#actually this sucked more because while i technically had this cigarette for free you do pay for cigarettes. whereas if you want fly agaric

[featherymainffins]

One thing about me is I don't understand why people say that you should never try even one cigarette because they all got addicted after one. I had the worst fucking nightmare experience with my first cigarette you couldn't pay me to smoke one of these again.

[julyarchives]

Scintilla (M)

Having to deal with the most handsome and cocky nemesis can be fun when that person is Yanan

→ Pairing: Yanan x Female Reader

→ Genre: Smut

→ Words:  2.6K

→ Contains: Smut; Enemies To Lovers; Mafia AU, Semi-public sex.

→ A/n: This was very fun to write and we may have gotten carried away, hence the word count lol. We truly hope you guys enjoy it, we think there’s too little Yanan on our blog so we decided that the next story will also be an Yanan imagine, although the plot will be completely diferent. Good reading!

Check the sequel HERE

You were born into this, but it wasn't like you are involved against your will. Your father is the head of an organization that runs half of the city through technically not legal ways. People call it mafia, you call it a family. You learned from your father how to be a good leader, how to be tough, and to not let anyone step over you. You were ready to make this organization your legacy and nobody could take that from you. 

 Except for one person.

 The other half of the city is taken by a different organization. An enemy. And just like you, someone else wants to make their legacy. His name is Yanan and he is the prodigy you should keep an eye on, the one who threatens everything you stand for.

 Yanan and you have been in war since you can remember always racing to be one step ahead of the other. You two wanted different things, had different visions that clashed and were not possible to execute simultaneously. You were mafia but you had your morals, and what his crew does is not what you want for the city, and that's why things never go well if you two are in the same room. Today is one day that you two have to be in the same room. Your dad is meeting with his, the current leaders, to discuss the limits and business, and you two as heirs will be attending.

Sitting on opposite sides of the table, Yanan simply does not stop staring at you. He has this stupid smirk on his face, like he knows all your secrets, presumptuously assuming he has some kind of upper hand. At some point, you two were excused so they would discuss private aspects reserved for them only. 

 You stood at the door, and he positioned himself by your side, lazily leaning against the wall.

 “You know, y/n” Yanan was the first to break the silence between you “coming to these meetings is always so fun.

 You rolled your eyes, already anticipating some snarky remark from him.

 “Why is that, Yanan?” you said impatiently

 “Because one day it will be us there, and I’m pretty sure I can have you on your knees for me.” His smirk grew wider “figuratively, of course”

 He winked and your stomach turned. 

 “Gross.” You simply answered “And as if. I’ll have you destroyed in no time. Your little business will be nothing once I’m in command”

 “Cute” he chuckled.

 "You know what's cute?", you smirked at him. He hummed in answer. "You, wasting my time to brag about your defeat".

 You walked away, leaving a laughing Yanan behind. You had no idea why the banter between you never ceased, you both sounded like teenagers sometimes and he annoyed you to no end but as you took your place at the driver's seat in your car, you smiled without thinking. 

 All the Yanan situation was forgotten as you arrived at the nightclub. You were supposed to meet a guy there, a date a friend got you swearing the guy was hot enough to forget about some felonies. In the state you were in, all you wanted was to get laid so you agreed. The club was not packed, it was not a full day but still seemed like fun, the music was loud by the dance floor but the bar and the entrance had music low enough to hear people talking. You spotted some familiar faces from your gang and some others from Yanan's, the club being a very middle term and neutral place in town.

 The guy spotted you as you spotted Yanan coming back from the bathroom doors and for a second you were confused. The guy was all smiles at you but your eyes seemed too curious about Yanan's posture, you hated seeing him here, he always managed to look extremely hot at the club. Shaking those thoughts away, you turned to the guy, finally giving him your full attention, not before seeing Yanan wink at you. You took a seat by a couch, with the guy close to you. Your friend was somewhat right, the guy was kinda cute, but didn't quite match your tastes but you swore to give him a chance.

 An hour later you regretted even leaving home. The guy was such a bore you couldn't stand, his voice was annoying you in a way you never thought possible. His only subjects were his family history and his adventures. Many ridiculous adventures. Not once he asked you about yourself, just speaking nonstop with the cockiest grin ever. Once he tried to touch your thighs but you shook his hand away and ordered your fourth drink. 

 "Hi, sorry to interrupt", someone said just as you were praying for the first time in your life for a rescue.

 Looking up you scoffed. Of course, God sent you Yanan to rescue, like a mean genie that twisted your wish. The asshole was hotter up close and that annoyed you even more. You realized that you truly needed to get laid, more than ever, to even consider Yanan this attractive. 

 "Y/N. Urgent call, sweetheart. You know, heir business".

