#I’m kinda worn out after this week and typing this up while tired as fuck

[hisaame]

OK kinda a specific request but like- could you do a Scara x fem!reader or gn!reader where he’s like overworking himself due to his studies(probably bc of his mommy issues sjsjks) and reader is like comforting and convincing him to go to sleep w her/them since it was late? Modern au ofc. And basically Scaramouche is being all stingy about it like “no I’m fine” and stuff but eventually goes to bed because of readers sweet words haha

Of m y god this ones adorablw i love soft scara THANK UU!!

╰⪼ “fine, for you." ♡

╰ — scaramoucheˊˊ」

╎『modern au!ˎˎ

[fluff] — 『warnings: workaholic scara, soft scara again (i swear these arent real warnings), cursing, scara mommy issues, readers pronouns arent used, but feminine body type』

It has already been a long week for you and Scaramouche, school was a pain in the ass, as well was studying. You would usually be studying at the schools library with friends, or mainly with your boyfriend, Scaramouche. But even with you being done with everything, he continued studying, alone.

It was late at night, around one in the morning, you had just finished some chores since you didn't have much to do, and you weren't tired then. But now you were, all the chores you did worn you out. You thought your lover jad already gone to sleep or is possibly waiting for you, but once you entered your twos' bedroom with a tired yawn, you saw Scaramouche still at the desk, focused.

'he's still studying?..' you thought to yourself, slowly walking over to your lover who seemed too focused to even notice your there. But with a gentle pat on his shoulder, he flinched slightly, then turned to look at you with tired eyes. "[yn]? Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, rubbing his eyes as his other hand still held a pen between his slender fingers.

"Shouldn't i be asking you the same thing?" you replied with a raised eyebrow, looking at Scaramouches own eyes that seemed to already have eyebags under them, his eyelids drooping as he forced himself to stay awake. "shit," he mumbled "you go, ill join you later. I have to finish this shit." with a groan, he turned back to studying, his eyes trying to soak in every word he reads from the book, and writing the more important things down.

You sighed, a bit frustrated now. "Scaramouche, please, finish it tomorrow, you look like you're barely awake." you pat his head, running your fingers through his dark indigo locks. You just loved him too much to let him overwork himself like this, he needs to be getting enough sleep. "Cant you fucking see i cant? This is important, alright? Do you think i wanna fucking do this either?" he groaned, frustrated with how long he's studied, and barely able to focus with his sleepiness. But seeing how he was a bit too mean to you, he mumbled "... Shit, im sorry. Love, please just go to bed, im fine."

he rubbed his eyes yet again as you replied "not without you. If im going to sleep right now, ill make sure you're right beside me.", you crossed your arms below your chest, glaring at your boyfriend. Why must you be so persistent? He cant even get his studies done with you like this. "I told you im fine, plus ill be in bed soon anyway." he put his hand on your hip, still reading over the words he's trying to memorize. His hand caressed your hip, then went around your thighs to pull you close. "There will be no later, come on." you groaned, too worried about your overworked lover.

"mmh, so soft..." the male mumbled, pressing his head against your stomach, to where he could reach since he was sitting down and you were standing up. He used your stomach as a head rest while reading. His hand still caressed your plush thighs. "Yeah? U can hug me all you want when we're in bed." you smirked, seeing how this was actually working. He narrowed his eyes, very tempted. After all, he could just finish this tomorrow, right? No big deal? Tomorrow he promises himself to study with you.

"fucking fine... Lets go. You better keep your word." he finally gave up, standing up lazily as the both of you walked to bed. He quite literally threw himself on the bed while you followed by doing it the.. safer way. He groaned as soon as he stretched his back, cramped from being in the same position. Now he gets his reward. You.

He lazily wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck, all while you held him in your arms. You did scold him a little for overworking himself, to which he only giggled and said "oops".

And he fell asleep almost immediately...

♡

[salsdemise]

Can I request a Sally face x reader fic? Possibly a confession and first kiss an da party or something like that, thank you!

Hey anon, sorry if this is bad, I'm assuming you meant sal, and if not just lmk and I'll re-write this for another character if you want.

Warnings: Underage drinking, underaged smoking, parties, y/n used in place of your name, really awkward with the confession part? idk how to write those

word count: 1479

other: gender neutral terms used, sal's speech is in blue bc sometimes its unclear whos talking bc i didn't know what to put between the words spoken lol playlist listened to while writing: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SMv6Go27KIcbfL07wkQ4m

This party wasn’t where you wanted to be right now. Hell, you’d rather be at school, getting pushed around by the kids in the hall right now. Anywhere was better than this loud, flashy,party filled with the smell of cigs, weed, alcohol and sex wafting off of every teen you passed.

Why you had come to this party in the first place had slipped your mind, as now you were more focused on not getting backed into a corner with a potted plant by a group of your peers. Maybe it was because your friend Larry wouldn’t shut up about how fun it was going to be, maybe it was because you would have felt bad saying no, or maybe it was because you certainly weren’t going to pass up on an opportunity to potentially hang out with Sal Fisher, your long time crush and close friend.

Holding your now empty red cup, you navigated your way through the crowd of drunken and dancing teens, most who were nice and giggly as you passed, slurring apologies at you if they bumped you.

While you weren’t all sober yourself, you had enough remaining cognitive ability to form full thoughts, and the only one on your mind was finding one of two people; Sal or Larry. You had no doubt Larry was off smoking with gods know who, so that left one option, and if your brain wasn’t mistaking you, you had seen the electric-bluenette near the door to the backyard in the kitchen not too long ago. So that’s where you set your sights.

When you arrived at the kitchen, you were happy to know that you were indeed correct on where you had last seen Sal, just outside on the patio, sitting hunched over a cup, the bottom straps of his prosthetic undone and dangling. Murmuring a few ‘excuse me’s at the teens you passed on the way, you made your way out to the back, opening and exiting the door and catching the bluenette’s attention. Seating yourself next to him, you said nothing, not sure of what to say.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show. Lar said you were coming, but I thought he was bluffing again,” Sal spoke, sipping on his drink.

You laughed at this, “yea, no, he actually convinced me to come. Not sure how, but he did. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see you here either. You always talk about how much you hate parties, especially ones that have inebriating drinks,” you set your cup down next to you, and a small breeze knocked it over as soon as your hand left it.

“I don’t, hate em. Managed to get someone to get me something non-alcoholic, though. What have you had to drink?” He motioned to your, now rolling, red cup to emphasize.

“Oh, nothing too strong. They had a punch bowl in there so I took some of that,” thinking back to it as you spoke, it was odd the hosts of this party put a punch bowl out at a party with no need for it. However, you and Sal both seemingly shrugged it off and continued talking.

Conversation between the two of you had always come so naturally, switching between topics and tones, talking about people, your home state, his home state, and the likes.

“Man, I cannot believe he did that! It was like, super awkward between us for a week,“ you laughed, finishing a story about how Larry had tried to ask you out when high. Luckily the guy wasn’t too upset and took no for an answer.

“Hey, y/n, about asking people out...have you ever done it?” Sal questioned, messing with his sweater sleeves now that his drink was gone and his cup had also flown off.

“Oh, uh, not like, here at Nockfell, but in the past I asked a guy in my grade to go to a valentine’s day dance with me. Why?” you responded, tilting your head at him.

“I want to ask this person out, but I’m not sure how.”

“Oh. Well, what do they like? How long have you known them? And how close are you two? You can’t just ask out a random person you barely know, it won’t go well.”

“Well, they like a lot so it’s...kinda hard to put into words. I’ve known them for years now, and I’d like to say we’re pretty close.”

Thinking, you went quiet. As much as it hurt you to know your crush liked someone else, you were going to help him as best you could.

“Well, I’d give them a note, personally. I’d probably piss myself if I tried to tell them upfront. But it depends on how you wanna do it.”

Sal quietly thinks for a few seconds before standing up and fixing his mask, “Thanks for your help dude. We should get going, I’ll go find Larry and we can get out of here.”

You nod, standing and following Sal back into the house, heading for the front door while Sal went off to find Larry. With your mutual friend acquired, you all left for home, depositing Larry at his place and heading to your own beds, tired now that the social buzz had worn off.

Over the next week, you and Sal talked less and less, notes popped up in your locker, and small things like patches, stickers, pins and snacks appeared with them. You were confused to say the least. You loved everything this admirer gave you, and the notes were adorable, even if they were typed and printed rather than hand written, but you wondered why Sal had stopped talking to you as often as he did.

As the weeks progressed, you had started to like the secret admirer that was leaving you small gifts and notes reminding you how much they liked you. But the most recent note, which you had gotten on a sunny and warm Wednesday, really caught your attention. This time, it was handwritten in blue pen ink, the handwriting surprisingly neat, completely eliminating who you thought it was.

The note read: “y/n, meet me in the courtyard during lunch/break time. -<3”, and not wanting to disappoint, you waited with an uneasy shake until lunch came around where you went straight to the courtyard. Seeing no one, you sat on the ground by a tree to wait until your secret admirer got there.

10 minutes later, the heavy doors opened and closed with a thud, catching your attention and causing you to look up where you saw Sal, mask in hands, and looking down.

“Sal? Are you the one that wanted to meet me here?” You were..puzzled to say the least. Sal had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you thought he liked someone else like Ash, but it seems you were mistaken.

“Uh, yea, I am. I know you’re..probably upset at me for not talking to you in the past few weeks, but I didn’t want to say something stupid too soon. I hope you’re not too mad..”

“Sal, I’m not mad. I thought you were busy trying to get your mystery person to like you..and I guess I was right, but I didn’t think it’d be me..”

“Who else would it have been? You and I are as close as Larry and I are, we like the same things and I’ve known you since you got here. Hell, I’ve been pining over you for years now, but last year when Lar told me he was gonna try and shoot his shot, I tried to get myself to like Ash so I wouldn’t feel like shit if you said yes.”

“Oh, Sal. I thought it was Ash, you talk so much about her sometimes, I thought you actually liked her.”

“Oh, no, I don’t. She helped me with this, actually. Which reminds me, if its not obvious already, I really fucking like you. Like, you make me feel happy and just thinking about you makes me feel like I’m on cloud nine.”

Smiling at his words you stood to go over to him, putting your hands on his shoulders so he would look up at you, “I like you too, Sal. Like, a lot. I have for a while, and when you asked how to ask someone out,I..it hurt a little bit.”

Saying nothing at your words, Sal moved forward and wrapped you in a hug, his mask landing in the grass behind you two. Before you could return the hug, Sal backed up and his hands grabbed your face pulling you in for a kiss. Giving you time to react this time, you kissed back, your hands placing themselves over his.

Now, sitting at a college party with your boyfriend, you think to yourself, ‘Maybe parties aren’t so bad after all.’

[cinnaminsvga]

autumn leaves | l.i.b. finale

→ summary: and in the end, we fall because we have no other choice. some get up easier than others, and we bury the ones who never do. 

→ pairing: ??? x reader → genre: angst, humor, fluff, lib!au → warnings: tae gets hurt a little but its an accident (he’s fine dw), small blood mention (from aforementioned accident), rage moments (rip lol), heartbreak (yum!), a happy ending (?) → words: 7.7K → a/n: oh my god we’re at the end?? after two months of SUFFERING?? how can this be happening?? lol but seriously thank you to everyone for going on this journey with me. writing lib was honestly so much fun, and it’s been a while since i’ve been able to kinda go “all-out” or whatever. i’m kind of nervous with this ending, but hopefully it’s something everyone will be able to enjoy. peace!!

prev // part 38 of 38 masterlist here. [series completed]

October 1, 2020 — 6:18 PM

Min Yoongi’s phone feels like it's burning a hole into his back pocket. It’s a heavy presence, weighing like concrete enough to bend his spine. His hands itch to reach for it, to check for messages he knows he won’t receive. But in the back of his mind, he thinks—desperately and senselessly, that if he wishes hard enough, then maybe it’ll come true.

I should be glad that she isn’t calling me, he tries to convince himself. The itch continues to grow, licking at the back of his mind like a fire begging to be extinguished. I should trust her decision. I should be proud of her. But there’s always been a difference, after all, to what Yoongi should do and what he wants. It’s a difference that he has fought to ignore for years now.

“Hyung,” a soft voice calls out to him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder. Yoongi blinks slowly out of his trance, his eyes dry from staring out his car window for too long. He doesn’t turn in his seat, refusing to face his companion in the backseat. “Hyung,” the voice calls out again, this time shaking him vigorously enough that Yoongi has no other choice but to turn lest his shoulders get dislocated.

“What do you want, Jimin?” Yoongi growls, sneering at the boy. Jimin smiles sheepishly, but he doesn’t back down under his glare.

“Sorry. You were gripping the wheel so tightly that I was scared you were going to break it.” Jimin shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to his tone, betraying his worry. Yoongi releases the wheel at once, switching to picking at the rips in his jeans instead.

“Didn’t notice. Sorry for snapping at you, I was just…” Yoongi trails off, expression glazing over once more. What was he trying? What was he doing here?

Jimin’s pupils flit all over Yoongi’s face, searching for something. “We’re not going to bring her home anymore?” he asks, but there’s a note of finality there. He knows that they aren’t going home with them tonight, at least not right now. They’ve been parked a block away from Namjoon’s childhood home for a few hours now, sitting in Yoongi’s car and waiting to see if you needed them to help you escape. Jimin has been watching Yoongi all the while, keeping track of the small changes in his friend’s expression.

They are hard to pinpoint sometimes, but Jimin sees them all. He sees the way Yoongi’s brow furrows slightly, sees the way his teeth nibble on his lips in worry, sees the way his head jerks every time he hears a sound, thinking that it might be his phone about to ring. Yoongi is like a pot about to boil over, hardly keeping everything together.

To many people, Yoongi often appears to be as unmoving as a rock. He hardly allows his emotions to control him, and he has always been proud to call himself a level-headed person. And for the most part, Jimin agrees with that. Yoongi is and always will be someone who thrives in times of turmoil, someone who relies on his wit to get him through adversity. He seldom gets angry, rarely raises his voice, never acts cruelly. He’s the person that everyone in their friend group often comes to for advice and support, as he’s always the one who seems to have the right thing to say.

But all those things begin to crumble, however, when it comes to you.

Yoongi is still human, too. He bends, he breaks, he yields—and he does so, especially for you.

“No, we’re not bringing her home,” Yoongi replies. The admission is there, hidden in plain sight. His words are laced with defeat, but it is a defeat that has been accepted long ago. Long before his text conversation with you.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Jimin asks, not unkindly. Even still, Yoongi winces. Jimin’s real question is there, hidden in plain sight as well. What are you waiting for?

Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against the wheel. He hears Jimin shift in his seat, feels his presence get closer as he leans forward to place a comforting hand on his back. “Nothing,” he says. He breathes deeply through his nose and counts to three. Releases it. “We are waiting for nothing.”

Jimin hums and says nothing more. They sit there in silence for a bit longer, watching the sun’s final moments in the sky before the moon takes its place. The street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in its dusty yellow luminescence. Under the lights, Yoongi’s skin looks tired and worn, like a paper that has been crumpled and smoothed over multiple times.

“I wonder if they’ve finished speaking by now,” Yoongi says suddenly. He still hasn’t moved from his position, his face hidden from view. It almost looks like he hadn’t spoken at all, but Jimin had heard him. He looks at Yoongi in surprise but keeps his silence. Jimin can feel the beginnings of something about to break, and he is afraid that if he makes a sound, it might stop. Even stones break in the end.

“I doubt it. They have a lot of shit to talk about. Too much, in fact.” Yoongi sounds exhausted, his words slurring together like he’s falling asleep. But he’s never been more wide awake. “I’d have a lot to say if I were them. But I’m not them, nor will I ever be.”

Yoongi tilts his head high enough that he can rest his chin on the wheel instead. He stares blankly at the quiet street, listens intently to the sound of the wind beating gently against his car. Parked out there, in the middle of a small neighborhood in Ilsan, far away from the bustling streets of the city, he can almost trick himself into thinking that he’s the only person in the world—

“You love her.”

—but he isn’t alone.

Jimin says it without a shade of doubt. He says it like it's a simple truth of life, like there is no other possible way Yoongi could feel otherwise. The sky is blue. The earth is round. Min Yoongi is in love with you.

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes it out, the confession tumbling through his lips with quiet ease. It does not struggle; it does not resist. It just is. “I’ve loved her before I even knew it myself, I think.”

“I never thought you’d be the type to fall in love at first sight,” Jimin says it lightly, teasingly. There’s a shrivel of truth to it though, but Yoongi will deny it to his dying day; it’ll hurt less if he does.

“I think it started a year ago. When I was preparing for my junior year exhibition.” Yoongi remembers the long nights working until his hands bled, the recurring nightmares eating at his mind, the fear climbing his spine like a tightrope pulled taut. It’s one of the only times when he had bitten more than he could chew, piling impossible expectations onto himself. In those long three weeks of constant anxiety nipping at his heels, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be human. That is, until…

“She saved me. She taught me to slow down, to be compassionate to myself. She didn’t judge me or scold me or hurt me. She just… cared.” Yoongi exhales, clenching his eyes shut. He can see it in his head: your soft hands carding through his hair, whispering assurances and praise into his ears, guiding him to his bed and staying with him until he’d fallen asleep soundly for the first time in days. “Slowly but surely, I started to fall for her. There was just no other way. My heart refused to have it any other way,” he says.

Jimin hums. “I’d always guessed, but I never thought it was that early. You do have an awful habit of staring, hyung. Sometimes I feel like you have to remind yourself to blink.”

Yoongi laughs, hollow sounding. “I suppose I do.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it then?”

Jimin’s question is expected. It should be an easy one to answer, but Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to say. It’s easy to say that he knew Jungkook and you already loved each other long before he realized his feelings, and Yoongi was the last person on earth who would do anything to hurt either of you to fulfill his desires. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth.

So instead, Yoongi responds, “It’s because I’m a hypocrite.” When he doesn’t elaborate, he sees Jimin give him a confused look from the rearview mirror.

Yoongi chuckles sardonically, shaking his head. His mouth feels like acid, as if bile had risen up his throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but it would hurt more later if he didn’t suck the poison out right here and now. “Nevermind about that. The point is, I lost my chance and I don’t regret it. Yeah, it fucking hurts like a bitch, but what am I going to do? Cry about it? We’ve all known since the beginning that if anyone is going to get a happy ending, it’s certainly not going to be me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin says, frowning slightly. He had spoken so sternly that it impelled Yoongi to straighten up in his seat and turn to stare at him. It’s quite unlike Jimin to be anything but friendly and kind, so seeing him so severe is disconcerting. Though, it did manage to shut Yoongi up immediately.

“This is not the end of the world. You are not going to end up unloved or forgotten. There are people who love you, people who will love you. Don’t you remember? Those were the same words you told me when I got my heart broken the first time,” Jimin says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. Yoongi’s gaze flies to Jimin’s fists, clenched tightly by his sides.

Of course, Yoongi remembers. It’s hard to forget the sight of Park Jimin sobbing relentlessly into his shoulder, fat tears falling like raindrops and down his flushed cheeks. He remembers saying the same words to you, too. He wonders, not for the first time, if his words are as ineffective to you as they are to him right now.

“I know,” Yoongi says. He switches the engine on and watches his dashboard light up. The radio turns on, the last notes of a ballad playing through the speakers. Yoongi puts his hand on the wheel, carefully not to grip too tightly this time. It’s a start, he thinks.

They go home, leaving without looking back.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 9:20 PM

Kim Taehyung locks his bedroom door the moment he gets home, after casting a furtive glance at the closed door across from his. He does not know what he expects; the door across from him has been closed for almost a week now. The entire apartment is still, but he is not alone. The ghost who lives in the other bedroom still haunts him, in more ways than one.

He drops his bag to the floor, still cradling a small bouquet of camellias that was slightly crushed when he had bumped into someone in the elevator. He unpeels the plastic wrapping, gently placing them into the vase near his windowsill. He fingers the vibrant pink petals, but they don’t brighten his room the way they once did. It still feels dark, but he has a sinking suspicion that he had nothing to do with his lights.

It’s me. I’ve changed.

He shakes his head, banishing the thought. No, it’s okay. Everything is fine. You’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, the door across the hall begs to differ.

Typically, this shouldn’t be a problem for him. When everything is said and done, Taehyung is used to this happening. The closed doors, the unopened texts, the cold shoulders. It’s all a process that Taehyung has lived through for years.

Guilt: an emotion that Taehyung has become accustomed to. Abandonment: an action that Taehyung has learned to anticipate. Isolation: a lifestyle that Taehyung has mastered. Every relationship with Kim Taehyung will always lead to these three things, so it shouldn’t be affecting him the way that it is.

But over the last three years, he’d grown comfortable. The people around him had convinced him unknowingly, planting seeds of hope and optimism in a garden he had thought to be infertile. For once in his life, Taehyung had found a home in these people, and he’d do anything in his power to keep it safe.

Or at least, he thought he did.

His original intentions had been guileless; he wanted to help Jungkook because he was his friend. Jungkook had been his first friend in university—if he wanted to be honest, then Taehyung would even say that Jungkook was his first friend in his entire life. The boy was kind-hearted and supportive, wrapped perfectly with a goofy personality. Of course, Taehyung wasn’t blind to Jungkook’s faults, but he was sure that Jungkook didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He had decided back then that he could trust this one, and once he had allowed Jungkook into his life, the rest followed suit.

It was easy to empathize with Jungkook because he was just so… awkward. It was like watching a newborn fawn learning to walk for the first time, except Jungkook had long since outgrown his baby status and should have been independent long ago. Taehyung and everyone knew this about him, but they still gave him the benefit of the doubt. They mentored him, guided him, manipulated him in the wrong ways in hopes of hastening him to change. That was until…

Everything fell apart. Taehyung understood long before the fall that he had played a considerable part in Jungkook’s ruin. His negligence, his willful involvement in worsening the situation had exacerbated everything. He had ignored the signs, had barrelled through with his plans without another thought, all because he allowed himself to be blind to what he truly wanted out of this mess.

If he genuinely wanted to be a friend to Jungkook, he would’ve stopped interfering way before you had gone to Ilsan that one fateful weekend in August. He’d been aware he was doing more harm than good to everyone around him, including himself.

No, he stopped wanting to help Jungkook a long time ago. It had turned into his own personal agenda.

“Fuck!” Taehyung screams into the night sky, slamming his hands against the wall. He grabs the nearby vase, smashing it against the floor and scattering water, petals, and glass across the floor. The impact causes a few shards to imbed themselves into his shin, but he does not mind them, for he does not feel them.

He breathes heavily, gritting his teeth in unspeakable rage. He’s angry, so furious. This red hot searing rage builds up in his body until he starts to feel dizzy, his vision blurred with tinges of black. Why is he mad? Who is he mad at?

Is he mad at Jungkook? Yes, but that isn’t new. He’s been angry at Jungkook for a while now. It frustrates him to no end how lucky Jungkook is without even knowing. How easily love comes to him, how pain and misfortune had never been in his vocabulary until just recently. Jungkook had you, Yoongi, and Jimin for longer than he has. Jungkook has been swaddled in affection since the start but has always been too stupid to see. If he had just stopped being so cowardly, he could have easily gotten the person he loves without anyone’s help.

If he just learned to ask, if he just learned to stop fucking locking his goddamn door—

Just like Taehyung.

They are two sides of the same coin, and it scares him.

This raw, unadulterated rage is not about Jungkook, but himself. It was always about him.

He lets out one last defiant shout at the frigid sky before dropping to his bed in defeat. The fury subsides as quickly as it comes, but it only leaves a desolate landscape inside of him.

He does not know for how long he lies there. When he stands, he leaves bloody footprints in his wake. “Appropriate,” he mutters to himself. He limps over to his door, hobbling to the adjacent bathroom to retrieve a first-aid kit. When he opens the door, Taehyung does not notice the small white box placed in front of his doorway. He nearly trips over it, saving himself by latching onto the wooden frame. He glances down, picking up the box gingerly when he sees a small sticky note tacked on top of it.

If you need help, just knock.

Taehyung looks across the hall. The door is still closed, but the person behind it is not.

His grip on the first-aid kit tightens. The first step is always the hardest.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 1:03 PM

When you had run the moment you spotted Jungkook, Jung Hoseok had chosen to stay behind. He had pushed Jungkook to go after you, had yelled at him when Jungkook had hesitated for that one split second.

“Go!” he shouted, jolting Jungkook to his senses. He sprinted off, but not before giving Hoseok one last look back. Hoseok put on his bravest smile at him, throwing a thumbs up. “Don’t give up yet!”

Even now, ten minutes later, his throat still feels scratchy from how loud he had been.

He sits by the curb where he had parked his parents’ car. Namjoon sits beside him, a few inches apart. The autumn wind sends chills down his back, the afternoon sun doing its best to keep him warm. Though, he reckons that half the cold is because of the weather.

Hoseok clears his throat at the same moment Namjoon does. They share a glance, the beginnings of a smile playing on their lips. They look back to the ground, avoiding each other once more. Hoseok taps indiscernible beats with his feet while Namjoon draws shapes in the air with his fingers.

Hoseok tries again. “Umm. Namjoon,” he mumbles tentatively. He doesn’t know where to start.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know. I’ve known you since before you even learned how to walk.” Namjoon beats him to it, like always. “I can guess what you want to say.”

Hoseok hazards a glance at him. His friend is tanner than he remembers, the summer months having done well on his skin. He almost giggles when he notices the line where the edge of his shirt sleeve meets his bicep, the stark contrast of color evident whenever Namjoon moves his arm. It has been a while since he has seen Namjoon with a tan line, as Hoseok was usually there to remind him to put sunscreen on before leaving the house.

Usually.

Hoseok sobers up, the momentary amusement evaporating just like that. How is it that in only one month, so many things have changed between them?

“What do you think I want to say?” Hoseok responds. He tries to keep his voice level and cool, but he knows that Namjoon notices the small ways in which he falters. Namjoon knows how he rubs his neck when he’s nervous, how his ears get red when he’s embarrassed. He memorizes the exact time it takes for Hoseok’s mouth to downturn, forming into his signature pout.

He knows all these things and more. And yet, how could Namjoon possibly know the traitorous things that he has done?

“I think… you got sidetracked,” Namjoon says slowly, carefully. When Hoseok glances at him again, he finds that Namjoon is looking back. He has a contemplative expression on his face, his jaw clenched in the same way that it does when he’s solving a tough problem. “I think you wanted to help me get together with her, didn’t you? At least, in the beginning.”

“I still do,” Hoseok admits, breaking his gaze once more. He stares up ahead, where the park is bustling with children and their families. He watches a small boy swinging on a swing set, while another boy pushes him higher and higher. “Do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“When you texted me while you were freaking out over how you were falling in love with her?”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course. How could I forget? I’m still freaking out about it now.”

“I was just… worried about you, you know? I’m always worried about you,” Hoseok says. The boy on the swing set is still going, but one extra strong push from his friend causes him to tumble, landing face-first into the ground. The nearby adults begin to panic, but the boy rises unsteadily, dirt caked onto his scratched up face. But when he faces his friend, he’s smiling and laughing like he has just won the lottery.

“Not an unfounded concern,” Namjoon chuckles, causing Hoseok to put on a small smile. His laughter dies as quickly as it comes. “Was that the time you decided to help me?”

“I’ve wanted to help you since the beginning, but that was the first time I actually did something about it.” Hoseok’s heart is beating a mile a minute, his palms sweaty despite the chilly weather. “I only wanted to find out if Jungkook really liked her or not. I wanted to know if you had a chance before you fell any deeper because I didn't want you to get hurt.”

When Namjoon doesn’t say anything, Hoseok continues. “Even when he admitted that he did love her, I could sense that there was a huge chance things weren’t going to work between them as long as if some things were just… pushed in the right direction.” His voice grows smaller the more and more he speaks, the guilt feeling heavy against his windpipe. But Hoseok is determined to tell him, no matter what happens. It’s the least that Namjoon deserves.

“I suppose, in this case, it would be the wrong direction,” Namjoon hums, but he doesn’t appear angry or upset. Not yet, at least. From the corner of Hoseok’s eye, he sees him nod for him to go on.

“Yeah. I could tell he was insecure, and that insecurity was prone to growing into jealousy,” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots just to give his hands something to do other than to quiver. “I noticed that he shuts down whenever he’s cornered, so that’s what I did. I kept pushing him, forcing him to admit his wrongdoings but never berating him for them. So, in turn, he began relying on me for comfort instead of his friends.”

He keeps going, “I didn’t feel bad for it at first. I kept telling myself, ‘It’s all for Namjoon in the long run.’ But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t keep helping you without hurting Jungkook in the process. I was manipulating this poor boy, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Hoseok waits for Namjoon to react. He can’t bear to look at him, far too ashamed even to consider turning. He’s sure he’ll find disgust in his kind friend’s eyes, and he isn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from running if he saw it. But Namjoon refuses to speak, probably not until Hoseok finishes his piece.

“Jungkook didn’t deserve what I did to him. All the things he did is nothing in comparison to the punishment I inflicted on him, especially when it was never my place to do so. I fed the monster inside of him when he was nothing but a boy who was just scared. Then, just when he still had a shot at redemption, when she was still willing to listen to him, it was also me who ruined everything. I told her about all the bad things he had done. I told her about—”

“The thing about Jungkook paying to spread that rumor,” Namjoon speaks so suddenly that Hoseok nearly chokes in surprise. He had been so quiet that he scarcely even seemed to breathe. “You told her about it, didn’t you?”

“I… Yes, I did. She told you about it?”

“Yeah. She never informed me who told her, but I suppose it makes sense. But there was something else you said, wasn’t there? Something even she wouldn’t tell me.”

Hoseok nods his head sadly. “Yes. I think she was probably more hurt to find out that Jungkook had been ignoring her in favor of hanging out with me. Indirectly, I fed into her jealousy, but instead of comforting her, I intensified her guilt.”

Beside him, Namjoon releases a shaky breath. “You brought me up.”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it; after all, Hoseok has always been a terrible liar.

“Did you tell her..?” The question hangs heavily in the air, but Namjoon doesn’t have to finish it for Hoseok to understand.

“No, I didn’t tell her you love her. I just mentioned how she was hurting you by loving Jungkook. That’s all. I don’t think she even had the chance to understand what I meant.”

There’s a moment of silence. The two boys sit side by side, looking to all the world like friends just enjoying an autumn afternoon together. The sounds of children singing, of parents chatting, of lovers laughing try their best to fill the space, but the gap is already too big to mend. At least, not immediately.

“Okay.”

Hoseok startles once more, this time managing to gather enough courage to take a peek at Namjoon. He keeps his eyes low, staring at the mole on his chin. “Okay?” he repeats.

Namjoon shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s done. All we can do now is wait, I guess.”

“But… you’re not..?”

“Mad at you? No, I’m not. Am I hurt? Incredibly so.” Namjoon swallows thickly, his chin wobbling as he finds the strength to keep his tears at bay. “But I can tell you found your way back to the light, and I’m more relieved that you realized your mistake more than anything. I forgive you, but just know that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

“That’s already more than I deserve, Joon,” he says shakily. He feels a hand snake around his own, and he looks down to find their fingers laced together. On Namjoon’s wrist, the bracelet he had made for him in the 7th grade is frayed and mangled, but still ever-present. “But… what now? If they truly end up fixing everything, will you be okay with it? If Jungkook is still fighting for her… why aren’t you?”

“Same goes for you, I suppose,” Namjoon says simply. He doesn’t explain what he means by that, but Hoseok is honestly too afraid to ask. He’s always felt like Namjoon knew a little bit too much about things that he shouldn’t. He smiles, but there is a tinge of melancholy there. 

Just out of reach, the way Namjoon has always seemed to be.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 5:12 PM

At first, Jeon Jungkook is surprised to find the park more empty than when he was here a few hours ago. He supposes it is only to be expected, as dinner time is fast approaching and all the families have returned to their homes, preparing for the festivities. In another life, he might have been one of those families, sitting around a table with his brother and parents and eating to his heart’s content. Perhaps he might’ve asked you to join him, just like you had in the past.

He finds you seated on one of the benches near the entrance, kicking away fallen leaves absentmindedly. He takes this moment to observe you from afar, his breath getting caught in his throat when he realizes how long it has been since he last saw you.

His heart aches, the constant heaviness that has made a home in his chest growing tenfold. There are no words to explain the plethora of emotions flying through his head, but all he knows is that at the root of it all, he simply just misses you.

You hear him approach him before you see him. When he looks at you, Jungkook doesn’t know how you’re feeling. He used to be so good at anticipating your mood, always the first one to sense when you were upset or annoyed. Now, you just looked… blank, and for some reason, that hurts to see more than if you had been angry.

Jungkook stops right in front of you, his black boots crunching on dead leaves. You motion for him to take a seat beside you, patting the bench lightly.

“Hi. It’s been a while,” you say softly. You aren’t looking at him, and your hair obstructs him from viewing your face.

“Hello,” he replies, feeling dumb. He can’t think of anything better to say, all the things he had prepared in his mind suddenly blown away with the wind. The sight of you alone makes his mouth go dry, his hands to grow cold and clammy. He realizes, not for the first time, how terribly out of his depth he is.

“This has certainly been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

“It has been,” he agrees. “It’s almost laughable how long it’s taken us to get to this moment.”

You bark out a laugh, the hoarse sound ringing in the air. “Laughable is certainly one way to put it, I guess.”

“Then why did you ignore me for so long? Why did you suddenly shut me out when you told me you wanted to talk? What happened?” He speaks without meaning to, the words flying out of his mouth before he can think of stopping. If his sudden inquiry startles you, you don’t show it.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You shrug, pushing back some of your hair behind your ear. He can see the slope of your nose, the outline of your lips, the shape of your eyes. He memorizes all these things about you, sees you in his dreams and nightmares, but nothing can ever beat real life.

“I’m sorry.” It’s a start: two words heavy with meaning. What does he apologize for first? The rumors? The jealousy? The betrayal? It wouldn’t matter which one he chooses to tackle first because he already knows sorry isn’t going to cut it, but he has to try at least. This isn’t really about him anymore or about asking for forgiveness. You deserve to know everything he’s done—if you wanted to know, that is.

You blink rapidly, but your eyes are dry. “I know.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to trust me.”

“I don’t,” you say, and it hurts the both of you when you do. Jungkook feels his insides clench, feels his heart collapse in his chest. “I don’t trust you, Jungkook,” you repeat.

“I…” Jungkook has to take a few shuddering breaths, his vision going blurry as he tries to keep it together. He waits for the pain to ebb, but it flows like a river down his veins. “I hurt you a lot. It’s only right that you don’t trust me.”

“I have a lot of regrets,” you say, sniffling. You still aren’t crying, but your nose is red from the cold. He wonders how long you had sat here waiting for him to arrive. How long have you been waiting for him in general?

