#//They are not gonna just WASTE the photo pass (it is voided if they give it to someone else)

[balloonboyismyson]

I wonder how many people get through Monty's gator golf with all hole in one's. and i wonder what they'd get anything special for it if anything.

It WOULD be a REALLY difficult thing to do, but I think Management would offer a free photo pass with Monty! Which expires that day <3

[arhvste]

☼just until i win☼

WRITTEN CHAPTER - WILL CHECK SPELLING ERRORS LATER

an - the inspo for this chapter was : stay - post malone and a little bit of moral of the story - ashe

big thank you to my pretty and talented wife @totorosleaff​ for the end ;) ily wifey 💕💗💖💘💞✨

soz lol lmao haha

-

atsumu, bokuto and y/n made their way out of the training grounds and through to the back exit where a car was waiting to take them. the head coach had advised the three travel privately to avoid disruption from the public and causing an unneeded scene.

as usual, bokuto was his excitable self chatting to the pair about how excited he way to go into tokyo and get refitted for a new jersey. y/n found herself smiling and listening to the boy patiently, but this didn't stop her from noticing that atsumu had been strangely quiet since he’d come downstairs to meet the pair. usually he’d have comments and contribute to the conversation and usual banter they would usually have, but today he sat quietly and looked bothered by something.

after 15 minutes of talking y/n’s ear off, bokuto had busied himself looking out the window and taking countless photos of himself and the scenery they drove past to send to akaashi. y/n turned to face atsumu who was staring mindlessly in front of him.

“what’s up with you this morning?”

atsumu was brought out of his trance as he turned to face the concerned girl.

“nothin. just tired.”

blunt response. but that's what atsumu was known to be. he never felt the need to beat around the bush, he always got straight to the point and would give blunt answers with no mind of anyone else’s opinion on the matter.

you hummed and studied his face. maybe he was tired, you couldn't say for sure, but even when he genuinely had been in the past he had still managed to seem a bit more optimistic than what he was being today.

deciding to let it go, you pulled out your phone to check through your emails and messages from the PR team and message ICS, the company who provided and sponsored the team for uniform and such, that the three were on their way and would be in their company within the next hour if traffic wasn't heavy.

-

the three arrived at their destination after travelling what felt like hours, but in reality was only an hour and a half. sure, the training grounds were in tokyo but to get to the other side where ICS were based, traffic and routes extended the journey for longer than one would think. 

bokuto had ended up falling asleep, y/n had spent most of her time replying to emails and sending updates of training regimes and schedules back and fourth to iwaizumi and the head coach and atsumu had more a less sulked the whole journey.

“okay you two remember what i said, in and out. got it?”

the two nodded, bokuto showing a lot more energy than atsumu. the three were escorted out of the vehicle and into the back entrance of the ICS head offices. upon entering, the three were greeted by several workers who offered their hospitality and good luck for their upcoming games.

after checking in and being led to a waiting room, the trio let out a sigh of relief upon managing to arrive without any disturbance. 

bokuto insisted he needed to go to the toilet before they got called in to get fitted and was directed down the hall to the closest one. 

the silence between atsumu and y/n was tense and unsettling which was unusual. both obviously wanted to say something to desperately fill the deafening void of silence but neither knew what to say.

“so, oikawa will be back soon huh. guess we’re not going to see you for a bit.”

y/n’s eyes widened slightly. why wouldn't she be seeing her own team for a while just because oikawa was arriving back home.

“no. you’re my main priority right now. i’ll see more of him after the games, i’m a trainer for you not him.”

atsumu tilted his head and turned away for a moment.

you stared at the boy in utter confusion. he had been acting up lately and you hadn't a clue why. osamu’s message about his behaviour had been living rent free in your mind since the night he messaged you privately. the same night atsumu told the group he was making it his own responsibility to look out for y/n.

y/n smiled slightly at the memory. the two would bicker childishly with atsumu refusing to take y/n’s orders seriously and y/n growing tired of his endless teasing, but their friendship was good. they were both open and understanding towards each other just how y/n was with every other msby player on the team. sure, she had been polite to the new players when the 4 black jackals had been scouted to the national team, but y/n had a soft spot for the 4 boys she had been training before teaming up with iwaizumi to take on a national team.

atsumu wasn’t someone who hid his emotions well. he was expressive and didn't care who was around if he wanted to make a scene. he was open and honest and that was something y/n appreciated. she did notice that he’d often struggle to sympathise and comfort others though. he’d prefer not to show his vulnerability and put up a rather bland and tough front to break through at times. after atsumu had declared his views on the whole situation, y/n couldn't help but feel warm inside when atsumu showed he cared. it must've really meant something to him because he wasn’t the type to openly care about things especially not situations like you were currently in. it was nice to know he cared but you were bothered by the fact he felt affected. he shouldn't have to worry about such things when the situation didn't directly concern him.

“you know i’m proud of ya right?”

atsumu mumbled quietly his face still turned away.

“hm?”

“like, you've ‘ad to put up with alotta shit recently and ya still manage to show up and train us everyday and keep us motivated. we’ve never thanked ya for everythin you've done for us n’ no matter what i’m always gonna ‘ave yer back”

once again miya atsumu had left y/n speechless. 

y/n smiled at him as he slowly turned to face her again.

“thanks atsumu, it means a lot. i hope you know how proud i am of all of you individually though, that's why i want to do my best to make sure you can do yours too.”

he gave her a small smile before relaxing back into his chair.

the once heavy silence now lifted as the two of them sat there smiling waiting for the inevitable return of their ace.

-

the rest of the afternoon went by swiftly, none of them had realised they’d ended up spending most of the day in the offices as the process took a little longer than y/n had initially thought. both boys got remeasured and to their satisfaction they had indeed built up more muscle from their intense training causing their new jerseys having to be altered quite a bit from their last ones. after that, they were taken into a studio for updated shots to be taken of them for future reference for if they ever needed any more altercations done in the time to come, lunch was provided for them all as they took a break and another 2 hours was taken up discussing when the jerseys could be collected and y/n had gone to contact iwaizumi to check if any other players needed any extra uniform or anything else sent to them while she was there.

since y/n’s last conversation with atsumu, he’d seemed to have perked up more and was sharing the normal banter he usually would with both bokuto and yourself as they got measured and fitted.

with a final thanks to the team at ICS, the three team japan members were taken back to the car waiting out the back for them. 

despite the fact, all three had spent most of the day out, it hadn’t felt like long. y/n’s body said otherwise though as she found herself feeling slightly drowsy on the ride back to the dorms. atsumu and bokuto looked at each other as y/n leant against the window resting her eyes and tipping between the state of falling asleep and barely staying conscious. 

they had to get y/n back to her apartment for the party oikawa and the others had been planning for her for the past few weeks. 

“hey, you good?”

bokuto tapped y/n gently as he gave her a warm smile to which the girl returned.

“yeah, just a little worn out but i’ll rest a little later. thank you both for being so compliant with myself and the others today, you’re both stars.”

atsumu leant forward so he could look at the fitness trainer.

“could ya repeat that, record it and send it to the group chat, i don't think omi or samu would believe us if we told em you just said that.”

there was the atsumu y/n knew. he had snapped out of whatever mood he had been in recently and completely returned to her now.

she snickered softly and gently flicked his forehead.

“they're just gonna have to take your word for it tsumu.”

and just like that, y/n rested her head back against the window and allowed her eyes to shut for just a few moments. 

wasting no time, bokuto causally took out his phone and turned the brightness down in hopes not to catch y/n’s attention. opening his contacts he dropped a quick text to iwaizumi to let him know the three of them were on their way back and should be arriving within the next 45 minutes at the latest. 

5 minutes later iwaizumi responded thanking him for the update and letting him know more-a-less everything was ready for y/n to return to. they just needed to get her home back to her apartment without raising any suspicion from her. 

-

30 minutes had passed and the car was driving through the now familiar scenes of tokyo y/n, bokuto and atsumu were more used to. y/n had drifted off into a light sleep, bokuto updating Iwaizumi and akaashi every so often and atsumu had been gathering his thoughts while staring out the window. 

the familiar views of certain signs and buildings invaded atsumu’s view as he noted that they were almost back to y/n’s apartment. he nudged bokuto and signalled for him to wake y/n up gently as carrying her to the apartment building was not going to be an option.

“hey y/n, we’re almost back to your apartment.”

bokuto gently shook the peacefully sleeping girl as she began to stir in her sleep.

atsumu watched as y/n rubbed her eyes and gently smiled at the two boys. just seeing her like this made him anxious. y/n was anything but weak but seeing her so gentle and soft made atsumu feel like he had even more reason to make sure she was kept from harm both physically and emotionally. 

as the three grew closer to y/n and iwaizumi’s shared apartment atsmu’s nerves grew a little. y/n had announced she was dating the argentina player almost a year ago now and atsumu had yet to meet him. he had grown close to y/n with her being their athletics trainer for msby. he found himself respecting and trusting the girl as she grew along with the team and he found a comfort in her also announcing that she was going to be working alongside iwaizumi to train the national team he had been scouted for. 

having never met oikawa before, atsumu was skeptical. sure, he’d heard great things about the player from teammates, both athletic trainers and the media, but he needed his own opinion. y/n was someone atsumu cared for even though he wasn't always the most obvious with showing it, he was like that with a lot of people, sakusa included.

y/n was right in pointing out that atsumu was selfish but he always had good intention and she knew it. he was naturally protective and that was his way of showing he cared. sure, it could've been seen as selfish behaviour but to atsumu, his over protectiveness was just his way of showing others that he did in fact care and right now, y/n was the one he felt the need to protect.

he cared for the girl and even though he would never bring himself to admit it out loud, he would always be concerned for her and have her back if she ever needed him, the same way he would for bokuto, hinata and kiyoomi.

-

the car pulled up outside the apartment complex and y/n opened the door to get out. she leaned against the door frame as she attempted to bid both players a goodnight and one last thanks for their cooperation for the day. atsumu got out the car on the other side to which bokuto followed, confusing the girl who had just tried to say goodbye.

“come on y/n, let us take you.”

“are you gonna kidnap me or something?” y/n asked teasingly as bokuto gave her a grin.

“nah, just wanna do one last nice thing for ya tonight.”

y/n smiled and thanked the driver with the two boys following suit as the car drove off. 

“you’ll be good walking back to the dorms right?”

“yeah.” the two players said in unison.

the trio walked into the complex acknowledging the doorman and girl typing away at the front desk. 

taking the elevator up to the top floor to the lavish apartment both athletic trainers shared, the three shared casual banter as they approached the door.

“well, thanks you two, see you both tomorrow yeah?”

y/n went to open her door with neither boys moving. y/n just assumed they wanted to make sure she got in okay before taking their leave.

a little more playing with the keys in the door and y/n managed to swing the door open to her apartment left in darkness. the girl sighed and stepped inside as she went to flick the light switch.

before she could though the lights flashed on by themselves and y/n jumped back slightly.

‘SUPRISE!”

before her were akaashi, kuroo, kenma and a few others from nekoma you recognised, daichi, sugawara and asahi, kiyoko and tanaka had also made an appearance, yahaba, kyotani, matsukawa, hanamaki, sakusa, hinata, osamu and iwaizumi. 

and then she saw him.

tears welled up in her eyes as there stood her boyfriend of over a year.

the man she’d fallen in love with during high school but never bothered confessing to.

the man that had waited until his high school days were over and waited until he was on track for his own goals to confess to her.

the man that had promised her he’d do everything to make their relationship work despite the impossible distance between the two of them.

the man that she’d managed to build a strong relationship with practically through calls and texts.

there stood oikawa tooru.

y/n wasted no time throwing herself into him as she sobbed into his shoulder.

he could only let out a laugh as he let a few of his own tears slip out as he wrapped his arms around her bringing her even closer than before.

“y-you its you -but how? w-when did you get here, why didn't you tell me? fuck tooru, it’s you”

“shhh yeah, i’m here, I've got you yeah? i’m here y/n.”

everyone watched as the couple embraced each other for the first time in months. 

bokuto bounded over to akaashi telling him what a good job he did even though akaashi corrected him saying how it was actually the old aoba johsai third years who planned and got everything together. paying no mind to him, bokuto proceeded to greet others dragging his best friend along with him.

atsumu leaned off the doorframe and made his way inside the spacious apartment nodding a thanks to the others.

osamu made his way over to his brother to greet him properly.

“fitting went well then?”

“yeah.”

“must've taken a while ya didn't stop by.”

“nah we were there all day sorry.”

“don't apologise.”

osamu glanced at his brother who was observing oikawa and y/n.

“you... okay?” osamu cautiously asked his brother not wanting to step over any boundaries and cause a scene in front of everyone.

“still dunno if i can trust him.”

atsumu patted his brothers shoulder not giving him a chance to respond and gave him a small smirk.

“right, lets go greet everyone then, don't wanna seem rude.”

“you already come across rude.”

atsumu only snickered and ushered his brother out of view of the reunited couple and into the crowd of guests who were conversing in excitement.

osamu knew his brothers guard was still up but decided to drop it.

for tonight anyway.

-

the rest of the evening went smoothly with oikawa being able to properly reunite with former rivals and teammates. everyone was sharing past stories about highschool bringing laughter around the complex. 

music was going, lights were dimmed and everyone relaxed themselves and enjoyed the event as this was the first time in a while a gathering so big had happened. even sakusa looked like he was somewhat enjoying himself.

y/n hardly left tooru that night. he clung to her an equal amount. the two practically inseparable but that was to be expected after all. 

oikawa had his arm wrapped around y/n for majority of the evening and she found herself savouring the physical affection she’d been deprived of for months.

3 hours in and everyone had all caught up with each other for the most part. the party was still in full swing as everyone had a good time.

y/n and oikawa softly swaying to the sound of the music in the background as they let themselves fall into their own little world.

“i still can't believe you’re here.”

“i still can't believe it either.” oikawa sighed as he pressed a soft kiss to his girlfriends head.

“y/n look at me for a second.”

the girl looked up to look at her boyfriends now serious face.

“i know we won't get to spend too much time together, not until after the games anyway, but now that i’m here i hope you know i have every intention to give you all the affection you should've received over the months. i’ve missed you a stupid amount and i can't even tell you how happy i am right now.”

for the second time that night, tears pooled in y/n’s eyes as she threw her arms around her boyfriend.

“i love you tooru.” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

that was enough for the boy to throw his arms tightly around y/n’s shoulders and pull her into him.

nothing could've ruined the night.

in that moment everything was right in the world.

the peaceful sanctuary y/n had been craving lately had finally returned back into her arms and she couldn't be happier.

everything was finally falling into place.

but being in your own world will stop you from noticing your surroundings and whats anyone else is doing.

one mistake was all it took and y/n and oikawa were going to suffer at the hands of the people who they’d been doing their best to avoid for months on end.

the media.

-

-

just until i win

oikawa tooru x reader

masterlist

part 15 - lets go to tokyo!

part 16 - suprise

part 17 - aftermath

-

PLEASE SEND ASK TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST

☽ taglist ☽

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[radiantroope]

Lonely Heart || Rafe Cameron

Chapter Two – Coming Home

chapter summary: You return to Kildare and find out just how sick your mother is. You visit a friend who’s harboring a damning secret.

warnings: familial cancer, mentions of familial death, swearing, a teeny bit of alcohol consumption

word count: 2.6k+

author’s note: another filler chapter lol. i want to make the chapters longer but i don’t want to rush the story. they’ll probably get longer after this one. chapter three is gonna be a doozy y’all, i hope you’re ready. as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. i write for myself but if no one’s interested what’s the point in posting? i hope you like it!🥰

read chapter one here!

series playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

You didn’t think twice about catching the first flight to the Outer Banks. Your father’s haunting, solemn voice echoed in your head. He sounded distraught and you knew he needed you. He didn’t want to discuss your mother’s condition over the phone so he bid you goodbye and promised to be waiting at the airport for you. You packed every bag you had — the three Louis Vitton suitcases displayed on the top shelf in your closet and the two large duffel bags stuffed under your queen sized bed. As much of your belongings as you could fit were haphazardly stuffed to the brim in each of them.

You didn’t sleep that night, it was no use since you booked your flight for five in the morning. Your stomach bubbled nervously as you watched the hours tick by, finally deciding to head for the airport at three. Your Uber pulled up outside your building and the driver kindly helped you get your bags into the trunk. The highway was almost completely empty in the early hours of the morning. You arrived at LAX in record time, thankful you didn’t have to deal with the dreaded California traffic.

After making your way through security and checking your bags, you found a chair at your gate in the corner away from others. You sat numbly, staring out the window as other planes took off and landed. You were preparing yourself for the worst. Your father wouldn’t have told you to come home if your mother’s condition wasn’t serious. For a fleeting moment you let yourself worry about classes and what you were going to do about school, but you quickly shoved those thoughts away. School would still be there in the end, your mother might not.

The five hour flight felt like an eternity. You tried your best to get even an ounce of sleep, but you could hear the hum of the aircraft over your music and a baby sitting a few rows behind you was crying every fifteen minutes. You ordered a rum and coke from the flight attendant to numb you a little bit more, take some of the edge off. One turned into three and finally you were landing in the Outer Banks, patting yourself on the back for not snapping at the poor mother who couldn’t console her child the whole flight.