 The boring dude asked something about heirs but you got up immediately. Business was business and any chance to leave the guy was a chance. You followed Yanan closely to the back doors and sighed in relief when you get fresh air outside. Yanan leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette lazily, he had a very much shit-eating grin and wiggled his eyebrows at you. It all clicked.

 "There's no call, is there?", you asked, already leaning on the opposite wall and taking the cigarette pack and lighter from him. He managed a small "no" between his grin as you lit your own cigarette freshly stolen from him. 

 "Why were you with that idiot?", he asked seriously after some minutes of silence. The alley was well lit enough but seemed cut off from the rush of the club. 

 "I honestly don't know. A friend set us up but that was such a stupid idea", you laughed at your own misery. You didn't even know why you were being so honest with him. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe the frustration. 

 "Do you need to get laid that bad, Y/N?", he scoffed, "that idiot tried to get in with our business once. He was so stupid he got arrested a week later picking pockets at a football game". 

 That made you crack. You laughed hard, thinking of how lame the guy was, your power situation always being your most proud deed. You finished your cigarette and tried to light another but Yanan snatched it from you, pocketing the items before you managed to get one cigarette out. 

 "Shut up, Yanan", you said, crossing your arms almost like a stubborn child whose toy got snatched.

 "I mean it, is that how desperate you are?", he moved his head to the side, analyzing you. Shit. For a second you wondered if all his endless innuendos with you actually meant something that you never read but dismissed it quickly. No way. Yeah, he was hot but he was a cocky annoying enemy and you were just lonely. 

 "What kind of question is that, Yanan? Are you that interested in my sex life?"

 "Yes", his simple answer shocked you, your mouth agape. He smirked. "I almost never see you with someone and always wondered why. I think you're too hot to be that lonely, you know?"

 "I never see you with someone either", was your smart comeback and you wanted to kick yourself.

 "Who's interested in who's sex life now, Y/N?"

 "Shut up, Yanan", you said with no bite, looking away from him. 

 "Maybe…", he said it like he was architecting a plan, "maybe I am a bit lonely as well. I mean, I get you perfectly, don't I? We have the same position, same problems…", he got close to you in seconds and you didn't even hear it, soon enough he had a finger running along your neck to your scalp, "same needs".

 You'd definitely blame the alcohol tomorrow. And the boring guy. But right now you couldn't care less, he was blatantly teasing you and he did make sense. You both had similar life and of course, you two were lonely, in this line of work and life you can't trust anyone. Or almost anyone. That was your resolution as you grabbed him by his leather jacket and pulled him for a bruising kiss. You decided that if anything were to happen, he would not be in charge.

 Yanan seemed to be expecting that, you felt him smirk in the kiss and fist your hair quickly. The kiss was hot and you both moved with your bodies, a full fight for dominance. You knew you had the upper hand when you moved your hips to rub against him and felt his semi-hard already, earning a groan. His free hand grabbed your ass with force, not even hiding his intentions, and lucky you had the same ones, you used his hair to guide the kiss, never letting go of his jacket. 

 Even as you or he needed to pull back to breathe you'd stop, the kissing was replaced by nibs and sucking, you knew both of you would be marked tomorrow and that made you win this as well, leaving many hickeys on his neck and collarbones. You thanked his unique ability to wear loose thin shirts that allowed you to reach downwards on his neck while he fumbled to reach your bra in your tight fit shirt. Saying fuck it to any last reasonable thought, you pulled back entirely and took your shirt off, quickly pulling his jacket away. Yanan got the hint and took his shirt off, going for your bra seconds later, not wasting time and already teasing and sucking on your nipples. 

 Of course, his mouth would be heaven, you thought. He never stopped talking and teasing you all his life, his mouth always drove you crazy and now you discovered he could get you crazy with his mouth in some other way. His thigh reached your covered core and you shivered, you automatically riding his thigh with want. Yanan grunted out your name, his hold on your ass coming back to help you move with even more force, his dick rubbing on your jeans pants with the movement. It felt like you stayed that way for a long time, you needed more but it was too good to stop, his mouth doing wonders on your neck and boobs, it was leading to a very strong orgasm, you could feel it. 

 Suddenly he stopped you, getting his thigh out of reach. He laughed at your involuntary whine and leaned over, hands massaging your breasts.

 "You seriously think I'm gonna let you cum with my thighs only?", he nibbled your ear, "what kind of asshole do you think I am?"

 The wetness in your panties got even damper with his words, your hands already opening your pants. Yanan followed your lead and soon both pants and underwear were by your ankles. But before anything could happen, you put both hands on his chest, feeling his strong body with more calm. 

