#I haven’t done anything with colored pencils in ages so this was really fun! I’m not super happy w it but w/e

[ourtlesofturtles]

Filiality

—

this is a redraw of one of these earlier doodles : )

[bosspigeon]

Carabosse et la Fee des Lilas

Prompt: 💋Drag

Pairing: Adam/Male Detective, Bonus Found Family Vibes~

Words: 5,346

Summary: Tina spends some quality time with Arlo and Unit Bravo as they prepare for Wayhaven's first real Pride festival, Tina torments her best friend and his maybe-boyfriend (as is her god-given right), and Arlo has a big think about his favorite role and what that role allowed him to explore~

CW for references to transmisogyny and implications of past trans/homophobia

Sometimes, Tina wonders if Arlo missed his true calling. His hands are surgeon-steady as he pencils delicate patterns onto Felix’s cheeks, outlining with white eyeliner in preparation to fill them in with bold colors and glitter. Tina almost can’t wait for her turn, even though Felix looks like he’s in real, physical pain with the effort of holding as still as possible. She’s no stranger to that struggle herself.

Neither is she a stranger to Arlo’s forceful, if toothless, threats, overcome as she is by fondness when he growls that he's going to draw a mustache on Felix’s face with permanent marker if he doesn’t stop bloody bouncing.

It’s pretty fun to watch from the outside. Sure, when you first sit down when he’s like this—all sharp and snappish and “stop moving or I’ll chuck you out the window”—it’s hard to keep still, but Arlo’s got this sort of quiet intensity to him when he’s focusing on something that’s oddly meditative. He’s just a soothing presence, really. Like a capybara or something. He’s friend-shaped.

Whatever weird magic it is, it’s definitely catching, because Felix looks less like he’s about to burst, like he did when Arlo was putting down the foundation, and more like he’s enjoying the attention. Tina’s not sure how long it’s going to last, seeing as Felix has given her a run for her money in the “manic energy” department, and he’s nowhere near as caffeinated as she is at any given time, but for the time being, he’s (mostly) still and quiet.

There’s music playing, quiet enough that the broody one (she knows his name, but it seems to bug him when she calls him "the broody one," which is funny, so—) only grumbled about it for a few minutes when Arlo turned it on, and even seems to enjoy sitting close enough to Arlo’s stupidly fancy stereo system to, she guesses, feel the rumble of the bass through the floor. Vampires are weird.

Anyway, it’s Arlo’s usual sad goth boy nonsense, but as quiet as it is, and with its intense instrumentals and rumbling vocals, it’s pleasant background noise more than anything.

Nate (the handsome and charming one, because of course all Arlo’s vampire friends are handsome, so she has to differentiate between them somehow) is rifling through Arlo’s bookshelf like it’s his job, and visibly struggling to pick something to read, because Arlo’s sitting room bookshelf (the one she found at a yard sale three hours away and lashed to the top of her sedan with every single bungee cord she could find at the local hardware store because it was coffin-shaped, for god's sake) is where he keeps all his weirdo occult stuff to, quote, “make people who pop by unannounced leave faster.”

And then there’s the big, handsome, stupidly fit blonde Arlo still won’t call his boyfriend, even though they’re so obvious it’s sickening, and she means that with all the love in her heart. He’s sitting in the armchair by the bookshelf, positioned so he can look like he’s reading one of Arlo’s old music magazines and totally isn’t taking advantage of the perfect line of sight of Arlo perched on the end of his coffee table so he’s not too tall to work on Felix, sitting in a chair from the kitchen. Tina sure hopes he doesn’t think he’s subtle, being a super special vampire secret agent and all.

He seems to notice her eyeing him, at least, and keeps his attention pinned firmly on the magazine, though he is definitely not reading a single word. Nate keeps browsing, the Broody One keeps brooding, Arlo keeps working, and Felix starts to hum. Arlo gives him a sharp look, but it doesn’t seem to be moving his face in any major way, so he just rolls his eyes and keeps tracing pretty patterns onto that unfairly smooth, dark skin. Do vampires do skin care? They probably don’t even need to, and that’s probably one of the reasons people like to villainize them. It always comes down to jealousy, doesn’t it?

She sighs, loudly enough that every eye in the room turns to her, and while she did not expect the sudden attention, she knows she can at least use it to entertain herself. She homes in on Adam, and smiles when she finally looks at the magazine he’s still valiantly pretending to read. There’s a familiar man on the cover, and while she can’t be bothered to remember his name, she grins. “Oh, hey! Arlo, he’s reading the one with the guy who looks like you!”

Arlo doesn’t even look up, but he huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes again. He’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps that up.

The comment does exactly what she wants it to, which is draw the attention of all the other vampires. Arlo even begrudgingly pulls the pencil away from Felix’s cheek so he can take a look, and he immediately bursts out laughing.

“Arlo!” he exclaims, slapping at Arlo’s knee. “You didn’t tell us you had a twin!”

Nate chuckles (warm and rich and handsome, if a sound can be called handsome) and turns from the shelf to study the magazine curiously himself. Even the Broody One peers over to see, a little smirk curling his permanently-scowling mouth.

“Considering he was born in the sixties, I definitely don’t,” Arlo drawls. “Tina’s been making that joke since we were kids. She’s just happy she’s got an audience who hasn’t heard it twelve times a week since she first saw my old Type O Negative poster.”

“Some jokes just get better with time,” Tina says archly. “Like a fine wine.”

“And some jokes age like milk,” Arlo fires back.

Adam tilts the magazine so he can look for himself, and his dour expression clouds over even more, brows furrowing and mouth twisting. He peers up at Arlo, studying him, then down again.

Got you. “Yeah, you’re right,” Tina says, nodding sagely at him. “Arlo’s much prettier.”

It has exactly the reaction she was hoping for. Arlo drops his eyeliner pencil and makes a strangled noise, glowering at her with his cute freckly cheeks going all red, and Adam, who is a good bit paler than Arlo, goes pink from the crewneck of his just-this-side-of-too-tight tee shirt to his hairline. Tina wants to punch the air as the other vampires snicker at them. Well, except for Nate. Nate’s not a snickerer. He chortles. It’s adorable.

“Speaking of pretty!” Felix crows once they’ve all had a laugh at their fearless leader’s expense. He points to his own face with both hands, dancing in his chair, and Arlo sighs and rolls his eyes again, bending to pick up the dropped pencil. Luckily, the tip isn’t broken, so he can get right back to work, once he’s given the young vampire a moment to get his wiggles out. He settles, sitting on his hands and pursing his lips when Arlo gives him a dry look. He hovers back in with the pencil, and then Felix blurts out, “How’d you get so good at this anyway? Well, I assume you’re good at it. I haven’t seen it yet.”

Arlo doesn’t say anything. He just looks at him, pencil poised, until Felix pinches his mouth shut with a quick little apology. Once Arlo’s satisfied his canvas is actually going to hold still and keep quiet, he gets back to it. “My school was pretty small, especially compared to the bigger-name performing arts schools out there,” he says after a moment of quiet focus, tracing the outline of a heart around one of Felix’s eyes. “Our department didn’t really have a huge budget, and workspace was at a premium too. We didn’t have a lot of time to prepare for performances before someone else had to use the theatre, so we all did our own makeup at once, for the most part. Sometimes we’d help each other out, because we all had our strengths and weaknesses.”

He pulls back the pencil, squinting critically at the heart like it’s not completely perfect. “Demi was the best at laying the groundwork, and at matching colors to our costumes and complexions. Viv was the best at coming up with concepts and making sure we looked like a matching set. Wendi could do insane prosthetics, and was the best at bullying our department head into giving us the money for them. I had the steadiest hands, so I always did the eyes and the details.”

“Was Wendi the one who did your Dracula look?” Tina gasps. “That one was so cool!”

“Dracula?” Felix blurts. Tina doesn’t miss how the others perk up with interest too.

Arlo glares at him, and he shrinks back with a sheepish little grin. “Yeah, we did Dracula, uh… second year, I think? That was when Tilly transferred in and started doing our choreography. She’s the one who got Professor Dacey to let us do less classical stuff and start branching out a bit.” He glances briefly at Tina, staunchly ignoring the way Felix pouts at him for dividing his attention. “And, yeah, Wendi did the prosthetics for that one.”

“She’s got to be magic,” Tina asserts. “She managed to make your sweet, mopey face look so scary.”

Felix and Mason both snicker at that, and Arlo’s mouth goes all lemon-sour pinchy, like it always does when she calls him a sad puppy man, or any variation thereof.

“Take a lap,” Arlo says to Felix. “Don’t touch your face.” He jerks his head at Tina when Felix bolts to his feet and starts zooming around the flat to get out some of his energy. “Your turn, if you’re done being a comedian.”

“I’m never done,” she says with a sunny smile, but she bounces over to take Felix’s place in the chair and closes her eyes serenely so he can start on her makeup.

“And, God, do I know it,” he grumbles under his breath, knowing full well she can hear him, and so can everyone else in the room, too.

“Do you have pictures?” Felix hollers. He’s dipped into Arlo’s studio, and he’s making no secret of rifling through the desk in there, drawers slamming and paper rustling.

Arlo tips his head back so when he sighs, loud and dramatically long-suffering, he’s not blowing his breath right in Tina’s face. She appreciates the gesture. “Bottom right drawer,” he calls back, resignation thick in his voice. Given how long he’s been putting up with Tina—and Felix might just be Tina’s second platonic soulmate (Arlo, of course, being the first)—he already knows that keeping quiet is just prolonging the inevitable. Tina opens her eyes briefly to see Felix come sailing out of the studio with a thick leather-bound album held triumphantly over his head.

“Oh, I haven’t seen that in years!” she coos happily.

Arlo bops her on the forehead pointedly with a sponge covered in foundation, and she closes her eyes obediently.

She hears Arlo’s antique sofa creak as Felix plops down onto it, rifling through the plastic pages. “Aw,” he whines, “no baby pictures?”

“I can’t imagine him ever being a baby,” Mason snorts, and he sounds closer than he was before. Tina knows better than to open her eyes while Arlo’s in the zone, though. He’ll bop her with something less soft than a sponge next time. “I figured he’s just always been a giant.”

Felix laughs, high and chiming. “No wonder Agent Priestley’s always so sour, then,” he says. Tina giggles, and it becomes an inelegant snort when Arlo bops her again on the nose.

“Ask Rebecca if you want to see my baby pictures,” Arlo mutters blandly, and Tina can feel the weight of his attention. “I doubt she has many after age two, and the ones before I’ve barely seen.”

Tina’s not a super-special supernatural secret agent, but she tries with all her might to will someone to change the subject before things get weird. Now’s as good a time as any to learn telepathy.

Felix, heart of her heart, interrupts what’s shaping up to be a real prize winner of an awkward silence with a loud gasp. “Woah!” he exclaims, and pages crinkle as he presumably holds up the book for Arlo to see. “Who’s this? Did you do her makeup too?”

Arlo’s hair rustles as he turns his head away from her, and then the hand on her cheek freezes. Tension radiates through every inch of his body, practically leaching into hers. She cautiously opens one eye, and sees Arlo sitting up impeccably straight, stiff as a board and staring at Felix like a deer in the headlights. He swallows so hard she can see his throat move. “Um,” he says, stilted and strange. “Yeah. I did.”

Tina opens both eyes and squints at the photo album. Oh.

Felix looks at the sudden strain in the way Arlo is sitting, the tightness of his posture, and looks quizzically down at the picture again.

Tina remembers that performance. She remembers Arlo dancing (ha) around the subject when she asked him teasingly if he was going to be playing the prince, who was the lead, was he excited to kiss a pretty girl?

She can’t remember the character’s name, not so many years after the fact, especially since they were all weird classical nonsense, either Latin or French or some mishmash of the two. But she remembers the costume. She remembers waiting with bated breath to see Arlo onstage, to stand and scream and cheer obnoxiously loud in support of her best friend. She shot to her feet the second she saw his obvious silhouette rise from a feather-bedecked black chariot, head and shoulders taller than anyone else onstage. The music swelled, lightning flashed, and then when the spotlight hit him, she was so stunned she plopped right back into her seat with her jaw on the floor.

Arlo’s always been one of those guys that straddled the line between pretty and handsome. Long, lustrous hair and eyelashes she would kill for, cheekbones that could kill, a defined jaw, a proud nose, and intense eyes she could only call sultry—if she hadn’t known him since they were both weird, gawky brats, she’d probably be half in love with him before figuring out she wasn’t his cup of tea. But seeing him onstage was always an adventure. He threw himself into whatever character he played, put his everything into them, from the costume to the makeup to the performance. He just became the character, and in a way that was so very Arlo, all that intensity and focus channeled into an act that completely stole the show, in Tina’s humble and completely unbiased opinion.

Carabosse! That was her name!

Carabosse was no different.

Arlo’s makeup was flawless, ghost-white foundation giving him intense Morticia Addams vibes, contouring that made his cheekbones look absolutely unreal, bold black (or maybe really dark purple?) lipstick and shiny, smoky eyeshadow that made him look ethereal and wicked, with a daggerpoint cat-eye that she spent an hour begging him to teach her after the show. When he turned his head in a sharp, birdlike motion to look down his nose at the dancers playing the King and Queen, she gasped at the way his hair rippled down his back, shiny-black and woven with actual feathers that trailed back from the ornate metal circlet resting on his brow like a bird’s crest. The costume was breathtaking, too, a tightly corseted bodice and a high collar, a dramatically billowing skirt and trailing, feathered sleeves that flared like wings whenever he moved.

And the way he moved! Arlo’s dancing changed with every role, whatever he felt would suit the character. One of her favorites was always his Hans-Peter (she had a soft spot for that one, and had ever since she was little—one of the first Christmas gifts her stepmom had ever given her was little storybook version of The Nutcracker that came with a CD) because his dancing was so stiff and stridently mechanical, he looked like a real toy soldier come to life. But his villains moved with a slinking, predatory prowl she’d only ever seen in monster movies, and never in something like a ballet. His Carabosse was as beautiful as she was terrifying, and it was incredible to watch. She wanted to fling herself at him after the show and babble at him endlessly like she always did, but she spent a solid minute staring at him slack-jawed, until he shifted awkwardly and looked down, and the confident intimidation of the Wicked Fairy sloughed away to reveal Arlo underneath.

He almost melted into the floor with relief when she finally startled to babble.

She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, and he takes a slow, deep breath, offering Felix a strained smile. “Take a closer look, mate,” he says quietly.

Felix does. He looks up and squints at Arlo, and then back down at the photo. Tina has to bite her lip so she doesn’t laugh when he looks over at Adam, still holding the magazine with that metal singer that kind of looks like Arlo on it, and then back at Arlo. His mouth drops open into a little o, and he shoots to his feet and shouts, “No way!”

Mason was allowed his name back briefly, but he goes right back to Broody One when he grimaces at Felix and slinks pettishly back to his corner.

Arlo’s shoulders are practically around his ears, but he tries to keep smiling. “Yeah. Sleeping Beauty. Fourth year. I was the Wicked Fairy.”

“He was amazing,” Tina declares, shoulders back and chin tipped up challengingly. “The costume was insane, but the way he played her was absolutely, ridiculously badass.”

“You look awesome!” Felix blurts, still gawking down at the photo. He flips to the next page, and squeaks happily when he finds more pictures, from different angles, showing off the costume, the way Arlo loomed over the other dancers, the way he commanded the stage. Tina should really find out who took the pictures and send them her thanks, because they really put in the work. “Your makeup, your dress, your hair! How’d you even do that?”

Arlo laughs, and it sounds so utterly relieved, Tina’s heart breaks a little. Arlo’s always been sensitive, and for someone who dresses and holds himself the way he does, he worries more than he lets on what people think of him. Especially people he cares about. She squeezes his shoulder again, and he bites his lip when he glances back at her and smiles hesitantly.

“A lot of wire, and enough hairspray to choke a bloody cow,” he says, twisting around and slinging his long legs over the coffee table so he can face the sofa. “I think we bought every bag of black feathers the craft store had, and then spent an entire weekend painting them with this stupidly expensive embossing powder. We had to get, like, ten pots of the stuff, because the craft store only had pots the size of a quarter.”

“I admire your dedication,” Nate says pleasantly, strolling over to peer over Arlo’s shoulder. They tighten just a bit before relaxing slowly. “That costuming is superb. I’ve seen professional productions that weren’t half so detailed.”

“That would be Viv’s work,” Arlo laughs, looking down at the pictures fondly. “She took whatever cheap garbage the department had for us, raided the nearest clearance fabric rack, and worked her magic. The employees at that little craft store loved and hated us in equal measure.”

Arlo is still tense, but he’s loosening up little by little, and with him Tina does too. The easy camaraderie is soothing, and she knows how much Arlo cares about his vampire friends, so it’s got to be a huge weight off his shoulders to be able to let his guard down around them. He deserves that. He deserves to be able to be himself.

Adam standing up draws Arlo’s attention like nothing else could, and he freezes like a startled rabbit again looking up at the burly blonde vampire as he approaches the sofa. He looks a split second from bolting. Tina sits up straighter and gives Adam her most daring look, squaring her shoulders to make it perfectly clear she's ready to fight the second he opens his mouth. She’ll definitely lose, sure, but she’ll make as much trouble as she can before she goes down.

He reaches out, his hand hesitating before it touches the album’s glossy page, and he looks up at Arlo with a questioning tilt to his brows. Arlo looks like he’s barely breathing, but he nods, and Adam slips one of the pictures from its sleeve. He straightens his spine, shoulders back, holding the photo and studying it carefully. His face is impossible to read, about as expressive as a bloody brick wall. Tina’s vibrating with nervous energy. She’ll fight a vampire, though. She will.

When Adam does finally speak, his voice comes out so softly Tina almost doesn’t hear it over the adrenaline rushing through her. “You look… striking.”

Striking. Oh my god.

She wants to laugh. They’re ridiculous.

“Thanks,” Arlo chokes out, his cheeks and ears going red this time.

Oh my god. Tina covers her mouth with both hands. Arlo glowers at her. It’s a lot less threatening when he’s blushing like that. “I didn’t say anything,” she mumbles against her palms.

“Your face,” he hisses, and she yelps.

“Oh! Shit!” She pulls her hands away, and he grabs her by the chin to check the damage with a click of his tongue.

Tina thought things would get better once Arlo actually kissed the man (and maybe got a leg over, but that’s only her business when she can finally get Arlo to actually talk about if the big, beefy Adonis is as missionary-with-the-lights-off as he looks) but at least they’re not just staring longingly at each other from across the room and then getting all sad about it anymore . Thankfully, Felix seems to be an old hand at clearing up the weird tension between the two of them, chiming in a delighted, “I’ve never seen you look so scary!” as he rifles through all the pictures from the Sleeping Beauty show. “I mean, you’re pretty scary when you go all furry, but also, you sort of just look like a big lanky puppy, because it’s just you, you know? This is someone else! Who is she! She's so cool!”

Arlo sighs and turns around to fix whatever Tina’s ruined with her foundation, and throws himself back into dolling her up. Thankfully, the actual festival’s not for a while yet. She complained about the unnecessarily early start when Arlo suggested the time, but now she’s glad he’s such a persnickety prick about scheduling. “I had a lot of fun with it,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders. “The original script notes said to get, y’know, sort of silly with it, but I wasn’t a big fan of that angle for a character like her. Yeah, I wanted to be campy, but not in the way…” He purses his lips. “Okay, well, Nate probably knows this, but a lot of classical ballets that have a female villains do this thing with them that I hate.” He frowns deeply, patting at Tina’s chin with gentle ferocity. “ An evil female character is supposed to be sort of… sort of a cautionary tale, I guess? Like your typical bitter spinster crone, the old hag, or the wicked stepsisters, things like that. So they’ll specifically cast a male dancer and put them in bright, gaudy facepaint and garish costumes that are supposed to be cartoonish and ugly, that you're supposed to find funny, to show you that this character is bad because she’s indelicate and mannish, and that’s why she’s evil.”

His mouth twists around the words, and he looks up, back at the vampires, leaving Tina a moment to really appreciate that Arlo’s comfortable enough with them to do what he’s only ever really done with her—which is ramble about something he’s passionate about. It’s always fun to watch. He turns back to her, and she just wishes his hands weren’t occupied, because he’s a big hand-talker otherwise. “I got the role because the professor thought it would be funny to stick me in a role like that, being so tall and, y’know,” he gestures vaguely to his faded old band tee and dark jeans, the thick leather cuff around his wrist. Tina doesn’t see what he really means, seeing as he looks cozy and content right now, but she gets what he’s going for. “He was expecting me to be awkward about it. The big, tough guy doing drag as the creepy crone caricature.” He huffs. “I talked with Demi about it, and we decided to say fuck that.” He sits up straighter, tilts up his chin, and looks down his nose at Tina.

She peers up at him, wide-eyed, and suddenly wonders if this is how Demi felt, playing Aurora when Carabosse looked down her nose at her like an insect under her heel.

“I thought Carabosse deserved better,” Arlo says fiercely. “If I was going to be a villain, I was going to be a damned good villain. I was going to tower over all the delicate, dainty little princesses and fairies, and I was going to be fierce. Professor Dacey wanted Aurora, and Candide, and Florine to be the epitome of sweet, delicate femininity, the ideal damsel in any classical show. Carabosse is supposed to be the complete opposite. You’re supposed to root against her, not want to be her. She’s a threat to the idea of womanhood, of the ideal feminine. She’s bold and selfish and she takes what she wants. I leaned into that. I even danced en pointe for parts of it, even though Carabosse isn't supposed to, and between the rehearsals and the actual performance, I thought my feet were gonna fall off, but it was worth it.”

Arlo smiles, and Tina is thrilled by the wickedness of it. She thinks she even sees just a hint of fang. Arlo’s been so careful about showing his teeth, ever since he told her what happened to him, why he disappeared for so long, so it's somehow special for him to feel like he can show her even a hint of what he’s become.

“Professor Dacey was pissed, afterwards, of course,” Arlo laughs, but there’s an edge to it. He seems to shrink. From Arlo to Carabosse to Arlo again. He looks down at his hands as they work on Tina more than at her face. “He didn’t, y’know, say anything he could have gotten fired over, but he did rail about being left out of planning and the budget and all that rot. Got even madder when Demi pointed out we’d spent our own money on the costumes. I think if he was tall enough to look down on me, he would have.” He snorts, a bitter curl to his mouth. Tina thinks of it painted bold, dark purple, thinks of how it would look with those teeth behind it. She wonders if he’d let her do his makeup for the festival. She’s not nearly as good at details as he is, but she’s no slouch either.

“You should have let me put raw fish in his hubcaps,” Tina mutters, just to make Arlo laugh. It works, and she beams at him.

“Would have been a waste of fish,” he mumbles, sucking his teeth. He finally picks up a bright eyeshadow palette and starts waffling over colors. He’s quiet while he deliberates, but after a while, he sighs. “I liked being Carabosse,” he says, like it’s a secret. Like he’s trying very hard not to be ashamed.

“I wish I could have seen it,” Adam says, almost dreamily. Tina could scream. “I— We could have, I mean. All of us. In solidarity.”

“Smooth,” Felix whispers.

“I’m sure it was a phenomenal performance,” Nate adds helpfully. He’s taken the album from Felix to flip through to some of Arlo’s other shows. “The passion you have for your characters shines through in just photos. It’s quite impressive.”

“You should have gone pro,” Tina mutters. “You’d be a household name by now.”

Arlo snorts and bops her with the brush. How many bops is that now? She’s certainly on a roll today. “And who’d keep you in line back here?” he teases.

Tina squints up at him and sticks out her tongue. “Like you’ve ever even tried to keep me in line, you big softie. You love the chaos, just admit it.”

“I’ll admit you to the hospital when you do something stupid and get yourself hurt again, how about that?”

They bicker like children back and forth while Arlo finishes her makeup, a wash of pink, purple, and blue eyeshadow and matching lipstick, overlaid with a lustrous sparkle to her cheekbones and a cute little black heart-shaped beauty mark under one eye. Felix gets a bi flag heart to match her eyeshadow around one eye, and then the rest is a sort of confetti splash of sparkly stars and hearts in every color. Even Nate goes for the bi eyeshadow (Bi-shadow? She should have been saying that this whole time!), making him, Tina, and Felix a matching set, and Mason consents to a very simple pan flag on his cheek. Tina suspects Adam only allows the eyeshadow treatment so he can have Arlo cup his face all tenderly, but she keeps the thought (mostly) to herself. He looks good in pastels, she thinks when she sees the finished blue, pink, and white.

Arlo draws a little heart under his eye too. The heart in Tina's chest almost explodes with warmth.

And then Arlo disappears into the bathroom, leaving the rest of them to entertain themselves while he gets ready on his own. They go through the album some more, and Tina tells them all about her favorite shows, because she went to every single one she could manage, and got Arlo’s school friends to send her videos of the ones she couldn’t. Tina Poname is Arlo Priestley’s number one fan, and that will never change. Not even now that she's got some competition.

When Arlo comes out of the bathroom, they all look up in sync, and he stands there, shifting anxiously from foot to foot under the attention, and lifts his hands in a stilted shrug. “So?” he asks, smiling nervously. He’s changed clothes, too. Tight pants, big boots, a mesh-sleeved black shirt underneath his patch-and-pin-covered denim vest. His wrists jingle with chunky bracelets, and his hair is braided neatly over one shoulder. But his makeup is what really steals the show. That insanely sharp cat-eye, of course, but one eye is done up in blue, pink, and white, and the other in yellow, white, purple, and black. He smiles timidly. “I, uh, I couldn’t really decide on just one,” he says, sticking his gloved hands into the pockets of his vest. “I’m, um, I’m not sure which one’s really right for me yet, I guess?” He shrugs again, and Tina watches delightedly as Adam stands up slowly, his eyes on Arlo with such an awed intensity she wonders if he even remembers there’s other people in the room. Arlo keeps babbling as he approaches, the words tumbling nervously from his black-painted lips. “I sort of like matching with you, Adam, and I know they’re both fine, but I—”

Adam grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, yanks him down to his level, and silences him with a kiss. Tina throws her arms up in the air with an impulsive shriek of “WOO!” that Felix echoes even louder. They high-five over Mason’s head, and he looks like he wants to throw them both out the window. Nate sits by with a pleasant little smile, which only fades when he takes note of the clock.