“I have a lot of those, too,” he says. “I regret being unfair to you. For keeping people away from getting close to you, like a property meant to be hidden away. I tried to steal you for myself, but that’s not a very good thought, is it? I shouldn’t have thought that you were a thing to be kept. You should have been someone I treasured.”

“Then why didn’t you treasure me?” The question echoes loudly in Jungkook’s ears, as it’s the very same question that has weighed in his mind the moment he started to wonder where he’d gone wrong. Why hadn’t he loved you the way that he should have?

“Because I abused your love for me, even when I wasn’t aware of it,” he says plainly. He has known the answer for a while now but refused to accept it until this moment. It feels like a cork inside of him has burst, releasing all the foul, wretched things inside of him and out into the open. And once they start tumbling out, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop.

“I think we both knew we loved each other for as long as we can remember. We skirted around each other because we were scared of change, of losing the friendship we had built over the years. We purposefully ignored each other’s feelings and brushed off our friends’ attempts to help us realize something we already knew.”

“We did,” you say. “That was both our faults.”

“But I was never good at bottling up my feelings. It was only a matter of time before the love I had for you began to grow claws and fangs, and somehow along the way,” he pauses, a breath of sorrowful laughter escaping him, “I had gotten lost.”

Your expression morphs then, shifting from pain, to grief, to acceptance. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes look glazed over, like your mind is somewhere else. When you come back down, you already have another question for him. “Why didn’t you ever ask me out?”

He should just say something else, but he can’t help but wonder—”Why didn’t you?”

“I tried—a couple of times. You never noticed they were dates,” you shrug. A leaf from one of the nearby trees gets caught in your hair, and Jungkook reflexively plucks it out. You both freeze when his fingers graze your nape, gazes locking with one another. He jerks his hand back, but doesn’t look away—doesn’t dare to.

(It might be his last chance.)

“I’m sorry for being dense. For resorting to buying rumors so that I could pretend to date you when I could have asked for the real thing. I’m sorry for setting you up with… Namjoon,” he hesitates on his name, and you notice. “It must have confused you greatly, only worsening the doubt you must’ve had for me.”

“It did.” The corners of your eyes look wetter than before, tears dangerously close to the surface. “When I asked you if I should go to Ilsan the first time... You told me to go, even though everyone told me you were jealous of Namjoon. I was starting to believe them, hoping that maybe it was a sign that everything before then had just been a misunderstanding. But that was all you, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me to stay?”

“It was a mistake,” he mutters. He shakes his head at the memory: a frequent recurring nightmare of his as he is forced to remember the moment everything had started to go downhill. “I had realized I was being a jealous asshole far too late, and I was trying to clear my own conscience. I thought that… if I let you go, then you’d think better of me. That I might be absolved of my sins if I took your trip as my penance. I didn’t think you were trying to see if I would stop you,” he explains, but it sounds like an excuse even to his ears.

You sit together, watching the sun begin to set, bathing the world in its orange hues. Jungkook feels empty, wrung out like a towel left to dry. The wounds inside him ache and throb, but he knows they won’t last. As surely as the sun will rise, he will also relearn to feel whole again—even if it means you won’t be there to see it.

“I waited for so long, Koo.” You shake your head, allowing a few traitorous tears to fall. You let out a watery laugh. “ I waited for this moment for so long, but I never imagined it would be like this.”

Jungkook studies his hands. He desperately wants to hold you one more time, but the ship has already sailed. “We’ve already sailed past each other a long time ago.”

You nod your head sadly. “We have.”

“Is it bad that I wish that we hadn’t?” he whispers, but he doesn’t really expect a response from you. He rubs his face, covertly trying to wipe his tears away. “I guess there’s a reason why you called me number two, huh?”

You can’t even force out a laugh. You sob unabashedly, cupping your face in your hands. This is the end.

This is the end of a great long adventure between you and him—the time for your roads to diverge closes in, like a shadow looming over their heads.

Jungkook wraps you in an embrace for the last time. You shake like a leaf in his arms, clutching at his chest like you don’t want to let go. He drinks you in, tries to commit everything about you to his memory. “Thank you for loving me, even if it didn’t work out. Thank you for being my first love.”

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 7:07 PM

Kim Namjoon opens the door to his childhood home the moment he hears footsteps climbing up the stairs. He’d done so numerous times already, spooking one or two of his neighbors at his sudden appearance. This time, however, he finds the person he had been waiting for.

“Oh, Y/N. Thank god,” he sighs in relief when he sees you, rushing out the door just as you finish taking the last stairstep. You wobble in surprise when you notice him, nearly falling over with a scream before he catches you by the waist to keep you steady. He pulls you close, pressing your face gently into his chest.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so sorry for bringing you to Ilsan even though Yoongi told us not to go. I’m sorry for not telling you that I knew Jungkook and Hoseok were coming here, too. I’m so sorry for—”

“Namjoon,” you try to interrupt him, but he keeps going.

“—wanting you and Jungkook to reconcile even if you didn’t want you to leave me. You just looked so sad all the time, and I knew you needed to speak to him at least one more time so that you could find closure, but I should have asked you first like a decent person—”

“Namjoon,” you repeat. Namjoon pauses long enough to see that our eyes are red-rimmed from crying, further increasing the panic rising in his body.

“Oh god, I didn’t want you to be sadder! I just… God! I just wanted to help you for once, because you always helped me with everything. I know you deserve to make your own decisions, to be your own person, but I ignored that in favor of following my stupid gut—”

“Joonie, the neighbors can hear you,” you hiss, furtively glancing at the doors opening around them. You can feel many eyes on you, watching curiously at the red-faced idiot babbling like a man possessed. You motion for him to stop, but he’s too caught up in the moment.

“For a while, I thought I could stop myself from falling in love with you, but it was so hard! You have to understand how impossible it is not to love you. Believe me, I tried!” Namjoon all but shouts the last part out, shaking you by the shoulders. “I don’t deserve you! I’m just not a good boyfriend! I’m insecure to a fault, I’m boring, I have mild sleep apnea, I forget to throw out the empty milk cartons—”

You yelp as he continues to shake you, gently having to pry his hands off of you to save yourself from being shaken like a bobblehead. “Joonie,” you say, firmer this time.

He rambles and rambles and rambles. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, hands gesticulating wildly like a human helicopter. He’s so wrapped up in his monologue that he doesn’t realize immediately when you take his hands in yours, forcing him to keep still.

“Joonie.”

“—and I’ve never been able to hold a relationship for longer than two months! My past girlfriend even left me after cheating on me the entire time—”

“Joonie.”

“I’ve never been good at being vulnerable and being myself, but you somehow managed to make me feel like I was worth something. You made me feel so so so incredibly loved. You made me feel important!”

“Kim Namjoon!” You shout, finally losing your temper and flicking him on the forehead. That finally manages to stop him, his eyes going cross-eyed like a cartoon character. You could almost see the flying stars orbiting his head. Properly silenced now, you push him back into his apartment, kicking the door with your foot before locking it for good measure.

When you turn back to face him, he’s still frozen where you left him. He stands in the middle of his living room like a robot, his mouth slightly agape as if his wires had been fried. Rolling your eyes goodnaturedly, you pull him to the couch, gently guiding him so that he doesn’t accidentally fall on his ass as he continues to short circuit in front of you. It takes him another whole minute to get his bearings together, but you’re a patient person. You sit in the adjacent armchair and wait for him to speak.

“Oh my god.” He swallows awkwardly, the color draining from his face. “What the hell did I do?”

“Welcome back to earth,” you smile, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you.” It seems as though Namjoon’s weird candor spell is still in effect. He has the presence of mind to be embarrassed this time, however, and you watch amusedly as his cheeks begin to redden. “I, umm…”

“Gave quite a show out there. I didn’t know you could rap,” you tease, your mouth curling up into a smile. The muscles in your cheeks feel sore, almost as if it has been ages since you last used them. This morning feels like it had happened eons ago.

“Sorry. I just… had a lot to say,” he replies lamely. He hangs his head, embarrassed to look you in the eye. “So… I’m guessing you spoke to Jungkook?”

He hears you hum in agreement, but you don’t say anything on the matter. Namjoon has never been one to pry, but his overactive brain can’t help but make connections out of nothing, trying to make sense of the world in desperation.

“I’m guessing you’re here to reject me, right? I’m sorry for confessing to you all of a sudden when you’re already spoken for. It was unfair of me, and you don’t need to try and spare my feelings at all. I’ve been prepared for this since August,” he speaks rapidly, nearly losing his breath in his haste. “It was my fault for thinking we could have happened. I mistook your kindness for reciprocation when I should have known better—”

“Joonie, my love. You’re rambling again.” Your voice snaps him back to reality. He turns redder somehow, sinking deep into his seat.

“S-sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you huff, pouting in annoyance, but Namjoon catches the fondness in your eyes. “You aren’t unfair at all.”

“E-even so,” he stutters, heart hammering in his chest. “I shouldn’t have expected anything to happen between us. We were only going to fake date until the end of Chuseok, so it was foolish of me to try and… replace Jungkook, somehow. But I suppose, in the grand scheme of things… he’s a tough act to follow up to, huh? Seven years of loving someone is a long time. I don’t hold a candle to that,” he says dejectedly.

“But you do.” The words slip out before you can stop them. Your eyes widen, shocked by your own admission. Even so, you know what you said is true, and you wouldn’t take it back even if you could. 

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear it when he doesn’t react. It takes a second for his brain to buffer, but Namjoon had heard you, loud and clear.

“What do you mean?” His tone is soft, hesitant. Afraid, but hopeful.

You shrug your shoulders. You want to tell him everything, but you are impossibly tired, your eyelids like sandbags just waiting to fall. Namjoon must have noticed because he stumbles out of his seat with his arms outstretched, ready to keep you from slumping over.

“Woah, there. I’m sorry for interrogating when you must be exhausted. Do you want to take my bed instead of the couch tonight?” he asks, kneeling in front of you.

You blink sleepily at him, nodding with a large yawn. “I wanna talk to you but I’m tired,” you say, before promptly toppling onto him. He doesn’t flinch at your weight, catching you in an instant. He lets you nestle your face into his neck, and he grabs your arms until they’re laced around his shoulders. Slowly, he gets up with you in his arms, a feeling of weightlessness filling your senses. Safe.

When he tucks you into his bed, the sheets smell familiar and homey. Namjoon sits by the edge, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. “Namjoon?” Your voice sounds muted to your own ears, as if you were underwater. But you don’t feel like you’re drowning, not at all.

“Yes?” He watches you with kind eyes, the same ones he has always had. To you, he looks like a prayer come to life, a promise ready to be fulfilled.

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?”

Namjoon exhales out a laugh, smiling sweetly. I love your dimples, you want to say, but your body feels heavy. Tomorrow. You’ll tell him for sure.

“Yes, Y/N. I’ll always be here. For as long as you want.”

You close your eyes. Tomorrow.

It’s a promise.

[sadachmesarthim]

C-cowboy starker? What if cowboy starker, I mean? I think... cattle driver Tony maybe, and ranch hand Peter,,, always wanted to write about this but I’m shy 🙈

mid-writing edit: i’ve spent half an hour on this and my computer is literally lagging with how fast i’m typing. i really hope this makes sense because holy shit, i love cowboy starker. anon, i need you in my inbox every single fucking time you have an idea about starker. idk if it’s in passing, idk if it’s super fleeting and doesn’t make sense. anon, you are my muse

ohhhhh my god anon i ,, love this idea so much i’ve actually thought about this a bit ngl you don’t even know how much i like western aus

okay so hear me out:

i’m thinking brokeback type shit, right?? but just a tad different like be honest who doesn’t like the whole bbm trope yfm and twink jake gyllenhaal is my baby okay okay okay sorry babe i’m still crossfaded as fuck and i could talk about that movie for days anyway back on topic

- no okay but think of it - tony, he’s recently divorced and morgan, his baby girl, his one and only daughter, she’s 19 now and seeing this absolute gentleman of a roughneck. his house is empty, he isn’t paying child support anymore, he doesn’t have this bitchy redhead on his ass 24/7 about getting a job in the city

- because tony hates the city, hates that his father dragged them away from the mountains and prairies he remembers from his childhood. hates what the city gave him - black eyes and mean names and disappointed parents

- so tony high tailed it the fuck out of dodge the second he turned 18. abandoned school, abandoned his family, took his beat up ford out to montana and disappeared. married this nice girl, virginia pepper, worked construction to support her while she went to school. had a pretty baby girl a year or two later. moved both of his girls out to a ranch he bought with their tiny savings, got a couple’a cows and a horse and made friends with a neighbor with a bull

- but eventually, pep had bigger dreams. they were both young when they got married, didn’t look past the immediate sexual compatibility to see that their futures were well and truly not going to go well together

- so she left the ranch, took morgan with, and made her way to the city. became some big lawyer or doctor or businesswoman or something, tony didn’t know. didn’t really care because the child support invoices still came every single month like clockwork. 

- so instead of focusing on his distant daughter and his ex wife that wouldn’t listen to him and his family that just... didn’t understand, he threw himself into the wildlife around him

- became closer with those neighbors that had a bull. eventually came to an agreement and let him free with his girls

- built a very solid herd of highlanders in a handful of years, slowly attracting the attention of more and more owners wanting to trade, to buy, to sell 

- and maybe one year, he realizes, he’s in a bit too far over his head with this. he has 100 of these four legged fuckers, he has 50 acres to take care of by himself, he has horses to feed and shoe and groom. he has fields to plant and water and harvest if he wants to feed any of the animals mentioned above

- so he reaches out to his neighbors, puts feelers out and sees if anyone knows a farmhand who’d want to help him out, maybe live on the property full time for a bit. and when he gets a call back his heart breaks a bit, because oh my god he wasn’t prepared for this

- a kid, can’t have been more than morgan’s age, has responded to him, and he’s good with his hands mr. stark, and he knows his way around animals mr. stark, been takin’ care of ‘em for his whole life now mr. stark 

- and this kid is ,, he sounds so innocent and sweet there’s no way tony’s gonna say yes before he actually meets him 

- so tony gives the kid his address, tells him to come out and give things a once over before he makes his mind up

- so peter does. he comes out, introduces himself, looks around the property with tony. and tonys heart hurts, because this kid, this kid that’s standing right in front of him, is almost skin and bones and looks like he’s about to crumble into dust and blow away in his hands

- he brings peter into the house, brings him coffee, offers him food. even after peter politely declines he brings over some bread to share, maybe a slice of pie?? maybe tony can cook and bake. he has a sweet tooth after all, and he’s been on his own for the better part of two decades. 

- and he really gets to know peter. they sit, they talk, until the sun dips down and the open mountain chill takes over them

- and peter tells him that he’s been on his own for a couple of years, that his parents died when he was young and that his aunt and uncle took him in on their ranch. that he grew up around animals, working, helping out

- but when they died the property was repossessed by the bank and peter’d all but ran with ben’s keys and the clothes on his back. he’s been on the road ever since, going from missouri to texas to wyoming to montana, all in search of work, never staying in one place longer than a few months. 

- he doesn’t tell tony that he’s secretly so, so tired of life on the road. doesn’t say how elated he was when he heard someone was looking for a fairly long-term live in farm hand. because that’s something he knew, something he was good at. 

- he also doesn’t tell tony that his heart skipped several beats in a row the second peter laid eyes on him, and that he really wants to work for the gorgeous man in front of him

- it’s finally dark, his coffee cup is long empty and abandoned and peter’s just spilled nearly every single deep dark secret he’s ever had. tony’s closing the windows, and peter makes for the door. he’s taken up enough of this beautiful kind man’s time, he should leave before he stays even further past his welcome

- but tony’s stopping him, blocking him from the door, lightly grabbing his wrist and turning peter to face him fully

- and he’s asking begging pleading  telling peter he should stay, that the spare room upstairs is warm and not going to be used anytime soon. that he still needs a farmhand and, as he sees it, peter’s already here

- secretly, tony can’t stand to see him leave

- he couldn’t handle letting his man this... kid, really, leave. not when tony could provide for him. not when he could feed him until his edges soften and his cheeks round out and his tummy gets squishy. not when he could work him into a sweat outside, watch that paperwhite skin turn a rich tan under the summer sun

- not even when he realizes the sudden care for the orphan in front of him is slowly becoming less familial, less platonic, and more... instinctual. base. greedy. 

- because who better to make sure this kid is looked after than tony? tony, who has work-worn hands and time-softened eyes and cooking skills any bachelor would die for

- it’s honestly not even that shocking to him when peter says yes

- not when he takes his hand off the doorknob and immediately turns, immediately breathes out a “yes, yes of course mr. stark, thank you so much mr. stark, i’ll do whatever you need me to, you’re incredible mr. stark”

- and it all immediately goes to tony’s dick head because fuck, that was not the intended reaction but it was absolutely welcome, what the fuck

- so tony takes him upstairs, gets peter settled in the guest bedroom right across from his own

- and when he goes to bed that night he absolutely does not touch himself while thinking about the barely 20something thats maybe 10 feet away. doesn’t think about what peter said earlier, with tony’s hand wrapped around his wrist

- absolutely doesn’t cum with peter’s name on his lips, biting down on his knuckles so peter doesn’t hear

- and peter absolutely doesn’t cum with three fingers in his ass, tears streaming down his face, listening to the creaking mattress springs and heavy breathing from across the hall. of course he doesn’t

- and of course they don’t get along well. of course not. of course they don’t work together like they’re telepathically connected, not even needing to speak to know what the other is thinking. it’s like peter can read his mind, knowing exactly what needs done when

- but it’s not just tony. peter can tell before anyone else when the farrier needs to be called. when one of the girls is pregnant, even before she starts showing. knows when one of the cattle dogs has a hurt paw without even seeing him. can tell when it’s going to rain, so he knows whether or not it’ll be a good day to cut the alfalfa fields

- it’s a little freaky to be honest but tony doesn’t hate it. it’s really useful with everything on the farm, and it’s... it’s nice. having someone that can so effortlessly understand him. 

- it’s also like peters... totally unaware of it. like he doesn’t even know he knows things he shouldnt know. which blows tony’s mind even more. 

- it kinda turns him on, and he finds himself with his hand around his cock wondering if peter knows he’s getting off thinking about him. like, more than once. maybe even more than once a week. definitely more than once a week. 

- and maybe peters kind of catching on, a little. that maybe his feelings toward his employer/landlord/new friend are shared

- it also doesn’t help that he gets uncontrollably aroused every time tony goes to bed. like. every... single... time...

- peter always knew he was.. attentive. but he didn’t know it would manifest as literally feeling tony’s arousal through the fucking walls

- and it doesn’t help that peter’s filling out. he’s getting darker as the months get warmer, he’s getting significantly more meat on his bones now that he’s eating more and working more

- and it really doesn’t help that tony is getting eyefuls of the half naked ranch hand almost 24/7. it’s really not his fault that peter works better without a shirt on

- and maybe it comes to a head one day. maybe they’re picking up alfalfa bales from one of the fields and they stop to take a break and tony just ,, can’t handle sweaty, tan, barely-a-twink-anymore peter.

- and peter can feel it, with his ,, unique senses, that tony’s watching him. like, a lot. like, way more than normal even 

- so he decides to play it up a bit. he takes his shirt off, he throws his gloves in the bed of the truck and balls the tee in his hands, wiping his face off with it and sighing deeply

- and he knows tony saw that because he could fucking hear tony’s breathing change and he smirks a little bit, because that’s enough confirmation for him to know for sure

- so he looks up, and he meets tony’s eyes, and they’re wild and feral and tony looks like one of the wolves that tried to take out one of their cows last winter - hungry and ready to devour what was in front of him

- and peter just looks at him, a little incredulous, and finally speaks up: ‘you gonna get over here ‘n kiss me, or what?’ - and tony fucking breaks

- he turns the truck off and slams the door when he gets out, grabbing peter by the neck and fucking dragging him against tony’s clothed body

- “do you know what you’ve been doing this whole time?” 

- of course peter does, tony, you fucking moron. he knows and he’s been trying to get you to rip him to shreds, dumbass. you’re just oblivious

- but tony still can’t help but see the tiny young man that walked up on his doorstep those years ago, can’t help but want to protect him and keep him safe and warm and fed 

- so of course tony wanted to go slow, and wanted to be gentle with peter

- but pete was having fucking none of that, because oh my god tony i’m not 19 anymore please just fuck me already and been wanting you for way too long and please tony just--  and he grabs tony’s hand and makes him squeeze even harder

- and it’s hot, and it’s messy, and it’s not even really sex, just them rutting and grabbing and jerking each other off up against the door of tony’s truck, belt buckles undone and jeans just barely tugged down

- and tony’s basking in it, watching peter’s eyes screw shut and his pretty plush lips open and the little ‘aah, nngh fuck, tony’s that push their way from his throat

- and he knows, the second they’re done here, they’re abandoning their work for the day and he’s taking peter back to the house and he’s going to show him what this is like for real, what it means to be touched with intention and love and emotion behind it - not just a quick handjob standing in the hay field

- and he does. he worships peter’s body when they get back to the house

- he kisses every single part of him, nips at the tiny bit of excess fat on his stomach and thighs and hips, relishing in the fact that peter is his, his to take care of, his to keep safe and healthy and happy

- and eventually, the guest room opens up again. peter’s stuff slowly moves into tony’s room. he stops getting paid, but that’s okay

- because why would you get paid to work on your own farm? 

[lyssismagical]

you were my fairy tale, my dream when I’m not sleeping

Parkner Febufluff  Day 11 & 12 – Proposal & Sung to Sleep

Read on AO3

*

It was a quiet night, as most nights were for Harley and Peter. When the latter got home from patrolling, he was always tired, always worn out.

They had a system where Peter would text Harley when he was wrapping up with patrol, normally around one in the morning, sometimes earlier, something a lot later. Whenever it was, Harley was always waiting up without question. He’d make some food, whether it be reheated leftovers from dinner before Peter left for patrolling, or a nutrition-dense snack of some sort.

Peter would get home, always right on time, and they would eat their late night snack, or meal in Peter’s case with his crazy metabolism.

They would curl up on the couch together and put on some TV, alternating between Harley’s choice and Peter’s choice of a TV show.

Later, if something went wrong on patrol or if something was weighing particularly heavy on Peter, they’d have the opportunity for quiet conversations in the dim light. Either Peter would explain what was happening in his head, or Harley would fill the space with distractions of what he’d done while Peter was out. Normally, it wasn’t too exciting, Harley’s evenings alone, but he sometimes twisted his dreams during his naps after Peter left into extravagant tales just to pass the time.

And then they’d head to bed, curling up in each other’s arms, a perfect contrast of Harley’s frigid body, somehow still not used to the difference in New York to Tennessee temperature, and Peter’s warmth, always running high with his mutations.

Nightmares were frequent, no matter how many times they offered comfort and tried to protect the other from the horrors of their dreams.

Nights were long and quiet. Filled with dim lighting because Peter’s afraid of the dark, and a running fan because Harley needs white noise, and silent tears streaking down their faces when nightmares inevitably tear them from their sleep, and even quieter reassurances and comfort.

Tonight was no different, Harley pressing kisses to Peter’s temple and holding him close, watching the time tick past four in the morning, barely a few hours of sleep.

“It’s okay, love. We’re okay, I’ve got you,” Harley’s saying, voice barely above a whisper, rough with sleep and exhaustion. His arms are tight around Peter’s shoulders, drawing the younger boy against his chest with care and caution.

And Peter cries, tears hot on Harley’s bare shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of Harley’s old grey sweatpants.

It’s the same song and dance as it always is. Soft comforting words attempting to overpower the anguish playing out in nightmares.

“It’s our five-year-anniversary in a few weeks,” Harley says, voice lilting softly, exhaustion making his southern accent more noticeable. “I keep trying to plan something, because it’s gotta be special, right? And I’ve already pulled out just about every stop in trying to make every day the best for you as it can be.”

Peter’s words are muffled against Harley’s shoulder. “Ten years, technically.”

Harley rolls his eyes, pressing a few more kisses to his darling’s pale skin. It brings back some scary, unwanted memories. Watching Tony stumble off the plane, falling into Steve and Pepper’s arms. I lost the kid.

Peter had been two years older then Harley, seventeen to Harley’s fifteen when the snap had happened. But Harley hadn’t been snapped. He had to live in a world without his boyfriend for five years. And when Peter got back, suddenly the scales weren’t balanced. Peter was still seventeen, but Harley was twenty.

It was weird and they danced on eggshells around each other, unsure how to be with the other after being apart for so long.

But now Harley’s twenty-five, and Peter’s twenty-two, and the age difference doesn’t feel so wide anymore.

Those five years were the worst years of Harley’s life though.

“Ten year anniversary, then,” Harley agrees. “I asked Tony, Pepper, May, everyone, I could think of to give me some advice for what to do. And then I was in the mall one day, and I passed by a jewelry store and I just kinda stopped.”

Peter’s tears have slowed now, at least. He pulls away to look up at Harley, eyes wide and sparkling in the soft light of the lamp.

“I remember that day where we went into the same store, what must’ve been like four years ago, and you jokingly tried on every piece of jewelry you could before we were kicked out because they thought we were going to steal everything,” Harley continues, ignoring his pounding heart and the way his hands shake when he cups Peter’s cheeks, swiping away the tears.

“I remember,” Peter says, offering a smile.

“Yeah, and I guess I started thinking and it’s been ten years, darling. I don’t want to be with anyone but you. I started writing this whole piece that I was going to use on our anniversary, I thought it would be special, but I wanna say it now, without the whole I Love You bullshit because you know that.”

Peter nods again, smiling a little wider because not even the most oblivious person in the world could miss what Harley was hinting at.

“I wanna marry you, Peter,” Harley says, voice softer than ever. “I wanna be with you for the rest of my life.”

“Even if I’m difficult?” Peter says, gesturing vaguely at his head with a lopsided smile and a laugh.

“Even if you have nightmares every night for the next fifty years, I wanna be there with you. Even if you get home from patrol at five am and I have to stay up all night every night for you, I wanna be with you. Even if you decide that I’m fucked up and you decide to leave, I wanna take that chance. Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you, Parker.”

Peter laughs then, no self-consciousness, no self-deprecation. “Never really took you for the sappy type, Keener.”

“Just wanna make sure you know I love you.”

“I love you too, babe. And yes, I’ll marry you. Fuck, Harley, I wanna marry you.”

Harley grins, tears springing to his eyes as well and he laughs, pulling Peter in for a messy kiss. He fumbles for the nightstand drawer, tugging it open and grabbing the little box, pulling it open to reveal a simple silver band.

Harley lifts it out of the box and on the inside of the ring, hidden from view, is a simple Forever.

“I love you, darling. Forever.”

The ring is slipped onto Peter’s finger and he smiles wider, kissing Harley again.

Harley still wants to do the dramatic, down-on-one-knee, sappy speech, hugging Peter and spinning him around as they cry, everyone around them clapping for their excitement of the engagement. He still wants the “Proper Engagement” but he doesn’t mind the quietness of this version.

“Go to sleep, love.”

They slide down in the bed, tugging their thick comforters around their bodies, unable to stop smiling, Peter’s nightmare long forgotten.

It’s not quite a song, but Harley murmurs I Love You and hums the tune to Peter’s favourite song, arms wrapped tight around his waist. He’s not a good singer, so he doesn’t want to try, worried it’ll ruin the gentle peace of their room, but he knows (because he knows Peter better than anyone) that the white noise and the rumbling of his chest beneath his head will put him right to sleep.

And it does, before he even finishes the song, Peter’s breaths have evened out and his eyes have fluttered shut.

Harley gently presses a kiss to the silver band now sitting around Peter’s finger, and smiles up to the ceiling. That night, they dream about the possibilities of the future, no nightmares plaguing their sleep.

[personne-reblogs]

Hello! Idk if you still accepting ficlet prompt or not, but if you do, would you mind if I request a combination of 2 fluff prompts between 52. “i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” and 18. “are you that desperate?” “for you, yes.”, for OPM ship Batarou? Thank you very much 🙏💖

Whoopsie, I went a little wild with this one... well, you didn’t give me any word count and I was very inspired by the shameless flirt so I included prompts 55, 61, 62 and 63 as well. Thanks Anon, I had so much fun!! Hope y’all will like it!

Fandom: One Punch Man Ship: Batarou Word count: 4k Summary: Lately, Badd has been haunted by a ghost. Kinda. It looks like a guy with white spiky hair, but Badd's the only one to see it. It's following him everywhere, and it's able to help him fight monsters, and it Won't. Stop. Flirting.

Read under the cut or read on AO3!

A Ghost Story

***

There have been better days, Badd sighs to himself. The rain that ruined his carefully stylished hair this morning, the Hero Association meeting that took his entire afternoon, the busy traffic that almost made him late for his ice cream appointment with Zenko, the empty fridge that has him walking to the nearest nightshop at this late hour.

“You look amazing tonight,” a predatory voice purrs behind him.

Ah, yes. And the ghost that has been following him for days and won’t shut the fuck up.

“You’re still here, huh?” Badd asks without thinking, and immediately regrets it.

“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be, dumbass,” the ghost replies, and Badd suddenly feels tired. He’s heard this shit, like, a thousand times already, and it’s been less than a week. “You should have registered by now. Nobody’s that stupid.”

“Hey, watch it, asshole,” Badd grunts defensively. “‘s been a long day, okay?”

“Oh yeah? How come I didn’t see any of that?”

There’s a smirk in the ghost’s tone, and Badd doesn’t even need to turn around to know there’s a teasing look printed on its face.

“Not every hard day is about fighting, y’know. Regular human stuff is exhausting too.”

“Right,” the ghost says, and there’s a pout in that.

Badd walks through the night shop's door and automatically goes for the drink aisle. He knows the ghost comes in too, but it mercifully keeps quiet.

It first appeared after Badd killed a random tiger-level monster on his way back from Zenko’s school. It has the form of a dude with strange white, spiky hair. A dude who looks like he practises a lot of sport - something contact-ish, martial arts, maybe. At first Badd thought it really was a random guy that had arrived after the monster was dead, but then the thing had followed him everywhere, claiming it was stuck with him, and Badd had realized he was the only one to see it. Creepy.

Now the ghost - that’s all Badd can think of to describe it - is part of his life, whether he likes it or not. It usually appears at night, when it’s dark outside, maybe cuz it doesn’t like daylight or some shit. Except it also appears each time Badd is in a fight. Even in plain day. Hell if he knows why.

“Keep the change,” he tells the cashier before heading back home with a fresh bottle of coke. He’s addicted to it these days. Can’t sleep early, so he might as well treat himself with something sweet while he endures endless conversations with the thing.

“I’ve always wanted to try it,” the ghost says conversationally as soon as they’re out in the street, because of course it won’t keep quiet any longer. God, Badd feels so tired.

“I’d gladly share it with you, but, you know,” he replies as mockingly as he can, turning around and slightly shaking the bottle before opening it and taking a long sip. He makes a show of savouring it just because he can and the thing can’t. It can’t touch anything real, actually, and isn’t that a fucking ghost thing?

Except it does manage to hit monsters in fights. It has happened before. Weird.

The ghost narrows its eyes at him and crosses its arms, but a twisted smile stretches its lips.

“Yeah, but you offered anyways. See? You’re cute when you’re half asleep.”

It really Won’t. Stop. Teasing.

Will it?

***

It’s two in the afternoon when he gets a call from the Hero Association. There’s a demon level threat across town, he’s the closest S-class hero around. He immediately goes to the location they sent him - he was bored anyway.

He’s surprised by the looks of the monster once he’s there. For its level, it happens to be… small, actually. Not even the size of a human being. It jumps in and out of sight, hides behind public bins, and destroys buildings as if they were nothing.

Shit. That one’s gonna be a pain in the ass.

“Fucking finally,” an unexpected, hungry voice hisses behind him, and he realizes he almost forgot about The Thing.

It’s been two entire weeks and he almost bloody forgot.

“Stay outta my way,” Badd orders, his grip tightening on his bat, his eyes searching the place to find the monster back. It’s gonna be complicated enough without the ghost distracting him.

“Yeah, right,” the voice laughs next to him.

“Dude, I really have no time for yer -”

He stops mid-sentence because there is suddenly a building collapsing beside him, and he doesn’t even have time to swear before he gets a glimpse of the monster across the street. It seems like it is avoiding contact, staying out of reach -

And then, in a blur, the ghost rushes past him to throw itself on the monster.

Literally.

He can’t make out what happens after that, not amongst the dust from the demolition, so he runs after them.

When he finds them back, the monster lies motionless on the floor. The ghost is casually sitting on a rubble, an arm thrown around its knee, a ferocious smile spreading wide on its face.

“Gosh, I’ve missed this,” it says as if it were talking about going for a walk in the sun.

It looks that refreshed, at least. Neat.

“What the shit?!” Badd barks, because even though he’s impressed, he doesn’t like losing control of the situation.

“Not the first time I give you a hand, you know. No big deal.”

“I would’ve handled this perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, and you would’ve destroyed the entire fucking city, so, you’re welcome.”

“Ghost, I swear -”

“Oh, honey, I thought we were past that,” the ghost says with an exaggerated hurt look.

“Past what?” Badd asks confusedly.

“I have a name, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What?”

The ghost looks genuinely surprised, and it shouldn’t, but it makes Badd feel extremely satisfied.

“You never mentioned it. Your name.”

“I - really?”

The ghost shakes its head with an incredulous chuckle. It gets up from the rubble, comes a few steps closer, and presents Badd its hand.

“Call me Garou.”

Badd shouldn’t try to shake that hand. It doesn’t exist. His own hand would pass through it and he’d look like a fucking moron.

But he’s curious, so he does it anyway.

And it turns out it feels exactly like a regular handshake.

“Hi. I’m Badd.”

***

He his a martial art type of guy.

Badd has seen him in enough fights to know for sure now. It’s not just the vibe and the looks - whenever they’re in a fight, the ghost Garou uses sharp, precise techniques Badd could only dream of.

Not that he’s interested in martial arts, but he has to admit it’s quite effective.

Especially when Garou single-handedly brings strong ass opponents down like that.

 Hot.

“Pfff, no fun,” Garou sighs, disappointed, before coming back to Badd. He always does. Something to do with him being physically unable to wander too far away from his human host, or some shit.

“It isn’t supposed to be fun, but whatever,” Badd points out while poking at his own enemy with his bat, just to check. It’s dead alright.

“You say that because you’re not strong enough to have a good time.”

“Right,” Badd says. He has given up on reacting to Garou’s teasing. It’s no use.

“Maybe you’d be more useful in fights if you weren’t so busy staring at me,” Garou goes on.

Badd only raises a very unamused eyebrow at him.  

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” his ghost insists with that stupid, smug expression of his. He even - wait, was that a bloody wink?

