Everyone else silently left the room, letting them be alone so that Jaemin could calm Jeno down. Haechan felt horrible, he was only trying to help, but he went about it the wrong way and ended up causing his best friend to have a complete mental breakdown.

“My life has just always been a mess…then I finally meet a girl I fall in love with that hasn’t hurt me, and now I can’t even see her…Jaemin I’m starting to forget what she looks like and it hurts so much.”

“I know, I know.” He moved them both to the sofa and settled Jeno on there tenderly.

“If I wasn’t blind…I would have left.” He mumbled, looking down at his hands and feeling like the worst person in the world for saying that.

“You don’t mean that.” Jaemin shook his head and tapping Jeno on the leg. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I’m not sure if I meant it or not.”

---

It had been 5 months since you and Jeno had came to an understanding about your baby. The past months had been difficult for you both. Jeno’s disability had been tough on you and him, but together the two of you were working through it. There had been some rough spots, like the time Jeno had tripped over his own feet and had ended up with a black eyes for a few weeks, or the time when you were super emotional because of you hormones and he snapped at you about something minor, leading you to cry on Jaemin’s shoulder for 3 hours solid. You had notice that he was still super hesitant to talk about the baby, and he would very rarely bring it up, only talking about it when someone else talked about it first. He had taken very little interest in his own child and had only touched your small bump when he was cuddling you in bed. Also, his vision hadn’t come back at all, which was making the tension inside of him get stronger and stronger the more the time went by.

“Tell your child to stop kicking me.” You mumbled, half asleep under the covers of Jeno’s bed. He was cuddling up to your neck and laying the softest of kisses to your hot skin, his lips trailing up your jaw and getting closer to your lips until he heard your words. He sighed and let out a soft groan, sitting up and placing his hand on your leg, trailing it up until he got to the small mound on your abdomen where his baby was cooking.

“It’s not kicking though?” He furrowed his eyebrows, twisting his body so he was facing your bump and placing both of his hands on it. “I can’t feel anything.” Jeno hadn’t felt the baby kick yet, he hadn’t been interested enough to ask if he could feel it whenever you made an offhanded comment about it moving, kicking, or hiccupping. You were actually taken by surprise when he’d placed his hands on the bump instead of just shrugging your words off.

“Wait a second...” You giggle and take his hands in your, moving them to either side of the bump and very gently putting pressure on them so his fingers dug in slightly. “There, feel that?” You smiled widely, watching the gentle look wash over his face as he felt his baby move for the first time. He nodded quickly, his whole body relaxing and a small smile tugging at his lips. You’d read online that the first time a father feels his child moving inside of the mother, could be a magical moment. And this was the first time you’d seen Jeno be paternal towards his unborn child, so it did feel magical to you. He suddenly pulled his hands away and cleared his throat.

“I’m worried that my sight won’t come back.” He laid back down on his side, pulling your body against his and letting out a sigh that sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s been over 5 months and I still can’t see shit…what if I never get to see our baby?”

“Jeno, give it some more time, the doctor said it could take up to a year for you to see any improvements. Don’t give up hope.” You leaned in and brushed your lips against his. His lips sought after your own when you withdrew them, causing you to smile softly and push them back against his.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He whispered against your lips, moving the two of you so that he was half laying on top of you, being cautious of your stomach.

“You don’t have to thank me.” The kiss turned filthy, his tongue flicking against your own with one of his hands moving up to rub at your breast over your pyjama shirt. You felt arousal heat your body up for the first time in a while. You’d had sex with Jeno a couple of times since his accident, but it was getting harder to do the further along you got in your pregnancy, and Jeno often wasn’t in the mood whenever you were. “I need you.” You whispered into his mouth, gently giving his chest a push. He laid down on his back and got comfortable, his hands reaching out and trying to find your hips as you climbed on top of him. You straddled his hips, making quick work off pushing down your pyjama shorts and pushing Jeno’s boxers down just enough to pull his hardening cock out.

“Be careful baby.” Jeno muttered breathily, his hands finding purchase on your hips to keep you steady on him. You leaned down as far as you could, trying to reach his lips and letting out a whine when your bump wouldn’t allow you to get any closer to him. Jeno heard your whine and his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I want a kiss, but I can’t reach!” You giggled through a whine, giving up and sitting back on your knees. Jeno chuckled lightly, then let out a long moan when you sunk down onto his cock, your warm walls sucking him in and sending a dull sensation of pleasure through you.

“Fuck baby, I’ve missed this.” He squeezed his shut eyes tighter, leaning his head back on the pillows. You placed your hands on his chest and rolled your hips, grinding down on his cock with vigour. He planted his feet on the bed, bucking his hips up to meet your own once you started to bounce, his cock hitting you in all the right places. You knew neither of you were going to last long, the ball inside of your stomach tightening the more you moved on top of him. He kept his hands tight to your sides, making sure you didn’t accidentally topple off of him as his thrusts got harder.

“Jeno I’m gonna cum!” You squealed, almost falling forward as you felt the fire of your orgasm rip through you, your thighs shaking and pussy convulsing around his solid cock.

“Shit!” Jeno opened his eyes as he came, his hips stuttering and his eyes immediately tearing up when he saw your blurry silhouette in the light of the room. “Fuck.” He bursts into tears, shutting his eyes immediately and letting go of your hips to cover his eyes with his hands.

“Jeno? What’s wrong?!” You carefully moved off of him, crawling beside him and trying to pull his hands from his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine baby.” He sniffled, rubbing his eyes and smiling through his tears. “I just love you so much. Thank you for looking past all the shit in my life and seeing the good.” He didn’t want you to know about his improvement, just in case it was a fluke and he went back to being completely blind permanently.

“Oh Jeno.” You melted on the inside at seeing him weep from the reason he gave you. “I love you too.” You leaned down, finally able to from the angle you were now sitting in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

---

Jeno had been keeping a huge secret from you. One he was actually surprised that he could keep a secret because of how much time he spent with you. But it had been two months since he first got a sliver of his vision back. And he could happily tell people that he could officially see again and was no longer classed as legally blind. His vision wasn’t the same as it once was, but he could now see clearly if he had on his new glasses. After finding out about his improving sight, he’d asked Renjun to take him to and from appointments so that he could keep it silent from you in order to surprise you when the time was right. He did admit to Renjun that when he saw you for the first time with your pregnant belly, he had a nervous breakdown. The whole situation of becoming a father finally dawning on him as he saw you struggle to put on your socks. He didn’t help you, mostly because it would have given his surprise away, which yes, he does feel bad for, but you got your socks on in the end!

Something Jeno never could have prepared himself for was when you woke him up at 3am, complaining of pains in your abdomen and whining about the food you had eaten earlier on in the day. He had cuddled you, stroked your hair, and told you to go back to sleep. You’d managed to drift off, but an hour later, you were whining even more because the pain had gotten worse, and the pain was coming in waves that didn’t seem to be slowing down, but instead of speeding up. It was when the bed suddenly became wet and Jeno had thought that you’d peed on him when you realised you were going into labour. The next thing you did was cry, because you weren’t supposed to be due for another 6 weeks, so the baby was more than a month early. Jeno had shouted for Renjun, who had come running in his pyjamas to help the two of you out. You couldn’t thank Renjun enough for all the help he’d been giving the two of you since you found out that you were going to become parents. Sure he loved to clown you both about it, but he was also a big help with getting ready for the baby’s arrival.

When you’d arrived at the hospital, you’d been taken to a room to be prepared for giving birth. You were frightened, because you knew your baby wasn’t going to be as big as most babies, and anything could happen. Jeno had been sat at your bedside through all of your contractions, his hand being held tight in your own and his lips on your forehead whispering words on encouragement. You wondered why he was wearing the glasses that he had told you were simply for fashion and because he felt strange walking around with his eyes shut, but the thought quickly rushed from your head when a painful contraction hit you like a truck.

“Fuck!” You screamed, not usually cursing but the word just tumbled from your lips as you squeezed Jeno’s hand tightly.

“You’re doing so well babe.” He kissed your sweaty forehead, pushing back the messy hair of your forehead and watching as some midwives entered the room. His heart was pounding in his chest, he knew there was no going back now, his life was about to change forever. But he didn’t know whether it was for the good or bad.

“It’s time to push now sweetheart.” The midwife said to you, her and her colleague prepping you to give birth. Jeno took a deep breath, exhaling and inhaling repeatedly to stop the panic attack that was creeping up on him like a lion about to attack a zebra. Everything went by like a blur to Jeno. He heard your groans of pain as you pushed, his hand being gripped in yours like a tightening vice as the midwives gave you words of encouragement. He was speechless, his eyes following the tiny baby as it was pulled from you and taken away to be cleaned up. Jeno had never seen a baby so small in his entire life, and he turned to look at you, his mouth hanging open in shock from the reality of becoming a father.

“Oh my god.” You let out a soft sob when they handed you your baby wrapped in a white blanket. “Jeno, it’s a boy…he’s so beautiful.” Jeno gulped, looking down at his son in your arms. You couldn’t describe the love that bloomed in your stomach as you stared down at your squirming baby in awe. He didn’t cry, he just opened his little eyes ad stared blankly up at the ceiling. “Hey little guy…”

“Can I hold him?” Jeno’s voice was wobbling and you nodded, very carefully handing over the baby to him. You still thought he couldn’t see, so to see him looking down at the baby with open eyes, his eyes flickering up and down the tiny boy’s body as he studied his son. “Minjun.” He whispered the name you’d agreed on for a boy. “He looks like a Minjun.” Jeno glanced up at you, and you felt your heart soar.

“Y-you can see?” Jeno nodded, leaning forward and kissing you tenderly on the lips. “Since when?! Jeno I’m so happy.” You started to cry once more, overwhelmed from the birth of your son and from finding out about your loves eyesight. You wanted nothing more than for Jeno to be able to see his baby, and he could. Happy wasn’t strong enough to describe how you felt.

“The past few months it’s been slowly coming back, I have to wear glasses to see but…it’s better than nothing. (Y/N) you did such a good job, he’s wonderful.” Jeno’s smile lit up his entire face like you’d never seen before. He held Minjun’s little hand with his fingertip and could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Well you helped me make him.” You giggled, watching the magical moment between father and son.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Minjun’s forehead, sniffing back his tears even though one rolled down his cheek. “I wasn’t too keen on the thought of you when I first heard you were going to be arriving you know, but now I can’t imagine not having you. I’m going to do the best I can for you, and you will have the best life I can give you. My own father wasn’t a nice man to me, he hurt me a lot, and set me up for a lifetime of worry. But that’s all my past. You and your mummy are just the beginning, my beginning.”

---

So what are we thinking? Let me know your thoughts! This story has been a wild ride, thank you all so much for getting this far!

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light of my life

synopsis: All Fred wants to do is forget the war and everything that happened and he finds his perfect escape all the way in New York. In you.

pairing: Fred Weasley x american!reader

warnings: mentions of the war, angst with a happy ending cause I refuse to have it any other way, also a slightly racy scene, there isn’t too much detail, it’s more implied