Adam and Arlo are still kissing, Arlo’s hands cupped around the vampire’s cheeks and Adam clinging to his vest like he'll drown if he lets go. Tina thinks she might see a hint of tongue when Nate loudly clears his throat.

They break apart with an indecent smacking noise, and Tina yelps out a sharp laugh when she sees Arlo’s black lipstick smeared all around Adam’s mouth.

Nate crosses his arms and smiles dryly at them. “Why don’t you two go fix your faces,” he suggests. “The rest of us will make sure the car is packed for the festival.”

“Um, yes. You— We—” Arlo fumbles for a bit, touching his smeared lips, his eyes just a bit dazed. He and Adam look at each other, and then flee for the bathroom together.

Tina’s never been more excited for a festival in her life.

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟑)

note: hey y’all i know it’s been literally FOREVER since i’ve released a new part. i miss y’all and i’m ready to get right the fuck into this. chapter 13!!!

warnings: smut heavy, mentioning of age difference 

word count: 13k

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𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

     You woke up to the feeling of Steve’s body heat against yours, the flimsy fabric of his sheer white t-shirt bristling against your bare skin. He was laying next to you, a book open in his lap and a pencil in his hand. You weren’t quite paying attention, still settling into the day as the blur in front of your eyes slowly disappeared. Memories of last night flooded your mind fondly— Steve’s soft touch against your thighs as he carried you in from the car into the bed, the thought of someone caring so much to even do that for you, the plush feeling of his pink lips against yours. 

     You felt your heart swelling just to think of it, so pleased by the events of yesterday and last night especially. You felt like everything was just right at the moment. Before, some part of your brain was afraid that since things were going so well, something would inevitably go wrong later on, but you were past that fear stage. Now, you were just settling into enjoying the good moments and expecting nothing but good to come next.

     Since yesterday, especially after the grand afternoon you’d had, and the way Steve treated you carrying you into his apartment, there had been a shift. It was almost imperceptible aside from the way your heart seemed to surge even higher when you were around each other. Yesterday had been such a relief once you both met Bucky and cleared that up. Any unnecessary fear or anxieties that would’ve stemmed from that dilemma were removed. 

     And now you felt so drawn to Steve, so inclined to trust him impossibly further— again your mind ran back to thoughts about his touch on your thighs as he carried you inside, his soft but strong hands against your smooth skin. And you thought about how you wanted his touch all the time. You’d been physically close multiple times, but only once in the intimate sense, and you were yearning for more of his touch. Though you both wanted to go slow, you found each other irresistible in every sense of the word. And you only had two weeks together—why not get closer? 

    Steve noticed you shifting, and looked over at you, the side of his lip quirked up into a grin. You stretched out like a cat below him, batting your lashes inadvertently. 

     “Morning, sleeping beauty,” Steve teased, and you chuckled. 

You were still getting comfortable with each other, but it was easier with each and every day. The more time you spent together, the more you felt used to each other, like waking up next to the other was the norm. The thrill wasn’t gone, but the atmosphere was comfortable at the very least. 

     “Morning,” you said back. 

You snuggled into his shoulder, hesitating a bit in case he wanted personal space, although you were craving an even closer proximity to him. But he squeezed you in closer to him, sensing your hesitation and reassuring you that there was no reason for pause. You noted how much you loved to be near him. The last few days had felt so unreal, almost childish in nature, like a silly little schoolgirl crush that wasn’t anything more, though you both knew you had strong feelings for each other. Yet now, you were sinking into the realization that being near him felt like being near a source of warmth and light that you were so grateful for— you needed it. And he needed the warmth you gave him too. 

Your eyes widened as you realized Steve was drawing in his sketchbook.

     “You’re drawing?” you grinned excitedly, and he laughed sheepishly and shook his head. 

     “Yeah. Haven’t done it in a while, it’s just random sketching… it’s a mess, honestly,” he brushed it off, but you frowned.

     “I like it. I like your random sketches. You should do it more often,” you tilted your head up and kissed his cheek, another leap of courage that made Steve’s cheeks heat up, along with your words of encouragement. 

     “Maybe… I got time. But,” he grunted, closing his sketchbook and turning to face you. “I wanna spend time with you. Go head, get dressed. I wanna take you out today.”

     How ready Steve was to take you out made you perk up. His tone, his demeanor, just the prospect of going out with him on this lovely day full of sunshine amped you up. The fact that Steve had plans for you was so refreshing. He really did want to show you just how much he cared, and he was putting in the effort, day after day. He was doing everything to make sure you knew how much he wanted to be with you and be around you. Even though it seemed as though the bar was low, that wasn’t something you were used to. Just thinking that he made time to plan things out between you and him made you feel all warm inside. 

So you got ready with ease, taking a shower and getting dressed, putting on just a bit of makeup. Steve complimented your dress when you came out from the bathroom, looking you up and down with the purest, kindest admiration in his eyes. 

     “You like it?” you echoed, flouncing around, unable to fight off the urge to grin. You didn’t struggle with confidence in the physical sense, but Steve made you feel so sure of yourself, like even in these strange circumstances you two were under, he still wanted to show you off and make you feel good about yourself internally. 

     “You… look gorgeous all the time,” he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it, pulling you close under his arm. 

     “You’re sweet,” you grinned, and laid your head in the crook of his armpit, letting him lead you out of the apartment, letting him lead you to bliss. 

When you got in the car, you saw that in the backseat there was a picnic basket and a blanket. You gasped, clasping your hand over your mouth and gaping wide eyed at Steve. 

     “Are we going on a picnic?” you cooed, grinning wide. 

He smiled back,

     “You figured it out. Listen, it’s nice out, and I know a great woodsy area where we can be alone and in peace.”

You raised a brow,

     “And here I was thinking New York was a concrete jungle.”

      “Gotta go up north for the good stuff,” Steve shrugged. “It’s nice and secluded, so we won’t have to worry about laying low. Just wanted to take my girl out officially.”

You leaned your elbow against the window, facing Steve as you pressed your palm to your cheek with a smug smile,

     “Your girl, huh?”

Part of you was teasing him, the other part of you just wanted to hear him say it again. Neither of you had had the conversation about labels yet, but it had only been a few days. It was safe to say you weren’t quite worried about labels. You just liked each other’s company. Steve was a man of formality and tradition though, so there would be a point where he probably made things official between the two of you. But for now, he was taking it slow out of respect for you. 

Steve glanced over at you, dimples forming at his cheek as he smiled back, 

     “My girl.”

     “I like the sound of that,” you cooed, your eyes glimmering with admiration for him. 

     “Me too. Glad you like it,” Steve replied, his chest warming up with satisfaction. 

      He was testing out how calling you his girl sounded, and he loved the thought of it. Even though you were his girl, you were still entirely your own woman. That’s what he loved about you. 

Steve’s hand shifted over to your lap, a gentle grip on your thigh, tapping his foot absentmindedly. He thought nothing of it, but it made your head swarm. Even days after meeting him in person his touch was electrifying and every thought of being close to him thrilled you. You’d been intimate only once with him and not again since then, but every kiss since then seemed to last longer and each one was somehow better than the last time. But even though Steve’s hand on your thigh made you feel warm all over (all over), you just grinned to yourself and faced the boundless road ahead. 

| | | 

     “Oh, this place is so beautiful,” you said for probably the third time since you’d arrived. 

      The woods where Steve had brought you reminded you of California. It was bright and full of summer colors, yellow flowers springing up from the earth and surrounding the verdant grass that crushed underneath the soles of your Converse. The sunlight peeked through the forest canopy through gaps in the leafy honey locust trees and tall redwoods. Everything was lush and green and the air in the woods felt and smelled fresh and much better than the city. Steve knew you all too well, because this was the kind of place you’d go on a weekend with friends back home. You were definitely down for an adventure in the woods.

Steve set the things down on a nice clear patch of grass— he had refused to let you carry anything no matter how much you insisted— and started to set up. 

     “I was hoping you’d like it,” he grunted, spreading out the blanket and gesturing for you to sit down as he started to unpack the picnic basket. “I was planning this for the other day when it rained and we stayed in and…”

     Steve trailed off, his cheeks threatening to go red as he remembered what you did instead of a picnic that day. He couldn’t deny that he thought about it often— that he thought about touching you over and over again because there was nothing better than that feeling you gave each other. But nothing much had happened since then, mainly due to lack of time— you just recently had to deal with Bucky finding out, but now that that was over, you’d have more than enough time. You both felt like the fact that that situation was over called for celebration, and you knew just how you’d celebrate. 

     Luckily, you had been distracted by a flower poking out by the tree Steve set up the blanket next to, and you wouldn’t poke fun at him or make him any more hot and bothered than he already was just from thinking of that night. 

     “For you,” you stood in front of him, tucking the flower right at his ear. “Aw, Steve. You look so soft.”

     As soft as someone like Steve could look. It was funny— you watched him consistently and he constantly switched between looking like this scary macho man to becoming the softest Golden Retriever puppy when he looked at you. Your chest swelled with pride at this hunk of a man you’d managed to get. Nothing screamed Alpha dog more than Steve Rogers and while manliness wasn’t your top priority, you liked knowing that you were with a man when you were with Steve. So many people would die to get to know him on a personal level, but it was just your luck that you were actually able to. 

Steve grinned, fiddling with the stem of the flower behind his ears for a moment before settling down and opening up the picnic basket. He pulled out all the food, along with a bottle of sparkling rose and two wine glasses for the both of you. You sunk down to the blanket, sitting on your knees and marveling at the miniature feast before you. Steve was constantly putting in the effort and making it look so effortless, and you couldn’t help but watch everything he was doing with a smile glued to your lips. 

     “Not too early for a drink, is it?” Steve asked, tilting his head up to the sky, glistening with sun. 

     “Never too early,” you grinned mischievously, biting down on your lip as you watched Steve pour two glasses of rose. 

He handed you yours and then raised his own, and you reached forward to clink the glass in a toast.

     “To us,” Steve said, and you nodded in agreement.

      “To us.”

     You took a sip of your drink and sighed in satisfaction, smacking your lips. Looking at Steve in front of you felt like such a sight to see. Your heart swelled as you took in your surroundings—the beautiful woods around you and the picnic Steve had somehow put together without your knowledge. And Steve was looking at you just the same way. You were so unaware of your beauty, nonchalantly leaning back, your skin glistening in the sunlight. 

     You humphed, wanting to be closer, and practically crawled over to him. Steve’s eyes lowered as he watched you approach him, then settle into his lap with your legs on either side of his thick legs. The faintest grin appeared on his lips as you slung your arms around his neck lazily, holding the glass of wine between your fingers in one hand behind him. 

     “You really did all this for me, huh?” you asked, letting a finger trail along his chin, prickly from the beard he was growing. 

He bit down on his lip, his hand traveling to grasp your wrist softly and keep your hands touching his face, coming down to cup his chin. 

     “I hope you love it,” he replied, and you giggled. 

     “Are you kidding? We have to go out here again before I leave,” you decided then and there. 

You still had loads of time left with Steve, and luckily there was so much you had yet to do together.

     “I promise we will.”

     “Steve,” you sighed out his name, leaning in closer to him. “I’m so happy here.”

You kissed his lips, a sweet and full lipped kiss that left both of you wanting more. Your lips tasted like cherry flavored gloss and rose. You giggled to yourself at the way that Steve leaned in, searching for more when you pulled away. His voice was low and soft, 

     “I’m happy you’re happy.”

You both laughed quietly and Steve pulled you in for a kiss, his hand on the back of your neck making you lurch forward as he led you with his lips. 

     Your tongue slipped in against the roof of his warm, firm mouth. His grip on your neck got stronger, his hand drifting down to the nape of your neck and squeezing just right, eliciting a lush moan from you. The touch of your body in such close proximity to him combined with the vibrations your moans made in his mouth got him hard. Like a reflex, he shifted his hips upward, pressing the outline of his hard length into the white cotton underwear that was exposed when you fit your legs around him. 

     “Mmh,” you whimpered when you felt him. You unlatched your saccharine lips from his, which tasted faintly like rose, and threw your head back only slightly, which urged him to lurch forward and press his lips to the exposed skin there, all sunkissed and warm. You grabbed at his hair. “Fuck, Steve.”

     “We haven’t even eaten,” you realized aloud, a giggle bubbling up in your throat that became a moan as Steve purposefully nudged his knee against your clothed clit again, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves easily underneath the fabric that hid it. 

     “No, not yet,” Steve shot back in a suggestive tone, and you raised a brow.

     “Steve, are you trying to tell me something?” you teased him, choking on your words halfway through because Steve was practically making you ride his thigh, rocking your body back and forth between his erection and his thighs after you slid down his knee. 

     Every movement he made, he did it with ease, bringing you closer to climax just by rocking against you. He could feel every contraction your pussy made against the outline of his erection as you squirmed and bucked your hips and rolled into him. Any logical thought process had left your mind— here you were, riding Steve’s thigh in the middle of the morning during what was supposed to be a sweet picnic in the woods. He had you gripped close to him, so even with all your squirming there was no way you were going to be able to move away from him, not with how strong his arms were. 

     He didn’t seem to notice, but this was just another way he asserted that nonchalant dominance over you that you died for. His hands fit perfectly around the small of your back, keeping you in place. He kept suckling at your chin and occassionally leaving tiny love bites on your neck as you rolled your hips euphorically. The slow, tantalizing pace he kept you at only drove you closer to your impending orgasm, the friction between his body and your own unbearable. 

     Steve had this unbelievable control over you while you helplessly, wordlessly rode his thigh, brushing up against his dick every now and then. And to think you were doing this in such a beautiful outdoor surrounding, removed far enough from others that no one would walk up on you. The silence was filled with restless panting from you as your orgasm drew closer, and the ambience of wilderness - the birds chirping, the greenery scuffling in the breezes of wind that drew past. 

     “Gonna come, princess?” Steve whispered hotly into your ear, reaching his fingers down and feeling the wet mark that had formed in your underwear, pressing against your throbbing clit. 

     “Mm, mhm,” you groaned, arching your back as your hips rolled in tune with his fingers. You came with a shuddered moan, soaking your own panties as your climax coursed through your veins. Your whole body seemed to shake, only stabilizing once Steve dug his fingers into your hips to ground you again. 

You stayed there for a moment, still grinding your hips against his and kissing him, holding him tight against you until you pulled away and pushed him back, still straddling him. He was laying on his back and marveling at the sight of you on top of him as you began to kiss him, your lips leading the way down against his toned body where they’d soon reach the place you wanted your mouth the most. How desperately you wanted your lips against those muscles, kissing there and really being able to feel him. You could feel Steve’s heart pounding when you layered kisses on his chest, and he was glad you couldn’t hear the thoughts in his head because they were positively swarming with nerves. 

     “There’s- oh,” Steve groaned when your lips reached his v-line, unsure of how he was still even able to talk with the way that his voice felt so constricted. “There’s still food-”

     “Just relax,” you interrupted, and he accepted without argument, throwing his head back and letting you do the work. 

| | |

    Today, Steve was out at work until further notice, but he made up for it by ordering breakfast for you, accompanied by a lovely note that he left on the kitchen table that morning.

Had to go in today. Promise me you won’t miss me too much. Be back soon. 

- Steve Rogers

The note had made you chuckle—he was such an old man, signing his first and last name like you were colleagues and you didn’t give him the best head of his life just a few days ago. With each passing day you were growing more and more used to each other, more comfortable with expressing intimacy and acting like… well, a couple. It was just, you hadn’t exactly given what you had a title. And while you thought about labels off and on, you weren’t rushing. Steve probably thought about it much more than you did—even though he was adapting to this modern world and the products of modernity (ie: cam girls), he was still traditional in a sense. 

He didn’t want to string you along in a weird, titleless relationship. And while he knew that what you had didn’t need a title because of its unconventionality and the fact that you truly liked each other, he knew he’d feel a whole lot more secure when he could call you his girl, and have it be official. So he was brooding on it, because he knew that you didn’t want to rush things either, and in the back of his mind he knew you’d probably be fine going through these two weeks without an “official” title, but he decided the time for a conversation was due soon. 

     Though right now, he decided he’d take it easy, leave the harder conversations for later. He had something he wanted to show you. Now that you both seemed to have settled down, he wanted to take you out as much as he could. At least, while keeping a low profile. 

You had only spent a few hours alone when Steve came home through the front door. You sauntered over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek when you saw him. He kissed you back, wrapping one arm around your waist. 

     “Hey!” you chimed. 

     “Hi,” Steve grinned, smiling down at you with that very same look in his eyes— it was funny, neither of you seemed to notice how infatuated you looked when you set your gaze upon each other, but you always noticed it on each other. “How was your day? Didn’t miss me too much, did you?”

You smirked, placing a hand on his chest,

     “Maybe a little. Maybe.”

     “Well, I missed you,” he grinned, his voice getting softer. He nodded towards the open door behind him. “Get dressed, I wanna take you someplace.”

     “Ooh,” chills ran down your spine again at the prospect of Steve taking you out again—and again, you got that feeling of appreciation for the fact that he was planning things for you. The way Steve treated you felt like the difference between someone saying “if you want!” versus actually taking the lead. It was all part of your growth, but you liked feeling wanted. “Where are we going?”

     “Well, it’s a place near my childhood home where I used to come just to sit and think and draw sometimes. Great view of the sunset. You down?”

     “Always.”

You got dressed in a simple white crop top with a skirt, and followed Steve out the door into his car. The whole ride there, you had your head out the window, letting the evening breeze rush across your face.

     “Here we are,” Steve pulled up to a vacant and vast parking lot.

You looked ahead of you, and lo and behold, the sunset was right in front of you. It seemed to be reaching for you, seemed to feel so close even though you knew it was light years away—now you had the sudden urge to ask Steve how far he’d flown on missions. Did he go up into space? Was his job like the real life Star Wars? These questions were all at a loss when you saw the hues of the sunset ahead of you, rich, deep purples and flaming orange-reds.  

     “This is so beautiful,” you sighed out in awe, Steve glancing between you and the sunset in front of him— to him, he had two amazing views. “You used to just come here as a kid?”

     “Yeah. It was the parking lot to a factory building that’s out of business now. But Bucky and I, and a couple of other friends used to sit here… on the nights when it was peaceful. Then, things got too crazy to just sit and watch the sunset,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head as a nostalgic smirk tugged at his lips. 

You glanced over at him, blinking slowly, 

     “I bet it was really nice.”

     “It was,” Steve nodded. “One of the times I didn’t feel so alone. I used to just come here and draw.”

You perked up at Steve mentioning his drawing,

     “My little artist!”

     “Little?” Steve chortled, and you shoved his chest.

     “Just pretend. I’m glad you’re getting back into drawing though. Think you’ll show me someday?” you cocked your head to the side, biting down on your lip, unintentionally trapping him with an irresistible puppy dog face.

     “Anything, darling,” he grinned. 

     “Maybe you can paint me like one of your French girls one day,” you suggested, snorting at your own joke. 

Steve shook his head,

     “I wouldn’t be able to do you justice. It’s been a while since I’ve really drawn.”

You rolled your eyes, propping your elbow up on the dashboard and leaning your chin into your palm, facing him,

     “Didn’t you win awards for drawing, Steve?”

Steve scoffed playfully,

     “What, did you go on my Wikipedia?”

     “Maybe so,” you beamed proudly. “Anyways. Any reason to be naked in front of you is a good reason. You could draw a stick figure of me for all I care.”

     “Speaking of naked,” Steve choked out— even though you were adjusting to each other, your boldness still caught Steve off guard sometimes, “you haven’t been doing cam shows since you’ve been here.”

You nodded,

     “Yeah, I told them I’m on vacation. But I have a bunch of videos and other cute things to tide them over while I’m gone. God, it’s so weird. They have no idea.”

Steve milled your words over in his mind. It was so strange to think that lots of people on the very site that you both met had had intimate moments with you. And while he knew what you two had was real and raw, and so different, he still wondered how you felt about all the other people that watched you, all the other people that were almost as mesmerized as Steve was. 

     “Lots of people love you on there,” Steve noted, and you shrugged.

     “Yeah, you can say that. I mean, lots of guys wanna fuck me. Some of them really are my friends, you know? People who’ve been watching since I started— it’s hard not to build a bond with them. I mean, it’s kind of part of my job to build a bond with them,” you explained. 

Steve nodded, taking in all your words. He knew that this was a job to you, that you had connections with other viewers and that he shouldn’t feel insecure about that. He didn’t feel insecure. But really hearing it was still something he had to swallow hard. 

     “But, it was different with you, Steve,” you continued without hesitation. “I mean, I talk to so many people there a day. None like you. So don’t be jealous, big guy.”

Steve chuckled softly, though his eyes were trained fondly on his lap,

     “I’m not, I promise.”

     “Are you sure?” you teased him, poking his cheek. He looked up at you, an amused grin on his face. “‘Cuz I think you’re a little bit jealous!”

     “When they fly you out and get to watch the sunset with you, then I can be jealous. But for now… I think I’m good,” he squinted and you grinned, looking from his lips to his eyes.

     “Touche,” you noted, and kissed him on the cheek, abandoning the banter for the slow hum of jazz music on Steve’s stereo and the following murmurs of admiration for the sunset you both uttered over the next hour before driving home while it was getting dark.

When you got home, you were racing towards Steve’s cabinets and practically raiding them for liquor. On the car ride home you had begun excitedly babbling about spending a relaxing night in with Steve and making “a date” of it. You were dead set on making a glass of wine and dancing around the kitchen like you would do with your friends back at home. 

     “Slow down,” Steve laughed, grabbing a bottle of unopened wine from your hands and holding it high above your head so you couldn’t reach. 

You whined, standing up on your tippy toes as you tried to reach for the bottle.

     “Steve, what the fuck!” 

     “Where are your manners? You know better,” Steve smirked at you, and you folded your arms and glared up at him despite the rush of warmth his words gave you. 

     “I wanna drink. You haven’t even opened any of your alcohol, you old man,” you teased him and he rolled his eyes, slightly pushing up against you until your back was pressed against the kitchen counter. 

     “Very funny,” he replied. 

You squinted at him, trying to read his face. 

     “What’re you doin’?” you asked, your voice laden with suspicion.

Steve was closer to you than he’d been the whole day, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel like it was getting a little bit hot in the kitchen. You wondered if he was doing this intentionally or if he was just so attractive to you that everything he did made you want to jump his bones (in the purest way possible). But that was no longer a question when Steve finally spoke, his voice a few octaves lower than normal, the husky timbre sending a shiver down your spine.

     “I’ll give you what you want, if you give me what I want,” he put it simply, and you couldn’t help but grin.

     “And what exactly do you want?”

     “You know what I want,” Steve smiled back, shaking his head and putting his hands on your waist, kissing you softly on your lips, then traveling down to your neck.

You let your head roll back for easy access, and let your arms drape down his back. 

     “When’d you decide to start shit, Steve,” you wondered aloud, but you weren’t complaining, you were just used to initiating things, and you weren’t used to Steve being this bold.

He looked you in the eyes as if asking for permission,

     “I just felt like these past few days have been a bit different. We both want each other, right?”

     “Of course I want you,” you reached up to stroke his cheek, smiling at how wholesome he was. You even leaned in to give him a sweet kiss on the lips. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

     “Okay. So let me do my job,” Steve replied, effectively shutting you up. 

He lifted you up by the hips and set you on the counter behind you. It felt like everything in the room was all starting to blend together, that was just the effect that Steve’s touch had on you. You wanted him on you everywhere, you were overpowered by his scent and his strong hands on your body. His lips were here, then there, hitting all the right spots on your neck and your collarbone.

     “Can I take this off?” Steve asked, gesturing to your white crop top. 

You nodded silently, watching Steve as he pulled off your top for you, then you pulled him in for a hot, passionate kiss that told him how much you wanted this right now. When he pulled away he looked down at the basic white bra you were wearing and whispered under his breath,

     “Beautiful.”

     “Take yours off too,” you almost whined, thinking of the way his back muscles would look flexing when he went down on you.

Steve chuckled quietly,

     “Sure, doll.”

     “Wait, let me,” you decided, leaning in and taking his shirt off, your fingertips brushing against his sides as you took his shirt off, giving him goosebumps. 

Despite his burst in confidence since you got home, he was still in awe of you. And anyways, he really wanted to return the favor from the picnic. He’d been thinking about it in the days following, and now felt like the perfect time to return the favor. Or maybe he was just looking for a reason to go down on you again—not that he needed one. 

     “Fuck, you look so good,” you swore under your breath just watching Steve make his way down your body, worshipping every inch of your smooth skin. 

     “I could say the same,” Steve replied, just as turned on as you were, making his way down your stomach. 

The hairs on your body stood up at the feeling of his plush, pink lips against your skin, getting closer and closer to that part of you that needed him so badly. You were throbbing already and he hadn’t even touched you there yet. You were wearing a skirt, which he pulled down with ease, and you didn’t fail to catch the satisfied grin on his face at how easily your clothes fell off. Less hassle for the both of you.

     “For being so kind,” Steve said suddenly, reaching behind himself and placing the bottle of unopened wine beside you. 

You hooted in celebration, clapping your hands once and snatching the bottle from beside you, thanking Steve before twisting the bottle open and throwing back a big swig. 

Steve was kissing around your inner thighs now, leaving little love bites here and there that made you yelp out, taking your lips away from the wine bottle. 

     “Imagine the look on my viewers faces when they see the bruises you’re leaving on me,” you joked, and Steve shrugged.

      “Good. They’ll know you’re mine.”

Your heart skipped a beat— Steve was suddenly so confident. You liked it. 

     “Thought you said you weren’t jealous,” you cooed, leaning back and pressing your palms against the counter, looking down at him.