You exited the plane, grasping your carryon tightly as you scanned the people bustling about. Your eyes landed on your father and a grin spread across both of your faces. You walked to him quickly, arms wrapping tightly around his waist as you embraced each other.

“Hi, princess,” he whispered into your hair.

Tears sprang to your eyes and a shaky sigh left your lips as you responded, “Hi, daddy.”

The two of you walked to baggage claim and collected them, your father lightly teasing you for how many you’d brought. You simply rolled your eyes and followed him out to the car. The sweltering North Carolina heat had sweat collecting along your hairline in an instant. The humid air made you regret wearing joggers and a sweater on the plane ride. You would have rather froze on the plane than be overheating at that moment.

“How’s momma?” you asked once you were in the car, blasting the air conditioning in your face and rolling up your sleeves.

Your father hesitated, letting out a heavy sigh. He reached over the center console and took your hand, giving it a squeeze as he replied, “She’s tired, but you know her. She acts like she’s fine but I know this is taking its toll on her.”

You nodded and settled back in the seat, staring out the window as your father drove home. The island still looked the same as you remembered. It looked like they’d added a new hotel and expanded on Figure Eight, a few larger, newer houses standing out against the rest.

Your house came into view and you breathed a sigh of relief. You smiled as the car pulled into the driveway and you saw your mother’s figure sitting on the wrap around porch. You jumped out of the vehicle, making your way up the cobblestone path quickly. The older woman pushed herself to her feet and wrapped her arms around your neck once you were close enough. The floodgates in your eyes opened as your arms wrapped around your mother’s fragile body, quiet sobs muffled against her shoulder as you embraced.

“Hey, hey,” your mother shushed your cries, pulling back enough to hold both sides of your face and get a good look at you. She swiped the tears off your cheeks with her thumbs and gave you a warm smile, “No crying, you hear me?”

You nodded slightly, small sniffles escaping you as you blinked away the burning sensation in your eyes. Your mother pulled you to sit in the chair beside her as your father took your bags inside the house. She waited until you’d composed yourself a bit better before speaking, “Why don’t I go grab us some tea so we can talk?”

A brain tumor, a Glioblastoma multiforme, to be more specific. It had been growing and spreading for some time now within your mother’s head. She played down her symptoms to your father, not wanting to worry him, until she had a seizure at the Cameron’s the previous Sunday. They rushed her to the hospital via ambulance and spent hours doing scans and bloodwork. The prognosis wasn’t good, since the tumor had already grown so large. Even through chemotherapy and radiation they were giving her a year at most.

You stared at the mug in front of you, watching the steam rise into the air and dissipate in front of you. You had tried to argue surgery, insisting it would at least give her more time. Your father had joined the two of you and gently told you it wasn’t an option. She likely wouldn’t survive the surgery and if she did, she could be in a coma for the rest of her life.

“This can’t be happening,” you whispered, voice breaking as you put your head in your hands. “I should have come home more. I should have gone on those vacations. I should have been here with you.”

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, you look at me,” your mother’s voice was stern as she reached across the table and grabbed your wrist gently. You lifted your head and met her gaze through blurry eyes.

“Now is not the time to blame ourselves. This is out of our hands, pumpkin. You can’t waste your time wishing to change the past. You need to be here, live here, in the present. We’re together and you’re here now, that’s what matters.”

Your father rested a strong hand on your shoulder from where he stood beside you, giving it a gentle squeeze. You slipped your hand into your mother’s, holding onto tightly as you choked out, “I love you so much. Both of you.”

You spent the afternoon unpacking your bags in your old bedroom. It was the same as you had left it, walls painted your favorite color and bed neatly made with the crisp white sheets. Some of your old posters still hung on the walls and your eyes drifted to the photo album you’d left last time you visited. The contents inside used to make you smile as you basked in the memories the pictures held, now they brought you heartache every time you looked at the smiling faces inside.

With a sigh, you forced yourself to take a long shower. You were drained emotionally and physically, having gotten no sleep the night before and the amount of crying you’d done took everything out of you. You skipped dinner and passed out early in the evening.

—

The next morning you woke up to the smell of bacon wafting through the house. You pulled yourself out of bed and trudged down the stairs with heavy steps. You’d gotten almost twelve hours of sleep but felt as though you could sleep twelve more, rubbing your eyes as you entered the bright kitchen. You greeted your parents with a soft ‘Good morning’, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

Your father plated bacon and eggs for you and your mother, setting them at the table in front of you. You hummed as warm coffee settled in your veins before digging into your breakfast. Back in California you didn’t cook for yourself much, opting to eat toast or pre-prepared meals. You missed the home cooked meals provided by your parents almost everyday.

“I spoke to Topper’s mother this morning,” your mother interrupted the comfortable silence, eyes trained on you. Your attention turned to her at the mention of your friend’s name. “You should swing by their place today. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

You and Topper had grown closer since Rafe stopped speaking to you. When you’d visit, the two of you often ran around the island together. He’d take you to the Boneyard ‘For old time’s sake’ or out on his boat with Kelce. The two of them never brought up Rafe to you, unlike Janelle. You didn’t see her much visiting home either, as she chose to stay in South Carolina most of the time. If you weren’t with Sarah or your parents, you were often with Topper. He filled that void inside of you with some warmth, but it was never full. There was still an emptiness there.

“Are you sure?” you asked, feeling reluctant to leave your parents.

Your mother scoffed slightly and waved her hand with a smile, “You can’t spend every second with us. You need to see your friends.”

As much as your mother would love to spend every second with you, she knew how important your friendships were. They were the people who would be there for you when she no longer could. It brought her comfort knowing you had people close to you to confide in. It made her proud that you developed such close relationships. Though, there was a storm on the horizon, and she wasn’t the only one who felt it.

“If you insist,” you hummed and stood from the table, placing your plate in the sink then pressing a kiss to your parent’s heads. “But you better call me if you need anything!” you called as you ascended the stairs to get ready.

You threw on a green bikini, in case you found yourself at the beach. You put on a pair of cut off shorts and a loose crop top then slipped some sandals on your feet. You grabbed the keys to your father’s car and made your way through Figure Eight to the Thornton house. A soft smile graced your face as you pulled up and saw the woman of the house stepping out the front door.

You climbed out of the car and the older woman’s face lit up as she spotted you. The two of you met in the middle of the driveway and she wrapped her arms around you tightly, “Y/N, honey, it’s so good to see you. How’s your mother?”

“She’s in good spirits. She’s as good as she can be,” you replied, pulling back and giving Mrs. Thornton a smile.

“That’s good to hear,” she gave your upper arms a squeeze before pulling away and moving to her car, “I’ve gotta run. Topper’s out by the pool. Don’t be a stranger!”

You walked around the large modern looking house and went through the gate. You rounded the corner and saw Topper standing at the bar built into the patio, presumably putting together a drink. There was music playing softly from the outdoor speakers and you couldn’t help but smile. He must have heard the gentle pat of your sandals against the cement because he looked up and audibly gasped when he saw you.

“My God, Topper, could your outfit be any brighter?” you giggled as he set whatever was in his hands on the counter and raced over to you. His orange polo was almost neon in the sun and his swim trunks were a similar shade.

“Shut up, come here,” he laughed as he reached you and scooped you up under the waist. You stood on your toes, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your eyes slipped closed, basking in the warm and inviting hug.

Topper pulled back and looked down at you, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and the noticeable flush to your skin. He smiled softly and took you by the hand, pulling you into the shade where he had been previously, “How are you?”

You sat down at one of the bar stools and sighed heavily, putting your elbow on the counter and resting your chin in your hand. You tapped your cheek with your index finger as you pretended to think deeply before spewing, “I just up and left California a week before classes were supposed to start, I found out my mom has cancer and I came back to an island that I had no intention of ever returning to.” You paused and painted a wide smile on your lips, “I’m great, Top!”

Topper laughed softly and shook his head, grabbing a glass to make you a drink as well. “Dumb question, got it. You hate it here that bad?” he asked, staring at you as he passed the glass across the bar to you.

You took a sip of the drink and grimaced slightly at the amount of spiced rum the boy had used, overpowering the orange juice mixed in. You sighed again and played with the straw, avoiding his eyes, “Don’t get me wrong, I miss my parents and Sarah and you guys.. There’s just a lot of things I’d rather forget. People I’d rather not see.”

“How long has it been?” Topper questioned, the look on his face telling you exactly what he was talking about. He didn’t want to outright say it. He didn’t know how deep those wounds still ran. It took him over a year to get over Sarah’s infidelity and they weren’t even together all that long. He couldn’t imagine losing a friend of almost twenty years.

“Five years,” you said through a dry laugh. “Can you believe that? Five fucking years.”

“I’m sorry,” he responded genuinely. It was a lame response and he knew it, but there was nothing else he could have said. Nothing could change how the last five years of your life had played out.

You shook your head and leaned back in the chair, running your fingers through your hair, “I don’t even want to think about it. When I think about it I get angry, and I’m so fucking tired of being angry.”

Topper dropped the subject after that. The two of you finished your drinks and he took you to the island club for lunch, knowing you loved the food even though you talked shit about how prestigious the organization was. After that he took you to the beach and you watched the sunset from your favorite lookout. It was near a cliff but you preferred to sit down below, atop the large and cracked rocks where the waves crashed. The ocean spray cooled off your warm skin and the blinding sunlight reflecting off the water was your favorite. You felt at peace there. The roaring sound of the ocean drowned out even your darkest thoughts.

Topper watched you, the way your mouth would twitch as you thought of something subconsciously. He watched you close your eyes when a particularly large wave would crash and water splashed at your feet. He felt a pit growing in his stomach because he knew you wouldn’t be like this for long — so at peace. You were unknowingly a ticking time bomb, ready to blow everything and everyone close to you to pieces.

tag list (to be added, shoot me an ask or a message!): @pink-meringues @k-k0129 @solllaris @taiter-tots @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @jjmbanks @fttayla @ilovejjmaybank @jjmaybcnks @drewswannabegirl @diverdcwn @royalmerchant @sortagaysortahigh @queenk00k @ims0golden @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @obxmermaid @anxietyspacetart-15 @butgilinsky @teenwaywardasgardian @bricksatanakinswindow @fangirlvoice @juliarose21 @skiesofthesketchy @daughterofaphrodite @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @sportygal55 @nqbmf @xenagzb @sweetlysilent @loverofmineluke @aaleksmorozova @meltame17 if you want to be removed please let me know!

[beelzebubscheeseburger]

“Goodbye” (pt 2)

“Even though it’s meaningless I still wish for more time together with you”

You can find part 1 here

You thought you were safe? Joke’s on you, the angst queen always comes back.

-----------------------------------------------

Months had passed and life in the Devildom was back to normal, but without MC there was a void nobody could fill and the same void was left by the absence of one of the seven brothers, kept in a controlled environment for everyone’s safety. After discovering MC had left, after going through the pain and the rage, he was unable to get rid of his demon form. He just couldn’t accept what had happened. A demon was not supposed to lose his soul, but there he was, staring at a blank wall, looking at the shadow cast by his own horns, thinking about how she had left, forgetting to give him back his heart.

His brothers used to visit him regularly but it just wasn’t the same. Some of those fools even tried to introduce him to new people, trying to play cupid. But every time he kept looking back at what was left of the red string on his finger and refused to even look at them. It was just pointless. Why waste time with people he wasn’t gonna be with forever? Playing just wasn’t for him, not after meeting MC. 

------------------------------------------------

Life in the human world wasn’t easier either. MC had to just try to live her life, go on and try to think about her year in Devildom as some kind of weird dream. A beautiful, beautiful dream she just couldn’t let go of. She was just trying to forget everything, forget about all of that “soulmate” non-sense, demons, angels, none of that was actually real, right? Like those creatures could actually exist! What a joke! She laughed at herself, while mindlessly watching some random tv show. But she knew it wasn’t a dream. There was just one single thing she had brought from the Devildom: a photo with all of the demon brothers. She smiled kindly at the sight of the one who was once her boyfriend, staying so close to her that everyone else was constantly jealous.

“Hey, not fair, I want to hug MC too.”

“Too late, you should have made her fall in love with you long ago.”

She laughed again, through the tears and just left a small kiss on the face of the demon in the photo, before putting it down on the small table in front of her. Staying cooped inside was utterly meaningless, she could at least try to go out there, maybe make some new friends. She needed to live.

She got up from the small couch, abandoned the warm blanket, and walked to her closet to grab a coat; she didn’t want the harsh air of the incoming winter make her catch a cold, because now she had no one to take care of her, to bring her a good (but usually bad) soup, pat her head. She was alone.

“No. I can’t continue like this.”, said the girl, determined to al least try.

She opened the closet and put a hand inside to grab a coat just to feel... mh? Warmth? Wait... was what she was feeling... SKIN? She immediately screamed, out of fear, grabbing the only thing available as a weapon: a lamp.

“I’M GONNA CALL THE POLICE, STAY THERE AND DON’T YOU DARE MOVE OR I’M GONNA OPEN YOUR SKULL IN TWO.”, she was lying, she had the physical strength of a goldfish, but the burglar didn’t know that. 

“M-MC... It’s me... I’m stuck...”, said the voice from inside the closet and she furrowed her thick brows, looking as confused as ever.

“Lord Diavolo...?” she called, getting near the closet again, to move some of the hanging clothes aside, just to find a very stuck Lord Diavolo. His horns and wings were tangled in all of her clothes and she just couldn’t hold back her laugh. But as soon as she saw his serious expression, she cleared her throat, deciding she was still too young to be killed by that handsome demon.

As soon as he was released from that prison of clothes, Lord Diavolo tried to regain his composure, and look a little bit more formal and serious.

“Why were you in my closet, if I may ask, Lord Diavolo?”, she asked and she swore she could see his cheeks flushing, making her giggle.

“I miscalculated, but that’s not important, MC. I’m here to bring you back to the Devildom.” and now she couldn’t see any hint of a joke in his eyes. He was as serious as she was confused.

The exchange student program was over, it had been a huge success, but it was over. She was back in the human world, where she belonged.

“I already know what you’re thinking, MC. But they need you. He needs you. Those seven brothers are very important to the Devildom and they are just not the same without you.” 

It took her just a couple of seconds to decide what to do. Maybe destiny wasn’t so cruel as she thought it was, maybe there was a way, maybe she could have a happy ending. 

She was filled with anxiety, fear, doubts, but she put all of that aside just to do the right thing: come back.

As soon as she found herself in the Devildom again, she couldn’t help but smile. It was just like she didn’t even leave. It was so completely different from the human world, but it was her home. She felt like she belonged there. It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?

She followed Lord Diavolo in what looked like a prison in a dungeon. That’s where the demon she loved so much had been spending the last couple of months? As soon as she saw him, tears started to form in her eyes. He looked just like a soulless body, a sad beast confined in a cage too small for his thirst for freedom.

She didn’t know what to say, how to approach him. Lord Diavolo just opened that kind of cage, encouraging her to go inside, promising he was just going to be outside the room, ready to save her whatever may have happened.

Hesitantly, she stepped inside, approaching him. He was sitting on a small bed, his gaze on the cold floor, his eyes devoid of any light they previously had.

The girl kneeled before him, a small sad smile on her lips.

“Hey... It’s me. Look at me, please.”, her shaking hands reached his face, touching his cold skin with her fingertips. His eyes met hers, but it was like he wasn’t even seeing her.

“Great, I’m having visions too...”, mumbled the demon and MC’s heart ached. She had hurt him so much... How could she think she had any right in coming back in his life, thinking everything could go back to the way it was? How could she forgive herself? How could he ever forgive her?

“Please... Please, I’m here, I’m here and I’m not going away this time.”, she begged and with a painful sob she grabbed his face with more decision. “I’m not running away this time. I’m not gonna leave you again. I’ll find a way to stay by your side, but look at me, please!” and in a desperate gesture, she pressed her lips on the demon’s soft and cold ones. He didn’t react at first, but soon after she could feel warm tears on her fingers, running from his eyes. His hands grabbed her face right away, finally focusing on her like a man lost in a desert who had just found an oasis. Tears falling from his eyes, the big hands shaking while touching her face, her hair. He couldn’t believe she was there, as beautiful as ever. And before he could even try to say something, his lips were already on hers. He was finally breathing again, he was finally seeing the light in that eternal night he had lived in for months. 

“Don’t leave me again, please, MC... I love you so much it hurts...”, he whispered and she smiled through her tears. She didn’t need to say anything, as soon as she opened her mouth to speak the red string of fate started shining brightly once more, connecting their souls and hearts again.

“I’m never leaving your side. I’m never going to say goodbye.”

[monchikyun]

III. coffee and cigarettes

Nothing good lasts forever and so even Connor’s short vacation comes to an early end, making him wish he had an excuse to take some more. He has plenty left too, never really having the need to spend more than what’s mandatory. The prospect of keeping himself a sole company for very long doesn’t much appeal to him. Too afraid of the brain rot that would make a space for his internalised guilt to fully manifest. 