a/n: basically I’ve been making my way through @ickle-ronniekins masterlist slowly but surely and I know we’re all in a moodtonight but this was stuck in my head and it’s now noonfour in the afternoon and I haven’t slept all night cause I was so focused on this whoops

~~~~~~

Fred Weasley has always considered himself to be reckless.

As a kid he’d sneak into the shed behind the house and steal one of the brooms they kept in there. It took four falls, a sprained ankle, and broken arm until he taught himself how to fly.

When he and George started at Hogwarts he promised they’d make a name for themselves. One completely unlike their brothers. Only two days passed before they planted dungbombs all over the dungeons. The smell that lingered alone meant Potions was cancelled for the rest of the week. Sure they’d been given a month's worth of detention but they had people from every house congratulating and thanking them for just as long..

It was only their second year when they decided they were going to open their own joke shop after leaving Hogwarts. Despite all the setbacks they’d had over the years Fred had never been more sure of anything. Even his last year, as he and George sat in their dorm late the night before their escape, they were positive they were making the right choice.

Maybe running a joke shop in the middle of a war hadn’t been the safest thing. Especially not when they were using the basement level as a safehouse for members of the Order. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to provoke the Death Eaters wandering Diagon Alley. But it’d been five months since the attack at Bill’s wedding and Fred had been just so completely done with seeing their stupid faces parading around every day while he worried about whether or not his family was dead.

Finally he couldn’t help himself. A couple well placed tricks lured a fair bit of them to an ambush. Maybe if he’d thought it through a little, listened to the plan instead of going off on his own, their shop wouldn’t have been burned to the ground during the fight. He, George, Bill, and Charlie had taken out a dozen Death Eaters that day though so maybe, just maybe it had been worth it.

Except his only remaining safe haven was gone. The war he wanted no part in had taken too much from him. His shop he’d spent years building alongside George. His family home that he watched burn down. His youngest brother who he hadn’t heard from in months. So yeah, maybe it made him just a little more reckless. A little more desperate.

But he was Fred Weasley after all and things had a funny way of working out in his favor. He would go on raids and taunt the Death Eaters like there was no tomorrow, which he supposed in a way there wasn’t. He was on the run for months but never once had he even been close to getting caught.

There was a war raging and even though the life he’d always known had gotten ripped out from under him, there he was. And by Merlin did it make him feel unstoppable. When the Battle of Hogwarts came he stood tall and confident, a smirk gracing his face. He was Fred fucking Weasley. He was reckless and invincible.

But then he died.

Well, almost.

One moment he was laughing at whatever joke Percy of all people had made and the next...well he wasn’t too sure what happened the next. He remembered bricks, a lot of them, and the sound of people screaming his name. Flashes of black, emptiness mingled with...had those been fireworks going off above the school? They couldn’t have been. He remembered not being able to breathe, this crushing feeling surrounding him until suddenly...it wasn’t.

There was this strange gap in his memory before suddenly he was blinking his eyes open in the hospital wing. The tear stained face of his mother had been the first thing he saw. It was as each member of his family cried as they hugged him that he realized he may have been Fred Weasley but he was, in fact, not invincible.

It took two days until Madam Pomfrey even let him sit up in his hospital bed. Another week passed where all he could do was think. Think and watch the aftermath of a Battle he’d missed play out around him. It was during that time that he came to a conclusion.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

His mum wasn’t too happy about it. It had only been two days since he was discharged and she was smothering him senseless. Though he supposed he could understand where she was coming from, she’d almost lost a son after all. Nevertheless it was a reminder of just that. A well meaning, nagging reminder that he had almost died. And he would have absolutely none of that.

“I mean that as of tomorrow morning I will no longer be in this house,” Fred didn’t look away from where he was stuffing whatever useful items he could find laying around into a backpack. He wandered from the living room to the kitchen only to have his dad, Charlie, George, Ginny and Harry go uncharacteristically silent at his arrival.

“And just where do you think you’re going to go?” Molly followed him into the kitchen, hands on her hips as she watched Fred stick some bottled up potions ingredients into his bag.

“Anywhere,” Fred shot around, a grin on his face and a bottle of lavender sprigs in his hand. “Everywhere.”

“Sweetheart,” She didn’t notice the way he winced at the name. It was never a term he’d heard directed at him before. Dear, sure maybe every now and then. Troublemaker was usually the go to. But sweetheart? Never. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Especially after -”

“After what? After you thought I had died?” Fred purposely ignored the way each one of them grimaced at his words. “That’s exactly why I have to go!”

“Running off to who knows where? That’s your plan?”

“I don’t have a plan. I just know -”

“Oh, even better!” Molly threw the dish towel in her hand down on the floor and pointed an accusing finger between everyone for a few moments before finally focusing on Fred. “You’ve always been the most careless out of everyone, you know. I will not let you -”

“Will you just listen to me!” All it took was a shout and a stomp of his foot for Fred to feel like a child again. He needed to be heard, though, and nobody was listening. Everything came pouring out all at once without him meaning for it to.

“I’ve done nothing, mum! I can’t sit in this house, in this place, after being a breath away from dying and pretend like everything is okay! I’ve always thought I was daring and out there and sure, maybe a little careless but I’ve never even left this bloody town. I’ve gone from here, to the school, to the shop and back a thousand times over but never anywhere else. You know what that shop was? It was safe. It was what I knew. I loved it, of course I did. I still do and one day we’ll rebuild. But I can’t go back there after being at death’s door without leaving first because then there’s no point.”

The kitchen of the Weasley house had never been silent but it was now. Nobody dared to speak a word. The more silence that passed, the more Fred’s words sank in and the more everybody realized that maybe he had a point. Even if they didn’t agree with it all, who were they to tell him what to do? Who were they to tell him to stay put and do as he always had when he was clearly so desperate to go?

A few minutes of tense silence and awkward glances passed before Fred finally sighed to himself, stuffed the lavender sprigs in his bag, and muttered, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning from King’s Cross if any of you care to see me off.”

***

The war hadn’t been easy for you. It hadn’t been easy for anybody, especially for the people dealing with the brunt of Voldemort’s attacks in England, realistically you knew that. Still, it didn’t stop you from firmly believing that the world was conspiring against you for a time. Now that all was said and done you prided yourself on having bounced back quickly.

You’d been at the helm of several restoration projects at MACUSA and now just a short while later you walked through the streets of Mac Square with ease, a smile on your face. It felt normal. Traces of the battle that had happened there were nowhere to be found. There were no more piles of ashes. No more scorch marks and stains littering the sidewalks. No more ruins to clean up. It was as it had always been.

Well, almost.

Standing right in the middle of the Square was a giant display of dark granite blocks, names carved on every inch of the space. Wooden benches sat every couple of feet but hardly anyone sat on them. Everyone had been much too eager to get on with their lives, pretend the past had never happened. There you sat though, staring at the words etched at the head of the display. In memoriam.

“What do you do here everyday?” The voice startled you. A laugh rang in your ears as you held a hand to your chest, a hopeless attempt to slow your heart rate down again. “Sorry if I startled you.”

The person didn’t hesitate to sit beside you on the bench. He, like most people, paid no mind to the display. Instead he turned, placing one of his legs on the bench so he was facing you. It took a few moments for your breathing to return to normal and finally you looked at him. Quite frankly, he wasn't what you were expecting.

He was around your age, quite tall and well built. His bright red hair was an odd length between short and long and rather messy. He was donning jeans, worn white sneakers, a Weird Sisters t-shirt, and a windbreaker jacket whose sleeves were currently pushed up.

“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” You said after a few moments, not missing the smirk on the person's face.

“I’ve been told I’m usually rather loud,” He shrugged easily and settled further into the bench. “You were just very concentrated on your staring.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that maybe that was for a reason?” The faint smile on your face gave away how amused you really were.

“Well you’ve been sitting on this bench for the last ninety minutes and I simply figured you were either dead, asleep, or in desperate need of a distraction. Lucky for me, it was the last one.” The person reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch. He plucked one of whatever was in there out and tossed it into his mouth, grimacing as he bit into it.

“What you’re really getting at is that you've been watching me for the last hour and a half.” You gave in and turned so you were facing the person you had yet to learn the name of.

“No,” He shook his head and ate another one of whatever item was in the bag. Jellybeans, upon closer inspection. “I’ve been watching you for the past week.” Just as you were about to mention how bad that sounded he motioned towards the building behind you. “My flat is just over there and every day I can look out the window and see you sit on this very bench around lunchtime and stare at that wall. Why?”

His forwardness surprised you. For a brief moment you debated telling him. But he was a stranger, after all, so you decided against it. “Are you always this brash?”

The stranger didn’t hesitate. “Unfortunately for you, yes.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” He popped another jellybean in his mouth and nodded. “As long as you promise to tell me why you sit in front of this wall every day after.”

“I’m not promising you anything. Not without knowing your name.”

Your statement seemed to please the stranger and he smirked, offering you the pouch. You took a couple jellybeans but didn’t eat any just yet. Silence filled the air and for a moment this strange look flashed in the strangers eyes. It was gone as quick as it had appeared and soon he nodded. “I’ll make an exception but just this once.”

“Oh how kind of you.” You offered him a smile because you recognized the look all too well.

“Do I get to know your name at least?” He returned your smile, seemingly relieved to still have you as a distraction.

“Maybe,” You shrugged and ate one of the jellybeans. Blueberry. “If you’re lucky.”

“Fair enough,” The person grinned and ate another candy. He spit that one out quickly and made a disgusted face. “Liver.”

“That’s your name? Liver?” Your smirk quickly softened when he laughed again. It was a sound you would be happy to get used to.

“No,” He put away the pouch of jellybeans, having been put off by the last one he’d had the misfortune of biting into. “Though it’d be a fine name wouldn’t it?”

“If that’s your thing, sure.”

He studied you for a few moments, staring in a way that had you wishing you could peer into that mind of his. “Fred Weasley.”

The sudden beeping of your watch had you quickly standing up, pulling the bag at your feet onto your shoulder. “Well, Fred Weasley, it was nice talking to you but I have to get back to work. The members of the MACUSA Cabinet are sticklers for punctuality.”

“Wait,” He, Fred as you’d found out, sat up on the bench and you paused your movements easier than you normally would have. “What about your name?”

Something about him and the way he looked at you in that moment made you want to sit back down beside him, meetings be damned. You weren’t above toying with him a little though so you gave him another soft smile. “I said I’d tell you if you were lucky. Are you lucky, Fred Weasley?”

Fred thought about what you were asking him. He thought of the countless things he’d gotten away with at school. Of all the fights he walked out of without a scratch. Of the fact that he was sitting on that bench at that moment talking to you. He grinned and finally nodded once, “I’d say so, sure.”

“Well then,” You lifted your bag higher on your shoulder and slowly took a few steps backward. “If you’re so lucky then I’m sure you’ll find me soon and I’ll tell you then.”

You walked away in the direction of where the MACUSA offices were, a newfound ease to your every step. Meanwhile Fred watched you walk away, already wondering when he’d see you again, until you were just a blurry figure in the distance.

***

After five hours of running up and down to different meetings the only thing you wanted to do was go home and sit. The last thing you were expecting to find was Fred Weasley standing in the middle of the lobby. Though you had to admit, he as a welcome distraction. He looked out of place, the jacket he’d been wearing earlier a stark contrast to all the suits and dress robes.

“Told you I was lucky,” Fred pushed himself off of the pillar he’d been leaning on the moment he saw you step off one of the elevators.

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” You sighed as you approached him, the two of you already making your way out of the building side by side. “Maybe good listening and decent investigative skills is more accurate.”

“I’ll take it,” Fred laughed and held the door open for you as the two of you left the offices. He had no clue where he was going but he trusted that you did. “Now I believe the grand prize for my successfully locating the MACUSA offices was the pleasure of knowing your name.”

You didn’t say anything though, not right away. The two of you walked at least three blocks before you looked around to make sure no one was looking and took out your wand. Fred watched as you touched a series of bricks and a portion of the wall faded away to reveal a new alleyway. He followed you without hesitation.

The apartment buildings looked like every other complex he’d seen. Upon closer inspection though, they were each different. One had flowers painted all up and down the sides, enchanted so they were blooming. Another looked like a dozen single homes stacked on top of each other. Yet another had a phoenix watching over a playground, flying between a couple different buildings.

You watched Fred spin around a few times, taking in everything that now surrounded him. There was a light in his eyes that you’d seen only a glimpse of that morning, one that held wonder beyond belief. It was going at full force now and you felt a strange desire to keep it there. “You hungry, Fred Weasley?”

***

“Ever heard of twenty questions?”

“Can’t say I have, Y/N,” Fred answered through a mouthful of waffles. You’d told him your name on the way to the diner and he’d wasted no time in repeating it over and over to himself. He threw his head back against the vinyl booth the two of you were sitting in and made a satisfied noise. “Would you believe I’ve also never had breakfast for dinner. What do you think it is about nighttime that makes waffles so good?”

“Forbidden fruit I guess.”

“So how’s this game of yours work?”

“Pretty simple,” You drank the rest of your coffee and moments later a pitcher came floating from the counter to refill your cup. As the cream and sugar mixed themselves into the coffee you reached into your bag and pulled out a pen, placing it on top of a napkin. “I ask you a question, you answer. Then you ask me a question and I answer. We keep going until all twenty questions have been asked.”

“Where’d you learn this game?” Fred asked without thinking as he picked up his milkshake. The pen scribbled a single tally mark on the napkin and he quickly put down the large cup, shaking his head. “That doesn’t count!”

“Afraid it does,” You laughed when he glared at the pen before turning back to face you. “We played it at the beginning of every year at Ilvermorny to make the incoming first years feel more welcome.

“Ilvermorny.” Fred repeated what you’d told him, as if testing it to see if the word was real.

“You have heard of it, haven’t you?” It was your turn to frown when the pen scribbled down another tally mark.

“I have,” Fred nodded but avoided your gaze, instead focusing on digging the cherry out from under all the extra whipped cream he’d insisted on ordering with his milkshake. “I just don’t think I’ve ever really realized what was out there in the real world.”

“Well you’re here now,” The words left you without warning. They brought the smile back to Fred’s face though so you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. “Ask away.”

And he did. He asked you about Ilvermorny and you told him basic things like your house and what it was like. You, in return, asked him about Hogwarts and all he’d told you about was his own house and the dozens of situations that occurred while he was there. An hour passed and the two of you had made your way through almost the entire game. Fred had ordered another milkshake and you had had two more cups of coffee.

“Eighteen, what were you doing at the MACUSA offices earlier?” Fred leaned forward on the table, lowering his voice to a whisper as if you were swapping trade secrets back and forth. “You don’t seem like the government type. No offence.”

“None taken,” You smiled before following his movements, leaning forward and accidentally spilling a bit of your coffee. “And if you must know I was meeting with the officials who are in charge of the classes taught at Ilvermorny. Now that restoration is complete I’m supposed to start teaching there again.”

“So you’re a professor,” Fred’s response had come out as an observation instead of a question. He’d quickly mastered how to get around the pen marking every single thing he said as another tally.

“Of sorts,” You gave a shrug and pushed your coffee aside. “Despite what they’ll have everyone believe the curriculum is dated at best and incompetent at worst. I taught myself more than any of my professors did and since then I’ve been working on rewriting the teachings of a school hundreds of years old so you can only imagine how that’s going for me.”

For a very brief moment Fred thought of his last year at Hogwarts and all the times he’d snuck around for Dumbledore’s Army meetings. He thought of the fact that it was only the start of his career during the war. The lessons they’d worked on had come in more handy than anyone knew. He thought of...no. He refused to think about it any longer so instead he quickly shook his head and forced another smile onto his face. “I believe it’s your turn.”

“Nineteen,” You didn’t notice Fred’s break in his own composure and thought to yourself for a moment as you dug a pile of dragots out of your bag and set them on the table. “Why are you here, Fred Weasley?” You quickly continued when you saw the smirk cross his face. “Here meaning America, not the diner with me.”

He laughed at your clarification. The two of you had only known each other for a few hours at best and it already felt like you knew him inside and out. He liked the idea more than he cared to admit.

“I needed a change after everything,” Fred shrugged, watching your face carefully for any sign of disappointment in his answer. He never found one though. Instead you looked at him, a soft grin on your face and maybe it was the homey feel of the diner or the colored lighting that softened your every feature or maybe even just the ease he felt while talking to you but he knew exactly what his last question would be. “Twenty, would you consider doing this with me again tomorrow?”

Your answer came almost immediately. “Absolutely.”

***

Two months after that dinner at Red’s Diner, Fred was moving into your apartment in the Art District. Upon seeing the building that was yours, one with painted birds fluttering across the bricks, he’d told you it suited you with a smile. That night as the two of you were eating dinner at Red’s he kissed you for the first time, admitting to you in a quiet whisper that for the first time since he left home he felt okay.