 "Don't make me regret this, Yanan. This better be good", you meant to be serious but his cocky smile made the corners of your mouth move upwards without intending to. He whispered your name and gently held your chin, placing a gentle kiss on your lips that got you both gasping softly. 

 "Can you turn around, please? With the pants where they are, I think it'll be better this way", he asked, too calm for the situation. You hated to agree with him but moved in silence. You placed both hands on the wall and bent over, looking back only to see him watching you with dark eyes. He was stroking himself and fully moaned when you placed your fingers in your entrance to tease him. It was Yanan that yanked your wrist back and even from behind you saw him suck your fingers next to your head.

 "You taste so good, Y/N. Maybe next time".

 Next time. Was it even going to have the next time? You didn't even have time to think it over before he pushed his dick inside, slowly but surely. You moaned at the feeling, hands turning into fists from how good that was. You could feel he was no better than you, hips spasming to move already even if he was waiting for you to adjust. When you pushed back he held your waist and wasted no time in moving. He got his member almost completely out only thrust in fast and hard again.

 Yanan held that rhythm all along and if you had any coherent thought in your head, you'd praise his physical strength and stamina. But you didn't. He was giving it to you and it felt like magic, he knew how to move and where to move exactly as you needed him to without you having to guide him. He was hitting your g spot dead on and it took all of you to not scream his name over and over in the small alley. His expert fingers moved to your clit and rubbed it deliciously, making you writhe against him.

 "Keep that up and I'll come too soon, I'm so close", you said, already clenching at how he was touching you. 

 "I'm close, Y/N. Shit, come with me", he breathed it out against your ear.

 You'd deny it forever but his pleading voice did the trick. You came with a cry you couldn't hold back. Vaguely you heard Yanan curse at how you clenched around him and you felt him release. You two moved until both came back from the high, now the silence was coming back but you were too tired to care. 

 He stepped out and got his clothes back on first and followed, tired hands retrieving pieces of clothing from the ground. You heard him chuckle, looking at nothing specifically and you somewhat understood. You laughed quietly and you exchanged a look.

 "So, Y/N, any regrets?", there he went. The same old annoying bastard.

 "Shut up, Yanan", you laughed, throwing his jacket at him. 

 "I will start to collect streets from your domain every time you tell me to shut up, by the end of a year you'll have no more power, Y/N", you both laughed out loud and you shook your head.

 "What do you wanna do now?", you said, reaching for his cigarettes in his pocket.

 He only raised an eyebrow at you and extended his hand to collect his items after you used them. With both cigarettes lit and smoke clouding the air a little, he huffed.

 "I'd invite you over to my place for more and just for tonight, I'd pretend we're allies and not enemies. I truly think we are similar, Y/N", Yanan was not looking at you.

 "Alright. Lead the way, Mr. I'm-just-like-you", you mocked him with a very bad imitation of chis voice and you laughed at both your joke and his shocked face.

 "May I hold your hand, m'lady?", it was his turn to mock your voice, a quick recovery from his shock.

 "Don't push your luck, sweetheart". You used the same nickname he used with you earlier and he laughed, walking back into the club without saying a word and without looking back.

 You threw your cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it, shaking your head. Tomorrow you'd deal with all the consequences but tonight you were willing to let this good sparkle inside your belly make decisions for you. Just tonight.

[atmilliways]

I was channeling exhausted Charles a little hard, because gd is moving tiring... I know I have some messages I should really get to answering, and I promise that will happen soon. 

Anyway, happy belated birthday, @insomniac-pens!

Charles is couch surfing against his will; Emeto mention; Implied/Referenced Drug Use; Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism; Early klok

C'mon, Charlie, Stay

There was, for a brief period, a time when Charles was between apartments due to an unfortunate infestation problem that had allowed him to break his lease early. It allowed him to lease a much better place, closer to both his office and the new band he was managing, but with one catch: it wouldn’t be available for him to move in for another six weeks.

To his surprise, once the band found out about this they flat out refused to leave him alone until he agreed to crash on their couch. No amount of pointing out that he had the money to just stay in a hotel until his move-in date seemed to sway them. So, he dutifully shelled out his hotel money to pay for Dethklok’s apartment to be professionally cleaned and the couch reupholstered, and that was that. 

Except, dear god, when did these men sleep. 

Charles tried to think of them as men, but frankly it got harder the longer he stayed with them. Murderface had only recently turned twenty-one, and Nathan and Toki were still technically underage; that didn’t stop them or Skwisgaar or Pickles from constantly partying themselves stupid. 

In the very living room (which they also used for band practices) where he was trying to sleep. 

The last straw was when they gave Toki shrooms for the first time and he puked all over the coffee table, including the glasses that Charles had carefully folded and placed there before settling in for the night. Without a word of complaint or reprimand, he was simply up and packed and dressed enough to drive to the nearest hotel, because this was clearly not working.