There is never anything to do but to waste his free day away talking to his four-legged friend who doesn’t seem to even enjoy their one-sided conversations. He could busy himself with countless tasks but what’s the point when no one’s here to witness it. 

Sometimes he gets to hang out with his friends, rarely he’s ever lucky enough to pass the time with the one person who can make him smile, who can make him realise that there is more to him than the hurt corroding his insides. It happened only once, actually. 

Somehow he persuaded Gavin to join him for their walk to a dog park, though it wasn’t all that impressive of a feat. He likes to replay that day sometimes, a great way to fill the void in his mind that comes to visit whenever he has problems initiate sleep-mode. It was back in October, the sky was an ethereal shade of blue and the trees turned into a display of a non-lethal fire-show. All the reds and oranges towering over them and shedding pieces of their transcendent beauty on the ground for them to to do with as they please. He stole one. An oddly-shaped maple leaf hidden between pages of the book he won’t ever read. Of course, he gave one, too. And that was when he first fell something shift inside of his heart. The first time he ever wanted to kiss someone.

---

“Hey, tin can.”

“Good morning to you too, detective.”

The titles they call each other have lost their initial meaning and morphed into something that provides familiar comfort. Nicknames, perhaps.

Connor smiles with his eyes, not daring to show something more lest it gets misinterpreted by the wrong people. Because he has no right to be happy, least here of all places.

He scans the empty desk that used to be Hank’s work-space. Still empty. Several personal items belonging to a stranger, hair that isn’t Sumo’s but came out of some other dog. There is nothing left of his old friend anymore. Devoid of anything that matters to him.

Gavin watches his line of sight, he’s painfully aware of that. Their desks are stuck to each other now since they share all of their cases and therefore it’s convenient to be this close. It’s convenient to psyche. He’s glad he doesn’t have to face his failures on daily basis like that, now that detective Reed keeps him almost constant company. Maybe he should tell him how grateful he is,… someday.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

There is a fresh coffee on his desk, one that Gavin hasn’t made for himself. A ritual that keeps repeating every work-day. He only asked the one time, back when he still couldn’t stand Connor and all the other plastics, yet he got nothing but some preprogrammed phrase then. Thinking about it now, maybe he shouldn’t have punched the android. His fist ached like a bitch and knowing Connor, he probably received zero damage from that feeble attack. God, he hated him at that time. Hated that there was no life hiding behind that pretty face and that he was powerless to do anything about it. He didn’t believe that androids had the potential to become something more than glorified computers, let alone human. It was Connor who showed him that being alive isn’t defined by the components or material one is made out of. It’s what one does that counts. The behaviours reserved only for those possessing free will. 

It took him a month to be fully convinced that Connor just might be more of a full-fledged person than Gavin could ever be. Three more and he fell flat in the dark pit of no return. 

It isn’t that loving Connor is an inconvenience or something he could live without, but he’d rather had his teeth pulled out one by one than to go another day knowing that his feelings will never be returned. That it will always be his fault for being such an unlovable bastard.

Drinking the pleasantly scalding coffee helps a little. It reminds him that Connor cares, to some extent. The fact that he takes the time of his day just so Gavin can have his daily dose of caffeine without having to lift a finger warms him through and through. It plants a tiny seed of hope to his heart.

He never asks but he always thanks him. Words of gratitude whispered underneath his breath, comprehensible only to the person who deserves to hear them.

Usually, he’d take the cup outside to compliment his morning smoke, but Connor is sitting in his chair a little too stiffly, his eyes wandering off somewhere distant. Not even his gratitude got acknowledged today. He gets like that more often that Gavin would like. Reversing back to his old self, to a time when human-like expressions were still foreign to him. It breaks his heart a little every time he gets reminded that nothing will be able to undo the damage done, that Connor will bear his trauma forever, …possibly. Gavin would always stay quiet, not finding the right things to say or do. Not today.

“I’m gonna go outside… to take a… breath.”

He isn’t sure Connor even registers his words.

“You… wanna go with?”

Still nothing.

“Connor.”

He stands up and gets as close as possible without trespassing the unspoken borders between them.

“Come with me, please.”

Their eyes meet for a split second and before he can catch up to the present moment they are already halfway out of the door.

Maybe he should use the magic word more often.

---

A blissful smoke fills his lungs, clouding over the pain and uncertainty that put him here in the first place. He relies on this wonderfully horrible sensation too much, but it’s better than the alternative.

“Liar.”

Yeah, he isn’t going to win any honesty awards in the near future, that’s for sure. But at least Connor is back to his old irreplaceable self, or he acts like he is.

There is a day old snow piled on the grassy patch beside the wall, reminding him of the photo Connor sent him yesterday. Of the tears and the desperation. How he wanted nothing but to be held by his friend. And now, when they’re so just inches apart, he’s too afraid to even look at him. He couldn’t just casually hug him without it meaning anything, because to Gavin, it would be worth everything. And if he lost that again,… no amount of nicotine would ever be enough to put him back together.  

“Must suck not having an unhealthy coping habit to solve all your problems.”

He can’t even begin to imagine what Connor must be going through.

“I wish you wouldn’t...” His cigarette gets forcibly removed from his mouth, the implications of which don’t translate to his ape brain right away, so his jaw is stuck to the ground while he watches Connor study the stolen smoke like it’s something he’s never seen before. “… have one.”

“Give it back.” He tries to get it back with his grabby fingers but Connor stops him by doing something even more unexpected.

He puts the whole cigarette in his mouth and makes some weird movements with his jaw. And just like that, the tube disappears.

The freaky bitch must have swallowed it whole.

He blinks rapidly to clear the brain fog suddenly threatening to limit his intelligence.

“What.”

Connor is towering in front of him without Gavin having any say about this scary development. His soft hands are holding Gavin by the shoulders like he wants to shake the soul of him, and maybe he does, because he looks him dead in the eye and quietly says:

“I don’t ever want to lose my unhealthy coping mechanism.”  

Connor’s fingers are boring into his jacket, probably damaging the leather, but all he cares about is the hurtful expression splitting him in half with an intent intensity.

Gavin has a million words lodged inside his throat, his own hands itching to return the contact. But there is never enough time to get his act together and put aside his inner coward.

“Sorry.” 

The touch is but a memory now as Connor is leaving him in alone in the cold place. The android even felt the need to apologise, like he did something wrong. That won’t do.

“Wait.” Gavin grabs him by the wrist, stops him in his tracks. His hands slide down on its own, a behaviour he doesn’t approve of but is unable to oppress. He can feel his own fingers trembling as they wrap around Connor’s ever so tentatively.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

 He wishes he didn’t face the android’s back so he knew whether to take that promise back.

He wishes his voice didn’t crack so he could spare himself an ounce of embarrassment.

But most of all, he wishes Connor didn’t clutch his hand this hard so he could let go and pretend nothing that out of the ordinary has happened between them. 

@a-convin-new-year sorry it’s late ;D

[tinyanimelover]

Twisted Fates

I was going to wait to release this series but then I got a little excited about it and couldn't wait any longer lmao I hope you’ll enjoy this series as well!! ^.^

Modern AU Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Reader

Genre(s): Slow Romance (Even though I've never done this before, I will try my best), Time Travel, Angst, etc

****

Grimmjow stared down at the shy girl in front of him, her eyes casted toward the ground as she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "Are you gonna talk or what? You're starting to piss me off" he grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets "What the hell do you want?". "Well..actually...I was wondering if you...maybe.." She mustered up the courage to look up at him, eyes swirling with a mix of fear and hope "G-Grimmjow-kun, d-do you want to go on a date with me!". He raised an eyebrow, surprised. Not at the fact that he'd gotten yet another confession, but that it came from this kind girl. Of all girls, this one seemed to be quiet and shy, mostly he'd get confessions from girls who were rowdy and such. Wait, who was this girl again? He chuckled in amusement, "The hell? I don't even know who you are. I don't like girls like you anyways". Her eyes widened, he could see the tears beginning to form "H-huh..but...I'm in your classroom..I have been since middle school..". "Hm?" He turned around and waved a hand "Never noticed. Thanks for wasting my time". "..G-Grimmjow-kun! Please! Don’t leave me!" He heard her call after him, he turned around an immediately his eyes widened. There she was, covered in blood on the floor, eyes void of life yet the felt like they were staring straight into his soul. He stumbled backwards, tripping and falling onto his back "T-the hell!".

He jolted up, panting and gasping for air as the sweat clung to his bare body. Eyes wide as closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. "..that..dream again..." He whispered angrily as he plopped back down, eyes glued to the ceiling. In the background, he could hear the tv from the living room going. The light from the sun peaked into his room, he groaned as he'd waken up early once again. "--six days since the gruesome murder of--" he sighed, rolling over and staring at the clock "--police are asking that anyone with any kind of information please step forward to help find justice and peace for this young woman who was found dead in her apartment by her neighbor--". He sat back up, eyebrows furrowing as he recalled something. I have been since middle school. Seriously? Why did he remember that of all things? Minutes later he was digging in his closet through a box titled Middle school, eyes focused as he tossed some of the things to the side as he searched. His eyes narrowed after a moment, fingers brushing against a photo before he picked it up. "...I knew it..." He said softly, sitting down properly as he stared at the photo "It was her...". He shut his eyes, recalling the events from that night, regret filling him "...shit..this whole time..i forgot who she was..". Hours later and he was stepping out of his apartments, phone pressed to his ear as the person on the other line spoke. "--so we'd like to have you come back down here to give us your statement again. Could you do it today?" The man asked. Grimmjow's tired eyes trailed over towards the crying male as he stood outside of the apartment next door, yellow do not cross tape guarded the door. "..I have to get to work, I'll stop by after" he let out, ripping his eyes away from the male as he walked away. "No problem, we'll see you after then. Thank you again, Jaegerjaquez-san" the man thanked before Grimmjow ended the call, going down the stairs. He could still hear the man crying, making him sigh as he slipped into his car, glad that they hadn't noticed him leave his house. If he thought his life was shitty before, it was even shittier now. As soon as he arrived to work, he was met with reporters, asking questions simultaneously, he couldn't even think as he stood there. Why? Why were they trying to pry into a dead girl’s life? Into her last moments with her asshole neighbor? "Can you tell us what happened?!" One of them asked. "Was she dead when you got there or was she still alive?!". "Were you two close?!". “If she was still alive, did she have nay last words? Did she say anything before she died?”. "Is it true that her body was cu-" the reporter was cut off when Grimmjow's co-worker stepped in and helped him get inside in one piece. "Whew! I've successfully saved Mr. Popular!" The blonde haired boy grinned as he threw a fist in the air "Extra 25 exp!". "You're such a nerd, Suu" another man spoke up, his steel colored eyes held boredom as he looked over toward Grimmjow "They've been out there since we opened". "You lose 100 points for being uncool, Umeki!" Suu stuck his tongue out. "..tch.." Grimmjow let out as he passed the two and went in to the employee room, ripping his shirt off. Angry. Confused. What the hell did he do wrong? Why did he have to be involved? "So..." Suu drawled out as he entered the room, "...did you really know that woman?". Grimmjow paused as he pulled the work shirt on, his back out in the open still "...the hell does it matter anyways? Focus on your dumb games and leave me alone". "Aah" Suu said excitedly "This is just like that game I bought last month! Underneath the Web Of Lies! I passed the game last week, the killer ends up being the main character's best friend who was in love with her since they were kids but she never loved him back". "Are you trying to say I killed her?" Grimmjow jeered, obviously annoyed now as he pulled the shirt on and fixed the collar. "No, of course not" Suu explained as he crossed his arms and leaned up against the door "It's just that the police only released her name and that she'd been killed, the investigation doesn't seem to be going any further than that from what my dad tells me. He's on the case too, but he said he doesn't have much hope for the woman". "Boo-fucking-hoo" Grimmjow let out as he finished getting dressed and pushed past the male "Go fucking cry about you're weird dead girl kink to someone else". How did he get dragged into this? Was it karma for what he'd done to her all those years back? Did he deserve everything that was happening to him? "There you are" Umeki said as he motioned over towards the fryer "Get to work on the burgers. Boss says we'll have to only do delivery and take out until this all dies down for you or you can take a few days off so that we don't lose anymore sales than we already have, you're choice". "...seriously?" Grimmjow let out with wide eyes, fists balled. "Boss is too kind to tell it to you straight but since it all happened, we've been losing money because of the reporters. As co-manager and his son, I don't want to see my father go through anymore. If he loses this place, he'll have nothing left" Umeki sighed "I hate to be that asshole, but you really should take a few days off. Let the shop recuperate it's losses". Seriously. His life was turning upside down so fast, all because of one damn woman! Someone he had no connection to at all until the day she died. What the hell was happening? He stared coldly at his hands as he walked back to his car, mind thinking back o that night. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget it. It was burned into his brain, so much so that he couldn't even sleep ever since then.

“...the hell....the hell! Wh--what do I do?! the police aren’t gonna get here in time, what do I do?!” Grimmjow said wide eyed as he stared down at the bloodied body of his neighbor. She struggled to say something but couldn't, tears spilled from her eyes as she weakly reached her hand out towards his face, a sad smile on her lips as she mouthed something. She died not a moment later, her bloodied hand print on his face as he stared down at her, heart thumping against his ribs. What,,could he have done? What should he have said? He could feel the tears falling from his own eyes, he wondered why. He didn't know her. He barely spoke to her. So why...did he feel like his heart was just ripped from his chest?

[splat-dragon]

Prompt by @Cybermentalitysublime

Prompt: John's still sorting out his complicated feeling about Dutch after Micah's death when he drunkenly asks Charles how he thinks Arthur died (Charles having been the one who buried him, of course).

Fueled either by liquid courage or just no longer able to contain himself, he blurted out “How do you think Arthur died?”

John hadn’t stopped staring at him, and he knew there was no way he’d be walking away without giving an answer. The thing was, though, he didn’t know. It had taken him a day to get to Beaver Hollow, and Arthur had been long dead by then. He hadn’t been there to see him bleed, or collapse, or breathe his last, only to collect his body with Miss Grimshaw’s and bury it.

Something was eating at John, anyone could see it.

 Even Charles, light-headed with the pain medicine Abigail had forced down his throat, could tell. He wasn’t one to pry, though, so he sat at the campfire with the man, staring into the flames and waiting for him to speak.

 That was the thing about him. People seemed to feel as though they could bare their souls to him; perhaps it was because he didn’t talk much. Or that he just listened, let them talk without feeling the need to give advice in turn unless they asked for it. He’d dare say that half the people in the gang had used him as a sounding board at least once, and even more than that had told the air their problems without realizing that he was there.

 Sadie, Tilly, Mary-Beth, even Arthur, all of them had talked to him, sitting by the fire or leaning against a tree or rock, sprawling by the lake in Clemens Point or, when it came to Arthur, riding with him as they went to help Eagle Flies.

 And Arthur had hurt. He had known that he was sick, how the others had missed it he would never know. His gaunt face, the way his clothes hung off him where once they clung to him as though a second skin, the rattling coughs that sometimes kept him up at night. But having it confirmed (“I didn’t tell you before but, I saw a doctor. It’s pretty bad, and it’s gonna get worse.” ) had burned, knowing that there was nothing he could do, that even if he had been able to get Arthur out, he would have been made to watch him waste away. He had known he was sick, but to know he was dying in front of him had hit him harder than he’d expected.

 John never had, though, so he supposed it was his turn.

Of all the members of the gang, he’d never been able to figure John out.

 Not for lack of trying, though. It was no secret that he and Arthur had butted heads more often than not, but he’d been able to tell they’d grown closer towards the end. He could see John splitting away, and had expected him to be one of the ones who would cut and run when they’d started to, join Trelawney and Uncle and the women when they up and left, but he hadn’t. He’d left with the Wapiti before things had truly gone wrong, before Dutch had left him to die, but John had caught him up on the happenings while they worked on the Hope.

 He still didn’t understand John, not completely, but they’d become, he’d dare to say, friends over the last few months, so he sat, and passed a bottle of rum between himself and John, sipping at it where John gulped it down. His head already felt stuffed with cotton from whatever Abigail had given him, and with Sadie down recuperating, and John already well on his way to drunk, they needed someone sober enough to fire a gun with some sort of accuracy.

If he was to guess, though, he’d say it had to do with Dutch.

 Sadie had told him, before Abigail had shoved the needle in her arm (and Sadie had fought like a cornered wolf, she had not wanted anything to do with a painkiller or sedative but as bullheaded as Sadie was Abigail was even more so), that they’d met Dutch up there on the mountain, walking out of Micah’s cabin. He’d said that he’d been there to kill Micah, too (“Same as you, I suppose,” he’d said according to her, though why he’d been in Micah’s cabin if that was why Charles couldn’t say, and Sadie had also said that Micah’d said that Dutch and he were “teaming up once more,” which made a hell of a lot more sense to him), and though he didn’t know everything he knew that Dutch used to mean a lot to John. That before he’d joined the gang, a long, long time ago, Dutch had been like John’s father, that he’d raised him, had raised Arthur, too, and though in the end Dutch had betrayed him, betrayed all of them, left John to die, gotten Hosea (who’d also raised them, he’d been told, and he could see it a lot easier than he could see Dutch playing father) and Sean and Kieran and Arthur and all the others killed. His mother had been taken when he was young, and his father had fallen to the drink, but he couldn’t imagine how John felt, having your father fall so far and then running into him again years later.