As much as you wanted to, you didn’t press the topic any further. You were comfortable around Fred and yet everything he did was wildly unpredictable in the best ways. Life with him was never boring and it was exactly what you needed. It had been a long time since you yourself had felt fine with your own life but with Fred it was so much more than that. He was home and you didn’t hesitate to tell him that.

A month after he moved in you told him about the wall he’d first found you sitting in front of, the one meant to commemorate those who had died in the war. You told him about your own part in it, the fights that raged on for days in the biggest wizarding hubs in America. Despite what was believed, England wasn’t the only place invaded by Death Eaters. You told him about the names you stared at on the wall. Your best friend. Your little sister. Your father. Countless people you’d met at school.

Fred held you close as you told him everything. You spoke so easily about what you’d gone through while he didn’t even dare think about what he had lived through himself. He came to the realization then that maybe you were stronger than him in ways he couldn’t even begin to fathom. It was after realizing that when he came to the conclusion that he loved you, completely and wholeheartedly. And he told you so.

Three months after that was the first night you woke up to screaming. The moon was shining high in the sky and you’d been startled awake when Fred shot up in bed gasping for air, eyes wide and bloodshot. You were quick to reach for him but when the sound of your voice couldn’t bring him out of whatever trance he was stuck in you crawled into his lap. Your hands reached for his face, bringing his eyes to meet yours. The sight of tear stains on his flushed cheeks surprised you. So did the sudden realization that he was gripping his wand tightly in one of his hands.

“Hey,” You spoke gently, still cradling his face in your hands. “You’re okay, I’m right here.” It took a few minutes of your soft reassurances before he finally looked at you. He was brought back to reality and relief flooded his entire body. His wand fell out of his hand to the floor and he collapsed into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame as he buried his head in your chest. He shut his eyes and tried to keep his cries silent. “I’m right here.”

Two hours later Fred had managed to fall back asleep but he hadn’t let you go once. You were sitting against the headboard of the bed with his head in your lap, gently running a hand through his hair that had grown considerably longer. His breathing had evened out but you didn’t dare move him. A pain shot through you at the memory of him crying into your shoulder and you wanted more than anything to know how you could help him. Instead you were left wondering what it was that had woken him up and left him so scared.

You were brought out of your own sleep the next morning by the feeling of Fred aimlessly drawing random shapes on the bare skin of your thighs with his fingers. He was considerably calmer now but when he looked up at you you knew he was still thinking about the previous night.

“Did I wake you?” His voice was hoarse and the usual smile he wore every morning was nowhere to be seen.

“No,” You lied. Fred needed your reassurance and you were more than willing to give it to him. “Been awake for a while.”

Fred watched you for a moment as he tried to gauge how you were feeling. He hated being pitied more than anything else but there was no trace of the feeling on your face. A little bit of concern, sure, but that was to be expected after what he vaguely remembered putting you through. Mostly though you met his gaze with the same look of adoration you gave him every morning, one he usually returned. But at the moment his mind was hurtling out of control and never before had he had anybody at his side to deal with it alongside.

He shuffled a little on the bed until he was more comfortably curled up into you. You felt like peace and that was something he was currently craving. “Can I -” He bit his lip and went silent, suddenly not sure if it was okay. “Can I tell you about it?”

“Of course,” Your answer was automatic despite not knowing what ‘it’ was. You didn’t have to know, though. Nothing he could say, nothing that had happened, would ever change how you felt about Fred Weasley. You hugged him tighter to reassure him of that.

Several minutes of silence passed. The faint chatter coming from outside the window was the only noise that filled the room. It was almost cruel, Fred thought, the way everybody else went on with their Saturday morning while he sat there helplessly reliving that stupid war for the thousandth time. Finally with a shaky sigh he began telling you his story.

“I saw it all happen.” You knew what he meant the moment the words left his mouth.

“I can remember the night Harry yelled about you-know-who being back clear as day. I can remember him crying over Cedric Diggory’s body and the screams of his father when he saw that his son was dead. God, at the time I wanted nothing more than to be in that stupid tournament and I hate the fact that now I’m glad I wasn’t. I hated him, you know. Cedric. All because of a bloody game of Quidditch he beat us in. I’d give anything to take that back.”

You pretended not to notice the damp feeling soaking through your sleep shirt. Tears.

“Nobody believed him. A boy died and nobody believed Harry. Instead we were all tortured for a year. The ministry likes to pretend they didn’t make it happen but there’s no other word for it. She made us write lines in our own blood, what else do you call it? And my dad -” He stopped, a particularly loud and shaky exhale leaving his body as he gripped you tightly. “He almost died that year all because nobody wanted to believe it. And George and I we’d just had enough of it, you know? So we left. For just a day everyone in that school was a child again and we made it happen. I don’t regret it, not at all. But maybe if we had stayed, maybe if we had made just a little more of an effort...maybe then my brother and my sister and our friends wouldn’t have had to fight off Death Eaters alone. They shouldn’t have had to, they were children. We all were. But nobody believed them and they were children and they watched somebody we cared about die that night. Why didn’t anybody believe them!”

Everything you were hearing was new to you. Fred had told you about his family countless times, true, but never like this. He’d mentioned them by name a few times and told you stories about the summers they were all home but this? He had literally been in the middle of the war right alongside the Golden Trio you had heard so many rumors about. He was shaking, sobbing into your shoulder again and you had no idea what to say. So you settled for holding him, a silent promise that none of that would ever happen to him again, not if you had anything to say about it.

It wasn’t until his breathing had evened once more that he worked up the courage to speak again. He swallowed thickly and his voice cracked but he powered through. Oddly enough a small weight had lifted off of his shoulders but there was still something holding him down.

“I was never scared. I knew exactly what was coming. That’s why me and George opened the shop in the first place. Because people have to find hope somewhere after all. So we laughed and we made jokes and we made other people happy and that was enough. Death eaters burned down our house but we rebuilt it. Ron was poisoned by one of them but Harry saved him like always. Dumbledore was murdered by a professor at the school who we trusted but even then we were okay because we, the Order, knew exactly what to do. Not even at Bill’s wedding was I scared. They attacked and people were killed and others went missing but I wasn’t scared. I was furious. I was angry and I did everything I could to make sure those Death Eaters knew it. I was -”

Fred stops again. He’s not hesitant because of a bad memory this time, no. He remembers the day he and his brothers fought the Death Eaters in Diagon Alley and what happened as a result. Shame burns through him at that moment. At the reminder of what he did.

“I wanted them to go away, that’s all. It - It was war and you do desperate things and I didn’t mean to do it. But dark magic is hard to control, most of all a curse like fiendfyre. I’m the one who cast it and I put it out eventually but not before it reached the shop. I stood there and I watched it burn and I told George, Bill, and Charlie that it was the death eaters who cast the curse. They believed me. After that I fought and I ran and I laughed and fought some more and I was never scared, not once. Maybe that’s why.”

You couldn’t help yourself. Fred had stopped talking but he wasn’t done feeling. That you knew for a fact. It’s what prompted you to ask, “Why what?”

You didn’t even notice that you’d been crying yourself until Fred turned his head to look at you, frowned, and reached up to wipe away your tears. There was no hesitation in your movements as you leaned into his touch and gently placed your hand over his own. He looked only at you as he continued.

“Why I died.” He paused once more to reach for your other hand, intertwine it with his own, and press a soft kiss to it, reassuring you that despite his statement he was still there in your shared room right next to you.

“Madam Pomfrey told me after I was being particularly difficult one night. Percy had brought me to the hospital wing after the blast that knocked down that wall in the courtyard crushed me. She said she was the one who checked me herself. I was dead. She told my mum with tears in her eyes that I was gone and suddenly two minutes later I was opening my eyes again. I didn’t know why they were all crying. I didn’t know why they hugged me and kept repeating that I was alive. I didn’t process any of it until I woke up a couple nights later because I couldn’t breath. I was being crushed under the weight of a thousand bricks but I opened my eyes and there was nothing there. Only me and the dark room and flashes of every single thing that I had done during the war who’s ending I missed. That’s why I really left. Because that night was the first time I was scared. The worst part is that I wasn’t scared of the war that wasn’t even happening anymore. I was scared because I really thought I had accomplished a lot and it took dying to know that I really didn’t.”

“Look at me,” You said after only a few seconds, once it was clear that Fred had finished telling you his story. He listened to you, sitting up fully and watching as you turned to face him completely. “You are here and well and I could not love you more. What was that thing you said. You made other people happy and that was enough. I’ve heard your stories, each one you tell with the widest grin. I’ve seen you play with those kids from two floors down and the smile you put on their faces. I absolutely know that even when things were dark you did everything you could to bring a little light into the world. And listen to me, Fred Weasley, that is way more than enough and I never want to hear you say or even think otherwise. Okay?”

For a minute all he did was stare at you. He wasn’t quite sure what it was he was looking for but very slowly a soft smile grew on his face and he found himself nodding. Then without warning he launched himself forward, held your face in his hands, and kissed you. It was hard and passionate and filled with a thousand emotions. He was positive then, as the two of you moved together, wrapped in a blanket of love and reassurance, that he never wanted to leave your side. You were the one who made his world good. You were the one who made him feel better and loved beyond belief and that was really all he could ask for.

***

The door of your apartment slammed shut behind you and almost immediately you were pushed against the wall. Frantic, wandering hands quickly removed Fred’s jacket and unzipped the front of your dress. Even in between heated kisses you could still taste the chocolate malted milkshake he had drank at Red’s earlier. A laugh escaped you at the fact as you gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

“Why are you laughing, this is a very serious moment,” Fred asked, a smile playing on his lips as he slipped the dress off your shoulders.

“No reason,” You shook your head, kissing him once more as you unbuckled his jeans. Another laugh soon escaped you when he nearly fell over trying to get them off.

“You’re so mean,” He teased, pulling the long sleeve shirt you’d been wearing underneath the dress off. Then he glanced at the thigh high boots you were wearing and sighed. “Darling, I really do love the sight of you in those boots of yours but they are such a hassle to get off at times like this, you know.”

“Which is why last time I wore these,” You quickly moved to unzip them, taking them off one at a time with a smirk on your face. “You had me keep them on.”

Fred wasted no time in reaching for you again once the boots were off, lifting you off the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you in the direction of the room. “You know,” He said once reaching the bed. “The lease on the apartment is ending soon.”

“What a -” You were cut off by your own moan as he sucked a mark on the skin of your neck. “An odd thing to bring up now of all times.”

“I just thought,” Satisfied with the mark left on your skin, he started peppering wet kisses down your body, stopping every now and then to bite softly and speak words in between. “Maybe we’d try living somewhere else. Like London.”

“Are you serious?” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. There had only been a few times when the two of you discussed meeting Fred’s family and each time had ended in a firm ‘one day’. The statement surprised you but didn’t distract you from the feeling of your legs being pushed apart the farther down Fred went.

“Of course,” Even as he kissed the soft skin of your thighs you could feel the smirk playing on his lips as he heard your breathing quicken. “I’ve been dying to show my fiancée off to everyone, you know.”

“Maybe we should -” A sudden gasp escaped you at the feeling of the fabric of your underwear snapping against your skin. You glared a bit when Fred chuckled softly at your reaction. “We should discuss me meeting your family later. Maybe when we aren’t half naked?”

A real laugh escaped Fred at your words but he quickly smirked again and resumed his previous actions. “As you wish.”

***

Nervous was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. But it was all you felt now as you stared at the home you knew was the Burrow. The Weasley family home. An endless stream of butterflies fluttered in the pit of your stomach and you had to resist the urge to fiddle with the glittering ring on your finger to calm yourself. That was how you’d lost it only a few days ago in the middle of moving all the boxes around your new apartment in one of the wizarding boroughs in London, only a couple blocks from Diagon Alley.

The decision to move came easy for both you and Fred. He was confident that he could face everything and everyone again. The morning he’d told you everything was the morning he realized talking it through with you was more than helpful. And you had happily handed over the revised curriculums to the Headmistress of Ilvermorny only a day before leaving New York. From what you heard, there was another school who could do with the same treatment and you were eager to assist.

It’d been exactly eleven days since the two of you had moved to London. While Fred had seen his family a couple times now, he was insistent on wanting to give you a big reveal. The only person he’d let into the apartment was George, who upon meeting you loved you instantly. The three of you had spent all day talking, swapping stories usually at Fred’s expense.

Finally that morning he’d woken you up with a grin, had you get ready, and told you it was time for your first Weasley family dinner. Or lunch, technically.

“Hey,” Fred stepped in front of you and immediately saw the nervous look in your eyes. He held your face in his hands and kissed you softly, resting his forehead on yours right after. With that one small movement your nerves faded away and you visibly relaxed. “Everyone is going to love you. Promise.”

“I’m trusting you on that,” You spoke after a few seconds, a smile making its way onto your face. With a satisfied grin, Fred took your hand and pulled you in the direction of the house.

You were fully expecting to be ambushed the moment you walked through the door, you were prepared for it. Instead you were met with a silent house. Fred wasn’t phased though, he simply led you through the rooms. You walked through a living room whose walls were covered in moving pictures, the kitchen where a pile of pots and pans were washing themselves in the sin, and finally into the backyard. That’s where everyone was waiting.

“She’s real!”

“Shove off,” Fred rolled his eyes at the sudden exclamation as he finally stopped, still holding onto your hand to keep you comfortable. He looked at you, the look on his face softening when he did so. “This is everyone.”

“You aren’t going to introduce me?” You asked, a slight smirk making its way onto your face.

Fred laughed and glanced around at everyone else before matching the look on your face. “They’re going to ambush you one by one anyway. Figured I’d save at least one of us the trouble.”

That was all the confirmation anyone needed to hear. Before you knew it you were being pulled into a tight hug by the first person to reach you.

“We’ve heard so much about you, dear!” Molly was beaming as she held you at arms length. “Even prettier than he said. Told us about you in every letter he sent, you know.”

“Did not,” Fred, who’d taken a step back and was now standing beside George, met your eyes, saw your smirk widen, and immediately knew he was never going to hear the end of it.

“He did too,” Ginny walked up to you next and glanced between you and her brother. You recognized the familiar mischievous glint in her eyes and already knew you were going to love her. “Mum read them out loud and everything.”

“Mum!”

“Sorry, dear,” You could tell by the tone in her voice that Molly wasn’t sorry at all. She simply smiled, squeezed you once more, then walked over to Fred placing a hand on his cheek. “They were adorable.”

“I think she even has one framed,” You recognized Charlie by the dragon tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt. He didn’t hesitate to throw his arm over your shoulders in greeting. “What was it you wrote? ‘Her smile shines brighter than the city lights, mum, I swear.’”

“Who knew you were so poetic?” Ron mimicked Charlie’s movements, leaning on your other shoulder. He looked at you with an amused smile. “You really bring out the best in our dear, Freddie, Y/N.”

For once Fred didn’t mind the teasing. It was worth seeing the way your eyes lit up, head tossed back in laughter alongside his family. He wondered as he watched Ginny pull you towards the table why he hadn’t introduced you sooner. You fit right in with everyone and he loved it. He loved you.

It was Hermione who finally mentioned the ring you were wearing as you piled food onto your plate. She grinned, taking your left hand to examine it. “When’s the wedding, then?”

“The what?” Came chorused from no less than eight people.

“Don’t tell me none of you noticed,” Fleur said, suddenly appearing on the other side of Hermione to look at the ring.

“It was obvious,” Percy, who was already eating, shrugged. He’d been the only one to quietly give you his congratulations, smiling excitedly as he did so.

“Why didn’t you tell us!” Molly scolded, flinging one of the dish towels at Fred who quickly ducked out of the way.

“Why’d you think I wanted everyone here? Just for fun?” Fred defended, not moving fast enough to dodge the balled up napkin Bill threw at him.

“You could have at least said you had news or something,” Bill appeared behind you and Fred quickly, hugging you both at once. “This is huge.”

“It really is,” Harry agreed, placing a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “None of us thought you’d be next.”

“Well,” Fred only smiled, wrapping his free arm around your waist to pull you close and kissed your cheek softly. You looked up at him, practically beaming. “Only the best for my love.”

“You should’ve told us sooner,” Arthur happily smiled at the scene from where he was standing right beside Molly. “Your mother’s been waiting to plan another wedding since Bill and Fleur’s.”

It wasn’t a lie, as evidenced by the flurry of questions that were shot your way. How’s and when’s and everything in between. Needless to say as all of you sat around the table that summer afternoon several decisions were made. Upon being asked by Molly when you two wanted the wedding to be Fred had immediately told her as soon as possible. She smiled at the sight of him looking at you with pure adoration and pushed back the happy tears in her eyes.

The conversation finally changed topic as the afternoon went on. Night had fallen and everyone had drifted from the table to around a fire that had been enchanted to act more as decoration and less like a heat source. You sat on a blanket that had been laid on the grass, happily leaning against Fred who held you to him.