     “Not at all,” Steve replied calmly, and whatever you were going to say then was silenced when Steve pulled down your underwear, a rush of cold air hitting your bare flesh. He moaned at the sight of it, licked his lips like he was looking at his favorite food. “So wet already?”

You nodded with a slight pout, wanting Steve to give you what you needed now. But something told you it wasn’t your turn to speak, and that Steve was in charge tonight. 

      “Good girl,” Steve praised you, pressing his lips against your clit and leaving a soft, wet kiss there that made your legs twitch. Steve chuckled deviously and even though your brows furrowed at his cockiness, you didn’t say anything— you couldn’t act like you wanted him to stop being cocky. 

     “Baby,” you breathed out, bringing your hand down to run through his perfect hair, ruffling it a bit. 

     “Here, let me make you feel good,” was the last thing Steve said before diving in, his tongue drawing an intricate pattern against your folds and on your clit, sending the little bundle of nerves into complete ecstasy. 

     “Fuck,” you whined, taking another swig of your drink—you had no complaints right now.

Steve knew exactly what to do with it, just as he had the last time, and that was his very first time going down on you. The more Steve got to taste you, the more he wanted. He could see himself doing this for hours, making you cum over and over again until he really got his fix. He was probably just as, if not, more turned on than you were in the moment. His pants were bulged in the center, and he was burning up even without a shirt on. 

     “Mm, you taste so good,” Steve groaned the one moment he let his lips detach from your clit and your lips. “So wet for me.”

You moaned in response, unable to string any real words together because Steve was doing too good at his job. For a man who claimed he didn’t have much experience, he was the best you’d ever had. It was no surprise that your legs were already starting to shake when he added his fingers into the mix, rubbing soft circles against your clit and letting his tongue slide inside of you, fucking you deep with his tongue. You couldn’t help but grasp onto his hair tightly, your nails clawing into his scalp like crazy.  

Steve’s name fell effortlessly from your lips, which were drenched with red wine. 

     “Fuck, Steve, I’m-I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come!” you exclaimed as if you were shocked by the prospect— your orgasm was coming up fast and hard. “Don’t stop.”

     It felt like the breath was getting snatched from your chest as he kept up, moaning against you and roughly rubbing your clit. 

     He kept your legs spread with his other hand, stopping you from crushing his head with your legs, but you kept on tugging at his hair, which made Steve grunt in pleasure. 

     You tried and failed to lift the bottle of wine to your lips, your hands were shaking far too much. Steve was pulling this orgasm from you like it was nothing to him, putting all his concentration on making you feel good. You let go, and let yourself come on his face and tongue just like he had been hoping you would. While you were coming, he kept his fingers at your clit and pulled his lips away with a pop, savoring the taste of you as he licked his lips slowly.

     “There you go, there you go,” he encouraged you, only making you come even more. You couldn’t speak, only gasp out and let out strangled moans as you rode out your high, your entire body twitching. “It’s okay, baby.”

     Steve was cooing to you now, his entire demeanor had shifted— now he was puppy dog Steve again. He had his hand on your thigh to steady you, kissing your knee gently and caressing your body. Soon enough his fingers left your clit and soon enough, you came back to normal. Your heavy breathing and trembling had subsided and you were just sitting there blissed out. Your eyelids were heavy with tiredness, like Steve had worked you out. 

     “Steveee,” you groaned tiredly, a dazed smile spreading across your lips. 

Steve kissed gently up and down your inner thighs, calming your shaky body with every touch. He stood up with a pleased grin, licked his lips, and patted your thigh. 

     “Okay. Time to get you up,” he declared, and you hurriedly took another swig from the bottle before stretching your arms around Steve’s neck. 

  He chuckled to himself and picked you up, letting you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. 

     “Hey!” you exclaimed when you noticed his boner against you. “You’re hard.”

      “And you’re tired,” Steve replied, glancing up into your eyes.

You put on your best puppy dog eyes, trying to grind against his thigh. 

     “That doesn’t mean I can’t get you off,” you practically whined, and Steve smirked, but shook his head.

     “Make it up to me in the morning,” he peeled you off of him and set you into the bed, pulling the covers up and over your body. 

     “Fine,” you grumbled, turning over on your side. “Only ‘cuz I am tired.”

      “I know, I must’ve worn you out,” Steve retorted proudly, and you scoffed.

     “Keep dreaming,” you sighed, closing your eyes and almost immediately drifting into sleep. 

| | |

     The next morning, the first thing you noticed was that your pants were missing, and then you remembered exactly why. Even in the midst of sleep, a smile appeared on your lips. Steve had been so kind and loving to you every day since you got here, but especially so in the past few days. The remnants of last night between your thighs only served as another reminder. Last night was a blur, a glimpse into a more confident Steve who initiated the things that you both yearned for. 

     You didn’t know how much more obvious you could be, but he still seemed to question the very concept that he was even with you. You were working to reassure him that he deserved you, and he was proving it more day by day. The sexual chemistry between the two of you was off the charts from the beginning, but now it was becoming more natural, more reciprocated. 

Even though Steve wasn’t in bed next to you, you pranced around that morning fueled off the memory of last night. You got dressed and soon found yourself leaning against the doorway of the bedroom, ready to return the favor. Steve was elsewhere in the house, so you called his name.

     “Yeah?” Steve replied, and you could hear him shuffling about the house, finding his way to your voice. 

He paused in the doorway when he saw you, and a devious grin appeared on your face. Steve was unaware of your intentions, but he smiled back because you were. You tiptoed over to him, and put your hands on his shoulders, eyeing him like he was candy. 

     “I was just thinking… I should return the favor,” you shrugged innocuously, leaning in for a short kiss and pulling away despite his lips begging for more. 

     “Return the favor?” Steve asked in response.

His face looked clueless, but by the quirk in his voice you could tell he knew exactly what you meant. 

     “From last night?” you crooned, dropping slowly to your knees in front of him and giving him those eyes— those fuck me eyes that he couldn’t ever resist. If he didn’t have any self control, he’d have lugged you up off the floor and bent you over by now, never mind returning the favor. 

     “I have no idea what you’re talking about, doll,” Steve cocked his head to the side, a devious edge creeping into his tone. 

You pouted, furrowing your eyebrows in doubt, palming him through the grey sweats that worked you into a frenzy every time he wore them. 

     “Really?” you retorted, feeling him get harder the more your hand brushed against him. “This seems to say something different.”

     “Jesus,” Steve shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “When’d things get so… good?” 

     “You tell me, babe. You were the one giving me head completely unprompted on the kitchen counter last night. I mean, have you no shame?” you poked sarcastically at him, because you weren’t complaining at all, you just weren’t used to Steve being so bold.

     “‘M only gonna have you for two weeks,” Steve murmured, his jaw ticking involuntarily as he glared down at you through eyes that were growing heavier by the minute. “I wanna make sure I can still remember how you taste when you leave.”

Now, you were usually the one making Steve blush, but now it was your turn, heat rising up your cheeks and making you look away inadvertently. 

     “Hey,” Steve used his fingers to gently lift your chin up so you were looking at him. “I wanna be able to see your face. You’re beautiful.”

     “Steve, you’re sweet. But don’t go being all cute, I’m about to have your dick in my mouth,” you snorted, wasting no time and pulling down his sweats. 

Your hands, soft and delicate, ran down his thighs, the barely-there touch making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. You bit down on your lip, eyeing his length through his boxers, and put your lips around the tip, which was already leaking precum through the dark fabric. You looked up at Steve, who was already in shambles, his eyes clenched closed and his head leaning back against the wall. It was clear to you that, even though Steve took you by surprise last night, you were still the one in control, and you loved knowing you could have such an effect on him. 

     “Feel good?” you asked in a hushed, sweet voice, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. 

     Steve sucked in a breath when your lips left him, and grunted in response. You took that as your sign to get on with it, and pulled his boxers down, his cock meeting the cold air and standing erect in front of your face. His tip, dripping with arousal, was red and swollen, practically begging to be put between your lips. You giggled, a devious glint flashing in your eyes as you inched your head forward, taking his cock in your mouth, just plump glossy lips around the tip and your tongue just barely teasing the shaft. His dick throbbed in your mouth as soon as you got a taste of him on your palate, salty and bittersweet, a taste you knew you would never be able to get enough of since the day you’d finally gotten a try. 

     Steve opened his eyes and lowered his head slowly to look down at you. You had your cheeks sucked in and your lips puckered around the tip, the perfect little image on your knees in front of the captain. 

     You managed as best a smile as you could without letting your lips leave his tip, and Steve smiled back, a wolfish grin that was more mischievous than his usual golden retriever beam. You fluttered your lashes up at him almost comically and received a chuckle from him in response. He shook his head slowly, playfully, and you took him further into your mouth, keeping his entire length lodged in the back of your throat, tightly constricted around him like a snake. 

     The entire room was quiet except for the sound of you gagging around his cock, which pulsated in the back of your throat and even threatened to finish quickly— despite all his endurance, you gave Steve a run for his money. Steve couldn’t even deny it himself— he had to stop himself from coming down your throat because you were just so good, but it was so early on. The feeling of your throat and mouth wrapped tightly around him felt like a warm glove or even a sweet hug.

     You tested both your limits by swallowing while he was practically trapped in your throat, the sound it made incredibly obscene. Steve groaned loudly, his deep, gruff moan echoing in your ears like a lovely choir. You let go and started bobbing your head up and down, your lips wrapped around him tight, tongue brushing the underside of his shaft. He shuddered, then moaned, sucking in a deep breath with his eyes trained on you. Your eyes flickered down at what you were doing, focusing on the way he disappeared inside your mouth. You even raised your hands up to stroke what you couldn’t take in your mouth, though you devoted yourself to taking all of him because you were just that good. But Steve lowered his hands and softly pushed yours away, shaking his head. His voice was unusually low even for someone as gruff as him when he said, 

     “No hands. And look at me when you’re sucking me off.”

     You looked up at him almost immediately and nodded quickly, brows furrowing in the middle as your puppy dog eyes turned on inadvertently. You liked how much more confident Steve was becoming day by day. He had no shame in telling you what to do and wasn’t nervous about how you’d react anymore. You had your hands practically pinned behind your back as you bobbed your head at a consistent, steady pace, spit drooling from the corners of your mouth and onto him. He sighed out in contentment as he looked down at you, unafraid to get messy and perfect at your job. 

     He ran his hands through his hair, raising his eyebrows at you as if he was in disbelief. And a part of him still was— though he got more and more comfortable with you every day, your inner and outer beauty and glow would always remain fresh to him. He would never get used to you, never get bored of you. He had never had much luck with love, and, to put it quite bluntly, the fact that a beautiful girl like yourself was on your knees for him was quite unusual for him. 

     “Fuck, you’re good at this,” the apple in his throat bounced as he swallowed hard, then he clenched his jaw tight, staring down at you in deep concentration. 

Duh, you wanted to reply, but you had to remind yourself it was rude to talk with your mouth full. You just gazed up at him with smiling eyes, slurping from the shaft to the tip, then taking his balls into your mouth, switching from sucking on them to licking beneath his shaft. Each time you shifted between one or the other, he moaned deeply, the sound reverberating in your stomach and triggering slick between your legs. You dared to venture your hand between your thighs and touch yourself, gently gliding your fingers from the dripping slit to your throbbing clit. Steve groaned as he watched you get yourself off while you got him off, inching a few steps forward, his dick sliding against your deft tongue. 

     “You look so good, doll,” he said, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

You offered him a small smile, spit mixed with his arousal dripping down your chin. You spit on his cock, then got back to work and put your lips all the way around him again. You got back to bobbing your head up and down and Steve swore he was going to lose his mind at the sight of you playing with yourself and sucking him off so eagerly. You were so good at everything you did, but especially this, and so effortlessly hot. He almost forgot you had just woken up. He chuckled devilishly and smirked down at you.

      “You do love doing that, don’t you?” he asked. 

You nodded and batted your lashes, hollowing your cheeks out and making sure to pucker your lips hard around his lip. 

     “Mm hm,” you moaned around him in response. 

     “So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered under his breath, gazing into your eyes and earning another slight smile from you. 

You let your eyes flutter closed as you worked Steve to the end, and Steve’s eyelids fell too, his hands balling into fists and his chest rising and falling heavily as you did your job.

     “Yes, that’s it, you’re so goddamn good, you’re gonna make me come, baby,” Steve’s voice grew lower and deeper as you drew his orgasm closer and closer, and you grew more sloppy and untamed with your mouth around him as you slurped away. You could tell he was going to come the way he was pulsing inside your mouth, and the way his groans grew less inhibited the longer you sucked him off. He even started to stutter, his teeth grit as he started to come, shooting ropes of his cum down your warm throat, “Fu-fuck, that’s… yes, yes, YN, I’m coming.”

      You kept sucking until he was done, which drove him crazy, and even after, you still kept your lips closed around the base, only departing when you were ready. You loved the taste of him, and wanted to keep him on your lips forever, but sadly you knew that’d be impossible. But like Steve, whenever you got the chance to have him, you’d have him. Even now, when you’d just woken up not twenty minutes ago. When you finally pulled away, Steve had gathered himself. You grinned at him, beaming even, looking so innocent and angelic despite the fact that you were on your knees with Steve’s dripping cock in front of you and spit running down your chin.

     “How was it?!” 

Steve just laughed, shaking his head and pulling his sweats back up.

     “How was it?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t think I have the words for it, doll.”

Steve, polite as always, helped you up off your knees, and pulled you close to him, grabbing you by the hips, kissing you on the lips. 

     “That’s fair!” you shrugged, giddy from the sweet gesture. “You coming so hard was evidence enough.”

You teased him, bopping his nose with your finger, and he shook his head and rolled his eyes playfully at you.

     “What can I say, you’re a natural,” he played along, then suddenly lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder, parading through the house with you as if you were a ragdoll.

     “Steve!” you cried, flailing your arms against his back and laughing raucously. “Asshole, put me down!”

     “Oh no, we’re gonna make breakfast like this,” Steve denied you, shaking his head with a mischievous smile. 

     “I just ate,” you snorted, and Steve’s hand landed on your ass in response. 

     “Don’t be nasty,” he teased you, and you sighed,

     “Steve, you prude.”

     The rest of that morning was spent making breakfast and listening to music. Or more like, burning all the pancakes, spilling the egg whip and blasting the radio, forcing Steve to listen to “new age” music that he didn’t understand, but he endured it because you loved it. (“It’s Megan Thee Stallion, not Megan The Stallion.”) You danced and laughed and sang with him, but by the time you ran out of flour (because a majority of it ended up on your face, and then Steve’s face as revenge), you really hadn’t succeeded at making anything, and it was lunchtime by then, so you just decided you would go out instead. 

Steve didn’t seem to mind going to a more populated place this afternoon. You figured it was because perhaps he had loosened up a bit this morning after your little surprise gift. That still didn’t stop him from wearing a cap and fake glasses, which surprisingly disguised him quite well. Although, in the car ride over to the restaurant Steve was taking you to, you couldn’t help but ask,

     “Why the cap and glasses though? Isn’t it a little, I don’t know, rookie for someone like you? I guess I always expected your disguises to be top class, like prosthetics and all that.”

     “They can be. But trust me, it’s easier to deceive than it looks. And besides, if I’m out with my girl, I don’t want to look like a whole different person. I wanna look like me.”

There it was again, that sweet phrase of his— “my girl.” You made a soft cooing noise and tilted your head over to him, a pleased smile set on your sweet lips. 

    “My girl,” you repeated, laying your head on his bicep as he turned down the road where the restaurant was.

He glanced over at you and grinned down at you, loving the feeling of your head against him and the sound of your airy voice. 

     “Don’t you forget it.”

     “Okay, baby,” you cooed again, your heart practically soaring with how content you were, biting down on your lip to restrain a goofy smile. 

     He had to do the same, a pink blush spreading to his cheeks at the sound of your voice and the pet name. 

He parked soon after, opening the door for you as usual. He got a table for the two of you in the back of the restaurant beside of a big window. It was a fancier restaurant, bustling with people, light jazz playing on the speakers. 

     “You always bring me to the cutest little places,” you grinned softly at him, leaning close to him at the table. 

Steve grinned back at how close you were to him, the way you leaned in as if to close space between you, talking to him like you were telling a secret just for you and him. He clasped his hands together and shrugged nonchalantly, like his heart wasn’t swelling from the compliment.

     “I got a lot more to show you, doll,” he replied. “So much to do and such little time.”

     “I know! It’s been about a week, hasn’t it?” you beamed, your cheeks rounding out when you leaned your head against your palm. You glanced out the window with a distracted smile on your lips. You laughed goofily. “I don’t know. I haven’t been keeping track of the days.”

     “That sounds about right,” Steve said, wistful eyes gazing at your face, the afternoon sun glinting on your side profile.

You looked so angelic in this moment, and you weren’t even trying to look divine. Steve was silent for a moment, and you looked back at him to see that he was just staring at you with lovey dovey eyes. You laughed, shaking your head.

     “What?” you giggled. “Earth to Steve.”

     “You just look so pretty,” Steve replied casually. 

     “Aww, you too, lover boy,” you teased him, reaching across the table to squeeze his cheek playfully. 

A waiter approached you and began to serve you. You ordered a mimosa to start, very typical of you, and Steve stuck with water. When the drinks came you slurped eagerly at the mimosa and Steve shook his head playfully, laughing at the sight of you drinking greedily. You looked up from the bottomless depths of your glass and raised a brow.

     “What?” you asked cluelessly. “It’s good!”

     “I bet. You college girls and your drinking,” Steve poked fun at you. 

     “I’m a college grad,” you corrected him, pointing a finger at him. 

     “Close enough,” Steve shrugged.

     “Steve, you perv,” you smirked, folding your arms and slouching back in the booth. “You just like me ‘cuz I’m young and hot.” 

     “That’s part of it,” he admitted. 

You fake gasped. 

     “Steve, you devil!” you leaned in close to his face and narrowed your eyes at him, biting down softly on your lips. Your voice was low and crooning, a fiery look in your hooded eyes. “You have a thing for the age difference, don’t you?”

Even though you were only kidding with him, your close proximity, the subject matter and your tone of voice had Steve shifting in his seat and clasping his hands together in his lap, clenching down on his jaw. His face was getting warm and he wished more than anything that you were alone together in this moment, because then he would—

     “I’m… not interrupting anything am I?” the waiter returned with a pen and pad, ready to take your orders. 

You slunk back instantly, an all too innocent smile on your face, perking your head up to look over at the waiter, 

     “Not at all. We’re ready to order!” 

Halfway through the lunch, you had gone through a few mimosas and you were starting to get giggly and cutesy. Steve found it adorable. He’d never seen you in such a state, and you were somehow more bubbly and fun than normally. 

     “You don’t drink much,” you mentioned to Steve with a slight frown, eyes squinted and lids heavy from the drowsiness that the alcohol was setting in. 

     “Nah,” Steve smiled. “Doesn’t do anything for me. I mean, I’ll drink, but I can’t get drunk.”

     “Hmm. Guess being a superhero has its ups and downs,” you chirped happily, burping a little bit afterwards. 

Steve laughed, handing you a napkin for the bit of alcohol that was sitting at the corner of your lips. 

    “Superhero,” he repeated your own words, chuckling and shaking his head as if in doubt.

     “What?!” you cried. “You’re a superhero, a-” you shushed yourself, remembering that you were in public, then whispered, “an Avenger.”

     “Me? I’m just your average Joe.”

     “You say potato, I say potato,” you shrugged, rolling your eyes drunkenly. “You say you can’t get drunk… I would like to test that theory some day.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head again,

     “I got a feeling you were a wild child.”

      “Oh yeah,” you said sarcastically, nodding. “Yeah, I was a real handful. Going out surfing and hiking every weekend of high school like a ne'er-do-well.”

Steve chortled at your drunken sense of humor. You were sarcastic enough, the mimosas just turned it on ten. He didn’t even mind that you were drunk in front of him right now— it let him feel reassured that you were comfortable enough with him to do this. After all, every day you were getting past all the niceties. 

     “A true rebel,” Steve replied, raising his eyebrows.

     “Uh huh,” you took a forkful of salad into your mouth, chewing and swallowing. “My parents had a looot on their plate.”

Steve suddenly shifted, remembering what you had said about your parents. There hadn’t been much of an update since the last time you’d talked to Steve about them. 

     “Right, your parents. How’s that going? Is there anything you want to talk about?” 

     “Steve,” you squeezed his cheek. “It’s alright, I guess. We haven’t talked much since the incident, but… we’ve talked. I mean, it sucks that things went down the way they did, but at least I’m not hiding much from them anymore. I mean, besides this. But, them supporting my career is… cute.”

    “Cute?” Steve smirked at your choice of words, and you hiccuped, smiling dazedly.

     “I mean, nice. I don’t know, I’m drunk,” you giggled. You settled in, sighing and folding your hands on the table, fiddling with your fingers. “I just… I told them I need my space, you know? I don’t even really wanna have some big conversation. I feel like it’s like, whatever, you know? We move on and I move on, try to make the best of what we have of our relationship, for the remainder of time we have left together. That’s all I really have the mental and emotional energy left for, to be honest. I mean, we’re getting old. Them especially. But right now, I don’t wanna think about them. Or talk to them. Right now I wanna be with you.”

     You finished your little soliloquy with a grin, gazing at Steve with friendly eyes. Steve nodded, understanding every word. He’d always be there for you when it came to your family matters, or anything you were going through. But he was glad you were taking this route. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, not be so stressed about everything the way you used to be. 

     He’d only been with you in person for a short amount of time, but he knew your habits, he knew your character— you thought maybe even better than your parents did. And for that, you were eternally grateful. Steve wasn’t just a lover, he was a friend. Someone you felt you could trust and give your all to. 

     “I understand,” Steve nodded. “I wanna be with you, too.”

He reached out and squeezed your hand, stopping you from your half nervous, half mimosa induced fidgeting. You perked up again, a big grin on your face, 

     “Yay! We should dance now.”

Steve scoffed, 

    “Yeah, this is where I get the check. We gotta get you home.”

No matter how much you fought it then, by the time Steve was carrying you from the car to his apartment, you were more than happy to be back home. He sat you down on the bed where you took a long nap, and spent the rest of the day indoors with Steve, crossing more and more modern day movies off his little bucket list. No matter how you spent the day, it was always good. And Steve treated you oh-so-right, no matter whether you were drunk or sober. 

| | |

     “You feel so fucking good,” Steve practically whimpered into your ear. 

     Right now, Steve was buried to the hilt inside you from behind you, spoonfucking you and stretching you out almost offensively from this delicious new angle. You’d suggested it to him that morning when you woke up to Steve’s hard on against your ass, rolling your head over sleepily and casually asking him, “wanna take me like this right now?” If anything could wake Steve up so quick, it was that question. He loved the accessibility. He barely had to move to get inside you where he was quickly realizing he belonged. Any way he could be close to you, sexually or otherwise, was ideal for him. 

     His thrusts were soft but firm and deep, his girthy, long length allowing him to hit every spot that he needed to hit. You were both delirious from morning fog and the euphoric sensations you were sharing together, like on a thick cord of energy that was impenetrable. Steve felt so deep inside you, deeper than the first time, deeper than your mouth could take him. You were rocking back and forth each time he fucked into you at that sweet, steady pace. He wasn’t wasting any time with you, but he was taking his time all the same.

    His breath was warm on your neck, coming and going in heavy pants, and your breath was winding out along with the ever-pleased moans Steve drew from you. 

    “Fu-uck, baby just like that,” you groaned, hardly able to open your eyes until he hit a spot so right inside you that you had to crane your neck because you wanted to look at him. 

     He opened his eyes a bit wider when he saw you, and locked eyes with you. The very sight of your face had him throbbing inside of you, stretching your walls out impossibly further. He slammed his hips up into you, and you whined at the hard, pleasing sensation, your brows furrowing in the middle. 

      Steve looked down at where your bodies met, absolutely enamoured by the sight of him disappearing in and out of you, his favorite place. Your chest and stomach began to surge with that familiar, burning feeling, and you couldn’t help the warbled moan that came out of you. The eye contact combined with the feeling of Steve rocking his hips steadily into you was so deliciously overwhelming, you thought you had never been so turned on in your life. No one had given it to you this good. 

     So early in the morning, Steve was ready for you, and you’d been going for a while, the time filling with endless cycles of him making you cum on his cock over and over, no end in sight. He held back every time he was going to come because he wanted to cherish this time with you. So close and so intimate, the light of dawn tickling the morning sky outside. 

     “I’m gonna come,” Steve moaned, and you nodded— you had been more than sated in the long period of time you’d been fucking. 

     “Come inside me,” you prompted him, reaching your hand over to stroke his cheek. “Keep looking at me, baby.”

Steve gazed deep in your eyes, fighting the urge to look down at what he was doing. There was nothing more personal than this right now, looking into your fucked out, glazed over eyes while he rode out his orgasm, coming inside you until he was sure he had nothing left in his entire body. Even after he came, egged on by the sounds of you cooing words of encouragement, telling him how you wanted him to stuff you and fill you up, he kept rocking his hips up into you, slowly and softly, even lovingly. 

     “Make sure it’s all in there,” he kissed your sweaty neck and you stretched it out, facing away from him and burying your cheek in the pillow, still feeling his thick length inside you, stuffing all his come deep inside you. 

Even then, there was so much that when he pulled out, some of it leaked out of you and onto the bed sheets, spread out on your pussy. He used his fingers to slick it all up, then reached over your shoulder and pressed gently to open your mouth, inviting you to suck the cum off his fingers. You did it eagerly, savoring the taste of him on your tongue. And then you both laid there for a while in silence, you still recovering and laying on your side, Steve pulling you into him so you could lay the back of your head on his outstretched arms while he lay on his back. 

     “That was disgusting, in the best way imaginable,” you breathed, a pleased, hazy smile on your face, turning to face him. “Again?”

     “Again?” Steve laughed, shaking his head and looking over at you, surprise laden in his ocean blue eyes. He had no problem going again, it was you he was concerned for. He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head and nearly biting down on his lip at just the thought of going rounds. “I’m not gonna go easy on you, you do know that right?” 