He took another swig of the bottle, some Guarma Rum that John had found in Uncle’s stash and brought out to the campfire, before passing it over to John. The man tilted his head back, gulping down what remained, more of it pouring out the corners of his mouth to soak his shirt than going down his throat.

 And then, fueled either by liquid courage or just no longer able to contain himself, he blurted out “How do you think Arthur died?”

 Charles would have to admit it took him somewhat by surprise, and he turned to look at John, taking a moment to compose himself. Even now, years later, though the pain had dulled, Arthur’s loss was still a wound in his chest—he’d never been one to get close to others, but Arthur was one of the few good men he had known, although he’d have denied it to his dying day, and having his death brought up so abruptly tugged painfully at that wound, made scar-tissue that he’d thought long-healed throb and remind him of its existence.

 “You, you buried him.” John slurred, eyes somehow focused yet glassy all the same, and Charles felt like he was being stared through, as though John was staring at him so fierce he’d be able to see Arthur’s death through him. “You told me so. So… you saw him, after he, after he passed.” and he had, of course he had. A day or so later, when he’d seen the news of ‘the end of the Van Der Linde gang’ in the newspaper, all the way up in South Dakota, not yet having reached Canada, and he was glad for it as he’d never have known if they had. He’d ridden Taima hard to come back, he’d had to see with his own eyes if it were true—some part of him knew that it was, the photo in the article was of Arthur’s wagon burning, but he’d needed to see it with his own two eyes, know who was dead and who had survived.

 He hadn’t been surprised, per say, to see the news. Even Arthur, staunch supporter of Dutch he had been, had admitted that the Gang was just about done. Had even tried to come with him, to leave everything behind to help escort the Wapiti to safety. But he hadn’t expected that it would be the Pinkertons that would end them. He had been certain that it would be Dutch himself, in his ego-driven insanity, that would destroy them. Would put a bullet between their eyes, or get them caught and be the cause of the nooses that snapped taut around their necks.

John hadn’t stopped staring at him, and he knew there was no way he’d be walking away without giving an answer. The thing was, though, he didn’t know. It had taken him a day to get to Beaver Hollow, and Arthur had been long dead by then. He hadn’t been there to see him bleed, or collapse, or breathe his last, only to collect his body with Miss Grimshaw’s and bury it.

 “I’m not sure,”  he finally settled on, and he could see John puff up like an angry kitten, in a way that might have been scary if he wasn’t two sheets to the wind.

 “How do you think, then? I… I need to…” his voice faltered, and he shook his head, looking very confused when he tried to sup from the rum only to find it empty, “I just… want to know.”

 John had told him, once, and only once, looking sad and pitiful and half drunk then, too, about the last time he’d seen Arthur. His brother, gaunt and dying, face void of any color, eyes bloodshot and looking so, so tired. He’d told him to run, that he’d “hold them off”  and to “get the hell out of here and be a goddamn man”  and then, Charles had known, then, that he was only talking because he was drunk, and John wouldn’t look him in the eye for a week after, John had admitted that he’d told him “You’re my brother,” and Arthur had said “I know.”

 And looking at John, now, it didn’t escape him that John looked horribly guilty. Arthur had gone up on that mountain to draw Pinkerton's attention away from him, and never came back down. It wasn't John’s fault, and Arthur had insisted on it, would never have gotten off that mountain either way from the sound of it, (John had told him that Arthur had said so, that he’d apparently thought that “We ain’t both gonna make it,” )

He remembered riding into Beaver Hollow, the smell of smoke still cloying in the air. The corpses of the Pinkertons had been gathered, though he could see where they had lain, the dirt disturbed and dark with their blood, and their blood stained his footprints as he dismounted and walked into the center of the clearing, hand on the grip of his gun just in case.

 It was hard to reconcile this with his camp. The one where he’d sat to the side, relaxing as the others sang along to whatever Javier was playing on the guitar. Keeping an eye on Jack as he ran around, chasing Cain or trying to catch some bug or the other, watching them dance around, tripping over their feet as Dutch hurried to grab Molly after putting on that ridiculous gramophone of his.

 The one where they’d slowly separated, Micah’s group staying off to their side, while ‘Arthur’s’ (though at the time they hadn’t thought of themselves as that) kept to themselves. Sitting awkwardly together when Dutch explained his ‘plan’, Micah standing behind him and grinning. The camp where he’d watched Arthur wither away, where he’d watched them mourn, had mourned in turn, where he’d tried to keep them together before giving up, keeping them fed and little else as he turned his attentions elsewhere.

 The wagons and tents had been left to burn and fall apart, crumpling in on themselves. Tarps, little more than shreds of leather, clung desperately to their frames, shattered, burnt wood standing tall like so many ghastly grave-markers. Glass had crunched beneath his boots as he walked, and he’d looked to see a photograph beneath his boot, picking it up carefully. The glass was coated so thickly with dirt and ash and he hadn’t known what else, and he’d been grateful for his gloves as he wiped it clean, staring at the photograph.

 It was one of Dutch, Hosea and Arthur, when they were all young. Before everything went wrong, when it was just the three of them, before John, before Susan even, and it was strange to look back into their past when he was walking into the corpse of their fall.

 He’d broken the glass, the imprint of his boot clear in the shattering of it. They’d been sat Hosea, Dutch, then Arthur, with Dutch standing between them, and his boot had landed just so, the glass splitting to put a vaguely V-shaped crack that ran between Dutch and the other two, separating Dutch from them. Ice had settled low in his stomach, at the sight, and he’d shoved the picture into his satchel, not sure what he’d do with it later, but not wanting to leave it behind.

 (He’d lost it, some street rat stealing that satchel while he was brawling as the White Wolf in Saint Denis, and had never forgiven himself for it)

 Charles’ eyes had been drawn, somehow, to a particular tent, collapsed in an odd way, he thought it was Pearsons’ but the camp had been scattered, thrown about and it was hard to tell whose from whose, but it was about in the spot where the mess wagon had been. The tarp had been bulging up in an odd way, too long and unnatural to be just an odd way of settling, and for a moment he had hoped thought that, maybe, it had been a horse. One of the smaller ones, the spares kept around camp in case they had to hurry, or bring one of the girls along or one of the horses needed to rest. But the shape wasn’t right, and it was too small for even the smallest of their horses, for even the Count, and so he had hoped thought that, maybe, it had been a fallen Pinkerton, one that had been missed in the mess.

But some part of him had known, even as he approached, reaching out with his gun to carefully move the tarp aside. The body had begun to rot, smelled of it, but was still whole, hadn’t turned colors or fallen apart, yet. He’d known from the moment he’d seen the dress, too elegant for a gang such as theirs, black turned brown with long dried blood, a tired face relaxed in death, graying hair loosed from its pompadour, shotgun not far from her hands.

 He hadn’t expected the grief that had struck him as he’d looked upon the body of Susan Grimshaw; they’d never been close, but he’d never been particularly close with any of the Van der Linde gang, bar a few. But she’d been one of the good ones, as good as any of them had been, cared deeply about all of the gang members even if she’d been harsh in her way of showing it, and he was sorry for her death.

 So when he picked her up, he was careful, as gentle as he could be, cradling her as he carried her over to Taima, settling her gently on her rump. She deserved better than to be slung over his horse like some bounty, but he hadn’t brought a wagon or any other way to carry a corpse, so all he could do was tie her down and hope he’d find somewhere close by to bury her.

 And then, as a passing thought, he’d grabbed her shotgun and tied it to Taima’s saddle as well to bury her with.

Why he’d kept looking, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was because he could see that there had been so many Pinkertons, there was no way that, with how few the gang had been reduced to, they’d only lose one. And the tracks were obvious, leading deeper and deeper into the cave, splattered here in there with familiar amounts of blood that had set dread deep into his stomach, and he’d known where that ladder let out, grabbed Taima and ridden her up to it, found the tracks easily as they switched from boot- to hoof-prints, walking Taima slowly as he followed them.

 It hadn’t taken him to find Arthur’s horse and Old Boy.

 Arthur had loved that horse, and there it had been, splayed out on the grass, half eaten away by scavengers. If it weren’t for that saddle, he might not have recognized it, its fur dulled in death, white bones gleaming where skin and hide had been eaten away. Old Boy had been more recognizable, his brown hide only barely darker, lighter mane splayed out on the grass, side torn into, and he’d wanted to bury them but they were both larger and heavier than Taima, and the ground around there was barely suitable for burying a human, was far too rocky to build a grave for a horse, so he’d been made to leave them behind to be picked clean by scavengers, and he’d thought that, maybe, he could return some day and retrieve their skulls.

 He never had.

The ground had gotten rockier and rockier not long after, an incline that Taima, sure-footed as she was, had begun to struggle with, skidding and stumbling. So he’d left her behind, wrapped her reins around her saddle-horn, trusting her to come when he called, not wanting to tie her down—they were in cougar country, and with a corpse on her back she’d be nothing more than a delicious meal if he did.

 The tracks had been harder to follow as the ground grew rockier and rockier, but he’d been able to follow them in the dust, disturbed as it was by their boots, darkened with small sprays of blood. There came a point where it had split, and it had taken him a time to follow it—he wouldn’t have known if the tracks that kept going hadn’t clearly belonged to one man, and there was no sign of the other falling. Finally, though, he had been able to find the tracks of the other, climbing up a sharp incline, and had followed that—the other’s tracks would be easier to pick up, and the one climbing up was splattered with blood, and something had bid him to follow.

He’d lost the tracks at the edge of a cliff or, at least, what he’d thought was a cliff. It had ended abruptly, where it had looked like the man had knelt for a moment, before up and vanishing. Charles had walked around, quickly finding another pair of tracks, these ones running, and from the looks of it they should have intersected with the others’. And then he’d looked over the cliff, and realized it was more ledge then cliff, and that there was another beneath it.

 So, as carefully as he could, he’d dropped down onto the lower ledge, looking around. The ground had been a mess, dust and dirt thrown up in a clear struggle, covered in splatters of blood—bigger than the ones he’d seen before and, looking up, there was disturbed dirt on the underside of the ledge, too, and blood as well. Something had dragged on the ground, he realized, stepping back and looking down beneath his feet, the ground streaked through, and he followed the path with his eyes, an odd sort of trepidation settling deep in his chest.

He’d missed the body, at first.

 It had been growing late, growing dark, and the body was out on the very ledge of a precipice, so he hadn’t immediately noticed it. But the drag marks led right to it, and then he wondered how he’d missed it. His heart had been in his throat as he approached it, the body little more than a indecipherable blob at first, but as he grew near his heart had stuttered, then dropped into his stomach as he began to see it more in detail—

 that tan jacket, the blue shirt becoming more clear as he grew nearer. that strange blond-brown hair that changed colors with the sun and then, when he was standing beside him

 green-blue eyes, glazed and stony as a river-rock in death, but undeniable.

 “Oh, Arthur,” 

John was still staring at him, and though he had never been one for fidgeting, beneath John’s fierce stare, (drunk as he was, John’s gaze was stabbing through him harsher than any blade), he wished he had something in his hands to occupy them; his harmonica, lost years ago, to polish, or his gun to do the same, the rum bottle to roll between them or something to whittle.

He thought back, to turning Arthur over. He thought that, maybe, Arthur had been leaning over, looking at the rising sun (perhaps it was a romanticized notion, but from the way he’d been positioned it was what came to mind), but in the days that had passed he’d slumped, stiffening with rigor mortis before going limp again, hunched over in a way that could only ever be accidental, in a way that made his own neck and back ache in sympathy; when he’d turned him over, everything in his head had screamed wrongwrongwrong, in that way anyone’s did when dealing with a corpse. A human is wired to want to stay far away, for fear that whatever killed that person is still nearby, that it might kill them, too, whether it be sickness or predator, or merely infection from touching a corpse.

 But this was his friend, and so despite the skin that slipped beneath his fingers, shifting unnaturally, he’d knelt beside him, a deep frown twisting his face. His face had blanched, blood settling at the bottom of his legs, in his rear, from how he’d been sitting, but still his face was grayed, marbled in death, and horribly bruised, both his eyes blackened, lips split and cheekbones visibly broken, caved in, shattered bones protruding, pressing against translucent skin. Brown, dried blood surrounded his mouth, his chin, darkened the collar of his beloved shirt.

Looking at John, the man’s eyes pleading despite his fierce gaze, he hesitated. He didn’t know what had killed Arthur. The man didn’t look like he’d been in pain when he’d died—his face had been smooth, devoid of those lines of stress that had been etched so deep, but that could be contributed to the slippage, too. His face had been… well, it had been destroyed. It had looked like he’d been beaten, pinned down and had his face smashed in, and from the state of the place where he’d found him it wouldn’t surprise him (although it had looked like Arthur had put up a hell of a fight, too) if he had, but the way he’d been slumped against the rock… well, that didn’t make sense either. It hadn’t looked like he’d been thrown down, left to rot, but as though he’d dragged himself there.

 “I’m not sure,” he finally admitted, and though John didn’t move, didn’t say a word, in his eyes he looked as though he’d been struck, the distress there obvious. “He… he was in pretty bad shape. Looked like he’d been in a hell of a fight but,” he searched for his words, “he didn’t look like he was suffering at the end. I think…” and he did, nodding as he turned from John’s gaze to look into the flames, “I think it was the tuberculosis that took him, in the end.”

There was silence, for a long moment, tension that throbbed in the air like a thing alive. Finally, John gave a sigh that said more than a thousand words could, and stood, stumbling away towards the house, bottle of rum still clutched in his hand.

 He’d asked Charles in hopes of settling his mind, of easing something that ate at him every day, that kept him up at night, and found himself with more questions than before.

[heechulhamster]

Magnum Opus - Baekhyun

BYUN BAEKYUN x Reader

Artist!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut. 

You were only in search for the man that would inspire you for your 10th painting, but he already found the subject of his masterpiece. 

I know I said that I’d post this next week, but I just couldn’t stop myself from writing. My heart swells from the support and love that you give me, guys. Thank you so much!

5304 words.

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It spoke of a silhouette of a man looking outside the window towards an episode of storm and undeniable gloom. He’s holding a flute of champagne like the classy man he poses to be. Yet like the scenery he ponders on, he’s nothing but a sad noise of isolation and and abandonment. JJY 11418, one of the paintings in your current exhibit. There were 8 others displayed on the finite space of the art gallery you’ve occupied for the past week. Nine was a small number for a collection of works to conduct an exhibition for, but nine is a huge number for the total of relationships..

JJY, or Jang Jaehyun was one of the nine men you’ve dated the past years - a part of your past, a random person in your wide array of memories, and now painting number nine. His was an image of aloofness and poignancy, exactly how he entered your life. Jaehyun was a broken boy in all aspects. A personification of the bad boy stereotype in the movies, bent, scarred, and emotionally distant. The relationship was mainly physical at first, until he opened up and relied on you. But at this point in your life, you weren’t up for the task to be a bearer of someone’s emotional dependency. It was only a matter of time for him to break you like how much of a ruin he is, so you had to sever all ties with him.

Your eyes wandered further to the other paintings subtly titled with other initials. How you immortalized someone you ought to forget and bury in the past by art. Or rather capitalize on old, toxic relationships. You got hurt, so it was right and just you could use those experiences, their stories, for a living, right?

“Who’s JJY?” You’re brought back to Earth by a random interruption behind you. Abruptly turning to see who it is, you see a man not much taller than you with his face void of harsh features.

“Hmmm… someone.” You answered thriftily.

“I conclude that JJY is an ex.” He said with a short laugh and his eyes disappeared when he smiled. Cute, you thought.

“I believe that the exhibit has been closed for..” You look at your watch. “15 minutes now, I’m just preparing to close.”

“I just finished closing mine, that’s why I dropped by. Been wanting to enter this exhibit for a while now.” He used his thumb to point on the exhibit adjacent to yours.

“Oh you’re the photographer?” You asked to which he nodded to. “Nice to finally meet you. I loved your portraits, your boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t exactly sway that way.” You chuckled a little on his words. “Kai is a friend, been interested to photograph dancers while they dance. You know, motion translates good on photos.”

“Tell Kai that he really looks good while dancing.”

“Sorry honey, my friend is taken.” Laughing at your implication. He reached out his hand in front of you, “Baekyun.” You took his hand and also introduced yourself.

“So, all of them are exes?” Baekhyun slowly took his steps as his head looked around the room. His olive green blazer and faded jeans with his copper toned hair contrasting greatly against the white room.

“Not exactly, one over there was an ex fuck buddy. But got enough story to paint.” You pointed towards a warm colored painting on the other side of the room, LDH.

“Wow, you’ve been around.” He laughed as he adjusted his round glasses and took another step towards another painting.

“Well, I can say I’m just in demand.” You joked.