“We’re going to reopen the shop,” George announced with a smile when everyone started talking about what they were going to do now that the ministry was finished being rebuilt. Fred had been quick to tell him the truth about the fiendfyre incident after returning to which he only received a nod and an ‘it’s fine, I knew’. “We’ve already started building up our inventory again.”

“Really?” Everyone had been waiting for the day the two of them would decide to reopen the shop. The structure had been put up quickly after the end of the war. All that was left was the cosmetics on the outside and the matter of stocking everything.

“Besides,” Fred grinned as he glanced around at his family. “Everyone needs a little light in their life right?”

It was late at night, after Fred dragged you up to his childhood bedroom insisting that you needed to see it and sleep there at least one night to get the full experience, that he pressed his lips to yours in a way that left your head spinning wonderfully.

“You’re mine, you know,” He whispered the statement into the night, afraid that if he spoke too loud he would ruin the moment. “The light of my life.”

The words he said to you were soft and beautifully intimate and unlike anything you’d heard before. After everything, wars and trauma and so much else, you were there together in that moment in time. And you were ecstatic. You kissed him again, softly, and smiled as you spoke against his lips, “And you’re mine.”

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Your Dad’s not that bad -Nobuchika Ginoza

Author Note: I will not lie, I’m straight up one of those people who don’t proof read. At least I won’t proof read until a few hours or days later and I want to resurface the memories of writing this. Also, man, how painful was the end of Psycho-pass season 1, they really want to make you feel some emotions

She listened closely as she heard the sound of the door slide open and shut. She could practically feel the tension flooding the small apartment before she could see the source. She’d been nursing her wounds as her guest trudged through the doorway.

“What a pleasant surprise” she smiled standing from her seat she watched him shrug out of his jacket, he threw it over the chair before approaching her. This had become a common occurrence; their days off rarely fell on correlating days so in the times where their battling schedules brushed by each other he would seek her out. He would watch cautiously as he made his way to her apartment before checking the coast was clear and slipping in. “You know your dad was scheduled to finish when you did today, normally you wait a while in times like this but you're here dead on the end of your shift.”

If she expected a witty retort, she had no hope of gaining it. Her frivolous teasing did little to lull the tension in his shoulders as he placed his hands on her waist. He just wanted to hold her, the day had been long and bothersome and right now all he wanted to do was lie with her and ramble about stupid things.

“Your wounds are healing nicely, I hope next time you won’t take unnecessary risks again,” he whispered as he looked over the wound on her neck, she inhaled deeply. She had only jumped in the way to avoid him from being injured. It was a dumb move, he had her there, but she felt something for him. Whatever had begun to transpire between the two of them had stirred an attachment within her and though she was unsure whether he felt the same she wouldn’t have done anything differently.

“Please, I already got the third degree from both Tsunemori and Masaoka. Don’t think I couldn’t see you boiling over wanting to scold me too, Mr Strict Investigator.” She chided. Ginoza frowned. His glasses shifting on his nose ever so slightly as he watched her. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, I’m sorry, but I thought better me than you”

“Please don’t,” Ginoza paused. He was a man of professionalism, but she had rapidly become his weak point. He couldn’t remember what drove him towards her, just that he was glad it had. They’d be in trouble if anyone caught wind of what was going on between them. “I can’t risk losing you,” he added. He felt her pull him towards the sofa. They collapsed against it, their bodies melding into the fabric as they covered themselves in silence. Her fingers pulled at the knot in his tie, loosening it as he sighed. The tension seemed to fall from him in that second.

“Want to tell me what is bothering you?” Her words caressed him as he peered at her. Ginoza took the time to memorise her features, every dimple, every crevice and every flicker of emotion that gazed back at him. He did this often, a strange sort of stress relief.

“Masaoka, he coddles inspector Tsunemori too much, I understand he’s looking after her hue but he- he overstepped the mark. We were going after Kogami at that point he was MIA and Tsunemori refused to believe he could have set everything up to run away. He’s an enforcer, but Masaoka threw me against the equipment and told me I was being too harsh. She’s too innocent, the sooner she wises up to the role of the enforcers and Inspectors the more she’ll start to understand the line we need to tread as inspectors.” He rambled. She felt her eyes drifting to his hands, one had remained firm against her waist, whilst the other flew through the air in an erratic motion. “And he should know better than to entertain her thoughts”

“Your dad’s not so bad, Nobuchika. He means well” She commented softly, he sighed. He’d have been angry by her words, but he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. His father was everything he had wished he hadn’t been; he’d ruined his childhood when the Sybil system came into effect.

“My father is a latent criminal.” He remarked. There remained many things left unsaid between Nobuchika and Masaoka, many things that he wished he could say. He wished he could still see the same man who had nursed him when he was sick, who had filled a young Ginoza with pride as he waved goodbye on his way to keeping people safe and more importantly he wished he hadn’t been made an enforcer.

“So am I, or did you forget about the time I tried to kill Kougami” she laughed, everything about this entanglement they found themselves in was doomed. An Inspector and an Enforcer couldn’t enter a relationship. He couldn’t proudly present her to people outside. He couldn’t take her on fancy dates or wake up beside her in the comfort of his own home. Sooner rather than later this would end, someone would report his actions and he’d be suspended, fired or demoted. She would be thrown into a prison somewhere and all they’d have is the fond memories of gentle caresses and soft-spoken promises.

“That’s different,” he lied, there was no difference between herself and his father, they were both labelled as hunting dogs and confined to the building. Nobuchika placed a hand on her cheek, a smile dancing across his lips. “You bring me more joy than Masaoka.”

“Well, that’s a given, I’m naturally a source of joy in everyone. I wish things were different Gino, I wish we’d have met before I was slung in here. Back when I was an idiot inspector” she yawned, she slept better in his arms.

“I don’t, I doubt I’d have had the courage to speak to you” Nobuchika confessed. “I probably wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on my job”

“You can’t as it is, I took a blade to the neck that proves it” she returned, he chuckled. He felt guilty for it. He’d apologised until he was black and blue. Almost daily he checked on her as she recovered. Ginoza released another sigh as he held her tighter.

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Trans Mages Week 2021 DAY 6 - solidarity, pastel/punk

NOTE: this started out with the idea that Baz's dad didn't accept him being gender fluid but has somehow morphed into something a bit more. There's MalMage, a brewing storm, genderfluid vampire Baz, potentially gender confused Simon, biker gangs, magic, fantasy world building, 50s inspired towns, and political intrigue. What a mess. I don't know where I'm going with this, but it's possible that I'll morph this into a full blown thing.

The roar of the motorcycles was a familiar buzz in Simon’s ears, something that usually lulled him into a state of zen. However, this time there was a change in the feel of the roar, and he could catch a different scent on the wind. There was a town up ahead.

It took conscious effort to keep his folded wings from stretching out behind him at the thought of being able to make a stop and maybe even spending a couple of days somewhere. The Mage’s Men had been on the road for a while, slowly making their way to a kingdom out further past the High Mountains.

There had been a few odd jobs here and there to keep them fed and content until they got this big one, and he was hoping that maybe the nearing Watford would have a little something to do. It had been a while since he’d tasted a nice hot scone or something sweeter than a pack of discount sandwich cookies.

Davy threw back a few hand signs and Simon grinned widely. A much needed stop was just what they needed. The rest of the ride into down was a blur, and soon the whole pack was taking a quick tour to gauge the place.

Watford was a lot like most of the little towns hovering outside of capital cities. Coven’s magic signature was over everything, a bond of protection should anything befall the small town. Davy was not a huge fan of Coven, and Simon glanced nervously at the man.

Davy Mage was the leader of their gang, a man with great vision, testicular fortitude, and a willingness to do whatever it took to reach his goals. He’d earned the title of Mage after years of battle with another family, and Simon was quite lucky to have gained the title of Heir.

Whether Davy was his actual biological father or not was up for debate, but Simon tried not to worry himself about things like that. Davy was the closest thing he had to a father, and knowing the truth of the matter wouldn’t change anything. Any curiosity or whisper of discontent was tucked deep down with all the other things he didn’t want to think about.

Right now, the only thing he wanted to think about was finding a nice inn that offered hot breakfast. Freshly cooked food and a soft place to sleep sounded blissful, and he definitely needed a shower. Offing another round of goblins after his head had left him in dire need of getting cleaned up. Even his leathers had gotten messy in that battle.

Thankfully, the Mage didn’t change his mind and direct them out of town. They rode through the town square, taking in the views of shops and concerned looking citizens. It was normal to have people frightened of them until their intentions were made known.

There were a lot of wandering gangs that were carrying out missions from the larger kingdoms, and most towns never knew if they were on a hit list or not. If these guys were under the protection of Coven, they might be less than friendly for the duration of their stay, but Simon didn’t care. It’s not like he planned on settling here or anything.

Just a bit of food and rest was all he needed to be ready to move on.

The whole gang pulled up to a modest looking inn, and then the engines were shut off. Groaning in relief, Simon swung his leg back over and off his bike before allowing his blood-red wings and tail to stretch out. Premal jumped back in annoyance so that he didn’t get knocked off his feet, but Simon couldn’t be bothered to care.

Everyone knew that they needed to keep their distance.

“Simon,” the Mage barked as he pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, “get up there and scope things out.”

“Yes, sir!”

Flying was one of the only things better than riding down the open road, Simon thought as he felt the wind whipping around his body. The large wings at his back beat loudly, working to bring him up high enough to skim his hands along the underside of a few stray clouds.

Whooping loudly, Simon dipped and rolled through the wind as he examined the area around Watford. There didn’t seem to be any signs of danger and the Kingdom of Coven's capitol was far away enough that they would probably keep their nose out of the Mage’s business unless a fight broke out.

He was surprised to see a rather large school for such a small town, but shrugged it off and made his way back down to the Mage.

“Looks clear,” he panted upon landing.

The Mage nodded and thoughtfully stroked his neat thin mustache. “Good, good. No signs of the Coven moving?”

“Nope.” Those green eyes narrowed in annoyance and Simon quickly corrected himself. “Uh, no, sir.”

“Perfect.”

All of the Men waited outside while Davy and Simon went in to negotiate a stay. Things almost always tended to work better in Davy’s favor when he had Simon hanging around.

Blue eyes took in the modest décor of the place and noted that there was a lot of school memorabilia. These people were awfully proud of their school. The goat on the coat of arms was kind of silly, he thought. Once the negotiations were through, Simon was put in a room with two other Men and they all unpacked their few belongings.

Simon enjoyed a hot shower and washed off the reminders of the past few weeks. He still had a healing wound from a sword to his side a couple of weeks ago, but there was already a scaly patch over it helping it heal.

The scales would fall off after it was completely repaired, another strange bit of the magic that always seemed to be around him.

Once he was washed clean and in fresh clothes, Simon got the Mage to magically hide his wings away so that he could better explore the shops. There had been too many mishaps with his wings and broken goods and the Mage didn’t want to pay for anymore so he would begrudgingly oblige.

With all that finished, Simon strode out on the town in his cleanest pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with his leather jacket over it. Premal had cleaned his leather’s already, a kind gesture considering that Simon had been too scared to try again after catching his first pair of leathers on fire with his attempt to clean them.

Everything about Watford felt clean and quaint. There were perfect rows of homes, perfectly manicured and maintained gardens and yards, and rows of tidy shops he could explore. There weren’t really any children to be seen, and Simon realized that they were all probably still in school.

That thought made him a little sad. He’d never been to school. For the first half of his life he had actually been feral, a wild beast of a thing whose only thought was keeping itself alive. Then the Mage found him and took him in, teaching him the ways of people.

The magic that ran hotly through his blood belonged to the world of people, but the wings and tail were something else entirely. He’d heard the whispers of “dragon” often enough to wonder if that was his origin, but it had been too long since people had even seen dragons much less conversed with them. No one knew anything of dragon children.

Walking through the bookstore, Simon allowed his fingers to drag over the spines of the books, enjoying the different textures and designs. The shop keeper’s eyes were firmly planted on him, but the man said nothing. None of the adults did.

Maybe it was his tail, visibly swaying behind him. It hadn’t ever been as much of a nuisance as his wings, but it was still odd enough to put most people off. It made it hard to even get a date these days, but he still didn’t like hiding away these parts of him, especially for something as fleeting as a one-night stand.

“When does the school let out?” Simon asked with what he hoped was a casual tone.

The man blinked at him in surprise. “Three o’clock for the young’uns,” he replied with a gruff voice. “And 4:40pm for the graduates. Same as all the other schools.”

“Ah.” The man was looking at him even more curiously and Simon found himself leaving the store rather quickly afterwards.

A café called Pritchard’s caught his attention, and soon Simon was happily tucked in a corner scarfing down a pile of steaming hot scones. He’d never had sour cherry ones before, but was beginning to think that he had a new favorite now.

The bell over the door rang, and Simon peeked over the high-backed booth to see a small group of students come in chattering.

“Uncle Pritchard, is it true?” a beautiful person asked. She was taller than everyone else and had quite a striking figure.

Pitch black hair was neatly wrapped in a bun at the nape of her neck. She had a lovely silk blouse with wildflowers on it tucked into a sensible black pencil skirt and very shiny shoes. Simon always liked shiny shoes.

He also quickly noticed her pointed ears and the fangs peeking out over her lovely lower lip. A vampire? In this little place? The fact that no one was staking her meant that she was probably a pet or something, so he settled himself down and observed as quietly as possible.

“Kids, you shouldn’t be out-” the man tried before he was interrupted.

“They let us out early,” another young lady stated with the authority of a warlord. “Are there really mercenaries in town?”

He rather liked this one’s wild hair. It was tied back with a thinning ribbon and Simon wondered if the poor thing would give out and set loose the mane of curls.

“Now, now-”

“A gang in town!” Someone else squealed excitedly. “I can’t believe it! Nothing this exciting has ever happened before!”

“Our town had a showdown of Mages barely fifteen years ago,” the first girl snapped in annoyance.

“Yeah, but we were like babies,” someone else added.

“Kids,” the café owner tried again, his eyes nervously shifting towards Simon.

“Do you think they’re here to challenge Mr. Grimm?” the second girl asked with a grave tone. “He won’t go down without a fight.”

The first girl looked almost ill at the thought and the man quickly reached out and took her elbow. “Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. No one’s challenging anyone. They’re just passing through.”

Simon stuffed the last scone into his mouth and continued to enjoy watching the others hovering around the cash register. There was something quite refreshing about seeing other people his age who were so clueless to things like how gangs operated. Sure, there were a few roving bands of bonety hunters who would ride into places and raze them without provocation, but those were usually taken out by gangs like the Mage’s Men.

It was bad for business all around to have groups destroying villages and cities, so kingdoms wouldn’t put up with behavior like that. Even as a roaming gang with no kingdom loyalty, the Mage’s Men knew better than to get the ire of an entire kingdom pointed in their direction.

“Uncle, are they-”

“Really now, kids,” the man interrupted exasperatedly. “Do you want to order something or not?”

They all looked taken aback by his response and Simon grinned. The man obviously didn’t want them saying anything to offend him while he was sitting right there. It meant that he was scared too. Simon wasn’t easily offended, and really couldn’t care less about what some small-town gruffs thought about him or his family.

Deciding to take pity on the man and give them all a chance to gossip in peace, Simon stood up, his boots hitting the tile loudly. Everyone at the front of the building jumped in shock and Simon kept his most confident smile in place as he stared at them all.

“The food was good, mate,” he addressed the older gentleman and tossed a few bills on the table.

His eyes moved towards the group of young adults and found that tall girl. Her legs were even more stunning now that he could get a good look. With a brazen wink in her direction he strode right up to the front door and decided to head back to the rest of his group.

He hadn’t got more than a few meters from the café before the bell was ringing and there were marching footsteps behind me.

“Pardon me, you brute,” a voice demanded, “but you owe me an apology!”

Turning back in amusement, Simon glanced up into those indignant silver eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she snapped back.

“What for? Don’t like a compliment?”

A blush burned on her grey cheeks, but she stood her ground.

“Th-that wasn’t a compliment!” she protested. “That was rude! I am not a piece of meat to be gawked at!”

Blue eyes roamed over her more carefully this time and noted the more distinguished larynx and the deeper pitch of voice. “It’s not gawking, doll. Just admiring.”

The sputtering person seemed completely thrown off, caught somewhere between being even more offended and slightly flattered.

“It’s rude to stare!” the vampire shot back, seemingly not understanding why Simon wasn’t apologizing or backing down.

“People stare at me all the time,” Simon replied honestly. “I don’t waste my energy on caring whether they’re being rude or not.”

Those grey eyes looked completely baffled for a moment before the motion of Simon’s tail caught their attention. Eyebrows shot up and that lovely mouth gaped for a moment, allowing a better view of those darling fangs. It was nice to get to admire such things when they weren’t gnashing at you.

“Oh, you’re a...”

Simon shrugged. “They don’t have a name for my type, doll. Are you someone’s pet?”