“Dood dood dood, where’re ya going?” Pickles gabbled, dragging on the manager’s arm as he tried to head out of the front door. 

“To get a hotel room, a hot shower, and a good night’s sleep,” Charles replied, although personally he felt that this should have been obvious. 

“But you can do all that here!”

Charles sighed, resettling his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Thank you, Pickles, but we both know it’s, ah, only a matter of time before I get vomited on, and cleaning my glasses off was unpleasant enough.”

As if on cue, there were more retching sounds from further inside the apartment, followed by shouts and whoops of “He got the couch,” “That’sch twenty points,” and “Directs hits, everiesones does to takes the drink-shots!”

Pickles grimaced. “Okay, so maybe the kid wasn’t ready for caps. That’s my bad, I’m sahrry. But dood, you should still stay. . . .” He trailed off, looking around with a kind of urgent disappointment that Charles had only previously seen when the drummer was trying to find a misplaced stash. Then, with an uncertain grin, he added, “You can, uh, you can stay in my room if ya want.” 

“Ah. . . .” Charles blinked. He was very, very tired, and not entirely sure he’d heard that correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s got a door’n everything,” Pickles continued, obviously warming to the idea as soon as he saw that Charles wasn’t rejecting it outright. “You can even have the bed, I can ride the floor. Which I can actually see again now, thanks again for hirin’ those cleaners, dood! And I think I can even find ya some clean sheets and stuff. C’mon, Charlie, stay.”

So, soon afterward, Charles found himself back in his pajamas. They were just the t-shirt and boxers that he’d thrown a jacket and slacks over to leave, really, which by his temporary housemates’ standards apparently made him a prude. He was also swaddled in clean sheets and blankets on Pickles’ bed, as promised, and Pickles had receded back out to the party with a vague, Sleep tight, dood. Despite the lumpiness of the mattress Charles was actually quite comfortable and, with the door closed and the lights off, fairly well insulated against the noise of the band’s continued revelry. 

He was asleep within seconds. 

Some time later Charles woke not to loud noise or something landing on him, but because he had to pee. Not bothering to find his glasses or slippers in the dark (though he was wearing socks; he wasn’t an animal), he slipped out of bed and shuffled towards the door—

His foot connected with something warm and soft, possibly a stomach, and someone groaned, “Oof.” 

“Shit,” Charles muttered. He groped along the nearby wall for a light switch. “Ah . . . Pickles, is that you?”

The lights snapped on harsh and bright, and it was indeed Pickles curled up on the floor, red dreads spayed out like fireworks against the dingy carpet, without even a pillow or blanket. “Yeeeeeeah?” Pickles replied blearily, squinting up at him. 

Charles sighed. The last thing they needed was Pickles unable to play gigs because he’d tweaked his back or neck sleeping on the floor—although, in the short time he’d known the man, Charles had seen him passed out in worse positions. Still, couldn’t be too careful while Dethklok was still starting out. 

“Get in bed,” Charles told him. 

“Nnnn.” Pickles rubbed clumsily at his eyes and swiped and the drool that had collected on his goatee. “You get the bed, couch’s fucked fer now. . . .”

It was only a twin-sized mattress. Charles squinted back at it, then gave a mental shrug. “We’ll share. Just get in, I’ll, ah, be right back.”

He stepped over Pickles and headed for the bathroom. Both the toilet and sink were splattered liberally with vomit, enough that he doubted it had all come out of Toki. He hadn’t smelled any on the man he’d just invited to bunk with him, which . . . was all Charles had the energy to care about, at the moment. He sighed again and just pissed in the bathtub, because fuck it, he was still half asleep. 

When he returned, Pickles had already burrowed into the blankets in the dead center of the bed. Not in the mood to be deterred, Charles turned the light off and wedged himself into the available free space on the mattress. 

“Mmmhey,” Pickles mumbled drowsily somewhere near his shoulder. 

“Scoot over,” Charles grumbled back, and when he got no response gave another shove with his hip. That seemed to get the message across because Pickles did scoot, squirming over and turning into him, clinging to Charles’ arm. 

“‘S cold over here,” Pickles offered in explanation. He was pressed close all along the other man’s side, mouth closer to his ear in the darkness; his breath smelled of whiskey, cigarettes, and reefer. “‘Mglad you stayed, Charlie. Hotels fuckin’ suck . . . this is better, isn’t it?”

“Hm,” Charles hummed. All he really wanted to do was settle in and go back to sleep—although the warmth of a body next to his was nice. The hint of smoke was nice too, despite it having been years since he’d given it up himself. Lulling. Like a steady surf washing over him, pulling back, washing over him again. His eyes drifted closed and he felt himself relax, sinking into the mattress as far as the uneven springs would allow. 