“This one’s sad, this is literally just a guy on a desk and everything’s black and white. What was he like?” Baekhyun closely examined the piece KJS.

“Man, was he as boring as that painting. In all aspects! Conversation wise, he was of no depth. He was a business man, you know how plain and bland they are.” You explained.

“Even in bed?” Baekhyun looked back at you.

��More over in bed.”

“This KJS guy is really a waste of canvas.” He laughed a little and continued walking around with both his hands on his pockets. You have to admit, Baekhyun didn’t look a lot like your ideal type, tall and tan with masculine features. He is more of a flower boy appearance, like someone you’d meet on a sunny Sunday walk around the neighborhood and greet. Yet his aura exuded something more cunning and it got you curious. He really carried himself well.

“Do you accept commissions?” Baekhyun asked.

“Do you mean do I accept new relationships?” You jokingly answered before you looked back at him with his suggestive look. He earned a scoff from you, “Are you serious?”

“I find you interesting, and cute.” Baekhyun wiggled his eyebrows at you. You did a quick scan of your current appearance, you’re wearing a maxi skirt with an ethnic print and a black lace bralette. Your fashion sense sure was in luck today.

“Cute, what a word. Last time I’ve been called that was probably in high school.” You laughed.

“Okay, I think you’re hot. Besides, I would like to make a deal.” Baekhyun fully turned his body from facing the painting to yours and put his hands in his pockets.

“I just knew there’s gonna be a catch. What’s it?” You crossed your hands over your chest to feign intimidation.

“I might have seen the subject of my next series in you.” He reached out a hand and tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that made you blush like a teenager. “And who knows, maybe I could be painting number ten?”

With Baekhyun’s smirk, you just knew that it was too good of an offer to refrain to.

Baekhyun was an interesting person, to say the absolute least. He was colorful beyond being an artist, an extreme delight to talk to. All it took for you was two dates with him to be madly infatuated with him, and what he could be. How he spoke of everything with passion and with a pledge of enthusiastic fervor.

You vividly remember the first date, a textbook definition of a date in a cafe. It was an interesting place just near the art galleries. A space filled with vintage memorabilia and there was an actual vintage car inside. Baekhyun took the opportunity with you and his camera, presenting you photos of sides of yourself that you’ve never seen before. A new smile that suited your face so well, and you just know what made the difference. The cafe was interesting in itself yet with his ecstatic musings and stories of childhood, it made the place look gloomy and he was the sole light in the universe.

“What did you see in me?” You suddenly asked as you stirred your frappe and while he changed batteries of his camera.

“Uhm, beauty?” He playfully answered with the smile that made him look like a dachshund, a cute one that is.

“Shut the fuck up, Baek. Seriously. You told me you saw your next series or whatsoever in me. I need to know why.”

Baekhyun shifted in his seat and put down his Leica. “I’ve always wanted to feature artists in my work. You know, people tend to disregard the artistic process. The time it took and the emotions a person shed just to come up with the art that they’re so willing to buy and consume. I want the world to see that, the story behind. The art in the making of art.” You almost thought that he’s being to serious in his speech until he winked right after the last sentence.

“And you’re hot. You’re art yourself.” You just chuckled at his playfulness. Because honestly, even if you tried to reply, you’d only speak utter gibberish due to the blush that flooded your cheeks.

Baekhyun made you experience teenage love in the age of twenty six.

It wasn’t like your previous relationships the past few years where you just stuck together for companionship, or sex. It wasn’t a matter of just fulfilling the physical and emotional gaps you have in your life. Baekhyun wasn’t just a cork you try to mask your insecurities and loneliness with. He was someone who made you feel as if you really wanted to be there. You didn’t show up on dates just for the sake of courtesy - you were excited for it. You remember how with the past others you’ve dated, you just come as whoever you are. How you put close to no effort in dressing up, because they weren’t someone you need to impress. They asked you out in the first place. But with Baekhyun, you spend two hours in front of the mirror trying to pick a dress that would accentuate all your assets. It wasn’t because you need to impress him, it’s just because you want to look your best.

The second date, you both tried to go out your comfort zone and rented a karaoke booth. He told you that performance wasn’t his thing but he actually had good singing skills. So when he passed you the mic, you amply declined in embarrassment. Yet that boy really had good convincing, or annoying skills that he was able to coax the shame out of you and got you to sing Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and The Waves. A few drinks and songs later, both of you sang a duet and danced to Abba.

It was at that moment where you started to look at his eyes a bit differently. How his eyes were too warm for your liking, how it carried more messages than you could comprehend. You grew aware of how his thumb lightly played with your shoulder as his hand rested on it. Your bare thigh due to the shorts your wearing was attentive of how it connected with Baekhyun’s denim pants. It was as if your senses were at overdrive, and all it could take in was Baekhyun.

“You’re not hot.” You suddenly blurted out.

“Uhm, ouch. But thank you?” He put his hand over his chest to act as if he’s hurt.

“No, I mean. You’re not buff, not muscular. But there’s just something about you I find sexy. And I don’t know what it is.” You shook your head much to your chagrin.

“That’s better.” He quickly answered. You shot him a confused face while your elbow rested on the couch and your hand supported your face. Baekhyun straightened his seat in front of you. “If you’re just attracted to how I look, you could leave me if I gain weight. If you don’t know what you’re here for, you’re just going to keep on wanting to know. You’re stuck with me, missy.”

“I need to know, Byun. How am I going to paint my 10th if you’re going to keep me in a daze?” You pouted.

“Artist’s call.” That was all he answered before he chugged down another bottle of beer.

Baekhyun showed up in your exhibit late at night after his day job. He worked as a photojournalist for the local paper aside from his artistic ventures as a photographer. Keeps the stability of the dinner table, he says. To which you understand fully, a painting can earn you a couple of hundred dollars. A commissioned painting can cost to up a thousand, but how common of an occurrence was that? You yourself experienced needing to work a few temp jobs just to make ends meet.

“Can I ask you something?” Baekhyun whispered behind you, to which you responded a simple hum.

“Which hurt the hardest?” You looked back at him and saw nothing but mere curiosity in his face.

“Hmmm…” You started crossing the finite space of your exhibit, halting in front of a piece that was a burst of reds and oranges, a symphony of warm tones. It featured a two people hugging each other, but one had his back from the other as it seemed that his own figure melted. You sighed, the very first piece that you made in this collection - JTY.

“It really looks painful.” You felt a pair of arms wrap around you and you were enveloped in Baekhyun’s embrace and his scent. “Who is it?”

“My second boyfriend, just right before I graduated from High School. We lasted a while. Close to 2 years , I think. He wanted me to go to the same University as him, take a much more practical course. But I don’t want that. I can’t be just another lawyer like him, I can’t deal with the definitivity of it. How constricted their career is with their laws and everything. He broke up with me and told me I was being dumb. That being an artist would only lead to struggling. And he couldn’t stay with someone so irrational. He didn’t just break my heart, he made me doubt my dreams. Made me doubt if I could actually make it. But hey, here I am, right?” You chuckled a little after you ended your story.

All you felt was his breath fanning on your neck. The story didn’t even make you sad anymore, it was just a part of your past. And you’ve already proven your ex wrong. And you’re with someone way better.

“You’re here, and I trust that..” Baekhyun whispered and planted a chaste kiss on your neck. “To further places you’ll go.”

You turned your face to him, his arms on your waist hugged tighter as you closed the distance between your lips. Gently placing a kiss on his lips as if expressing how thankful you were that he was by your side.

Later that night, both of you ended at your apartment. Out of no reason, he reminded you that he was to commission a painting from you. Baekhyun brought his old film camera and a polaroid, and you remembered that he wanted to capture you as you work.

“What would you like me to paint?” You asked as you sat in front of your easel, paint and brushes already prepared on the side.

“What do you want to paint? Whatever.” He said as he prepared his film camera and set up a blinding set of lights.

“I thought this was commission? You need to give me ideas, sir.” You chuckled a little.

“Me.” He answered as he sat on the chair that was in reverse, then placing his elbows on the backrest. “But how you see me.”

“Shall I paint a puppy, then?” You joked, to which Baekhyun scoffed at.

“Nevermind. Just do a self portrait.” He decided, and you looked at him annoyingly. “I told you-”

“You told me that you don’t do self portraits because you don’t like how you see yourself. But I do like you. And I’d like a beautiful painting so just paint you. It’s a commission, no buts - okay?” He retaliated, and at this point you had no choice.

So you just put your hair up in a bun and started painting. You put one of your legs up on the chair, the way it helps you focus. You tried to not be distracted by the few clicks of camera that you hear, and not be conscious of how you’d look on the photos. But that wasn’t was distracting you all along. Baekhyun already removed the coat that he wore over his black button down shirt, which already had its first three buttons undone. And with the way he focused on his craft, he glistened hotter than the surface of the sun.

You tried your best to just proceed on your work. Choosing to portray yourself naked, only covered by a thin cloth, as a sign of freedom. The way you’re used to. As an expression of your despise for being bound and being told what to do. The way your ex told you what you should do, the way your parents asked you to take another course. The nakedness you showed was a sign of breaking free from all that held you back to who you wanted to be.

“You really want me to hang that on my living room?” Baekhyun suddenly asks behind you.

“You hang it where you want to hang, but I’ll paint what I feel to paint.” You answered without even looking at him as you refrained to be distracted.

“Do you even know that you bite your lips too hard when you focus?”

“I’m not aware of how I look like when I paint, Baek. That’s why I need to see how I look on those photos.”

He walked over in front of you and holds your hand, almost commanding you to stop your activity. “You could continue that some other time. For now, I have another thing in mind.” He said as he put down the canvass you’ve been working on from your easel.

He walked over to the stock of other canvass boards lying in your living room and unpacked one, eventually placing it on the easel.

“I’m to commission another, an abstract.” He said.

“I’m not a fan of abstract, Baek.”

“But that’s what I want. I’ll help you.” He proclaimed and you scrunched up your face in confusion. “Abstract paintings are more than a mess, you see. It portrays what the artist feels as of the moment. An emotion locked in time by a painting. I’ll help you by giving you something to feel.”

You almost choked in shock and confusion when he knelt in front of you. Hands slowly carressing your thighs down to the hem of the skirt you wore. Baekhyun looked at you as if asking for permission, to which you just nodded to. He lifted the hem of your skirt to reveal your legs, and eventually your underwear.

“Baekhyun, what?” You asked almost with just your breath.

“Just paint what you feel, darling. And I’ll make you feel good.” Baekhyun responded just right before he planted kisses on your inner thigh. Your hands quivered at the sensation he was bringing you. You felt his hands palming your heat, a part of you he’s already familiarized himself with the past month you’ve been dating.

Baekhyun continued planting wet kisses on your thighs until his hands started tugging on your underwear. You lifted from your chair a little bit to let him fully pull it down. For him to remove the barrier that’s been separating the two of you. It was when you felt his breath in the middle of your thighs that your mind blanked out.

“You better start painting, baby. I’m planning to take a while here.” Baekhyun declared then suddenly diving his face into your folds. The way his tongue flattened on your heat sent your mind to space. With his tongue’s movements and his arms wrapped around your thighs, constricting you to move, you just blanked out. You closed your eyes and threw your head back as you let him work his wonder into your body.

“The painting, baby. I’m gonna need you to tell me how you feel by that.” Baekhyun parted his lips from yours so you picked up the first shade of paint that came in contact with your hands, violet. He returned his lips on your folds, and eventually sucked on your clit. You were unable to function normally, and the canvass was just a mess of random smears of violet and blue.

He then started using his hands when you picked up another color. You were nearing your bliss when Baekhyun worked faster. Your hands on the canvass almost mimicked his movements, producing jagged zigzag lines of white over the cold colors. A few moments later and you felt your lower stomach contract. Your left hand putting down the paint and finding his hair, bunching it to make him feel how close you were. It didn’t even take another minute for you to reach your release.

Baekhyun distanced himself from you, looking at you with evidences of his actions and your pleasure still smeared on his face. He looked at the painting, “It’s beautiful, and it's mine.”

You laughed at the double meaning of his words. “It’s free, as a payment for your hard work.”

It was another day where you woke up in a place that’s not yours. Enveloped with an arms that held you as if he’d stop breathing if he lets go. Baekhyun sensed that you’re already awake and planted a kiss on the side of your face.

“Good morning, beautiful.” You just threw him a side eye on his cheesy words.

You just lied on his bed when he stood up, you didn’t want to move due to the way your body felt. Sore, tired, and stretched out, but wonderful and pleasured. You closed your eyes again as you felt the blankets peeled away from your body. You almost pulled it back in response but you’re shocked when you opened your eyes and saw a polaroid camera focused at you.

You didn’t know how to react. Because one, you’re naked as hell. And second, Baekhyun was generous enough to shower you with marks and bites last night.

“What the fuck Baek?” You threw a pillow at him. “That’s not going in your collection.”

He laughed at you as he fanned the photo that came out of the polaroid. “No worries, for a very special personal collection. Only my eyes can see.”

You both just cuddled afterwards, immersing yourself in the pleasure of silence and just holding each other close. You turned to him, admiring his youthful features.

“How did you get into photography?” You suddenly asked.

“It was my first love, actually.” You nodded in silence. “She was the first one to make me hold a camera. I fell in love with it, and she’s always been my subject. But I eventually fell in love with the art more than her. She felt it, and grew tired of being with me. She told me to find a new subject, one that’s better suited for me. One that I can produce my magnum opus with. One that feels perfect.” He stared at you as he spoke.

“One that can stick with me and my art forever.” Baekhyun grabbed your hand and planted a kiss on it.

Your breath hitched, on the mention of the word. Forever.

Were you willing to stick forever?

Or Baekhyun was just something that excited you now? And like all other men, would be boring to you afterwards. You always found yourself growing tired of a routine, and the same applied to people. When time comes that you’ve known them too well, when there’s no thrill anymore, you tend to slip away. You tend to lose interest.

Would it be different for Baekhyun? Will he keep you interested long enough for you to commit?

Another thing, commitment. One you’re scared of and one you suck at. Commitments were never your thing. That’s why you never indulged yourself on the steady pay of a day job. Routines sicked the hell out of you. You couldn’t bare to live a life so repeated and cyclical. You’re afraid to be tied down, bound, and be stopped from growing. You don’t want to be stuck in a same place, you loved adventure so much and you seeked it. Whether that new encounters involved new places or new people, as long as you’ll gain another story to tell that you’d then translate onto a canvas. Immortalizing a story into a piece of art that no one can change.

Are you willing to give up that freedom in an exchange of a stability with Baekhyun?

Later that night, you found yourself once again in front of your easel. WIth your feet up and your hair tied in a tight, messy bun. All too fixated on the story that flowed out from your mind, to your hands, and eventually on the painting that you worked on.

Your tenth painting.

It wasn’t too cinematic nor too definitive. It’s just a man with an army green coat, holding a camera that covers his face. His other hand held another that extends to the front of the painting, a hand that was supposed to be yours. The background almost looked like a galaxy, a symphony of blue and violet - a splitting image of the abstract painting that already lived in his bedroom.

It’s a summary of how you saw Baekhyun, how you felt with him, and how much you’re happy and hurt.

Hurt because you just can’t find the will to stay.

You’re a coward that’s afraid of imperfection. He wants someone who could stick forever. His perfect muse of his art. The subject of his masterpiece, the lady of his colorful life. But you can’t find the perfect girl in you, you don’t know if you could fulfill all his expectations. If you were enough to be the perfect girl. Your mouth filled with bitterness on the notion of the word perfect, a word so superficial and so abstract. Because who can even be ever perfect? Is there even a set standard on what perfect is?

But you just knew to yourself that you’re not that.

You couldn’t be perfect.

And you couldn’t be his.

You lifted your brush, and there it was. The painting that will never speak enough on how much you felt, how much you loved, and how much it hurt - BBH.

You stopped dropping by his exhibit even if it’s only opposite yours. You started ditching his calls, not wanting to be the one to break the thing between you two. Because you can’t break his heart and doing so would break yours. Maybe if you just put the two of you in the cold, he would eventually slip away too, that maybe Baekhyun would also just let it slide and let go.

But too much for a wishful thinking.

Baekhyun showed up on the last day of your exhibit, you were currently boxing all the unbought paintings and wrapping up those who found a home. He showed up with his dark jeans and black shirt. His hair ruffled but every strand still in perfect place. You knew with the look on his face that’s he’s here to clear things up.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He sat in front of you as you neatly taped a painting in its box.

“Nothing? It’s the last day of my exhibit. I just need to clear things up a bit.” You didn’t even look in his eyes, afraid that when you do so - you’ll only give in.

“I’m not talking about the damn exhibit, I’m talking about us.” His voice grew louder, tenser. You could already imagine how veins would show on his forehead and the tendons on his neck would grow tense.

“Us? What’s with us, Baek?” You tried to answer innocently.

“Exactly. What’s with us?” He reached out to your hand. Tugging it a bit harshly to get you to look at him. “You just fucking dropped me off, I don’t even remember doing anything wrong. So tell me what happened. Because obviously, the ball is in your court.”

You sighed, there was just no getting out of this. You stood up and placed the boxed painting among the others that was ready for pickup.