“Urgh, I’m gonna be sick,” Badd tiredly mumbles as he turns around to leave the scene. Now that the fight is over, Garou will soon disappear for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, there’s a piano recital Badd needs to attend.

To be honest, he’s getting used to this whole ghost thing. Garou can handle himself in a fight. Hell, he can even be of some real use, Badd has to give him that.

Such a shame he’s that much of a big mouth. It’s been almost a month now, and his lame pickup lines still exhaust him.

***

When the evening is quiet and the weather is soft, Badd loves to just sit on the wooden stairs behind his house and chill. Zenko often joins him, and they chat, or she just reads a book until it’s time for her to get to bed.

That time was half an hour ago. Now Badd is alone with Tama, purring loudly in his lap as he pets her, and he simply enjoys doing nothing.

He doesn’t really notice the nightfall.

“It’s late,” a familiar voice says in a sugar-coated tone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Badd tilts his head to find his ghost in his usual sitting position, one elbow casually resting on his knee, a few steps higher.

He recognizes the question for what it actually is: an attempt at starting some small talk. He’s not in the mood, so he shrugs, and suppresses a grimace when the gesture makes his bandaged shoulders sting a bit. Then he shifts to find a more comfortable position and resumes petting Tama without answering.

Garou doesn’t insist. Nice.

They spend a moment like that, in silence, and with the light breeze brushing his washed hair, Badd thinks he could fall asleep right there. The adrenaline of the fight he’s had this afternoon has finally worn off, and he feels tired, but in a good way - it’s a physical weariness, not the nervous tension he’s been used to lately.

After a while, his ghost is talking again, and it would annoy Badd if not for the genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Just wanted to ask, about earlier… How did you do that?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I saw that monster beat the shit out of you,” Garou says, and he sounds suspicious. “You were out, man. How the fuck did you get up and win after that?”

“Not thanks to you, asshole,” Badd groans, but there isn’t any bite to it. He’s actually smirking a little.

“That kind of brute? Not my style,” his ghost snorts with a disgusted expression. “Besides, I wanted to see how you’d manage without me, and… shit, I still don’t know what I’ve seen.”

Badd doesn’t know what he’s done to make an impression on fucking Killing Machine Garou, but hell if he doesn’t secretly feel very pleased.

“Just some good old fighting spirit,” he replies in a carefully neutral tone.

“Come again?”

“Y’know. When you get all angry at stuff. Makes you go wild.”

“You… were angry,” Garou repeats incredulously.

“Well, duh! Wasn’t gonna let that jackass waste any more of my time,” Badd explains blandly, and he doesn’t get what’s so hard to understand.

He turns to watch Garou, and catches him staring right back, eyes wide in a shocked expression. Then the ghost bursts out laughing, and it startles Badd, because it isn’t one of his damn chuckles: it’s an actual, full-throated laugh.

“What?” he asks, not knowing if he should feel cheerful or offended.

“You’re really something else,” Garou wheezes, theatrically pretending to wipe a tear away. “Man, I wish you’d killed my last host sooner - where were you all this time?!”

“You mean, that tiger level monster back when I met ya?”

“Yep,” Garou nods, sobering up a little. “I’ve been stuck with it for years. Never been so bored in my whole sorry existence. The bastard spent most of its time hiding from humans.”

“Why didn’t you kill it?”

“Because I can’t, obviously. I can touch my hosts, but I’m physically unable to harm them. I thought you’d figured that much out,” Garou explains, and his voice is regaining its teasing tone already.

“So that’s why you still haven’t tried to killed me,” Badd deadpans, feeling a little more up for banter than a moment ago.

“That, and also, who would you talk to if you didn’t have me?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s pretend I’m not the one who’d kick your ass, why don’t we.”

“SAY WHAT??”

***

Garou doesn’t know exactly where he is during the day, when his host isn’t involved in a fight. Time passes differently, and for the most of it, he isn’t really conscious. It’s like he’s in some kind of stasis. And then, when he’s awake, he’s full of energy in a way humans probably can’t imagine. He wants to talk, to run, to explode and to scream. He wants to exist.

That’s why he likes fighting so much. It makes him feel useful. It makes him feel real. It’s the proof that he can leave his mark on a world he sometimes doubts he’s a part of. He’s had countless years to train, and he’s become strong - strong enough that he’s having a good time whatever the enemy.

But, well, fighting isn’t everything. He’s had dozens of hosts, and he’s never been able to walk too far away from them without slipping into his awkward rest mode again - only to find himself stuck with the same host when he wakes up again. Which always turns up to be incredibly boring. Between humans who mostly sleep at night and monsters who sometimes don’t talk at all, Garou has learnt the hard way that he’s, in fact, a talkative guy. And isn’t that a great thing to be when the only being in the whole universe who can see and hear you is your current host?

Garou has had his fair share of boredom, to say the least.

“Hey, dipshit, you awake?”

That’s why he’s more than happy with his new host.

“When have you seen me sleep before?” Garou replies with a playful smirk, tilting his head towards the voice.

It’s dark, and he’s outside, leaning his shoulder against the external wall of the house, arms crossed onto his chest. Badd is standing a few paces further and is giving him a vaguely annoyed look.

“Haven’t heard what I just said, have ya? We’re goin’ for a walk. Come on.”

“Why, babe, it almost sounds like a date,” Garou teases in his cheesiest tone.

“We’re out of food for Tama,” Badd goes on, unbothered, as if Garou hadn’t spoken at all. Damn, he’s good at ignoring him.

“Guess it can’t be helped,” Garou sighs loudly, trying very hard not to give away how eager he actually is to just… do something. Anything.

“Don’t make that face. We’ll make a lil’ detour by that shitty park - you know the one. Who knows what we might find there, at such an hour?” Badd grins, shifting his grip on his bat, and it seems like he’s eager, too.

Yeah, Garou thinks with an amused expression as he follows Badd into the street, that’s got to be his best host ever. Badd does sleep, of course, but far less than the average human - or, well, much later, so there’s that. He’s a hero, so he’s involved in more battles than Garou can count - and he’s good at fighting, in his own way. Not exactly the fast, calculated fighting Garou is used to, but rather a raw, brutal style, with a strength and a resilience that has forced Garou’s admiration more than once (meaning his host probably won’t die on him anytime soon - not that Garou would let that happen, anyway). Last but not least, Badd is fun to talk to, even if Garou’s constant teasing never seems to pull any reaction out of him - and that’s new, because all his previous hosts had let him get to their nerves so easily, but Badd won’t even acknowledge his little game, which is fun, too.

It’s fun because it allows him to push as far as he wants without risking damaging the balance they have found, and the domesticity of it is making him more relaxed than he’s ever been.

The park is quiet and empty when they get there. Garou tries not to feel frustrated, and fails. He’s glad he can stretch his legs a little, but he really could use some action right now. It’s been days since they last were in a fight.

“Shit, we’ll have to actually buy food for your stupid cat, won’t we,” Garou mutters.

“Don’t call her that,” Badd snaps, looking down at his phone. “But yeah, looks like everything’s fine tonight. Let’s go before the nightshop closes.”

So Badd won’t react to shameless flirting, but he will defend his goddamn cat. Garou smiles as he stores the information for later use, and makes to turn around and leave - except he doesn’t.

He suddenly feels like his whole body is being weighed down. He frowns down at his feet and insists.

He stays perfectly still.

“Well, well,” a smug voice says, “That’s a pretty friend you’ve got here, Metal Bat.”

Garou furrows his brow harder. There’s a man approaching - a random dude, all dressed up in a suit, hands in his pockets. On Garou’s left, Badd moves freely to face the newcomer.

“I dunno what yer talkin’ about,” his host says, sounding only mildly annoyed. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Thomas J. Lambert, at your service,” the guy introduces himself with assurance as he comes to a stop right before Badd. His attitude exhales cockiness and audacity. Garou already hates him.

“Never heard of ya,” Badd casually drops, as unimpressed as he always is. Which seems to suck a little of the fun out of the guy. Oh, he’s really good at this.

“Well, let’s just say that I’m an esper with… very specific abilities,” the douchebag goes on, and he sounds just a tad irritated. “I can feel the aura of your pet from miles away,” he adds, not even bothering to glance in Garou’s direction.

What a prick.

“I can hear you, y’know,” Garou interjects.

“And I can interact with it, too. My power is keeping it paralyzed as we talk,” Thomas Jerk  What’s-His-Name goes on, and he still won’t spare a glance at Garou. Badd does, though.

“Ya better hurry up and spit out what ya wanna say already,” he mutters, expression halfway between nonplussed and upset.

“It’s simple, really. I can rid you of this parasite - in exchange for financial compensation, naturally.”

“Oi! I’m right here,” Garou repeats louder, because he is beginning to lose his patience. He tries against his invisible restraints, without success.

His host is silent for long enough that Garou looks back up at him, and he is stunned to see Badd is grinning slightly.

Like he finds this whole situation funny.

The bastard.

“I’d make you a special price, of course,” Mr Jackass is still saying. “It would be my pleasure to help a S-Class hero out. What do you say?”

There’s a short silence.

Then Badd makes the most self-satisfied, shit-eating smile Garou has ever seen.

“How much would that be, exactly?”

“YOU ABSOLUTE ASSHO-”

“OKAY! Okay! Jesus,” Badd laughs, before turning back to the guy. “Sorry, fella, that’s… kind of you, I guess? but I’m not interested.”

“Are you certain, sir? Just think about it,” the son of a bitch insists. “I’m sure a hero like you could use a little peace at night.”

“Nah, I’m fine, thanks. Let him go, we’re moving,” Badd says as he begins to walk towards the exit of the park - only for the guy to block his way, hands lifted in a soothing attitude.

“What about the next host, then? Surely you wouldn’t willfully condemn someone to wear that burden after you.”

“Someone would hafta kill me first, and it ain’t for so soon.” Badd is probably starting to feel pissed, because he’s articulating every word distinctly, voice low and threatening. “I said I’m not interested. Let. Him. Go.”

The brat suddenly seems hesitant, but the pressure around Garou’s body doesn’t lessen. What is he playing at? No one in their right mind would want to get on Badd’s ner-

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” the walnut says, and his voice doesn’t sound human at all anymore.

Three things happen simultaneously. The force blocking Garou slightly diminishes, allowing him to take a single, difficult step forward. Badd falls down on one knee, as if he is now being crushed. And the suit of the esper tears itself apart, revealing a slender figure with what looks like a second pair of arms.

 A monster.

“Can’t say I was expecting to run into Metal Bat today,” the monster crackles, and its face doesn’t have anything human left either. “But you happen to be linked to a very powerful creature. I need to kill it to absorb its energy.”

“As if,” Garou snarls, taking another heavy step forward, struggling to regain more control over his body. Come on. Come on!

“I can’t have you protecting that thing,” the monster goes on, as if it doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up anymore. “But I don’t mean you any harm. We don’t have to be enemies. I’ll just keep you still while I take care of it.”

From the corner of his eye, Garou sees Badd brace himself on his bat and start to get up, but the monster points a finger at him, and he’s sent back to his knees.

The pressure on Garou loosens up a little more.

That fucker can’t immobilize us both completely, he realizes.

He tentatively straightens himself up and rolls his shoulders. His muscles feel heavy and slow as they strain against the still-there tension, but they obey him. He smirks. I can work with that.

“Your pet is still too weakened to overcome me, any-”

The monster is interrupted as Garou tackles it to the ground.

The close up fight is messy - a bit too much for Garou’s liking. He has to put all his focus on every move he makes, and even like that, he can feel how uncharacteristically slow and weak his attacks are.

“Shit,” he hisses against his better judgement when the monster hits him square in the shoulder. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but it does make him take a step back, and damn, he should have ducked that one.

He knows he should go for the arms. If he could tear one or two off, he’d have more room to use his usual techniques. But the esper knows better than to let Garou get too close, which is infuriating. It constantly jumps just out of reach, and only hits when Garou’s momentum prevents him from reacting in time.

I could use some fucking fighting spirit right now, Garou thinks, and he almost chuckles at the thought. Badd’s style isn’t always the most refined, but in Garou’s position, he’d probably still have enough raw strength to beat the shit out of that motherfucker.

Shame Badd isn’t in Garou’s position. The esper had said it’d concentrate on keeping the hero out of this, which is why Garou can move at all. Big fucking A.

Garou is pulled out of his thoughts as something punches him hard in the stomach, and the hit sends him flying a few feet away. “Dammit,” he swears as he raises to his feet again, reaching to the trail of blood that leaks from his mouth with trembling fingers.

He’s already getting tired.

And the monster only seems to become faster with each passing moment.

Its attacks still aren’t powerful enough to cause any serious injury, but time isn’t playing in Garou’s favor here.

I need to end this, he thinks. The sooner the better. He takes a deep breath and shifts his weight on his feet. He won’t win by his usual ways. He needs to rely less on the speed he currently doesn’t have, and to focus more on the few hits he can land if he wants to -

Right behind him, the monster emits something that might be a giggle, and Garou realizes it’s must closer than he’d thought.

He startles, turns on his heels, puts his guard up and braces himself -

The monster is hit by a metal bat on its side and violently crushes into the trees nearby, leaving greenish, fuming fluids all over the place.

Badd is standing in its place, and his face is maculated in red.

“You’re bleeding,” his host informs him, slightly out of breath.

Garou can’t believe this guy.

“I’m - ?! Dude, your face! What happened?”

“Hit myself,” Badd shrugs, swinging his now red-and-green bat on his shoulder, keeping an eye on the monster’s form where it landed. “To clear my mind of that jerk’s shit.”

“You -”

Garou trails off, because he needs a while to process this. A few paces away, the monster wiggles sluggishly - it isn’t dead yet, as the slight pressure still weighting Garou down should have let him know, and they should go on and finish it now, but he’s too stunned to get a move on.

So instead, he blinks and lets himself slip into more familiar ground as he cracks a flirtatious smile.

“Really? You hit your own head with your fucking bat just to give me a hand?” he grins cockily. “Man, are you that desperate?”

“For you, yes,” Badd states - he doesn’t whisper it, he doesn’t shy away from it, he states it, loud and plain, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Like it doesn’t make Garou suddenly feel warm all over.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Oh, so you’re the biggest bloody flirt there is, but I can’t flirt back?” Badd teases him with an all too knowing grin, before casually walking to the monster and delivering it the final blow.

Garou can feel his invisible restrains vanishing, but he still doesn’t know how to move. Or how to talk, for that matter.

“Come on,” Badd laughs as he shakes his bat to rid it of the monster’s gore. “If we run, we can make it to the nightshop in time to buy Tama’s food.”

“Wait-” Garou yells after him. “Wait, did you actually -”

“Come on!” Badd yells back, tone playful, and he’s already gone.

For a few more seconds, Garou just stands there, arms stupidly hanging at his sides, mind gone completely blank. Then a wide, amused, unbelieving smile spreads on his face, and he chases after Badd.

He’s blushing hard, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Badd cares.

And they have all the time in their intertwined lives to figure things out.

[mss4msu]

Call Me Doctor. Chapter 18

Summary: Fresh out of graduate school, you had somehow landed a spot in the faculty of a prestigious university. The small anthropology department has too many faculty and too few offices; sharing an office does not go as you expected.

Pairing: Professor!Steve x Professor!Reader 

Words: 1916

Warnings: Language, sexual content kind off, slight 4th wall breaking

A/N: I’ve taken forever to write this chapter because I tried to do smut but I’m pretty sure I’m shit at writing smut, and have written and deleted this so many times. So instead of actual dirty smut, this is some gentle romancing. Please be as gentle with me as Steve is about to be with (Y/N) about it. 

Catch Up on the Story Here

You spent your Saturday catching up on all of the adult responsibilities you had neglected by staying late at work all week. While you would rather have spent your Saturday cozied up to Steve somewhere, you knew you had to get your personal tasks done or you would struggle all week trying to catch up. Plus, Steve spent the day texting almost non-stop with you, so it was almost like you were actually together. 

You woke up early Sunday and got to campus an hour before your meeting with X-Con, wanting to have time to go through the space one last time yourself before they arrived. When you got to your office, you were shocked to find the light on and the door already unlocked. You pushed the door open to find Steve sitting behind his desk. 

“You’re here early,” you said as you walked to your desk, sat down, and pulled out your computer. 

“Putting the finishing touches on some of this text so I can send it off to the printers tonight,” he replied, “I still feel bad that I didn’t do anything helpful for this project before this week.”

“Steve, stop, let’s just let by-gones be by-gones.” 

“I just want to reiterate that I’m very sorry for my attitude and lack of work ethic and promise you that it won’t happen again.” 

“Steve, if we ever have to plan another museum exhibit like this, I’ll quit, so I can also promise that it won’t happen again,” you laughed. 

Steve let out an anxious chuckle, “Alright.” 

“I’m going to go down and do a walk-through to orient myself before the security team gets here. Care to join?”

“Sure, give me one second,” he quickly typed out what sounded like a few sentences, “Ok, ready,” he said standing up.  

You grabbed a measuring tape, your notebook and a pen and led the way downstairs. You keyed into the space, flicking on the lights next to the doorway. 

“We need to make sure they get these lights adjusted so that they can be dimmed down by all of the exhibits. It’s a bit bright right now and that will compromise the artifacts we put on display.” 

You worked your way through the room with Steve trailing behind you. In front of each case, you had him walk close to an exhibit so you could measure out how far from the cases you needed alarm sensors that could warn people if they were too close to an object. 

“Is this too close?” Steve asked as he stood next to where the last artifact, a large, limestone sarcophagus, would be going in the middle of the room.

“I think you can get a little bit closer,” you replied, squatting on the floor to see the best angle and tapping your pen against your thigh. 

With a mischievous grin, Steve took a few steps towards you, “Can I get closer than this?”

You scrunched your nose, trying to keep from smiling, “Hm, I think you could stand to move in more.”

“How about this?” he asked, coming within arms length of you. 

“Closer still,” you giggled. 

“Is this too close?” he asked, offering his hand out to you.

“Not close enough,” you breathlessly replied, taking his hand and standing up. 

He took the notebook from your hand and dropped it on the floor, the loud noise causing you to start. Steve put his arm behind your back and pulled you towards him, closing the gap between you and kissing you.

You stood there together, lips locked and arms intertwining. You both jumped when you heard a cough from behind you. 

“Hey, um, sorry to interrupt,” Scott Lang said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “We were in the area early and thought we would come by and see if you were here...and you are.” 

“Damn, homies, this is, like, super awkward for all of us now,” Luis said, peering over Scott’s shoulder. 

“Yikes,” you muttered under your breath, “Sorry about that. Let’s get started and try to forget about what you just saw.” 

You gathered your discarded notebook from the ground and flipped it to the right page, your face on fire with embarrassment. Steve slunk to the corner of the room, out of the way. 

You, Steve, and the X-Con team spent three hours to get through all of the necessary changes that needed to be made to the space. After finally agreeing to all of the equipment to be installed, which had involved Steve almost blowing up at Luis for his continued recommendation of laser beams across the floor when the room got locked at night, you and Steve left Scott and his team to begin the security and electronic installations. 

“Want to get lunch?” Steve asked as you walked back to your office.

“I’d love to. That took far longer than anticipated.” 

“It would’ve been a lot shorter had someone not continued asking for floor laser beams.”

“I mean, they would be cool,” you winked at Steve as you got to your office.

Steve unlocked the door and gestured for you to enter first, “We should probably order in. I still have a bit of formatting to do on the text panels.” 

“Can I see what you’ve done already?”

“Of course,” Steve led the way to his desk, motioning for you to take the chair as he reached over you to open the right documents. 

As you breathed in nervously, you were overtaken with Steve’s aroma; he still had that same comforting smell of coffee and books you remembered from that first close interaction with him at your housewarming party months ago.

“Here’s the main text block,” he said, snapping you out of your reminiscing. 

“Oh, this looks really good!” 

“Don’t act so surprised,” he said rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, um, I don’t know,” you looked up at him, but got lost in his eyes. 

Rather than reply with words, Steve used his mouth to kiss you instead. He spun the desk chair around so you were facing him and kissed you with such passion that the chair rolled back, slamming into the desk. 

“Steve, we shouldn’t do this here,” you paused him, catching your breath, “I’m tired of getting walked in on.” 

“Then let’s make sure no one can walk in,” he replied with a mischievous grin. 

Steve strode to the door and clicked the lock into place. Your heart began to race as he came back towards you. He offered his hand for the second time that day to help you up. As soon as you were standing he put his arm behind your back and pulled you towards him. As the intensity of your kisses increased, you found yourselves moving backwards until your back was up against one of the bookshelves. 

“Ouch!” you yelped out in pain as a particularly rough kiss from Steve caused your back to dig into a book. 

Steve immediately pulled away and looked at you in concern. 

You backed away from the bookshelf to see which book’s spine had attacked your spine, “There is no reason for an,” you squinted at the book, “English to Icelandic to German dictionary to be that painful,” you said, rubbing your back. 

“It’s pretty painful to read through, so it’s fitting that it’s just as painful to be slammed into,” Steve laughed. 

“Who said anything about slamming?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, “Um..well...no one…but...well, I kinda thought….maybe, since it’s been awhile now….we were going to….if you want to….”

“Steve, remember that time you were super rude and said that I must be eloquent since I can give lectures? I need you to spit out whatever you’re trying to get at.” 

“I just thought that, maybe we could...fuck, I don’t know how to say this without it coming off wrong....”

“You probably could’ve just stopped at, ‘maybe we could fuck,’” you smirked at him. 

“But I don’t want it to just be a fuck,” Steve’s face began to turn red, “I know making love sounds so cheesy...but…”

“But?”

“But that feels like the only way to describe how special I feel like our connection is.”

“Damn, Steven, I never figured you for such a sap,” you giggled. 

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything,” Steve avoided looking you in the eyes and his face was almost completely red now. 

“No, it’s cute!” you tried to reassure him. 

“Yeah?” he asked, hazarding a look at you.

“Yeah,” you reached up and gave him a kiss, then took his hand and pulled him to the table in the middle of the room. 

You pushed the files cluttering the table to the floor and used a chair to boost yourself up. You grabbed Steve by the belt loops and pulled him towards you. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, your fingers fumbling with anticipation. When you got the last button off, he slipped the shirt off and then reached up and pulled off his undershirt with one hand. After he was finished, you raised your arms for him to pull off your dress, which he did with ease. You were grateful you had actually worn a cute bra. Wanting to feel Steve against you, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in before kissing him more intensely. Steve gently pushed your shoulders down and you scooted yourself to the middle of the table, loosening your legs around Steve so he could climb up to join you. 

Steve began to gently grind on you, causing you to let out a small moan. He smiled before kissing you again, putting one hand under your head and using the other to keep his balance. You continued in this position for a few minutes before you decided to begin unbuckling Steve’s belt. You struggled slightly with the button of his jeans, as you didn’t want to stop kissing him, but you also wanted his pants removed. Steve briefly stopped his hip actions to assist you in getting his pants off.

“Damn,” you muttered, eyeing up his bulge, which was straining to escape from his briefs. 

“Yeah, doll?”

“Doll? I know you study the 1930s, but are you actually from them?” you giggled.

“Maybe….and even though you study mummies, I’ll let you call me daddy,” he winked.

Your jaw dropped open, “Oh my god, Steve,” you laughed, “Please let the record state that I am not going to do that.”

“You got it, doll,” he drew out the last word and winked, raising you up to kiss him before gently lowering you back down to the table.

With just his briefs on his lower half, Steve continued to grind on you. You couldn’t hold back the moans as he pressed himself against you, knowing just a few bits of cloth separated your latter halves. You stopped running your fingers through Steve’s hair long enough to begin wiggling out of your leggings. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Steve asked.

“Dr. Rogers, I think we’ve played out this slow burn long enough. I’m sure I want to do this.” 

“(Y/N), what did I say about calling me doctor?” Steve asked. 

You let out a laugh; the next sounds to come out of either of your mouths were moans of pleasure as you and Steve Rogers passionately made love on the table of your shared office. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Call Me Doctor. Tag List:

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[maree-ff]

Pressure

CAMILA

“Ma…” I dragged my mother's name through vain as she spit questions at me left and right. She’s been on my ass ever since I confided in her about my pregnancy. It’s going on week twenty of my second trimester and life is kicking my ass. Our septic system needs to be replaced and I’m having major construction done to the house so I’m apartment hunting. Jessica offered to let the girls and I stay with her but I can’t. Adding two more children and a third adult into their household is a bit much. Amelia needs one on one attention and I need my personal space. 

I spoke to Andre a few days ago, for thirty seconds and then he promised to call back but never did. Some of our calls get cut short and I get so irrationally sad that I end up crying myself to sleep. I’m losing my mind over Andre’s absence. 

“Camila, stop whining and listen to me. You can be so terca at times. Just like tu papa. Have you asked Divya if you can stay with her?” 

Grunting aloud so she can hear my frustration I dropped the house phone in my lap. Just then I heard my cell phone going off. 

“No, because I found a place this morning. Mira, me tengo que ir, I’ll call you later.” Lying through my teeth I briskly hung up and answered my incoming call. “Hello?” I answered. 

“You have one call from California State Prison. Do you accept the charges?” The machine spoke. 

“I accept.” I said clearly. I listened for that signal to speak, grinning from ear to ear to hear his voice. 

“I am so sorry, love. We had a quarantine and a lockdown at the same time which is why you haven’t heard from me.” He said in a rush. 

“I’m just happy to hear your voice. Are you alright?” I questioned. 

“Yeah baby I’m fine. How are you? Talk to me about everything.” His evenly paced breaths really solidified my peace of mind. 

“Cuánto tiempo tenemos?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of not having enough time.

“That bad?” He quieted down telling me he’s not in a joking manner. 

“Si. I’m having major work down to the house and I’m looking for a place to rent out for a while. On top of that, Zoe is sick again. This time I’m not sure what she caught and I’m scared to get sick and then pass it to the baby. But she’s been on one for five days now driving Kenny insane.” I explained. 

“I’d give up everything to be taking care of you ladies. I’m sorry you all are going through so much. You’ve been taking it easy I hope.” 

“Andre, sweetie I’m doing the best I can but it’s hard and I’m extremely worn out. These little girls give me a run for my money sometimes but I’ve learned to love that about them. Don’t get me wrong, they are so loving, caring, and kind-hearted but I’m tired.” I do the best I can to not whine to him about how difficult this situation is for me. Today, I can’t. I need to relieve some of this pressure. 

“I can only imagine how this must be affecting you.” The silence that’s brooding between us gives me anxiety. “Camila, I am so sorry for splitting up this family. I will completely understand if you need to hate me. I will understand whatever decision you make regarding this difficult situation I’ve placed our family in. This is my fault.” His apologetic and never wanting to hurt me attitude is why I can’t seem to be upset for too long. 

“You don’t need to apologize, go me. I just want you to know how I’m feeling. I don’t want you to ever question whether or not I can do this. I don’t want you to doubt my abilities as a mother either. There’s so much to adjust to. We miss you so much and I never want you to forget that.” Needing a deep breath in, I stood up and walked around the room. My sights fanned out over my belly, analyzing the growth of it. 

“How far along are you?” He asked. 

“Twenty weeks, second trimester. The baby has gotten so big. Zoe keeps addressing the baby as “he” because she’s confident that we have a boy coming into the family. I kinda feel like that too. Everyone else is thinking it’s a girl but I’m siding with Zoe all the way.” Talking about the baby gives me mixed feelings. There are times when I’m welcoming of the fact and other times I would trade the baby for Dre. 

We can create life together as long as we’d like to but I can’t replace him. I just can’t. 

“When are you coming back to see me?” I know for a fact this man has some sort of smile or smirk on his face. 

“Whenever you want us too.” Our tones of voice indicate that he and I are on the same page. 

He then says, “Tuesday, come visit on Tuesday. So...what’s the plan for today?” 

I buzzed around again getting ready for the moving truck to come. “Packing up the small stuff and bringing it to our new place. I’ll show you pictures don’t worry. You should talk to the girls before you have to go..” covering the mouthpiece I called out for Kenja and Zoe. 

Walking to the living room I found them sound asleep. Feet touching as usual. 

“Camila, what's wrong?” Andre panicked. 

Holding the phone up to my face again I smiled gently and said, “..nothing is wrong.  The girls are knocked out on the couch. They look so cute. Damn, I wish they were up right now.”

Andre and I talked for a wholesome twenty-five minutes. The downside to this call is that I didn’t get to say ‘I love you too’ before the call dropped. The act triggered me and sent me into a frenzy. Lucky for me, my mom, dad, Dani and Matt came over. Not only to help me with the girls but also to help with the move. 

Going to get the girls up and ready I attempted to get Zoe up first since she’s the lightest sleeper of us all. 

“Levántate ya sweet pea, we have to move today.” Kissing her hairline I turned her over as she began to wake up. 

“Mom, you talk to daddy? Yes?” She spit out without hesitation. 

“Yes I talked to him. He loves you and he can’t wait to see you and your sister. Did you have a good nap mi amor?” Wiping the drool off of her cheek I moved over to Kenja knowing this would be a tad more difficult. “Come on nena, levántate ya por favor.”

Kenja began to squirm and ultimately frowned at me once she had her eyes fully opened up. “Eres muy ruidoso, mom!” She exclaimed. 

“Cuidado, Evelyn. We don’t have time for this now, get up and get moving. Ahora.” Following behind and guiding them to their rooms, I got them ready together. By the time I finished with the girls the trucks had arrived. I traded places with my mom so she could get the girls into her car while I stand aside to supervise everything. 

——— ———

“Urgh my goodness, my body hurts so much. This poor baby has been going at my back relentlessly for hours.” Working through the knot in my lower back I ran my free hand across my belly. 

My mom stopped fanning herself to stare at me. 

 “Ay! Que estás mirando?” 

“You’re acknowledging my grandchild again. Some days I fear you have evil thoughts about this bundle of joy because Andre is not present. I see the way you look at yourself in the mirror and ay bendito it makes me so sad. But this is your baby and your body. I just don’t want you to forget, usted tiene ayuda Camila.” 

My mom prayed over the baby and I, and quietly exited the room. “Tienen hambre nenas?” She joyously sang. 

Rising from the bed I walked to the window, drawing the shades up. The view from this floor is breathtaking. I haven’t seen this type of view in a while. Watching the city below seems slowed down and so far away. 

“You’d love this place..” I whispered aloud. Gliding both palms over my belly I thought about our last visitation. I dreamt of the last night Andre romanced me and ultimately impregnated me. This baby is so much more special than I gave him or her credit for. My fears and anxiety have pushed me too far. Our child is a blessing through the turmoil. I need this baby as a symbol for hope and love. 

This bundle of joy and innocence deserves some attention and care. I could never imagine allowing Andre to discover the evil thoughts I’ve dreamt up like my mom mentioned. 

“I love you so much and I’m so sorry for not treating you better. This is a very difficult time for our familia pero it’s no excuse for my love..” looking down at my baby bump I smiled at the sight of my bare skin housing my unborn baby. “I’ll get myself together and take care of you the way you deserve. Con amor y respeto.” 

“Mommy, Papi is calling! Come on!” Kenja and Zoe yelled, blending their voices together. 

Hurrying out of the room I leveled out my tank top and threw my hands up. “Nenas, we can’t be as loud as we used to be at the house okay? This place is much smaller and we have neighbors close by.” I informed them. 

“Okay, we’re sorry. Talk to daddy.” Zoe shoved the phone to my ear where I could hear Andre speaking but to someone else. 

“Andre?” 

“I’m here baby. Listen I’m so sorry for the noise but these n diggas won’t leave me the fuck alone. How are you? How was the move?” He quizzed. 

“It went good. I’m more exhausted now than I was earlier but I can’t complain about much else. I love you papa but I want you to talk to the girls since you weren’t able to earlier.” I listened to his return of adoration and affection, handing my phone back to the girls. “Ma, you’re more than welcome to stay.” I said, meeting her in the kitchen. 

She smirks and giggles knowing damn well I need her to stay with us tonight. “You can count on that. What are we cooking?” 

Rubbing my belly again just to hear my mother laugh I laid out all of my plans for dinner and dessert. Our first night in this condo will be an adjustment as will the remainder of our time here. 

Mom and I watched the girls load up on two full portions of dinner, still crying for more. After our familial debate my mom volunteered to bathe the kids while I put the remainder of the food away and cleaned the kitchen. 

“Nana, can you stay and help mom? She won’t rest. And she’s super tired.” I heard Zoe say over the sound of Kenja laughing and splashing around in the tub. 

Quietly I set the pots and pans down to hone in on their little talk. Wiping my hands dry, I inched closer to the doorway of their bedroom. 

“Of course I will nena. I’m here to help mommy and you girls as long as I need to. That’s what I’m here for.” My mom said, smiling through her words I can tell. 

“I miss daddy..” Kenja settled down and finally spoke up. My heart split down the middle at her confession. Her speaking on her father’s absence sounds different then the other ‘i miss him’ confessions. 

“Yo sé mamita. I miss him también y I know mom does too. Your dad being gone is difficult on us all. And I’m sure that you girls have questions about why he’s gone and when he will be home..si?” The hope and serenity in my moms voice gives me hope that this tough time will get easier. Or at least we will all come to terms with Andre being away and make the best out of our unfortunate situation. 

“Yes.” The girls said together. “When will he come home? He has to care for mommy and baby brother before it’s too late!” Kenja exclaimed. 

“Ay, tranquila Evelyn. It’s late and that’s no way to speak to tu abuelita. I know and mom knows how much you girls miss your dad. We have to be patient and stay positive. I need you both to be supportive of your mom and tu papa. Don’t give mom a hard time ok? Take it easy on her. With your baby brother or sister still baking, your mom needs you both to take care of her. Come on, let’s get dressed for bed now.” 

Leaning back against the wall I looked around our temporary living quarters in amazement. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would be stepping back into the shoes of being a solo parent. I have this urge to cry but I feel selfish for even wanting to. Deciding against being emotional I forced my way back to the dishes to finish up here for the night. 

Once I had my own bath taken and I got dressed for bed I stretched out. The echoes of silence in this room and the loneliness of laying in bed alone is still foreign. I hope I don’t get used to this but I’m afraid I may have to. Turning over to face away from the window I snuggled the body pillow covered by Andre’s favorite sweatshirt. 

I miss the tips of his fingers massaging my scalp. I miss his natural body heat to keep me warm throughout the night. I miss the combination of his soap and the girls knocking me into a blissful sleep. I close my eyes to reminisce on the sound of him speaking softly into my ear about his innermost thoughts. A slight grin bestowed upon my face pretending to feel his lips on my skin, melting me to the core. 

“I pray that you’re alright my love. And I pray that you miss me nearly as much as I miss you.” I muttered to myself. Clutching the pillow a bit tighter I tuned out the rainfall and the scary images in mind to dream of our reunion. 