     “You call that taking it easy? I came like…” you drifted off, not able to keep track. 

     “Five times. I counted,” Steve answered proudly. 

You chortled at his prideful demeanor. Steve could be such a different person in the bedroom, and you were absolutely not against it. It was kind of cute how cocky he could get, and it was lovely seeing him blossom like a flower and get more and more physically confident with you. 

     “Yeah… I think we should just cuddle for now,” you decided, not able to fathom what Steve might do to you if you actually followed through with your delusional suggestion. Steve was silent but his face said it all. You playfully shoved his face. “Wipe that smirk off your face.”

     “What smirk?” he asked faux innocently. 

     “Shut up,” you giggled, cuddling in closer to him and practically coiling up next to him. 

He put his arms around you instinctively. It felt like he was wrapping you in a sheath of protection. 

     “You’re so warm,” he noted, kissing the top of your head. 

     “It’s that Cali weather stuck on me,” you decided quietly, letting your eyes close. 

    “You’re like that Katy Perry song,” Steve noted, and you laughed to yourself. He glanced down, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

     “Nothing, nothing. You’re getting more modern by the day.”

      Steve laughed with you, and in the silence that followed, the thoughts he’d pushed away earlier that week started to flood his mind. Labels, officiality. The idea of the conversation gave him plenty of nerves at first, and he’d been brooding on it. But these past few days, you’d grown so close, almost unexpectedly. You were close from the start, but now topics like these felt a bit easier to approach. You got much closer physically and emotionally in the course of a few days. He still didn’t want you to feel rushed, but this felt like quite a comfortable, languid moment to bring this up. The light was poking through the blinds in just the perfect manner, and you looked so delicate and content laying on his arm, nuzzled into his chest like that. 

The room was quiet and fuzzy with the aftermath of what you’d done, but the energy couldn’t be purer. It was like soft music was playing over the silence that wasn’t quite silent at all. 

     “You awake?” Steve asked, fixating down at you.

     “Mm hm,” you hummed, your eyes still closed. You were extremely relaxed and cozy in this moment, your mind and body wrapped up in Steve’s snug arms. 

     “I’ve got something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Steve’s fingers traced light strokes on your collarbones, soothing and gentle. 

You eased even further into his touch, but poked one eye open, raising a curious brow,

     “Good or bad?”

     “Good,” Steve laughed quietly, fingers still gently caressing your supple skin. “Always good.”

     “Okay, shoot,” you smiled, the apples of your cheeks turning upwards in that way Steve always noticed— there were so many small things about you that Steve absolutely died for. 

    “I’ve been thinking about us. And we haven’t spent a lot of time together, and this isn’t something I’m used to. I mean, I’m really kind of still new to all this.”

    “Mm hm,” you hummed, the vibrations of your voice easing him. 

    “And, you know, I’m still a kinda traditional guy. I like to be sure that I’m treating you right. And I feel like part of that includes, you know, what I’d call you. Like… if I would call you labels.”

    “Mm hmm,” you hummed again, looking up at him and making eye contact. “Be more specific.”

You were sure you understood what he meant, but you wanted crystal clear communication— even though you trusted Steve, it was just one of those things you had as a result of your past. A condition. And he understood that completely, another reason why you felt you could trust him. Plus, it was kind of nice to see Steve get his words out, this big strong man trying to figure out what to say to you, a simple, special girl. So special on your own, and so special to him, a kind of pleasant surprise to you. 

    “Say if I were to call you my girlfriend. I… I just find myself thinking about when the time is right to ask. Or if… if I should, at all. I don’t wanna go too fast, or-or pressure you into anything. And, a part of me realizes that we don’t need a title because, well, this isn’t a normal relationship and I get that you young people— for lack of a better word— don’t care much about labels anymore, which I respect. And I know you’re not looking to rush into anything too soon because of how you’ve been treated in the past but…” here, Steve almost got emotional, thinking of how special you were to him, unable to believe that you’d been treated so poorly in the past— all he wanted was to show you just how you made him feel. “But I just want to treat you right, and make you happy because well, you make me happy. And it’s… it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. And I’m sure that for you and me both, these feelings are rare. And I can treat you the same regardless of whether or not we put a label on it, but… it’s just been on my mind.”

He continued,

     “And I’m not asking anything of you right now. I just wanted to get it out there. I know how important it is to you that we communicate. And I wanted to be able to talk to you about it before I spring anything on you.”

      You swallowed down everything he was saying, and even you were getting a bit emotional. He had said so much, and everything he said had resonated so heavily. He truly cared about you, and to even bring this up in this way showed how much he understood that you needed your own personal time and space. 

     As much as you liked Steve, and wanted to pursue something, anything with him that was good for your emotional and mental health, you still highly valued communication and your time. It was just how you were structured, it was how time and your life experiences had built you. And you understood what he was saying. 

     Right now, you still weren’t even sure what you wanted. You just knew that you liked this, even though it felt like a commitment. He’d flown you out after all. He really wanted to see you and be with you, and the same went for you. But you didn’t get the vibes that he was forcing you to commit or that he expected anything from you because of your amazingly unique circumstances. It would just make sense to put a label or be official… but all the same, it would make sense to just keep things playing out and enjoy your time together. 

     That didn’t have to mean you were just fooling around, because you got the feeling that you both took each other quite seriously in the relationship area of life, exclusive or not. And it had been on your mind as well, but you were just living in the moment. 

     You finally replied, a small smile on your face, placing a consoling hand on Steve’s chest,

     “Thank you, Stevie. Really, it means the most to me, you coming to me like this. And everything you’re saying makes complete sense to me.” You gave him a short, sweet kiss on his jawline. “And honestly, I can tell you were still a little nervous to bring this up to me. But there’s no reason for you to be. I want you, there’s no doubt about that. And I really respect your traditional tendencies. And I feel like even though we’ve only known each other in person for so long, we’ve been talking for quite some time. I feel like I know you well.”

     “So do I,” Steve grinned, almost letting out a sigh of relief as he listened to your words.

     “And I really am open for anything. I think, these days though, I’m just trying to live in the present. I’m gonna be with you, whether I’m officially your girlfriend or not. I’m not obsessed with labels right now, and neither are you. Being asked officially would just be a nice little perk to what we already have. So I’m not in a rush. But I’m also not at all against it. I’d love to call myself your girlfriend one day. It’s our call.”

Steve nodded, grinning stupidly to himself. To hear those words was so reassuring. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, and he was glad you felt the way you did, though he wouldn’t have been upset if you felt any other way. He just wanted to be with you, the same way you just wanted to be with him. You were comfortable enough with each other not to feel like you needed to rush into anything exclusive, and also comfortable enough to be able to put a label on what you had and move on accordingly. 

     “Our call. I like the sound of that.”

     “Yeah? Me too,” you agreed— unity over one person wearing the pants in your relationship. 

If and when the time did come that Steve should ask you to be his girlfriend, you would be happy for the day—ecstatic, even. But you were comfortable enough in your own skin to just keep on living through the days. And the days with him were quite wonderful. 

No rush, just serenity. 

AHHHHHHHH!!!

it’s been done 

i hope y’all loved that :)))

tbh i think this series is gonna have 20-25 parts, 30 max. ion want it to get too crazy! there is an end in sight, but fear not, there is a lot to go <3

*tags added later*

[tbehartoo]

Bursting Bubbles

My piece for @thedjwifizine that can be found here. It's full of great art and stories. Check it out!

...

Nino looked up into the scowling face of his favorite seatmate.

“Here you go, Bubbles,” she said as she thrust a mango bubble tea into his hand. “One special of the day from The Boba Bar.” Her other hand slapped a small card onto his sheet music. “And here’s your other three week’s worth of drinks.”

“Aw, Alya you didn’t have to do this,” he held up the card. “This,” he grinned as he took his first sip of the drink, “you definitely needed to do.”

“Well you won the bet fair and square,” Alya huffed as she plopped down into her seat. “You really could find a way to get a harpsichord to sound rockin' when you DJ’ed Kim’s house party.”

“Scoops, I’m surprised you could doubt me,” Nino held a hand to his heart. “It’s like you’ve forgotten that music is my life.” He grumbled toward the music piece he’d been assigned, “It’s not like I’ve spent nearly three grueling years learning this European centered musical theory or anything.” Looking at her smirk he added, “Or that I’d hardly be the first person to experiment with combining old instruments to new music.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Or old music to new instruments.”

The next week it was Nino placing a gift card on Alya’s notepad.

“Your payment for getting me those sources for my music history essay, m’lady,” he said as he bowed to her.

“Nino, what-” she asked as she looked at the card “-what is this?”

Nino felt his face warm up, but he sent a shy smile in her direction as he sat down. “You were saying, the other day, that it’s been forever since you had a mani-pedi, but that they weren’t in your budget at the moment so I figured I’d get one for you as thanks for saving my bacon. I didn’t have time to track down those translations of medieval manuscripts for that Music Development in the Dark Ages assignment, but you did it without my asking.” He grinned at her, “You really took some pressure off of me and I appreciate it.”

She looked at him, back at the card, and back at Nino.

“I don’t remember saying that,” she murmured.

“You were picking at your nails because the color was coming off and said that you’d need to see if Marinette was free for a girl’s night so you could get her to do your nails again,” he said as he started to root around in his bag.

“That was two- three weeks ago?” she said, thinking out loud. She looked at him, but he was obviously avoiding her gaze. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

His head tucked between his shoulders, a turtle pulling into its shell.

“It was easy to remember,” he said. “You had that sparkly red polish. It really drew in the eye. I remember thinking that you had the perfect hands for playing the piano right before you said it.” He quickly looked away again.

Alya was quiet for a moment before smiling up at him.

“That seems like a really nice compliment coming from a musician like yourself,” she reassured him. She looked back at the card. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this place.”

“It’s, uh, one of the local beautician schools,” he told her. “You were right about mani-pedis being a bit pricy, but my cousin is going there to learn to cut hair, and she said the girls in the nail class are crazy talented and eager to get someone not a relative to paint on, and it only costs about a fourth of what the pros charge.” He shrugged. “This way you can have like half a dozen manicures for the price of one.”

Alya lunged at him and caught him in a tight hug.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” she cried before releasing him. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Miss Cesaire, if you are quite done groping Mister Lahiffe I’d like to start the class,” the voice of Doctor Agreste cut through the lecture hall and every head snapped toward them.

Alya’s face was nearly as warm and red as his own.

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked as she pulled her arms back to her side.

“Now if we may?” the professor’s curt voice took control of the class.

“Groping,” Nino mumbled. “He calls one little hug groping.” He pulled out a composition that Madame Mendeleiev had assigned just that morning. “I’d like to show him groping.”

He was startled out of his grumbling when Alya whispered, “Me, too.”

Only three more weeks and I’m out of this class and I never have to see this man’s stupid face again, Nino thought to himself. At least after today it’s just student presentations before the final.

They had finally reached the Contemporary Era and the man was butchering even the easiest movements! And don’t get him started on the composers. He’d wasted over half the lecture trying to explain that Richard Wagner wasn’t really an antisemite, but that Nazi sympathizers, mainly Adolf himself, just liked his music so much and thought it expressed National Ideals perfectly! The man wasn’t even a composer in Contemporary times!

And that just served to take time away from some real pioneers of the era like Laura Anne Karpman whose music can be found literally anywhere. Or what about Meredith Monk who includes operas amongst her compositions, since Doctor Agreste seemed to be hung up over Wagner’s damn Ring Cycle. Of course he didn’t mention Yihan Chen the brilliant Chinese pianist and composer. And though the man would fawn and dote on child prodigies like Wolfgang Mozart all day, he wouldn’t give the time of day to “Bluejay” Greenberg who could hear several compositions in his head at the same time and then be able to write them with minimal correction.

Just, UGH!

Nino was done with this entitled little man and the racist ideology he’s attempting to spread about. He was certainly spreading something, but it smelled more like fertilizer than anything else to Nino’s mind.

He could tell that Alya was concerned about his agitation, he’d been clenching his pencil so hard he heard it crack, but he refused to look in her direction. She had a great talent for sniffing out these kinds of things and if he looked at her right now, he’d probably see his frustration reflected on her face and do something dumb- like start an uprising in the middle of class. He really couldn't afford to take this class again.

As soon as they were out the doors Alya started ranting about how it was obvious that Doctor Agreste didn’t even bother to check Wikipedia for sources. She made her opinion known that the good doctor didn’t like the era because more people were included in writing and performing it rather than just white, Western-European men who were either wealthy or had wealthy patrons. And stopped mid rant.

Nino looked at her and watched as Alya got an idea. By the look on her face it was a genius idea: an Evil and Genius idea if the cackle was anything to go by.

“Whatever you’re planning, I’m in,” he declared.

“I haven’t even told you my idea yet.”

“I can tell by your expression alone that it’s going to be the best idea ever,” he said with a smirk. “So want to let me in on our plan?”

She explained her idea and Nino’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, that man is going to regret crossing paths with us,” he chuckled. “Can you come over tonight? I’ve got plenty of stuff we’d need for the music portion of the presentation.”

She shook her head. “I need at least one day to fact-check my notes and another to find accurate sources. Are you busy Saturday?”

Nino thought for a moment. “I’m free in the morning, but I have a wedding I’m playing for in the evening.”

“Okay that gives me a little more time for research.” She smiled up at him. “So, Saturday morning we’ll meet up to pull things together?”

Nino nodded in agreement.

“Great,” she said, “That’ll give us Sunday to type up the report and Monday to practice for our presentation on Tuesday.”

“Tell me the truth, Alya,” Nino looked at her, “Is this too much? Are we crazy to put together a spite presentation in one weekend? At the end of the semester?” He brushed a bit of her hair out of her face and tucked it carefully behind her ear. “You already have so much to do for all your other classes. I don’t want this to be something that stresses you out or makes you do something that hurts you.”

Alya reached up and patted his cheek before replying.

“Nino this is going to be so much fun that I doubt I’ll even notice how much work it is,” she grinned at him fully. “I might pull an allnighter here or there, but I promise you that I’m taking care to not do too much. I wouldn’t have suggested this if I didn’t think we could do it.”

He held her gaze for a moment then sighed.

“Okay, let’s ruin this man’s whole career.”

She laughed loud and pulled him toward the school’s cafe. Obviously this called for copious amounts of snacks and his precious bubble tea.

Tuesday dawned bright and clear. A perfect day to teach about the subtleties of Contemporary music while simultaneously displaying the ignorance and prejudice of the most hated music teacher on campus. Nino sipped at his Thai tea with coffee pudding as he contemplated Alya’s plan of attack. It was a nice simple plan, but it needed something. Seeing a familiar outline hurrying across campus brought a smile to his face. The final nail in Doctor Agreste’s coffin just made itself known. He hurried across the quad to see if he could catch up with Madame before she reached her office.

An hour later he stood at the podium inserting the thumb drive into the computer for the projector.

“Good morning everyone,” Alya began. “As you all know we’ve had to jump over and through many musical ages and movements. That meant we had to skim through a lot of really interesting information. Nino and I decided to do a little bit of music through the ages for the Contemporary Era for you all. Now, get ready to get funky!”

That was his cue. He started the Powerpoint and Richard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” began to blast from the room’s speakers while Elmer Fudd stabbed a spear into the ground singing, “Kill the wabbit! Kill the wabbit!”

“Welcome to Neoromanticism,” he called to those present.

The presentation went off without a hitch. Madame Mendeleiev had managed to slip in before their presentation and had stayed to the end of class. It was with great delight that Nino watched the Dean of the Music Department approach Doctor Agreste and congratulate him on the quality of his students’ final presentations. She even approached Alya and complemented her on the amount of research she’d done to be ready for the day. Then she turned to him.

“An adequate presentation, Nino,” she said with no trace of humor in her words. “Your compilation was a little heavy on the electronic music and light on the serialism, but I suppose that’s only to be expected with where your interests lie,” she paused, “and in light of the time constraints.”

He gulped and nodded his head. He knew she’d pick up on that.

“Please, send me a copy of your presentation at your earliest convenience.”

His eyes snapped up from the floor to meet hers. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the slight upturn to the corners of her mouth or not, so he chose not to comment on it.

“I think I might incorporate it into my opening lecture next semester,” she remarked so offhandedly that Nino was sure he was hearing things. “It’ll be an excellent introduction to modern music for the freshmen.” She nodded to him before moving off to catch professor Agreste on his way out the door.

Alya was grinning from ear to ear and practically vibrating where she stood. He turned to her and had a fraction of a second to brace for impact as she’d thrown herself in his direction. Her arms were around his waist as she pulled him into a hug. He returned the hug with matching enthusiasm.

“We did so good!” she squealed.

He looked down into her grinning face and returned the smile.

“Hell yeah, we did,” he replied. “This calls for a celebration.” It was only then that he realized he still had his arms around her shoulders. Then again she was still holding on to him. He pulled back but kept hold of her hands. “I know you have another class in an hour, but do you want to go get boba to celebrate?”

She smirked up at him. “Only if you’ll let me treat you to dinner at Sabine’s tonight.” She looked to the side as she added, “And then we could go check out that concert in the park you mentioned yesterday.”

His mouth suddenly went dry. That sounded a lot like an actual date. Like a real date with this girl he knew he’d started crushing on some time this semester. What else could he do?

“Sounds great, but you have to let me bring pizza and dessert to our study date on Thursday night.”

Her laugh sent a tingle down his spine. “It’s a date!”

[musicfren]

tend hearts to bloom (our folly exhumed) part 2

Everything takes time to grow. Some good things take so much longer than you could have ever thought possible, and the best things might never grow at all. All you can do is tend to your garden. Part 2 is HERE y’all. Me and @nottesilhouette have finished part two of our hyper-extended flower metaphor saga :P You can read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all! May this post last you a lot longer than 3 days <3

Felix lives in a state of “too cool”: too cool to be friends with the kids at school, too cool to be friends with the teachers and faculty, too cold to be friends with anyone at all. So he’s the last to realize when a new trend finds its feverish way across the school in whispers and muffled laughter behind lockers. Normally, he wouldn’t care-- schoolyard trends are little more than the transient, ephemeral whims of children drifting on the winds of their judgement, but there’s something about the ink that peeks through the sleeves of Kim’s shirt that demands his attention. 

“What is that?” 

“...are you checking out my muscles, bro?” Kim is genuinely baffled, not a trace of judgement in his tone but clearly trying to slot the puzzle pieces together as to when Felix became someone who cared about brawn, either in himself or anyone else. Still, Kim is nothing if not kind, so he flexes in Felix’s direction to give him a better look. 

His sleeves ride up when he does, and Felix brushes his arm over the bulge of Kim’s forearm, which probably doesn’t help the confusion. But the ink is irresistible to Felix. It’s familiar and gorgeous, sharp clean lines on Kim’s skin, and so glossy Felix worries it might smudge. It doesn’t. 

There on Kim’s wrist, perfectly framed by his bulging veins, is a comically cute grey dumbbell, and a doodled little snapdragon curled around the handle of the weights. 

“Oh, dude, did you mean my tattoo?” Kim is clearly relieved that his perception of Felix can remain intact, and helpfully flexes a little more. This is a much more reasonable thing for someone like Felix to find attractive. “Yeah, I finally caved and got it done, I wasn’t really sure what to get, y’know? I didn’t want to show up there like an idiot with no idea what to say or ask for, but Max told me that she was really good about just listening to you talk about what you liked and working with you to get something nice done. I like Max a lot,” he shares conspiratorially. 

Felix nods, as if this makes sense, and wanders away. Show up where? Get what done? Clearly someone was drawing this on Kim. There’s no way he could’ve done it himself; it was on his right wrist and Kim is right handed, but… Felix needed to know. He just didn’t know what to ask, or whether he should ask at all. 

But Felix knows how to hold his tongue, how to say the right things and keep himself safe, so he waits three days before ending up in a partner project with Max. Not by design, he plans to insist to anyone asking. No one asks. 

They’re listing their skills to decide who’ll take which piece of the project when Felix makes his move. “And you draw, too, right?” 

“No?” Max looks flummoxed, and Felix panics immediately. 

“Oh, well… I just… you had… Kim-told-me-you-drew-a-dumbbell-for-him!” He rushes the sentence out all in one breath, and Max looks more startled at his explanation than anything else, which sends Felix spiraling even more. 

But Max just takes a moment (a way too long moment) to process, and then laughs. “Is that what Kim said? He must’ve explained poorly. Nah, he got it the same place I got this.” And then Max is unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it up enough to show off the robot brushed over his abdomen, adorned with a cheerful amaryllis where its heart would be. 

“Where… um, where did you get it?” 

“Oh, art room after school! I’m surprised you haven’t seen the line out the door yet, it reaches well past the auditorium and I know you like to practice violin there after school. So, the project?” 

Max is too focused on the work to answer anything else after that, and Felix is too afraid to try. But he does know that Alya spends ages in the art room writing up articles for her blog as she waits on Marinette. 

He doesn’t get a chance to ask Alya anything, though, because Chloe derails the rest of class bragging about the shopping bags on her bicep and thoroughly avoiding the subject of the creator. Each one of them has an orange lily stamped on it in bold color, and Felix snorts. Fitting, though he’d never say it. Beautiful hatred is the modus operandi that Chloe exists on. 

The day after that, he waits until Nino is busy getting lunch to corner her at a lunch table. 

“Cool drawing, Alya.” Compliments are good, right? Compliments help people get what they want. And Felix wants, needs to know what this is, because there’s something so familiar, important, the way they’re tagged, and he would know it if he just had one hint, the right clue to fit into this picture-- 

“Thanks! My girl’s talented, don’tcha think? I love the way she let me match Nino.” She tugs down her collar to show off headphones slashed through with a pencil, and the ball of a group of sycamore flowers dangling off the end of the eraser like a pom pom. 

Felix bluescreens. No, no, that’s wrong. That’s not what he’d glimpsed on Nino’s neck, and Alya said they matched, something is wrong.

“Why is that flower there?” 

Alya laughs. “Well, every designer’s gotta have her tag, right? She’s a real tattoo artist, tags every piece with a flower she chooses out of nowhere. No one can work out what the pattern is, even when we cross referenced traditional flower meanings, but they’re always gorgeous and fit in so well-- have you seen Juleka’s? You’d hardly even notice, it’s so punk rock.” 

Nino’s making his way back and there’s no sycamore pom pom on his pencil, just an aster on the ear of the headphones, and Felix’s mind is whirring too fast to follow but Alya is walking away and the clues are slipping away like sand between his fingers and gripping harder only makes them slip away faster and--

“That’s the wrong flower.” 

“What?” Nino startles, absolutely taken aback at this out-of-character greeting. He’s used to Felix being curt, speaking out of context, but this is beyond even Nino’s ability to nod through. 

“It should be a marigold, right? Creative, passionate, absolutely driven by your art and the things you love, that’s who you are, why is it an aster?”

“...what??”

Felix can do little more than point. “Alya: sycamore, curious, journalistic drive, asking questions and doing everything she can to know a person so she can take care of them. Max: amaryllis, determined and focused on the work he builds and proud of it when it works because he has every right to be. Kim: snapdragon, strong and gracious and so, so, so protective, because that’s who he is so why is yours an aster?!”

“He deserves to know he’s clever, even if he doesn’t feel it.” 

Felix whirls around, and Marinette is standing there clutching her bag to her chest, trembling, but glaring at him from half a foot shorter than where he stands. She’s so strong. She’s so strong, and Felix wonders if she kept marigold for herself. She deserves to, if she wanted it. 

Maybe it shows on his face, what he’s thinking, or maybe she’s just always been the kindest person he was ever dumb enough to let go, because her gaze softens, hurt and hopeful in equal, anxious measure. “You remembered.” 

“...you made it hard to forget.” The way her face crumples confirms that yep, nope, Felix is an idiot. He scrambles to fix it, take it back, get it right this time no matter who’s watching. “No, no!! Like… unforgettable.” His voice is breathy on that last word, nostalgic for a childhood they barely shared, and it’s wrong and someone’s going to make fun of it but right now just for a second he doesn’t care. 

“...oh.”

What people really do make fun of him for is the way he ends up apologizing, for hours, sobbing into her blazer and wiping tears from her cheeks, and still not walking into school with her art on his skin, and Felix doesn’t correct them. 

He was right: there’s a marigold inked over her heart like a treasure. 

There’s a butterfly inked over his, now, landing on the petals of a geranium, and they’ve talked about now. Butterflies, first of all, can live for years, so that wasn’t even true, and friendships… friendships are like flowers. They take root and they grow, and when the sun hits right their seeds will burst into petal and stem and exist, persist, against every odd and obstacle. 

She has no idea how apt that butterfly is. Felix brushes his fingers over a brooch barely visible behind his tie, and feels hope blooming in his chest for the first time in years. 

This time, he knows how fragile it is. This time, he vows, he’ll keep the sunlight on it, patch the soil around its roots with fertilizer and keep it safe. This time… he’ll love her the way she deserves to be, the way she wants to be loved, the way he knows he’s allowed to.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- I have no idea where this is going, but its definitely going. Also, just for some supplemental texture--> John’s townhouse   Y/n’s apartment)

The Arrangement 

Warnings- NSFW/SMUT, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, some angst, John being kind of an asshole.

Sweet Surrender

John leaned back in the dark leather chair positioned behind his mahogany desk, his elbows propped on the upholstered arm rests and his fingers touching at the tips. Besides work, there was a lot of his mind, most of it having to do with Y/n. They weren't his usual thoughts of her though, these were troubling. Something had changed with her and lately, he had been starting to sense that she was unhappy. Y/n hadn’t out-rightly said so, but it was in the little things; she’d stopped offering him details on the life she lived outside of their shared moments and all in all, she wasn’t her typical light, carefree self. 