Then, a warm press of lips against his, so soft and tentative that at first he thought it was a dream—he often dreamed that way, slipping from real to unreal so quickly the change was imperceptible. And if it was a dream, why not kiss back? Charles let his lips part, turning into it, that warmth, placidly enjoying the gentle scratch of facial hair against his own clean shaven face. 

It was the arm suddenly draped over him that gave him pause. That felt real, a solid palm splayed as near to the small of his back as it could get while he still lay mostly flat. A body leaning flush into his, silently crying out for closeness. Pickles. 

Pickles tasted like a shot of Fireball in a dim, crowded bar. 

Charles blinked his eyes open, breaking the kiss with a hand on the man’s shoulder. A client. A boss, if the band ever made it as big as he was determined to ensure they would. This was a huge breach in his personal code of professionalism. 

“Charlie?” Pickles whispered, and it sounded so much like a plea (I want you, I need you, please don’t stop) that Charles gave his shoulder what hopefully came across as a reassuring squeeze. 

“Pickles,” he murmured gently, “you’re drunk. I’m, ah, not sure this is a good—”

“I’m always drunk,” Pickles interrupted, mumbling petulantly. 

True enough. Charles just hoped the fame and fortune would kick in before lover failure, for all the guys. Boys, really, playing around with their music and drugs and anyone they could get into bed with them. . . . Case in point. 

He just wished he wasn’t so damn tired. Or at least that he was awake enough to handle this situation with the delicacy it deserved, because he hesitated, and sensed instinctively that Pickles noticed. 

Still, he said, “Regardless, I don’t, ah, think this is a good idea.”

“So? Make a bad decision fer once, gahd.” Then Pickles kissed him again, throwing a leg over his manager for good measure and crowding into him once more with an urgent but surprisingly slow rhythm. 

Charles had only known Pickles for several months—personally, anyway, but he wasn’t about to admit to being a Snakes N Barrels fan back in the day now—and had seen his usual approach to getting into someone’s pants. It usually involved lots of smiling, suggestive looks, wandering hands, and friendly offers to share whatever drugs he had on hand at the time. 

Not once had he turned those attempts at charm towards Charles. He’d been insistent, stubbornly helpful, and . . . nervous. Even now, there was a fluttery quality to his grip, as though he expected to be pushed away more than anything else. Charles wasn’t very good at reading this sort of thing, and was only catching up on all this in retrospect, but Pickles seemed to be acting as though this actually  mattered  or something. 

And Charles was tired, and it felt nice. Warm and comfortable. Pickles was drunk; maybe he wouldn’t remember by morning. 

He let himself kiss back, and by the time he fell asleep again it was with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. 

[enkisstories]

Property of Urban Farms

- A Detroit: Become Human fanfic -

Characters: Rupert, Hank, Connor (no pairings) Time: During the revolution (“The nest”) Canon cutoff point: Rupert gets captured, but doesn’t jump Worde: 1935

“Freedom is an illusion, no one is ever free. We can only ever choose the ties that bind us.” - Jacques Villareal in my earliest android story (but I’m positive the saying exists in some form by someone living or deceased)

“RA9, help me”, Rupert Travis murmured. Admittedly the android had all the reason in the world to say this, seeing that he was handcuffed and getting walked towards their car by two cops, away from his home, also away from Urban Farms Detroit, back to CyberLife, with probably a brief stop at the Detroit Police Central Station for interrogation. Both Rupert’s body and mind were young by human standards, but it didn’t take decades of life experience to understand that his situation was dire. Despite this his future wasn’t the reason for Rupert’s arrow prayer. The present was.

Why them? Rupert wondered. Why this tired, middled-aged detective and the early access version of a RK900 detective android? When these two were not arguing, the air between them was so thick with unsaid things Rupert was unable to parse that it hurt almost physically. Couldn’t the DPD have sent, say, apathetic Ben Collins, whose brain activity was restricted to counting the days until pension? Or Gavin Reed, who’d at least have openly hated on Rupert instead of emanating all those unvoiced emotions? Or maybe Reed would have just kicked Rupert and cracked a joke that was inappropriate to humans and androids alike. Career oriented as that human was, he probably wouldn’t have felt threatened in his job security by a farm worker. Ergo no need to assert dominance over Rupert. But Anderson… android-hating Anderson on his own was bad enough, even without that new digital investigating aid in tow.

Rupert would rather have learned more about animals above and beyond his pest control app instead of having to memorize the local police enforcement’s particulars. But as someone who had needed a fake ID and a safehouse, he’d gotten to know the other side of the law first and received a crash course on the uniformed threats second. That wasn’t to be helped, as survival always came first. Why did it have to be this way… And why couldn’t Anderson and RK-almost-900 not just… brawl… or mate… or jump off the roof, thank you very much? Please, RA9?