[chyrstis]

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 4/10

I spent way too long looking at warplanes for this one, because 1) they’re pretty, and 2) after mentioning a certain someone’s plane in the previous chapter, there was no way I wasn’t going to have it pop up again.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 3.5K  

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

—

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

———–

“So, where is it? Where’s all of the shit-talking I used to look forward to? Like, by now I was getting ready for the good stuff, but it’s running out.”

Sharky paused, dropping the tire back down into the back of Hurk’s truck. “About what?”

“Really?” Hurk asked, gaping at him. “You know, the asshat that’s been blackmailing you into doing his dirty work for the last month and a half? Thinking he’s slicker than a greased pig, and he might be because who the hell knows what he uses to keep his hair like that. And palms. You grease those too, not just for jerking, and cuz, you’re killing me here.”

“It’s…I’m not gonna lie, he’s really wigging me out at times. Acting like it’s good to have me around to help and shit. ‘Cause I don’t always work on the boathouse. I’ve helped Joe, I’ve helped move stuff around on the airstrip, I’ve run stuff down to the Peggies’ church. And yeah, being told ‘you’re going to do this today’ instead of doing what I was planning on doing sucks, but the Peggies are kinda nice.”

He wasn’t thinking much of it when Hurk grabbed the firehose running out front. Jerry-rigged outside, it was usually his last-ditch effort when any of the fires outgrew their boundaries.

So, it was easy enough to grab. Easy enough to aim, and - in Hurk’s case - easy enough to point and shoot, especially while he kept his mouth running, none the wiser.

“And John’s all right, too. I know it’s kind of-whoa, whoa, what the-“ A wave of freezing cold water hit his chest, and Sharky sputtered as he threw his hands up. “What the fuck, man? Jesus, just cool it! Cool it!”

Hurk aimed it up and away, and jabbed a finger at him.

“Straight talk. You point me to the spot in the woods where my fave cuz’s tied up and waiting to be beamed up, and I swear I’ll let you go. ‘Til then, you better talk faster, because I don’t even know where to go with ‘Oh, John and the Peggies? Yeah, they’re all right.’”

Teeth chattering, Sharky shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. It’s better. Like he’s decided it’s okay to be a person for once.”

This time he was hit in the face, and he threw both middle fingers Hurk’s way before finally wrangling the hose away from him.

“That’s up my nose now,” he grumbled, feeling it burn as he forced air through it. “Up my nose, which is one of the top ten worst feelings to deal with. Hope you’re proud of yourself.”

The spray at Hurk mid-apology was kind of a jerk move on his end, but Hurk had earned it. That and the noogie, as Sharky wrangled him under his arm. If he was going to be forced to drip-dry out here, he wasn’t dealing with that shit alone.

The roar of an engine overhead made him loosen his grip, however. Both of them glanced up, their attention won by the plane soaring by.

Usually Sharky would catch one every once in a blue moon out over here. With the steep hills, it wasn’t always best if you needed to land the plane in an emergency, but that didn’t stop anyone from taking them as high as the pilot wanted it.

This one wasn’t too high in the sky, though. Painted a darker color, it cut a fine line through the air above as it climbed. Spinning in a smooth arc, it curved - rounding back - and Hurk let out a low whistle.

“Look at that, huh? Bet Nick gets up to all kinds of fancy shit up there when he’s off the ground.”

“Yeah. Should ask him if he’d take us up sometime.”

Watching the plane loop back, the pull was almost strong enough to make him want to book it to Nick’s right now. He’d always been curious about the high that came with being in the air; how that ramped up during a dive, or even on a sharp turn.

Something about this plane bugged him, though. Like there was something he was missing that should’ve hit, but wasn’t.

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve been up in a bunch of choppers, man, and it’s real sketchy once the cross-winds hit. Gets my lunch doing a loop-de-loop hairier than any airshow’s special, and that feeling even hits when I’m in Tulip.”

“Why? Your ma’s damn good at what she does.”

“It’s always squirrely, feeling the entire thing rock back and forth, back and...” Hurk paused, and slapped at Sharky’s waving arm. “What’re you doing? He can’t see us from down here.”

“And why not? Yeah, he’s – or she, could be one badass babe up there - not skimming the ground, but they’re low enough to see what’s down here if they angle it right.”

Almost as if listening, the plane came back over; the roar of the engine echoing in the air as it came closer. Getting a better look at it now, he could see more of the slick paint job; the dark grey really reminding him of a color he’d seen recently.

As in, within-the-last-couple-of-weeks-or-so recent. Like in a hangar, half-hidden under a tarp.

Finally slapping those last missing puzzle pieces into place, it all clicked this time, and Sharky’s eyes widened.

“Uh, I think that’s John.”

“Say what?”

Hurk’s surprise wasn’t too far off from his own. “Dude, that’s his plane. I don’t think anyone else around here’s got a ride like that.”

Or even in that style, period. It stood out in the sky, and Sharky almost laughed to himself. He would want that attention, and showing off while he was at it? Seemed like a standard thing he’d try for, if given the shot - and right now? He looked set on taking it.

Diving down, his breath caught as the plane soared in a set line towards the ground. Daring to get as close as possible - cutting it a lot closer than he would’ve if given the chance - only to shoot back up above the trees, spinning on the exit.

Yeah, that was John.

Whistling loudly, Sharky whooped before punching Hurk in the shoulder. “Oh, come on. That was pretty fucking neat.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Hurk cracked soon after, smiling. “Okay, it was pretty rad, but if that is him, and we ever run into each other and get to talking about it, we ain’t saying shit. Not a single word set on complimenting, talking nice, or doing any of that. Period.”

The plane didn’t come back this time, heading out over the fields as it faded from view.

“Nope,” Sharky said absently, as he kept his eyes skyward. “Not a single fucking word.”

---

Later that day when he messaged John to tell him he was heading in, he didn’t get his usual answer.

Busy in the hangar. Stop by there, will you?

The doors were open as he pulled up outside, and he couldn’t see John when he stepped out. His plane was front and center, one of the side panels open with a tool cart rolled up next to it, and he walked up to get a closer look.

“Tempting as it is, try not to stick your hand in there.”

Sharky held both up, and quickly stepped back. “I didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t say you did anything.” John walked up from behind, wiping his hands down with a towel, smirking all the while. “Just wouldn’t want to lose a finger now. That would be a surefire way to ruin an evening.”

Against all odds, he hadn’t lost one yet. Not to any of his homemade whizzlers, not to any of the cherry bombs, and not to that one incident with the paper cutter in school. Now, really would be a lame time to do it, and in front of John? He’d never live it down.

Flexing his fingers - all ten of them - he shoved both hands into his pockets, and turned towards him.

Dressed in his version of casual, the shirt John was wearing was still too pricey to be anywhere near oil or heavy machinery, but that didn’t faze him. His hands were dirty and he was doing the work. Actually getting in there and taking care of it, instead of shoving it onto someone else, and Sharky could respect that.

But the moves he pulled in the air earlier? Thinking back on them made a whistle want to slip out. John could fly. There was no fucking doubt about it, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to catch him up in the air again at some point.

“So, uh…you take her out today?”

“I might’ve had to check to see how things were running,” John said with a shrug.

“You fly out over towards the Henbane?”

John raised his head, eyeing him curiously. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“See, I was out with my cousin Hurk. Just unloading some tires to use for um, crafting purposes.”

“Crafting. I never took you for the type.”

“Not like the kind with paper, glue, and scissors. Like tire sculptures, or just taking the shit apart to see what we can get out of it, ‘cause there’s at least twenty things you can do with a worn-out tire. We’ve honed it down to an art, man.”

John said nothing further, only examined his hands as he wiped off more of the dirt. He looked up to catch Sharky’s eye while he worked, reminding him that he’d been telling a story before he’d trailed off.

Sharky cleared his throat. Loudly. “Uh, anyway. You, flying.”

John redirected his attention to his hands, but Sharky didn’t miss the way his lips had curved up. “I thought it was you, working?”

“Me, working, distracted by you, flying, and I know I got twisted around in the middle of that, but I saw you earlier. Your plane flying over my house. Now you’re the only guy around here with anything coming close to having one of those warplanes they’d call you in to borrow for re-enactments, movie deals - or, hell - for admiring and shit, so don’t go denying it. And don’t go fucking with me either, ‘cause I know what I saw.”

“Good eye. Sharper than I expected.” John set the towel down on the cart, and walked over to the plane. “Perhaps you can put that eye for detail to good use tonight.”

“What?”

“Affirmation does need some tuning. I was hoping to have it finished before you came by, but…” John frowned, eyeing the engine with distaste. “As you can see here, I’m not quite done yet.”

“Ah, I get that. Shit never works out how you plan it, not with cars, bikes, and I guess planes fit in there too. You wanna get that oil changed before the sun’s up? Should take twenty to thirty minutes max, giving you time to see if the tires are bald enough to turn the road into a dirt-covered slip and slide. Probably would've noticed before then, but it's good to check. And if you’re looking at that, might as well try the brakes.”

He watched John roll over the tool cart, giving him a glance over his shoulder as he did so. Taking the gesture as a signal to keep on going, Sharky took a place just behind him by the cart, and settled in to watch him work.

“…And that weird leak you forgot about two weeks ago? Kiss your afternoon goodbye, ‘cause your radiator’s busted and might’ve been roasting your car from the inside out.”

“Sounds like someone’s speaking from experience.”

“Man, you don’t even know how many times I’ve had my shitbox crater on me. And I take care of it. Maybe not using the stuff that’ll keep the mechanic off of my back if I need to bring it in, but it runs. And I can keep it going on nothing but lint, duct tape, and quarters if I have to.”

“And somehow, in spite of that, it hasn’t exploded or found a way to catch on fire?”

“It did catch on fire. Once.”

John’s eyebrows flew up. “With you in it?”

“Sort of. I might’ve hopped out right after the smoke started coming, ‘cause that crisped-up burnt smell ain’t normal even with a busted heater, but I handled it. Drove it right on down to the Spread Eagle just in time for Happy Hour, too.”

Blinking at him, John slowly turned back to the engine. “Is that the same car you’ve been bringing here?”

“Yep.”

John paused again. “The one that I’ve ridden in?”

“Same one. Drove it, too.”

A few emotions crossed John’s face then. Disbelief held on the longest, as he turned to look right at Sharky.

“What? Like I said, it runs. Long as it does that, I don’t need anything fancier than that to get around. And, hey, if that shit ever does go up and someone needs to handle it, you know I’m damn near certified by this point.”

“Knowing that the county’s resident pyromaniac should be able to put out the fire he also started is not as reassuring as it sounds.”

Sharky frowned. “Yo, you really wanna say that? Seeing as you’re someone that keeps talking shit, all while needing people to call you, confide in you, and hire you for the whole defending-them-in-court thing? Not doing great on the being-anything-but-a-dick part. Just saying.”

John narrowed his eyes, but didn’t fight the point. Just went back to work, and Sharky wasn’t sure what to do with the victory.

Shaking it off, he crossed his arms and tried not to fidget as he watched him. Doing nothing at all was the real challenge, having no choice but to be patient and keep an eye on John instead.

But he hadn’t kicked him out, or told him to go where he was needed most. He was sure he would’ve told him to head down to the boathouse by now - or hell, that he would’ve gone on his own - but he didn’t feel like leaving yet. Not even after the dig. Curiosity won this fight, and he’d let it do its thing for a little while longer.

Glancing over at him, John gave it a second and gestured towards the cart. “Can you hand me that wrench?”

Sharky followed his line of sight towards it. Taking it, he handed it over and couldn’t hold his tongue any more.

“So, you do all of this on your own?”

“It’s important to be able to identify problems as they appear. I could hire someone to do that for me. Easily leave this to them, but having that knowledge beforehand - especially if I do end up having to land - is crucial. And I refuse to let willful ignorance prevent me from fixing anything well within my power and ability. That, and laziness.”

“Laziness?”

“What’s my problem becomes someone else’s to fix. To mend. Affirmation is my responsibility. Shouldn’t I be well aware of how it’s operating before I take off? That kind of carelessness can be prevented.”

“Makes sense.”

“I hope so. Any pilot would do the same if they had any degree of pride in their skills.”

Sharky rubbed at his neck. “Yeah, guess Nick goes through the same checks too. And if I had one, guess I’d have to break out the old toolbox and get into it.”

“Treated better than your car, I would hope?”

“Uh, still fucking rude for one, and two, hell yeah I would. Shit, the closest I’ve come to flying, period, was through honoring Clutch Nixon a few years back – rest his badass, no-longer-beating heart – and I was airborne long enough to love it. If I had a plane, I’d treat her right.”

Sitting up, John gave him a long look. “That doesn’t count.”

“What don’t count?”

“Stunt driving isn’t close to the same thing.”

“So you say, but you haven’t taken a motherfucking dive off of a cliff, amigo.”

“It’s not-” John pressed his fingers to his temples and sighed. “There are measures taken.”

“Yeah, and I know you gotta do more than mess around with your joystick up there, but the fall’s real. The pounding in your heart as it just-” He clenched his fist, and let out a breath, “Fuck, man, you feel alive coming back from that. And get one hell of a massive boner while you’re at it.”

Lowering his hand, John leveled a flat stare at him.

“Yeah, had to give that last one a solid seven point five out of ten. Hell, maybe an eight.”

Still clenching his fist, Sharky held the eye contact, grinning awkwardly all the while. At least until he noticed the marks on John’s face. Three small dark spots, all of which came from his equally stained fingers.

The snicker slipped out before he could help it. “You, uh, got a little something on you.”

Gesturing towards his face, John reached up and nearly added another before glancing down at his fingers. “Shit.”

“Yeah, dude. Might be able to connect the dots at the rate you’re going.”

“Let me just…where did that get to?”

He sorted through the items on the cart before finding the discarded towel, and checked it before swiping at his face.

“Might wanna go to the left.” John shifted it, the spot turning into a streak, and Sharky grimaced. “Uh, maybe to the right?” Streaked again. “Huh. Think you might wanna go back to what you were doing the first time.”

“You aren’t helping,” John said, slapping down the towel to search through the items on the cart. “So, how about you go occupy yourself over there, and we’ll get back to this when I’m certain I’m not covered in dirt.”

John had pointed towards the refrigerator, and Sharky gave him a passing glance before skipping over towards it.

“Could be worse, man. Not like it’s a sharpied dick, or anything.”

Prying the doors open, Sharky didn’t know what he was looking for at first. He knew John had hidden the mystery beer here last time, but that wasn’t what he spotted. No, on the shelves was a pack of his old faithful, and he felt a tear come to his eye.

“Is that acceptable?”

Sharky reached in and held up the six pack, sighing dreamily as he hugged it to his face. “Amigo, I think you’re my new best friend now.”

He heard John scoff somewhere behind him, and turned to see him parked in front of a small handheld mirror. One of the streaks was a bonafide line traveling up the side of his face now, and smeared more when John swiped a finger through it. Tossing the mirror back onto the cart, he clenched his jaw, and went right back to the plane without even waiting for him to come back.

“So, John,” Sharky started, popping the cap off of the beer, “you want me to stick with you up here, dude? ‘Cause I was going to head on down to the river at some point. Just looked like you needed me more up here than there at the time, and…”

“There’s no need.” John replied, his back still to him. “You’ve been making significant progress lately down at the boathouse. Anything else would put you ahead. And after staying up here as long as you have, you’ve earned the time to yourself, if you want it.”

Free to go? Again?

That had him scratching his head as he polished off the beer fast. “Uh, okay. Like, I can do whatever the hell I want?”

“Whatever you want.”

That was music to his ears. At least it would’ve been every other week leading up to this one.

Thinking it over for a while, Sharky tried to think of anything he would’ve done with the time. Anything pressing he’d set aside to come out here after helping Hurk earlier, but couldn’t put his finger on a single thing. Just a whole lot of nothing that would’ve led to a night spent in his underwear on the couch mixing together shit he probably shouldn’t have, or up at the trailer park tuning the speakers.

So, when he looked back over towards the plane, he aimed the bottle in his hand towards it. “You still need someone up here?”

There was the sound of metal hitting metal as John froze. But when he turned to face him, there was no mistaking his surprise.

"What?" Sharky shrugged. “I’ve got the rest of the day to myself, and usually that’s spent doing jack and shit when work’s not coming in, so…if you need it, I’m here. Not that it’s really that big of a deal anyway, you know?”

That got him a smile. One that John held onto long after Sharky expected him to drop it, and he chuckled. “I suppose not.”

“This’ll be the highlight of my day, and I’d like to stick around. Unless you want me out.”

He thought it over, but not for longer than a minute. “If I did, I would’ve told you so.”

“So, back to work?” Sharky asked, starting to smile himself.

John stepped back and held out a hand towards the plane. “Back to work.”

[swinterr]

Valerie II

before reading the story please take note of this:

viviane valentin is played by the beautiful irinashayk

and vernon valentin is played by this greek god—francisco lachowski

Before Valerie and her family went to LA. Valerie cleaned up her closet, taking out everything that reminds her of Shawn. I mean if you want to move on you need to forget right? How could you forget if you still have some things that reminds you of you ex.

Picking up Shawn’s Harvard hoodie, she remembers when she got accepted to the school.

Valerie is sitting between Shawn’s legs the couple are in the living room on their condo, Valerie recently applied to Harvard University. Her mom wants her to be a model but she wanted to finish college first.

“Shawn stop moving your makin’ me nervous.” She placed her laptop in her lap and cuddled close to Shawn.

As Valerie opens her laptop Shawn keeps on kissing her neck and cheeks. “Dudeee, stop it.” Valerie whined.

“I can’t you’re so cute, I wanna be with you forever” Shawn hugs Val closer to him, if that’s even possible.

“Stop being sappy, you’re making me blush”

I wanna be with Shawn forever too.

Valerie is again tearing up as she reminisce the memory. She misses him so much.

Then she saw his HEAVEN shirt that she loves so much Shawn gave t to her.

Shawn is sitting at the railing while he is having a little photoshoot.

“Can we take a break I’m tired, I need my girlfriend’s kisses.”

“Val come heree.” Shawn whined.

He looks so cute, dressed in blue jeans which is new and kinda hot and white shirt that says HEAVEN, well heaven indeed he looks like an angel.

Shawn smiles as he sees Valerie making her way to him. He is about to get off the railing to get Valerie but she stopped him by placing her hands on his thighs.

“Lovee, you look so fucking cute. I can’t even.” Valerie rub his thighs softly as he pulls Valerie closer he gave her this lovesick smile that is only reserved for Val and only for Val.

He gives Valerie an eskimo kiss before he softly kisses her lips.

“Val, lets go mum and dad are already in the car.” Vernon knocked the door, ruining the moment she thinking of and soon two little kids came inside her room and began attacking her with hugs and kisses.

“Valaliii!” baby Milo shouted. Kids are great, they don’t know anything except be happy. They haven’t felt the cruel side if the world. Valerie wished she never grew up.

“Let’s go babes, nana and papa’s waiting for us at the car.” Jess said taking Laslo and Milo’s hands.

Valerie placed the box full of Shawn’s shirt and his gifts to her beside her bed.

-

Meanwhile, Brian saw Valerie message to Shawn backstage. The guys are rehearsing Señorita, how ironic.

Brian walked to the arena and sat on one of the amplifier.

In the middle of the break, Brian though it will be the good time to speak to Shawn.

“Shawn c’mere!” Brian shouted even though Shawn is like 3 feet away from him.

Shawn rolled his eyes at him then sipped his water.

“So you and Val broke up?” Brian ask straight forward. Brian is like a Prose he does things straight forward.

“Huh? When” Shawn wondered, he knew Val texted him but he don’t know what’s the content of the text

“Dude you asshole! She broke up with you through text.”

“It’s okay, she will come back to me eventually.” Brian rolled his eyes at him, he never knew Shawn could say something like that.

“You’re fucked dude.” Brian just walked out, he cannot deal with Shawn right now.

-

The Valentin’s have separate private jets for themselves. As you know Vernon has 2 kids plus his wife, they have their own jets so is Viviane and her family and Valerie’s parents. Of course Valerie has one too, but she doesn’t want to be alone. 5 hours in a jet without talking to someone, she usually talks to Shawn in this case but she guess that will never happen again.

“Bye mommy, bye daddy have a safe flight I love you.” Val waved at her parents and blew a kiss.

Her plane is the last one to take off resulting that she will be the last one to arrive at Los Angels later.

Valerie locked herself in a small room on her jet, she just cried and sleep the whole 5 hour flight.

Eh not really she woke up after a 3 hour sleep and she got nothing else to do so she took some pictures of the clouds and herself, Shawn always says that he is lucky to have her as his girlfriend, he also said that he likes her big plump lips and her cute button nose— just like how he describes it. She also read some books.

By the time the jet will be landing, Valerie fixed her outfit and put on a eye cream hoping that her puffy eyes will magically disappear and put on a concealer under her huge ass dark eyes, that what you get when you break you with boyfriend for 3 years kids.

She is wearing a Alexander Wang crop tee, and Adidas Original sweatpants a pair of worn off white Saint Laurent sneakers and an Off-White handle bag paired (also with an Off-White luggage, packed with all of her things but she doesn’t have this luggage right now)

This particular week is so hard for Valerie, maybe the fact that Shawn and his girlfriend and are in the same city.

Or maybe there’s a chance that they will bump into each other.

Or that she will break down if she see them.

Her family are probably in their way to their houses. And now she’s alone.

The good thing about having a known parents are you have security around you when you are in a crowded place.

The kind flight attendants waved her goodbye as she step down to her jet, she can finally receive messages from her family.

From: Mama 💕

Hey sunflower, Anwar said he’s gonna pick you up at the airport today. We are already at the house, next to the Hadid’s. I love youuu 💞

Valerie smiled at the sweet text she got from her Mom. She waited at the baggage carousel in the VIP section, she immediately sees her Off-White bag.

She’s in LA, it finally hit her. Paparazzi will flash their big cameras at her, some throwing rude questions, some may shove their cameras at her. Fear spread all over her body by the thought of it.

“Yowww, my favorite Latina is heree. BabyVal I miss youu.” Anwar Hadid, 20 years old. Valerie is still older but Anwar likes to act older, but he still thinks like a kid.

“I’M NOT LATINA!! I’M ITALIANA! DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT!” Every time— literally every time they see each other Anwar always calls her Latina.

To clear something Valerie’s doesn’t have beef with Latina’s, she is just mad about Anwar miss understanding her ethnicity, they’ve know each other since they were kids and yet Anwar still doesn’t know her ethnicity.

“Eyyy doesn’t be mad at me baby, I’m sorry okay.” Anwar laughed lightly. He always like to tease Valerie because they’re close- almost the same age.

They call each other baby girl, baby boy, babe and baby. Their parents though that they will be in a relationship when they turn older. It is normal for them to call each other like this. Shawn doesn’t see this bad too, I mean he calls her fans honey and other cute stuff.

Valerie hugged Anwar so hard that Anwar moan on how tight Val hug is.

“I’m sorry I just need a hug so badly.” Valerie mumbled on Anwar’s chest, still not letting go. Valerie is around 5’6 and Anwar 6’1.

Anwar basically grew up with Val, so he is very close to him. When the news blew up about their relationship, Anwar was furious. He met Shawn a few times and for Anwar he seems the perfect match for Valerie.

“You’re okay Val right?” Anwar brushed Valerie’s hair that was on her face when she let go of him.

Valerie’s eyes is already glistening with tears. Anwar though that Valerie is pretty, Shawn is stupid to let her go.

“Shall we go baby, I got some news for you at the car. Now let’s brush those tears away, he doesn’t deserve to be cried on.” Anwar held Valerie’s cheeks as he brush her tears away around her eyes. He helped her carry her suitcase and she carried her bag.

Valerie latched herself on Anwar’s arm as they went outside and Val was right, Val wore a Marc Jacob bucket hat hoping that it will at-least cover up some flash form their cameras.

Paparazzi throwing questions about her relationship.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT SHAWN AND CAMILA!?” they look good together.

“HOW DO YOU FEEL RIGHT!?” terrible.

“ARE YOU STILL TOGETHER!?” I don’t even know.

“WHAT CAN YOU SAY ABOUT THEIR NEW SONG, IT’S A HIT!?” good for them then.

“IS ANWAR YOU NEW BOYFRIEND!?” fuck off asshole.

Sometimes Valerie wanted to speak up when they throw questions at her but she stops herself before she say something stupid.

Speaking while angry is a big NO for her.

At last they safety got to their ride, her Jeep Wrangler. Some Shawn’s fans say that there are goals because they have the same car.

“Wait isn’t this my car?” Val looked at Anwar at the back who was putting her luggage at the back.

“Yep, I stole it.” Anwar said and shuts her back part of her car before Val can even say a thing.

“Jeez, please be careful of my Jeep.” She whispered and rolled her eyes at Anwar.

Anwar and Valerie are finally on the road but still paparazzi are still following them.

Big Sean’s iconic song I don’t fuck with you is playing in the background .

You little stupid ass bitch, I ain't fuckin' with you

You little, you little dumb ass bitch, I ain't fuckin' with you

I got a million trillion things I'd rather fuckin' do

Than to be fuckin' with you, little stupid ass

I don't give a fuck, I don't give a fuck

I don't, I don't, I don't give a fuck

Bitch, I don't give a fuck about you

Or anything that you do

Don't give a fuck about you, or anything that you do

“I like this song. So what’s the tea?” Valerie starts.

Anwar eyes widen, this isn’t usually Valerie’s types of songs.

“I’m dating Dua Lipa.”

“REALLY!?”

-

The Valentin’s siblings are in downtown LA.

Viviane and Vernon cleared the schedule so that they can spend time with their baby sister.

And they managed to get Valerie out of her room.

To be honest Valerie doesn’t want to leave their house just because she is afraid that she will see them.

It is quite hot in LA recently so the sibling just went casual.

Valerie wore a white and red crop top with a black short and a sneakers along with a pair of bag.

Viviane just wore mom jeans a black crop top and boots along with a pair of bag and a bucket hat.

Vernon just wore a white shirt and joggers with sneakers and a pair of glasses.

The siblings are quite fashionable aren’t they? When they were walking down the street people can help staring at them, whether its Vernon soft visual or the two exotic beauties beside her.

Valerie stands along the crowd with her brother and sister beside her. She saw Shawn and Camilla, they look so happy. She thought.

“What’s happening? “ Vernon ask, Viviane gave him a dirty look.

“It’s Shawn and Camilla, they look so happy!” some girl said without looking at him.

Valerie is quiet, she doesn’t know what to do. She wants to be happy but she can’t.

I wish that- NO VALERIE. Her mind speaks.

“Yeah they do look so happy. I wish we were like that when we we’re together.”Valerie whispered and the girl in-front of her apparently heard her.

“Dream on sis have you se-“ the girl stopped taking pictures of them and turned around.

“Oh my gosh you’re V-valerie, The Valerie Valentin, I’m so s-sorry I didn’t mean to-.” The girl stuttered but Valerie cut her off.

“No it’s fine, they do look perfect.” Valerie walked out. Vernon and Viviane saw the flush of hurt in their baby sister’s eyes.

And Vernon being the man in the family stepped in. “Thanks for that sis.” He rolled his eyes and walked out to find Valerie.

“Sorry for that hun Vernon is a little over protective on Val.” Viviane softly smiled and followed her two sibling.

At Twitter that same day:

SHAWNNN💞 @iloveshwanm • 7m

oh my god guysss! i saw valerie right now, like right now she is with her sibling and let me tell yall they are greek gods and goddesses!!! valerie sister looks like a modell! her brother looks likes my future husband!!! too bad he’s a little bit moody. but its okay he still looks good 👌🏻

-

i want to update before i’ll study, my exam is in few days

enjoy reading 💕

taglist:

@alinashawn

@feliciaceciliamariajacobsson

[bending-sickle]

motherfuckers be like “oh just enjoy doing the craft it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t come out perfect” and i’m like “karen, it’s clothes i want to wear. in public. and feel good in. i have Standards.”

so do y’all want to hear about Ye Saga of how i have failed to make a dress? that i started in may of last year? and have put in i think over 50 hours? unless it’s 80. (i had to redo another dress last year because again, fuckery, and my sewing log gets confusing.)

so literally every step of this has been discouraging and has had to be done at least twice and every time the potential end result just keeps getting worse and worse.

we start off with the cloth. it’s polyester and therefore shit. double-shit because it’s for a summer dress and i might as well wrap myself in seran wrap. The pattern is floral but not quite enchanting but i buy it anyway because it’s a shitload of cloth and only 3 euros because it’s from the scrap heap.

and then i try to make a pattern for it, frankensteining two or three different historical options for which i only have the vaguest of “this is kinda what the pieces looked like. good luck scaling it up to anything usuable.” so there was a lot of drafting, redrafting, measuring, re-redrafting.

then there were the mock-ups to test out the pattern. so many mock ups. so many oh god. pins everywhere. all the contortionism to try and pin the cloth and not myself. more sewing. trying to scavange cloth bits to try and make yet another tester. it was hell.

then i went on to the lining, because even though the cloth was literally plastic, it was slightly see-through and idk, fancy clothes have lining, right? so i piece together the lining from my mom’s old pants’ lining. i sew it up all nice with great seams. let’s leave that tragedy waiting because then

then i started on the bodice of the dress. and i really wanted to put piping in between the seams so you could actually see all the nice piecing - especially in the back - that i had worked so hard on. i was super excited because i had ribbon just the perfect shade and it would be so, so very pretty. i sew up so much piping. (this is cord wrapped in rippon, like you can find on pillow edgins and stuff.) i sew the dress top, putting in the piping. the piping decides to be the boss and fuck up every curve. there is no using the piping and still having a dress that won’t stand up by itself and prance around like madonna’s bullet bra. the piping has to go. this makes the dress not as cool as i’d been hoping. in fact, the main point of all the effort in the pattern design has just gone out the window because you can’t see the nice shapes i’ve made with each piece. but whatever. it fits. so i resew the bodice.

bodice is looking good. i attach the lining, which, i mean “attach” is such a short word for all the sewing, pinning, more sewing, cutting, and fussing that happened. but i get it done. half of the dress is now done.

but no. remember the tragedy we left hanging with no period after the senence up there, a couple paragraphs back? yeah.

you can see the lining seams through the dress. which. not good. so i redo the lining. and i mean i just could have redone the gone that went down the center front, now that i think of it, and just accepted the blazing white lines of seams under the dress in the other parts, but no, i wanted things done right.

but i couldn’t do things right because i’d done them perfect before. meaning opening up the seams meant i now had much less seam space to work with, meaning OH HAI THE LINING CLOTH IS JUST GOING TO RIP APART BECAUSE YOU HAVE SO LITTLE TO WORK WITH OH MY BAD. so i do a shitty job of the lining.

whatever. the skirt

i gather up the skirt so it has nice little scrunchy bits at the waist. i redo this long, ong process at least three times.

i put the skirt together with the bodice. i also do this attempt so many times. eight months later, i’ll realize i did it wrong and could have avoided so many hours of work and headache but no. no, i put it on the way i did, because fuck my life right now.

but we’re not done with the lining.

i try and put it in with the skirt. won’t work won’t fit. redo it a few times. the cloth starts screaming and dissolving. i try and save the edges even though theyre now hideous. i end up just sewing little anchor lines to the lining, making it officially the most ugly lining in the history of any atempts.

this next step is what made me give up for half a year, because there’s the hem. and remember how i fucked up putting in the skirt? yeah. so the waist of the dress isn’t a straight line, making the hem...not a straight line, if i just take a ruler from the bottom and say “yeah let’s lop off some 50 cms and it’ll be level and good” then the bottom of the skirt is going to be a droopy, wavy mess, waving in shame at all other dresses.

so i fold, pin, hand-sew, re-fold, re-pin, re-resew the goddamned hem again, so many times, trying to just get the damned bottomg of the skirt level, at whatever length. i sort of managed.

then i gave up for half a year, meaning that summer dress was not seeing  peek of that year’s summer.

so i took my gonads in both hands this week and tried again with the skirt and that’s when i realized how difficult i’d made everything for myself because there was all that folding, pinning, sewing fun factory again, in triplicate. but i managed to get the hem to the length i wanted and i tried it on.

and the lining tore. just shredded itself to little pieces like the little fucker it was.

which means that after sewing that thing up twice, sewing it down twice - or was it thrice - i had to take the scissors to it and chop it off. chop, i say, because i was not going to unsew all the bodice bits. there were SLEEVES involved.

speaking of sleeves while i was cutting off the lining with all the care in the world i ended up cutting a little hole in one of the sleeves. because fuck everything. and since this is polyester shit, i couldn’t sew the hle up because the edges kept fraying like they were trying to become one with the dust bunnies. so i tried sewing it up like it was a buttng hole or something only apparently my fingers and eyes and skills and everything were in another room because wow it ugly.

so that was a great achievement in the unfucking of this dress fiasco.

so now i had a dress with no lining except the little shreds of shame along the edge of the bodice and a wonky hem.and the bodice was all floaty in the wrong places because it didn’t have the support of the lining helping it out and it’s, again, poly-fucking-ester.

today i did yet more of the same shit i’d done yesterday and got the hem as leastwonky as possible. i then asked my mom to help un-wonkify the hem. as i stood in front of the mirror with the bodice flopping everywhere, the lines of the pices i cut out lost in the sauce of the pattern, the scrunched up waist of the skirt not really giving nice folds but only one big belly balloon, and overall the general image of the dress being “...goddamn fuck no shit god i feel so ugly all that work and it makes me feel ugly” i thought...well, all that, and also how many hours i’d invested into this and how i might just not even wear it after all.

and then i was ironing it and thinking “maybe if i cannibalise it and make it into a skirt only and redo the bodice using the cloth on top of another one like a new lining or just a white cotton, and make it an outfit...”

but that would mean redoing this dress a third time. which, no.

also? i bought two types of ribbon thiking i could still do the piping effect on the seams, make the dress have a little oomf, but it’s just so much work already for such an ugly thing that will make me sweat like a beached whale in summer and be worn like, twice, that just... god, set the damned thing on fire maybe. what is the point.

also? since i’m the one making it, the labour is free, and idiots on the internet would be like “oh, so the cloth was 3 euros? so  it’s a 3 euro dress? cheap! noice! who cares if it isn’t perfect?” and i’ll be like... me and my 50 hours of manual labour say it isn’t 3 euros worth, karen.

so i am incredibly discouraged and disappointed and if this whole experience doesn’t sum up my entire life. like, put in the work. do it perfect. do it again. do everything right and then it’ll all amount to nothing. congratualtions, you’ve just wasted half of your life.

i mean...

dress ugly. me tired. fuck everything.

so yeah i’m going to sew the hem up one of these days and call it quits.