“P-pet?! Not at all! My father is the mayor of this town!”

“Ah.” Simon gestured towards his ears. “Don’t really see a lot of you out and integrated into the towns. Makes sense with your dad, though.” The vampire self-consciously touched at their ear and Simon stepped forward carefully. “I don’t mean it it in a bad way, doll.”

“I’m...” The vampire coughed to clear their voice and shook their head. “My name is Baz. Please call me that. And it’s they/them.”

Simon jutted out his hand in greeting. “Simon. Good to meet you.”

“He/him?” Baz asked carefully as they took his hand.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Davy had called him a boy from the moment he captured Simon, and the young man had never given it a second thought.

“A pleasure, Simon,” Baz greeted politely.

Warmth filled his body and Simon enjoyed the feel of that hand in his. Baz had oddly rough hands for someone as posh as they were, but they also had a smokey smell to them that made Simon feel comfortable and almost...safe.

Not one to ever let an opportunity pass by, Simon stepped even closer and put on his most charming grin. “Say, Baz, wanna go out on a date with me tomorrow?” The vampire seemed to choke on their breath, but Simon pushed forward. “I’d like to get to know you.”

He wasn’t certain if this place had certain courting rules, but he was sure that the Mage could get him out of any jam he walked into. The man knew how much he liked holding hands and getting close to other people. He’d tried something serious with a previous Mage’s Man but it hadn’t gone over well and the guy his head smashed in by a Numpty as Davy’s warning to the others to keep their hands off of Simon.

Simon was an Heir and weapon first and foremost, and having people fuck with his emotions was a no-go. So, Simon was limited to random dates and one-night stands any chance he could get.

“Uh, I...” Baz swallowed thickly and nodded. “Okay.”

“Can you come out for lunch?”

Baz nodded and Simon felt a happy warmth fill his body. “Alright. Here at noon, yeah?”

“Okay,” Baz responded shyly. There was a definitely blush burning on their cheeks.

Simon squeezed Baz’s hands and then quickly made his way back to the rest of the gang.

*****

The café owner glanced nervously between the two young people as he set the strawberry milkshake between them, but Simon ignored him and focused completely on Baz. The Mage had struggled to hide the wings away that morning because Simon’s magic was buzzing excitedly, but they were thankfully still tucked away.

While Simon was dressed the same as the previous day, he took the time to admire Baz’s outfit. They looked so polished and put together with their tan slacks, shiny belt, green polo shirt, and a fuzzy sweater neatly hung over their shoulders and loosely tied around their collarbones.

“How long have you been a vampire?” Simon asked dreamily as he leaned forward and rested his chin in one hand. Baz really was quite pretty.

“Since I was five,” they replied softly, a hand automatically coming up to cover the fangs.

“Don’t cover them,” Simon stated softly. “I like seeing them.”

“Oh,” Baz replied with a slight squeak before they leaned forward and drank down a bit of the shake.

There were two straws in the glass and Simon felt his body throbbing with happy energy. Everything about this place was sweet and delightful!

“I think you’re pretty,” Simon added, falling back on his tried and true brashness. He enjoyed seeing the blush light up on those cheeks. “Beautiful really.”

“You’re quite outspoken,” Baz retorted, but the smile remained on his lips. “And a flatterer.”

“I like to speak the truth,” Simon replied honestly. “And if I like you, I don’t see the point in not saying so.”

“Don’t you like to get to know someone first?” Baz asked curiously.

“I’m getting to know you now,” came the laughing response. “What’s your favorite scone?”

And with that, the two of them carried on an easy conversation. The strawberry shake dwindled down between them, and when Simon slid his hand across the table to drag his finger against the back of Baz’s hand, the vampire didn’t pull back. Their fingers hooked together as they talked, and both left lunch with dreamy looks on their faces.

As Simon meandered back to the inn, Davy Mage stood in a hall quite familiar to him and stared at a large portrait. The woman painted in it stared down at him severely, and he couldn’t keep the curl of distaste off his lips.

“What are you doing here, David?” a tired voice asked.

Davy looked over to see Malcolm Grimm, his all-white hair a shock from the memories he had of the man.

“You look old,” he sneered angrily.

Malcolm didn’t rise to the bait. He just stood next to the younger man and stared at the portrait. “Grief ages you, David.” The men stood next to each other quietly, each reminiscing over times gone by. “What are you doing here?”

The truth was dangerous, so Davy danced around it. “Passing through to another job. A Mage’s work is never done.”

Most Mages through history had settled into a town and worked from there, but Malcolm didn’t want to point out the obvious.

“Are you happy?” he asked, a heaviness in his words that had been there for so many years.

“What do you care?” Davy snapped, the irritation bubbling up.

“I’ve always cared.”

“Fuck you!” Davy growled as he wheeled on the taller man and shoved him. “Fuck you!”

The hurt was heavy in the air and Malcolm stared at the white-knuckled fists clenching his lapels. He’d seen that same grip so many times already and it opened up the wounds of his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing that nothing would make it better.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Davy replied after a few moments, a crack of emotion breaking through the words. “And I won’t ask again.”

“I know.”

Davy stepped back and released the creased material of the suit. He ran a hand through his neatly trimmed hair, a bronze brown that had once hung loose and carelessly over his forehead.

“I’ll be at the same place,” Davy added quietly, almost in defeat. “You’ll know where to find me.”

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Finding My Way To You - Chapter 2

I’ve been going back and forth between doing a one shot vs. making a multi-chap fic. @my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass​ gave me two prompts a while back. The first I wrote in Misreading the Signs, which serves as Chapter 1.

This is chapter 2 that continues it. The prompt that I’m working towards is:“Let’s get drunk and tell each other everything we’re afraid to say sober.”

A brief summary: Ron and Hermione haven’t talked about the kiss that happened during the battle. Chapter 1 found them out at a bar, a girl hitting on Ron and Hermione getting upset. In this chapter we have them arriving in Australia, still no closer to admitting their feelings to each other.

Hope you like it !

Arrival

Portkey travel to Australia had been absolutely abysmal. Even with the time between each portkey, by the time they’d arrived in Melbourne, Hermione was feeling incredibly nauseous. She was really thankful Ron was with her because she was sure she’d only heard about half of what the Australian Ministry official had said.

“...alright then, so here are your keys to the studio flat we’ve arranged for you during your stay here. It’s not very large, and only one bedroom, but the sofa pulls out into a bed if needed,” he eyed them both. “Everything you’ve requested is here in this bag. It’s got a variety of local phone books, as well as a list of all the muggle dentistry offices within a fifty mile radius. We’re still working on the list of Monica and Wendell Wilkins in the area, but we’ll send you an owl once that’s finished. Is there anything else we can help you with?”

“Er, where is the nearest grocery to where we’re staying?” Hermione managed to ask, though food was not anywhere near the forethought of her mind. She’d just had a flashback to being on the run, and wanted to make sure she knew where to purchase food since it’d be easier to buy and cook instead of getting constant takeaway.

“There’s one just down the block! Though, I’m afraid it won’t be open until morning.”

“That’s fine, thank you,” she said. Hermione looked at Ron to see if he had any other questions, but he stayed quiet.

“Right then, if you’ll just take my arm, I’ll side-along you to your flat. It’s right on the outside of the wizarding village. Technically, it’s in a muggle neighborhood, but the Ministry owns it for our out of town visitors. Sorry, we don’t get many portkeys in at this hour of night, it’s nice to have some company,” the man chuckled.

Ron held out his hand for Hermione to take, which she did as Ron grabbed onto his forearm. Hermione braced herself for the apparition, knowing that after this she could lie down and take a nap. Hermione felt the familiar tug and she no sooner closed her eyes than she opened them again and they were outside in a quaint little park. They walked through and across the street to a three story brick building.

“Right, so you’re flat 2A. The grocery is down the street that way,” he pointed. The passcode to get into the building is 5298. There’s an area in the cellar with a few owls in case you need to send anything, and please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything. Like I said before, we’ll be in touch when we get that last bit of information to you. The name’s Graham, Graham Jacobsen, if you need anything at all.”

“Thanks for your help,” Ron said as Graham tipped his cap to him and began walking away. Ron typed in the passcode, and they entered through the door and walked up to their flat. He put the key into the door and let themselves in. Hermione followed close behind. Graham wasn’t kidding. It was small. There was a kitchenette to the right, with a small table. To the left there was a desk and chair, couch and table that made up the tiny living room. Straight ahead was a door that led to the bedroom, and the bathroom was through a door beyond that.

Ron walked into the bedroom and set down the two bags, before coming back out to the sitting room. “You should go rest.”

“Yeah, I think I will,” Hermione said as she looked at him.

“You take the bedroom,” he said, reading her mind.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Hermione. We’re here to find your parents. You take the bed.”

“Okay. Thank you,” she said as she walked into the bedroom to take a nap. The bed seemed huge compared to the camp beds she’d been sleeping on since last July. Hermione laid down on the bed and fell asleep quickly.

Meanwhile, Ron flopped down on the couch. He reflected on the past week. Things hadn’t gotten much better between them since they were at the Hog’s Head. If anything, things had gotten more awkward between them. He just wanted to tell her how he felt, but the longer he waited, the more it felt like it wasn’t the right time. He was stuck in this endless loop and was miserable because of it. Ron laid there for a while, until he eventually fell asleep, too.

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

Hermione woke up a while later, forgetting where she was. She looked around and saw the sun shining through the window. Her watch said seven in the morning as her stomach growled. Hermione got up to use the bathroom, and then unpacked the beaded bag. Ron looked like he was still sleeping on the couch, so Hermione decided to go explore the neighborhood and get some food.

Hermione walked out and grabbed one of the keys that was on the counter and slipped out the door. It was a bit cold, given it was winter in Melbourne, but still much warmer than England. Hermione’s light jacket was enough to keep her warm as she walked down the street. Graham was correct, in that there was a corner grocery at the end of the block. Luckily it was open, so Hermione went inside and began shopping. She gathered things for breakfast and lunches, like eggs, milk, bread, deli meat, some fresh fruit and vegetables. Back home with her mum and dad, they’d always skip the snack aisle, but she went down it today and grabbed some biscuits and crisps for Ron.

When she was finally satisfied they had enough food for at least a week, Hermione headed for the checkout area. She was about to walk right by the spirits section, when something possessed her to walk down it. Hermione looked at what was in her cart, and decided to grab a bottle of vodka, since it would pair well with the juice that she had. Happy with her final addition, she went through the checkout line and paid for her groceries. She walked the cart full of bags out to the parking lot, and moved around to the side of the building, where she inconspicuously stuffed the bags in her small beaded bag.

She walked back to the street, and was about to turn back towards the flat, but noticed several shops down an adjoining street. Hermione chose to explore a bit more before heading back. She knew she shouldn’t be out long because she had several items that would need to stay cold, so she looked up and down the street briefly to see what it had to offer, and saw a small cafe that looked to be busy with the morning crowd.

Hermione walked inside and smelled the strong aroma of coffee and fresh pastries, and decided to get breakfast here. She ordered two breakfast sandwiches, some pastries, and two coffees for herself and Ron. When she’d gotten her order from the pick up area, she made her way back to the apartment. Hermione was smiling, thinking how excited Ron would be with her surprise, but the smile was wiped clean off her face when she walked back into the flat.

Ron’s head turned to the door when she entered and he stood up quickly. “Where were you?” he said angrily.

“Good morning to you, too,” Hermione said as she rolled her eyes. “I went to the grocery to get us food to stock the fridge and pantry, and then I saw a cafe and thought you might like some breakfast. She shoved the bag and coffee at him as she walked into the kitchenette and began taking the bags out of her beaded bag.

“You can’t just leave like that! At least leave me a note next time. I woke up and you were gone! What was I supposed to think? I wouldn’t have even known where to start looking for you,” Ron rounded on her.

“How does it feel?” Hermione spat. It took a moment before she realized what she said. She looked up at him quickly, her face full of shock and guilt. “No, I- I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s true, though.” Ron said as he walked back to the couch and sat down.

“Ron, no, it’s not. I don’t blame you anymore. I’m sorry,” she abandoned the bags and walked over and sat next to him.

“But I did leave you,” Ron said.

Hermione lifted her hand to touch his face, turning it so he’d look at her. “And you came back. Yes, I was upset, and very mad at you, but I’ve forgiven you. I just lost my temper.”

His hand reached up and closed around hers. “We’re good at that. Losing our tempers..” he said looking at her.

“Yeah….” Hermione said. They were both frozen there. Looking into each other’s eyes, yet not moving. Hermione looked down briefly at his lips, hoping that he might-.

There was a tap on the window that broke them apart. An owl was hovering with a letter attached to his leg. Ron got up to let the owl in and Hermione got up to tend to the groceries again. The moment was lost.

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Repetition of History

James sat around with his friends, discussing their most recent missions. James and Sirius had been off to locate a Death Eater hideout, while Remus and Peter and Fabian were sent out to do ministry detailing. They were waiting for Frank and Gideon to return to report the settling of different wizarding families that had been affected by the fights. It was busy work, they felt like they hadn’t slept in days. But they were all buzzing, feeling the highs of their different victories. It was their typical lighthearted behavior.

Sirius was retelling a rather dangerous moment that had played out to the boys and they all laughed or cheered for him as he recounted facing the death eater. Lily stood in the doorway, arms folded, quietly watching the boys and their rambunctious natures clearly at play. James looked almost wild with excitement.

“You know, boys, in a way I’m glad we’re all in this together. Those pricks don’t stand a chance against the likes of us!” he declared, laughing. “There’s nothing they can do to stop us! We’ll get this war out of the way in no time.”

It was words spoken by someone who had yet to really experience the hardships of war, or loss, or pain. They were pompous, arrogant words, laughing in the face of fear. And they were completely idiotic.

When Gideon and Frank returned and the boys left the flat, James wandered into the kitchen to find Lily, furiously washing dishes. “Love?” He called, watching her stiff movements in curiosity.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright? You look like you’re about to break that plate in half.”

She suddenly set the dishes back into the sink and braced herself on the counter, taking deep breaths in and out. When she seemed to get her bearings, she turned back to James with fire in her eyes. His look of confusion colored his face.

“Do you think that this is a joke?” She said, her voice cold.

“What?”

“These battles. These missions. This war. Is it all some kind of big joke to you? A fanciful time to play hero with your mates?”

“What, Lily what are you-”

“Do you have any idea what is actually happening James? Do you understand how… how important what we are doing actually is?”

“Yes, Lils, I do. That’s why I’m going out on missions and risking my life. Because I know how serious this is.”

She growled in anger and fisted her hands. “I don’t think you do!” She yelled, her voice getting higher in pitch.

“Lily,” James said, trying to soothe his fiance, “what’s going on?”

After a tense moment of silence, she grabbed her jacket from its hook and tossed James his as well. “Put that on. I have something I need to show you.”

He had barely obeyed her order before she grabbed onto his hand, and he felt the sudden gut flinging feeling that only came with apparation. When the moment was over and they had arrived at whatever location Lily wanted to show him, he felt the chill in the air.

It was late September and the fall was coming in quickly and with a vengeance. You could feel it when you breathed. James took a moment to orient himself as Lily stepped away from him. They were standing between two large buildings, red bricks stacked on top of each other, the top layer looked a tad cleaner than the lower ones. He could see they were standing on a makeshift street, similar buildings lining up side by side. He stared up at them in wonder, confused as to their purpose and their sinister feeling.

He turned and found that Lily had walked away from him and was standing beside a small tower that held a compass arrow on top. It stood, like a bearer of death, in the clearing between buildings. The sun was going down, casting the entire place in a golden light, but it didn’t seem kind or warm. He went to stand beside Lily, hoping she would explain to him what was going on.

“I asked Minerva, once, what wizarding school was like before Hogwarts. Eleven years is a long time to go without a proper education. She said that some families sent their children to muggle primary school. Others, like your family, that had money, were able to send their children to group tutoring, like a pre-Hogwarts.” James nodded, confirming this. He had been sent to tutors before Hogwarts, a perk of his parent’s wealth. Lily pushed on. “I asked what was taught to these students throughout this time. She said it varied from teacher to teacher, but it was heavily focused on controlling young magic, as well as the history of the wizarding world in Britain and greater Europe. And I asked her,” she turned to look at him, “if muggle history was ever taught. She said that no tutor she had ever met taught much muggle history, unless they were passionate about it.”

She walked toward the tower, her palm resting on the bricks. “My mother would never stand for that. She didn’t much like public school, so she and my dad would read us history books. They wanted us to know what the world was like, what was good and what was bad, and how to tell the difference. They took us here when I was fifteen.” She turned to look at him with a tightlipped smile. “I was heavily immersed in magic and saw no real reason to continue my muggle studies. But my mother said that I would continue to learn about all aspects of the world, wizard or no.”

Her eyes scanned around the buildings, as if seeing memories in her mind that James could only imagine. Like there was a world right in front of her that he was not able to see. “Standing here, it’s almost like I can hear them.”

“Hear who?”

She looked at him sadly, and simply said, “The dead.” Her voice was unsettling. He shifted at her words, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. “This was what is known as Roll-Call square. The prisoners would be pulled together into this square every morning, having their names called off one at a time, wondering if that day was going to be the day they would die. Their captors would make examples of a few of them, having mass hangings of those suspected of escape attempts. Hundreds of people were killed every day.” She started walking, as if taking James on a tour of this place of death.