“I finished my tenth painting, and you finished your new series. So…” You tried to flash a smile.

“Yes, it’s done. So?” Baekhyun’s forehead creased in confusion.

“So our deal is done. Remember? You asked for a deal. And it’s done.” You had to turn your back away from him.

“What? So that’s all this was to you?” He grabbed your arm to make you turn around back to him. And when you met his eyes that spoke of agitation and various sentiments, you can’t help your eyes from welling up. You wanted to break down, regret the way you’ve acted the past weeks and just hug him.

“That’s all I am to you? Just another painting to hang on some rich guy’s wall? Another canvass you’d brand with my initials? So fuck, I’m just BBH, painting number ten to you?” He laughed in sarcasm.

“No, Baek. It’s just…” Your words got caught up in your throat. A little bit of too much and too little thoughts flooded your mind. You wanted to say a lot of things, how much he made you feel, how happy you were with him, and everything.

“What? Because, I love you. I fucking love you so much, (Y/N) You’re not just going to be another photo project I’m working on, because you live here.” Baekhyun’s index finger pointed on his chest, where his heart is, where he told you you lived in.

“I can’t be your perfect girl, Baekhyun! I’m not perfect. I don’t know if I’m enough to fill all your expectations. All that you want, because I’m just me, Baek. A girl that paints her exes into canvases to make ends meet. One who dated ten guys to get stories to paint, who’s been around just for the sake of the art I make.” You explained.

“I got addicted into the idea of dating people because it gives me inspiration and stories to paint. And with you, you just didn’t make me want to paint a single work. You’re the one I can’t explain in just one frame. I don’t think a thousand would be enough, too. I’m scared. I’m scared because this shit is new to me. I came to this agreement expecting to gain something and go to the next one but no, I craved something more. I craved to stay. And I don’t know how to deal with it. Because commitments is something I suck at, Baek.”

Baekhyun took two steps and closed the distance between you two. Both of his hands found the sides of your face, cupping it closer to him.

“I don’t need someone’s who’s perfect. I just need someone who stays.” He planted a chaste kiss on your lips. “Just stay, please.”

You just stared at him, you wanted to stay. You wanted to go and find out how it feels to be kept and stay at one place. The pleasure and comfort of finding a home in somebody’s arms. But could you?

“Please, stay.” Baekhun asked once more because he kissed you passionately in the middle of the room. The exact same room where he first approached you. The room that contained all the frames that told stories of each and every heartbreak, every part of your past. And now it contained the man who held your future, and he was holding you.

Baekhyun kept hold of his part of the gallery. Eventually filling it with a new series of photos, one that featured you. There you saw how you bit your lip as you focused on a painting. Each strand of your hair that went haywire from the messy bun on the top of your head. How you sat so unfeminine with your feet up on the chair. It was just so raw, and so you.

“I told you, it looks good.” He said as he planted a kiss on your shoulder. He let you be the first one to see the photos as he freshly hung it in the gallery.

“It only looks good because you’re a great photographer. You know my angles.” You said with a smile.

“No, it doesn’t just look good. It’s perfect. To me, you’re perfect.” His arms embraced around you again. “And this love I share with you is my masterpiece. An art that I’d continue working on.” And Baekhyun planted a kiss on your lips.

And it’s true, because the love you had for each other in your veins will be forever immortalized in the art that you bleed. An emotion captured in time, a moment that’s frozen, and a love that will never fade.

[kariachi]

Okay y’all, second episode for the day.

Cosplay Day

Oh, look, a Kelly Turnbull episode. That bodes very well.

‘Cos-Con Cosplay Con’ the fuck

Costume-Cosplaying Convention Costume Contest

These announcers need to take a vacation or something

Ben, sweetie, the fuck is that costume? Is a cardboard box with Christmas lights.

And he gets voted off instantly

...how is the Forever Dipshit a popular source of inspiration? How do they even know about him, did he go about his day-to-day life in that outfit? Attend board meetings? PR events? Did he got to the annual bbq in full plate?

...they know about him because Kevin put up a fucking video including him on his youtube channel way back when.

Also the video has FD asking Kevin to reroute ionization readouts, so he at least knew my son had a brain in his skull.

Ben no. Ben no reentering competitions as an alien

Gwen, sticking around the competition to see how horribly this plan goes whiel Max fucks off to look at the rest of the event

Vendor losing her shit that Max dares to be at the event without knowing a damn thing about anything. Meanwhile he’s proudly there in support of his grandchildren.

...the FD mask at her table disappeared. This certainly bodes well

One each ‘Enrique Mendoza’ is walking around in a FD mask and I am Suspicious, mostly because we’ve seen a suspicious silhouette a few times and this seems too convenient

There is a dude at this convention dressed like a hotdog who brought his baby dressed as a bottle of mustard

A skittish fucker, ain’t he? Max corners him trying to give him his badge and he’s going all fight or flight

Also dude’s got the helmet and the cape but not the rest to the armor set and that just seems like a half-assed job. I mean at least wear something other than jeans. Or a shirt with longer sleeves. Something.

And security is after the dude because he knocked Max into their favorite hotdog stand. Seems plausible.

Hmmmmm

Oh gods Enrique’s photo is just of the most saccharine young man

.........okay the helmet is a facehugger. Never thought I’d be so concerned in my life over an article of clothing

Also it’s moved on from Enrique to one of the guards

Max picked up on that shit quick.

The Forever Dipshit is an article of clothing what the flying fuck

Still belongs in the fucking Pit

Forever Dipshit is still a moron. Thinking he can intimidate Max into just letting him walk passed

Max beats Forever Dipshit: Security Guard Edition, the facehugger decides it must move on

And it’s taken over a kid, this should be fun

Okay but this seems to be mechanical so may I suggest catching it and handing it off to Kevin ‘Tech Nerd’ Levin? If anyone would enjoy using it for scrap...

Is, is Ben just repeatedly turning into different aliens every time he gets voted off?

Ben, questioning whether Forever Dipshit could be back, given he fell into a time portal. Gwen, pointing out that so did Kevin and he’s back running around. Ben: “Shh, we don’t talk about that”

Ben. Ben pls listen to your family for once in your life. Or at least give up on the contest, for fuck’s sake

I beat if Kevin were here we wouldn’t be having this problem. If Kevin were here that thing would be a toaster by now

Forever Dipshit: Sports Announcer Edition is a go and Ben still ain’t winning this contest

Using this form to get people to leave the con under the guise of a security announcement

FD judging Ben’s look

Ben: wtf weren’t you halfway athletic before?

This helmet is just not doing good on the ‘selecting host bodies’ thing

FD: “Do you have any idea how long it take to optimize one of these horrible meatbags?”

Goddamnit Max, your timing is awful

FD trying to steal Max

...in his defense, FD, he wasn’t the one who threw you into a time void. That was Kevin. Although I guess it’s easier to start shit with Ben, given he’s got loved ones and also Kevin would take you from robotic facehugger to household appliance within 20 minutes if he didn’t use Bootleg.

He is holding Max hostage. He’ll give him back as long as Ben lets him fuck off without a fight

Threatening to throw himself off the building, Max and all, if Ben doesn’t comply

“I’d like to say it was a pleasure doing business, but you’re a horrible little monster, and I loathe you.” Damn, FD, tell us how you really feel.

Gwen to the rescue, saving Max who then catches FD in a fishbowl. Though I am curious at to what he was going to say to Ben before she showed up.

“So what do we do with him now?“ Well, you have Kevin’s number, hand him over and watch the magic happen. Possibly literally.

Don’t call Phil! Phil ain’t shit and I’m still half convinced he’s part of this whole debacle!

...the man was at the convention in a full Forever Dipshit outfit. I’m not even surprised, just aggravated.

And he wants interviews for his research while he’s handling FD

And Phil wins the contest

7/10, was gonna be 9/10 but the end there was just, a waste. Hopefully they don’t just drop this. If they do it’ll be up there with how they wasted Mike.

[unfolded73]

What Comes Next (7/8)

Summary: They lived happily ever after. And then what happened? (A Post-S6 story.)  Starts about a week after the final battle, and explores the highs and lows of newly married life between Emma and Killian as they deal with work, friends, and family as life in Storybrooke settles down somewhat.

Captain Swan, Explicit overall, ~4250 words this chapter

Thanks to @j-philly-b for the beta.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6

Killian held the small seashell to his lips. “Ariel? Ariel, can you hear me?”

Several seconds of silence passed, and then he could hear her chipper voice, speaking to him across the divide between realms. “Captain? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, love. I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”

“Sure, anything, but in exchange you have to give me the news from Storybrooke. How is everyone?”

He grimaced, glancing through the glass wall of Emma’s office at the chair in the main part of the sheriff’s station where John Raymond was sitting and fidgeting with his hands. He hadn’t locked the boy in one of the jail cells, but he had formally arrested him. Knowing some police procedures would have to be followed, Killian was preparing to dutifully take down the boy’s confession. He didn’t really have time to gossip with a mermaid.

“Everyone’s safe. Snow and Dave have bought a farm, Emma and I got married—”

Ariel’s resulting squeal made him hold the seashell at arm’s length. She began babbling congratulations and he smiled in spite of himself. It felt good to know that people were happy for him.

“Ariel, love, I appreciate the congratulations, but I’m a bit short on time,” he finally said, interrupting her.

“Oops, sorry! What’s the favor you need?”

~*~

“The Rabbit Hole may be a shithole,” Emma said, “but it’s our shithole, and it’s not a front for any minions of the Black Fairy.”

Regina took a sip of her martini and glanced over her shoulder. “I think I’d allow for a little evil in here if we could get a sexy bartender like the one at Aesop’s Tables.”

“He wasn’t real, Regina, he was just Gideon in disguise!” Emma said. “Although yeah, he was nice to look at.”

“I didn’t even see him,” Zelena pouted. “Are we sure he wasn’t impersonating a real Storybrooke resident?”

“He wasn’t, I checked the town records,” Regina said. “What?” she added off of Emma’s glance. “If I can’t use my mayoral privilege to track down an attractive man, what’s it good for?”

“I keep telling you, this Tinder thing is the way to go,” Zelena said.

Emma almost spit out her bourbon. “Zelena, you’re on Tinder?”

“It’s amazing, Emma, you see someone you like and you just swipe the phone screen. You see someone you don’t like and you swipe the other way! It’s fabulous, you should try it.”

“I’m married,” Emma replied. “You were there.”

“Oh, right.” Zelena shrugged and finished off the wine in her glass. “Whatever. I’ve met a few men, and I don’t mean losers from Storybrooke, I mean outsiders. Fresh blood. I keep trying to get Regina to try it—”

“I’m not getting on that ridiculous app.”

“—because she seriously needs to get some action, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Emma said.

“I mean sex,” Zelena added.

“We all know what you mean, Zelena,” Regina muttered.

“Although sometimes men ask for ‘nude pics,’ but I do not oblige them,” Zelena said haughtily. “I don’t even know them! Have you ever sent naughty pictures with your phone, Emma?”

“Nope,” Emma lied, wondering if there was enough alcohol in the world for this conversation.

“Come on, you and that hot pirate of yours never exchanged a risque photo or two on these marvelous devices?” Zelena said, holding up her own phone. Emma was starting to wonder if Zelena was trying to fill the void left by her magic with technology. There had certainly been a lot of adorable pictures of Robyn on Instagram lately.

“I only recently upgraded Killian to a smartphone,” Emma said, sidestepping the question of whether she’d sent him any photos that she wouldn’t want her parents to see. “He still just uses it to call people.”

“You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t crack the screen with that hook,” Regina commented, her finger running around the lip of her martini glass.

Zelena snickered at that, already well on her way through a third drink. “Oh, I bet he’s quite adept with his hook, right, Emma?”

Emma kept her face impassive. “Sure. He can hoist sails with it, dig small holes in the garden with it, carry coffee in it, all sorts of things.”

“That’s not what I meant, I meant—”

“She knows what you meant, Zelena,” Regina said. “She’s avoiding answering you.”

Zelena put on a pout. “If we can’t exchange titillating stories with each other, what exactly is the purpose of this outing?”

Emma tossed back her bourbon and held up her hand for their waiter. “To get drunk, mostly.”

“You said on the phone that you had the day off today. Did you do anything good?” Regina asked.

Emma shrugged. “Slept until noon, went to a therapy appointment, and got in an argument with my mother.”

“You’re supposed to go to a spa, get a pedicure, screw your husband, something like that,” Zelena huffed. “That sounds like a waste of a day off.”

“I did screw my husband this morning if that makes you feel better,” Emma said.

“It does, thank you.”

“I’m relieved that Henry seems to be doing better,” Regina said, rather deliberately changing the subject.

“Yeah, things have definitely improved,” Emma replied. “Although I worry that we’re micromanaging him too much. Sure, he does fine while we’re restricting his screen time and keeping an eye on his assignments, but is that really teaching him the skills he’ll need to be a functioning adult?”

Regina sighed. “I don’t disagree. We’ll certainly have to ease up on him next school year, and hopefully with things staying calm in Storybrooke, he’ll do better without our constant monitoring,” Regina said.

“Yeah,” Emma said, and then brought herself up short with a surprised jolt. “Wow.”

“What?” Zelena asked.

“Regina, you said things were gonna stay calm around here, and I just… believed you.”

“I mean, obviously I don’t know for sure, but—”

“I know, but maybe I’m starting to relax into the idea that there isn’t a villain around every corner, waiting to attack the people I love.” She took a sip of her fresh drink. “It’s progress, is what I’m saying.”

“Maybe you’re just drunk,” Zelena said.

“Maybe you’re just drunk,” Emma countered.

“Maybe you’re both drunk,” Regina said with an arch of her eyebrow.

“My sister is a control freak,” Zelena stage-whispered. “That’s why she never lets herself drink to excess.”

Emma eyed Regina. “I think she’s got your number there.”

“Just because I’m not a fan of headaches and vomiting doesn’t make me a control freak,” Regina said evenly, but at the same time, she did tilt the rest of her martini into her mouth and then turned around to look for their waiter.

“My other question is,” Zelena said, and Emma struggled to remember what the first question was: the thing about the dirty pictures, or the thing about whether Killian used his hook for anything sexual? “When are you going to have a baby?” Zelena finished, propping her head on her fist and staring at Emma.

“I’m not.”

“What, never? The pirate doesn’t want children?” Zelena asked.

Emma looked at Regina to see if she had a new subject of conversation ready to pull out and throw on the table, but she was looking at Emma with equal interest.

“We discussed it once, and neither of us is sure if it’s something we want. After Henry, I’ve always been pretty certain I didn’t want to have another baby.” Emma frowned, realizing she was telling Regina and Zelena something that she hadn’t discussed with anyone else other than Killian, not even her mother.

“I can understand why you would have felt that way, given the circumstances of his birth. But things have changed. You’ve changed,” Regina said.

“You have to have a baby with that man, Emma. You’re both very attractive; you’d make a beautiful baby,” Zelena said.

Regina sighed heavily at her sister’s input. “You don’t have to, obviously. Just make sure you’re making the decision based on who you are now, not who you used to be.”

Emma nodded. “That is really good advice, actually.”

“Well don’t sound so surprised,” Regina said. “I can give advice.”

“In any case, I’m not making any decisions about it for a while,” Emma said.

“I don’t know, you’re not getting any younger,” Zelena replied.

“You know, I can arrest you and throw you in jail, Zelena.”

The three of them continued to drink together, trading stories and light-hearted barbs. Zelena let Emma look through her Tinder account, and they giggled together over some of the pictures. Emma had to admit, she was having a really good time.

Suddenly the door to the bar opened and Grumpy burst in. “Sheriff, I heard you were here!” he shouted, ambling over. How? Emma thought. “I figured you’d would want to know, the Nautilus was sighted surfacing in the harbor about a half hour ago.”

She frowned. “Captain Nemo’s submarine?”

“That's the one. The one that took Hook out of this realm the last time it was here, as I remember it,” he added with a knowing glance.

Emma felt Regina bristle. “That was because of Gideon; it wasn’t Hook’s fault.” When it had come to light that Killian had not left Storybrooke of his own free will, Regina had been uncharacteristically apologetic to Emma for badmouthing him. It was obviously still a bit of a sore subject with her.

Grumpy held his hands up, shrugging. “Hey, I’m just the messenger.”

“Yes, you’re always the messenger,” Zelena snapped, glaring at him.

Emma reached for her purse. “I wanna get down there.”

“Emma, that man would rather cut off his other hand than leave you. There’s no reason to worry,” Regina said.

“I’m not worried about that,” Emma said, and she wasn’t, except deep down in her heart of hearts, the little girl who always believed everyone had abandoned her was worried. “But if Nemo’s opened a portal to cross over to this realm, there’s gotta be a good reason for it, and it’s probably not good.” She felt her shoulders tense as cold dread dripped down her spine. What now?

~*~

Killian clasped Nemo’s hand firmly and smiled. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Nemo. I must admit, when I sent the message through to Ariel, I didn’t expect you to respond so quickly. And certainly didn’t expect to see the Nautilus in Storybrooke’s harbor right away.”