[artificialqueens]

After The Glitter Fades - Chapter One - Shalaska (Citrus)

A/N: literally nobody asked me to continue my Gold Dust Woman fic, but i wanted to, so i did. as usual, this was up on AO3 before the queue was posted, so follow me there at artificialcitrus if you want fresh new content ahead of the AQ queue! my AO3 also includes chapter titles and special notes, so you’re missing out a little if you don’t read it over there too! enjoy the first installment of this new series, and please reblog or comment if you enjoyed it, as well as sending asks to me @aqcitrus!

-

Has anyone ever written anything for you?

In your darkest sorrow, did you ever hear me sing?

Listen to me now, you know I’d rather be alone

Than be without you, don’t you know?

So, if not for me, then do it for yourself

If not for me then do it for the world

Poet priest of nothing, poet priest of nothing

As soon as Alaska finished singing, Sharon motioned for her to set her guitar aside. Shooting her girlfriend a look of confusion, she obeyed nonetheless, and was subsequently presented with a lapful of Sharon Needles. The brunette’s lips lingered against her cheek, her hands weaving in Alaska’s hair before she moved to hug her tight.

“That was so fucking beautiful, baby,” she whispered, and Alaska could tell from the rasp in her voice that she was trying not to cry. She hugged back, kissing Sharon’s shoulder and smiling against her skin.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sharon exclaimed as she pulled back. “I fucking loved it. Goddess, you’re so talented, it blows my fucking mind.” The witch tended to swear more when she was impassioned, and right now was no exception; Alaska laughed a little at the expletives that fell from her girlfriend’s lips like sparks and ash.

It had been a month since their first “I love you”s on the beach, and the heat of summer was beginning to fade and yield to the sunny chill of autumn. Sharon had been restless throughout the past week, worrying over the plans for a Sabbat celebration with the coven, and though Alaska had no idea what any of it meant, she wanted to try her best to help. That was why they were currently seated on the floor of Sharon’s apartment; Alaska had brought her guitar over and insisted that she had something to ease her girlfriend’s stress. Judging by the way Sharon was currently relaxed in her lap, it had worked, and Alaska was proud of herself for helping even a tiny bit.

“Hey, Noodles?” she mumbled. Sharon flushed at the nickname, something Alaska had taken up calling her recently, but nodded as a sign for her girlfriend to continue. “Can you… Can you tell me what this whole Sabbat thing is about?” Sharon clambered out of her girlfriend’s lap and sat cross-legged on the floor across from her, reaching over to grab a book from a pile next to her. She flipped through it quickly, finding the page she needed almost immediately and showing an illustration of a golden-red tree to Alaska.

“Okay, so most people would call this the Autumn Equinox, right? When the Earth’s turned another quarter.” Alaska nodded. “Right, so we witches refer to this as Mabon, and it’s a celebration of life and the harvest. Remember in August when the coven had a celebration for Lughnasadh and I told you it was the beginning of the harvest season?”

“Mm-hmm. I still can’t understand why it’s pronounced like that, by the way.”

Sharon laughed. “It’s Gaelic, darling. Nothing makes sense in Gaelic. Anyway, Mabon is the culmination of the harvest, and sometimes it’s referred to as the last Sabbit in the witches’ year. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so,” Alaska said quietly. “I, um… Would you ever mind, like, teaching me more about this stuff?”

“The seasons?” Sharon asked. Her girlfriend shook her head, fidgeting with the necklace she was wearing– a clear quartz crystal from Sharon’s store.

“Like… everything. Witch stuff.”

“You wanna be a witch?” Alaska blushed at the look of surprise on Sharon’s face, causing the witch to backtrack. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so weird. I’m just a little surprised, I guess. You didn’t seem to be that interested in it before, that’s all.”

“I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it,” the blonde said in a tiny voice, almost a whisper. Sharon chuckled, taking Alaska’s hands in her own.

“Everyone has a different approach to the craft,” she assured her. “Don’t worry about getting things wrong, it’s gonna happen whether you worry about it or not. But if you really want my help…”

Alaska nodded earnestly, dark brown eyes looking up into bright blue. “I really do. I wanna give this a try.”

“Then I’m more than happy to help you, baby,” Sharon smiled, leaning over to give her a peck on the lips. “We can start with the most basic concept: what magick even is. That sound good to you?”

“Yes, please!” Alaska agreed excitedly, wiggling a little from her seated position. Sharon stood up and walked over to her bookshelf, scouring the shelves with a well-trained eye and selecting the book she wanted once she’d located it. Plopping back down in front of her girlfriend, she opened up the worn leather tome and began reading.

“ Magick is everywhere. It is in everything you see, everything you hear, everything you touch and taste and smell. More importantly, it is in the things that are invisible to these senses; magick is not just a tangible sensation, but an energy. It is the energy that surrounds you every minute of every day, since the moment your spirit bloomed into life, and with practice and effort, your own personal magick can be strengthened and manipulated to help you navigate the world. ”

“Wow…” Alaska said softly. Sharon chuckled.

“Yeah, Mom was always good at explaining difficult things really easily,” she reminisced. Alaska’s eyes widened slightly.

“Your mom wrote that?”

“Mhm. This is what eventually turned into her first book. You’re looking at the handwritten manuscript, unedited.” Her fingers brushed against the pages almost wistfully, feeling the worn paper under her fingertips and the indents where her mother’s pen had pressed into the pages. Alaska looked impressed, her eyes scanning the leather cover that Sharon had watched her mother attach by hand as a child.

“That’s… amazing,” Alaska breathed. Sharon looked up at her with a gentle smile.

“She was an amazing woman. I wouldn’t be the witch I am without her.” She cleared her throat, carefully blinking back the tears that clouded her eyes at the memories flying through her head. “Do you want me to go on, baby?”

Alaska nodded. “How’d you know I’d been exposed to magick before?”

“Hm?”

“Like, when we first met. It was the first thing you said to me. That I’d been exposed to magick, and that I had some kind of spell on me.”

Sharon nodded as she flipped through the pages of another, heavier book, adding bookmarks every so often. “A luck spell,” she said. “Mom taught me how to see auras when I was really young, but I never really got the hang of it. Not like Raja or Katya, anyway. But magick is easy to spot if you know where to look.”

“What does it look like?” Alaska asked curiously, scooting closer to her girlfriend and forcing Sharon to put her book down and regard her pensively.

“Depends on the type of magick. Your luck spell was golden red, like a very faint glow. It’s faded by now, I can’t detect it anymore. But you’ve also been glowing since you mentioned wanting to give witchcraft a try.”

“What, like, literally?” Alaska asked, incredulous. She definitely couldn’t see whatever Sharon was talking about, but her girlfriend laughed.

“Yeah, literally. White, kinda shimmery. At your solar plexus.” She reached out a hand and pressed her fingers lightly against the center of Alaska’s chest just below her breasts, where her sternum stopped. “Right here.” Alaska looked down, disappointed when she didn’t see anything other than her baby pink tank top. Sharon’s fingers withdrew slowly, and she seemed to break out of a trance as she looked back up at Alaska with a grin. “The solar plexus is where your personal power tends to come from. I’m looking at some serious magickal power, baby. You must have a witch in your family.”

Alaska snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re just messing with me.” Sharon shook her head.

“Not at all. It feels like…” she closed her eyes, breathing deeply as her fingers pressed against the same spot on Alaska’s body again. “Your own magick is strong, but there’s something else there. It doesn’t belong to you, it’s… older. Passed down through blood.” She opened her eyes again and Alaska felt like her girlfriend was staring right through her. “Someone in your family is a witch, there’s no doubt about that.”

The words hit Alaska like a freight train; a witch, in her family? It seemed unlikely at best, but if she knew anything about Sharon’s abilities by now, she knew to trust them. She just wished there was an easier way to figure out who in her family was a witch without freaking anyone out; she couldn’t exactly call her mother and say “Hey, mom, I know it’s been a while since I called but I was wondering if anyone in our family practiced witchcraft?” or something like that.

“Does that mean I’m a witch?” Alaska asked softly, still trying to process everything. Sharon threw back her head in laughter, squeezing Alaska’s hands in her own.

“Oh my gods, you’re adorable! It’s not a label you earn, it’s a label you make for yourself. Anyone who practices magick is a witch. And you already make my life pretty damn magickal, baby.”

Alaska giggled at the corny profession of love, but leaned across to kiss Sharon anyway. “You’re so stupid.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Sharon laughed before connecting their lips.

A thousand years could pass and Sharon would never tire of kissing Alaska; every kiss felt like their first, and every touch set her body alight with passion and love. Alaska moved closer, pulling Sharon into her lap once more and letting her straddle her hips as her fingers played with the witch’s dark curls. For once, neither of them were wearing any lip products during the day, allowing Alaska to bask in the softness of Sharon’s lips without the worry of smeared lipstick all over the both of them. It allowed the kiss to be messier and deeper, and Alaska felt Sharon relaxing into her arms as she lost herself in the kiss and let Alaska’s lips soothe all of her stress away.

When they broke apart, Sharon stood up, pulling Alaska with her and holding her close. All was still as Sharon’s arms wrapped around Alaska’s waist and she laid her head against her girlfriend’s chest, feeling relaxed and safe in her embrace. Alaska held Sharon close, as if letting go would allow the witch to slip away from her, breathing in her scent.

Without warning, Alaska felt Sharon’s skin growing warmer, and made a soft noise of surprise when she opened her eyes to see her girlfriend radiating pale pink energy tinged with white. The glow slowly spread from the middle of Sharon’s chest to encompass Alaska as well, until the both of them were surrounded by warmth and rosy light. Alaska felt her heart swell inexplicably and pulled Sharon tighter against her, kissing the top of her head.

“Baby?” she whispered.

“Mm?” Sharon hummed, sounding blissful.

Alaska’s hand stroked down her girlfriend’s spine slowly, soothingly. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” Sharon looked up at her, blushing deeply as the rose-colored glow began to fade. “Oh. Um. Just a little spell.”

“What for?”

Sharon bit her lip as she tried to figure out a way to answer. “Um… Channeling this feeling into magickal energy, I guess.” Alaska smiled, brushing a stray curl from Sharon’s blushing cheek.

“What feeling, baby?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, just… Holding you, quietly. It feels like, uh, where I’m meant to be,” she confessed nervously, and Alaska pressed her lips against Sharon’s forehead, feeling the smaller woman relax against her.

“Me too, Noodles,” she replied softly, “I’ve always felt like that.”

Sharon looked up at her with a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Alaska confirmed, giving Sharon’s left hip a squeeze. “Ever since the first time you kissed me, at the ren faire. It felt like I’d been waiting my whole life to be kissed by you.”

“You’re so fuckin’ poetic,” Sharon mumbled, her cheeks turning pink.

Alaska laughed. “That’s what you get for dating a songwriter, babydoll.”

“Oh,” Sharon said softly, blushing crimson now, “I like that one.”

“Babydoll?” A nod. “You’re adorable. I really struggle to believe that girls aren’t throwing themselves at your feet every minute of the day.”

“Even if they were, I wouldn’t want anyone but you,” Sharon admitted quietly, her voice barely a whisper. Alaska kissed her lips tenderly, cupping her cheek with one hand and holding her waist with the other.

“You’re so much softer than I thought you were,” she teased, giving Sharon a peck on the nose. She wrinkled it with a playful smile.

“If you tell a single soul, I’ll turn you into a frog,” she threatened. “And I mean it.” Alaska just giggled at the empty threat and kissed her girlfriend again, feeling like everything was how it was supposed to be.

-

“So, you have a witch in your family?” Jinkx asked as the coven set up for their Mabon celebration. She was currently slicing apples, both as an offering for the various deities that the coven members worshiped, and also as a snack for later. Alaska nodded as she watched Sharon dig through a box of candles, searching for the right ones.

“I have no idea who it is, and honestly I’m kinda scared to ask,” she admitted.

Jinkx laughed, and Alaska marvelled over the fact that both she and Sharon really did cackle like the witches in movies. “Fair enough. I’m glad you decided to come along. We’re happy to have you.”

“We don’t really let outsiders participate in rituals, but if you’re interested in learning, we can dictate our actions and why we’re doing them,” Raja said kindly as she and Katya entered the kitchen to set down several bottles of wine.

“I don’t want you to go out of your way…” Alaska trailed off, but Katya shrugged.

“Sometimes even we need a reminder.” She grinned at Alaska, laying on a thick Russian accent. “We are not all good with memory, da?” Alaska giggled and Katya bumped her hip against Alaska’s own as she left the kitchen to help with something else, tossing a flirty wink at Alaska. In another life, if she hadn’t been so in love with Sharon, Alaska would have probably fallen for someone like Katya; all things considered, she was happy to be getting to know her better.

“Jinkx, where the fuck are all the Mabon candles we made last year?” Sharon called from the other room. Jinkx sighed, rolling her eyes.

“They’re already out, idiot, I told you where they were!” she shouted back.

Alaska heard Max’s soft voice from the other room; “They’re right here, Sharon, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried, ” Sharon grumbled, forcing Alaska to stifle her giggle in the hope that her girlfriend didn’t hear it.

Once everything was ready in the kitchen, Alaska helped Jinkx bring out the food and drinks that were necessary for the ritual, leaving everything else where it was. Sharon set two stemmed glasses in front of each participant, with the exception of Jinkx and Raja, and Alaska watched as each witch poured wine into their own glass before pouring a little into the second as well.

“Demeter, Earth-Mother, goddess of agriculture and the harvest, we give you this offering as thanks for your blessing,” Pearl said, placing one of her glasses on the altar in the center of the room, and putting an apple beside it. She knelt for a moment, murmuring a prayer before standing and rejoining her coven. Max stepped up next, carrying a glass of wine and a pomegranate.

“Persephone, Pure One, goddess queen of the underworld, we give you this offering and libation and ask you to join in our celebration.” She placed the wine and the fruit on the altar next to Pearl’s offering, and returned to the group. Katya dedicated her “libation” to Isis and Osiris, and Sharon offered wine to Hecate, lighting a red candle on the altar for the goddess.

The four Dianic witches held hands in a small circle while Jinkx and Raja lit more candles on the altar. Jinkx placed a small quartz crystal on top of it, and Raja sprinkled a little of what appeared to be ash over the altar. The Dianic witches disbanded after finishing their short prayer, and Jinkx put on some music. Alaska grinned from the corner, recognizing the voice of Florence Welch and singing along quietly as the witches set a nearby table with food and drinks. Sharon held out her hand for Alaska, twirling her under her arm before wrapping it around her waist and pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek, making the blonde giggle.

“You’re in a good mood, huh?” she grinned.

Sharon shrugged, rocking from side to side in time with the music. “I guess so, yeah. I love celebrating the Sabbats with my sisters, it’s so much better than doing it alone.”

“Sharon, d’you want red or white?” Raja asked as she poured drinks.

“Red for me, white for Lasky,” she answered, and her girlfriend beamed.

“You remembered!”

“Of course I did,” Sharon grinned, handing Alaska a glass. “I actually do pay attention to you, y’know.”

Raja was struggling with the cork of one of the wine bottles, and after passing it around, no one could seem to pry it out, not even with a corkscrew. Alaska held out her hands, asking if she could give it a try, and the other witches shrugged and let her, figuring that the petite girl wouldn’t be able to do much.

Alaska pulled the cork out with a grunt, biceps flexing against her t-shirt, and Sharon’s jaw hit the floor.

“That… was so hot,” she admitted as her girlfriend handed the bottle off to a stunned Raja. Alaska blushed.

“You all loosened it for me, it’s not a big deal.”

“Nah, seriously, that was hot,” Pearl agreed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“C’mon, Alaska, flex for us!” Katya crowed, causing Alaska to blush deeper. She flexed proudly, showing off months of work that equated to rippling biceps, and Sharon pretended to faint.

“Damn, Lasky, do you have a permit for those guns?” Jinkx teased, poking at her tummy. “Oh, wow, you have rock-solid abs, too.” Alaska lowered her arms with a small smile, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“I worked for ‘em,” she said honestly. “I wanted to be strong, so I worked my ass off to get there.”

Katya grinned, giving her a fist bump. “I get it, girl. I used to be a gymnast, almost went Olympic. It takes a lot.”

“Can everyone please stop drooling over my girlfriend and her muscles?” Sharon pouted dramatically, pulling a laugh from Alaska.

“I never thought I’d be jealous of Sharon, ” Jinkx joked, earning a soft laugh from Max and a full-blown cackle from Sharon herself.

“I knew the day would come,” she teased, wrapping an arm around Alaska and kissing her shoulder. “Hands off my girl, all of you. Yes , Katya, that includes you.”

Raja cleared her throat, choking back a laugh. “Okay, okay. Are we gonna stand around, or are we gonna celebrate a kickass Mabon?” Pearl pumped her fist with a small whoop, and the other women let out cheers and a smattering of applause. “We give thanks on Mabon, and per our coven’s tradition, we each have to say something that we’re grateful for right now. Don’t give me that look, Jinkx, you’re the one who started it. Does anyone wanna go first?”

“I will,” Max offered, surprising the rest of the group. Raja nodded.

“Go ahead, girl.”

The grey-haired witch smiled, fiddling with the cup in her hands. “I’m grateful for this coven, I always am. You’re my sisters, and I couldn’t be more thankful to have you in my life, but… there’s something else, too. I got a call from Fame yesterday, and she’s going to be moving back to the U.S. I can’t wait to see her again.”

Katya and Pearl squealed excitedly, hugging Max from either side, and even Sharon was grinning. “Maxie, that’s great!” Pearl exclaimed, suddenly wide awake. Katya was even more excited, asking a thousand questions a minute.

“When is she coming? Is she gonna need somewhere to stay? Oh my god, how is she?”

“She’s wonderful, she misses everyone so much and she’s excited to reconnect,” Max answered with a small smile, flushing a little. “Anyway, that’s what I’m grateful for.”

“That’s amazing, Max,” Jinkx encouraged. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go!” Katya said. “I’m grateful that you guys give me space when I’m meditating, and I’m grateful that I can learn more every day.” She bounced on her heels happily at the declaration, excited to be sharing.

“I’m grateful to have all of you mentoring me in the ways of our craft,” Pearl agreed. “I love that we all do different things and we all have something to learn from one another.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Jinkx grinned. “I’m grateful for my partner-in-crime and our little dream that’s finally becoming everything we wanted it to be. Love ya, Needles.”

Sharon grinned, raising her glass to Jinkx. “Love ya too, Jinkxy.” She shifted her weight, rubbing Alaska’s hip lightly as she cleared her throat. “Not to be super cliche and gross, but I’m so thankful for Lasky.” Alaska blushed happily, leaning into her girlfriend’s side as she listened to her speak. “Don’t roll your eyes, assholes. The day before we met, I did a spell to attract love, and I didn’t even think it would work, but… clearly it did. I never expected to meet someone who is my other half, someone who I learn a little from every day. I love you, Lasky, and I’m so grateful that you’re in my life.”

Alaska grinned and snuggled against her girlfriend, kissing her on the cheek. “That was dumb,” she mumbled, blushing as the witches let out a chorus of aww ’s and teasing remarks.

“Alaska, do you want to say something you’re grateful for?” Max asked. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we’d like to listen if you have something to say.” The rest of the coven nodded in agreement, and Alaska nodded.

“I guess I’m grateful to have met you all,” she said with a small smile. “I’ve already learned so much, and I can’t wait to learn more about your craft.”

“Raj, you’re up last,” Sharon said, trying to suppress a grin as she squeezed Alaska’s hip.

“Right, well, I’m grateful for the new job, and I’m grateful for you all being here for me through the whole mess of a divorce last year.”

“We still have firewood left over from Beltane if you ever change your mind about burning his shit,” Sharon proclaimed, provoking laughter from the rest of the group. Raja clinked her glass against Sharon’s with a fond eyeroll.

“Alright everyone, Max made this gorgeous apple pie and I’ve been eyeing it for the last ten minutes, so let’s start!” Jinkx said, side-hugging a blushing Max.

The evening was full of conversation and laughter, and Alaska became the willing pupil of the coven as they shared food and drink. She learned a lot about witchcraft as a practice and a little bit about each individual witch’s craft. Sharon did a good job of translating the terms that were unfamiliar to Alaska and would explain things quietly to her girlfriend if she was too shy to ask follow-up questions. Max took off the veil that she often wore to block out everyone else’s thoughts and energies, and managed to confirm that Alaska did have magickal blood somewhere in her line. She also divined that Alaska would soon find out which family member it was, but that this information wasn’t very important.

Sharon read everyone’s cards, pulling Alaska aside at the end to do her reading in private.

“Do you want me to read for the path you should take? Like, whether it’s magickal or not?”

Alaska hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah. I’m really interested in this stuff, but I’m wondering if it’s right for me or not. I don’t wanna make any mistakes.”

“I get it, pumpkin, trust me,” Sharon smiled, shuffling her deck. Alaska loved watching Sharon read; she’d been mesmerized by her girlfriend as she laid out spread after spread for her coven sisters, offering interpretations that were always stunningly accurate. The other witches trusted her readings implicitly, knowing from past experience that she had a knack for predicting exactly what was to come and recalling moments in the past that she couldn’t possibly have known about. Alaska wasn’t as sure as the coven members were about Sharon’s perfect predictions because she hadn’t experienced very many of them, but she definitely trusted her girlfriend’s interpretations so far.

Sharon set out a spread of three cards, two of them next to each other and the third above them in an almost triangular formation. Flipping them over one by one, the witch pondered the results in silence before opening her mouth to begin her interpretation.

By the time she had finished speaking, Alaska was dumbfounded; her girlfriend had laid everything out with such accuracy that it was almost spooky. Her small smile indicated that she knew which choice Alaska would probably make, but Alaska still wanted to speak her decision aloud.

“I want to do this,” she said confidently. “I want to be a witch.”

[mackdaddynate]

fall in deep part 2- nathan mackinnon

A/N: this is pure fluff again, soft nate is all that matters to me ok

WC: 1.5K

You paced around your apartment, trying to figure out what the hell to make for dinner that wasn’t boxed mac and cheese for the third day in a row. You sighed and flopped down on the couch, deciding whether you wanted to order food or just save the cash right as your phone buzzed.

Nate: Wanna get food or something?

Y/N: idk, kinda already have a date with my couch... or something

You sat there grinning, thinking about how great it was that Nate actually liked you. You had always loved teasing him, but now you got to make out with him too, so you pretty much had the perfect setup.

Nate: cmon, we haven’t even been on a real date yet, your hungover ass spending the entire day in my bed doesn’t count :///

Y/N: Fineee, come pick me up in like 15?

And now you were blushing like it was middle school or something, immediately texting Layna about your date.

Layna: omg Y/N, grumpy Nate has such a soft spot for you. Wrap it before you tap it ;)

Y/N: hahah you’re the worst, ok I gotta go get ready!!

After a few minutes of trying to make yourself look a little less tired, there was a knock at your door.

“Hey, you,” Nate flashed you a smile as you leaned in to give him a hug.

“Not to be dramatic, but I kinda missed you.”

“Pshh, you’re always dramatic, but I kinda missed you too,” he said, laughing. “Tacos?”

“You read my mind, MacK.” You were so drawn to him it wasn’t even funny, and you were debating reaching for his hand before he set it on your waist and guided you out of the building.

“Oh, so you do this when I’m not blackout drunk too?” you looked up at him, feeling giggly and warm against the cool spring air.

Nate shrugged, “It’s hard to keep my hands off of you.”

“Then don’t,” you smirked. “Just keep it family-friendly when we’re in public, Nathan.” That earned you an eye-roll, and then you both cracked up.

Dinner was gone as soon as it started. Nate was scarfing down tacos while you told him about the research you’d been helping with and and all of the stupid things you and Layna had done in the past week; you were scarfing down tacos while Nate was being way too humble about the ridiculous season he’d been having.

“I’ll go cheer you on sometime, make you a sign or something. I’m literally going to be such a nervous wreck every time you get hit though.”

“You can wear my jersey, how cute would that be? God damn Y/N, you’re gonna be the best hockey girlfri-” he paused. “Are we doing the girlfriend thing? Like, can I call you that? I know it’s only been one date but...” he trailed off.

“Why not? You’re the only person I can see myself with right now anyways,” you replied.

“Me too.”

Your legs were tangled together with Nate’s under the table because in reality, you couldn’t keep yourself away from him either. You both blushed when your waitress pointed out how you two were just so adorable, but you figured she was kind of right.

Nate picked up the check, even though you protested, telling you that the least he could do for not asking you out sooner was buy you some tacos.

Neither you or Nate were particularly extroverted, but conversation was so easy with him. It felt so much more comfortable than with other guys you’d dated. And you hated that you already felt so clingy towards Nate, but he was acting the same way. Maybe this was what you both got for those three years of suppressed feelings.

“Ugh, so you’re really going to be gone for the entire weekend for hockey? How am I supposed to keep myself entertained?”

He laughed at that, “You’ll probably just drunk snapchat me the whole time. But if you’re up for it tonight, you should come over for a bit. You know, to make up for this weekend.”

“Ok I might end up falling asleep on you, but I can’t turn that offer down.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he countered.

The two of you decided to put on a movie. You intentionally sat down just close enough to Nate to be touching. You were barely through the opening scene when you felt his hand sliding up your thigh.

“Couldn’t even make it five minutes in huh?” you said, while looking up at him.

“Well,” he bit his lip, “maybe if you weren’t sitting there teasing me.”

“Me? Teasing?” you feigned offense.

“Sitting this close to me and trying way too hard to focus on the movie? While looking that good? Definitely teasing, Y/N.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Fine,” you said, closing what little gap there was between you and practically sitting in his lap as you leaned in for a kiss. You started the kiss slowly, wrapping your hands around his neck. Nate followed suit, one hand running through your hair and the other squeezing on your upper thigh.

He deepened the kiss, speeding up a bit. You’d kissed Nate before, but that was in the morning when your head was pounding from the mistakes of the night before. But this time felt different, fiery and a bit hungry. And honestly? You’d be perfectly content to just sit there and make out with him for like, hours, which was weird. Your roommate had told you that one of her hookups had “the lips of an angel,” which was hilarious, but now you were beginning to understand it.

Nate squeezed harder on your thigh, causing you to whimper. You looked him up and down, swollen lips and his dark eyes locked on you. He pulled you back in quickly, moving his hands under your sweatshirt and settling at the clasp of your bra. And as you were thinking about how ridiculously turned on you were, Nate pulled away, leaving you looking at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Uh, sorry, I think we should probably go to my room so Tyson doesn’t walk in on us like this.”

Right. Roommates.

You laughed, following him back to his room, “Bold of you to assume that I’m the type to fuck on the first date. I will gladly crash here though, you’ve got a pretty good mattress.”

Nate gave you a look, but couldn’t keep himself from grinning, “God, you’re such a tool.”

“Yeah, but I’m your tool,” you said, grinning back as Nate laid down, gesturing for you to come join him.

You did just that, rolling over to be closer to him as the two of you alternated between making out and talking about life until your eyes started to feel heavy.

_________

You woke up to laughter from the kitchen. Those boys. You sighed, rolling over and wishing for 10 more minutes of sleep. If it wasn’t for recent events with Nate, you’d probably believe it if he told you that he was dating Tyson. They acted like an old married couple, even more so than you and Layna.

You slipped out of Nate’s big t-shirt you’d worn as pajamas, and back into your leggings and one of his hoodies. The hockey team gave him so many, the least you could do was take a few of them off his hands. At least, that’s the excuse you gave Nate.

“Morning babe,” Nate said as you walked into the kitchen. You gave him a half awake smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay, so you guys are disgusting. Y/N, or should I say new roommate, are you going to start paying me for rent or...” said Tyson, in a way that only he could. Nate was making himself coffee as you sat down on the stool next to Tyson.

“At least let me have some food or something before you start attacking me.”

“Nate makes a mean omelette, but the rule is that I get omelette priority over girls.”

“Nate can cook?” you asked, genuinely surprised since your expectations for college boys were quite low.

“Not at all, he’s only figured out omelettes so far,” Tyson said as the two of you shared a laugh.

“I’m so glad the two of you can bond at my expense,” Nate scowled, coming up behind you to rub your back anyways. You looked up at him and had to use all of the willpower you had not to kiss him.

“You guys are like a fucking Hallmark movie,” Tyson huffed.

“Don’t you have to like, pack or something?” Nate chirped back, going over to tend to his coffee.

“Don’t you?”

You broke into a fit of giggles, Tyson and Nate doing the same. And as you were trying to compose yourself, you noticed Nate, focused on you and softly smiling. The sun had just started to peek through the window, making his eyes sparkle a little bit, and you couldn’t help but smile right back at him.

You could definitely get used to this.

[a-day-at-once]

January entries #21 to #31

#21

21/01

Hello, diary. I'm sorry this time I took so much of you, I'll be fast. Today at work, Leo and I talked abou KSV, and watched some of the manga's pages. As usual with magical girls mangas, it's a bit... Darker, than what TV's adaptation shows. Well, looks like Leo didn't knew that. Today's sticky note was a doodle of us watching Sakura, so I drew us cosplaying. When the shift finished, I headed back home and feeded Ember. Watching those pages made me remember my first motivations to draw. Inspired me, somehow. So I took you and went to the canal, were we still are.

Do you remember weeks ago, when I told you about journals? How 'diary' suited you better, because people took their journals outside and stuff? I won't stop calling you diary, it's way too settled down now to change it. But welcome to your new life.

It's just a messy, fast sketch. And I'm lying down actually, but I couldn't make the pose right as I wanted so...

I signed it as 'Luz'. It's a friendly nick for my coworkers now, but at first, it was my artistic name. I haven't used it as such in a long time... memories come to my mind, of every painting and sketch that I signed with this name. It means 'light' in spanish. Well, I'll go back home now. It's getting late, I'm kinda tired, and maybe Ember is missing me. See you tomorrow.

- Eva.

#22

22nd of January

Today was pretty long, diary.

There was some kind of event at one of the shops nearby, so I assume that everybody and their mother's brother decided to do their shopping for dinner before they went home. We were packed all day, to the point where I didn't even have time to get the stocking done I was supposed to get done. I ended up staying forty-five minutes after my shift to get it done.

On a positive note, that meant that the end of today's shift coincided with Leo's. On a negative note, when I saw him, I was struck with a bolt of lightning: I had gone on a date with Leo.

We hadn't decided it was a date, not fully.

But he held my hands and taught me how to ice skate.

Was that a date? Did we... Date?!

He bought me dinner, diary!! That was bloody well a date!!

He trotted over to me with a grin on his face and I dropped the boxes of pasta I was holding. Holy god, I went on a date with him! "Hey! What are you still doing here?" He'd asked, helping me collect the wayward pasta.

"Stalking! Stocking," I said, stacking up the boxes. "Yep. Just, uh, leftover stocking stuff. Couldn't get it done during the rush," "Oh, that's the worst," Leo had commiserated. "Want some help? I don't technically clock in for another fifteen or so,"

"Sure," I agreed. I knew my face was redder than red, the reddest I'd ever been, even redder than the time I'd fallen asleep on the beach. Leo ignored how shirty I was being and just talked about a show he'd watched last night. I didn't technically have cable, as watching whatever's on at the laundromat didn't count, so I didn't know what he was talking about. But he filled me in on some of the backstory with animated hand gestures, hysterical character voices, and the occasional dynamic pose. I don't think he ever put a box on the shelf, but the way that he set me at ease after my sudden realization helped more than he could have ever known.

My entire walk home, I thought about the date-not-date. Leo was so relaxed during the whole thing, but I assume I had been too.

I hadn't thought that it was a date the entire time.

If I had, there was no doubt that I would have skated directly into a wall going at least Mach the fuck Five and possibly crying the entire time I did it. I unlocked the door to my apartment and threw myself down on the couch.

What was the etiquette on this whole thing? Was I supposed to ask Leo if it was a date, or would he eventually ask me? Were we just going to keep going on like this forever and ever until one of us wondered if we were supposed to be filing taxes together or something?

What if I asked him and he laughed at me? What if I asked him and he didn't know what I was talking about?

What if I didn't ask him and I died right here, of a heart attack? Ember pounced on my gut, forcing me to unglue my asscheeks from the couch and feed her.

That gave me a three-minute reprieve from the unholy existential spiral I'd found myself in, but I'd made no more progress on my best course of action. Just as I got done cleaning up after Ember dove into her food bowl, I got a text.

From Leo. Leo: Hey, I'm on my lunch break and figured I'd give you a holler. You said you're an artist, right? I want to work on my painting skills. Want to go to the craft store with me on payday? I want a pro by my side! I stared at my phone like it'd grown snakes for what felt like an hour before I typed back. Me: Sure! I should get some more supplies, too. I've been getting back into the swing of things. Leo: Great. It's a date! I stared at the screen, frozen in place.

Dear diary, it seems that Leo answered my day-long epic saga of self-exploration, self-deprecation, and a little bit of absolute terror.

Now, I guess I have only one question. Is Leo psychic?

--hawkwarrd

#23

Welcome to Day 23, diary, 'cause the breeze is so strong and the weather's so dark that I might have dropped you into the snow when I was rushing out the door this morning with my bag unzipped.

Just dash, drop, drown--I've left you out in the air in the sink, hopefully minimizing the damage as much as possible. Would a hair dryer help? Can I even use a hairdryer without setting it on fire?

Fire--god, I wish I had a fireplace. It's so cold. It's so fucking cold.

Round these parts it doesn't snow 'til January--dull dreary grayness throughout the December and  mild-mild-mild chills until January "the Real Fucking Winter" 23rd rolls around with snow so wild I'll freeze my toes off.

I. Hate. The snow.

We're getting snowstorm warnings but I go to work anyway like how we put warnings on prescription bottles and they don't stop us all anyway and honestly? Wasn't busy, given the snow. No one wants to go around in this weather.

We closed early for the lack of traffic. I'm home now, and though your pages are water-damaged and wrinkled and stained, you're still okay. Still functional. We're a lot alike in that respects, aren't we?

I thought about writing another poem, or doodling--hell, my neighbor's kid plays their rap music so loud I considered trying to make my own. I will not. I would be a disaster--but yeah, that kid--they're probably like 13, 14, with a bad attitude and headphones too big for their face and a big button on their backpack that says THEY/THEY PRONOUNS OR I'LL KILL YOU.  Their nickname changes every other day from planet names to galaxy clusters to snowflake crystalline shapes. Their mom, Hadiza, is nicer, all on her own--a tired smile on her worn-pretty face and her hands cracking from dish soap and snow-skin, but she sometimes knocks on my door and asks me to make sure her baby got home okay while she was out at work.

sometimes i think i'd kill to have a family who loves me but that's a bad thought bad bad bad

She's nice, at least, though. When I got home she offered me some tea--you've been awfully quiet lately, Luz! Come in, I'll make you some-- all soft and warm, and well, motherly.