In the beginning, it was Y/n’s bubbly personality that had attracted him, enthralling him. Before, he’d usually find his women via other means, there had only been a few others and they were all nice enough, good at following orders and fun in bed. But nonetheless, Y/n was certainly his favorite, upon meeting her, John could easily tell that she was a natural submissive and wasn’t thoughtless like those gone by. She didn’t take her role in his life lightly either, and John cared for her in a way that he hadn’t for anyone one else. Which was why it stung to think that he wasn’t doing right by her, their arrangement was supposed to bring them both pleasure, but if he wasn’t doing that for her, then half the purpose was lost. He wondered what had caused her discontent, up until then, he figured that he had been good to Y/n, he took care of her needs; sexual, financial and otherwise, he tried to listen when she needed an ear and always respected her boundaries. 

He’d have to bring it up soon, John wasn’t afraid of addressing it, besides, it was nearing the eleventh month of their first contract, they’d have to discuss whether or not they wanted to renew it or not. Usually, John never renewed them, by the end of the year, he'd often find himself yearning for a fresh face, letting his latest attraction go like dust on wind, but that year it was different and he couldn’t see himself growing tired of Y/n in the foreseeable future. John knew what he wanted, the final decision would have to be Y/n’s. 

“Mr. Wick?” his secretary poked her little brunette head into his office, interrupting his tumultuous thoughts. With a hum and annoyance expertly kept at bay, he glanced up, meeting a pair of clear green eyes. Abigail was just a few years older than Y/n and had been his secretary for going on three years. He could never tell what her angle was though, with all the tight shirts and short skirts, sure she was pretty enough, but it was the kind of beauty John could see himself getting bored of quickly. She didn’t really have much of a defining personality either, very two dimensional and he suspected that she didn’t have much more depth than she offered at face value. She was nothing like Y/n who was intelligent and exciting. “Your one o’clock is here,” even after she delivered her message, Abigail stayed there, still holding the door open.

With a quiet sigh, John sat up straighter, slowly moving to stand, “Is that all Abigail?” He didn’t even spare a minute to look at her, though, he could feel her eyes on him. When she offered a meek yes, finally turning to walk away, he called her back, just remembering something, “Did you finish the draft I asked you to work on?”

After a moment of hesitation, and shuffling her feet childishly, “No, Mr. Wick, I haven’t-”

“How the fuck am I supposed to start the deposition on Monday without it?” He snarled, glaring at her; John absolutely hated excuses, especially when he could tell they were going to be baseless.   Alarmed, Abigail jumped, her face going pale and her eyes glassy. Apologizing profusely, she cast her gaze to the shiny marble floor, but John was too irritated to care. He’d have fired her right on the spot, but he needed someone working his receptionist’s station and for that draft to be finished by the end of the day. So, he’d spare her, for now. “Just….get it done by five,” he’d wanted to leave by four thirty to get ready for dinner later that evening, but he’d spare Abigail the half hour, “And get the hell out of my office.” Without another world, Abigail scurried out and John  finished gathering his materials, almost ready to head to the elevator when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a text from Y/n, and despite himself, he smiled, she never ceased to brighten his day a little. She had sent a picture of the dress she’d purchased for the night, per his request; a short, dusty mauve, chiffon one with a cowl neck and thin straps at the shoulders. Directly below that picture was another of strappy nude stilettos with thin five inch heels, John adored seeing her in high heels, especially those pencil thin, dangerous looking ones. The attachments were followed up by a simple question, “Are these okay?”

John moistened his lips, already able to picture how the outfit would look on Y/n, definitely good enough for him to want to keep her in the bedroom. She had a wonderful sense of style and normally looked good in anything. Usually, John preferred to be there when she shopped, ensuring that she wasn’t worrying about prices and that things like lingerie were suited to his tastes, but in the event that he was unavailable, John had found that she was fine on her own. “Those are perfect,” he sent the text, locking his phone and heading out of his office to the conference room.

John detested Y/n’s apartment. It was small, no, small would be an understatement, it was tiny and if he’d had his way when they were first checking places out for her, John would have seen that she’d gotten something bigger. But, he was deep in lust and Y/n hadn’t been happy with any of the other that the real estate agent took them to. In fact, it had taken almost a month for her to find that place in New York City and, when they had gone to see it, Y/n had instantly fallen in love with the quaint, cool-toned, vintage styled apartment with beige and mellow blue walls, light hardwood floors and white wooden doors that were intentionally made to look faded and unfinished. The decorator that John had hired kept with the natural vintage theme too, adding an old fashioned farm sink, a charming mix of stained marble and tiles on the kitchen counter, homely rugs and even a 1950’s refrigerator solely for aesthetic purposes. Thankfully, the running fridge was integrated and actually from their century. 

As time passed, Y/n had also ensured that her love for houseplants were reflected in her decor too. She had one in every room, always watered and tended to, some growing cheerful flowers while others just maintained a healthy greenness.

Before Y/n had moved in, John had been sure to ask her well over three times if she was sure about her decision, and each time she’d assured him that she was. Y/n had eventually explained that if she lived in something bigger she wouldn’t have a clue on what to do with the extra space, it was just her and Theo anyway.

John stood at Y/n’s door for a minute, searching for her key on his bunch, casually looking up and down the hall. Thankfully, the neighborhood and by extension, the building, was a nice one. Upon finding the right key, John slipped it into the lock, turning twice. As he entered Y/n’s apartment, John called out to her, though, before she could answer, he felt a gentle rubbing on his leg; Theo.

Chuckling, he bent, scooping up the grey Scottish fold. John held the cat to his chest, absently running his fingers affectionately on his soft head, “Where’s your mom?” He asked, already walking towards the living room, earning himself a meow.

“Oh,” Y/n was just hurrying out from the other side of the living room, barefoot and still in her silk lilac robe, though her hair and make up was already done, “John,” her eyes went wide and she looked down in embarrassment, clearly alarmed, “I’m so sorry, I must have heard the time wrong.”

“You didn’t,” he reassured sternly, “I’m early, don’t worry about it,” he waved off her worry, still holding Theo in his arms. John had never been a cat person, but Y/n’s four year old rescue had taken a liking to him upon their first meeting and John at some point, the furry fella had grown on him. 

“Thank you,” she smiled lightly and John offered a faint smile of his own in return, “Theo!” Y/n scolded just realizing that he was in John’s arms, “You’re gonna get cat hair all over John.”

“It’s okay, he just wants a little attention,” John sat himself on her olive colored living room sofa, the length of his legs exaggerated by how low it was, “Go finish getting ready,” he urged and after a brisk nod of compliance, Y/n  hurried off again.

John’s hand was low on Y/n’s back as they followed the hostess to their party’s table in the high end French restaurant. Their table was near an elaborate indoor fountain, beneath a glittering chandelier and as they approached, Y/n could see that a middle aged couple was already seated with a round of drinks. Putting on her best smile, she waited for John to introduce her before offering her hand, “Ellis, Lauren, this is my girlfriend, Y/n.” Her breath hitched excitedly at the word, even if that was the way John always introduced her, it wasn’t like he went around telling people that he had an, by all intents and purposes, a paid for fuck doll. Still, it was enough to feed her hope that one day, maybe in the distant future, he could actually see her as that, as his girlfriend, that the word wouldn’t just be a cover. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” after a moment of bewilderment and obvious hesitation, they took turns shaking her delicate hand, and Y/n did her best to maintain her trained smile; she was used to dealing with snobs anyway.

Even as they introduced themselves; Lauren and Ellis Capeldai, Y/n could see they were judging her; a girl her age, with a nearly middle aged, rich, powerful man? In their minds, Y/n could only be one thing. But alas, she was used to it, and if John had taught her anything, it was that opinions didn’t matter, they were consenting adults, and whatever they did with their personal lives was no one’s but their business.

John pulled out her chair and just as Y/n sat, John did too, immediately engaging conversation with Ellis. They glazed over small talk for a couple minutes, before getting into the specifics of a case; the Capeldais’ owned a private clinic in the city and had recently had a malpractice suit brought against them. Quietly, from her position next to John, she tried to keep up with their conversation, though, she only knew that much when it came to legal and medical jargon; an English degree could only take you that far in certain directions. In fact, the only thing she could deduce was that someone’s relative had died and that John was positive that he could prove that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but the dead patient’s. 

Eventually, it came to the point where the more they spoke, the less Y/n wanted to hear. There was a dirty side to John’s job, or maybe it was just John himself, though Y/n could never bring herself to see him like that, so she blamed it on the trade instead. He was always willing to go the extra mile, or twenty, for his clients, just to make sure that they won, even going those miles meant getting his hands dirty. It was rare for Y/n to see that side of him, the side that he showed clients, that was ruthless and capable of anything in the name of victory and though John’s power and confidence enthralled her, it also scared her.

If he was like that, what else could he be?

Slowly, Y/n retreated into herself, no longer paying any mind to how their conversation unfolded. Working on autopilot, she steered her gaze to the plate before her, using her fork to shift around what was left of her entree, punctuating her movements with the occasional sip of Pinot Noir. Y/n sunk into her own little world until John’s grip held firm on her exposed thigh, his warm breath fanning her ear as he leaned in to whisper, “It’s rude to play with you food darling.” His gravely drawl sent shivers up his spine, “You don’t want to ruin our night by being punished, do you?”

Hastily, Y/n shifted her dilated gaze to meet John’s whiskey pools, the new rosiness in her cheeks brightening her sparsely applied blush, evident to those that sat across from them, “No sir,” she cast her head down out of instinct, “I’m sorry.”

Surely, the Capeldais’ were spectating with intrigue, though, thankfully not hearing a word of John and Y/n’s exchange. “It’s okay,” his rough fingers inched higher, sneaking beneath the hem of Y/n’s dress, “But don’t do it again,” he warned, covering his tracks with a peck on her cheek.

Even when John redirected his attention to his food, his hand still lingered on her upper thigh, slowly working its way further up, his feather light touch ticklish and reflecting in the pooling moisture in her panties. “So Y/n, dear,” Lauren turned to Y/n, her distaste masked under a stiff smile, “What do you do when you’re not being wined and dined by Mr. Wick?” There was malice in her words, Lauren had apparently decided that Y/n was nothing but a gold digger or something of the sort. 

For a moment, Y/n glanced towards John, who cleared his throat loudly, thankfully, opting to answer for her, “Y/n works at a bank, you probably know it; Fraser Holdings,” John gave her leg a reassuring squeeze, and by then, his fingers were close enough to brush her crotch, “It’s where we met actually, I had some business there and she caught my eye.” John was a master of controlling narrative Y/n knew that every word of his explanation was chosen carefully, with the intention of carrying an air of vagueness. Y/n wasn’t ashamed of her job as a secretary, it paid the bills, at least, it used to, and she knew that John probably wasn’t either, but some people just weren’t worth the whole truth. 

“Oh,” Lauren's stiff, condescending smile was apparently permanently plastered to her no doubt Botox infused face, and her nosiness was proving to be relentless, “And how long have you two been dating?” At the question, the graying Mr. Capadali looked up, he too was intrigued by the question.

Just as the query hit the ear, John’s stocky index brushed her lace clad folds. Caught off guard, Y/n jumped, her eyes going wide and breathing an alarmed gasp, her knee made painful contact with the bottom of the table as she crossed her legs, only serving to squeeze John’s hand in place. Again, she looked to him, but that time, he indicated for her to take the question, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, his trimmed scruff hiding it almost perfectly. “Um…” her words wavered as he rubbed gently, just barely grazing her nub with his pointer, the lace of her panties adding extra, effective friction. “We’ve been together for about a year.”

A slight tugging on Y/n’s thigh was enough of an instruction for her to uncross her legs, parting them slightly. Under the security of the pristine white tablecloth, John pushed aside the crotch of her panties, rubbing Y/n’s cilt slowly with the ‘v’ of his index and middle fingers. Once again startled, she glanced his way, but he merely offered. Her swollen bud throbbed beneath his expert touch and Y/n had to hide the moan that threatened to escape her matted-burgundy painted lips with a lengthy drag of her wine. Her breath shuddered as she set the glass down, quickly looking to John, who'd already rekindled conversation with the older couple, seemingly unaffected by her plight.

Her eyes stayed trained on his side profile though her attention waned; John's handsome features blurring as her orbs glazed over with desire. By then, it wasn't hard to identify the distinct pink hue standing out on her otherwise flushed cheeks and the absence of focus was blatant. The more prolonged John's ministrations became, the closer Y/n got to her tipping point. Just out of the corner of her faulty vision, Y/n could see when John carelessly let the fabric napkin fall over his hardened crotch, the creases and haphazardness of the eggshell material masking his hard on. 

Another hitch of her breath came when one of John’s fingers slid further into her drenched heat, her posture, maybe thankfully, not allowing him access to her entrance. Though, John had a solution for everything, no mind how harsh or abrupt it may be, “Well, Ellis, Lauren,” he cleared his throat, pretending to check his watch. A waiter had just cleared their plates and had promised to be back soon with a desert menu, “I think we’ve covered a lot tonight, but Y/n and I have an early start tomorrow,” for the first time in a while, he removed his fingers, dragging them along her inner thigh, messily spreading her slickness. Now hot, bothered and still in the middle of a packed restaurant, Y/n could quickly feel herself growing frustrated at the loss of contact, ready to grab her clutch off its resting place on the table as John signaled a waiter, handing over a business card and requesting that the final bill be sent to his office. Y/n doubted that it was something the establishment regularly did, but there wasn’t a soul willing to deny John Wick. Besides, if he said he was going to pay, there wasn’t a bit of doubt that he wouldn’t. John was a man of his word. 

After they’d bid their companions goodnight and safe travels, John led Y/n out of the restaurant, holding onto her into her light petite coat as the valet brought around his navy Maserati, the dark coat shining even in their dimmed surroundings. John, as Y/n had learnt, was quite the car enthusiast and he’d collected quite a few over the years, enough to supply a small dealership, with almost everything from prized, classic muscle cars and widely adored classics to flashy sports cars and of course, some more sophisticated ones. 

After they’d gotten in, John had tossed her coat to the back seat and then peeled away from the curb, navigating the car onto the busy street, easily weaving through the thinning traffic. Stealing a glace, Y/n found that John’s expression wasn’t readily readable, though, when, not too long after they’d left, he turned into a deserted, poorly lit, damp alleyway between a shady Chinese restaurant and a low grade department store, she got a pretty clear idea of he wanted. “Do you know how fucking sexy you look in that dress babygirl?” His question strained and mumbled as John undid his seat belt and used the lever beneath his seat to push it back a little. Excitement had Y/n breathing heavily, and she didn’t think to answer his question. “Didn’t I ask you something?” He probed roughly, undoing the belt, button and zipper on his black slacks.

“I don’t know,” she breathed, blushing and blinking quickly, her stomach fluttered when John reached over to undo her seat belt, easily manhandling her over the console and into his lap.

“Well let me show you,” he grunted, grabbing her hand and shoving into his undone pants, over his erection, gasping quietly at the distinct firmness overtaking his member, “See what you do to me? This is all you baby,” he whispered harshly, catching her ear lobe between his teeth. 

The alluring aroma of fine wine and musky cologne clouded her senses and Y/n’s breath hitch, the sound quiet, and pitched. “Sir,” she moaned, eyes wide and pupils lust blown as her hand lingered in John’s pants long after he’d stopped applying pressure. 

John trailed feverish kisses down the column of her neck, high on the scent of her perfume, occasionally alternating between lapping his tongue over her vein and nibbling her skin. He was definitely going to leave marks, claiming her as his own. As his mouth ravaged her throat, John fiddled with the thin straps of her dress, letting them slip carelessly down the curve of her shoulders, eventually urging her arms out of them and pushing the top down, exposing her breasts, pushed together enticingly by a simple, cream colored strapless bra. “I want you to ride my cock,” John’s fingers slid up her body, thumbs brushing the smooth, stain covered padding over her nipples, before easily undoing the front clasp and freeing her full, voluptuous breasts, “Now,” he growled, pushing aside the crotch of her flimsy thong, his digits brushing the lips of her swollen, soaked pussy.

With anxious hands, Y/n helped John shove his pants down to the area right above his knees, “Come on,” he slouched further into the leather stead in an instant, John’s hands were up her dress, holding her hips in place as she eased down on him. Feeling how he bottomed out inside her, stretching her tightness so wide it burned, Y/n’s head lolled back, squeezing her eyes shut as her loud moan bounced off the windows. “Move, now,” he managed through his clenched jaw after he’d given Y/n a minute to adjust. 

Desperate, filthy mewls swirled in the heavy air around them, joining John’s languid grunts as his hips rose to meet hers. Each time Y/n came down on him, her bouncing erratic and harsh, her core slapped his balls, rendering loud, wet, perverted sounds. “Sir,” her breathy cries were the only interruptions of her heady noises.

"Fuck," John hissed, just before taking one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue swirling around her pebbled nipple and one hand sliding up her back, pressing her chest to his face, "Faster," he urged.

Y/n's eager hands slid up John's chest, the material of his grey button up smooth under her palm, his carnal heat seeping through. She settled them beneath the lapels of his tailored, black blazer, bunching the fabric up in her fingers as she quickened her pace with renewed vigor. 

The tinted windows around them fogged over and the purring of the engine fell on deaf ears. John could feel her nails digging into his skin, even through his shirt and the throbbing veins running up his shaft offered Y/n an irresistible friction. Every time she came up, only to sink back down on him, John’s swollen tip reaching her end, Y/n could feel herself drawing closer to the edge. “Please,” she whimpered, pleading for John to permit her release.

John’s hips  jerked upwards to slam into Y/n’s center, the remaining hand caught under her dress now aggressively squeezing and kneading her ass. The other violently grabbed a fistful of her head, rearing her head further back so John could ravish her neck without resistance, “Do it,” he commanded between skin pulling bites, “I want to feel your cunt squeezing my cock. You’re my little bitch and I need to feel you cum.”

Before long, Y/n was shuddering; her legs straddling John stiffening and her pussy convulsing as warm juices gushed from her center. Her gasps were broken and her breaths ragged as Y/n’s eyes rolled back and her hold on John’s now wrinkled shirt loosened. With a slackened jaw, the rest of her body went limp and John was the one still moving, though, his thrusts rigid. 

The feeling of Y/n milking his cock entwined by the ecstasy that always accompanied being buried deep inside her was pleasurably unmatched and soon, John was following her to release, “Fuck Y/n,” he sputtered, slowing his movement as he spurted bursts of hot seed inside of her, their products mixing as it seeped out, coating Y/n’s thighs and dripping onto his.

It took awhile for their breaths to slow and for any sense of coherence to make its way back into the stilling running car, and even after; they lingered, John’s now flaccid cock still cocooned in her settled center. When he finally guided her off him, John used tissues from the glove compartment to clean Y/n up as she still sat in his lap, and she let him readjust her dress, forgoing her bra, instead just pulling the straps over her arms. When he set her back in the passenger seat, Y/n winced, though she wasn’t half as sore as she’d usually be after sessions with John, when he had more room and time to work with. In fact, hot, spontaneous moments like that one were rare, which arguably only made them more enjoyable.

Except, that night, as Y/n silently watched John clean himself up, his expression stoic, as it typically was, she couldn’t help but feel a little dirty, and not just in a physical way. That dinner hadn’t been her best one with him, she didn’t particularly enjoy seeing him as the villain, willing to desecrate the name of a dead man. Logically, she knew that it was the job, and someone had to do it, but being that good at it? It took guts and a certain kind of coldness that frightened her. 

And then, of course, there was the typical issue of their otherwise unattached status. Because, as scary as John was when he was in his element, she still found herself falling deeper and deeper in love with him, which wasn’t exactly ideal, considering the more she fell, the more it hurt when she remembered that she was just his sub. It was confusing, but mostly it hurt.

The drive back to Y/n’s place was without conversation, though, when John parked on the curb and Y/n had gathered her stuff, namely her purse with generous bits of her bra sticking out the top and her coat draped over it, John grabbed her leg before she could get out, “Do you have vacation days?”

“Yes,” she nodded firmly, intrigued though not daring to say anything further.

“How many?” John’s eyes were void of anything telling and he wasn’t going to give her more without Y/n’s compliance.

“A month.”

“Good,” John reclaimed his hand, immediately fishing his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and his fingers going to dance on the unlocked, brightened screen. He didn’t look at her again, leaving her bewildered as he came out and jogged to her side, opening the door for her. John helped her out of the car, and with a hand low on her back, he walked to the front double doors of the building, holding one side open but making no move to go in himself. “I want you to take two weeks,” he said, putting his cell away, “I’m taking you to a summer home in North Carolina. Abigail will book a jet for Sunday afternoon, call your boss and tell him you won’t be in on Monday,” and before Y/n could protest that she actually needed to give H.R. a month’s notice, John intervened, “If he gives you any trouble, let me know and I'll talk to him, okay?” By ‘talk to him’, it was quite possible that he meant bullying her boss into giving her the time off without consequence.

“Yes,” her lips quivered in surprise, and Y/n nodded again, “Okay.”

“Okay,” John repeated, stiffly reaching across to peck the side of her lips, “I’ll send you the flight details, and I’ll taking you shopping tomorrow afternoon,” when Y/n agreed, they exchanged pleasant good-nights and John finally let Y/n go, secretly hoping that their trip would do them both some good in terms of their upcoming discussion. 

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana   @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx​  @danceoftwowolves​

[javierpenaspinkshirt]

Dear Diary

Javi x Diarist - One Shot

Warnings: brief mention of some NSFW activities, mentions of tight jeans, some Carrillo thirst because I’m only human.

Words: 2.7k.

Summary: writing in her diary, the Diarist documents her first few weeks at her new job and her first encounters of Javi.

Day one - Monday

Dear Diary,

Today was the first day of my new job! Mom said I should keep a diary so I can look back when I’ve been in the job awhile and see how much I’ve progressed. To be honest with you, Diary, I feel a bit daft writing in you… but hey ho! Maybe you’ll be fun to look back on?

Anyway! Today was the first day of my new life in Bogotá! I’m a secretary for the DEA at the American Embassy in the city – the building is a bit posh! The university isn’t too far away so I can easily get to my evening classes (studying History with Spanish) and even though I’m classed as a ‘mature’ student (mature! HAH!) I’m hoping I’ll make friends both at class and at work… maybe someone with a car so they can drive me, teehee!

It’s a group of five girls working as secretaries for the DEA. We have a good age range and I sit sort of in the middle of the group age-wise I think. They’re all really lovely, there’s two other Americans and two Colombians so a cool culture mix. Hopefully they all like me!

I didn’t do much work today, just shadowing the others and walking round to meet everyone. The agents all seem to keep to themselves. There’s two Americans down the hall from my desk – I didn’t catch their names (whoops) but apparently they’re the two I’ll spend the most time working with. I should introduce myself properly tomorrow.

I’m looking forward to my first Tuesday on the job!

Day two - Tuesday

Dear Diary,

Today was day two. It was good, there’s a lot of information to learn and it’s especially difficult to flick between English and Spanish in my brain… But I guess I’m new to all this and I’ll get the hang of it! One of the other secretaries – Erica – has promised to speak to me mostly in Spanish so I can get into the habit of speaking like a local, I thought that was sweet of her!

But that wasn’t the most interesting thing to happen today, Diary, oh no no! Today I met Javier and Steve. They’re the two Americans I’ll be working for mostly. Steve is nice, barely speaks any Spanish which I can tell frustrates him and Javier, but just like me he’ll get there! I think I might end up his interpreter… but he seems kind and he is really into the job! He’s got a wife and they haven’t lived in Bogotá all that long either so we have that in common! Well… the being new here… not the wife bit(!)

And then there’s Javier, who all the other secretaries call Javi… so I guess I will too. I can tell he’s going to be trouble. He came up to my desk after lunch just to tell me that he liked my blouse and that the color suited me! I have to admit he is very handsome… But he strikes me as the ‘would ruin your life for a shag’ type? That might be harsh and he does seem nice. The others all say he’s lovely and is a man you can depend on but he is a dreadful flirt!

I wish I’d had something smart to say back to him as he stood in front of my desk telling me he liked my blouse but honestly, Diary, I think I just whimpered?? I was so taken aback by it! If there’s a next time I’ll have to be smarter!

Day 3 - Wednesday

Dear Diary,

This morning Javi bought me a coffee and brought it to my desk. He actually apologised for trying to flirt with me yesterday! He was very sweet actually. He said he wanted to make sure we got off on the right foot so wanted to apologise if he made me uncomfortable! I told him he didn’t I was just surprised he would even notice me! He was very sweet and said something like ‘I’d have to be blind not to notice you’… wait was he flirting with me again??

Diary, I am going to have to get better at this!

Day 4 - Thursday

Dear Diary,

I think we have a situation. I think I might have a teeny little crush on Javi. I mean, I am certainly not the only one! All the girls seem to melt slightly when he talks to them… Except Coleen actually… somehow she’s immune to his charms… Maybe she’ll teach me?

I caught myself actually waiting for him to come over to me today because I was looking forward to chatting to him. He always seems to make time to chat to us all and sees us as actual people… a lot more than most of the other staff.

He does wear some insanely tight jeans though. It's like it's 1985 and he thinks he's Axl Rose! But Javi does look good in them... like really good… Oh dear… I think I fancy a government agent. Who have I become??

Day 5 - Friday

Dear Diary,

That was my first week! Done and dusted! I think it was good! Everyone has been so kind and supportive and Erica has even invited me out for drinks tomorrow night with some of her friends! I cant wait!

School is going well too, I had my first classes this week and I think I’m going to be okay! The subject material isn’t going to be easy, but we like a challenge don’t we, Diary?

Now back to the important stuff – Javi’s outfit of the day. I was sat at my desk making some phone calls when Javi walks passed in a pair of those damn jeans and a red shirt. He caught my eye as he walked passed and gave me a smile and – I shit you not – my brain kicked in to gear and I said:

‘Nice shirt, the colour suits you’ and I was so cool and casual with a little smirk on my face, Diary I have never played anything so cool in my life. I got a chuckle from him and a wink and I swear down I would have taken my panties off right then and there.

Diary, my mom can never read you.

Day 6 - Saturday

Dear Diary,

It’s pretty late as a write this but that’s because I’ve been out with Erica and her friends! A couple of the other girls from work joined us as well so it was a lot of fun! We just went to a bar and had a few drinks and a giggle.