They walked past another building on their left, and the building on their right had what looked like large chimneys sticking from the roof. With a sinking feeling, he began to have an inkling as to where they were. Lily turned right past the chimney building and James could see a large imposing fence, made of barbwire. It was something out of a nightmare.

“Is this…” He started, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“It’s called Auschwitz.” She stated calmly, her hands burrowing into her jacket pockets. They headed toward the fence as Lily continued talking. “My parents brought Petunia and I here as teenagers because they wanted us to understand how terrible human beings could be. I think, in their minds, you didn’t understand the world unless you knew about Nazis.”

“We did learn a bit about this,” James murmured, trying to keep his tone low. “I guess I just had never really understood the weight of it all until I was, well, here.”

They walked a bit in silence, taking in the buildings that surrounded them and the fence they approached. There was a huge feeling of history in the air, as if this place had never really moved on from the terrible years it had experienced. It was as if someone had gathered all of the bad memories, the bad feelings, anything associated with death, and wore it like a cloak. It was suffocating. When they reached the long stretch of wire, Lily reached out her hand and enclosed it in her grasp.

“So many people died here. It’s estimated that over 1 million people were killed within the confines of this fence. Hangings, shootings, gas chambers, starvation, dehydration, illness. Some people were even experimented on. It never ended.” Without looking at his face, she reached down and grabbed James’ hand, pulling him to the fence. He followed her actions and grabbed hold of the wire beside her, as if it were a talisman into another world.

“When people got off of the train, they had no idea what was waiting for them.” He felt as if he could see the scene she laid out for him. People hurried into the camp, trying to keep hold of each other, and failing. “They had been sent away from their homes and upon arrival were stripped of all of their belongings and clothing. Then, they were shaved and branded, like animals. It was like losing their dignity one moment after the other.” There was an emotion on Lily’s face, like she was seeing the same scene, a movie that neither of them wanted to watch, and it hurt him to see her like that. “Families were separated, many of whom were never able to reunite again.” She looked up into his eyes. “If ever I were allowed to forget about history, erase something completely from the world, it would be this. I can’t imagine being part of a race that undertook the killing of so many people simply because of who they were, what they believed, how they were born. They had no judge, no jury, no verdict. They were sentenced to death the moment they were born.”

James took a moment, listening to his fiance speak, to look at the world around him. He could hear them, then. The voices. The screams, the soft singing, the moaning, swirling around him like the fall leaves. It was haunting. He was beginning to understand and feel the gravity of this world that Lily had brought him to.

“I never really understood what it meant to kill people needlessly until I came here. So much of muggle history is ignored by the wizarding world because it is seen as lesser or not as important, and it isn’t right. Their history is our history.” Lily said. “Museums and memorials are all fine and dandy, but they only tell stories. This place holds lives. Experiences. Torment. Regret. Hatred. Love. It’s so much more than words on a page. It’s like a piece of the world, stuck in time, replaying the same horrible movie over and over again, until human beings don’t need to see it anymore.”

And James could feel it. He felt the pain and sorrow that seemed to seep out of the dirt.

“Why did you bring me here, Lily?”

She turned and grabbed his other hand. “Because I need you to understand, even just for a moment, what this war is going to mean. To all of us. To everyone. It’s not a game, or exciting missions, it’s not something to sit around and joke about. It’s going to be earth shattering. Voldemort is doing to the wizarding world what the Nazis did to the Jewish world, the Polish world, the Austrian world. He is going to take every opportunity he can to steal the chances of millions of innocent people. MY people. Mudbloods.” She had tears in her eyes as she explained her reasoning, her emotions bubbling to the surface.

“Pureblood families will never understand the chains that come with being muggleborn. We face oppression for something that we have no choice over. People are killing us because of how we come into the world. That is what this war is about. No about being a hero, not about bravery or courage. It’s about people believing that some are better, more elite, more important than others. It’s not a war for the sake of fighting, it’s a war on the existence of people who are different.

“So if you’re going to fight in this war, you need to understand what you’re fighting for. It’s going to be for muggles, who have no idea what is going on. It’s going to be for mudbloods, who had no choice in their heritage. It’s for people who cannot stand and fight for themselves. That’s why we’re fighting, James.”

She grabbed on to both sides of his face, as if to emphasize her point. “I love you. I love how brave and kind you are, how willing you are to risk your life for people. I’ve always admired that quality in you.” He tried to hold his tears in at her confession, wondering how he could ever convey his sorrow or his fear about what was happening. He was terrified. And Lily knew that. But she didn’t care. She needed him to be brave. “And I am asking you to stay that brave. Because these missions aren’t always going to end in a comfortable circle, full of jokes and laughter. People are going to die. People we know and love are going to die. It’s going to happen.

“I’m fighting in this war because I cannot let what happened here happen to anyone else ever again. I’m fighting because I want our children to grow up in a world where they won’t be judged by the purity of their blood. By ideals that separate good people from each other. I can’t, James. I will bend over backwards if it means giving anyone who has ever felt like me the chance to feel accepted and normal and loved, despite their parentage. If my legacy is dying for people like the ones who lost their lives here, then I will die proudly.”

He gave a sad laugh and pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her. She sighed into his embrace. Her hand rubbed gentle, soothing circles against his back and she tried to compose herself once more.

“The world doesn’t need anymore of this hate, James. It doesn’t need another Auschwitz. It needs freedom, light, understanding, love. It needs you. Because you are all of those things.” He was crying in earnest and was glad that her head was buried against his chest. “It’s our responsibility to fix the world now, because no one else will. I can’t let this happen to anyone, ever again.”

“It won’t Lils. This will never happen again. I promise.”

And they stood together, arms wrapped around each other, beside the wire fence in Auschwitz, hoping that they would see a better world then the one they had been given. And the fall air, holding the memory of millions of people who had lost their lives, settled around them. The echo of screams on the wind faded slowly into nothing.

((This felt very fitting, considering the political climate of the world as of now. If you believe in something, you fight for it. We are the ones who have to remember, we’re the ones that are responsible for fighting. I wish it wasn’t that way, but here we are. So stand up, be honest, and make sure the world we are creating for our children won’t ever look like the one our parents have given to us))

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chambers - ii

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Angst

Word Count: 4429

Description: Post-Endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Very loosely based on the Netflix series of the same name.)

Frequent colds, high blood pressure, heart palpitations, asthma, anxiety, prior suffering of scarlet fever and rheumatic fever, and a family history of stroke, diabetes, cancer, and heart disease. Thanks Dad.

The enlistment office was cold. The plastic chair they had him in was sticking against the backs of his thin thighs. You’ve never been this thin in your entire life. Your breathing--Steve’s breathing--was fine for now, but you could feel a rattling beginning in your chest. Just trying to get through this enlistment examination and then we can go home, light a fire, and eat the last tin of beans.

“Rogers.” The man examined you, took a deep sigh and stamped your papers. 4F. Denied.

This was the first one, in Brooklyn. The war has just started. Steve was trying to jump into the wagon early, trying against all odds to get his feet on the ground overseas. Do what he can, just like Dad did in the War to End All Wars. It’s too bad the war didn’t live up to its name. These memories came to you as you sat in a similar situation.

You were in grey shorts and a matching t shirt, Avengers logo in black on each in a lab, waiting for the man you had an appointment with. You jokingly thought to yourself about what it would have been like to fight in a war, lay your life on the line for a good noble cause, and you had to remind yourself that you truly hoped those memories never came to surface.

You swallowed roughly, shifting on the sterile paper beneath you, waiting. There was a two way mirror here, you remembered. As you looked at it you wondered who would be watching on the other side. Coming to see the freak who possesses the heart of Captain America. You hadn’t seen Sam or Bucky yet, thank god. Two hours ago a car showed up in front of your building and brought you to a jet bringing you to the compound, no sign of the super soldier or his winged friend in sight. You supposed you couldn’t blame them. This is a really strange situation to say the least.

It also didn’t hurt that you knew them in a severely intimate way whereas you were a complete stranger to them. It was also strange that you missed them, terribly. Your heart ached for them. Steve’s heart ached for them.

“Miss Y/L/N?” Two people entered the room, Bruce and Wanda. Your heart ached a little more. It was almost like reuniting with an old friend, you wonder if things will be the same, pick up right where you left off, the closeness you felt. But that’s Steve talking, not you. “I’m Bruce Banner and this is Wanda Maximoff,” the gentle giant offered with a soft smile, “but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“It’s so strange,” You expressed, “Feeling like I know all of you so well, but being a complete stranger.” You laughed nervously and wrapped your arms around your middle, swinging your feet slightly as they hung off the edge of the examining table.

“I couldn’t imagine honestly,” Bruce moved closest to you, Wanda opting to stay by the door. “Okay so first I’m going to take some blood if that’s okay with you?” He pulled a tray out from a medical drawer, setting it up beside you.

“Of course,” You smiled softly. The trust in Bruce was intense. You knew Steve fought beside him. You have distinct memories from the Battle of New York, but more than that the nights of eating take out at the kitchen counter and listening to him babble about isolating samples of Caps blood to synthesize cures for disease, but also how he couldn’t imagine creating a world of super soldiers so the idea was nixed as soon as he spat it out. Bruce Banner had a good moral compass. He can be trusted.

He quickly worked, wrapping a medical tourniquet onto your arm and finding a vein, filling six vials of blood. He bandaged you and removed the tourniquet just as quickly.

“So you have these flashbacks right?” Bruce asked as he labeled the vials, “You have seizures during?”

“Not always, but it always involves some sort of passing out.” He nods, scribbling notes on his notepad.

“And the agents in the alley?”

“No clue,” You admitted honestly. “My body,” Looking down at your hands, “It moved on its own, I had no control.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, well today is going to be strictly medical, but I would like to talk to you about some of the tests we would like to run, if you consent to them.” It was hard. The decision seemed so easy. Let them test so that you can figure out what the hell is going on and hopefully put a stop to it, but also you’d been poked and prodded your whole life.

You were born with the heart condition. You’ve literally been having surgeries since the day you were born. What if it never ends? What if they never find out why you and Steve are so connected? What if they do and you can’t keep the heart?

“Whatever outcome, we will not put your life at risk.” This was the first time Wanda has spoken during this entire visit. Your eyes flicked over to hers. A maternal instinct bloomed in your chest. Steve had a fond love for her, when she was parted from Ultron and her brother died she had leaned hard into Clint, but when Clint retired, Steve took his place. Making sure she was okay, making sure she practiced wielding her powers, making sure she ate everyday. That same affection could be found in you now, your eyes teared at the thought. “We will figure this out and keep you alive, even if it means getting you a new heart.”

It was what you needed to hear and she knew it. Part of her powers, but also she knew you would trust her. You nodded your head, looking back to Bruce. “Let's do it.”

You knew this memory. You HATED this memory.

Bucky Barnes. The handsome, charismatic, Bucky Barnes. James the dames would sigh as he nibbled their ears. He was screaming and there was nothing you could do to stop it. These videos you were obsessed with looking for clues. Where would he go? How could you find him? Sam was looking, but every day that Bucky was gone was a day his trail grew colder and colder.

He was strapped into a metal chair, skin damp, ice still trapped in his hair. They had just woken him up, strapping him into the chair, electrodes coming to lay over his face and he fucking screamed. It was horrifying, why were you torturing yourself like this. You should have gone back to that ravine and retrieved his body. You weren’t even sure where he fell, but you should have searched that whole fucking mountain to find him. He would have for you.

You let him down.

You fucking let him down.

A gasp and you were awake. Damp with sweat you swung your legs over the side of your bed, panting. The guilt. So consuming. Your stomach churned and you quickly found your way to the bathroom, dropping to your knees in order to wretch into the toilet. Body shivering from the cold. You placed a hand over your now racing heart, crying against the porcelain. You missed Bucky.

You didn’t even know Bucky.

Your heart was aching for him. Fuck. It had been a week since your initial visit with Bruce other than taking your blood and giving you a normal checkup not much else was done. He wanted to go easy on you, give you a little time to adjust and come to terms with your newfound anomaly. And for whatever reason right now you really wanted to run. Like… for stress relief. When has that thought ever crossed your mind? Who even were you?

Oh right, Steve was a runner. You could remember him lapping Sam Wilson on multiple occasions as they took their morning runs together. Your body burned with energy and you checked the time, it was 5 am. You had closed the bar last night and didn’t get home until one.

“Four hours of sleep.” You groaned. “Fucking great.” This itch wouldn’t give up so you dusted off your old gym shoes and strapped yourself into a sports bra, jacket, and sweats and you were out the door.

Running. At 5 am. Who would have fucking thought.

Old City was close, and you found yourself finding it. Not many cars out this early, but they’d grow in number to gridlock during rush hour. As you pounded the pavement, passing building after building, block after block you found yourself not even close to being out of breath, the energy not even close to being diminished. If you couldn’t get rid of this massive rush of energy you had been feeling then a mid morning nap was out of the question, and you had to be back at work at four.

You picked up the pace, passing Independence Hall, running the museum mile, before running back towards the direction of your apartment. You were flying. You’ve never run so fast in your life. You were running faster than the cars were driving on the still mildly empty streets. This was wild.

You weren’t a runner, but Steve Rogers was. It was almost like in the alley, where your body just sorta went and your brain followed. It was Steve’s body right now, you were just along for the ride.

Your legs felt like jelly as you walked up the steps, adrenaline wearing off. You just barely made it inside your door before you collapsed on the ground in extreme pain. It felt like you tore every muscle in your legs, you let out a silent scream trying not to wake your neighbors, fumbling for your phone. You couldn’t move your legs.

So you did the only thing you knew to do, you called Bruce.

Since Steve’s death Bucky Barnes liked doing one thing and one thing only. Staying busy. Anything that crossed Fury’s desk, big or small, he wanted it and he would fight every other agent in the compound in order to get it. You need some simple recon on a businessman you think might have connections to old Hydra sympathizers? He’s on it. You need someone to go in a diffuse a bomb? He’s on it. You need someone to come get your cat out of a tree, please stop him on the side of the road. He’s begging you.

It hurt bad enough when Steve said he was going to stay with Peggy. He resigned to the fact that his very selfless friend deserves to do a very selfish thing. He wanted Steve to be happy, and when you love someone you’ll let them be happy no matter the personal cost. But when Steve returned as an old man, and he had to physically watch him waste and die. That was probably something he could never forgive Steve for. He just couldn’t.

The coffee in his cup was basically water. The cheap motel Sam got them a room in was a fucking joke. Two single beds, a coffee maker from the 70s, and he didn’t even want to think about what was embedded in the shag carpet. Shit thing was they were leaving today, mission was over, recon was successful, information on a new budding cartel trafficking humans overseas was obtained. Procedure had them going back to report to Fury, getting a stat on how many people they should bring and what approach and then they’ll be back on the field.

He can’t wait.

Sam threw the now full duffel on the floor by the front door, turning to his friend. “I need a fucking break Bucky.” He groaned, stretching out his back. Bucky scoffed,

“Then take a fucking break Sam.” He finished off his coffee, tossing the cup in the trash and picking up his own duffel. Sam looked at him wearily.

“You need a break too.” Sam told Bucky as they left the motel room. The small plane they had taken over here sat for them 2 km into the woods behind this dingy motel, and that’s where they were headed, ready to take a quick flight home.

“I don’t need a break,” Bucky protested, “I know when I need to take a break.”

Sam looked at Bucky incredulously, “You literally got stabbed last week and hours later went back out on another mission. You’re taking a break.” Two duffels thrown into chairs on the plane, Bucky sitting himself in the pilot’s seat. A red, silver, and blue shield sat between them as Sam took his own seat in copilot.

“I don’t need a break, not yet.” Sam rolled his eyes, beginning take off procedure.

“You’re gonna have to deal with it sometime my man.” Bucky rolled his eyes at that, “Holding things in-”

“Don’t go all VA on me right now birdbrain.” Sam stared at Bucky a moment longer, trying to pick his next words out carefully.

“Buck-” Saved by the bell. A phone ringing in Sam’s pocket. He pulled the cell out looking at Bruce’s name flashing across the screen. “Bruce? What’s-” Bucky stared him down, heart jumping at the prospect of flying somewhere else, anywhere but home. Sam quickly hung up, buckling his seat belt. “We gotta go to Philly, pick Y/N up.” Bucky’s heart dropped. He didn’t want that.

“You’ve torn every muscle in your legs.” Bruce plainly stated. You were currently in the cradle created by Helen Cho. “Just by running?” Your mouth opened and quickly shut again, shrugging.

“Fast, I was running so fast.” Your eyes scanned the ceiling as you felt the machine slowly repairing the muscles of your legs. Bucky Barnes scoffed beside you, grunting when Sam elbowed him in his ribs.

“Like-”

“Like….,” You looked over to Sam and Bucky before turning your eyes back to Bruce, “Steve fast.” Bruce stared at you a moment before looking away. He walked over to the large glass windows on the opposite side of the room. Not speaking. Thinking.