Made my heart hurt a little. Made some of the snow melt.

So I'm here, diary, after a lazy slow cold day, with milk tea and biscuits warming my body from my toes to the brainfreeze I caught in the winter outside.

Good days and bad days, huh, diary? Good days and bad days.

I hear the music playing up from the apartment next door again, but I don't mind it so much right now.

--redlight

#24

24th January

I was painting today after my shift at work.

That’s why I wasn’t paying attention. Why I didn’t fully look at the screen before I answered the phone.

It was set to be a good painting, I thought. I’m pretty sure I was trying to deal with what happened at the turn of the year. I was so proud of myself for picking up a paintbrush and getting into that space.

I don’t think it matters, now.

I pressed the phone to my ear, expecting Greg or Susan to be calling me to confirm my schedule for next week.

It was neither Greg nor Susan.

“Hey. I didn’t think you were going to pick up,” Nick’s voice said. “Listen, I know that you’re really mad at Dad and all,”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said, mouth feeling numb as I spoke. I wasn’t here at all. I was at the pizza shop with Leo. I was ice-skating. I was even arguing with an old lady about the price of tuna, because I wasn’t here--

“I think we need to put that aside for a while.” Nick said, sighing. “I’m at the hospital. With dad. And Mum.” He said shortly.

“The hospital?” I said, looking around. Ember sat curled up on the couch. I’d dropped my paintbrush. There’s a splatter of brown-red paint slowly seeping into the cream carpet. There goes my deposit.

“Yeah. Dad’s… Not well. Mum and I talked, and I think… We think, all of us, that you should come home.”

“I can’t.” I spat immediately. “I just… I can’t, I just can’t.”

“If it’s about money, I’ll buy the ticket.” Nick said nonchalantly. Funny, that. Who knew being His Holiness came with such a stunning salary.

“It’s not about the money and you know that.” I whispered, curling in on myself. I could barely breathe, could barely think. “What’s going on?” My morbidity asked.

Nick let out a sigh.

“Dementia, we think. He’s been asking for you.” He admitted, his voice choked. “We’re not sure how much longer he has.” “Dementia,” I echoed. “Okay. I’ll… I need to… I have a job,” I babbled, standing then sitting immediately back down. “Can I call you back?”

“Sure. We’re going to be at the hospital all day, so even if you want to talk to him…” Nick said, trailing off hopefully.

How he wanted a perfect family.

“Right,” I said, finally choosing to stand back up. “Right.”

“Okay. Bye. I love you.”

“I… I love you, too.” I said, looking down at the phone in confusion. Nick hung up.

I felt like I’d been boiled.

Dad had been asking for me?

What did that mean? As far as I knew, he hadn’t uttered my name since I’d left the house.

Was he really dying? There was a time in my life that my father dying had been a fond dream of mine, while I was locked in my room to give me “time to think”.

Nick becoming a man of some monolithic God was hardly original. My father had been patient zero. The outbreak. The drop of contamination in the well.

Mind and body, I still bore scars from being the queer child in a House of God.

How was I supposed to go back to that? How was I supposed to care?

Nick had always behaved like I was being overdramatic, and he still was. How could he just casually call me one afternoon and ask me to go back to that place like it hadn’t ripped everything I was away from me?

The numbness I had on the phone was swept away by the tide of rage.

My father was the type to read from the Bible for our bedtime stories when we were children, to pray before dinner, to attribute everything good in our lives to God.

As a child, I was wont to agree. All the evidence I had pointed to the affirmative. My life was good, and therefore God was good.

It was only when things started to take a turn that I found out the truth.

God made man. Man made pain. Pain made man bitter and tired.

Dear diary, I am so bitter. So tired.

Somehow, my father had found out that I was queer. I had been trying things on for size at school, trying to grow into myself in a safe space.

Soon after, the mill downsized. My father was one of the many that were turned away, no pension, no benefits.

Many people would have turned to alcohol, to drugs, to anything to make that horror seem far away for awhile, but my father turned to God. We went to church Sundays and Wednesdays. We prayed every night, together, before bed.

I’m sure there are people out there who thrive in that environment. Nick sure had.

Me? Not so much.

Especially not when I was to blame for my father’s layoff. They laid the family’s flaws at my front door, blaming my queerness for why things were going wrong.

God is punishing me, they said. I was unnatural, they said.

Ember made a small chirrup from the couch and I looked over at her.

I couldn’t go back, I thought dumbly. They wouldn’t let a cat on the train, and Ember surely wasn’t staying here by herself.

I looked back down at the phone.

I had a few options. Running through them would help sort the cluttered stack of panicked thoughts in my mind, made frantic from a single phone call.

Option one: never call Nick back, throw my phone into the canal.

Option two: call Nick back, tell him I can’t go back, but talk to my father on the phone. Option three: call Nick back, tell him to buy me a ticket, go back to my hometown.

Just thinking the third one made me sick to my stomach, so I crossed it off. I couldn’t do it. Not now, at least.

Option two seemed like the best way to keep everyone happy. I was the equalizer. I was the one that kept everything together.

This was my role in the family.

I picked up my phone, but instead of dialling Nick, I dialled Leo.

“Hey! What’s going on?” Leo answered. He sounded cheerful but suspicious. I would be, too. We’d only texted a few times since the date. (Not date? What the fuck ever, I’ve got other shit happening.)

“Something… crazy, honestly. Do you have a second?” The background noise on the call stopped and I heard a door close.

“Yeah. I’m all ears. What’s going on?”

I gave Leo the five-minute version of my family history, much like he’d given me over pizza. It was sanitized, but I could hear him hiss through his teeth while I recounted certain tales.

“Now he’s sick. Nick says its dementia and he wants to see me, but…”

“You can’t.” Leo said firmly.

“Right.” I agreed, folding my arm across my chest. “It would be…”

“Bad, bad, bad.” Leo said. I could nearly see him shaking his head, his hair getting in his eyes. “No bueno.”

“Nick said I could talk to him on the phone, but…”

“Do you owe him that, honestly?” Leo asked me.

“Do I owe him?”

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be just a phone call, alright, but you’re freaking out. Do you owe him your piece of mind? Do you owe any of them your peace of mind?”

What a question. “I don’t think so.” Leo said, softly into the silence. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you that you are worthy of peace. You are worthy of happiness.”

There was a lump in my throat and I could scarcely breathe.

“I dunno if anybody ever told you that, but it’s true.”

“Thank you,” I choked out.

“Anytime. Literally, day or night.” Leo said. I heard a door bang open and someone calling his name. “I have to go back in, but are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah. I am.” I said, and I didn’t know it was true until that moment. “I think I’m going to call Nick back.”

“What are you going to tell him?” Leo asked.

“That I’m not going to talk to my father,” I said, gulping slightly around the tears that threatened to choke me. “At least not now. And I’m not going back there. Ever.”

“Good. Great,” Leo said. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you so much,”

“No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow at work, okay?’

“Okay.” I agreed again. We hung up, saying our goodbyes.

The phone lay in my hand, inert, but it felt like the potential energy contained inside of it could level a city the size of New York.

I took a deep breath, moved to the couch, and grabbed Ember around the middle. She opened an eye at me, offended, but I wrapped her sleepy, limp body around my neck like a scarf and the warmth seemed to appease her for a moment before she oozed partially down my chest, keeping her head near my chin.

With my little mascot, I opened my contacts and pressed on Nick’s.

“Hey! Are you clear to come down?” He answered.

“No, Nick. I’m not coming down.” I said firmly. The phone shaking in my hand and my other hand tangled in Ember’s fur belied my strong tone.

“What? What do you mean you’re not coming down?” I gulped at his angry voice and the sound of him walking down an expanse of tile. “I can’t go back, Nick. I’m sorry.”

“Your father is dying and you won’t even go see him?” Nick shouted and something within me snapped.

“I was dying!” I growled. “I was dying and nobody even cared!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The entire time I spent praying for something to change inside of me, praying to be anyone else but me, I was fucking dying, Nick, and none of you gave a single shit. In order for me to survive, I can’t go back to that place.” My voice was shaking, but my hands were firm. “I’m not going to do that to myself, not again.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re seriously just being a baby? What about ‘Dad’s dying’ do you not understand?” Nick said incredulously.

“You’re not listening to a word I’ve said,” I spat, sitting forward on the couch. Ember shot me the evil-eye, but she stayed. What a good cat.

“Yes, I did! You said that you’re not going to come and see your dying father because he tried to raise you right.”

“No, I’m not coming to see the man who raised me to believe I was an abomination because I would like to live.” I growled, clenching my jaw. “I think we’re done here.”

“I think we are, too.” Nick said. “He’s going to be so disappointed.”

“So am I.”

I hung up the phone. I stood, cradling Ember in my arms. I sat back in my painting chair.

I bent, picking up the partially-dried paintbrush.

I rinsed it off, picking up more colour.

I started to paint.

--hawkwarrd

#25

Day 25.

I woke up just a few moments ago. That's why my handwriting is so sloppy. I'm sorry.

I didn't really sleep. I couldn't. All I could think about was that fucking phone call and my dad and my brother's unbearably loud voice screeching into my ear. I don't even need to read what I wrote last night again, I remember every single word like it was burnt into my brain. (I don't think I can, actually. Read what I wrote. I can't.)

Why did he even call me? Why did he have to call me?

Fuck. I don't want to go to work.

I wish I could grow vines from my body that would merge me with this bed. That's all I need. To just lie here and fucking sleep.

︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿

Update. I tried to sleep for the last 40 minutes and I couldn't. Even having Ember lying against my back didn't help.

I don't want to go to work. But I can't stay here without falling asleep. It'll only get things worse.

I just got a text from Leo. He asked if I'm okay and if I want him to call in sick for me.

You see that, diary? He cares about me more than my entire family combined. Unless he doesn't. Unless it's all a show and he actually doesn't care and nobody cares and I'll end up all alone again and my own fucking brain will keep on screaming and screaming until I take that rope again and ch

Sorry. I'm sorry. I wrote too hard and now your page is a bit ripped.

I told him I'll come.

︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿ Here we meet again diary. My damaged diary, just like me.

Today was… odd. It was… bad, but… somehow… I dunno. Sometimes it was okay, and other times… it was a disaster.

I was late to work but Greg said it was okay. He was in charge again so he put me in the cleaning product section, to put the new price stickers on the products that were on sale. Then he told me to put in the cans in order and do some stuff like that.

I went to lunch with Leo again but nothing that big this time. We sat outside and ate some sandwiches he made (they were perfect. Cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and salty butter. I couldn't ask for a better homemade lunch than that. I didn't, actually, he just brought it and shared it with me and made my morning better), and just watched the people go in front of us. We played that game I play with myself sometimes, and tried to guess where they went and why.

We saw a woman hastily talking on her phone while walking fast. Leo said she was a lawyer late for court, and I said she was just late to meet her friends somewhere.

We saw a guy and a girl (I said girlfriend, Leo said sister) sit not far from us and laughed at something they saw on their laptop. Leo said they were looking at puppy photos while I said they saw a funny post on tumblr.

We saw a guy walking slowly with a small girl, and while Leo said it was her uncle taking her to eat ice cream, I said it was her brother taking her to the near park, to ride the carousel.

Leo looked at me and asked, “what, like Holden and Phoebe from The Catcher in The Rye?”

I smiled at him, all proud that he recognized what I was talking about. “Yeah. Why not? All he needs is a hunting hat.” I said.

He laughed. “It's my favorite book, you know,” he told me.

“I know now,” I said, and he looked down shyly like only he can, with his freckled cheeks red and his green eyes hidden. So that part of the day was the good part. The only good part.

Even before rush-hour, my luck was running out. I dropped products, I bumped into things. I discovered that I put all the sale prices in the wrong place in the morning and had to rearrange two entire sections. I was already frustrated by the unnecessary work I made for myself, and the embarrassing stuff that I did - I was not ready to spend the rest of my day there.

But I couldn't go home, either.

And then, some point in the afternoon, the store was stuffed. Since it's a Friday, everyone wanted to hurry and buy everything before the weekend.

Which is exactly why I hate Friday shifts so much.

I stood in the dairy section in the back. Once in a while, some random customer asked for help. I tried to stay friendly, at least on the outside. The noise creeped into my bones but I did my best not to let it stress me more than it already did.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and it made me jump. I looked at it and saw it was a message.

It was from Sean.

I couldn't even look at what it said. I just turned off the screen and put it back in my pocket.

At first, I didn't even notice that I was shaking. I kept on gulping and licking my lips, like I was thirsty, even though I wasn't.

Why? Why did he text me again?

My phone vibrated again (and made me jump again) - but more than once this time. Someone was calling, but I didn't want to look at it. I didn't want to see who it was, in case that it was him. I just - I couldn't handle him, I just couldn't. And I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me break. Because that's what he did, that's what he always fucking did, what he was best at - I couldn't calm down, even after I turned off my phone completely. I looked at other parts of the store, to see if I could see Leo, or Greg, or Susan, anybody, but I couldn't see any of them ; they were all too far away, too busy. The entire damn place was too fucking busy and I felt like it was getting too much.

I had to get out. I had to get out but I couldn't. My legs were stuck in their place and there were too many people and too much noise and too much to do.

Fuck. Even writing it now makes me want to puke.

I saw someone. Someone that looked just like him. And for a moment, I was certain that it was him, that he found me, that he actually found out where I am and that he came to get me.

I couldn't breathe. Each inhale I took felt like fire, just like my eyes did when I blinked. I couldn't hear anything but the blood that rushed in my ears. At some point I must have lost my balance cause suddenly my shoulder hurt, and when I looked to my side I saw I bumped into one of the refrigerators, but I couldn't fucking move. It was too hot and too cold at the same time and I could barely stand and I felt like my lungs were tied up and I shook like mad and my throat hurt as if I was screaming (did I? Or was it just from crying?).

Someone put their hand on my shoulder and I jumped and slapped it away. I couldn't really see properly but I just knew that people were looking at me and gathered around me and I just needed to get the fuck out of there, get away from him, get away from everybody, I couldn't fucking breathe -

Suddenly, a familiar voice reached my ear. Leo was calling my name, asking “can you hear me? Can you hear me?”

Somehow I managed to nod. I blinked through the tears and saw his huge piercing green eyes. “Look at me,” he said, “Breathe with me. In,” he took a deep breath, “and out,” he exhaled. He repeated it slowly, just for me, until I felt the fists that squeezed my lungs gradually let go. He encouraged me and guided me until I could breathe without needing to fight for it.

I was numb, for a few moments. Or maybe in shock. But it was quiet, finally quiet, and I needed that, just for a few more minutes. I didn't even notice he took me outside.

“Here,” he whispered, and gave me a bottle of water. My hand was still shaky when I took it, and slowly soothed my sore throat with it. It helped the breathing, too.

“May I ask you what happened?” Leo asked, so gently, so emotionally. I turned to him and felt my eyes burn again. My vision was blurry with tears and I… I tried to speak. I did.

“It’s just… I thought I saw…” I bit my lip as I tried to stop myself from crying again, but it was useless. “That I saw someone that... “

I couldn’t really continue the sentence, but he got it. I looked down at the ground and when I raised my eyes back at him again, I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. I leaned my forehead against his shoulder and I cried, letting the tears stream down my face and right into his shirt. I don’t even know for how long I cried but he kept on holding me the entire time. I could feel his arms fold around me, and he was just so tender, so careful, just like he could. One of his hands cupped the back of my head, and his other arm just kept me close, as if I’m going to collapse again. My fist gathered his shirt at some point, and I almost hugged him back.

I don’t know how long passed, but he didn’t let go, even when I was done. And I let him. No one ever… comforted me like that before. No hug ever felt so safe.

When I raised my head to wipe away the trails of my tears, I saw he was crying too.

“Leo…?” I blinked at him, all confused and guilty. “No, no… it’s not your fault,” he laughed through his tears. “I just cry very easily… I just… can’t stay indifferent, you know? Especially when I know what it’s like. I’m sorry, it’s… it’s stupid.”

I managed to smile, if only for a moment. “It’s not stupid.”

He saw I was still trembling and weak, so he suggested to ask Greg to let us take the rest of the day off. “My apartment is only one bus stop away,” he told me. “You can stay in my place until you feel better.”

Despite myself, I nodded. In other situations I would’ve been awkward or flustered at such a suggestion, but… I knew I needed this. I couldn’t go back to work… and I couldn’t go back to my place. Not after this… not when the rope is in there, just a drawer away.

We went to Greg together, and Leo told him I didn’t feel well, and that he needed to escort me. Fortunately, Greg was very understanding, and let us go pretty easily.

We then went to the locker room, to take our stuff. I saw he left me a sticky note this morning, one that I didn’t notice before, and I promised myself to leave one back for him the next time I get the chance.

He paid for us both on the bus, and led me to the back door inside of it. I watched the houses and trees rush in my sight while the bus moved, and felt like they were running away from me (but Leo didn’t). Before I knew it, we reached our stop.

His apartment was on the ground floor of the first building to the left of the bus-stop. He kicked the snow that piled up by the door, pressed the numbers for the entry code and let us both in.

We both took our shoes off by the door. He hung his coat in the corner and told me to do the same. “You can put your stuff here in the corner, so everything’ll dry up,” he said. “And you can go ahead and sit on the couch, I’ll make us some tea.”

I did as he said and went to sit on the couch. I felt a bit awkward at first, and would have been much more so if I wasn’t so tired. It was a small place, smaller than mine. He had a small kitchen just by his living room, and the bathroom was just near his bedroom. It was tidy and warmed up immediately when he turned the heater on, and just felt so… homey. The orange light from the lamp made it even more so.

“There,” he stepped slowly and put a wooden tray on the table in front of me. There were two mugs on it, and beside them, a sugar container and a spoon. “Peppermint and lavender. Do you like sugar in your tea?”

I nodded and mumbled, “one.”

He added sugar to my cup and then went to his bedroom, only to come back with a blanket. I was about to decline, but he already put it around my shoulders and it just felt so soft. The teacup warmed my hands up and I could feel myself relax, little by little.

He sat beside me and we drank our tea in silence.

“I’m sorry… about all this.” I finally managed to say, somehow. Words never came out easily for me after a panic attack.

“No, don’t be. Please,” Leo told me. He brought his legs up and bent them flatly on the couch, with his knees turning towards me. “I’m glad to help. And I want you to know that you don’t need to feel obligated to explain anything, okay? I know you explained a little before but if you’re not comfortable with elaborating, then I respect that. I just want you to feel… safe. Do you feel a bit better now?”

I nodded and brought the mug up to my lips again. After a few more gulps, I could feel that the herbs were actually helping. “Thank you…”

“Of course.” We finished our beverages and continued to sit there, comfortably silent. Then we talked for a while, about other things. Leo showed me some photos of his sisters and his dog. In turn, I turned on my phone, swiped away the message notification (and the missed call one) so I won’t have to see it every time I look at the screensaver, and showed him the only picture I had of Ember. He said she was the sweetest kitten he’s ever seen. I told him how I adopted her and promised to take some more photos to show him.

I spent much more time there than I thought I would. It was already dark outside when I decided I should go. Even though I ended up napping there for a while before that. He didn’t even wake me; when I woke up on my own from my dreamless sleep, he said he didn’t mind. He had a book on his lap and his phone beside him.

“Besides… it’s nice to have someone around here. You’re the first visitor I have here.” He said. It somehow made me feel a bit… special.

Not long after that, I put my coat on and took my things. He suggested taking me home, but I didn’t want him to bother that much for me.

Apparently he was very stubborn when he really wanted to be.

“I’m not letting you go all the way by yourself, not when it’s so cold, and not in this hour. I have my car here, I’ll take you.” He said.

Before I could say no again, he already put his shoes and coat on (I didn’t bring my own car to work today so I didn’t have any other excuse).

Leo’s car is small and old, but functions well. He said his oldest sister left it for him, and that’s why there also was a leftover smell of cigarettes (Leo hates that smell. Good thing neither of us smokes) that he tried to mask with an air freshener. I told him my address, and we were good to go.

The roads were almost completely empty. People in this town don’t use their cars much, not for Friday nights anyways. Most of the bars and pubs are in the center. I fell asleep during the ride, and before I knew it, Leo woke me up to let me knew we arrived. His hand was gentle and warm against my shoulder, and for a moment, I was tempted to invite him in.

I couldn’t, though. I didn’t want him to see that shithole. Not tonight.

I put my hand on the handle, but I didn’t open the door just yet. I licked my lips nervously and looked down, a bit in a loss of words. I wanted to thank him again, I wanted to tell him that I have no idea where I’d be by now if he wasn’t there, but… somehow, I didn’t find the right words, at the time.

I looked at him, and he smiled in understanding.

And then he hugged me. It was a bit uncomfortable, because of our sitting position in the car, but it wasn’t unwelcomed. It was a different kind of hug than before, but it still felt… protective. Safe. I liked it. (I didn’t want it to end)

I tried to make a lame joke before I let go completely. I don’t even remember the exact phrasing cause it was that lame, but it was something like, “I’d invite you in but I’m late on feeding my cat and I don’t want my first visitor to be eaten alive…”

At least it made him laugh. His clear, beautiful laugh that you can just tell it’s so sincere. Even from a stupid joke, just like that.

We said goodbye and I got out, and he waited until he saw me getting into my house before he drove away.

I fed Ember. I changed into my jacket-and-random-pants pajamas…

And that’s it. The most roller-coaster day I’ve had in a long while.

I decided to keep my phone as far away from me as I could tonight, and put it to charge in the socket on the other side of the room. If I don’t hear the alarm, at least I’ll have Ember to fill in for it.

So maybe this morning wasn’t the only good part of the day today…

And at least now, I can try to have some sleep. Who knows. Maybe I’ll manage, this time.

- hadar

#26 - BLANK DAY

#27

I may or may not have spent most of yesterday in bed.

I did. I only got up to pee and take a shit.

I needed the rest, though maybe not as much as I got. The more I slept the more I feared waking up, and every time my eyes flickered closed like old lamps in desert hospital hallways, I found myself where I didn’t want to be.

My mind took me there, diary. I saw him in his deathbed, and he extended his hand to me. Hands that were heavy on my body, weakened by delusion, perhaps seeing a child he no longer had but pretended God was merciful enough to grant him the vision of my presence nevertheless.

”My beautiful child,” he whispered in a voice that used to tuck me in bed until it became coated in venom. He was glad to see that my hair is short now; he always said that I shouldn’t have it as long as I liked it at the time, that I’d spend more water washing it and each extra dollar towards the water company was one less dollar towards the church charity pot on Sunday. For a brat of fifteen, it made me want to grow it over my shoulders, only to taunt him. Every day he pointed out that it had grown and laughed about it. Playfully, for anyone who didn’t know better, but each low chuckle was a warning I chose to ignore for the sake of rebellion. I’ll never forget the day when he grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerked me backwards and cut it himself. One swift, clean lick of a scissors. But that’s straying from the point. In this… fucked up psychic dimension that was my dream, my father extended his hand to me and said he missed me.

He fucking missed me…?

Nick was there too, smiling with his hands resting on our mother’s padded jacket. She smiled too, head tilting to the side as it always did, nails long and pointy, polish of a color that looked ridiculous in a woman of her age, fingers adorned with jewels we could never afford so she took to her own measures to have other men paying for them on the side.

”My beautiful child, please… Come closer.”

In my dream - I was nauseated, choking on bile, my stomach twisting and revolting at the mere thought of being touched by those calloused hands again - I walked to him. I let him fuck no FUCK get away DON’T TOUCH ME touch me and he guided me closer to him, pulling me until he could reach my face and he SHIT STOP PLEASE DON’T DO THIS PLEASE I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE kissed my forehead. ”My beautiful child,” he said again, ”I’m glad that God gave me a chance. I’m glad that God gave me you.” His hands - weaker than before, one of them connected to a serum pumping machine - curled around my neck. The grip was fragile, barely even squeezing, but I was contorting already, quivering in anticipation, feeling my air lines cutting in advance, heart bursting frantically as if it were scared to be beating for the last time and it was.

”But you’re broken, my child, you’re twisted into a monster. But that’s okay. God will save you just like he saved me.”

The ghost whips of a leather belt stung on a skin that never forgot the pain, a mind that struggled to keep up to the “treatment”, to the sick… attempt at “fixing” something that I had no control over. In my dream I was crying, and I woke up crying just as hard.

Ember, perhaps unknowingly, purred a soothing melody as she curled up to me. It was a song I never heard, but I sobbed against her fur until she tri-pawed away to chase a fly. I was calmer by then, arguably sober in a mental sense, the aftermath of the dream pressing my body further under the sheets. I found myself wondering why I kept the rope. Was it a trophy to remind myself that my cursed timeline could have ended but I pushed through like a champ? Or was it just so I could fantasize about having it around my neck again? I weighed a few thoughts on the second option.

I heard footsteps on the hallway and my heart stilled. I knew it couldn’t be him, but I still hid until I heard a familiar voice.

“Rise and shine, sugar plum.” Greg said from the other side of the door, choosing to tap a few knocks on the surface of the door over ringing the annoying buzz of the bell. I appreciated that, and he knew so.

Greg… He doesn’t talk much. But he always says what I need to hear, even if I don’t want to hear it. Today’s “I don’t want but I definitely need” was, “I’m picking you up for lunch.”

He introduced himself to and played with Ember while I showered and got dressed.

Sunday meals at Greg’s were the absolute opposite of what I used to have back home in Arizona; he had so many people over on the weekend I often considered it smothering. His living grandma on his dad’s side, his parents and parents in law, brothers, sisters, nephews, and sometimes the lonely neighbour who had lost his wife to cancer and always repeated the story of how they had met, over and over, until he saw at least one eye around the table getting teary. Greg’s partner was always there too, of course. My family was never that large, but the silence and the mandatory praying and the television weather report and the roast and the elephant in the room everyone refused to acknowledge, it was all so suffocating--

Me and Greg met online when I was a dumb kid of twelve, playing with an online mask of a twenty year old. It was a thing us stupid kids did back then, trying to be grown ups where no one could prove that we were simply trying on a shoe a few sizes too big for our tiny feet. Greg, he was twenty-one at the time and had just finished high school a few years late, but it was done and that was all that mattered. He tried for college but never made it in. He doesn’t regret it.

He found out about the almost-catfish a few weeks after we started talking, but he never brought it up. Again, he never says anything he doesn’t have to. We spoke every now and then and when I noticed, I had stopped pretending I wasn’t myself.

I told him about wanting to leave my house. He understood.

He’s the reason I had somewhere to stay after I ran away from my family. From Sean. This apartment, in fact, belonged to his younger sister, before she moved to Europe with her fiance. He’s the reason I even have a fucking job. I can never thank him enough for everything he did for me without me ever asking. That’s probably why I never say no to him. Today, it was just us. No overly large family. Just… us. Family, too, in a way.

“Andy’s gone out with his college buddies. Some sort of weekend-long bonding camping trip. He sent pics, you can see them on my phone if you want? It’s over there.” He said as he chopped an onion without looking at the cutting board. I feared for his fingertips, but years of practice had him confident in his technique.

Ah yes. Greg? He cooks amazingly. He and his husband are gym-pumped vegan beasts, and most people would scrunch their noses at being presented with a dish of soy over beef, but the way he seasons the food is just-- chef emoji, super yum, 100/10, putting Rich Landau’s worldwide famous plant based meals to shame. I could drool all over a plate before eating it - ravishing it, rather. I hate carrots, but Greg’s roasted carrot purée is crazy d i v i n e and I could feed on nothing but that for the rest of my pitiful life.

I should have taken a picture à la Instagram, dear diary, but I left my phone charging at home, so I’ll have to leave it for another day. He promised he’d have me over more often, even when I said he didn’t have to. He insisted that he wanted to have me there. That I was always welcome. I pretty much only needed to say the word and he’d have a front door key ready for me.

We ate (have I mentioned how bloody DELICIOUS it was???), he made a stupidly quick yet delightful dessert and we lazed the day away in the couch, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, our legs up on the coffee table (if Andy were there, he wouldn’t approve of that). Both of us had already watched that Schwarzenegger movie like eleven times, but still we sat through it until we fell asleep. I had no nightmares.

When we woke up, it was to a key on the front door and Andy walking in. He had a whole bunch of new pictures and stories to share. It was dinner time by then, and even though I wasn’t too hungry yet, I could never say no to more of that meal, so we ate leftovers from lunch and heard all about his adventures with people I never knew of.

Greg drove me back home close to midnight with a tupperware full of another portion of his food. Before he drove off, he asked me, with all sincerity, if I was okay.

Diary, I wanted to lie and say “yes”. I always did, it was a reply that came out on autopilot. That I was fine and that the embarrassing panic attack I had on Friday was caused over some stupid anxiety, nothing I couldn’t get over with a little more sleep and more of that purée.

But I thought of Leo. How concerned he was. I thought of my day with Greg, how I owed him so much but he never asked for anything at all, and I thought of the amputee cat waiting for me to feed her just upstairs. I thought of how much of a carcass I was in the lonely night of December 31st 2018, how I was so prepared to embrace death as one last attempt at feeling anything at all and how I stood up to Nick like I had been too much of a coward to do before.

And then I said yes. And when I said yes, diary, I said it because I meant it. In Greg’s smile, I noticed he too noticed.

When I got home, I petted Ember, fed her, but she barely ate, choosing to follow me around and rub on my legs instead. I unplugged my phone off the charger to open my messaging app and read Leo’s concerned texts and reply to them as fast as my cold fingers could type on the screen of my smartphone. Pressing backwards when I waited for a reply, my eyes drifted down to see one text from Susan - missed call - and the one from Sean’s number. I found myself praying, for the first time in a very long time.

I prayed that it wasn’t true. I prayed that I read them wrong, that it was the wrong number, that it meant nothing. But I read those words again and again, and they were right there. Mocking me. Taking whatever security I had gained over foundations of sand and crashing them down like a salted wave of restlessness. Greg was one phone call away, but my phone fell on the floor and cracked the screen and I couldn’t find it through my tears.

XXX-XXX-XXX: I found you.

Dear diary. That rope on my drawer is suddenly looking very inviting again.

#28

Day 28. (somehow)

I woke up so many times at night, I can barely call it sleep. Even now, after I put my phone on the other side of the room again, that message still haunts me. Mocks me. Whispers in my ear like a damn ghost, settling in my head like a tumor. Like only he can do.

As I said before. He wasn't the only reason, but he had a huge part in my decision to leave. I can't even elaborate on that, it'll make me - it'll make me want to rip you apart, diary, and I can't do that. Not to the only thing I can rely on with my thoughts and secrets.

Dammit.

Knowing that he found me gives me such chills, I can barely write properly. I tried doing those breathing exercises Greg had taught me but nothing helps.

I want the ground to swallow me whole. I want a lightning to strike me right here and now. I want…

I don't know what the fuck I want.

What do I do now? Do I run away again? Do I wait and see what happens? Do I call him and tell him to leave me alone no, hell no. Definitely not. Not gonna happen. If I listen to his voice, I'll scream.

Fuck him fuck him fuck him. Why can't he just leave me alone? Why can't he just let me be and let me move on with my life?

It hasn’t been this long since the year started. But I finally have something good here, you know? I have Leo and Greg and my job and Ember. I have the lake to sit by and the park to go through to local events.

I have my freedom, something I used to only fantasize about not even that long ago. Finally, I can choose where to go and what to do; not my dad, not my brother and definitely not him. Neither of them controls me anymore. None of them can tell me who I am and who I should be.

At least… That's what I want to believe, diary. That's what I want to believe.

… I hate him. I hate that he makes me feel so weak and confused. I hate that with three little words, he can crush me into dust and take away the one thing I ever wanted.

To feel safe. My phone made that special sound I put especially for Leo so I'd know that it's him. He said good morning and sent a cute lion emoji instead of his name.

I'll get ready for work soon.

︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Even going to work was a nightmare. That text Sean sent me was stuck in my head, and I couldn't shake the feeling that with every step I made, he made two. It made me anxious. The only good thing about the cold and the snow was that it somehow managed to chill my body, even underneath my coat, because it was too hot even in that weather.

I had to stop thinking about it.

Not long before I needed to start my shift, I bought myself some coffee and some cookies to share with Leo and Sylvia at work. When I got there, I left him a sticky note like I promised myself I would, and he himself showed up not long after me. We shared some cookies and talked, then I gave the rest to Sylvia. She said she'd bring them to her grandchildren, cause chocolate-chips cookies are their favorite.

The shift was rather calm today. Not many people are coming on Mondays, especially not in this weather, so we mainly focused on cleaning and organizing things (it was nice to keep myself occupied, otherwise I'd probably had another panic attack by then). I spent most of the time with Leo while Sylvia was in the cash stand. The three of us had a lunch break together after that, because she insisted and we didn't have the heart to say no. Turned out she brought enough food to feed an elephant, and we ate much more than either of us hoped.

I'm so grateful I had their company today. It didn't undo what Sean did, and let me tell you, I will most likely think about it every day because I can't stand the thought of him trying to find me, maybe he's even watching me-- but… they did help me, a lot. Having them with me kept me… sane. I jumped when I got a message on my phone later in the afternoon, but luckily, it was safe this time. It was Simon, one of the people that volunteer with me in the animal shelter (he's a bit of a dick, but all in all he's okay). He said he broke his arm so he won't be able to be around in the near future. We're pretty much always short on staff, especially ever since the snow started, and our manager, as understanding as she was, kind of freaked out about losing another volunteer. She really cares about the animals in the shelter - she's the one who brought in most of them.

Turning to Leo was my first and only option.

It was towards the end of his shift that I asked him if he wanted to meet me up later and go with me to the shelter. To my surprise (or maybe not), he immediately agreed, and even offered to buy some stuff on his way to get me.

It was only me and Sylvia until I she'd give me the o.k to go, and that entire time I did my best to remain somewhat busy, to keep my mind from wandering towards those three cursed words I have on my phone.

So I drew. I drew the store around me to the tiniest detail. I drew Sylvia sitting behind the counter, writing stuff in her notepad.

I drew Leo out of memory. That one I kept in my locker, later. Leo came to get me around 7pm. When I got into his car, I saw he bought much more than any other volunteer I've met until now. When I asked him about it, he said most of the things were stuff he found in one of his sisters’ bags in his apartment, and the others he bought on the way. He refused to tell me how much it cost so I wouldn't be able to pay back some of the money he spent. I gave him the instructions on how to get there while we were on our way, and he was glad to see part of the city he didn't get the chance to see before.

Later, he stuttered something that I didn't understand at first, and he blushed even more when I asked him what he said. “I - I asked if you're still up to go out with me to the art store on our payday?”