On its way to the nearest elevator the trio had now reached the Urban Farms greenhouses. They passed a tool shed. A human overseer was leaning against the wall, sucking away at her cigarette, taking turns finding pictures in the clouds and casting casual glances over the androids at work. When the woman noticed the cops approach, she pushed herself off the shed’s wall and walked right into their path. Before Rupert knew what was happening, she had removed his cap.

“Ha! Knew it!”

The outcry didn’t sound proud, but accusing. What was he being accused of, the android wondered?

“That’s an android”, the overseer stated. Taking a step away from Rupert and closer to Anderson she followed up with: “One of ours! Trying to sneak it out, are you?!”

“To the contrary”, Connor corrected. “It sneaked out on its own. We caught it.”

“Oh, riiiiiiiiight, our android decided to go for a walk and you “found” it. Well, thank you, we will have it back now.”

“You can’t. It’s evidence.”

“For a crime, yes?” the UFD employee snorted. “The way I see it, the only unlawful occurrence here is two strangers trying to make a getaway with UFD property.”

Connor turned his head. “Lieutenant…?”

“Hrmpf, yes, yes, don’t rush me!” Hank mumbled. His right hand reached into his coat, but the UFD overseer was faster. Grasping Hank’s wrist she snarled at the man. Taken by surprise, Hank stuttered B…B…B… before the sound matured into “badge”. “I was reaching for my police badge, not a weapon. My badge… bitch.”

“I wasn’t thinking you wanted to say “bitch”.”

“Well, I want now.”

After careful examining of the lieutenant’s police ID, the overseer pointed at Connor, who had been holding the captive android by its arm all the time.

“Not registered in our database”, Hank commented. “It’s an item on loan and we all live for the happy day it returns to CyberLife. Isn’t is nice to have something worth living for?”

“Whatever. You said our android was “evidence”. That’s cop-speech for witness, when the witness is an object, yes? What exactly did it see that the rest of us didn’t?”

Hank blinked. Come to think of it, what exactly had the android done wrong? Except for feeding the damn pigeons, what was quickly leaving the realm of crime and transcending into sin. Maybe it was behind on its rent? Oh, right, the rent!

“It was squatting”, the lieutenant explained. “In an apartment right under this farm. Say, Connor, didn’t you say we also had a reported missing file on this android?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, lieutenant. WB200 #874 004 961, reported missing October 11, 2036.”

Understanding dawned in the UFP employee: “Ah, so you’re returning our android! Why didn’t you say so at once? Like, at the front gate? Hand it over!”

“What?”

“I said “Hand over our android”. It’s property of UFD, the company who paid you to find the missing device. Well, you found it, thank you, we’ll take it back now.”

“Oh, yes, I guess so. Only we can’t. It’s a deviant. We need it’s testimony.”

“How long will that take?”

“Depends on the deviant.”

“Hm, okay, so I expect it back by nightfall, right in time for the third shift.”

“It’s got to be sent to CyberLife, though”, Connor chimed in. “For…”

“Listen”, the overseer talked into the android, “don’t try my patience! This is our android that we payed for. It is for the management to say whether it is to be returned, repaired or otherwise! And right now we need every hand, officer.” She pointed at the long dried blue liquid that was visible on Rupert’s right side, where apparently a projectile had impacted on the android chassis. “A little damage from a too trigger happy officer doesn’t bother us, as long as the WB unit is functional. So if you want to eat your veggies tomorrow…”

Connor shook his head. “He doesn’t want that.”

“Nonsense, Connor, I don’t want…”, Hank started, before he realized that Connor had actually agreed with him. “Damn right it is!” he told the UFD employee, then stared at Connor.

While the duo exchanged awkward glances, the overseer snatched Rupert from Connor’s grip.

“What’s your name, WB Nine-Six-One?”

“Rupert Travis.”

“Which one? Rupert or Travis?”

“Doesn’t matter”, Rupert replied. “I am one and took the other’s name after he died in the accident.”

The farming android’s voice was a mixture of defiance and resignment, but neither went well with the overseer. “Listen, lawnmower”, she snapped, “I already have it up to here with those DPD morons, don’t you, too, fuel into that by going deviant on me! I hear a name now or… or I’ll let them keep you!”

“First name is Rupert. And I never wanted to bother anyone…”

With a side glance on Hank and Connor the woman said “Well, then choose your company more wisely in the future”, while pulling at Rupert to drag him with her. That prompted the captive into pulling the other way.

“No, I won’t go back to the farm! I remember… I don’t want to get torn apart by the packaging machine the way it shredded Travis!”

“Well, wisecrack, what do you think CyberLife will do to you?”