“How is that possible? Muscle memory sure, but your body shouldn’t be able to move that way. Steve’s top speed is 60 mph.” You looked at him wide eyed.

“Maybe that’s why her legs are shredded.” Bucky said with some humor. He was being a dick. Why was he being a dick? Sam glared at him.

“Go file the report Buck, I’ll catch you up later.” Bucky turned to his friend with a glare,

“Why do I have to-”

“I’ll catch you up later.” He said sternly. Bucky called it his Captain’s voice. Like the one Steve would use when he knew something you didn’t and you just needed to follow him. Into battle or just to leave the room. Bucky acquiesced, but not before casting one more glance at you in the cradle, hands clasped over your belly, looking at him with wet eyes.

“So your body has this muscle memory of the activities Steve used to do,” Bruce began to pace. “Running and fighting-”

“Steve was really good at art too.” Sam offered. He took a seat in a chair by Bruce’s pacing, between you and the green giant. “That would be a safe activity to see if you’d be just as good.” You nodded in agreement.

“But for the more dangerous activities, your mind seems to think you’re able to do them. So the real issue are instances like this, where your mind goes and your body follows no matter the cost.” Bruce was looking at you now, thinking about how to proceed next.

“And this is a pretty high cost.” You said. Both men agreed.

…

The report was on Fury’s desk an hour later. Bucky’s hands gripping the leather chair across from him as his eye scanned the pages. “So what’s next?” Bucky asked. Like an addict asking for a fix. Fury studied him for a moment. “I can be ready to go back in with a task force in four hours, quick nap, time to clean my guns-”

“You’re suspended from missions until further notice.” Fury threw the folder onto his desk, waiting for the backlash.

“What?” Bucky’s heart started racing. Fucking Sam.

“Sam recommended it, but I was already going to suspend you until you can get your head on straight. I just needed a second person to sign off.” Bucky studied him for a moment. Trying to detect the lie.

“I’m fine, I need to be back out on the field.” Bucky gestured to the window behind him where recruits were running drills. “Who else are you going to use?”

“We have agents other than you Barnes.” He sounds tired, “You haven’t been out of the field since Steve died and we have an issue that came up that I know you don’t want anything to do with. It’s not good for you.”

“So this is about her?” Bucky thought back to your wet eyes, he felt guilty for being such an ass. It just sorta came out without thinking. He had a hard time doing that when he was in front of you, thinking.

When they went to pick you up, Sam hadn’t given him any warning in what they were about to walk into. They found you where you had fallen, sobbing in pain, body going into shock. He felt himself stunned. Your legs were black and blue, every inch of skin bruised. Sam yelled something at him he couldn’t hear and he watched Sam pick you up from the floor, clearly hearing the whimpering of pain you were steadily released from your body.

His heart fell to the floor as your half lidded eyes met his, unfocused.

It was terrifying. At first he felt some anger well up, who had done this to you? How did this happen? But when it was revealed that you had done it to yourself, that your muddled mind and heart caused you to run 60 mph into complete muscle destruction he found himself angry at you. It’s not her fault, he tried to remind himself, how could it be her fault?

He found himself, not for the first time, angry with Steve. It left him confused and broken. Steve on his deathbed. In a hospital, doctors ready to take his heart as soon as he took his last breath. It was planned. Steve had been in the hospital for a month before he died, no one knew why he was getting EKG’s almost daily and why he was moved so closely to the operating wing. He didn’t tell anyone. He was leaving his heart to her. Without even knowing her. What a good fucking guy. Bucky hated him for it. Barely getting to mourn before they carted him out into the OR to cut him open and shift his bloody, healthy heart into a woman who had a weak and dying one.

It was hard. This was hard.

“This is about you Barnes.” Fury leaned over his desk, folding his hands in front of him. “You continue doing this and you’ll be liable for a mistake. We can’t afford mistakes. Not when we are finally gaining ground back. You’re suspended from field work effective immediately, if you want to make yourself useful around here train some recruits, organize some files, or maybe help Bruce in the lab. His hands are pretty full.” With that he was dismissed. Fists meeting a punching bag not soon after.

“What am I going to do?” You cried softly. “I can’t keep my job if I have to take a month off.” Bruce looked up at her from his microscope, the cradle still working on the muscles in her legs.

“You’re on your feet for 12 hours a day,” Bruce explained, “You’re basically getting a new pair of legs right now, you’re gonna have to take it easy for a while.”

“I’m sure we can pick up your bills.” Sam offered, “If that’s what you’re worried about.” You shake your head, hands coming up to wipe the tears from your eyes.

“I won’t have a job to go back to,” You explained, “They’ll replace me.” Sam sighed and put down the Sudoku book he had been working on.

“I’m saying this because it’s what Steve would have wanted Y/N.” He looked at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. “We will do whatever it takes to make sure you are taken care of.” You knew Sam was a good guy. You knew he worked at the VA not because he needed the money but because he genuinely cared about the people there. And you knew he helped Steve when the whole world was against him. Twice.

“I don’t want you to feel-” you started, being cut off by Bruce,

“This is not an obligation. We want to help you, all of us do.” Bruce offered, “Not just because it’s what Steve would have wanted but also because this is a terrifying situation and we want you to be able to live a long, healthy life with or without these life altering issues.” He stood from his chair, bringing papers over and adjusting his glasses. “You’ll need to rest. For a while. I’m still examining your blood and tomorrow I’d like to get a look at your heart for myself, would that be okay?”

You sighed heavily before replying, “Yeah, that would be okay.”

Your legs were still sore, even after spending 12 hours in the cradle. You weren’t able to walk yet. Wanda was kind enough to help you use the restroom and helped you into the room they were going to have you staying in temporarily. “Do you want to make a list of items and their locations in your apartment you’d like me to bring here?” She asked.

“Am I not going home?” She turned to look at you like she was caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Well…” She had given you half chicken, 2 sweet potatoes, and a bowl broccoli with a large pat of butter. Bruce said you needed nutrients and a lot of them. “We can’t risk you doing something to your body that we won't be able to repair. Just until the testing is done. I’m sorry.” She played with the ends of her hair. “I thought they already told you. I’m sure they’re going to ask you tomorrow.” You sighed, rubbing the scar on your chest gently before looking up at Wanda.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You were starving. “I understand.” She gave you a soft look you couldn’t really read before turning the tv on, working with you to find something to watch as you ate your dinner. You were the hungriest you’d ever been in your life. While in the cradle you were given snacks, but it was hard to eat completely laying down. The work your body was put through by the cradle repairing your muscles caused a major calorie deficit, and the fatigue you’ve been feeling all day was the price you’d been paying.

You almost choked halfway through eating, looking up from your plate to the television screen and seeing Steve Rogers staring back at you. He looked so real, the young Captain America, the person he was before the battle for the infinity stones. The Steve Rogers he was on every poster and war movie. What is happening?

Wanda’s hand began to pat your back as you tried to clear your airways, “Breathe, c’mon breathe.”

“Breathe, c’mon breathe.” Bucky’s hand was hard against your back, you couldn’t get air. “C’mon pal, that’s it.” It was a wet feeling in your throat, coughing the lard wad of mucus into the handkerchief held in Bucky’s palm. Gasping for breath Bucky was quick to toss the soiled napkin to the side, bringing your inhaler up to your mouth, thin weak hands coming up to grasp it as you inhaled the medicine, feeling your lungs expand and relax. “You okay?”

You could feel a rattle still in your chest. “Yeah I’m fine.” Steve was sick, which wasn’t anything new. You could feel the embarrassment.

“I hate you being here alone.” Bucky stood from his chair next to the bed, getting up to turn the radio down a few decibels. “You could come move in with us? Ma loves you.” You could feel yourself shake your head.

“I’ve lived in this apartment my whole life Buck.”

“Then I’ll move in here! You can move into your Ma’s room and I’ll take your old room Stevie.” You sighed, resting your back against the pillows Bucky had so carefully propped against your back. “You won’t be able to afford this place forever doing sketches for funnies. You’ve barely got any food in the icebox.”

“If you want to move in here Buck I’m not against it, but I’m staying right where I am.” Bucky nodded, hands on his hips turning to face his frail friend.

“I make enough money at the canary that we should be just fine here Stevie.” This was a year before Bucky was sent off for war. A year and a half before Steve became Captain America. You wondered if either of them could sense what was coming.

The piece of chicken that had been lodged in your throat was soon popped out and floated midair with a red energy surrounding it. Wanda had pulled it from your throat. Steve was gone.

“Are you okay?” She asked, worry evident in her voice.

“Yeah,” you nodded, losing your appetite. “I think I should go to bed.” You pushed the tray away from you and leaned back against your pillows. In that moment you could feel the Steve. Like a layer on top of your own body. His frail one, shivering with a chill he couldn’t shake, lungs rattling, weak.

“If you need anything at all just alert FRIDAY.” You nodded, ignoring her worried eyes as she left the room. You needed to sleep.

You were exhausted and this day felt three days long. You just needed to sleep. So far away from everything that was going on here. And you were praying against all odds that Steve wouldn’t follow you there either.

Those prayers went unanswered.

.

.

.

@albinotigerpython​ @nutellakirb​ @witch-of-letters​ @torntaltos​

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The Best Things ~ J.V. (Part 6)

A/n: Things boutta get bad so like... I'm sorry. Practically nothing but angst this part won't lie. Side note: I know I don't actually have a lot of Jerome x reader content yet, but I wanted to show the reader's descent into madness before they're officially a thing. I promise you it's coming, and very soon :)

Word Count: 4300+

Playlist

MASTERLIST

Y/n shot to his feet, only for the guards behind him to draw their guns. Alfred held up a hand. "Is he alive?" Y/n demanded. He might have lost his mind just a tad, but Bruce was still one of the very few things Y/n Wayne cared about and no one was about to put that boy in danger.

"Yes," Alfred soothed. "I said he WAS kidnapped. We have him back now." Y/n calmed and Alfred seemed to almost smile, as if seeing the amount Y/n cared was very reassuring. That tracked. "He's been brainwashed or something though, and I've gotten special permission from Commissioner Bullock himself to let you out to help me bring him back. If we play this right, we might even get you released permanently. We can figure this whole thing out. You can come back to us. We can be a family again." Y/n thought about that. Seeing Bruce again. His brother meant everything to him. He cared about Alfred too, honestly. The man had been a good father figure to both of them, and a good friend even when their father was alive. Y/n would have a real home, without killing or chaos. He'd be working for the good guys.

Right?

He thought about that word. Good guys. Cops were supposed to be good guys, weren't they? But he'd gotten locked up in Arkham just for being associated with Jerome, and then gotten the shit kicked out of him when he'd simply been himself. He hadn't killed anyone, or hurt anyone. He'd shown affection to another man and had nearly gotten beat to death for it. He'd leave Arkham, the only place he'd ever really been accepted for being gay. Maybe not by that one guard, but everyone else seemed to not care since no one cared about him at all, except maybe Jerome. Oh god Jerome. Y/n would have to leave him. And Harleen as well. The new friend who really got him and had his back the best she could in a place where her words practically had as much affect as Y/n's did. He had a boyfriend and a potential best friend and room to be free... except that he wasn't free.

Why was this so hard?

"Y/n," Alfred interrupted, eyes wide and pleading. "Bruce needs you."

The last time Alfred had said that, Bruce had just witnessed their parents' murders. Y/n pushed down the boy he used to be that was fighting to resurface, trying to find at least a. Middle between then and now. They were so different... there was suddenly a battle again himself, and he was losing.

Finally, he just shut it all down. Everything else could wait for another time. "When can we leave?" Alfred smiled at his words, but Y/n suddenly had a terrible feeling in his gut. Why did he get the sense that everything was about to get really, really bad again?

-

"Penguins alive?" Y/n relaxed in relief.

Alfred frowned. "Yeah. Um-" He swallowed. "You've kind of really been involved with all the worst people recently, eh?"

Y/n actually scoffed at that, his lips curling in amusement. "I've met far worse people than Oswald, Alfred." He looked the butler in the face. "You might not like to hear this, but that redhead everyone in town hates so much? He wasn't the one who did this to me." Y/n motioned to his own face. "But the officer who did, did it for no other reason than because I'm gay." He let that settle for a second. Alfred seemed shaken a bit. It seemed to finally be dawning on him just what Y/n had been going through since his parents had died. "Now, enough about me." They'd finally pulled up to the GCPD building. "Let's get inside. Like you said: Bruce needs us."

Y/n had been required to be handcuffed, though he hadn't been put in a straight jacket and had been allowed to change into normal clothes as not to upset Bruce upon seeing him. He was still beat up pretty badly though, and had developed a limp as the adrenaline wore off and as his beating really sunk in. Alfred had to keep him handcuffed as they walked in, and the whole place went quite. It was becoming a habit that Y/n could walk into any room and immediately bring silence with him as he did so. All of Gotham had gotten to the point that they couldn't exactly make an opinion on Y/n Wayne. How did someone like him get born into a family like he had been, and turn out like this?

Gay and insane.

It had been in the newspaper. Someone, somewhere had gotten hold of the news that Y/n Wayne was gay and it had been released everywhere. Y/n had read the article a while ago. It's what had prompted Jerome to finally be more affectionate around other inmates, instead of just at night when they were in their cell together. People might give Y/n shit for being into dudes, but no one was going to mess with Jerome. He'd put his neck out for Y/n... It was becoming clear that few others would do the same. Maybe it was the insanity.

Y/n was brought to a room that was a different color than the walls at Arkham. The color outside had been overwhelming after seeing muted versions from a distance through windows that now, the dull color was kind of refreshing. Inside the room was Bruce, but he looked different. Y/n couldn't imagine the last time his younger brother had worn a turtle neck. His father used to try to get the boys to wear them all the time, but, especially in their youth, the boys had hated them and eventually their father had given up. Bruce hadn't worn one since they were both seven, when he used to just do whatever their dad told him to. And since when did he wear anything other than dark blue or black? Y/n found all his usual jokes about Bruce being a casual emo slip from his mind. He didn't know how to approach this new boy. He didn't know him.

To be fair, Bruce didn't really know him either.

"Hello, brother," Y/n greeted, unsure of how to go about this after all that stood between them.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Why are you here?"

Y/n sat down, scooting over as Alfred joined him with a second chair. "Just checking in," Y/n responded slowly. "Alfred told me about what happened. Getting kidnapped. Been there, it's not too fun."

Bruce rolled his eyes."You got kidnapped by a brainless psychopath. I got taken by someone who was trying to help me."

Y/n scoffed. "Help you? Bruce look at you. You're not yourself."

"I'm better," Bruce shot back. Y/n went quiet at that, looking at Alfred with raised eyebrows.

Alfred ignored the look. "Now we can talk all day, but what really matters is that you tell me what you meant when you said someone else was coming to Gotham. I thought that old fellow was the leader of the Council of the Owls, who else would be coming?"

An expression rested on Bruce's face. Far too complacent and calm. The Bruce Y/n was familiar with had the tendency to brood- this Bruce seemed to have no tendencies at all. No cares or anything. It was disturbing to say the least. "I want you both to leave."

"Well that ain't gonna happen, is it mate?" Alfred immediately matched. The butler crossed his arms. "You can't get rid of either of us that easy. Your brother here found time around being locked up to be here for you. Not much is getting us out of here."

"Especially with the city in chaos," Y/n cut in. "Not even your pals in the GCPD will be here to drag us away. Might as well end it now."

When Bruce didn't respond, Alfred leaned forward. "You have to remember who you are."

That seemed to set Bruce off. "I know who I am." Y/n scoffed. "I have a destiny," the younger boy continued, his volume raising as Y/n's mocking noise irritated him.

"Now you listen to me." Alfred had gotten very quiet. "That man that wanted you to detonate that bomb, whatever he promised you- freedom from pain, power - none of it, none of it was real. I want you to remember what is real."

"I know what's real!" Bruce yelled over the end of Alfred's sentence. Y/n tried not to smile. He really did. Bruce glowered as his older brother grinned at him. Mocked him. "You come in here and mock me? You're the crazy one. Don't you dare laugh at me like I'm the one who's lost my mind! I got vengeance for our parents' murder. That's real, and better than running around like an idiot with a lunatic murder!"

"You know NOTHING about lunacy," Y/n interrupted. "I've seen crazy. I've seen grown men beat on teenage boys and call it power. I've seen cops chase bad guys to predictable set ups and act like it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world. I've seen so called heroes save to be said innocent people, and then those evil little shits turn on those same heroes the first chance they get. I've seen love get ignored and then twisted. I've seen people laugh at pain and enjoy the suffering of others and then call themselves sane because that person who was dying was a bad guy, so who cares, right? I've seen people define good and bad like it's a dictionary entry and then immediately break the rules they lay down and still try to pass off as the victim of the story. THAT was real Bruce." Alfred put a hand on Y/n's shoulder, and it was only then when he realized he was crying. "I've seen stories about how evil and corrupt men are and how much women are victims, and then looked at Gotham and seen women in charge while I, a child, was raped by a woman again and again who was only using me for power." He cleared his throat. "Not to say that other people don't suffer, I just mean that everything is a grey area. What's real is bullshit and what's fake is seemingly the most honest option of those presented. Not everything is as clear as it pretends to be, Bruce. I'm supposed to be the crazy one. I was supposed to be the one who failed. I was supposed to be the screw up, but we're both in handcuffs and you were the one who was trying to ruin the lives of thousands of people just minding their own business. What was my crime, huh? Trying to be happy? Trying to be true to myself?" Y/n scoffed. "If only mom and dad could see you now."

"YOU SHUT UP!" Bruce screeched.