I choked on my own saliva and coughed like crazy for a whole minute. He told me to take his bottle of water from his bag behind me, and while I did, it finally occurred to him that what he said was… That. He began to apologize and say he didn't mean to make me uncomfortable, but I somehow managed to tell him that it was alright. He even said I could call it off if I wanted to, but I told him I never said no. When he turned quiet, I knew it was because he was flustered, even when I didn't look. So I said, “You know, payday is the day after tomorrow… so I guess we can go then.”

He quietly agreed, and right before our silence could become awkward, we arrived at the shelter.

I introduced him to the manager, Georgia, and she showed us in instantly after we brought her the all the stuff Leo brought. She asked me about Ember and I showed her the most recent photo I took. She was more than happy to see the cat already looked bigger and healthier. She said she liked really happy to be with me (I'd like to believe that, too). Leo loved it there. He was so excited to help so many kinds of animals in one place, and he was actually good at it. He was charmed by Georgia's story of how she opened this place last spring, all on her own, and how she managed to keep it stable up until now.

I showed him Shelly, the conure that's still really fond of me, but she didn't like him very much. She even tried to bite his finger (how can anyone not like Leo, I will never know).

We spent our time there helping Georgia around until the shelter closed at 9pm. Then we went to grab something to eat (ate Chinese takeaway in his car) and Leo drove me back home.

He stopped me before I got out of his car, by gently putting his hand just above my elbow.

“S-so… the day after tomorrow. Right?” he asked. Maybe he was still feeling bad that he called it a “going out” thing, but… it was cute. That he wanted to just make sure, I mean.

“Yeah. The day after tomorrow,” I confirmed. I smiled at him and that seemed to put his mind at ease.

And now I'm right here, diary, writing to you in a slightly better mood than I was this morning.

I'm kind of excited about tomorrow. More than kind of, actually. I'll go out with Leo and we'll have fun.

But if I'll be honest, I'm… I'm scared. I am. I never admitted that and I didn't think I would, but… You're the only one I can say that to. I don't know what I'll do if the messages continue, or if Sean starts to call more often. Fuck, I don't know what I'll do if he ever shows up.

But for now… I need to keep it together. For my own sanity, at least.

Or at least, I need to try.

-hadar

#29

One of these days, I am going to wake up and my first thoughts won’t go to the noose in my drawer.

Today is not one of those days.

I feel like someone is playing tug-of-rope, and I’m neither on the winning side nor the losing side.

I’m the rope.

One moment, I’ll feel like things are looking up. Like things aren’t all that bad.

The very next I’ll remember the missed calls and the texts on my phone.

It appears that ignoring Sean only made him worse. As I stood at the cash register, I was sure that my phone was ringing off the hook in my locker.

Leo seemed to notice how distracted I was and he kept eyeing me between customers. He’d look like he decided on what to say, but once we were alone, he changed his mind.

I didn’t blame him. I had to look like some kind of wraith, haunting register number three in a fugue.

He broke when we went on lunch together when Sylvia came in.

“Are you okay?”

Something in my locker buzzed.

“I—”

Something in my locker buzzed.

“You’ve been a little out of it all day,” Leo said, tossing his head.

Something in my locker buzzed.

That was an understatement, I thought.

Something in my locker buzzed.

I must have looked like I was on another planet.

Something in my locker buzzed. ‘A little out of it’ was such a nice way to put it. Something in my locker buzzed.

“Should you… Get that?” Leo asked.

I snapped.

“No!” I shouted, standing up and slamming my hands on the table. Leo flinched back, eyes wide in surprise. “If I get it, I’m going to throw it into the canal and I’m going with it,” I snarled.

Something in my locker buzzed.

Leo stood up and walked over to my locker, pulling out my phone.

“Who the hell is calling you like this?” He asked, holding it out from his person like it was poisoned. “You have forty missed calls. It’s not your brother, is it?”

“No,” I whispered. “It isn’t.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but feel free on the walk.”

“The walk?” I said dumbly. He thrusted his jacket at me.

“The walk. I’m going to find Greg. Put this on.”

He stalked out of the lunchroom. He looked livid and I wondered how I could have pissed him off so quickly, so easily.

I hoped he’d at least let me down easy.

Leo came back, Greg in tow.

The phone was still ringing.

“You guys can take the day.” Greg said, giving me a worried once-over. I still held my jacket, standing in the middle of the lunchroom. “I’ll work the registers. Don’t worry about clocking out.”

“Thank you,” Leo said, voice still a little clipped. “C’mon. Out you get.”

I followed Leo as I climbed into my jacket. He still held my phone, and he looked down at the screen.

“Calling again.” He snarled, his upper lip curling. Where was shy, gentle Leo? “This is gonna stop. Now.”

“What are we doing?” “We’re going to the store and changing your number.” Leo said, full of piss and vinegar. “I don’t know who Sean is, I don’t care who Sean is, but you look miserable and I’m not going to sit here and watch someone harass you like this. Fuck him, fuck this phone, fuck the black cloud that’s been around you all day,”

He ranted, turning down the street toward the cell phone branch.

“God, fuck this.” He finished, shaking the phone in front of him with a snarl.

“Are you… Okay?” I asked, slowing my walk. Leo had marched out of the store with a vengeance, setting a breakneck pace toward the store. He slowed with me and shot me a confused look.

“Am I okay? What about you?” He asked, a little more of the gentle Leo that I knew. “I’m sorry, I should have asked before I went on a crusade…” He trailed off.

“No, no. I really appreciate this, honestly.” I admitted. “I wouldn’t have done this by myself.”

“How long has this been going on?” Leo held open the door to the store for me.

“A few days.” I said, tossing my shoulder like I hadn’t lost sleep over this. “A few…! Okay, yeah, this is getting done today,” He said, marching up to the desk.

The clerk looked a little overwhelmed at the start, but Leo eventually calmed down enough to stop turning to me and reading me the riot act mid-transaction.

A few of Leo’s greatest hits:

“I don’t know who this person is, but they don’t get to call you a thousand times and make you feel like shit, okay?” --While the woman was asking for my customer information

“Who would even harass you anyway? You’ve never done anything wrong in your life!” – After we’d handed the phone over

“I bet they don’t even have anything to say. This is illegal! Do they know that? We should go down to the police after this, I bet Greg would come, Sylvia too, we would all go with you,” –As she was waiting for Sean to stop calling so that she could access the settings in my phone

Once the whole thing was said and done, we’d been there a half hour. I felt like a flannel, wrung out and left to dry.

Tired, exhausted, and thoroughly told off, but… Good. Having Leo make a big deal out of this and validate my panic over the past few days felt… Good. I thought I’d been making a big deal out of nothing, acting like a baby, but watching Leo, calm, gentle, Leo, fly into a fit over a few phone calls was somehow far more comforting than I’d ever thought.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Leo said, taking the phone back and turning to me.

“Can I go home?” I asked, taking the proffered mobile.

“Of course. I’ll walk you.”

We were quiet for a few blocks, Leo’s righteous rage stemmed for the time being.

“I didn’t overstep, did I?” Leo finally asked. My apartment building was in sight.

“No. I… Thank you.” I said, looking down at my feet. “Thanks for caring.”

“You deserve somebody to care about you, okay?” He said gently, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Whatever this is, you don’t have to tell me right now, but whatever it is, you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I’ll tell you.” I promised. “Just not right now, okay? I’m… Exhausted.” I admitted.

“That’s understandable. I already have your number, so call me if you need anything. Or if whoever that was calls back. Alright?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Leo said, chuckling. “Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, eh?”

“Art shop!” I said, twinkling my fingers with a smile.

“Art shop… Date.” Leo said, stiltedly. He inclined his head. “If that’s okay?”

“That’s… Okay.” I said, fighting a smile and nodding. “It’s totally okay.”

“Okay,” Leo said, perking up slightly. “Okay! Okay,”

“Okay,” I laughed. He stopped and shook his head at the absurdity of our conversation.

“Okay!” He said, breaking into a big smile and laughing with me.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “I’ll pick you up?” He said, hopefully. I grinned one last time.

“Okay.” --hawkwarrd

#30

Wednesday. January 30th.

  I don’t know why, but I woke up feeling a lot better today.

  I’m not sure what it was; maybe it was the sheer caring Leo had shown in helping me deal with Sean yesterday. Maybe it’s the thought of our date (our date, diary) later today (today!), or the fact that I actually got out of bed at a reasonable hour this morning, or… I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to. It’s the first time I’ve been mildly happy in… years, honestly,  I can’t remember the last time I was – was I ever – I can’t- I don’t know I should know  and I’m not about to question it.

  I think if I mention it anymore it’s going to go away.

  And it almost does. The thought of the past few days come crashing down, and it takes all my energy to push them away. Even then they don’t leave entirely – how could they?

  Sean still knows where I am, doesn’t he or did he never know in the first place?

  What could have happened if Leo and Greg weren’t there.

  Honestly, as cliché and stupid as it sounds (and sorta makes me feel) he – Leo -- reminds me a bit of a prince. I mean, have you seen him? Messy perfect-length light-brownish, hint-of-red  hair, (not to be confused with an artful mess, just… a mess) -- how did he even see someone like me? It’s only a year’s difference but I feel so much older than him sometimes not to mention we have similar music tastes (I found out randomly during one shift that we both liked indie, alternative, and electro swing). Good god, if I don’t get out of this house now I’m going to die, aren’t I.

  The whole day seems to stretch by slowly, so slowly, until finally I look up from my pile of video games and books and lock eyes with the clock.

  2:40, twenty minutes before I’m supposed to pick up Leo from the store.

  I mean – it’s not like we set a particular time or anything. And.. he did say he was going to pick me up. But I know he gets off at 3:00 and it’s only a ten minute walk to the art store from there, and… I may or may not have wanted to stop by and walk there with him.

  It’s stupid.

  And yet, only a few seconds later, I find myself tugging on a sharp, patterned shirt and – whatever else it is when people want to impress their art store dates.

  I’m hopeless, aren't I? I pull into the store parking lot at 3:01 and see Leo walking out the door, finding myself running to catch up with him before he disappears into the crisp air and I have to walk by myself all the way there (because seriously? How weird would that look? Fuck my life but no way is that happening). His eyes light up with surprise and a little bit of pleasant happiness at my sudden appearance as I slide up next to him, looking at me as the cold turns his nose and ears an adorable but subtle shade of red. Or maybe that’s just me?

  “Hey,” he huffs, eyes sparkling, a little more forcefully than he needs to so he can watch his breath become visible. It’s not freezing, but it is January, and thus a bit chilly. Definitely medium-heavy coat weather, which… given from the light one he’s wearing, he doesn’t seem to have realized. Oh well.

  “Hey,” I muse awkwardly in response. My lungs burn a bit from my sprint across the parking lot but I don’t care.

  We fall into comfortable silence, neither knowing what to say. It’s only seven minutes before I see the art store a small ways ahead and glance at him and his strange green eyes, my question rolling off my tongue as we approach our destination. “What kind of art do you like making? Or,” I correct myself, “I guess, what would you like to make?”

  He looks a bit startled, like he hadn’t even considered that. “I’m- not sure. I used to sketch a lot more when I was younger, but I- fell out of practice. A lot of it was pretty bad anyhow.” This time the red across his cheeks is a definite blush, and I think it’s so cute I might be blushing myself. I feel so detached from the events of the last few days and, from the sheer calmness he’s displaying, he does too. It seems like so much drama has happened that even the cool (but not frozen, like that around us only moments ago) rush of air as we step inside the store makes me grin, and I look at him. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we? I mean, who goes to an art store as their second date?”

  He grins right back at me. It feels… neat inside, and I suddenly realize what it’s been that made me feel so happy the whole day.

  I haven’t been in an art store in ages.

  And this is the first time I’ve ever been in one with someone I care about.

  Someone who cares about me.

  After all, Sean hardly counts.

  “I know, right?” Leo looks just as excited as I am. His response fell so in time with my thoughts that I’m taken aback for several seconds before realizing he’s just responding to my earlier joke.

︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

We leave the store almost two hours later (to be fair, we looked at everything), me with some new paints at my side and some good pencils, pens, and a sketch pad at Leo’s. Neither of us have mentioned the past few days – if we want to be happy, I imagine, it should be now. It’s a date; Me and Leo (Leo and I)  and the art store, not… Leo and me and the art store and… everything else. God, what have I dragged him into? He doesn’t- he doesn’t need this.

  But he must notice the death of my slight smile because his slips away too, and he purposefully yet gently bumps into my shoulder with a concerned twist of his expressive eyebrows. “Hey, you okay, Luz?”

  Am I ever?

  I’m trying to push the emotions away, far away. I can’t let them ruin this moment. It’s too important to me. Leo’s… too important to me. “Yea,” I say, observing the air from my mouth as it becomes visible just like he did when I first caught up with him. I get a strange feeling.

  It’s obvious he doesn’t buy it and he, being no-one else but Leo, stops with a worried (and then understanding) shift in his eyes. “Is- this about yesterday? Because I- I did say I was- again, I’m- sorry if I overstepped- “

  “No, it’s not… I dunno. The past few days have just been… insane. It’s terrifying. And… I’m scared. Of what that’ll make me do.”

  Leo shuffles where he’s standing. It’s not an alarmed sort of shuffle, merely a sad one, as if he knows what I’m referencing and is familiar with the emotion(s) I’m trying to convey. It makes my heart break a little bit. No-one should have to understand. “Yea.”

  “But I’m glad- that you’re here. You don’t have to stay, but you do.” I stop speaking there because I’m upset I might reveal a bit too much. It’s startling how fast the mood changed.

  “Well, you’ll always have me.” It’s so quiet I wonder if I made it up entirely or if I just misheard what he said. Part of me hopes it was really what he meant to murmur, even if the rest of me feels too fuzzy inside at the hummed declaration to have an opinion yet.

  Then the moment has passed and he looks like he did before, flashing me a grin as he continues walking towards the store where are cars are at. I let it go and fall into step behind him. “Want me to drive you home?” He asks, twirling to walk backwards so he can watch my expression as I answer.

  “Okay.”

  The air around my house, I know, is no different than the air anywhere else, but it… experiences unique. Leo doesn’t mention the fact that I live in an apartment (because why should he, my mind supplies), instead focusing on teasing me about my hair (which now looks as bad as his). I’m tempted to point out his light jacket in return, because honestly it’s been bothering me since the beginning, but I leave it alone with a smile.

  “I had a good time,” he suddenly says. I look over at him.

  “So did I,” I respond, softly. I think it comes out a lot less awkwardly than I considered it might.

  “We should do it again.”

  “I agree.”

  So, nervously, he glances at me, and moves a little closer. (Finally, that sense of awkwardness I’ve been waiting for this whole damn date fills me). I know what he’s doing.

  And then he does it. It’s quick, almost misses because he’s shaking a bit. It’s clear this isn’t his first kiss, just as it isn’t mine – but this one seems like it matters. A lot more.

  Then he waves, even though we’re a foot apart now, and just hums “I’ll see you at work?” before sprinting across the apartment parking lot, back to his car and away from me.

- sher

#31

Day 31

The end of January. For most people, that means the end of striving for a New Year’s Resolution, or the beginning of a next phase, or the beginning of the end of something. Anything.

For me, I feel like it’s the end.

The end of… Something.

My phone was quiet for most of the morning. I worked until two today, then went home and fed Ember, puttering around making lunch for myself and tidying up.

I sat down and painted for a while, not really striving for anything but to get colour on the canvas. It looks like the stuff that I used to do while still in school. Not bad, just… Different.

January 31st feels like the end. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever, yet not long at all.

Time has moved so slowly. Every day felt like a decade, but it still feels like only hours ago that I had that rough rope fixed around my neck and the cool wood of the chair beneath my feet. Thirty-one days.

A century.

You are only thirty-one days old, dear diary, and yet I feel like you know me more than any other force on the planet. You are older than time. Older than myself. Civilizations were born and died in your lifespan, watching over each of these thirty-one days with the cool composure of a stone sentinel. Never offering your wisdom, nor telling my secrets.

The secrets, the musings, the crossed-out, scribbled words kept beneath your bindings carry more weight than Atlas carried on his shoulders.

For me, anyway.

To a random passer-by, to a person on the street, they are meaningless. Imperceptive eyes would skim past, reading the words written on my heart turned inside-out and wonder what they could mean. One could look up each word in a dictionary, find the definitions and the nuances in the English language, but would one find the meaning?

Do they mean much to you, diary? Are your arms tired and your back strained from carrying the leaden words I’ve scrawled upon you in a fever-pitch haste to exorcise them from myself? Some days I wonder if this is better for me than simply allowing everything to pass me by.

Writing it down makes all of these things seem real. It gives the passing of time sustinence, body, a corporeal form to drift through this apartment, just as much of a resident as Ember or myself.

Thirty-one days.

Thirty-one more opportunities for quiet car conversations. For walking around an art store and feeling like touching everything, dreaming up ways to use it, ways to craft it, ways to make it mine. For pizza, for ice skating, for crying on the small streets.

For being held.

For holding.

Thirty-one more days to allow the dust to gather on that length of rope.

Thirty-one more mornings to watch as other people go about theirs.

Thirty-one more evenings to sit and listen to the city while I make dinner.

Thirty-one more afternoons to actually create, something I haven't done properly in years.

Dear diary, here’s to the next thirty-one. --cryptidkickflip

[haxorus-imp]

Alien Affections - Villainous/Reader - Chapter 16

It was the next day when you got up and out of bed. Last night was great! The clouds were gone and you got to learn more about Flugs' world this time around! It was nice to stargaze with a friend. As it really helped to fight off the encroaching loneliness and homesickness that was eating at you earlier that same day. You learned about constellations and their history. Even if they weren't the same, it still comforted you to know that even THIS Earth has named stars after great superheroes in fiction. Just like your Earth with its' folklore. You got up and stretched, also ignoring the slight itchy feeling that came from your covered bite wound, now donning your 3rd set of shirt and pants. Unlike your rocketship shirt and your 'I see Aliens' shirt, you were now wearing a plain black shirt with a glow-in-the-dark design of a stereotypical alien that was smoking a blunt. There was also a tagline underneath the image that said 'Take me to your dealer.'. You found the shirt and fell in love with how funny it was. Thankfully, you weren't wearing this shirt on the night Ass Hat mauled you. Your pants were also different than your other plain pairs. These pants were black with small green stars that dotted various areas around the pants. Your socks were still a plain black and you chose to wearing a bright green set of sneakers. Your third outfit was in full swing! You eventually left your room and headed out into the hallway to go visit Dementia. Apparently, something bad had went down yesterday at noon and got Dementia very sick, as you learned that from 5.0.5 when he brought you some breakfast. Nobody had said anything about what happened that caused Dementia to fall ill, yet you decided to visit her today. As it has been two full weeks and Flug had left to go out and restock on food and supplies today. Which means, you could either build something for yourself or visit a sick friend. You didn't feel like working on anything at the moment, curse your laziness, so you decided on the second option. You grinned as you made your way through the maze-like hallways. You weren't in charge of caring for her, 5.0.5 currently was, but it wouldn't hurt to get to know the girl, right? I mean, you both haven't seen and interacted with each other at all that much. So...maybe this would be a good time to visit and possibly get to know her! You stride to Dementias' room, which was on the other side of the manor, adjacent to your own. Passing by some artifacts and priceless decor on your way. Looking at some of them as you passed. You couldn't help but laugh at one as you passed. I mean, who could blame you? It's really weird that Black Hat would have a Hero's ass mounted on his wall. 'I guess that means he's an ass man.' You mentally joke. You lightly chuckled to yourself as you reached Dementias' room on the other side of the manor. You knocked lightly on the door, not hearing any complaints or murmurs, you twisted the knob and let yourself inside. The decor of the room looked like it was kinda like a messy, punk-loving teenagers' room. As there were some messy worn-looking dolls, a few posters of punk-looking rock bands on the walls, and an overly large stereo set with a guitar next to the dresser. The room looked to be unclean. As there was some crumpled notes lying across the floor, some punk records piled on top of one another, and 'How to get your dream man~!' mags strung akimbo across the floor and various surfaces. There were also pictures of reptiles and rubber lizards all over the place for some reason. Even if the room looked like a war zone, you stepped inside to visit your once-loud housemate. "Dementia?" You whispered, walking over to the moaning mound in the bed. "Mpprprrpph?" Came a disgruntled voice from under the pink and black blankets that were also dotted with crossbones. You looked at the mound in slight confusion as you pulled over a chair and sat down. Only to yelp and stand back up after a sharp jab stabbed you in the butt. You glared at the plastic dragon-looking lizard that was sitting in the chair, as you picked it up and sat it on the desk. Then you sat back down. "Dementia, are you okay? It's (Name). I decided to come visit you today." You explained, lightly tapping the mound. The unseen Dementia grumbled again as she slowly retracted the covers. It was slightly difficult to see her, as the only light source in her room was the slightly torn lamp that was perched on her desk. The dark pink lampshade didn't help at all either. But, you could see her now and she looked just awful. Her eyes were slightly sunken in and tired looking. Her skin was as pale as snow and her hair was unkempt from not properly taking care of it in over the last 24 hours. She was sweating slightly as the cool rag on her head had long since been warmed and lost it's cooling properties. "Oh my!" You gasped, picking up the warmed damp rag and feeling Dementias' forehead. To which she purred at the coolness of your palms and whined when you pulled away. "You're burning up! Here, let me go get a cold rag and some icy water! I'll be back in a second!" You exclaimed, picking up the used rag and hurrying from the room. Looks like you'll be doing more than a simple visitation today. -- You hurried back into Dementias' room with a cold glass of water and a cold rag. Walking back over to her bedside and sitting on the chair next to the bed. You sat the items on her nightstand, then prepped the rag and a straw so that it would allow Dementia to take a cold sip of water from the drink. Dementia sighed in slight relief the moment the cold rag was introduced to her heated forehead and she took a nice long sip from the straw that was in the chilled drink. She gave out a sigh at the brief relief she felt. "T-Thanks..." Dementia murmured, her voice hoarse. "You're welcome, Dementia." You replied, setting the drink on the nightstand beside your bed. You observed her again. Taking in the sight of her sickly form. "Yeesh. It looks like you caught a bad case of the flu, Dementia." You muttered, shifting the slightly askew covers back into place. Dementia then shook her head. Confusing you slightly. "Well...yes. I know it's not the flu. I just heard from 5.0.5 that you fell sick. Though, he didn't explain from what. He just shrugged when I asked him what it was." You pondered. Dementia then began to make humming noises and shift around in her bed. Muttering something. "I'm--I'm sorry....what?" You asked, leaning in slightly. Dementia took a steady breath. "It...experiment. Smelled...great...ate it! Was..in...much...pain...brought...here. Black Hat...Flug...about...you." Dementia croaked, her sentence was broken. Though, her message was clear. Something went wrong with an experiment. Apparently, it smelled great and Dementia ate it. Then...she was suddenly in a lot of pain before being moved here. Then, something was said about you between Black Hat and Flug. You began to get suspicious. The strange behavior you witnessed yesterday, before you went out on the roof that night, came back to you. It was only Flug and Black Hat that were behaving strangely yesterday and you didn't find out about Dementia's illness until this morning from 5.0.5! You squinted at the thoughts. That's a VERY convenient time frame for all of this shit to go down. Then that also explains that strange behavior that Flug was showing when you caught him looking at that vial-!!! You suddenly look back at Dementia. "Dementia! Did what made you this sick come from a safe in the lab?!" You asked, looking over to her. She appeared lost in thought for a moment. Before she nodded. "Vial." She coughed, confirming your suspicions. You looked away, slightly hurt that FLUG of all people would attempt to keep it from you. But...he doesn't look like the liar type. He doesn't even look that malicious! I mean, he's more things than that! He's intelligent, nice, fun to mess with, listens to your worries and problems, skittish, shy....he's a good friend, he would never lie without a reason! . . . But, somebody else WOULD. You squinted your eyes at the other thought that crossed your mind. You bet it was fucking Ass Hat that made him do it! Dementia did mention him talking to Flug about you. Though, you didn't know what was in that vial, but you know it has something to do with your blood. As the transfusion from yesterday, you look at the bandage on your arm for emphasis, was as suspicious as can be. Approaching Black Hat about this would be too risky, case and point from the scars on your back and the bandage that was on your neck and covering the bite wound. So, that means that it would have to be Flug that you would have to approach about this topic. It certainly won't be pretty, if Flug has a panic attack from being confronted...you have to go about this cautiously. You got pulled from your thoughts when Dementia began to mutter something else. "Oh! I'm sorry, Dementia. Did you say something? I, uh, wasn't paying attention." You scratched the back of your head. Dementia rolled her eyes and pointed to the television that was sitting on her large desk. "TV." She repeated. But, you did what Dementia asked, stood up, and turned on the TV. Which blasted music the moment it was turned on. Seemingly have been left on a channel that featured punk rockers and rockstars alike singing and preforming. You quickly turned it down and sighed in relief while rubbing your ringing ears. Cripes, how did Dementia deal with that!? You then heard someone grunting. Turning around, you could see Dementia attempting to reach for the remote on the farthest place on the nightstand. You hurriedly walked over and retrieved the remote for Dementia, who hummed in appreciation at the gesture, and began to flip through the channels. You simply sat back down on the chair and waited for Dementia to find what she wanted to watch. You could say that you were very confused when she stopped on the NEWS of all things. But, you didn't complain. This was Dementias' TV after all. You began to watch in slight interest as the news anchor was giving out information on a recent attack that happened, to which they switched over to a live reporter who was currently on the scene. There was a female news reporter on the screen, dressed in a light tan dress and appeared to be reporting on some damages of a recent fight that occurred between two superheroes and a crazed villain in a mech-suit. It wasn't native to Hat Island, but it appeared to have happened on the mainland, apparently just nearby. In another city that goes by the name of 'Suit City'. You rolled your eyes at that. Of course it would be named that. Why stop at Hat Island? Just keep going! You might have a street that's called "Bowler Hat Lane" or "Classy Boulevard"! You shook your head at those ridiculous assumptions an continued to watch the news. "It is recommended that civilians avoid Classy Boulevard until the damage has been cleared by professionals." The news reporter explained from the TV. You blinked before you turned slightly and face-planted into Dementias' sheets. To which she lightly patted your head, despite the confusing behavior you just expressed. 'Dammit. I was just kidding! Ugh!' You mentally groaned. Letting Dementia pet your hair slightly. Suddenly, there was a tune that was being played on the news, along with a siren-like effect playing in the background. Both of you and Dementia looked toward the TV in confusion, you still laying your upper torso on the sheets, turned your head to see the news channel switch out it's 'Daily News'to 'Breaking News'. Then, a news anchor appeared on the screen, looking quite worried about something. "This just in! A sudden attack from a local villain happened earlier this morning in 'Current City'!" That nabbed both of your attentions as you fully focused on the TV. "It started out as a normal day for the locals of Current City, when the local villain and troublemaker, Galvation, suddenly attacked and confronted the town hero, Blade Runner." "The fight started out rough for Galvation, as the civilians had fled to safe distances and were cheering for Blade Runner on the sidelines of the fight, but this story doesn't have a happy ending for the brave hero that fought against the hulking form that was Galvation. The villain had pulled out a secret weapon that was fired from his wrist, striking Blade Runner in her side." "The hero was hit the mysterious projectile and began to experience a sudden loss of her super speed. She then began to stumble around as if she was dizzy. Galvation took the opportunity and let out steams of erupting fire from his mouth, singeing our local hero to her unfortunate death. But, the mysterious projectile that pierced Blade Runner had managed to be successfully salvaged from the body of Blade Runner. Galvation had long since fled the battlegrounds when the Hero League finally showed up, along with the state police force." "This is the image of the weapon that was used on Blade Runner." The woman reported, as her face was changed over to an image of a shot-like device that was black and white, with only a Top Hat icon on the side. With white-pinkish fluid slightly dribbling out of the tip. "The remaining liquid inside has been confiscated by the Hero League for testing. This unknown device held substance that had managed to weaken a hero and made Blade Runner loose her super speed and weakened her enough to have her killed. Our condolences from channel 9 go out to the family and friends that have been affected by the death of Blade Runner." "The burial for Blade Runner's ashes will be held this weekend at the Hero's Country Graveyard in Suit City. We can assure you, the villains that made the poison that ended Blade Runners' life will be brought to justice! This has been 'Breaking News' from Channel 9. Stay tuned for the weather and sports report coming soon at 12PM." The news lady said as the commercials came on. You and Dementia both blinked in silence. You couldn't believe what you just witnessed! That liquid! That Top Hat design! You never stood up from a chair that fast in a while. That was the same liquid from the vial that Flug was trying to hide from you! You suddenly ran from Dementias' room, leaving behind the confused woman in your wake. You darted down the hallway, sprinting past all of the garbage that Black Hat kept in the halls. You could feel yourself panting and your legs burning. 'I can't believe Flug would hide this from me! ME! He's using MY blood to cause damage!' You felt so frustrated that you could cry, yet you sucked it up. You knew Flug wasn't capable of lying to you. You knew that it was Black Hat that made him do it. But, to be sure, you're going to get the answers from Flug. Even if he has a panic attack. You have the right to know! You NEED to KNOW! You skidded to a stop in front the stairs that lead down to the foyer. Just in time to see Flug disappear into the lab. Looking none-the-wiser. 'Just the man I wanted to see.' You mentally growled, stomping down the stairs. 'It's time to tell the truth, Flug.' You mentally said, striding after Flugs' form and into the lab. -- Meanwhile, within the dim solitude of his office, Black Hat was watching the recent news report that appeared on screen. His grin was wide and menacing as he watched the pictures of his clients latest work. Galvation, in short terms, was a large hulking brute. Sharing the appearance of a lava golem with the ability to breathe fire and crack city streets with his weight. However, he was rather slow. Which is how Blade Runner would always get the upper hand in their encounters. But not this time. Black Hat felt a shiver zip down his spine as he watched the news report on Blade Runners' death. Laughing when the news reporter gave her condolences to the 'friends' and 'family' that Blade Runner had. An official death from a product he made. It felt so good to see something work out in the end. "The burial for Blade Runner's ashes will be held this weekend at the Hero's Country Graveyard in Suit City. We can assure you, the villains that made the poison that ended Blade Runners' life will be brought to justice! This has--" Black Hat turned off his large, motor-operated TV that came from the floor in his office. "Oh. I'm SURE we'll be brought to justice, my dear." Black Hat mocked. "I mean, it's not like I have 4 more clients that paid for their fair share. Best part is, I still have 9 more to spare~!" Black Hat cackled as he looked over to the vial display, showing off 9 more of the vials in question. "Better yet!" Black Hat exclaimed, looking off to the side. Eyeing his haul of hefty stacks of green dollar bills. "They bid like crazy for my product!" He cackled, pulling up his stacks of cash that he made off of the poison. Grunting as he sat them down on top of his desk. He mentally counted the money stacks for the 5th time that day. Picking one stack up and dragging his thumb across the end of it. Making it sound like a deck of shuffling cards. To which it sent pleasurable shivers down his spine. "Ah~! The lovely sound of a mornings' work." Black Hat sniffed the money stack. Relaxing in his seat as he did so. He began to count down from 5 with his fingers, as he knows his clients watch the news regularly for any deaths or working products that are effective against heroes. And as he predicted, his desk phone started to ring when his last finger went down into his fist. He gave another sinister smile as he reached over to pick up the phone. "Lets make heroes a little more dead, shall we?" He laughed evilly as he pressed the answer button to his office phone. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Next> <Previous ~First~

[rykerelias-archive]

TRANSFERRED FILE. ||  @cardshcrp   Remy & Elias. VERSE: ac. ( season one au. ) 005.   THREAD: pickpocket prince.

   He was pretty positive this was as close to hell on earth as he could get, given that he wasn’t ON earth and that he’d actually SEEN hell but – poetic license aside … he was about as uncomfortable and fuming as he could be without there being actual torture involved.  Honestly, he’d take ACTUAL torture over this, pretty much any day of the week.   Being forced into the suit and tie was bad enough. Being stuck playing pretend police for a mess of Meths that would probably just laugh in his face if he tried to call them on their bullshit, while having to not just outright snap or snarl at one of them every time he caught the snide, sideways glances they gave him?  This was Tanaka’s way of reminding him that he needed to toe the line and all it made him want to do was punt kick the line up Tanaka’s ass.   A glance down, a face made at the decidedly empty glass, and he was making his way towards the bar – about the only perk of the job at hand.  

   A heavy lean, a drop of an elbow against the edge of the bar, the glass slid towards the bartender.  “Whiskey – whatever’s the best you’ve got –”  He said, his voice a low rumble, edged a touch with petulance that he was TRYING to choke down.  His gaze slid up, a moment later, at the shift of movement, slight andSUBTLE pricking at the edges of his awareness.  Too many years of doing what he did, maybe, but he had to double check, a moment of vague disbelief that made him doubt himself as he watched the brat prince of the Lebeau family estate drift his way closer, the distinct glitter of something metallic slid from a guest’s wrists and into the – robe? – the host wore.   He glanced back to the bar as the glass was set back down for him, the contents half emptied in one swallow, his attention following the dark-haired figure for another few minutes, a faint smirk pulling at one corner of his lips as the Meth finally turned to make his way to the bar as well.  

   He hadn’t exactly MEANT to say the words that spilled from his lips – too much whiskey, not enough food, maybe, or maybe he was just tired of holding back.   “You must have a hell of a lot of pockets in that getup,” he spoke, his voice dry, and pitched soft enough to not be overheard by most, but that didn’t make them any less reckless.   FUCK.  The last thing he needed was a Meth breathing down Tanaka’s neck to make his life any more miserable than it already was.  .

         Oh, MY. His head snaps right around at that to take in the man in front of him - distinctly out of place, clothes more than a few cuts below the standard, and looking sour as old milk to boot. Handsome, too - obviously rented muscle from the police, as usual, but not one he’s seen before.

OBSERVANT, he thinks, and a thrill runs through him, all the way up from his toes. OBSERVANT AND BOLD. HE’S FUN. GONNA BE FUN, FUN, FUN.

He smiles at Elias and winks, one thickly-lined eyelid sliding down smooth, the glittering powder across it catching the light as he raises his finger to his lips. SHH. “NAH,” he says, amiable as hell, and leans on the bar with a distinct lack of Meth-ly manners. “I STICK IT ALL UP MY ASS, Y’KNOW, TO MAKE UP FOR THE LACK OF A WHOPPIN’ BIG STICK THAT THE REST OF THESE GOOD FOLKS GOT LODGED UP THERE REAL SOLID.”

He holds out his hand, lazy, wonderfully arrogant and demanding, exactly the kind of move he knows the other man can’t exactly refuse, but it’s quite alright; he thinks he’ll be forgiven when he slips him what he has for him, oh yes.

“M’NAME’S REMY LEBEAU. IT’S A PLEASURE.”