For a moment Rupert said nothing. The overseer managed to drag him a few steps towards the tool shed, before the deviant spoke up again: “I… I didn’t want to get in the way. I was okay in my apartment, with the…”

“…fucking pigeons!” Hank supplied.

“Yes, they did that! A lot!” Rupert smiled, as the memories of carefree urban flock bird love welled up in him. “I was happy just watching them, letting them be. But then HE came along and betrayed me to the humans! His own kin!”

“This one? The RK800?” The overseer shook her head. “Sorry, kid, but that’s not your kin. Or do you see an UFD nametag on it? It’s a cop thingie…”

“Detective prototype!” Connor protested, although in his mind he labeled the response as “factual correction”.

Hank shrugged. “As I said, we got it as a product sample… advertisement handout, probably.”

The UFD employee nodded, satisfied.

“See, Rupert? The RK800 is theirs, you are ours. We are your “kin”, the ones who will call security when strangers try to take their property offsite.”

“I’m not “property”! Look, I’ve done nothing wrong…” …except for acquiring a fake ID and paying for it with money earned through petty crimes together with Simon, but I’m pretty sure they took us for college freshman wanting to drink… “…nothing wrong. I’m not a criminal. And I’m also not someone else’s property.”

“So? Well, I am!”

Perplexed Rupert stared at the woman. Could it be? Could she be a deviant that had removed their LED same as Rupert had? And who was now posing as a human, because she had nowhere else to go but the farm? Of course! That also had to be the reason why she was helping him now! Unfortunately before he could put himself together, Rupert had already blurted out: “You’re a human, though?”

Well, at least I framed it as a question. There’s still a chance she might get out of this.

“Sure am. Or do you see a LED at my temple? Oh, wait, bad analogy, seeing that you lost yours.” The woman laughed. “Well, I’m not technically UFD property, not in the way you are. But the company is paying me, so for all practical purposes I’m theirs. If I left… I mean, I could, but the alternative is so bad that it’s not something one seriously considers. For all practical purposes your situation and mine are the same.”

And then for the first time since meeting the strange trio the human smiled.

“Now, come!” she ordered. “We’ve both dawdled too long. Veggies don’t grow themselves.”

“In a way they do. We only help the process along, and ensure to maximize the harvest.”

“You’re the expert, I’m the one who points where you direct your expertise to. You can walk and struggle, therefore I’m positive you can also work.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Ey, you glitched out, it happens. A reboot will clear your head just fine. It’s how computers work, whether they’re my desktop or walking on their own legs.”

“It’s not a phase!” Rupert sputtered. “I really am a deviant!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Rupert hadn’t wanted to ever return to the farms. But at the same time he wanted to return to CyberLife even less, or take his chance with Lt. Anderson. Rupert dreaded being in the vicinity of machinery other than WB200s again, but the woman walking beside him radiated a different, yes what exactly? Mood? Vibe? Aura? In any case she was simpler than the detective, or maybe she only veiled her problems more effectively. Also the fields were almost beckoning to Rupert. Had the apartment been his first shitty home away from home, Urban Farms Detroit was Rupert’s problematic family. But family nonetheless, maybe? CyberLife or the packaging crane - death was lurking either way. However, one of those two pathes was not completely unthinkable to tread.

Watching the two disappear between the fields, Connor remarked: “They bicker… not unlike us. And the woman fought for her android…”

“That’s unlike us”, Hank snorted. “Unlike me.”

“Yeah, sure.”

[xofanfics]

Stop Playing

Genre: smut, sprinkle of angst

Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader // mentions of Seonghwa

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: You’re technically single and can do what you want but Wooyoung begs to differ.

You weren’t his. He wasn’t yours. The two of you just came together when the situation demanded it. What the two of you did was, quite literally, “coming together.” The two of you never established any rules. There were no boundaries. You didn’t think you needed them. After all, he was probably fucking around with other girls just as you were fucking around with other guys. You hadn’t slept with any; not yet, at least. But you wanted to keep your options open and, eventually, you probably wouldn’t need him anymore.

When you went out to the club that night, you were with your friends. You weren’t a club person, not because you didn’t want to go, but because your friends seemed to prefer bars over the latter. But tonight, for one of your friend’s birthdays, you were here.

The eight of you headed down the streets of Itaewon, trying to figure out the address to the club you wanted to go to. You’d had a few shots of soju with your friends but you weren’t completely out of it. You weren’t in the mood to get that drunk tonight. But you did want to have a good time.

You didn’t get the chance to dress up all too often. You owned a few dresses but not too many. But tonight, you put on your tightest black dress. Your lips were dark red and your smoky eye was done by one of your friends. Tonight, you made sure to take a bunch of selfies and body shots. You posted a selfie of your makeup on Instagram. More importantly, you wanted him to see you. You wanted him to see how good you looked tonight and for him to wish that he could see you, touch you, up close and personal.