“We’ve had an increase in kraken activity lately. It’s dangerous work to be sure, but it means we’ve got kraken blood enough for several trips between realms, should we need it.” He glanced back at the submarine, where his crew was disembarking. “After so many long hours repairing the Nautilus and then several run-ins with kraken, the mermaid’s message provided the excuse I needed to give my men a couple of days of shore leave. And I must admit, when word traveled around all of the realms that the Final Battle had been fought and won, I wanted to see for myself that you and your family were safe.”

Liam joined them on the docks, and Killian embraced his half-brother. “We are,” Killian said to Nemo. “Why don’t both of you come back to my house, and we can discuss why I called you.”

Killian had released John Raymond back to Blue, with the understanding that she would ensure he didn’t flee, and in exchange Killian would not force him to spend the night in jail.

The men walked companionably down the sidewalk away from the harbor. “And how fares your lady Emma?” Nemo asked.

“She’s my wife now,” Killian said, a swell of pride in his chest at being able to share that news with Nemo and Liam.

Liam grinned at him. “Congratulations, Killian.”

“This is indeed excellent news,” Nemo added, and then chuckled. “Imagine, had I been able to tell the vengeful pirate that you once were that you would someday marry the Princess of Misthaven?”

“I would have laughed in your face, mate.”

Killian led them up his front steps, opening the door with a key and feeling another burst of pride that he could entertain these men he so cared for in this wonderful house that he shared with Emma. He flicked on the lights and gestured toward the living room. “Make yourself at home; I’ll just get us some drinks.”

“The boy Henry lives here with you as well?” Liam asked as Killian joined them with a bottle of his best rum and three heavy crystal glasses.

“Sometimes. We share custody with Regina, the mother who raised him when Emma put him up for adoption. But he’s out on a date with his girlfriend at the moment, and Emma is out with Regina and her sister enjoying a bit of shore leave of her own, so to speak.” He poured the rum and glanced toward the dark fireplace. It was too warm a night for a fire, but he always preferred the firelight to that emitted by the electric lights.

“So tell us about this boy the mermaid said you need help with,” Nemo said, accepting his glass with a nod of thanks.

Killian gave them the barest outline of the situation: that there were several orphan boys in town, and that he’d had to arrest one of them, John Raymond, for several robberies.

“My gut tells me he’s a good lad. He just stole the money because he was desperate to change his situation, and the last thing he needs is to languish away several months of his remaining teenage years in jail. I’d much rather see him situated in a place where he can find purpose and hard work, and what came to mind immediately was a position on your crew. Assuming, once you interview him, that he meets with your approval, of course.” Killian said.

“Of course,” Nemo said. “I’ll speak to the boy in the morning, and if he’s anything like you say, I’m sure he’ll make a fine addition to the crew of the Nautilus. Provided he wants to go. I won’t take anyone on as an indentured servant.”

“And I would never suggest such a thing,” Killian said. “Indentured servitude is little better than slavery.” He darted a glance at Liam. He was still unaware of what their father had done to Killian and the elder Liam when they were boys. Killian had decided not to tell him, that his reasons for telling him would only be self-serving, an excuse for the murder that he later committed. If Liam had fond memories of their father, who was he to tarnish those in his own self-interest?

The door swung open and Emma half-stumbled through, Zelena and Regina close on her heels.

“Oh, you’re here,” she said, stopping short and letting Zelena collide with her back. She looked from Killian to Nemo to Liam as the three men stood up. “I called you and you didn’t answer.”

Killian pulled out his phone and grimaced. “I had the sound off and I didn’t notice you called. I’m sorry, love. Liam, Nemo, you remember Emma, my wife.” He glanced at the two women who seemed to have followed Emma home for reasons he didn’t entirely understand. “And this is Regina and Zelena.”

“A pleasure,” Zelena simpered, offering her hand to first his brother and then to Captain Nemo. “If I’d known you were so handsome, Captain, I’d have made a point of meeting you earlier.”

Regina laughed and pulled her sister back as she seemed to be preparing to put herself even further into Captain Nemo’s personal space. “Okay, Sis. Now that we see Emma’s husband is all safe and sound, we can probably leave them be.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at the three of them. He was fairly certain even Regina was drunk, and that was a sight that he couldn’t recall ever seeing before. Emma flopped down on the sofa and kicked her shoes off. “Are you gonna be okay getting her home?” she asked Regina. Zelena had started to list to one side like a ship that had taken cannonfire.

Regina wrinkled her nose. “I think I can poof us to Zelena’s house so that we can send Robyn’s sitter home. I might just stay there tonight.”

“Are you sober enough to do magic? I’d probably teleport myself inside a tree by accident,” Emma said.

Regina rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Call me later if you need to.” She flicked her wrist and she and Zelena disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

Emma put her feet up on the coffee table. “So, what brings the Nautilus back to Storybrooke?” she asked.

“Killian summoned us here—” Liam started to say.

“I haven’t had a chance to fill Emma in on everything that’s transpired today,” Killian interrupted quickly.

“Oh?” She looked at him with suspicion. “Do tell.”

“We’d best be getting back to the ship for the night,” Nemo said smoothly. “Emma, it was lovely to see you again, and congratulations on your nuptials. Killian, I’ll see you in the morning for the interview?”

“Aye.” He escorted them to the door, waving goodbye as they turned and went down the front steps and off into the night. He quietly closed the door behind them.

“What the hell is he talking about, interview? Are you applying for a new job?” Emma asked. Her cheeks were flushed, and he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“Of course not, darling,” he replied, going over to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. “It’s an interview for someone else.”

“Why did you summon Nemo?”

He handed her the water and then sat down next to her on the sofa. “Let me back up a bit. First of all, I caught our thief.”

Emma sat forward suddenly, water sloshing out of her glass and onto her jeans. “Who? How? When?”

Killian smiled. “Which of those would you like me to answer first? This afternoon, and I had a hunch, so I paid a visit to the Blue Fairy.”

It was clear that Emma’s alcohol-fueled brain was moving slower than usual. “I don’t think Blue robbed a bunch of stores.”

“Not Blue, but one of the orphans she oversees. One of the Lost Boys — a lad by the name of John Raymond.” He winced. The fate of those boys still wasn’t sitting easily with him.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Emma asked.

“Because you needed your rest, and I was determined not to disturb you, my love.”

She continued to scowl. “So you arrested him?”

“Aye, and I filled out a report just as you showed me,” he said. “But I have released him back into Blue’s care for the moment.”

“Why? Technically he can’t be released until there’s a hearing and someone posts bail for him.” she said.

“I know, but I thought we might make an exception in this case.” He stood up, needing to pace around their living room as he explained. “I’ve spoken to the boy, and I think becoming a part of Nemo’s crew would be a fine thing for him. You should have seen the way his eyes lit up as soon as I suggested it.”

Emma set her water glass down with a thunk, and Killian felt his hand twitch as he fought the instinct to put a coaster under it. “Killian, you can’t just decide to send a criminal off on a submarine because it feels like the right thing to do.”

“Love, it’s not as if Storybrooke is exactly a model of proper police procedure. If it were, most of us would be incarcerated. Myself and your two drinking buddies included. And your mother.”

Emma brow wrinkled. “Okay, fine, but you need to at least consult me first.”

He lowered his head. “Aye. Things happened faster than I anticipated, and I apologize for not keeping you appraised of the situation.” He sighed. “I just wanted you to be able to relax for once.”

“Well… I mean, thanks for that.” She picked up her water again and drank from it.

He eyed her, trying decide if she was still angry with him. “Shall we turn in?”

“Okay.”

Killian watched Emma as he locked up the downstairs and turned off the lights, noticing her fumbling with a bottle of headache pills in the kitchen and swallowing them with the rest of her water. He followed her upstairs, changing slowly into his pajamas to the sound of her washing her face and brushing her teeth in the bathroom. He set his brace down in its accustomed place on his clothes dresser, rubbing his hand over the stump at the end of his left wrist, feeling the familiar ache and tingle of damaged nerves under the scar tissue.

Killian heard the front door downstairs open, and the unmistakable sound of Henry loping up the stairs. Opening the bedroom door, he watched as Henry rounded the corner to his room down the hall.

“How was your date?” Killian called out.

“Fine.” Henry said, not breaking his stride.

“Did you lock the front door?”

“Yeah,” Henry said, already closing his own door. The lad had his own inner life, his own relationships, and he and Emma were privy to less and less of it.

When they settled into bed and turned off the lights, Killian held himself separate, wondering what Emma was thinking and a little afraid to ask. He remembered David telling him once, not long after he and Emma had moved in together, ‘Never go to bed angry.’

“Are you angry with me?” he asked into the quiet bedroom.

“Not really,” she said. After a long pause, she added. “You should probably be angry with me.”

“What on earth for?”

He listened to her blow out a long breath. “When I heard the Nautilus was here, there was this little voice inside telling me that you were leaving.”

Killian turned on his side, horrified. “Emma, I would never—”

“I know, I know, I didn’t say it was a logical thought or anything, it just came from that… that place inside where I’m always terrified people are gonna abandon me. I know it’s stupid.” He felt her hand reach out against his arm in the dark, and he took it in his. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that, darling.” He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I’ll just continually remind you of how completely and hopelessly in love with you I am until that little voice stops pestering you.”

“Okay,” she said softly. He kissed her hand again, turning it over and pressing his lips to her palm, and then her wrist. “What made you want to help that kid?” Emma asked.

“He reminded me of myself, I think. When Liam died, I took to piracy because I wanted revenge on the corrupt king who caused his death, but it was more than that. When the people in charge of a society have betrayed you, then it feels like there’s no reason to adhere to the rules of that society.”

“And Storybrooke has failed him?”

“It’s not that I think the fairies haven’t taken good care of those boys: housed them, fed them, tended to their illnesses. But I think they need something more.” He swallowed. “I’d like to do something more for them, I think.”

Emma brought her hand up and patted his cheek. “You’re such a good guy.”

“Shh, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation as a rapscallion to protect.”

Chuckling, Emma burrowed into his chest, her fingers brushing through his chest hair. Killian wrapped his arm around her, holding her close.

“I’m gonna be seeing Archie every week for a while,” she said after a long silence, during which he had started to drift off to sleep.

“Oh? That’s good.”

“And maybe also taking medication,” she said, and he felt her tense up. “To help with how I’ve been feeling.”

“This realm is a marvel. There’s a pill for everything.” He stroked her hair, pressing his lips against the top of her head. “Did you expect me to disapprove?”

“Says the guy who won’t take aspirin for a headache.”

“I’m just not in the habit of it, that’s all. I had nothing but rum to dull the pain of losing my hand, but that doesn’t mean I think you should suffer unnecessarily. If there are medicines that help with the things going on in your head, far be it from me to suggest that you shouldn’t avail yourself of them,” he said.

Emma closed her hand over his scarred wrist, and he could feel a shiver run through her. “I can’t imagine the pain you must’ve gone through.” He felt her fingers press into his skin, as if she could reach back through time with her magic and spare him that agony.

“I hardly remember it now, darling; don’t fret.”

“You’re lying,” she whispered, kissing the end of his wrist.

Killian sighed. “I rarely think of it anymore, then. Not when I have so much happiness in my life.”

“Okay.” She snuggled in close to him again.

“Am I telling the truth?”

“Yes.” She wiggled a bit, freeing one of her arms to wrap around him. “You know, this depression thing, it’s not because you don’t make me happy. You do.”

“I know, my love.” His lips brushed the top of her head again, and he closed his eyes. “I know.”

CHAPTER 8

[aaronmascoll]

Chapter 38 - Colt

Colt had searched for the next week with no luck. The realization that the devil, or as he put it, Samael, The Dragon of Light, was his father, had distracted him. He didn't know what he should feel. The being that was supposed to be evil incarnate, was really his father. At first he tried to hate him, but that didn't work out. Then he tried to feel some sort of love for him, but that didn't work either. But he did want to thank him for giving him the shadow realm. So, if 'Thank you' could be a feeling, then that's how he felt.

Colt had the scouts, and the wyvern riders, searching everywhere. Thousands of miles had been searched and they couldn't find the girl in the photo. He understood that it was very possible that she was dead. Just in case, he had them searching every graveyard they could find. But, still no luck.

"Master," Serah said from his shadow. "Do you think she's in the lands without shadows?"

The lands without shadows were two sections of shadow realm that were blanketed with a bright light. The residents didn't want to go anywhere near the light. And for some reason Colt couldn't see what was going on there, nor could he teleport there. "It's possible," Colt told Serah. "But, that means we'll have to go check for ourselves."

"Shall I fetch Jinx?"

Jinx was a rare breed of earth dragon. Unlike normal earth dragons that couldn't breathe fire, Jinx could. She was bigger and faster, didn't fly, but could glide through the air for for miles, and disappear into her surroundings using her ability to camouflage herself. She was Colt's personal dragon, and didn't let anyone ride her except for Colt, Angel, and Serah. "No, just have a team of Orc alphas on standby."

"Yes Master!"

Colt knew exactly where to go. He knew where he was going, he just didn't know what he would find when he got there. He arrived just as the morning suns had risen, and what he found was a castle covered in ice and snow. But this ice wasn't ordinary ice. This ice was made from pure anomali energy, which meant it was probably as hard as diamonds, maybe even harder depending on who the energy belonged too.

Past the gate that surrounded the castle, Colt drifted from shadow to shadow so he wouldn't be seen. He found himself in a den of champions, some of which were very strong. But, that didn't explain why this place didn't exist in the shadow realm. Thousands of warriors, and none of them were the person he was looking for. In what seemed to be the dining hall, two waitress had a quick conversation that Colt managed to hear as he passed by them. "The silver woman wants a weeks worth of meat scraps for her dire wolves while she's gone," One of them said.

"I'll let the chef know," The other said. "That woman apparently has over thirty wolves. He isn't gonna like this."

The silver woman? It could be her, but Colt had to see for himself. He followed the waitress to the kitchens, where she talked to the chef, an actual minotaur, and after an hour of cutting and chopping, six women carried very large troughs of raw animal parts towards a small barn in the middle of a snowy clearing in the forest. The troughs were spelled so the meat inside them wouldn't rot. Colt thought he ought to have the kennel masters learn that spell. The thought of not having to throw away anymore wasted meat was something he looked forward to.

When the waitresses reached the barn, they put down the troughs and left. One stayed behind long enough to talk the woman inside the barn. She was older, but was still the spitting image of the younger girl in the photo. She was on her knees, and talking to a one eyed wolf. "I'll be gone for a week. They just brought enough food to feed you and your brothers till I get back. While I'm away your in charge. Don't let them push you around, because your smaller than them, and if the babies hatch while I'm gone, make sure they're fed. Get one of the champions, or waitresses, to help you if you need it. Okay, now go."

Silver gave the wolf a pat on the head and it left. "Ms. Silver," the waitress asked. "The chef put a little extra meat in the troughs. There's about ten days worth."

"That's great. Tell him I'll pay him when I return."

"Okay, I'll let him know." When the waitresses turned to go she stopped. "Can I ask you something?" She said turning around. "You met the king before. What's he like?"

"Kind of an idiot, but in a good way."

"Do you think he'll be mad his wife replaced all the waitresses with Valkyries?"

"He'll probably be more concerned about the woman who had just lost their jobs. So, no, he wont be mad."

"Great!" she said excitedly and left.

"I know your there," Silver said looking righ at Colt. "What do you want?"

Colt stepped out of the shadow he was hiding in. He put his hands inside his pockets and stood there awkwardly. "Someone's paying me to steal a bracelet you might have. It used to belong the woman who runs that magic school for girls."

"She's wrong," Silver said plainly. "It didn't belong to her, it belonged to my mother. She gave it to me after my mother died. But, if she wants to borrow it, that's fine with me."

Silver rolled back the sleave on her left arm, and there it was just below her elbow. Silver took off the bracelet and tossed to Colt. "It's not what she's looking for though, but she won't believe you if you told her that. When that thief is done with it, bring it back, I won't be here, so give it to the wolf you saw earlier. And, if it's not here when I get back. I will come looking for it."

Colt teleported back to Al's bar and found her sitting at her table by the window. He tossed her the bracelet and said, "She wants it back when your done," Colt told her. "She also said It's not what your looking for."

"We'll see about that," Al said.

Al held the bracelet in her left right hand, and closed her eyes. The emeralds on the bracelet started glowing, each emitting an alluring green light. Al opened her and cursed. "Fuck, she's right!"

"What is it?" He said taking a seat next to her.

"This bracelet is an armband of Merlin. He made a hundred thousand of these. Each emerald is a knowledge storage device. They're used to hold spells, like a grimoire, but more convenient. However, Merlin also made another kind of armband. The emeralds in those, each, hold a single pocket dimension created by Merlin himself. But, it appears Silver's armband was modified. Inside it is the memory of the day Silver's mother gave birth to her. I did not need to see that."

Al gave back the bracelet, and Colt looked it over. He thought about looking at the memory inside it, and decided not to. He set the bracelet down on the table, and as he did it, Riot came over with three beers, put them down on the table, and sat on his lap. Colt looked at Angel and found her smiling at him. "The kind of armbands your looking for are gold with rubies," Colt said as he picked up a beer and took a quick swig from it.