    It’s ALMOST easy to ignore the once over.  He’s used to being scrutinized, be it by his co-workers, the junkies or the trouble makers on the street, the suspect of the hour in one of his cases (which is what he SHOULD be paying his time and attention to rather than this shiny fucking shindig) or on the occasions when his paths crossed the Meths, being analyzed and picked apart with the distinct air of disdain like he was LACKING something that only they could see.  Maybe that wasn’t true, he saw plenty lacking when he stared himself down –  The man – MAYBE – with the dark hair and scarlet eyes, painted lips and eyes – wearing something that didn’t really seem to fit into dress or suit, – he was LEANING towards man, to be honest, though maybe that was just the background chatter of what information he’d picked up about the host of the night’s events through the chatter – managed to surprise him, enough so that a scarred eyebrow tilted upwards, a flicker of an ALMOSTsmirk creasing one corner of his mouth briefly at the Meth’s words.

   “That’d sure explain a lot,” Elias grumbled, despite the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him chances were high this was just an elaborate form of entrapment.  Then again, he hadn’t even met a Meth in the habit of pickpocketing so – who knew.   “Might want to consider the POCKETS though, for future reference – probably a hell of a lot more CONVENIENT,” he replied, his tone droll, tainted with an edge of sarcasm, a faint pinch of his lips as he was forced to set aside his drink, his calloused, worn hand settling a little uneasily into Remy’s.   “Ryker.”  He offered in way of introduction, before finally seeming to opt for elaborations.  “Detective Elias Ryker.”  Homicide – not babysitter, but that part he kept silent, at least, for now.

          “GOOD TO MEET YOU, ELIAS,” he grins, and the way he says his name? It’s half-WONDERING; he rolls it around on his tongue, savors it, lets it drip slow out of his mouth like molten gold, andMM, he likes the taste of it. “YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE YOU’RE HAVING FUN, GOTTA SAY. PARTY NOT TO YOUR LIKIN’?”

And just like that, there’s weight in Elias’ palm as Remy pulls away. It isn’t the bracelet he’d just taken off his guest, no. It’s one of his own, copper and bronze beaten heavy, braided against each other until it’s something beautiful.

“KEEP IT,” he says, and cocks his head at the detective, smiling faintly. “THEY’RE YOUR COLORS. OR DON’T - IT’LL SELL WELL ENOUGH TO GET YOU SOMETHIN’ YOU WANT, AT LEAST. CONSIDER IT A TOKEN OF MY ADMIRATION. IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE ANYONE SPOTTED ME DOIN’ WHAT I DO.”

He KNOWS he’s making himself into a curiosity to Elias, knows that the wandering eyes of his guests wanting to butter him up are finally finding him and wondering, but it doesn’t truly matter. They can assume what they like of him favoring a ground-dweller with his attention - ultimately, none of them will have the courage to call him out on anything they decide he’s guilty of.

“SO, MONSIEUR RYKER. WHAT WOULD YOU PREFER T’BE DOIN’ RIGHT NOW? AND BE HONEST. IT’S A REAL QUESTION, I AIN’T GONNA JUDGE YOU WHEN I’D RATHER BE GETTIN’ WASTED ON CHEAP WINE AND BITCHIN’ TO THE AIR ABOUT MY EX-WIFE MYSELF.”

   There’s a twitch of something, a response that he isn’t quite sure how to process, at the edge of his lips, a rub of his tongue against the back of his teeth at the halfPURRED repetition of his name – that was NEW – he wasn’t sure he’d heard anyone take quite as much TIME to say it.   Maybe Kristin, during – That wasDEFINITELY not the place to let his mind wander.    His fingers curl, closing over the object that he found, suddenly, palmed into his hold, a faint tilt of his head back, his hand pulled away, an elbow resting against the bar again.  Subtle, reflexive, not unaccustomed to the act of an illicit hand off, a glance cast down, after a moment passed.   “Not my kind of party, no,” he allowed, a vague crease between his brows as he studied the bracelet, a flicker back up to the Meth, prepped to object, to remind him that he wasn’t allowed to accept gifts –

   A thumb ran over the intricate, heavy woven metals, the weight of it substantial.  Probably worth more than he made in a month, easy, a year, maybe.    He wondered, briefly, if Kristin would like it, a faint twinge of guilt at the thought of passing on a second hand gift.  He waffled, still, but he refrained from handing it back – at least, for the moment.   “It’s kinda what I’m here for, isn’t it?”  A pained half smirk, his gaze tilting back up towards the event’s host, a brisk shrug of wide shoulders.   “Keeping the peace and enforcing the law, right?”  He barely swallowed down the scoff.  

   He shifted his weight, slightly, the bracelet slinking into the pocket of his jacket, reaching for his glass and pulling it up to take a sip, casting a wide glance over the room again before he answered, buying time to weigh his response as well as trying to make sure that he didn’t miss something that’d come back to bite him in the ass later.  “Well, I’ve got about seventeen open case files on my desk at the precinct that are calling my name, about three  weeks worth of paperwork to catch up on and let’s not get started on the about six  years of sleep I haven’t had.” He took another long swallow, draining the last of the glass and tapping it back onto the bar beside them.  “Didn’t think you type were the kind to get ‘ex’ wives.  You know – that whole ‘til death do you part’ schtick.”

          Oh, SOMETHING flickers across Elias’ face right there, a little bit of uncertainty laced with a familiar hint of interest - it’s enough for Remy to smirk, a crooked pull to the corner of his mouth.

“MM. WELL. SHE’S KILLED ME A FEW TIMES, BUT SHE LOVES ME TOO MUCH TO REAL-DEATH ME, SO THERE’S THAT, I GUESS. SOMETIMES SHIT’S - COMPLICATED, T’SAIS?” He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment, shaking his head slowly. “MY KIND? MONSIEUR RYKER, FOR A DETECTIVE, YOU’RE REALLY MISSIN’ IT. MM, MMM. I DON’T WANNA THINK I’VE FINALLY GOTTEN A STICK UP MINE WHERE THE SUN DON’T SHINE.”

He’s pouring another drink for Elias in half a heartbeat, snagging the glass and the bottle as the bartender passes by. Bringing it to his lips, he quirks a brow at the taller man, stealing a sip before holding it out to him with a sunny smile.

“CASE FILES, PAPERWORK, AND SLEEP AIN’T HOW YOU SHOULD WANNA SPEND YOUR TIME, EL-I-AS. DON’T TELL ME POLICIN’ HAS WORN OUT SUCH A CLEVER GUY SO QUICK. WHAT WOULD YOU DO RIGHT NOW FOR FUN?”

He couldn’t help but wonder why he suddenly felt like there was some kind of joke that he was missing, as the host’s cheek dimpled, something that he guessed to be a smirk toying over Remy’s lips.   “Sorry, were you just reporting multiple organic damage assaults to a Bay City homicide detective?”  A quirk of that same scarred eyebrow, a hand dumping into a pocket to drag out a pack of smokes, cheap, plastic wrapped and half crumpled, tapping one out and clamping it into the corner of his mouth as he traded out the pack for the antiquated butane lighter.  “Cause if so, it’d add a whole new stack of paperwork to the ones already waiting so –”  A rough shrug.  

   A purse of his lips, watching with an odd mix of resentment and resignation as Remy swiped his glass and in turn, a sip – what was he going to say, don’t drink the hooch you’re paying for?  Okay, maybe in most cases he might have but.  He had the distinct impression there wasn’t much in the way of Remy LeBeau that fit whatever it was the Methuselah’s defined as normal.  “Not so very clever,” he half mumbled, taking the glass and rolling it between his fingers as he weighed Remy’s question, his gaze shifting out to the room again, as it did, every so often.   Assets, head count, exits, trouble.  

    A shift of his gaze back to Remy.  Trouble.  A faint flicker of an amused smirk, half hidden behind the reclaimed drink.   “Drinking a cold beer, eating cheap ass take out, shooting pool and watching my partner take me for every dime I had to spare,” he admitted, a residual warmth in the words that probably implied he meant something more than just partner.   “But seein’ as she’s working graveyard and I’m stuck here, not really an option and I learned a hell of a long time ago wishing for what you don’t have just makes what you do have seem less than what it already is.”

          “NAH, PRETTY SURE ALL I DID WAS MAKE A CUTE DETECTIVE REAL AWKWARD BY MENTIONING FOREPLAY.” And he taps his nose knowingly, chuckling to himself as he shifts to rest his back against the bartop, offering an idle wave to a passing guest.

They were all just slavering with excitement to be on the invite list, every single one of them so insistent on finding him to gush about howLOVELY it all was. Still interesting and ironic, he thinks, that they’re tripping over themselves for the favor of a lowborn inductee if it means they’re a little higher in the eyes of each other.

“FIGURE OUT WHAT MAKES ME DIFFERENT IN THIS ROOM, AND I’LL FIGURE OUT SOMETHIN’ NICE FOR YOU,” he offers, half-teasing, but hums. He’d actually back that if it came up - it isn’t that hard to guess, at least the part he’s referring to. He still talks like he’s right out of the pleasure district, the lazy, crawling dialect that’s so famous and starting to die out.

“YOU’RE SUCH A DOWNER, ELIAS. DONTCHA KNOW THAT THE HOPEFUL THOUGHTS ARE WHAT KEEP US GOIN’ ENOUGH FOR US TO ENJOY THE LITTLE MOMENTS SPRINKLED BETWEEN THE SHIT? I’D OFFER TO CALL IN A FEW FAVORS AND MAKE THAT HAPPEN FOR YA, BUT T’BE HONEST YOU STRIKE ME AS THE KINDA GUY THAT’S GOT TOO MUCH PRIDE AND SUSPICION FOR THAT, SO I WON’T.”

   There was a sound – part HMPH, part COUGH, part something else he wasn’t quite sure what that tried to escape at the Meth’s description of apparentlyMULTIPLE sleeve deaths as FOREPLAY –  A hand shifted, a flicker of flame to the end of his cigarette, using the moment that bought him to let his composure regather.   He shouldn’t have been surprised – the truth was he really wasn’t surprised by most anything the Meths might get up to for ‘fun and games’ in their free time.  It wasn’t like the BCPD monitored the intake / output of Meth clones, unless one of the Meths cared enough about a sleeve death to report it which.  Wasn’t all that often, to be honest.  “Interesting definition of the word.”  The reply was dry, exhaled on a cloud of smoke aimed up, over the head of his conversational companion.  

   “Easy way to fix that – don’t want a downer at your shindig, have Tanaka pick one of the many just frothing at the bit to be here instead,” he pointed out, taking the time to mull over the rest of the words that had been spun in his direction, a harsh drag taken, a flick of his thumb against the butt of the cigarette over a glass – nah, definitely crystal – ashtray on the bar.   “Nothing comes for free, and while I’ve got no problem earning my way through this life, dangling from a Meth’s puppet strings isn’tEARNING, it’s being PLAYED.” A lingering bitterness, the words sharper than he actually intended to let them be, a lifetime of resentment, years of frustration at watching the world spin and dance according to the whims of Bancroft and his ilk –  

  He might’ve should’ve apologized.  Maybe if he knew what was good for him, he still would but – he didn’t. “You mean besides the OBVIOUS?” He finally turned the topic back around to Remy’s challenge.  Something else he probably should let lie, rather than rising to the bait but.  He couldn’t help himself.   “Which is it, by the way – man or woman cause – I get the appeal, you know, confuse the huddled masses but – “  God, he was going to get himself canned and Ortega was going to kick his ASS.   A work of his jaw, a rough shrug flung in the direction of his host, his glass raised to take another long swallow, the pungent BURN a welcome distraction.  “Do you just like the thrill of playing bad … boy,” he took a gander, “Or you trying to tell me that’s your preferred modus operandi, ’cause if that’s the face you wear in Licktown to get your kicks, I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”

          “I WAS MARRIED TO AN INTERESTING WOMAN.” It’s an off-handed response, but it is what it is - they had been what they had been and he finds no reason to try and conceal that. He can’t help but cock his head at the other, a cheerful smirk curling up over that wide mouth. Elias REALLY ought to slow down, particularly considering he’s on the job, but Remy’s hardly inclined to stop him.

“I DON’T WANT PEOPLE THAT WANT T’BE HERE. LOOK AROUND - THEY AIN’T GUARDIN’ SHIT, IT’S FOR SHOW. YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE DOIN’ WHAT YOU’RE PAID TO. OR WERE. AND I GOTTA GIVE YOU PROPS - MOST THIEVES WOULDN’T HAVE SPOTTED ME, EVEN WITH MY BEIN’ LAZY. I APOLOGIZE, DETECTIVE, BUT I DO BELIEVE I’M GONNA SEE YOU AGAIN.”

He leans over the bar to snag a clean glass for himself, filling it far past the proper amount (but who’s going to stop him, really). Taking a long sip, he flashes EL-I-AS a smirk, glossy, lacquered nails tapping thoughtfully at the bottom of a painted lip.

“MAN,” he says after a long moment, and raises his drink in a joking little half-toast. “BORN IN A WOMAN’S BODY, SO REALLY I SUPPOSE IT DEPENDS ON YOUR LEVEL OF BIGOTRY, BUT THAT’S MY OPINION. I DO THIS TO REMIND THOSE AROUND ME THAT THINGS AIN’T ALWAYS SO SIMPLE FOR EVERYONE. OH, AND PURE SPITE.”

He finally, finally, takes a stool, and he doesn’t bother to stop himself from chuckling now - it’s hard to picture Elias in Licktown, at least with that sour look on his face. “I WEAR THIS FACE EVERYWHERE, LICKTOWN INCLUDED, THOUGH THE AMOUNT OF SHIT ON IT TENDS T’BE LESS. I’M ATTACHED. IT’S MY FACE - I NEVER CHANGED IT. THOUGH IF YOU’RE LOOKIN’ AT AUDIENCES AND NOT PERFORMERS, I’M NOT SURPRISED YOU WOULDN’T RECOGNIZE ME.”

Partly true, partly false, let the detective squirm a bit.

   INTERESTING.   A tilt of his head, a swallowed scoff, the hand with the cigarette in it drifting up, a thumb rubbing against the scar that divided his eyebrow unconsciously. His lips thinned, a stiffness creeping into his shoulders and spine as the Meth continued, casually and consistently making it clear, per standard Meth protocol, that what HE had to say on the matter – didn’t much matter at all.    Another long, harsh drag on his smoke, his gaze cutting down to watch the ashes scatter into the ashtray worth more than his paycheck, a sour angle to his jaw and eyes.   “Why do I get the feeling you and me aren’t speaking the sameLANGUAGE,” Ryker returned, his gaze hot, his tone almost bordering on frigid when he spoke.  

    He could practically feel the fish hook twisting in his cheek – and it wasn’t a particularly PLEASANT sensation.  “Yeah well.  Some of us, despite what the general population and the people with a stick up their ass tend to think, happen to give a shit about what we do.” Not as many as SHOULD. And only a naïve idiot would think that the ones that did were enough to make up for the ones that didn’t, the ones that nestled up close to the pockets of the Meths and the drug dealers and the flesh peddlers.

   His fingers curled around his glass again, a thumb tucking over the top of it, a force of will needed to keep from slamming back what was left in the glass.  He wasn’t doing a particularly good job of acting like he gave a shit.   A half breath in, the last of a drag of the cigarette before he crushed it out, circling the smoke around his cheeks and over his tongue for a long moment before exhaling.   Remy’s next words proved something of a distraction from the stewing anger, however, his gaze snapping back to study his host, a more scrutinizing gaze than before perhaps.  SPITE.  Yeah, he knew something about that.   His own face, his own body – with the kind of money that a Meth like him at his disposal, Ryker knew damn well he could’ve had a body designed, replicated, cloned to the t save gender – a simple switch of chromosomes and …  he hadn’t?

   “If you aren’t watching everything and everyone in Licktown you wake up dead,” he pointed out, SOME of the surliness having bled from his tone, his thoughts spinning in a few more directions than one, at once.   Even among the grounders, gender sleeve swaps were common place, people desperate enough to get out of their birth skin they didn’t care what the other one was, so long as it wasn’t theirs…   “You want me to buy the line that YOU worked a Licktown brothel?”  As much as that’d be one hell of a rags to riches story –   “Your fingers might be quick but I don’t think even your tongue’s that silver.”

          “SOME OF YOU. NOT ENOUGH. I WATCH YOUR DEPARTMENT GET BOUGHT OUT DAY BY DAY, AND IGET IT - I DO. DON’T MAKE IT LESS DISAPPOINTING.” He studies Elias over the rim of his glass, smiling faintly. “M’SORRY, DARLIN’, BUT YOU CAUGHT MY INTEREST. I’LL BE PERSONALLY REQUESTIN’ YOU AGAIN. IF IT’S ANY CONSOLATION, YOU’RE WELCOME TO TAKE HOME ANYTHING YOU’D LIKE FROM THE BAR TO SULK INTO LATER. I’VE NO INTENTION OF BUYIN’ YOU. I’M ENJOYING THE CONVERSATION, NOTHIN’ MORE.”

Oh, much better. EL-I-AS was toning down, curious more than frustrated, or starting to tip that way at least, and it’s enough to pull a smile from Remy, long fingers twisting through auburn hair as he fixes his stare on his glass. The cogs turning in the other’s head were so - charming, really. He’s trying to figure out the puzzle in front of him with a handful of scattered pieces.

It’s not going to be enough, but it makes him indulgent, willing to hand him a few more.

“IS IT SO HARD TO BELIEVE? WE’VE ALL GOT PASTS.” Propping his chin up on his knuckles, he shrugs, offering Elias a joking little sidelong glance and wink. “I WORKED A PLACE AT THE CORNER OF BLOSSOM AND FOURTH A LONG TIME AGO. I DIDN’T HAVE TO, BUT I DID. S’GONE NOW - LESS A BROTHEL AND MOREPERFORMANCE, BUT I CAN ASSURE YA MY TONGUE’S PLENTY SILVER FOR THAT, TOO.”

He cocks his head at the detective, smiling, and sticks out his tongue, playful as he lets it curl, piercing VERY evident. And damn, if the other wasn’t obviously infatuated with his partner he’d tease him more than that, but he doesn’t.

“YOU SHOULD CHECK THE GAMBLING DENS ON THE BORDER IF YOU EVER WANNA SPOT ME GROUNDSIDE. I PROMISE YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO CATCH ME ANYWHERE ELSE - I’D BE ASHAMED IF YOU DID.”

   Maybe it was the open admission of Remy’s intent, his clarification of the why and the what for.  Maybe it was the acknowledgement of what was happening in front of their eyes, the greediness and the stench of corruption that was working its way through BCPD like a rot – because that’s what it was.   A sickness that spread in bursts and lurches, impossible to stop unless cut out in one fell swoop and doing that was damn near impossible with it trickling down from the TOP.   Maybe it was him focusing on the unasked, unanswered questions that spun around his head, trying to find where the edges of the pieces of one Remy LeBeau fit together to create – whatever the HELL the big picture was.   One conversation?  Definitely not going to be enough but … he’d sure as hell be interested to see what the police records had to say, when he finally extricated himself from this party and the penguin suit.  

  “I don’ t—“  Sulk. He cut himself off, suddenly and painfully aware of the petulant tone and how it’d sharply contradict the words.   “Not like there’s anything I could do to stop you –”  He pointed out, dryly, a sigh of something akin to resignation, a rough shrug of one shoulder as he let himself relax, slightly, the worst of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders and jaw, at least for the moment.  “But while you’re pushing Tanaka’s buttons, maybe make sure he actually includes the overtime he’s supposed to for shit like this cause – for somebody in the pocket of a Meth or three the motherfucker’s a penny pincher when it comes to paying what his people are owed.”  Which – really didn’t HELP keep the desk jockeys and street cops resist the easy pay day of a few favors here and there, to be honest.

   His hand drops into his pocket again, prepared to drag out another cigarette, but he hesitated for a moment, a pinch of lips as he pulled his hand away empty, a low grumbled sigh as he reached for his glass instead, a smaller swallow taken this time around.   The booze alone might make up for the indignation, and if Tanaka didn’t pay up what he was owed, he could always sell it off – maybe take Kristin out for a real dinner their next shift off, rather than just another couple containers of Chinese take away.  “Sure, we’ve all got pasts,” Elias conceded, an ALMOST hidden twitch along his jaw, a flicker of tension in the line of his neck.  “Not all of us end upHERE,” he pointed out, with a faint smirk.   Grass was always greener, maybe.  MONEY COULDN’T BUY HAPPINESS?  Maybe, but it sure as hell could try…

   And then there goes that eyebrow again, at Remy’s confession, if that’s what it was, though it didn’t really seem to be a confession so much as a statement of fact.  Good for him, Elias reckoned – survival of the fittest didn’t always mean the toughest, or the hardest, though – he felt a moment of PITY for anyone who mistook Remy for SOFT.   “I’ll have to take your word for it,” Elias replied, an almost smirk touching his lips at the clear taunt of the displayed tongue, a slight shake of his head more in bemusement than chagrin.   “You must irritate the SHIT outta them,” he found himself remarking with a half snort and a glance back over to the crowd that spun and shifted, each of them cogs in whatever fucked up machine this society had become.   A cigarette was in hand, without recognition or thought, lighting it, a drag pulled from it. “Sorry but that kinda sounded like a CHALLENGE,” he pointed out, his gaze shifting back to Remy’s with what was, this time, a clear smirk.

          He could feel it, that prickling interest, the way Elias’ eyes are boring into him now, trying to pick him apart. He wants to KNOW, just like everyone else, but far, far worse because Remy’s letting him peek.

He’d bet nearly anything Ryker was going to look him up as soon as he got the chance, find the not even single page police file with redacted blackouts and the barest summary. Adopted. Dead brother. Father’s name. None of it would satisfy him, and maybe it’s a little bit sadistic but Remy’s toes are practically curling with delight, because it’s a GAMEand he’s been so very BORED.

“MAIS OUI. I GOT LUCKY. OR NOT. DEPENDS HOW YOU WANNA LOOK AT IT. I THINK - IT’S A MIX.” He cocks his head at Elias, and he smiles, a genuine thing this time that dimples his cheeks and crinkles up the corners of his eyes. “I’LL MAKE SURE Y’ALL GET PAID IF I HAVE T’SEND THE CHECKS MYSELF. PROMISE. YOU DID THE WORK, YOU GET COMPENSATED.”

He laughs outright, bright and half-startled because while it’s TRUEElias probably shouldn’t say it, but really fuck propriety anyway. A few heads turn, and he snorts, lifting his glass to his lips again. “I DO, YEAH. FOR PEOPLE WITH SUCH LONG LIVES, THEY SURE GOT MEMORIES LIKE A RAT’S ASS - HALF OF THEM DON’T REMEMBER WHY THEY STARTED SUCKIN’ UP TO ME IN THE FIRST PLACE AND CRAWL OVER EACH OTHER FOR INVITES. THE OTHER HALF RESENT ME ’CAUSE I’M, I DUNNO, YOUNG AND PRETTY AND NOT NOBLE LIKE THEY ARE? BUT THEY KNOW I’D EAT THEM ALIVE, SO. GREEDY ANIMALS. THEY’D KILL THEIR OWN KIN IF IT MOVED THEM UP THEIR SELF-CONSTRUCTED LADDER OF GLITTERING SHIT.”

Slipping his own packet of cigarettes from - well, SOMEWHERE, it’s kind of hard to tell exactly, he lights up too, smiling faintly to himself. “THAT’S ’CAUSE IT WAS A CHALLENGE, CHER, AND GOOD FUCKIN’ LUCK TO YOU.”

  “So how does one go from the shit heel of Bay City  to the heights of the Aerium, anyways – “  A faint twist of a smile, an exhale of smoke, another swallow of whiskey.  This kind of multi-tasking he was familiar with, though to his credit, he still turned his attention outward, an occasional sweep of the crowd in the disinterested attempts to make sure that no one was actually being murdered while he was stood, getting buzzed on hundred credit a shot whiskey.  “You know – asking for a friend,” he felt compelled to add, a glint of humor lighting his gaze for a moment; lightening the naturally dark hues briefly.   He wasn’t sure what the answer would be, if he was given one, but he had a suspicion it wouldn’t be what most people assumed.  

   A half shrug escaped again, at Remy’s promise.  It wasn’t the money that really irked him, in the end though – it certainly didn’t help that Tanaka claimed there weren’t enough resources to go around for day to day expenses … until someone like Bancroft snapped his fingers and then it was balls to the walls effort required with – still, half the compensation they should get.  He shook his head, the thoughts wearisome, repetitive.  Shit hours, shit job, shit insurance. Hell.  He was surprised every single cop wasn’t in someone’s pocket.  A hand flickered up, thumb and index finger pinching against the bridge of his nose.  “That’d be a nice change, be nicer if it worked that way for all the PD,” he groused, his hand falling away again to tip his glass from one side to the other, watching the golden liquid reflect the light.  

   The snort, the laugh, pulled his attention up, his eyes flicking to watch the startled, varied reactions of those nearby, aware of the casual and not so casual scrutiny their, by now, extended conversation had acquired.   He resisted the urge to flip the crowd the bird.  Barely.  “Piranhas, I think, is the most accurate depiction I’ve ever heard them called,” he admitted, tilting his gaze back to Remy, a small snort of his own following Remy’s declarations. “You must have some pretty big — “ An intentional pause, a quirk of an eyebrow.  “Teeth,” he settled on.  “Not easy to rattle a Meth – trust me, I know.”  The cigarette was propped on the ashtray, long, calloused fingers snaking the bottle from beside Remy, refilling his glass and topping off Remy’s.   “You often in the habit of challenging your security to treasure hunts or is it just me?”

          “THAT’S THE MILLION-DOLLAR QUESTION, AIN’T IT? LITERALLY.” He chuckles, but turns to him fully, indulgent. Smiling when Elias pours him another, he blows him a little kiss in thanks, bringing the glass back to his lips. “MM. LET’S SEE, WHICH VERSION - I COULD TELL YA I’M A BASTARD CHILD. OR MAYBE THE PARTICULARLY GROSS ONE OF HOW I SEDUCED MY FATHER AND CONVINCED HIM TO ADOPT ME FOR HIS FORTUNE. BUT THE REALITY IS, WELL. I PICKED HIS POCKET.”

And he snickers to himself, quiet and nostalgic. “THAT’S YOUR ANSWER, THE ONE NOBODY IN THIS ROOM WOULD EVER BELIEVE. I SLIPPED PAST A METH’S GUARDS AND I PICKED HIS POCKET, I TRIED TO KICK HIM IN THE NUTS WHEN HE CAUGHT ME, AND I TOLD HIM TO FUCK RIGHT OFF AND HE ADOPTED ME AFTER HE WAS DONE LAUGHIN’ SO HARD HE CRIED, YANKED ME RIGHT ON UP TO THE AERIUM. THERE’S NO FUCKIN’ SECRET TO IT, JUST A GOOD MAN WHO SHARED HIS LUCK WIT’ A SHITTY KID.”

Oh yes, Elias was great fun. That much, he was sure of. Especially that little bait - he could just CACKLE, but he doesn’t, lets his features split into a wonderfully amused grin instead.

“YOU’RE SPECIAL,” he half-croons, chuckling. “I DON’T GET A LOTTA FUN. IT’S NICE MEETIN’ SOMEBODY WHO AIN’T FALLIN’ OVER THEMSELVES TO CRAWL UP MY ASS. SO I’M GIVIN’ YOU SOME TIDBITS T’PLAY WITH.”

  More like the TRILLION dollar question, Elias refrained from pointing out, as much for his own benefit as for the sake of the conversation.  He tried not to let himself OVERTHINK about the amount of waste, the amount of money that the Meths that surrounded him bled out on a daily basis, tried not to think about just what kind of difference one percent of that money could make to the people he watched live in misery, scraping by hand to mouth on a good day.  He tried not to think about it because if he did, he’d end up punching someone and breaking something and that was – DEFINITELY the fastest way to unemployment and he owed Kristin better so – he swallowed it down, the rage, the disgust, as well as another larger than healthy swallow of whiskey.  

   The first two OPTIONS presented were pretty standard fare, the kind of thing he figured the Meths would assume because it fit so nicely into their box of the expected and the sordid which, in truth, was why he’d already considered them and dismissed them.   Whatever Remy was, standard fare wasn’t it.  What did follow, though, wasn’t something that had even crossed his mind as a possibility but – considering it in the moments that followed it certainly seemed to FIT.  His lips quirked, amusement and a half snort lingering.  “That’s a story too far fetched for it to be anything but the fucking truth,” he rumbled, a last drag of his smoke before he crushed out the butt in the ashtray, a last wisp of smoke drifting out with his words.  

   The mental image was one that he was pretty sure would stick with him, if only for the sharp contrast to how he’d have ever imagined something like that going in his own life, ESPECIALLY when he was a kid.  Trying to pull something like that in his neighborhood?  Or with HIS father?  A twitch at the edges of his mouth, his jaw, a flicker of something that he shoved away as quickly as it tried to rise.  “I’d say one way or the other then, you landed on the side of lucky,” he settled on, a shift of his weight as he pulled himself more upright, muscles aching dully at the lack of movement, at the onslaught of alcohol.  

    “Trust me, I’m not all that special.”  A low huff, a rough shrug of one broad shoulder.  “NEVER been a particular fan of trying to crawl up ANYBODY’S ass,  so – “  TIDBITS.   He had a nagging feeling that it was a lot more than just a few tidbits, but maybe that was just the alcohol fucking with his gut instinct.  “So just outta curiosity, this CHALLENGE you’ve presented –”  An upward tilt of his scarred brow, his fingers twisting the glass back and forth between them.  “What’s in it for me?”  

          “CONGRATULATIONS, MONSIEUR RYKER. YOU KNOW MY SECRET THAT I’VE NEVER KEPT A SECRET BUT EVERYONE IS WONDERFULLY INCLINED TO DISBELIEVE, BECAUSE KINDNESS IS INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO PIRANHAS.” He raises his glass, clicks it against Elias’ in a playful little toast. “I SUPPOSE I MIGHT’VE. I’M IN THE POSITION TO DO THINGS, SO I DO.”

He blinks at the other, placid, and lifts one shoulder, a noncommittal little shrug. “OF COURSE YOU’RE SPECIAL. EVERYONE IS, SOMEHOW. THE INSTANT YOU LOSE SIGHT OF THAT IS THE SECOND YOU BUY INTO THE ILLUSION THATANYONE IS BETTER’N YOU. C’MON, EL-I-AS, YOU KNOW THIS.”

Tipping back the rest of his drink, he hums thoughtfully, rolling the empty glass between his palms. What to give him, oh, that’s such a very good question. “I’LL GIVE YOU A CHOICE BETWEEN PRIZES. EMPLOYMENT UNDER ME, QUITE LEGALLY, WITH A VERY NICE SALARY - OR ANSWERS. THREE. I’LL BE COMPLETELY HONEST TO ANY QUESTION YOU CHOOSE. I THINK FOR A CLEVER MAN LIKE YOU, EITHER IS AN OPPORTUNITY.”

  Was it possible that he’d actually met a Meth that he didn’t HATE?  Was there such a thing as a Meth that wasn’t a total dick?  MAYBE. Maybe he didn’t meet the actual qualifications of a Meth, but then again, given the way he lived, the here and now, yeah –  Definitely qualified.   “And that’s the fucking truth of it in a nutshell,” Ryker conceded, his glass tilted briefly against Remy’s, brought to his lips for a swallow, smaller than before.   He could feel the burn in his muscles, the ache of tension and adrenaline that would burn off all too soon, leaving him worn out with only a few hours to spare before his shift in the pre-dawn hours, and at least half of those would be spent with Kristin after her shift before she crashed out for the morning.  A glance to the cornea display to check the time.  The party was already running well past the time he’d been scheduled for and showed no signs of slowing.

   “You might be the first Meth I’ve ever heard say something like that I’m inclined to believe, maybe,” Elias admitted, dismissing the display as he turned his gaze back to his host, a faint smile creeping over his lips at the next words spoken.   “Clearly, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he replied, his tone dry, a vague self-depreciating humor clinging to his words, only, it wasn’t really all that humorous.  A slight shake of his head at the way the Meth rolled out his name again.  

    “Something tells me you’ve grown long accustomed to getting your way,” Elias replied, after a moment of mulling over the offer, the rewards that Remy dangled.  Working for a Meth?  Doing what, of course, was the question of the hour.  Playing bodyguard?  Could he put up with the boredom – would it actually BE boring, with this particular Meth?  Or maybe worse, what if it wasn’t?  The money would be … nice, but the whole point of what he was doing now was to try and make up for his own SHIT – protecting somebody who had extra sleeves and a backup wasn’t exactly going to be the end all in the check mark side of things ….  Still.   MAYBE.   The last offer though – now that he could see the perks of, from the get go.  A man in his position, with his money and influence, who CLEARLY had a feel for the pulse of the Meths and, so he claimed, tangled in the world of the grounders as well? “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a deal – open ended on the winnings til I claim them, though – can’t make a choice like that without all the facts, after all.”  

         “Oh, no. I dunno you at all, yet. At least, not what I wanna know. But that’s okay.” Remy tilts his chin at him, grinning just a little bit. He catches the glance, the familiar flicker of movement, and he clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I tell the truth. That’s why. I don’t put blinders on, but that’s ’cause I’m a stubborn bastard.”

He rolls the glass between his hands one last time, finally depositing it back on the bartop with a little clink. Hmm. Elias was - well, insightful, maybe more insightful than expected.

That made it far more fun, really.

“I always got my way, even on the street. You got to, y’know? Take what you gotta get, s’just how the world works.” He thinks, for half a moment, of teasing him - seal it with a kiss - but he’s put the man through enough for one night, so he smiles and holds his hand instead. “Deal. Added bonus; you can ask me whatever you’d like while we play. I’ll answer honestly, but I also reserve the right t’decline any question I like.”

“Yeah?”  A tilt of his head, a hand dropping into his pocket again, fingers crinkling the edges of the cigarette pack before withdrawing, empty, thumb flicking against the edge of a fingertip.  “And wha is it exactly that you wanna know?  Maybe I’ll give you a freebie,” Ryker returned, with a half smirk, shifting to let his back and hips rest against the bar, arms crossing loosely over his stomach as he cast another practiced and casual glance around the room.  “Stubborn – yeah.  I think that’s kinda a requirement for being a Meth or a thief – a good one, anyway.”  

His gaze tilted back towards the Meth, another assessing glance, a mental assessment, a guesstimation of what he’d look like without the glitz and the glam and the makeup, ruddied up rather than prettied up, for future reference and to let fester in the back of his head in search of something to connect it to.  “Why doesn’t that surprise me.”  A dry, droll return.  Take what you get, take what you need, do what you had to do to survive – familiar mantras that seemed askew and out of place here.   “What’s in all this for you, then – say this pans out like you want it to – what’s that look like to you?”