"Both of you calm down," Alfred snapped. "I was there when your parents had both of you. I took care of your mum and was there as you grew up. You used to be inseparable. No matter what anyone else did or said or thought, the Wayne brothers always had each others' backs. Good and bad is clear. Everyone is capable of it. Everyone does it. No one is innocent of evil, even in small amounts. Both of you have been idiots." He took a breath. "But you're also both my idiots." He looked between the two boys. "You're both my boys, even if I haven't been there for both of you." He looked at Y/n as he said that. "You want to talk about what's real? What's good?" He looked at bruce. "What's real is when you were sick as a kid, and your mum used to sit up with you every night and read to you when you fell asleep. That's real. Or when you were seven and you took that rowboat out and you got lost in that storm. Me and your dad were out, shouting and screaming, losing our minds, and when your dad found you, how he cried. That's real." He looked at Y/n. "When you were twelve and you came to your parents in tears because you couldn't understand why all the girls your age were talking about kissing you and you couldn't stop thinking about kissing the other boys. Your mum calmed you down and your dad told me that no matter what, they'd love you and you thought I didn't know but I did- all this time, I knew." Y/n felt his chest tighten. He felt terrible. "That was good, Y/n." Alfred gripping Y/n's shoulder. "When everyone came to your dad talking bad about you and they thought he'd laugh along, but he put an end to it immediately because you were still his son and he loved you. He was proud of you. When the news people came after you for secrets and they were nosey and pushy. When they crowded and stalked you because they'd caught wind that you had a dark secret and everyone wanted to know what the oldest Wayne son failure was hiding, and your dad nearly lost his mind on all of them, if your mum hadn't stepped in and stopped it cordially. THAT. Was. Good." Alfred returned to looking at Bruce, keeping his hand on Y/n's shoulder. "Your parents died in that alley four years ago, and maybe that man took away the pain of that night." This time he looked between the two boys. "Life has been hard since then, but there is no life, no love, without pain." He squeezed Y/n's shoulder and when the boy nodded, he returned his attention to Bruce. Bruce was the main focus right now, but Y/n had gotten the message. "He could not take away the love that your mum and dad gave you, that you still have in you- that you still have-" his voice broke as he reached over, pressing his hand against Bruce's chest, right over where his heart would be. "Right here." His hand finally dropped after a pause as he continued, "The same love I have for you. For both of you." His face flecked with. "I love you, Maser Bruce. Master Y/n. I would do anything for you. I would die for you. You must-" he cut off, focusing on Bruce. Y/n kept thinking Alfred was done focusing on him, but then Alfred would look at him again, and he hadn't felt so cared for or looked after since his parents had died. It all felt silly now... "You have to find that love again."

Every word hit home. Alfred was speaking to Bruce, but it was becoming more and more obvious that he was talking to Y/n too. Y/n reached over, his hand resting over Bruce's. "We both have to," he whispered softly. "You don't have to do it alone. I know it's been hard and chaotic, but I'm still your brother, Bruce. You're still my brother. And no matter what, you always have me."

Alfred leaned forward. "Come back to us, Master Bruce." There was a commotion outside and Alfred sighed before telling Y/n, "I'll be right back," and then leaving.

Bruce looked to his brother. "Did you mean what you said? I can depend on you?" Y/n nodded immediately. "Then get me out of here." Y/n went to argue but Bruce interrupted. "You can come with me and make sure I'm safe. But I HAVE to do this. I need to finish it. I need to see it through. I need to know if this really is my destiny. I need to understand-" he cut off, choked with emotion. But Y/n knew what he meant. The same thing that had driven him to follow Jerome Valeska of all people. That had gotten him to follow Penguin and ditch his family to begin with. There are just some things you have to do. So Y/n looked around, found a pen, and Bruce pick the locks on both of their cuffs before they booked it, side by side and headed for... something. Bruce hadn't cued Y/n into the plan this far.

In all honesty, it was just nice being by Bruce's side again.

They made their way through the city streets of Gotham at night until they got to a red door with the word "Yuyan" on the front. Bruce went in. Y/n followed. Inside was the statue of what looked like some kind of demon. There was a lot going on. Bruce didn't hesitate- he stepped up and began analyzing it. Y/n was still taking it in when he pulled something and the wall opened up, revealing a hidden passage. The brothers went inside, Bruce having to take Y/n's hand to get the older boy to follow him now.

The two walked down a staircase and through a tunnel. It seemed eery. Weirdly light and far too silent and empty. When people appeared, Y/n regretted his lament about there not being anyone around- they immediately attacked him. "No." Bruce said firmly. They stopped. Y/n looked at his brother with shock. Bruce's expression remained calm. Y/n's would be attackers simply pointed Bruce onward, making way for him to follow their direction.

Y/n hadn't been this scared in a long time. Surely he wasn't in danger. This was Bruce he was talking about. Golden Boy Bruce Wayne who used to cry when they were really little and Y/n would step on a bug. Who shut down after their parents died because he loved them so much that seeing their murder changed him... except that his heart of gold kept him from corrupting like Y/n had. He was driven by justice and refused to let up until evil was destroyed. Bruce Wayne was a hero.

And yet, when Y/n looked at the back of Bruce's head now, he didn't see his younger brother. He saw a man in a child's body. He saw a straight back that was well trained and perfectly postured. He saw clothes Bruce would never wear and a silence Bruce would prefer not to bear, especially with Y/n around to talk his ear off. He saw Bruce leading them down a tunnel of doom, being completely docile after someone tried to kill him. After he almost poisoned maybe hundreds of people with just the press of a button. After, of all people, he had chosen some random old dude weirdo over Alfred and almost killed one of two family members he still had left.

Very suddenly, Y/n realized that he hadn't realized how bad Bruce was. How dumb it was to follow after him right now. And he was more scared than he'd ever been. More scared than even when he looked in the face of a cold blooded, sadistic murderer who had completely lost his mind and only saw an endless world of things to fascinate him. More scared when the doors would close and all he saw was red lips curled in a devious smile as the one person he trusted the most took advantage of him. More scared than when that stupid guard had locked him in that room and he had really thought he was going to get beaten to death for being gay.

Bruce pushed two double doors open with each hand. They creaked as they opened slowly, revealing a room with a green pool in the middle. Bruce leaned over and Y/n stepped forward, reaching out to stop him. Then he felt a pain at the back of his head and everything went black.

-

Y/n woke up alone.

It was dark, but it only took him a few seconds to remember everything and realize where he was. He looked around- the pool was still there. Otherwise, the room was empty. Y/n groaned as he sat up, looking around again for signs of those people that had attacked him earlier. When he still saw no one, he stood and began walking back the way he'd come. It was even scarier now that he was alone. "Bruce?" He whispered into the empty hallway. He jumped at every noise, resulting in him eventually misstepping and tripping. He would have face planted if his scrambling abilities hadn't improved recently due to all the running away from cops and other crazies alike in his days by Oswald's side. Thankfully he didn't fall because, as he was noticing while trying to get his feet under him, there was blood on the floor.

Oh my god there was blood on the floor.

He sucked in a breath, beginning to look around again. "BRUCE?" His heart picked up and he felt the back of his eyes burning with tears. "Bru-" his shoulder hit a wall and he screamed. Shaking his head to calm himself, he pressed his lips together and retraced his path that he'd taken with Bruce to get in here. Eventually it lead him outside. Weirdly enough, the wall was open again. Which meant that he didn't have to figure out how this side of the trick worked... but it also meant he wasn't alone.

The night air outside was cool, the sun rising in the distance. He looked down at himself- he was filthy. He took a second to think. To remember. The last thing that had been clear to him was that he was absolutely terrified of Bruce.

That's right. Bruce wasn't... right anymore. Well, that meant he couldn't go home. He also couldn't just walk back into Arkham. They might think he'd done something if he came back, dirty and hysterical, without Alfred. So he went to the GCPD department instead, because where the else was he going to go?

He was inside for maybe a second before he saw a familiar face. His eyes went wide and his heart nearly stopped- in his vulnerable state, of course it would be the guard that almost beat him to death that would be there to greet him. The man smirked, tilting his head. "There you are. We were wondering when you'd find your way back." He approached the teenage boy, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Someone else approached. Y/n almost melted in relief to see Harvey Bullock. "What's going on here?" His eyes laded on Y/n. "What... I thought you were in Arkham."

"He was," the officer responded. Y/n had already forgotten his name from when Harleen had said it before. "Alfred Pennyworth came and got him out for the day. Needed him for some Wayne business. I'll be taking him back now."

Harvey looked confused by that. "Why? We were already debating letting him go. Now he's out, there's no reason to immediately put him back in." The guard seemed horrified by that idea. Harvey put his hands on his waist. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"Do you know what this boy is?" Y/n's heart sunk. "He's a homosexual."

Harvey's eyebrows rose. At first Y/n thought it was in surprise, but then he said, "So what?"

The guard looked stunned. "He needs help, Bullock. He was canoodling with Jerome Valeska in Arkham. In public. Like there's nothing wrong with that."

Now Harvey was surprised. Y/n swallowed his emotions and met the older cop's gaze evenly, sticking his chin up. Harvey sighed. Y/n didn't even have to say anything- the old man just seemed to... immediately understand. "He turned to someone who accepted him in a world of people who hate him." It was Y/n's turn to be surprised. "That's not punishable."

The guard scoffed. "Son, have you ever killed anyone before?" Y/n looked away. He thought about the first time he'd ever killed someone, and then thought about all the many times after that he'd done it himself or helped. Another experience he'd picked up while hanging with Oswald. "The thing won't even deny it. And he's proud to be with that redheaded psycho. There's something wrong with him, Commissioner. He needs to be detained and get some help."

Harvey and Y/n both knew that was not the reason the guard wanted Y/n back in Arkham. The two men looked at each other, both put down at the fact that they couldn't stop anything happening. Maybe Y/n should have lied. Maybe he should be fighting. Unfortunately, he'd just lost his little brother and he had no idea what kind of shape Alfred was in. Currently, he had to assume that Alfred was either dead or would be soon, if Bruce could help it.

The guard tugged Y/n's arm and they were headed back outside toward his car. "Thought you were gonna get away from me that easily, did you?" The guard growled under his breath, leaning close to Y/n so the Wayne boy would be the only one to hear. "I finally have a reason to get at you, you little shit. Things are only gonna get worse for you from here. Now I can say you've killed people. No one will stop me from knocking you now."

Y/n looked at the city one more time before he was shoved into the car. The guard pulled out a pair of cuffs and put him in them. He looked at the city the whole time. The entire ride, he took in every inch of it. Every dirty corner. Every dirty human. Every inch of the buildings- no matter how close, far, tall or small they were. If he could see it, he took it in as much as he could. Above everything else, he took in the sunrise.

Maybe it was the fact that Y/n might never see it again outside of Arkham, but it wasn't overwhelming this time.

It was beautiful.

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Song Lyrics From Slipping Through My Fingers By ABBA

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness And I have to sit down for a while The feeling that I'm losing her forever And without really entering her world I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter That funny little girl

The first time Natsu saw Hana in her headband and jacket was when her daughter was 6 years old. Natsu didn’t know what to think. Did it scare her that maybe she made the wrong decision about Hana’s future? Yes, it did, but after seeing her daughter grow, Natsu realized she made the right decision. Hana was a mix of Kai’s resilience and Natsu’s abundance energy. She would have become a ninja even if Natsu decided against it but the pain was still there. The pain of knowing how the life of a shinobi ends. Hana’s life was also entwined with a prophecy. A prophecy that Natsu’s mother use to tell Natsu under a guise of a bedtime story. Natsu wanted to get Hana prepared for that future.

“How do I look Mama?”

“You look great darling.”

Slipping through my fingers all the time I try to capture every minute The feeling in it Slipping through my fingers all the time Do I really see what's in her mind Each time I think I'm close to knowing She keeps on growing Slipping through my fingers all the time

The moment was closing in on them. Natsu knew it and Hana tried to ignore it. Getting sick wasn’t in Natsu’s plan, but once she realized what was happening she tried to teach her daughter everything she knew and left the rest to Baki. After a couple years, Natsu’s body started to get weaker and soon the former ninja found herself hospitalized. Now after months of fighting, Natsu’s body couldn’t take the medication anymore so she decided that this was the end. Now Natsu spent her last hours with Hana by her side, wishing that she could just stay a little longer.

“Darling..I’m sorry.” It was getting harder to talk.

Natsu saw Hana’s body start to crumble. Tears were streaming down her face but still Hana tried to stay strong.

“It’s alright Mom. I’ll be okay.”

Natsu took her daughter’s hand.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The heart monitor started to slow down. Her eyes kept fluttering, fighting to stay open but to no avail they closed. Natsu felt herself wake up a second later. Her body felt light. She didn’t know where she was but she knew she wasn’t alone.

Her eyes searched until finally they landed on him. Natsu got up and ran into Kai’s arms.

“I tried my hardest.”

“I know, my love, I know.”

Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table Barely awake I let precious time go by Then when she's gone, there's that odd melancholy feeling And a sense of guilt I can't deny What happened to the wonderful adventures The places I had planned for us to go Well, some of that we did, but most we didn't And why, I just don't know

“I’m home.”

Kakashi put down his mission bag. He had been on a two week long mission so it was nice to finally be back in the Leaf.

“I’m in here.” Gai called from the kitchen.

Kakashi walked towards the kitchen. He could hear Gai humming to himself.

Kakashi walked towards Gai and wrapped his arms around the ninja.

Kakashi laid his head on Gai’s back and took a deep breath. It was always nice to be home.

“Welcome back Rival. How was the mission?”

“Took longer than expected but we accomplished what we needed to do.”

Gai turned the stove off but still stood with Kakashi wrapped around his back. He knew Kakashi just needed some time to calm down.

“Where is Hana?” Kakashi didn’t see his daughter when he entered the house.

“She went out with her friends. She has been working her butt off for the dance recital.”

“You know I’ve been thinking about doing something for her.”

“What do you have in mind, Rival?”

“Maybe we take her on a vacation or something. She’s been great ever since we adopted her and I feel like we don’t spend enough time with her as it is.”

Gai smiled to himself. Hana has been the best daughter since they adopted her. It did take her awhile to open up to them. Gai and Kakashi learned that’s she’s been through a lot so the two have shown her at every interaction that’s she is loved and protected.

“We will talk later but for now let’s eat”

Slipping through my fingers all the time I try to capture every minute The feeling in it Slipping through my fingers all the time Do I really see what's in her mind Each time I think I'm close to knowing She keeps on growing Slipping through my fingers all the time Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture And save it from the funny tricks of time Slipping through my fingers... Slipping through my fingers all the time

The horror of watching Hana approach Akito almost made Gai throw up. He wanted to put himself in front her. He wanted to protect her from everything but this was the one time he couldn’t do what he wanted.

Hana looked different. Her hair was pulled pack into a ponytail and on her forehead was the Regulation Leaf Village headband. On her back was a sword and on her arm was the regulation sand village headband, but the big difference was the chakra she was emitting. It was loud and strong.

It was intimidating.

“Kushina! What is the meaning of this? Why can’t we get to Hana?” Kakashi was frantic.

Kushina made a face. She was debating whether this was the right time to tell them but they already look like they’ve been through hell from the war.

So she told them the whole thing starting with the prophecy, just like how Kushina was born to hold Kurama, Natsu was born to give birth to the Sun. A protector of Earth who was destined to kill their best friend. That is why Hana trained so hard for years. This was her moment.

“We can’t do anything. This is their battle.”

Kakashi and Gai looked on as they watched Hana prepare to fight. Akito and Hana matched each other in strength and skill.

Kakashi flinched every time Hana got cut by Akito’s sword. Akito was slowly overpowering Hana and it scared everybody.

Baki moved over to Kakashi and Gai, putting a hand on their shoulders.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys but it wasn’t my secret to tell. There is one more thing under her sleeve.”

“What is it?”

“We started noticing that if Hana takes time to build her chakra then her eyes and hair turns red. The more chakra she builds, the more powerful she becomes.”

“What are the drawbacks of letting all of it out at once?” Kakashi knew something like that had to have a give and take.

Baki looked hesitant to tell them but relented after looking at both of their faces.

“We talked about it before she had to leave the sand... and.. well..

She dies.”

Kakashi was the first one to run to the barrier of chakra. His hands balled into fists, pounding the barrier as hard as he can.

Gai followed after getting over the initial shock.

“Hana! stop please!”

Gai’s yells were loud and overwhelming.

Kushina felt tears come to her eyes. She knew they cared deeply for Hana. That was their daughter out there, risking her life.

Kushina cleared her eyes and looked towards the battle. She gasped.

Two faint outlines could be seen. Kai and Natsu stood right by Hana.

All of Hana’s parents were here. Here to watch her die.

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile

Bonus:

Hana took a deep breathe. Her body was cut with blood soaking through her clothes.

“And this is your best? I’m disappointed Hana.”

Akito taunted her.

Well, he was always good at trash talking.

There was one thing she could do but Hana knew what the end result of that was.

Hana looked around at her friends and family. She was born to protect them. She can’t let Akito get the better of her.

Finally, Hana looked at Kakashi and Gai.

She heard their screaming. They wanted her to stop but she has to end this. If she doesn’t, the cycle will just continue.

She looked at her dads and gave the best smile she could give.

Thank you for the happy moments and the fun memories. You guys were the best parents. I love you. Take care of each other.

With those last words, she felt the tell tale signs of her chakra building. Her hair and eyes stained red.

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