Erica did tell me she noticed me “making eyes” at Javi in the week though and I must’ve turned as red as the strawberry daiquiri I was drinking because she laughed at me. She told me he is, to quote her, ‘a bit of a slut’ and that most of the girls in the city know him in the biblical sense... I don’t think that put me off? I mean it’s the 80’s, do we still shame people for having sex? And to be fair, here I am making heart eyes at a man I’ve known for a matter of days. So no, Diary, I don’t judge him for that.

But I also don’t think I’m going to pursue him? I’m certainly not looking for a boyfriend. Although as I write this down I kind of figure he’s not after a commitment either? I mean I don’t know him that well but what kind of man shamelessly flirts with the new secretary on her first day if he isn’t looking for some fun? Maybe that’s what I’m looking for?

Diary, no more daiquiris for me!

Day 7 – Sunday

Dear Diary,

I went shopping today. Not the boring food type of shopping, clothes shopping! It was a lot of fun actually! I got to explore the city a bit and although it has a reputation (and my mom would kill me if she knew) I actually felt fine walking around on my own! I was in the busy shopping streets mind and it was daylight, but I really think this city could feel like home!

I bought a couple of pairs of jeans because mine are old and raggedy and I got some new shirts and tops for work, but the buy of the day – a pencil skirt that makes my butt look like I’ve done a 100 squats a day since the day I was born. I mean, not to blow my own horn, but I look GOOD in it!

I’m going to wear it to work one day… And yes Diary, I know I might be playing with fire, but a little fun never hurt anyone?

Day 8 - Monday

Dear Diary,

I wore the skirt.

Oh my! The girls all gave me compliments on my ass and legs (which lets be honest is better than any compliment from any man!) so that was great!

I’ll be honest though, by the end of the day I wanted to rip it off myself… I had severely underestimated how difficult sitting in a pencil skirt for 8 hours would be. Lesson learned!

I did see Javi though. He didn’t say anything but I was stood up as he walked passed and his eyes were stuck on me for so long Steve had to practically drag him up the stairs. Diary, I was very pleased with myself!

Day 9 - Tuesday

Dear Diary,

I don’t know what it is about the American Embassy but somehow the building attracts the most beautiful men.

Today, Diary, I met Colonel Horacio Carrillo and believe me I have never seen such a MAN! He must be 90% shoulder and 10% snark because Diary he is built like a wall and has a mouth sharp enough to even shut up Javier Peña! Not that I was listening in, I was collecting some papers in their office as the Colonel was talking to Javi and Steve.

Steve introduced me to the Colonel and he shook my hand (Diary, his hand was the SIZE OF MY HEAD)… he was wearing a wedding ring though. I’m no home wrecker… but my god is he beautiful!

I did catch Javi’s eye before I left their office though and I’m sure I’m not making it up when I say there was a flash of jealousy. I thought I was being crazy and arrogant to think that but no, I’m sure! The Colonel was very polite to me, very courteous, and were he not a married man I would have wished I was wearing my new skirt again. Diary, I can not stress enough the thickness of this man’s arms.

Anyway, despite definitely having the hots for the Colonel, I think I’d still rather go out with Javi. If we put the whole Carrillo-is-married thing aside, I just think Javi is more my kind of guy? Up for a laugh, not too serious, likes a drink and likes a smoke... very pretty!

I think we’d have a lot of fun if we went out. I’m beginning to wonder if he thinks the same?

Day 10 - Wednesday

Dear Diary,

Today the five of us girls went out for lunch. It was great! They showed me their favourite café, great for people watching but far enough from the embassy that we weren’t just looking at officials in suits! Great food too, I really do love this city!

I was sat with Coleen at lunch and she told me Javi had caught her after I’d left work for class and asked her about me. Apparently he asked if I was single!! Coleen told him she didn’t know because she didn’t want to drop me in it if I wasn’t interested in him (bless you, Coleen!) but I definitely am interested! Diary, when she told me he’d asked about me my heart raced! Like I’m some kind of school girl!

I really do like him and I’d like to get to know him better. But I think I’ll give it some more time maybe?

Day 11 - Thursday

Dear Diary,

I spent the whole day look at Javier Peña and his black fucking shirt. Oh my god, Diary! I am in too deep. He walked passed my desk while I was on the phone today and I stopped listening completely so I could concentrate on his butt.

It is becoming a problem.

So I have resolved to do something about it. I have decided that I’m going to ask him out for a drink tomorrow night after work. Fingers crossed for me!

Day 12 - Friday

Dear Diary,

Well… it’s sort of actually Saturday… I didn’t have time to write in you yesterday, Diary because… well because I didn’t come home last night (!)

Let me explain the events of last night:

When I got to work yesterday morning Javi was sat at my desk. He was wearing that damn leather jacket that, for no reason at all other than its his, I find incredibly sexy and was waiting for me. He said good morning to me then got up to let me sit down.

He watched me as I took stuff out of my bag and settled in before, seemingly out of nowhere, he asked me if I wanted to go for a drink with him after work!

Diary, I was so uncool. I was like one of those nodding dogs people have in their car or on their desk.

He laughed and said he’d come by my desk to get me when we were done. I spent the entire day obsessing about whether it was a date or just a friendly drink? Erica was sure it was a date, so sure in fact she made me borrow her red lipstick and made me promise to wear it.

I did wear it. And was I glad I did!

He complimented me on it when he came by my desk to get me. As we left the building he put his arm out for me and we linked arms and walked down the street and Diary it was the easiest, loveliest conversation I’ve ever had! He made me feel so at ease straight away, it was sort of like I’d known him for ages?

We actually ended up at the same bar I’d been to the weekend before… so I was back on the daiquiris!

We talked for ages, right up until closing but it was still like there was so much more to say! When we eventually got turfed out of the bar we ended up walking the streets, arm in arm again, laughing and chatting. Diary, it was lovely!

Turns out he only lives a few blocks away from my place but his is closer to the bar. We stopped at his door and he invited me up. I’ll be honest, I hesitated… but I was wearing his leather jacket (he’d let me wear it for the walk home) and he’d been such a gentleman, well I couldn’t resist the smile on his face!

So I ended up sat on his sofa as he told me about work and fixed me a whiskey… I don’t know what possessed me but when he came over to give me my glass I stood up and kissed him!

Diary, you know me, I’ve never been particularly forward! I blame those daiquiris… but oh no, it didn’t end at a kiss.

Before I knew it we were pulling each other's clothes off (I didn't even mind that he ripped one of my new tops)! I don't know if it's because he's well practised or he's just one of those guys that knows what he's doing... but lord did he know what he was doing!

Before I knew it he had me on my back on his sofa, screaming his name and Diary… well what can I say… I’ve had to write this all down quickly because I’ve just come home to shower and get a change of clothes before he comes to pick me up. That’s right, we’re going out again tonight!!

Diary, don’t wait up!

[lovemesomesurveys]

When was the last time you baked something for someone? I’m not a baker, so never. Like, I make stuff like those easy Pillsbury sugar cookies or cupcakes from the box once in awhile, but I’m not baking stuff from scratch or for other people. I don’t make anything great. 

Do you ever spend the night at random people’s houses? No.

What did you eat for dinner tonight? Was it any good at all? I haven’t had dinner, yet, it’s only 4 in the morning. 

Would you be mad if your mom showed your boyfriend your baby pictures? I like my baby pictures haha I don’t know why people get embarrassed about that. Just don’t whip out my middle school photos or any random ones after that. It’d have to be approved by me first, ha.

Would you say you’re someone who has good manners? I believe so.

When was the last time you went to an amusement park? Which one? I went to Disneyland last February. Almost a year ago, wow.

Would you rather be kissed on the neck or on the lips? Lips.

Do you completely trust the person you’re dating? I’m single.

Has someone ever called you heartless before? Why is that? No.

What color was the shirt you wore yesterday? It was a dark blue sweatshirt.

Have you ever completely given up on someone any time in life? Myself.

What is one thing you’re not looking forward to in the next week? I have my monthly doctor appointment coming up. Blah.

Would you consider Christmas your favorite holiday? Yesss. I love Christmas. I’m sad it’s over and we’re in for another long year ahead. Not to mention, we’re not even a week in the new year and madness has already ensued.

Would you rather give someone presents or receive them? I love getting presents for my loved ones.

How many chances do you normally give someone before giving up on them? I give a lot of chances.

Did you parents know what gender you were before you were born? I’m actually not sure. 

Are any of your really close friends pregnant right now? No friends, but as far as I know no one I know is pregnant. 

Are you for or against inter-racial relationships? Uh, for of course. 

Would you say you’re more of a pessimist or optimist? I’m very much a pessimist. 

Do you know what your true typing speed is? What is it? I do not.

What would you say is the longest survey you’ve ever taken? The 5,000 questions survey. I’m like really close to being done with it I think. I’ve taken many long breaks, but eventually I’ll finish it.

Do you get bored by things really easily, or not so much? No, not usually.

Do you hate it when people pronounce ‘potatoes’ as ‘taters?’ No. I say that sometimes.

Do you wear a lot of make-up on a daily basis? I haven’t worn any makeup in over 3 years now and back when I did I kept it simple with just mascara and eyeliner.

Who makes the best desserts in your entire family? My parents and brother each have their own specialties.

When was the last time your received a hug? Who was this hug from? On Christmas from my family.

Do you have good dreams or nightmares more? I have very random and weird dreams most of the time.

Would you rather color pictures with markers or crayons? How about colored pencils.

Do people come to you for advice a lot of the time? I used to be that person, but not anymore. No one should be asking me for advice, I’m a mess.

Look at your display picture. Where was it taken and when was it taken? Just a few days ago in my room.

When the holidays come around, do you watch holiday movies? Yep, all month long.

When was the last time someone insulted you? What was the insult? I don’t recall.

Would you say you’re a friendly person or not so much? I think I’m nice, but I’m not overly friendly.

Have you ever/do you ever recycle? We recycle plastic bottles and cans.

When was the last time you ate something from Burger King? It’s been quite awhile, actually.... I don’t remember.

When someone mentions a song, does it make you wanna listen to it? Not necessarily. 

Do you usually talk more than you should about things? How much is more than you should, like what’s the appropriate amount? And about what things? I have questions.

Who is the nosiest person you know? Do you like them anyways? My doggo actually takes that title haha. She’s very inquisitive. She has to know what everyone is doing and what’s going on.

When did you last talk to one of your teachers? Not since I was in school still, so sometime back in 2015.

How many class periods does your school have? What are the classes? I’m not in school anymore.

Would you say you’re a faster or slow learner? Depends on the subject.

Are you one of those people who like The Nightmare Before Christmas? Yeah. I’m not obsessed, but I like it. 

Do you fully understand the concept of ‘love?’ I don’t know. What’s your second favorite color? Pastels, rose gold, mint green, coral, and yellow.

Do you ever wish you lived in a different country? No.

Do you have a credit card with a picture on the front? Nope.

Have you ever gone car shopping? No.

Have you ever bought the car yourself?

What movie have you watched most recently? I watched The Santa Clause movies, Home Alone 1 & 2, and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation many times last month.

Have you ever given someone the rejection hotline number? No.

Do you know what dog treats taste like? No, I’ve never wanted to try one. I imagine they’re very dry and gross.

Who’s the last person you “pounded” fists with? I don’t recall the last time I did that.

Do you think you could defend our country? No. I couldn’t anyway, I’m physically disabled.

If you leave the TV on at night, do you set the sleep timer? No, it just stays on.

When’s the last time you drove farther than 2 hours away? Two years ago. I didn’t drive, but yeah. Will you pass all your classes this semester?

Have you ever been involved in an affair? No.

Ever won a spelling bee? I was never in one.

How many times a week do you speak to your boss? I don’t have a job. 

When’s the last time you exercised? Uhhhh.

What’s the last movie you saw at the drive thru? I think it was the Johnny Depp version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Our drive-ins closed a long time ago. I really feel like they should make a comeback given our current situation, especially, but they were also just fun. I know they’re still around, but they’re pretty scarce. Nowhere near me, at least.

Are you a parent? Nooo.

What about an uncle or an aunt? Nope.

How many jobs have you had? Zero.

Who did you last smile at? My mom.

Who was your last voicemail from? Probably an appointment reminder from my doctor.

Do you know how to spell well? Pretty well, I think.

Have you ever worn a leotard in public? No. Or ever.

Are you currently writing a term paper? Nopeee. Those days are over for me.

On average how many texts do you send a day? I don’t text a lot at all, it’s not a daily thing. When I text, it’s just a few quick ones. I don’t have long ongoing conversations with anyone.

How many times have you been so drunk you didn’t remember the night before? There’s only one time where parts of the night are splotchy.

How often do you watch Lifetime? Very, very rarely. It’s been quite awhile.

What do you want for your birthday? I don’t know, man, we just had Christmas and my birthday is still months away. 

What’s your favorite flavor of tea? Peppermint and chamomile. 

What’s your favorite fall drink? Hot coffee, but that’s really my favorite year round. It is especially nice when the weather is cold, though.

What’re you going to be for Halloween? I don’t dress up for Halloween anymore.

Do you think you’ve learned a lot and grown a lot in the past year? No. :/ That’s the problem. The past few years have come and gone and I haven’t made any positive changes or started to move in the right direction like I should be. Are you satisfied with how you’ve spent your year? ^^^ I’m afraid this year will be more of the same.

What’s something you’ve learned lately? Hmm.

Do you have a lot of friends? I don’t have any friends.

Do you own a yellow scarf? I don’t have any scarves, either.

Do you own brown shoes? I have a pair of brown boots.

Do you own anything leopard print? No.

Will you buy a cake for your next birthday? Haven’t thought about it.

Are you counting down the days until your birthday right now? Nooo.

Are you excited for something currently? No.

If you could change just one thing about your life right now, what would it be? My health.

Have you ever been to a school dance? Yeah, I went to a few in middle school and I went to winter formal and prom my senior year.

Do you make a list of goals at the beginning of each week? Ha, no. I’m not that put together. I don’t have the motivation or energy for that.

Are you artistic? No.

When was that last time you drew a picture in a sketchbook? I don’t draw.

Is there a tree right outside your bedroom window? There is, actually.

Is it windy right now where you are? I don’t think so.

Is it raining? Nope.

What’s something about you that makes you different from everyone else? *shrug*

Do you dress the same way as your peers? I don’t know how many 31 year olds live in leggings and oversized graphic tees like I do. I feel like it’s not many.

Do you talk the same way as your peers? I think so? Do you have the same life goals as your friends? I should have some goals to begin with... :/

Are you having a good day? It’s only 5:53AM.

Is your hair red? I dye it red.

Do you like brownies? I love brownies. My brother just baked some recently and I quite enjoyed them.

Have you ever dressed up as a witch on Halloween? Yeah, that was a common costume for me as a kid.

What’s one color that you never wear because it doesn’t look good on you? I don’t feel I look good in any color. Most of my clothes are black, though. I feel most comfortable in black.

Have you ever been to a masquerade? Nope.

Do you eat vegetables? I eat spinach, green onions, and potatoes pretty often. Not nearly enough veggies, I know.

Do you wear leggings? Like I said, I live in leggings. 

Is there anybody you think is hot over the age of 40? Alexander Skarsgard. 

Who is the most inappropriate person you know? I don’t know any inappropriate people.

Did anything bad happen to you in August? It was just a long, hot month.

Who in your phone has a heart after their name? My mom does.

Anything you’re avoiding? Yes.

If you could have one thing right now what would it be? To feel better.

If your parents searched your room, would they be angry at what they’d find? No, but also I’m 31 years old so there’s no reason for them to be doing that. They wouldn’t do that either.

Do you think anyone has feelings for you? Not romantic feelings, no.

After breaking up, what’s the worst? The heartbreak and moving on.

Do you think your last ex deserves to die? No, absolutely not. I don’t wish that on anyone and he certainly didn’t do anything to warrant that.

Do any girls like the last guy you kissed? Probably?

Are you happier now than you were three months ago? I wasn’t happy then and I’m still not, so.

Honestly, are things going the way you planned? I certainly didn’t plan these past few years to be the way they have and continue to be that’s for sure. 

Have you done anything sexual today? No.

Do you have a second mom? No.

Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to? Nooo, I love my brother.

Describe your most recent purchase: Food, of course.

Did you enjoy the last movie you watched in theatres? Yeah. Man, I miss going to the movies.

If you make surveys, where’s the last place you saw a survey made by you on another person’s site? I don't make them.

Do you take the subway train often (if your city has one)? We don’t have a subway train here.

What shoes did you wear today? I haven’t worn any shoes so far and won’t be wearing any later because I’m not going anywhere.

Who was the last person to leave you a comment on Facebook? I think it was my aunt.

Does your sibling have a significant other? Neither of them do.

When and why is the last time you cried (or at least, shed tears)? Like an hour ago.

Have you ever cried at a real wedding? No. Also, what do you mean by “real” wedding?

How would you feel if a girl asked your boyfriend out for a drink? Uh, I’d have an issue with that.

Do you use Skype? No. 

What do your flip-flops look like? I don’t wear flip flops or sandals or any open-toed shoes.

Describe a poster on your wall. One is a giraffe painting. I actually have 3.

Are there any gadgets of yours that need charging right now? My phone is charging.

What do you use to remove makeup? I just used water and a cotton pad. I just wore eyeliner and mascara, so.

Tilt your head up and look straight ahead. Describe what you see. My bookshelf.

Which awards show would you wanna go to the most (e.g Oscars, Grammys etc.)? One of the music ones.

Any idea what time you’ll be going to bed tonight? Well, it’s 6:06AM and here we are.

Do you think George Clooney is hot? I’ve never personally found him attractive.

Have you ever participated in local magazine cover girl searches? No.

Have you ever bought a lottery ticket (and even better: won)? Yes. I’ve won small amounts, but not the big prizes. I wishhh.

What colour is your keyboard? Black with white letters.

Do you keep the plastic/paper/whatever bags after you buy stuff? We reuse plastic bags for like the little garbage cans and stuff.

Do you own any high waisted pants? No.

What’s the craziest thing you’ll ever do to your hair? Bleaching and dyeing my hair the first time was a big change for me. It’s so normal now, though.

Do you know anyone who has two different coloured eyes? No.

Does your significant other like the same colour as you do? No significant other.

Do you wanna be a pirate or an elf? I’d rather be an elf.

Have you ever purchased anything online? Numerous things over the years. I’ve done a lot of online shopping especially these past few years.

What’s your favourite classic Disney movie (no, Camp Rock doesn’t count)? Alice in Wonderland.

Gold or silver accessories? I like both.

Have you ever been called a skank/slut because of the way you dress? No.

Name all your friends whose name starts with the 4th letter of your first name.

What websites do you absolutely have to visit daily (or at least, every time you get to go online)? I always go on Tumblr, YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook.

Have you ever ridden an elephant? No.

Are you a fan of acrylic nails? I’ve never had them. I don’t get or do my nails. I don’t have any nails to do, for one. Also just not my thing. 

[nicolebradshawphotography]

Road Trip!! Part Four: Keeping the Kids Entertained in the Car

There is absolutely no way that I’m spending 6 weeks or so in a car driving cross-country with my boys without providing them some sort of entertainment- besides all the places we’ll be stopping!- along the way. I hear, “Mom, I’m bored!” at least two times a piece on the 30 minute drive from Los Lunas to Albuquerque. They’re not gonna make it for 11 hours without something to do. So, here’s what we’ll be packing to keep them entertained:

Books- I’m a HUGE reader, reading almost anything that piques my interest (I don’t read Sci-Fi. It’s just never appealed to me), so I encourage both Josh and Christopher to read as much as possible. Bonus: they don’t get carsick! I do… but, I’ll be driving so I’ll be okay.

Audiobooks- I have a subscription to Audible, and have a stockpile of books to listen to, including Anne of Green Gables (a personal favorite!), Lord of the Rings, Chronicles of Narnia, and plenty of others. All three of my boys LOVE listening to audiobooks, and will do so for hours.

Kindle Fire for Kids- we have 3, so each boy has his own. With our FreeTime for Kids subscription, all three have access to age-appropriate games, videos, and books! I can also load audiobooks on there for them, and it keeps them entertained for hours.

Nintendo Switch Lite- this is more of a reward-for-good-behavior tool, than anything else. The boys get to play on the Switch when their chores and schoolwork are done while we’re at home, and they’ll have chores on this trip too, so we’re bringing the rewards, too.

Coloring books for Andrew- this kid loves to color, and I recently found a set of clickable markers by Crayola, so they a.) won’t melt in the car, an b.) won’t dry out because of lost caps.

Travel Journals for Josh and Christopher- using a 1-inch 3-ring binder, a set of 5 dividers, a set of photo pages, and a plastic snap envelope with holes for rings, as well as a pencil pouch and the aforementioned markers, I’ve created a travel journal for each boy. They both have daily pages to fill out about what we do each day, as well as activity sheets to learn about the states we’ll go through, and some fun car games to do along the way. The photo pages are for postcards they’ll collect, and the envelope is so they can save things like ticket stubs, information pamphlets, and other tidbits along the way. I did this so that when they go back to school in the Fall, and their teachers ask, “What did you do this summer?” they can pull out their journals and actually SHOW what they did!

Random stuff they put in their ‘Container of Entertainment’- Each boy will have his own box or backpack (I haven’t decided which yet) to fill with a few small items to play with along the way.

Genuine Boredom: I believe it is good for them to occasionally experience boredom. It gives them a chance to use their imaginations and to get creative. And, boy do they get creative! I’ve watched them invent plenty of their own games and storylines through the years, and because of all the practice, they can now keep themselves entertained for a couple of hours.

All of my boys travel really well. They’ve all been on long car trips through the years, spending a good 6-8 hours in a car at a time. The difference this time is that we’ll be gone longer than the week or two we normally are. These items should be plenty to keep them going throughout our trip, because we’ll be stopping throughout the day as well.

Next Up: The Zen of Car Maintenance Before and On the Road.

[shochmonster]

84 Questions

original: https://fuckyeahsurveys.tumblr.com/post/61049002526/84-questions

Put your music player of choice on shuffle and list the first 10 songs Guns of Brixton - The Clash Holiday in Cambodia - Dead Kennedys  Chainsaw - Nick Jonas California - Joni Mitchell Make It Wit Chu - Queens of the Stone Age This Woman’s Work - Kate Bush The Bad Thing - Arctic Monkeys Between the Bars - Eliot Smith Drown - The Smashing Pumpkins Different People - No Doubt

If you could spend a week anywhere in the world, where would it be and why? Would you take anyone with you? I’d take @duoloopo to the UK. I’d like to see places other than London.

What is your preferred writing implement? (eg. Blue pen, pencil, green pen)  I use my iPad stylus the most, but I have this heavy mechanical pencil I really like for drawing. 

Favourite month and why? October. I just love the fall vibe. 

Do you have connections to any celebrities (even minor)? List them. I went to undergraduate school with Rebecca Sugar. We used to ride the bus between NYC and DC together on holidays. 

Name 3 items you could pick up from where you are. Can of seltzer, pencil case, stack of bills

What brand logo is closest to you currently? REAL Skateboards

Do you ever play board games or other non-computer games? Got any favourites? I love Small World and Munchkin. 

A musical artist you love that isn’t well known Laura Stevenson and the Cans

A musical artist you love that is well known Red Hot Chili Peppers

What is your desktop background currently? Thomas Barrow on the beach in the Season 4 Christmas Special

Last person you talked to, and through what you talked to them @duomaxwell02 with my face :O 

First colour name you can think of that isn’t in the rainbow White

What timekeeping devices are in the room you are currently in? Two wall clocks, though one is very old and doesn’t wind anymore. I also have a clock @duoloopo ‘s dad made for me. It’s on the piano. 

What kind of headphones do you use? JBL Bluetooth, noise canceling 

What musical artists have you seen perform live? Foo Fighters (3x), Incubus (3x), Red Hot Chili Peppers, Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, Audioslave, Justin Timberlake, Troy Sivan, Arctic Monkeys, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Queen (but with Roger Daughtry, not Freddy... for obvious reasons.). Probably a whole bunch of others I’m blanking on. 

Does virginity matter to you? Not really. 

What gaming consoles do you or your family own? PS4, PS2, PS1, XBox 360, N64, Gamecube, Wii, NES, SNES, various Gameboys, Nintendo DS, PSP

What pets do you have? What are their names? Two cats, Hemingway and Renji

What’s the best job you’ve ever had? I like freelance art gigs the best. As for ‘normal people jobs’, I once was a sign painter for Whole Foods. That was pretty fun, minus the work drama. 

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? Food service. 

What magazines do you read, if any? I’ll pick up Time once in a while

Inspiration behind your URL? My classic original URL was LinkWorshiper and had been since AIM first existed. I picked it because Zelda was the first fandom I ever joined. Now I’ve changed all my handles (except on AO3) to reflect my actual name, as my literary agent thinks it’s more professional. 

Inspiration behind your blog title? Mean Girls. I always chuckle imagining Thomas and Jimmy as some Edwardian version of the Plastics. 

Favourite item of clothing? My Downton livery waistcoat. And the stiff bosomed shirt and collars I have to go with it. 

Are you friends with any exes? Nah. By the time I felt comfortable enough to possibly try, I also didn’t care enough to. 

Name at least one book you loved as a child. His Dark Materials (the trilogy by Philip Pullman). I still love them and am jazzed that he’s writing more these days. 

What’s your native language? If that language has distinct regional variations, which variation? (eg. AU English, US English) US English, mostly a northeastern dialect/accent

What email service do you use? Gmail

Is there anything hanging on the walls of the room you are currently in? So much stuff. I have a mood board full of Downtons stuff over my desk, various DA posters and memorabilia, plus some artwork I’ve done, and some of my JC Leyendecker collection. The aforementioned wall clocks, a San Francisco cable car bell, Sailor Moon and a few other little knickknacks, like my hamsa. To name a few lol. 

What’s your favourite number, and why? 212 because it’s Manhattan’s area code and also because it used to be the notation for one of my favorite ships in an old fandom. 