"And how the fuck would you know that?"

"It's wasn't until you described them that I realized that I actually have a few. I'll give you one, but they're pretty much useless."

"Useless? How?"

"A pocket dimension is only worthwhile if there's people living in it. They're souls belong to the being who owns that dimension. Plus when they're first created, there's nothing in them, It's just an empty void. So, unless you know how to make a planet, and have people that want to live on it, It's just another storage device."

"Fuck!" She yelled.

Al picked up a beer and chugged it. When she was done, Al threw the empty beer mug across the room where it hit the blonde guy with a mohawk. "Okay," Al said. "I have another job for you. How do you feel about robbing a bank?"

"As long as I'm getting paid, It's fine with me."

[alternative-eyes]

https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sVw0Jyvya4s/W1dcvL-IpaI/AAAAAAAAkAg/cO1J2bNNE4UNwj60FvboY0yHTjUy02bAQCLcBGAs/s1600/%2B3%2B-Stooges%2BCartoonized.jpg

Wrung Out & Wasted

     Look, I’m not even gonna bother with Newsweek’s latest attempt to cover the Pentagon’s UFO program. Some dingbat headline writer surprised the world, including the Defense Department, by announcing the Defense Department had investigated a “Poltergeist Connection” to the “Alien Mystery.” And the reporter lost me in the second graph when he referred to Richard Bigelow, not Robert.

By Billy Cox De Void 6-2-18

God knows, De Void makes mistakes aplenty, but Newsweek has demonstrated such a consistent pattern of ineptitude when it approaches The Great Taboo it’s like watching Inspector Clouseau in a shootout with Pablo Escobar. The only thing it didn’t totally screw up was its takedown of the hapless Mutual UFO Network in April. But that was like burning ants with a magnifying glass – not very sporting. Now, the Washington Post, on the other hand – watching WaPo drop the ball on UFOs this week with its regressive formula spin is to understand it doesn’t have a clue about how to push this conversation forward. Let’s start with the headline, in toto: “UFOs are suddenly a serious news story. You can thank the guy from Blink-182 for that.” If by “suddenly” it means six months ago then, yeah OK, that adverb’s solid gold. As for “the guy from Blink-182” – spoiler alert: Tom DeLonge’s involvement with The Great Taboo has been out there since, well, at least since WaPo did a spread on Tom DeLonge’s involvement with The Great Taboo in March 2017. But you’d never guess that from this week’s Captain Obvious Award winner. Here’s the WaPo’s idea of a provocative setup:

“You’ve seen it without knowing it.” I have? Really? Me? “Remember that wild news in December about a secret Pentagon UFO program?” Welllll, now that you mention it … “And those grainy military videos showing radar images of unexplained phenomena – white, Tic-Tac-shaped objects that appear to fly at remarkable speeds, at impossible angles, without wings or exhaust?” Yes! Yessir I do! Got my ears on now, bruh, bring it! “Tom DeLonge helped ring the alarm about those things, as part of his new business venture: To The Stars Academy of Arts and Science.” Oh. We’re having stale bread. Again. Good. We were almost ready to give up hope.

You know, maybe if I lived in Yemen or Pyongyang, or if I couldn’t leech off magazines like Billboard and Mother Jones, I might be a little more appreciative of these patronizing leftovers. After all, let’s face it, six months have passed since The New York Times broke the story about the Pentagon’s Advanced Aerospace Threat Identification Program (AATIP), and we’re still waiting for a meaningful followup. Despite the fact that we readers are losing interest in damn near everything these days, our attention spans are collapsing, and our memory-retention lights are flashing red. But here’s the part of the headline an editor should’ve deleted altogether – “a serious news story.” Really? Leaving the frontier for the clogged double lanes at the drive-thru is serious? Reporter Dan Zak lets ‘er rip — “the subject carries the odor of crazy” — and quotes oft-quoted usual suspects SETI evangelist Jill Tartar and Skeptical Inquirer mainstay Robert Sheaffer. Sheaffer’s as reliable as gravity when it comes to dissing “a couple more blurry videos that are similar to the blurry videos we’ve had before this.” But the real disappointment: The Times worked the 12/16/17 AATIP coup with two Pulitzer Prize-winning bylines, Helene Cooper and Ralph Blumenthal. The Post put its own Pulitzer pedigree, Joby Warrick, on the story and published the same day. It looked like an old-fashioned newspaper war was shaping up. Crickets ever since. Here’s the deal. Forget about UFOs shadowing naval exercises off the coast of California. What nobody wants to talk about is nuclear weapons. Or, more specifically, UFOs’ ability to operate unchallenged in restricted airspace over U.S. missile fields in the Northern Plains. That, plus our inability to stop it. That’s the story nobody’s writing. De Void’s wishful thinking: Maybe the media are being patriotic by not telling Little Rocket Man just how porous our sovereign skies are. But they are. And they’ve been that way for a long time. Many of the veterans who’ve gone on record only after years of separation from the military are dying off. Are UFOs continuing to keep tabs on our WMD? The only researcher actively trying to find out is author Robert Hastings. The military doesn’t issue press releases on this stuff, and the media won’t even address data that’s been languishing for decades in the public domain. The story isn’t dead, just ignored. One thing we know for sure is, the UFOs haven’t gone away. But if the corporate newshounds decide to put the nuke angle on the table, I promise to replace the butt-ugly dog photo up there with something less offensive. And trust me, folks, it’ll be very very incredible, that I can tell you.

Continue Reading ► See Also: 'Getting the Mainstream Media to Approach the UFO Puzzle as Legitimate News The Missing Times - News Media Complicity in the UFO Cover-up UFOs in the Mainstream Media: Washington Post Science Writer Reveals Her Unfamiliarity with the Facts

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[gulescamisade]

Minnesota:  Day 7

[At some point during the night, or day -- it'd be indistinguishable to jake -- a voice speaks to him over an intercom.] ????: hey jami 2.0 u think u can do that pumpkin trick again?

JAKE: -snoring in a bed made of pumpkin patch on the ground. As an unfamiliar voice echoes overhead, he snorts awake. Jolting upwards with leaves in his hair. Also accidentally summoning 3 more pumpkins as he had fallen asleep practicing and all.-

JAKE: Hoosit?? -blink blink. He's AWAKE.-

????: eelmao

????: conchgrats buoy u did it

????: cept i kno u aint even got a grip on whatebber the fuck u doin

????: but i dont need u to

JAKE: -sitting there mouthing the words like eel-aye-em-oh and squinting. He feels... inexplicably chilled to the bone.-

JAKE: (Doh... now i have a bad feeling about this.)

JAKE: I dont suppose... this is all to do with a ploy to get some unmentionable dirty work dished out and done with? But why speak to me now?? Are you to level with me in some sense of the word???

JAKE: Why drag it out like this??? If you could do anything. Why not make me a mindless drone like dear sweet jade and jane?????

)(IC: cuz i dont wanna fuck w u small fry

)(IC: the gills are smart

)(IC: they aint barely need no direction

)(IC: give em a goal and they on cuz they know what the fuck is up

)(IC: u tho? alwaves wadin thru ur lil guppy emoceans

)(IC: makin some dumb ass pumpkins grow

)(IC: the fuck even is that

)(IC: do u even know what yoar capable of sonfish

JAKE: -takes the deepest breath of his life, his heart thudding like an iron clad weight. He can't see her face, he only knows her voice is there. Green eyes wide and fearful as he slowly rises to stand.- Im...

JAKE: I know somehow. Some way.

JAKE: Maybe it wont happen today or tomorrow. But my capabilities say that you are going to pay one pretty penny for the horrible things youve done.

JAKE: Mark my words. Its not me who should be afraid when at the end of all of this... -His face is now screwing up, visualizing everyone this war has ruined. Their wishes, hopes, dreams. The energy seems to charge in his veins, making the air around him hot enough that the pumpkin vines at his feet begin to shrivel.- At the end of all of this....

JAKE: Youre just going to be a scary story people tell their kiddos at night!!!!! A LAUGHING STOCK. HAH. Worse than me and ive never had a dignified moment in my fucking life!!!! And not a SOUL is going to be sorry youre GONE.

JAKE: SO FUCK WHAT YOU MIGHT HAVE IN STORE FOR ME YOU FISH FRIED CURISH VARLOT!!!! FUCK IT THIS WAY AND TO HIGH HELL WHEN ITS WHAT I HAVE IN STORE FOR YOU THATLL BE WHATS FUCKING WHAT.

JAKE: Ill do it for jade! And jane and grandma and--- EVERYONE. Everyone youve fucking ruined with your vile reign of TYRANNY!!!!!! -This FIELD around Jake cannot be contained in this box of a room. Hell. The metal walls are beginning to bend with just these few seconds of intensity. Somebody do somethin'.-

)(IC: -LOW WHISTLE into her mic. she doesn't sound perturbed by his threats, or even by the damage he's doing. there's always more rooms she can put him in... maybe even make his lil friend roxy make him a nice box to hide in. she's definitely got more focus then this one...-

)(IC: im all aboat that reel glowy shit u got goin there

)(IC: but i know i can werk it betta

)(IC: anywave im board and i got shit to do

)(IC: goodnight BITC)(

[SNOP. Unfortunately for Jake, repressing magical/emotional outbursts is easy when she has the concentrated abilities of a cerulean at her disposal. But fortunately for him, she can only really put him to sleep, being a human and all... Also fortunately for him, she has the attention span of a gold fish and intends to let him dangle a little bit longer before experimenting on him as she intends to... Or maybe she's just having fun with him. Who knows.]

JAKE: -A lot of fortunates and a lot of unfortunates. It's always the seed of belief that matters.-

JAKE: -Passes clean out in the center of his cell, totally ready to write this off as some kind of fever dream... if it's not for the melty edges of the walls around him. This was exciting as it was frustrating.-

---

[Today when Jake wakes up, he will find himself redressed in tiny red shorts, red suspenders, and a big red bow tie. ur whalecum jami 2.0 ]

JAKE: -stirs awake before promptly looking down at himself.- ................................... SON OF A BITCH.

ROXY: =She couldn't help but to notice that Jake had gone missing. Which is unsettling for many reasons so she's taking a leap and exploring more even without the invisibility cloak from the void. Roxy blips out of her room, landing in the hallway and silently makes her way down it. Time to snoop!=

[It's quiet in these holding chambers with Jake and the Cherubs gone, leaving on Roxy and James who is presumably still keeping silent. At the end of the hall there is a door, and she'll find it isn't locked.](edited)

ROXY: =WHERES CALLI YOU MONSTERS?? SHE'LL FIND YA CALLI. She opens the door slowly and peeps in... if the coast is clear here comes a stinky, sweaty escaped prisoner. Where's your information?=

[The door opens up to an open room, on either side there are windows show casing labratories of some kind. It isn't entirely clear what kind of work is being done in them from where Roxy is standing. At the end of the room there's another door, but shee can also see more doors inside the labs.]

ROXY: =Hm.... can she see computers in there? She decides to get close to one window and peer in. Nerds might be at work in there...=

[There's definitely computers and lots of mechanical equipment and various tech projects half completed on the tables. The lights are low right now so there doesn't seem to be anybody working at this time.]

ROXY: =SCORE. She doesn't want to waste all her gas there has to be a way to get in there..... maybe this door at the end of the room will get her where she's going. Quietly scampers=

[This door is also open, CONVENIENTLY. It leads to another hall, and to either side of where Roxy stands are, presumably, the doors to the labs.]

ROXY: =BITCHIN, HERE COMES HER. Lab number one she's gonna prob ya! KICKS DOWN THE DOOR..... quietly. With her hand=

[As she enters, the lights TURN ON!! And that's about the extend of what happens there. She'll see all the computers have aquarium screen savers but all the fish are glittery and/or have blingee'd accessories like gold chains and shutter shades.]

ROXY: 😒

ROXY: =This is a lab so she sprays disinfectant on the computer before goin to HACK=

[It just so happens that whoever used this computer last forgot to log out of their account... They have photoshop open and there are photos of Jake. He's in red booty shorts and suspenders and he's lookin' like D8< but whoever was doing this photoshop job is trying to make him look a little happier... Like he's cheering instead of like he's about to punch the photographer in the face.]

ROXY: =Oh well shit..... oh. Well.. she. Snrk. Sorry but also ok. Where was this taken? Does it say anything about that? WHERE'S JAKE YOU COMPUTER=

[Without much looking she will first find a folder full of unedited photos of Jake from his new cell. Dank and dreary, much worse then the cells they were in before. Only a bed and a medical tray table. Another folder with the edited photos reveals these are being used for magazine covers and spreads. It seems Jake is being used as Crocker Corps POSTER BOY. Look at this well fed and obedient (?) human.]

ROXY: =OH HOW DARE!? Are there any OTHER people here computer? Like Dirk or Mom or ANYONE ELSE? WHO ALL AM HERE?=

[The computer thinks Roxy expects too much from it. At least from this account on the server. It's only been used by a humble tech intern who edits pictures in photoshop. His name is Maxwell.]

ROXY: =What a fuckin nerd Maxwell is can she HACK to find out... or would that take too much time.... it probably would so she legs it to the other lab=

[The other lab has lots of cabinets and coolers containing samples of various things... Some of which she might recognize as GLOWING MUSHROOMS and ARTIFICIAL SWEETENER. The kind of research they do in here might be a little more obvious...]

ROXY: =Finally putting Sweet-n-low out of business she sees, good. But she's scrunching up her nose and looking for anything useful or recent? =

[Or perhaps they were behind the Sweet-n-Low game all along! In any case, if she dares to try confiscate some of the mushrooms or any of the extracts lying around, she might be able to try using it for its hypnotic properties. Otherwise, there's mostly just experiments with food and chemicals being done in this lab. Sadly no clues of friends.]

ROXY: =God dammit. Well shucks she blows this popsicle stand and goes on a hunt for Jakey boy or Calliope!=

[Back in the hall, on the other side there's yet another door but it's more heavily sealed then the others with some kind of keycard lock, but with little indication of what's on the other side. At the very end of the hall is an elevator, also requiring keycard access to use.]

ROXY: =this might be where its unavoidable. UNA-VOID-ABLE. She bets this heavily sealed door is something GOOD. She's going to take a quick peek in there if she can poof in!=

[There's a growling around these hallways... sounds like something or someone might be prowling around.]

[The room Roxy has poofed into seems to be some kind of observation room. There's a couple screens on one wall with a panel beneath -- one screen is showing the room Jake is being held in (where he's either sleeping among his pumpkin patch or being rowdy...) while the other screen is shut off.]

ROXY: =zoinks! Growls are bad news. She hurries and tries to see if she can turn on the other screen or find where exactly the room holding Jake is? GO GO GADGET STUBBY FINGERS=

[MAIN SCREEN TURN ON. She manages to get the other screen running, but it's only showing an empty room with a bed... With unsettling stains of red and green on the sheets.]

ROXY: ..... =Bruh tf?? She squints and that can only mean bad news. Does it say where these cameras ARE? She should make her way downtown and quickly!=

JADE: -zaps into the room- BARK!!!

ROXY: !!! =JUMPS= FUCKIN'--- oop.....

ROXY: ..................

ROXY: ..................

ROXY: ...........

ROXY: this isnt the bathroom wtf

JADE: -LUNGES AT HER!!!-(edited)

ROXY: !! =BLIPS, or tries to back for the door. tHESE ARE SOME STRESSFUL SECONDS IN THE VOID=

JADE: -gdi. She claws around the empty space, growling.- ill find you!!!

ROXY: =She pops on the other side of the door really and is booking it down the hall, back the way she came. NAH. NNNNNAAAAAHHHHH=

JADE: -there's the sound of BOOFing and scrambling feet behind her-

ROXY: =fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, what to do, gotta think gotta think gotta think. Where can she hide? She doesn't KNOW this place. UUGHHHHHHHH! She's doing her BEST here just, SLAPS a pen holder off a desk she runs by FUCK THIS SHIT, YEET!=

JADE: -BORK BORK BORK BORK!! The pen holder jostles her, but not enough to stop her. RIP pen assortment...-

ROXY: =Can she.... throw a stick??? BLIP, pops a stick into existence. A SNAUSAGE STICK chucks it down the opposite hall= FETCh!

JADE: -DAMN IT. HER WEAKNESS.-

JADE: -stops and grrs... her programming is conflicted-

ROXY: =Oh shit..... CHUCKS ANOTHER ONE= go on girl! tasty tasty!!

JADE: grrr... JADE: -RUNS AFTER IT-

JADE: -but a few moments later, she zaps in front of Roxy with a snausage in her mouth, grabbing onto her and zapping again back into her cell-

ROXY: =Fuckin!! YES OK. SO..... she can't find Jake like this or Callie.... what to do.... what to do....UGHHHHGHGH. Just hides in a little corridor while trying to think. She doesn't even know if anyone else is here but now she's doubting it? AUGH. Okay, okay okay... think. Gotta think. Where can she hide? UUUGGGH--= ACK! =DOOF. Deposited on her face in the cell, gdi=