Earliest moment in your life you can remember? Sitting under the table and looking at my grandma, who was wearing a Cruella Deville dress she’d knit herself. Like, it had the actual Disney character on it. Pretty cool to a little guy, I guess!

What did you have for dinner yesterday? Quesadilla 

How often do you brush your teeth? Whenever they feel gross

What’s your favourite candy/chocolate? Lately, I’ve been into Junior Mints. 

Have you had other blogs on Tumblr? Do you have any other blogs currently? This blog used to have my old handle, linkworshiper. I did a small Whole Foods blog when I worked with them, but it never went anywhere. 

If you were suddenly really hungry, what would you choose to eat? Sushi

What fandoms would you consider yourself a part of? Downton Abbey, though lately I’ve been crazy busy and not as active as I once was. Casually still poking at old fandoms like Zelda and Gundam Wing to name a few. 

If you could study anything, what would it be? More art education can’t hurt. Maybe some formal history education. 

Do you use anything on your lips? (eg. Chapstick, gloss, balm, lipstick) Chapstick 

How would you describe your sense of humour? Seinfeld 

What things annoy you more than anything else? Mouth noises

What kind of position are you in at the moment? Sitting

Do you wear much jewellery? Nope

Who is the leader of your country, currently? Any other levels of government with leaders? (State, region, province, county, district, municipality, etc) Three supposedly equal branches of government, currently being run into the ground by a clown 

Last 3 blogs on your dashboard, not including any of your own @halcyondaze @mab1905 @lavender-hued-melancholy

What do you carry your money in? I try to never carry cash, but I carry a small wallet 

Do you enjoy driving? Why or why not? I like it but sometimes it feels like a chore, especially during a commute. @duoloopo thinks I’m a shit driver so she tries to drive whenever she can, which has pluses and minuses. 

Longest drive you have ever been on? Savannah GA to San Francisco, CA in a UHaul

Furthest away from home you have ever been? Germany 

How many times have you moved house? God, I don’t even know. More than ten. 

What is on the floor of the room you’re currently in, not including furniture? Cat toys, unused canvases

How many devices do you own which can access the internet? Phone, computer, iPad, various game consoles 

Is there is anything that is guaranteed to always make you happy? Thomas and Jimmy <3 <3 

Is there anything that always makes you sad? Thinking too hard about being a failure

What programs do you currently have open? I just rebooted, so only Chrome, Spotify and Photoshop

What do you associate the colour red with? This line in the Kate Bush Song Blue Symphony, which goes, ‘I associate love with red, the color of my heart when she’s dead.’ 

Last strong smell you can remember smelling? The Greek food I ordered in for dinner

Last healthy thing you ate? Roasted veggies

Do you drink tea or coffee, and how much per day? I prefer tea, and I drink coffee for energy, though sometimes I think it just makes me crash harder. 

What do you associate the colour blue with? The sky

How long is the closest ruler you can find? 12 inches

What colour pants/skirt/etc are you currently wearing? Dark blue

When was the last time you drank water? About a minute ago

How often do you clear your browser history? Rarely

Do you believe nude photos can be artistic, rather than erotic? Yes

Ever written fanfiction for anything? Oh God, yes. You can still find it under Link Worshiper on AO3, though some of my ‘classics’ have been removed since I turned them into original manuscripts 

Last formal event you attended My cousin’s wedding

If you had to move your birthday to another date, which one would you choose and why? Maybe inch my birth year up just by two so that I’d stop being called a damn millennial. At my age, I really just don’t relate to the generation even though technicalities make me a part of it. 

Would you prefer to be at a beach or in the countryside? Beach

Roughly how many people live in your town? 52,000

Do you know anyone with the same birthday as you? Leonard Nimoy :D 

Favourite place to shop? Can be a certain store or a place where there are multiple stores I haven’t really gone shopping since the pandemic. Right now, it feels like the only place to buy anything is Amazon XD

Do you have a smartphone? What kind? If you don’t, do you want one? Samsung. It’s not a Galaxy but is a new model and a fraction of the price. 

What is your least favourite colour, and why? I don’t think I dislike any colors honestly. 

How do you spell grey/gray? Grey. I’ve got too many British online associates to ever go back. 

Go to your dashboard and describe the image shown in the radar section (below the “Find blogs” link) It’s Umbrella Academy fanart of Klaus. He’s in black and white with this hands over his eyes and the background is red. It’s very graphic. 

What difference is there between how many followers you have, and the number of blogs you follow? 736

How many posts do you have? 8,859

How many posts have you liked? I can’t find the stat D: 

Do you post mainly reblogs, or your own content? Mainly reblogs but I pepper in my own content when I can. Lately, I haven’t had time to do as much fanart though, and I kind of feel like it’s not worth bothering to post my original stuff. Nobody follows my blog for that. 

Do you track any tags? No. 

What time is it currently? 7:33 PM CMT

Is there anything you should be doing right now? Waking up @duoloopo. TIME TO JUMP ON THE BED. 

tagging, if they feel like it: @abbys-little-whippersnapper​ @bumblebarrow​ @irrationalgame​ @downtoncat​ @mab1905​ @duoloopo​

and everyone who I’ve forgotten

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 59

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 26. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: Body horror, nightmare sequence, unreality, incongruous chronology. Self-absorbed.

Lol, we haven’t had a flashback episode yet in Second Instar, have we? Have fun, ‘cause ‘Choly’s not. In the future this becomes another installment in ‘Choly’s Rexford Press Originals. (:

_________________________________

As he muddled through prescription fulfillment, Carey looked over his shoulder yet again. He saw the customer he anticipated finally entered the drugstore, and hastily finished up his current order. The thirty-some man he’d called earlier that morning had dusty blond side-parted hair, and stood as short as Carey, but seemed more sawed off than grown that way. Owing to the nature of the medication, as the head chemist, only he could take the customer. He pulled the pencil box size prescription carton from the cage, and confirmed it did in fact indicate it was for ‘Sal Mendez.’ He watched Angel busying itself in the front end straightening aisles, and waited until Sal was next in line before hopping onto the other register to wave him over. Mentally unable to set down the box on the counter, he kept it in both hands.

“Apologies, again, Mister Mendez, how it took weeks to get this filled. Calmex is one of the most rationed chems in the country at the moment.”

“I know. I know. But it. I talked to my doc.” Sal frowned to himself, and repeatedly smoothed at his short sleeve silk button down shirt as he eyed the various hard candies at the front counter at length. He eventually looked up at his chemist with a crumpled resignation. “The Milque wasn’t cutting it. You... you sure you don’t need it more? You look peaked, Doc.”

Carey glanced down, at the lab coat tossed over his favorite ochre jumpsuit, the cobalt scarf tucked like a cravat into his collar, and his navy oxfords. He lingered on the unfamiliar braces on both wrists and both ankles, but readily dismissed their explanation as unimportant. What mattered was that he didn’t look the part of his vocation, and a head chemist had to command reassurance and reliability. It was one thing to be haggard, but another altogether if he looked it. Well, that just wouldn’t do! He thought to what Hawthorne could usually put his hands on pretty quick, and weighed his choices against what he thought Sal might find most useful. With a big, wide grin, he straightened and patted at the Milquetoast display on the counter.

“Milquetoast is completely and totally safe. Fantastic for insomnia, shakes and nerves, headaches, nausea, you name it. But... I wouldn’t recommend using it alongside this prescription. Or with alcohol, were you to have access to any.” He leaned in and turned off his customer service voice, to discuss the consultation more privately. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you some Day Tripper, if you can water me down. I’ll even take moonshine at this point, Sal. Between you and me, I thought I was done having this war effort kill me inside-out.”

Sal’s jaw dropped a moment before he, too, leaned in with a nervous smile.

“For you, Mister Carey, I will find you something very nice. Really, though. Should I be worried? To take this? My doctor said it’s tranquilizer. She explained it all to me, but that was weeks ago...”

“Alan!”

Gretchen Nordstern didn’t seem all that gangling from where she sat on the far counter in a Peter Pan collar tea dress with the confidence to match a pair of trousers, chewing a lit cigarillo and taking notes against her lap with the phone receiver wedged between her shoulder and cheek. Her low, dark bun wore a colorful crocheted snood.

“You’ve spent half an hour with that client.” She didn’t have to look up to impose, waving him off with her free hand. “Let Mary and Trudy handle front end already.”

Carey hemmed a spell, unsure how that could be true. But he didn’t want to question his boss. He stared off in her direction as he addressed Sal.

“I, I’m sorry, Mister Mendez. I’ve got others to see to. If you’ve any questions...”

When he turned to his customer, he trailed off. Sal had vanished.

Gretchen shoved into his hands a letterhead with a handful of scripts. He stuttered, glancing it over. Med-X. Clarimentin. Immunoluxe. His eyes glazed over the usual orders until he encountered the words Psycho (Cyclomorphine Chloride). His heart hiccuped, and his eyes briefly lost focus.

“Wh-- Gretchen, please. Please. Please tell me this is some kind of-- How did this-- How did-- It’s on the--” He cleared his throat and whet his lips, but it didn’t help. He shakily pointed to the line on her invoice. “How is this on the market, ma’am.”

“Don’t be such a worrywort. It’s government approved. It underwent rigorous testing before it hit the market. What could possibly be wrong with the stuff!”

He couldn’t argue without breaching military confidentiality. Walden Drugs had to make ends meet somehow, right? And if whoever was getting the Psycho had a prescription for it, at the very least they’d be taking it under a physician’s supervision. He knew the dwindling prescription numbers didn’t mean people weren’t getting sick or injured less often: it meant more people were dying. Between the malcontent of the Canadian annexation, the endless crisis against the Chinese causing the deepest economic depression the country had ever suffered, and the mounting volume of riots taking place on home soil, the United States teetered on a second Civil War. And yet, these factors didn’t explicate in his mind why people had begun to drop like flies as of late.

Usually hear from Jacob by now.

He frowned as he dialed the Lexington branch to call in the Psycho prescription order, and got to completing the invoice Gretchen had given him. He and Jacob had planned that morning to have lunch together at the malt shop. He decided to go check on him and Sal. He hung up his lab coat in the mudroom, and waved to his coworkers to let the two ladies know he’d be stepping out.

“Angel, I’m going on break.”

“Right along, then, Sir!”

The Mister Handy followed at his side.

He popped his head into the small bed and breakfast across the way, wedged between the Wright’s Inn at the corner opposite the drugstore, and the bookstore further down. When he didn’t see Sal, he approached the check-in and asked after him of the young attendant in a chignon and sheath dress. She indicated no one had seen him since the morning. He declined her offer to take a message for him, shook his head, thanked her, and left.

It sat uneasy with him, but he chalked it up to still feeling awful about the local call for cyclomorphine. Nothing that he wanted as far away from him as possible ever stayed very far away for long.

Once a Pick-R-Up passed, he jaywalked with Angel to the hardware store at the corner. Only a few customers loitered, some genuinely lost without advice from an employee, others genuinely considering unattended theft. He got to the foot of the employees-only stairwell, but stopped short of scaling it. His gut quivered.

“Angel, be a dear. Pop up and see if you can find Jacob.”

“Certainly!” It came back quickly. “Not a soul on the roof, Sir.”

He frowned and gestured that they leave. His leg felt tight and stiff, but he shrugged it off.

Hm. Was I limping earlier? No, I’ve had this limp a long time already.

On his way back down the street, Carey glanced in the windows of the malt shop. Jacob wasn’t there either, nor Sal. Jacob’s car was still parked outside the hardware store. The repairman was disinclined to go anywhere on foot all that much if he could avoid it, so Carey doubted his roommate had gone home for lunch without saying anything about it. He gave up on the idea of malt shop food, as he preferred to share it. Instead, he sat down across the street from the drugstore, on the Wright’s Inn’s spacious porch, with a Nuka Cherry from their vending machine and an order of three arancini from Piretti’s Bakery. Sometimes the texture of the rice balls reminded him of ezhiki, and he got a bit homesick.

I should just stick to Melancholia. There’s only one flavor of toska to it.

He noticed the construction sounds in front of the municipal plutonium well had ceased. He glanced up with his mouth full to see there were no workers in the street. He supposed it was their lunchtime, too. When he finished eating, he required Angel’s help to stand again.

Am I starting to feel my age, or am I just that full?

He returned to work. Once he had on his coat again and come back out to the front end, he saw some kids poorly picking the lock on the adult care case. He side-eyed Angel, who handed him the keys. Spinning the wrist coil on a finger, he strolled up with confidence that belied his limp.

“Hey there, gentlemen! Looking to buy some No-Gesta today, I see. A fine choice in preventative care!”

The boys sputtered in embarrassment at being caught trying to shoplift. Angel simply hovered behind them to cut off their back escape route out of the drugstore, while Carey withdrew an entire case of product. They followed the veteran in service uniform speechlessly to the counter. The older one scrambled through his pockets along the way, desperate to figure out if he even had enough to buy what they’d intended to steal.

“I’ll tell you what!” the chemist announced--in his stress of recognizing he’d put on the wrong white coat, a little too loudly--though they seemed largely alone all the same. “They’re usually fifteen dollars each, but if you buy six, I’ll give ‘em to you for seventy-five.”

“Gee, that’s awful generous of you,” the older one started, urging the younger one to play along, so as to curb the possibility Carey might call the police on them. “Bruce, you wanna go in on this with me fifty-fifty?”

“Only if that’s the only thing-- never mind. Lemme count how much I got.” He produced a fistful of wadded papers Carey could tell weren’t money. “I’ve got twenty-eight bucks. What about you, Jeb?”

“Thirteen. Awful.”

Carey smiled with a twisted, cool benevolence as he set two out of the case and nudged what was left toward the boys.

“How about just four, then. Hm?” He wagged an eyebrow and held out his upturned palm expectantly. They uncertainly exchanged all their cash for the prophylactic kits with entendred packaging which resembled an exclamation point but reminded of something else entirely. He tucked them into a paper bag and folded it off lackadaisically, then handed it to them. “Off you are, then!”

Mary walked up soon after he shooed off the boys. The older squared, thick woman, in a pencil dress and cardigan, held a hand to her mouth to hush herself, aghast.

“You sold No-Gesta to some high schoolers?”

“You’d rather they have stolen it?” He shrugged at her. “Age means nothing whether someone needs that sort of care. They’ll copulate, whether or not they can get things like No-Gesta--and wouldn’t you rather they did so safely?” He tucked the vaguely paper-like wad into the register, and his glasses dipped off his nose, caught from falling by his eyeglass chain. “Besides, a sale’s a sale, and customers get scarce.”

Why haven’t I been more worried where everybody’s gotten off to?

He looked out to find Jacob’s car had been left, abandoned and askew, run up onto the sidewalk. Like it was, morning of the bombs. The cognitive disconnect insisted he had no idea what he could have meant. He slipped his glasses back in place.

“Hey, Angel...” He cleared his throat. “Have you-- Have you seen Jacob?”

“What a silly question, Sir! Just look down!”

He did, and succumbed to fever, short breath, and sweats. His legs writhed, granular, tumescent, and grotesque, more like a filariasis than the countless bodies he knew comprised them. The tightness and swelling paralyzed him from the waist down, and kept him upright in substitute of bones or any meaningful ligature. He identified Duchesne among the clumped, corpuscular rivulets, and choked up.

He looked up. Gretchen, Mary, and Trudy were nowhere to be seen.

He didn’t have to look down again to understand he’d soaked them up as well. He dry heaved, to no effect. Desperate to reach help from someone, anyone, he tried to walk to the phone at the other end of the counter, only to fall after a single step. And he continued falling, into himself, having become an infinite labyrinth of flesh, a Klein bottle of grief.

Concord’s empty because I subsumed everyone. He cried, slipping through narrow, trembling corridors of sopping tissue. I’m the sole survivor of Vault 111 because I stole survival opportunity from them all. I stole this from my customers and coworkers. From my neighbors. From Jacob. Everyone gave their lives, so I could keep living.

And for what!

Go to Next »»»

[szopenhauer]

People do you live with - are they related to you? they are indeed

Have you ever had to have surgery before? What was this for? not yet

Are you listening to any music right now? What song is it? just finished, got tired/bored of it

Who did you last hug? When did this hug take place? Where? my mom, today, home

Who was the last person to play with your hair? Are they cute? my gf, yes

Do you enjoy shopping? Who do you usually go shopping with anyways? yes, mostly looking at stuff, dad

Are you afraid of thunderstorms? What exactly makes you afraid of them? nah

What color are the shutters on your house by the windows, if there are any? we don’t have shutters

Do you enjoy talking smack to those annoying telemarketers? Is it funny? I disconnect immediately

Do you need spellcheck in order to spell things correctly? usually not Do you do too many surveys? How many have you done today? yeah but it’s smth that keeps my mind occupied in those stressful times and I enjoy it for fun - you don’t have to read them if you don’t want to, let me do what I want to survive, I don’t need to explain myself actually as it’s my life  Have you ever changed yourself to impress someone?  I regret that Who was the last person you gave up on? Why did you give up on them? I gave up on almost everyone including myself Is there ink in your printer? not black, only color Have you been outside yet today? What were you doing? taking care of trash and dog  What kind of games did you play on the playground when you were younger? many

Have you ever buried a time capsule with a friend? Did you dig it up yet? with my sister, it disappeared  Do you remember the first time you ever drove a car?  never happened  Where did you get your favorite hoodie? it’s my sister’s old hoodie Are shoes under your bed? I don’t keep anything under my bed  Have you ever been in handcuffs?  *wink* not yet :P Have you ever had to be put to sleep at a hospital?  I might for my gastroscopy someday because I have a strong gag reflex and there’s no other way :( When are you planning on moving out of your parents’ house? plan pfft... Are you a fan of dogs?  small dogs Who was the last person in your family to graduate high school? Was it you? immediate family? it was me

What genre was the last song you listened to? dance/electronic I see… Did it have a male or female vocalist? female Have you watched any of your favourite TV shows today? Which? I haven’t watched any TV show today What colour is your make-up bag? I don’t use one Have you ever dyed your hair green? yep

What color was the first pet you had? green

Have you ever had fake nails? nope

What was your favorite year of high school? definitely not the last, probably first

Would you be more afraid of drowning or being buried alive? both include choking but drowning gives you a bigger chance of survival

Does your family own more than two houses? we’re too poor for that and owning more than one house is unfair in my opinion

Would you marry someone who could never have sex for medical reasons? I’m asexual, I don’t like/want/need sex so that’s cool

What about someone who was guaranteed to die in five years? anyone can die any moment so yes

Do you have any step parents? no

Do you know what year your mother was born in? I always forget

The person you would never want to meet? someone dangerous If you were a type of tree, what would you be? weeping willow or hollow/dead tree of some sort

Favorite age you’ve been so far? childhood in general I think You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up? maybe even myself?... If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?  I don’t want a slave wtf You just found $100! How are you going to spend it? save it Are you a good kisser? am not Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?
 several times Have you ever built a snowman? of course Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets? sunrises, even tho I’m not a morning person If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create? dog + elephant Can you do any accents other than your own?  not well What is the last thing you drew a picture of?  not sure what was last

If the opportunity arose, would you ever go to a nude beach? Do you think you’d be comfortable enough, being naked among others like that? hell no, I wouldn’t be comfy enough to look at penises, gross! Have you ever considered keeping a dream journal? If you have one, have you ever looked back on it at all of the odd/interesting dreams you used to have? gonna burn it soon Do you think regifting is cheap, or is it okay? Have you ever regifted before? it’s ok, yeah

Do you like tablets or laptops more?  laptops Have you ever had to “come out” to your parents about anything (sexual orientation, change in religion, etc.)? How did it go? yep, it didn’t went well but it could be way worse What’s the most unusual kind of pizza you’ve ever tried? nothing unusual Has there ever been a time where you thought you were going to be great friends with someone, but it just never happened? yep :( What’s one of your favorite things to touch/feel? hmm... How often do you wear tights? very rarely Why is your favorite TV show your favorite? I like many but my favs I chose basing on the impact on my life Describe your favorite picture of yourself, or post it. those funniest and with my dad too I guess Assuming you have a Facebook, if one of your friends posted things that annoyed you, would you be more likely to delete them as a friend, hide their statuses, or just put up with it? hide statuses but if they’re not close to me I might even kick them out of my friends list forever, definitely won’t just put up with it When was the last time you wore a sports bra? yesterday On a scale of 1-10, how anxious are you currently? 11 How is the weather? windy

If you were a pirate, what would your name be? Sam Bell or Robin Hood unless you ask me for a nickname then I’d have to think about it more

Would you rather go the short way slow, or take the long way fast if you got there in the same amount of time? doesn’t matter

Would you rather always be in a crowd, or be the only person on earth? only person 

Do you squeeze the toothpaste from the top or the bottom?   middle?

If you had to move out of this country, what country would you move to? Why?   England or some scandinavian ones I believe

How many children do you want? Girls or boys?   0 but if any then 1 girl

If you had to lose one of your five senses, which one of them would you prefer to lose and why? smell because it’s hyper and I hate that

If you could live anywhere for one year, all expenses paid, where would you live? just my own apartment

What’s your favorite song to karaoke to? *shrug*

What takes you out of your comfort zone?   life

If you were on the cover of a magazine, which one would it be and why? I want my apartment to be on a cover of an interior design magazine

If you could be laid to rest anywhere, where would it be? Why? next to my brother and/or my dad after his death

Pool side or beach? beach

What is your favorite primary color? yellow

What is your favorite brand of bottled water? I don’t care anymore If you were to write a story, what would it be about? already written some  When was the last time you got out of your home? not counting going to my garden/yard - yesterday Do you like color pencils or crayons better? colored pencils Have you ever played Badminton? I liked to Would you ever consider running for president? nah What color is the sky right now? light blue Is March one of your favorite seasons? why not Do you write little reminders to yourself? shitload Would you want a pet iguana? I heard they commit suicide :x Exactly how many days have you been alive? 10,399 Do you know how to knit/crochet? a bit Do you enjoy windy days? I like the sound of wind and zephyr during the hottest days but that’s all

Do you believe that big goals are just as attainable as small ones? some to some

Have you ever deleted your Facebook, then brought it back? deleted and made new account

How many times a day do you change your clothes? depends

When was the last time you used spray paint? long time ago

What color are the chairs at your kitchen table? white

Do you believe that life only gets harder or easier? harder to me

Have you ever had sex with 2 different people in the same week? noooo

Are the doors of your fridge side by side or on top of one another? on top of one another

If you’ve moved out of the house you were born in, do you know the people who live in that house now? not applicable

do you sing to songs in the car when you are alone? I don’t drive so I’m never alone in the car

do you laugh at other people when they are alone in their car singing? it’s cute

the world will end in an hour. what do you do? send a cab for my dad if possible to bring him home

does the weirdest dream you have ever had involve your history teacher? that’s weirdly specific - no

how many christmas trees are in your home during the season? depends

ever told your date you were going to the bathroom and actually left? nope but if I was scared of them I could do that :o

what never fails to put you in a bad mood? ugh...

what is the first thing that comes to mind when i say green? plants

did you know that you hear/see something that relates to a monkey everyday? really? I don’t believe you

do you share a bed with anyone, or is it allll yours? it’s allll mine

are you from the north/south/west/east? personal

[blueeyessilversun-blog]

Millennial Indecision.

Like most of my mid-20s millennial peers.. I’ve spent most of the past couple years paralyzed in crippling indecision... But today, I actually made a decision: I’m done with it. Idk where this rant came from, but writing it gave me several epiphanies I sorely needed. Here goes:  High school/college you’re just prepping the canvas of your life, picking out some colors learning what inspirations you want to draw from, gathering ideas… then time comes to paint whatever you want. This has to be perfect. And a huge success. On the first try. Also something I’m willing to commit my life’s work to.. 

hm..

It’s easy to freak out now, as you notice a scuff mark on the blank corner of the frame that won’t rub off. Because you fully realize you only get this one canvas in life. So you spend 2 years just staring, making noncommittal pencil strokes. You look at your canvas 3 years later and realize it’s subtly aged with the lines of eraser marks building up over time. how much time you’ve erasing yourself away.. I imagine the work i’ve put into erasing must’ve made for a truly impressive masterpiece... shame it was drawn in eraser. If there was no limit to how well you could erase something... i tell ya I erased with the passion of Picasso & a palette knife–SO– You stick to dabbling, terrified of bold strokes. Only get one shot, you think. And you’re stuck with whatever you start drawing now in your 20′s for the rest of your life, same one you’ll be stuck with 60 years from now, touching up into your 80′s. No going back.. Trees? Really, trees? You sure you want to do a tree drawing, well ok..

But then you realize life OH what–wait nobody told me there was Gesso?

The other epiphany I had that made me relax is, who is this painting even for? No seriously who am I even painting this for, anyone but me?! It’s so obvious now, but who else? So what does it matter (for all I know guess that’s up to me too..)?

You can fear ruining the canvas, but don’t forget that’s what painting is; if you manage to turn in a canvas you haven’t ruined at the end of your life, what a hauntingly deep disappointment.. I was looking around guessing what I should paint (Or what other people are painting.. Or what would look good to everybody else–was sitting around trying to figure out the ‘best’ painting I could make). There is no ‘best’ painting to find, let alone stress over. It can be paralyzingly intimidating to think you could create anything, sure. Easy to forget the don’t forget the kind of scary alternative… To look back and realize what little you’ve created…**When you could have created anything.** Go ahead and make the wrong thing. At least it had a chance to exist, you granted existence to something that never asked for, no matter how deserving or not they are of it. Just as we were. Everyone tends to go ‘eff it’ anyway, care less and less what anyone else thinks of their painting because gradually understanding oh–it doesn’t just not matter it like TRULY does not matter..

You are literally the one soul who will ever exist who can possibly create what you’re about to create.  Your choice to spend your life making a serious masterpiece, goofing off having fun with it, using it to inspire others, inventing something in the process, making memories, simply add beauty to the world, lovingly fill in the most perfect paint by numbers you’re in love with, fill in the blanks of a paint by numbers like life’s a chore that has to be done, or mess it all up, Try to impress other people with it try to impress yourself, dedicate the whole thing to someone you love….

This gift of a canvas is a beautiful inexplicable chance to exist. At the very least, a short window of time to run around and do whatever what you want with it. Facebook, finger-painting, theorizing and obsessing over who even stretched this canvas and just left you the gift of life anonymously. From God? An amorphous entity? The luckiest craziest miracle of random chance?

When you hand it off to your grandchildren to look back on your life’s work, I can hand them down a really well done, pristine paint by numbers. I could follow the well worn path of life others have followed to a beautiful life they made their own. But I’d rather this soul not be spent on anything less than a thoroughly enjoyed life lived in gratitude.

I think maybe the overlooked alternative to the dazzling concept of destiny we seek comfort in would be an even more beautiful concept that there is no destiny (How would you live your life any differently if there is or isn’t a destiny is worth asking?) Was an unexpectedly welcome thought that there may not be a ‘meant to be’… like some brilliant hack in the universe that allows us to become anything and not just discovering our preprogramming. If destiny makes you feel special how special is this one unique destiny you carved out yourself from the endless permutations of life that could’ve been yours had you not been so lucky to find yourself in this beautiful one you could’ve missed out on lost out in a sea of literally infinite others.. and not just a life that was set aside for you. Or maybe there’s both: maybe destiny is what we find when we don’t choose to make our own. I have no idea where this paragraph about destiny came from.. buuuut this is an anon account at 4am SO–

You may read this and think a canvas metaphor is cliche, or any of the other imagined judgments i’ve projected onto you (also written 4am without proofreading thank you thank you very much uhh hope it made sense?). But seriously like, WHO cares! Because I’ve left so many canvases blank or erased. And each one now feels like a loss. So it may read as the drivel of a deeply existential 3rd grader but what a victory it may be read at all.

[vierafication]

Getting to Know: Faolan Kells

Was tagged by @an-honest-waltz for most of these AGES ago, so just gonna make one big ol’ post!

<STRENGTHS & FLAWS>

Bold those that apply, italicize if occasional or situational.

╳   FLAWS

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | lies | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power - hungry | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | masochistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous| oversensitive | rebellious | pessimistic | selfless

♔   STRENGTHS

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

🖌 SKILLS & HOBBIES

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | beach combing | belly dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leather-working | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading | collecting | shopping | socializing | storytelling | writing | traveling | exotic dancing | minor potion brewing | tricks & trinkets | crow keeping | classical dancing

<BODY AESTHETIC>

[ BODY ]

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Toned thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Toned arms. Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Small waist. Average waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. Broad shoulders. Average shoulders. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight.

[ HEIGHT ]

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm to 150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

[ SKIN ]

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Moles. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks.

[ EYES ]

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Turquoise. Violet. Pink. Green. Gold. Hazel. Crimson. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned. Mismatched.

[ HAIR ]

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Pompadour. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. Jaw length. Layered. Mohawk. Pony Tail. Braid. Locks. Box braids. Faux locks. White. Going Grey. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Strawberry Blonde. Ombre. Ash brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Orange. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Dyed. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

[ TATTOOS / PIERCINGS ]

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. One tattoo. Face tattoo. Hand tattoo. Henna tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Forearm tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos (for now). Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercings. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

[ COSMETICS ]

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Nude lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears war paint from time to time. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make-up.

[ SCENT ]

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Fur. Sweat. Food. Incense. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Cold. Fresh. Metal. Rain. Chemicals. Baking!

[ CLOTHES ]

Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress.High slit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Light colors. White. Black. Dark colors. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor. Light Armor.

[ SHOES ]

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes. Leather boots.

~

<GETTING TO KNOW>

So I personally don’t like this prompt because it assumes the character answers IC, but how many characters would actually let someone come up and interview them with this barrage of questions, some very personal, out of nowhere, IC? So I think it works better to think of them as... filling it out as a form themselves?

► Name ➔   Which one? ► Are you single ➔ I think so. ► Are you happy ➔   I’d better be. ► Are you angry? ➔   Thankfully, no. ► Are your parents still married ➔  Who?

NINE FACTS ► Birth Place ➔ Somewhere where the trees are tall and green and overshadowing, I think. ► Hair Color ➔ Like the earth. ► Eye Color ➔ Like the leaves. ► Birthday ➔ I do not know. ► Mood ➔ Fluctuating. ► Gender ➔ Leaning towards male. ► Summer or winter ➔ Summer. ► Morning or afternoon ➔ Can I say evening instead?

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE ► Are you in love ➔ With life itself~! Mostly. Usually. Sometimes. ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ It’s the stuff of faerytales. So of course I do! Would love to actually see it in action, though. It’s certainly elusive. ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ No relationships to end- so I have not suffered that terrible heartache so often written about! Ha! ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔  Probably. I hope so. ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ I think the answer is yes, because I do not want them, if I can help it! Don’t like strings. ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Of course! Who or what, though, I cannot recall. ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ I hope so! ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ NO.

SIX CHOICES ► Love or lust ➔ Love! Incredibly useless, but really quite fun to mess with. ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ Lemonade. ► Cats or Dogs ➔ Dogs are more reliable, cats are more fun. So... cats, then.. ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ Yes. ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ A wild night out leads to so many more interesting possible occurrences. The other option is boring on multiple levels. ► Day or night ➔ Oh, so this is where I can say night. Night, then.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS ► Been caught sneaking out ➔ Out of where? By whom? ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ I am far too graceful for THAT, but it is very humorous to see! ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ No comment. ► Wanted to disappear ➔ Not if I’ve enough distractions to keep me occupied at the moment!

FOUR PREFERENCES ► Smile or eyes ➔ Eyes tell a lot more than a smile ever could. ► Shorter or Taller ➔ Shorter people are easier to poke fun at, in my experience. ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔  Attraction. ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ I don’t want anything THAT close to me, thank you very much.

FAMILY ► Do you and your family get along ➔ We fight sometimes. ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ It is certainly abnormal by your standards! If only you knew. ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ When I was a child, I tried to multiple times, but I just ended up running right back home again. Not voluntarily, of course, for the forest paths never lead you where you want to go, only where you don’t. ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ Not kicked out, necessarily, but... locked up? Hidden away? I feel that’s a better term.

FRIENDS ► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ No! That would be silly. ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ No. ► Who is your best friend ➔ I adore friends, of course, but I would not trust anybody to THAT extent. ► Who knows everything about you ➔ Only the ones back home, and I intend to keep it that way.

Thanks again Killian!!!! Not gonna tag anybody ‘cause y’all have already done these I’m sure. But if you haven’t, consider yourself tagged!

[rassilon-imprimatur]

A Guide to “A Bloody (and Public) Domaine,” my contribution to Faction Paradox: The Book of the Enemy

Faction Paradox: The Book of the Enemy was released by Obverse Books in January 2018 (already over a year ago, sheesh), and it included my first published short story, A Bloody (and Public) Domaine. Last March, Andrew Hickey published  a list of all the references to other stories (Faction, Doctor Who, or otherwise) in his Book of the Enemy story on his blog. Fellow Book of the Enemy contributor and good egg Nate Bumber followed suit with a rundown of references in his wonderful story, and the powerhouse that is Niki Haringsma has done the same with The Book of the Peace. 

I’ve had a fairly rough year beside really struggling to find any merit in my Book of the Enemy and Book of the Peace stories (a writer really is his own worst critic), but finally felt the gumption to dive in! This is a mix of some (not all) of the references in my story, as well as just some general commentary. I’ll be making a similar post for my Book of the Peace and connecting Dossier material next! 

Obviously, spoilers ahead. You should probably have read the story first. If you haven’t and still read through this, please purchase the book, available on the Obverse site! I’m not going through everything, just giving a little bit of commentary.

But first let me say, I will be forever grateful to the book’s editor Simon Bucher-Jones (@thebrakespearevoyage-blog), for taking such a big chance on me with this story, dealing with a rookie like me, and letting me play in his sandbox. An absolute gem of a human being. 

Enjoy!

“The black lessens, crumbles, an Empire sky of temporal red focuses.” A nod to the Eleven-Day Empire and my own assertion of the typical “look” of a Faction alter-time realm, the sky color taken from the Empire’s appearance in the Faction Paradox comic. 

“EXT: THE SHADOW SPIRE... (very Dr. Caligari meets Trying Too Hard).” I’m going to save most of what Auteur and his home Shadow Spire are references to for my Book of the Peace post, but, as a hint, basically picture a crumbling lighthouse as pencilled by the Doctor Who Magazine comic strip legend John Ridgeway... nudge nudge, wink wink. 

Gideon exists as little more than the audience of Auteur’s madness (and to die at the end), but I had fun sketching out this character. He’s a member of the Faction who doesn’t care that he is, a renegade Homeworlder that just had nowhere else to go. I think of all the possible characterizations of various Faction members, the idea of a member of the Houses rushing into the ideology they don’t believe in, embracing the aesthetic because they have no choice, is my favorite. Gideon has more recently received something of a second life in White Canvas by James Wylder. 

This story is set definitively before the Eleven-Day Empire’s destruction in The Faction Paradox Protocols. I felt this was the safer choice given the scope of the full anthology. I went the “definitely after the Eleven-Day Empire’s death” route in my Book of the Peace story.  

“A few Loa, smears of age as twisted as the Spire, swarm the peak like vultures.” Key to Faction Paradox lore and a rather damning example of the Faction’s appropriation of Haitian voodoo, the term “loa” (spirits) refer to the alter-time structures and temporal processes the Faction claim to worship. I have always interpreted them as the familiar gobbledygook we’d hear as “time orbits” or “temporal loops” from the Doct-AHEM-a certain time traveler, but from the Faction’s POV, very much alive. Which POV is accurate? That’s up to you. 

“A phonograph, straight out of Hammer, operating diligently on a shard of glittering sapphire.” Hammer Film Productions’ “Hammer Horror,” naturally. 

“Godfather Morlock’s Personal Record, kept on Phonograph.” Morlock is a major character in Faction lore, appearing in The Book of the War and the BBV Faction Paradox Protocols. He comes across as something of a creepy Victorian taxidermist and scientist, with unknown plans for the Faction and the War. Recording his musings on a phonograph is a reference to Dr. Jack Seward from Bram Stoker’s Dracula. 

Morlock’s account of Vlad the Impaler and the Celestis is all from The Book of the War, an earlier Faction Paradox use of the historic figure that rather interestingly asserts he can’t be Dracula. Believe it or not based on this story, I actually hate when modern Dracula adaptations or remakes try to make him Vlad directly. 

Mention of the Impaler’s “history tangling with the Incremental Effect,” is a reference to the Iris Wildthyme novella The Found World, published in Iris Wildthyme and Friends Investigate, one of my favorite Iris collections. You’ll actually see a lot of crossing with Miss Wildthyme in my stories. I’ve always felt the two series shared a fascinating relationship and rather love what wonderful recontextualization can happen when you view them as partners in crime as opposed to rivals or strangers. 

The “woman in a black dress and porcelain skin” is Lilith, and is, perhaps obviously, Lolita, the true villain of the series. More on her later. 

The timeline Morlock describes, a “What If Dracula Won?” scenario, starts as a soft reference to Kim Newman’s Anno Dracula novels before literally launching into space to become a reference to Hideyuki Kikuchi’s Vampire Hunter D series. 

“They embraced the flesh and blood and were proudly organic, with none of the clinical and pristine mathematics of the Ships of the Great Houses.” A lot of detail is often given to how the Great Houses despise their organic nature, and we know that the enemy have timeships of some fashion if we take Lolita’s word in Lawrence Miles’ Interference-interlude Toy Story as gospel. 

The stuttered “Ghost Point” is the period in the early 21st century where mankind’s limitless potential ground to a halt, effectively killing the advanced civilization humanity should have been. An interestingly important part of the series lore.

“Plus, Morlock can baise lui-même on a candlelit evening.” He can fuck himself. My dear friend Liria has very happily and comfortably let me know that my French is absolutely atrocious. I merely look to The Adventuress of Henrietta Street and hold my head high for maintaining a Faction Paradox tradition. 

I don’t know why the VHS tapes are “crumbling like mouldering Metsovone” because I swear I wrote that they were “crumbling like mortar” when sending my draft in. Either a) Simon has hidden a secret message throughout the entire book, b) I’m losing my mind, changed it and forgot it, or c) I’ve been infected by the either the enemy or the Houses in an attempt to replace my account of things with Grecian dairy. It is a more creative metaphor. 

The “Homeworlder Observer Effect” is just a term given to the Faction Paradox assertion in The Book of the War and The Cosmology of the Spiral Politic that the Great Houses literally force potential into reality by merely observing (while I’m taking cues and terminology from the loose concept scattered throughout the works of Lance Parkin, Kate Orman, and Jon Blum, most notably the unwritten novel Mentor, where an insane Time Lord could literally observe his own will and madness into reality). This plays a major part in my Book of the Peace story as well, so I’ll talk a bit about it there. 

I was a very late addition to the Book of the Enemy’s team, so literally any perceived intelligence and coalescence with my story’s metafictional take on Dracula and the rest of the book’s metafictional take on nearly every example of global literature and imagination is all Simon’s brilliance and the genius of the other contributors. I’ve probably shared a total of three words with anyone else in the book other than Nate. Simon turned all of this into a wonderful, organic unit, and it makes me absolutely proud to be a part, even if I’m still rather embarrassed by my contribution. Give them all the credit! 

“Mina Harker,” the inarguable and objective hero of Stoker’s Dracula. Van Helsing who?

“Brides of Dracula.” Hammer made exactly three good Dracula movies, and this is one of them, despite not actually having Dracula in it. It’s pretty much a feature length “Look How Badass Peter Cushing Is As Van Helsing, Guys.” 

“God’s gaze was nowhere near Bedfordshire that night.” As seen in The Book of the War’s superb take on Dronid (an element of the infamous serial Shada), things that remain unobserved by the Great Houses, either by choice or design, tend to become rather unhappy and miserable places (to put it lightly).

“Not quite the discrete puncture marks of legend” is a line said by Alan Moore’s take on Mina in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I then realized her crimson scarf could be seen as a reference to the comic as well, but I was actually intending to give a nod to the definitive Edward Gorey illustration. 

“Something cruel, built by invaders of metal and spite, digging too deeply and too greedily into Earth’s crust.” An absolutely subtle and completely obscure reference to another Peter Cushing film. 

“A History wrapped tightly into a coil of absence, locked in the rock and dark of the planet.” No comment other than a friendly reminder that the caldera, the lodestone of the structure of History, is described as an “absence” in The Book of the War, later clarified to be a “singularity” in Lawrence Burton’s Against Nature, invoking familiar thoughts of the mythic Eye of Harmony... 

“The aliens were rejected by that History, blown to smithereens, left to die in the streets and in their echoing control rooms.”

“Because he’s fucking Dracula. He’s not some evil god, or conquering demon. He’s a parasite, torn between trying to leech off society’s elite and building a goddamn harem.” Dracula is absolutely one of the greatest villains in all English literature but he is also absolutely abhorrent and literally every attempt to romanticize or “Badass” him into anything other than a diseased and rotting rapist need to show themselves out. 

“Lilith” again. A terrifying revelation in the Faction Paradox series is that the War between the enemy and the Great Houses is a distraction from the real threat to the universe. Her. This has, naturally, spurred theorizing and discussion over the years about whether or not Lolita created the enemy. That’s naturally what this story is implying, but this story is also a stapled together mess crafted by a mad Homeworlder. Lolita seemed very concerned about the enemy in her first appearance in Toy Story...

My interpretation of my story (and The Book of the Enemy as a whole) is that the enemy has so many identities and timelines and possibilities and metafictional infections that it has nonsense like this written around it as a sort of defense mechanism. Auteur’s bizarre narrative is an identity and story to be used as a drifting shield, a history the Houses could nuke to nothing and still leave the enemy happy and safe to continue Warring.

The “Very Fabric” is a cheeky nod to the “Very Fabric of Time and Space” from the Iris Wildthyme side of the universe, first seen in Paul Magrs’ Mad Dogs and Englishmen. 

“’Yssgaroth,’ she hissed, her tongue sliding through her razor teeth behind her mask, ‘the Taint which boils within you.’” The Yssgaroth first appeared in The Pit and were always meant to be a retcon and redefinition of the vague history and lore of the Vampires seen in 1980′s State of Decay. This approach was massively improved by Interference and The Book of the War (though I still assert Philip Purser-Hallard’s Predating the Predators is probably the definitive take on the bastards). 

“Queen Charlotte” was Lolita’s disguise and historical role in the Faction Paradox Protocols. The audios and other stories such as Hickey’s Head of State (and, I suppose, this one right here) show that Lolita takes on these “acting roles” throughout history. “Lady Waki” at first glance may, understandably, be seen as a misspelling of her role of Lady Wakai from The Book of the War, but “Waki” is actually the term for the antagonist/villain performance in Japanese “Noh” musical theatre. 

The blood of the Earth is the same “green pus” from Inferno, later implied to be the Yssgaroth taint in Interference’s assertion that Earth is built around an Yssgaroth bolthole. So what, is the Earth somehow a link to the centre of History, or an Yssgaroth bolthole? Can it possibly be both? 

Yes. 

“A new kind of History.” The literal definition of the enemy in The Book of the War and Lolita in BBV Faction audios. 

“Not like he has a copyright.” Hence the “Public Domaine” of the title. You are reading the work of a comedic genius. Though, the spelling of “Domaine” was Simon’s idea and I like it much better. 

Biodata looking like silver threads pops up a lot in what I write and I completely blame Kate Orman and Jon Blum’s seminal Unnatural History. That book changes a man. 

And there you have it! I’m still convinced that Simon Bucher-Jones is a wizard, as The Book of the Enemy somehow becoming centered on the idea of the enemy as a meta-fictional infection with dozens upon dozens of cobbled together narratives of myth and fact improves this mess of a story rather drastically, I think. 

[pixiealtaira]

Checking It Twice

Hummel Holidays day 19: shopping 2016

pairing: Kadam of course...

“What do you want for Christmas, Adam?” Kurt called from the kitchen as he was making lunch one afternoon.

“It’s August.  I haven’t thought about it.”

“Can you think about it so I can finish my shopping list?  I mean I know I’ll have to add some things closer to Christmas, but I’d like my main shopping done by the start of October.”

“You’re doing your Christmas shopping now?” Adam asked.

Kurt snorted.  He came out and stood next to where Adam had been working on a paper.

“I started my Christmas shopping for this Christmas on the 26th of December last Christmas.” Kurt said. “I get better deals this way.  In May, I found 80 dollar cashmere scarves on sale for 6 bucks…men’s scarves.  They also had hats and gloves, good gloves, on sale as well.  And 90 dollar women’s basic longer length cable knit sweaters in nice solid colors…for 2 bucks.  No snags or holes or anything…just out of season.  But Carole doesn’t care and neither do most girls I know, so those were a great find.  And I got the Kitchen aid mixer Carole’s been wanting…for 1/3 the price because the color is now out of fashion.”

“Well, there are some board games I’d like to get…and I’ve been wanting to pick up my cello again but I need lessons and haven’t gotten around to getting those.  And my cello won’t be getting here until Christmas when it comes with my family.  Oh…my family will be here, so tickets to things we could do.”

“Your family will be here?” Kurt said quietly.

“Yes.  Remember, I asked if you were staying so you could meet them?”

Kurt nodded.

“I think I thought you meant over Skype or something.  I need names and likes and lists, Adam. I need lists!  Who will be here?  Who is staying in England?  Sizes? Colors they look good in? Allergies?  Kids?  Kids will need presents under the tree.”  Kurt was sounding more and more frantic as he went on.

“Darling, Hush now!” Adam said.

Kurt stopped and breathed deeply.

“It’s just…I have to make a good impression, Adam.  I love you…and if they don’t like me, then what?” Kurt asked.

Adam smiled and pulled Kurt down to him, kissing him deeply before pulling back and kissing Kurt’s nose. “I would tell them all where to go. I love you and my family’s opinion won’t change that. Got it?”

Kurt nodded. “Got it.”

“Grab a pencil…and some paper.” Adam said, pushing Kurt up again.  He waited until Kurt was back with a notebook and pulled Kurt into his lap fully.  “Now, number one…everyone is flying in so not a lot of things or a lot of big things. I’d tell you nothing at all, but I know you my dear…and that would not happen.”

“Hey!”

“Can you actually convince me otherwise?”

Kurt shook his head.

“I thought not. Number two...you, my love, are helping me entertain them for TWO WEEKS…consider that.”

Kurt nodded.

“And finally…my family already adores you because I believe you hang the moon and the stars and that the sun revolves around you. You wouldn’t need to get them anything. However…my family are such huge tourists.  Seriously…get them all New York things and everyone would be happy.  Anything with New York splattered across it.”

Kurt glared at Adam, who laughed.

“You can glare at me now…but when the littles are looking at you asking for a New York bottle opener…you’ll see.”

“Bottle opener?” Kurt asked.

Adam nodded. “It had an apple on it.  Their mother intervened…it was pokey.”

Kurt laughed.

“So…who will be here?”

“My mother and father, my grandparents, and two of three siblings and their families.  Ava is the only one who will not be able to make it.” Adam said.

“Ava is the one closest in age to you, right?” Kurt asked.

“Yes, she is taking classes during the winter break. She is two years younger than me.”

“Close to my age, then?”

Adam nodded. “Emily is four years older than me and she has three kids.  Twins, Piper and Philippa and  Thor.  Thor is about a year and half…and the twins turn four in January.  Her husband is Ashton. Paul is seven years older than me. He has Evelyn who is seven and Joselyn who is five.  They are from his first marriage.  His current wife is Pansy.  She brought with her Luke.  He is seven as well.  They have Briar, who is maybe 6 months…but I don’t think even that old…and they’ve been married three months.”

“Is Paul’s first wife in the picture?”

“No.  They were divorced when she died though…and the girls hadn’t even lived with her alone.  She died here in the states from a drug overdose.  She left Paul only a few months after Joselyn was born…just took off one day.  There is actually a wife between the girls’ mum and Pansy…but they didn’t have kids.”

“What do the kids like?”

“Evelyn loves to read. She asked for those American Girls books?  I don’t know what they are…”

“Historical fiction.  They have dolls, too.  They wear period clothing, sort of.”

“Anyway…she is fascinated with those.  Last I knew, all Joselyn liked was swords. I’ll have to ask my mum if her tastes have broadened. Luke hates everything. Piper and Philippa I have no idea about other than Philippa will only wear yellows and purples and black and jeans. Piper wears everything.  Not a clue about Thor…they were here last December but Thor was not even sitting up on his own yet.  He is no longer bald.  That I do know.  I’m not sure I’ve even seen more than one picture of Briar…and that was right after she was born. Pansy is high maintenance. Paul is just high strung…that one needs a real vacation. Ashton’s a bit of a snob and Emily is just….Emily.”

“What ever does that mean?”

“She would say that she is forgettable.  She isn’t very good at anything or very bad at anything.  She isn’t ugly or beautiful.  Just is just average in all she does.  Emily manages…she manages her family and mom and dad and the grandparents and clubs and community gatherings and parties and events.  And she organizes.  A bit like you in that area.  I bet she has her shopping nearly done as well.”

Kurt nodded and wrote down notes of everything Adam had told him.

“I suppose it is good that I have Black Friday between now and your family visiting.  Now…about your folks and grandparents…those might even be more important that your siblings and their kids.”

“My Nan is a bit…chipper. Much to chipper for her own good or anyone else’s really.  Da says she was always that way and people had just best get used to it and don’t ever make her cry because it breaks everyone’s hearts until she is cheery again.  She likes chocolate, but not American so don’t go with that.  She likes warm and soft and fizzy things and paints and scrapbooks in an elaborate fashion.   Pops likes gardening and has a small professional photography business.  He takes photos of people’s pets.  Rarely people.  My father is of course a barrister and plays in the symphony orchestra. Da likes darts and would like to go bowling while here and also try out laser tag.”

Kurt chuckled.

“My mum likes quilting and singing, but she does neither very well.  She is good at cooking and works at a local bakery. She wants to be that Duff cake guy when she grows up…her words not mine.  She is an avid reader and will read pretty much anything. Her father is a retired professor and taught anthropology.  He specialized in the Romans.  Her mother taught as well, in primary school to the littlest ones.  She likes Darts and is a card shark.  They go gambling at least twice a year somewhere and my grandmother almost always comes home with more than they went with.”

Kurt smiled.

“They sound nice.”

“They sound a wee bit nuts, because they are.  But they already adore you and will love you completely before they go home…and then drag you with us on next summer’s excursion. Mother wants to go to a rodeo…and all the grandparents want to see some of the more famous national parks. They’ve been saving for years and years.”

Kurt laughed.

“I’ve never been to any of them. It could be fun.”

“We’ll have to hike with youngsters and buy souvenirs.”

“We should see if my dad and Carole want to go to, if your family still likes me at the end of the two weeks.  He’s always wanted to go to Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone.”

Adam beamed. “That would be wonderful.”

“So…will you help me with the shopping for them?”

“Of course, love.  I actually adore shopping with you.”

Kurt beamed.  “Now, what do you want for Christmas?”

Adam laughed.

“You, and a stocking full of goodies just for us and a hide away to play with them for a week…but that will have to wait for after Christmas…so…all I want for Christmas is you.” Adam sang the last bit to Kurt.

Kurt groaned. “Cheesy, my dear heart.  Now you are getting socks and underwear.”

Adam pulled Kurt in for more kissing.  “Don’t care if I have you, too.  Is lunch done?  Or rather…can lunch be postponed until…oh…a few hours from now…after we have retired to the bed for playtime and then come back out?”

Kurt smiled.  “I was just making sandwiches and they can be put in the fridge.  Let me up and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.  We should have a more in depth discussion about what you’d like in your stocking after all.”

Adam released Kurt and watched as he sauntered to the kitchen.  He saved his paper and raced to the bedroom…he had a few examples of things he’d like in his stocking to find before Kurt joined him.