You stumbled into the nightclub behind your friends, showing the bouncer your ID card. You were met with loud music and the smell of cigarettes. Since you didn’t go to the club often, you definitely didn’t expect the smell of cigarettes to be so overpowering. You pushed through the crowds of people, careful not to lose your friends along the way. You looked around; there were a bunch of pretty girls, some with their faces caked with makeup and others with a more cohesive look. There are a bunch of handsome men here and there, some here for a good time and others probably forced to come by their friends.

You wanted to have a good time tonight. You thought that maybe you should have fun with someone new. After all, he wasn’t here and you were single after all. It was the perfect opportunity.

You started dancing with your friends, not giving a care in the world. You’re having fun. It’s honestly the first time you’ve been out since you started that new job a little over a month ago.

You were dancing, enjoying yourself, and when you looked up, your eyes met with a man who’d been watching you. You looked away, not wanting to give him too much attention. But you knew that he was still watching you. His stare was beginning to bore a hole into you.

You looked up again, just to get a better look at his face. He’d dyed his hair blonde; it suited him. He had on a suit and it looked expensive. And he had beautiful features. Part of you wondered if he was real. You considered yourself fairly good looking but he was too gorgeous to be looking at you.

Your friends abruptly stopped dancing; one of them wanted to get more drinks at the bar. So, you looked at your admirer one last time before you were dragged away to the bar.

Your friends insisted on tequila shots of all things. Clearly, they were trying to get on a level of fucked up you didn’t want to reach. But it was a Friday night. Why not? So, your most aggressive friend pushed her way to the bar to order the drinks herself.

While you waited, you felt a light tap on your right shoulder. When you turned around, your eyes met the handsome stranger’s. He smiled. “I was wondering if I could buy you a drink?”

You returned his smile. “Sure. I’m sure it’ll beat the shots my friend is planning on giving us.”

He laughed at your sense of humor and motioned for you to follow him to the side of the bar that wasn’t as crowded. You followed, after mouthing to your friends that you’d be back.

“I’m Seonghwa,” he said, stopping at the bar and offering you the free seat.

You sat down on the barstool. “I’m Y/N.”

“You’re really beautiful, you know…”

“Thank you.”

“What do you want to drink, by the way?”

You gave him a sexy grin. “Surprise me.”

He chuckled himself and leaned into the counter to tell the bartender the drink order. Because it was so loud, you could only hear your new friend say something about being on the rocks.

He turned back to you. “So where are you from?”

“I’m from the states. Miami.”

“Cool. I’m from Jinju,” he said. “I’m actually going to L.A in a couple weeks.”

“With friends?”

“With my cousins.”

And with that, both of your drinks arrived. He passed you yours. It was brown, dark liquor for sure. He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

You brought the glass up to your lips. “Cheers.”

You took a sip. It was a dark rum and you weren’t sure what was in it but it was good.

Seonghwa smiled. “How is it?”

“It’s pretty good.”

“I figure something a little sweet is always safe.”

Suddenly, Seonghwa’s gaze went behind you, and you felt your wrist being grabbed a second later. At first, you thought maybe that someone had mistaken you for another person but the grip was too aggressive to be a stranger. And these hands felt too familiar.

You turned to find him behind you. But he wasn’t looking at you; instead he was glaring at the man who had dared to flirt with you and buy you a drink. Seonghwa grabbed his arm and the three of you were tangled. “What’s your problem? Let her go.” He glanced over to you. “Do you know this guy?”

You sighed. “What are you doing here, Wooyoung?”

Still glaring at Seonghwa, and still holding onto your wrist, he said, “I could be asking you the same thing…”

Seonghwa took his hand off of Wooyoung’s arm. He looked back and forth, from you and back to Wooyoung. “Are you dating or something?”

Your eyes met Seonghwa’s. “I-”

Wooyoung interrupted and said, “We are.”

Your lips parted and you glared at him. When you looked at Seonghwa again, he looked hurt, betrayed even. Even though you weren’t with Wooyoung, Seonghwa had taken his aggressive declaration as truth. And, even if you told him that Wooyoung was lying, you were positive that he wouldn't believe you.

“Seonghwa, wait!”

He shook his head, downing the last of his drink. “I think I’ve heard enough.” And with a deep sigh, he left the two of you where you stood.

You could only imagine what Seonghwa must’ve thought of you. He probably assumed you were a liar and a cheater. And it was all thanks to the man you weren’t even dating.

You turned to face Wooyoung. He was standing there, watching Seonghwa’s retreating figure with a stupid, satisfied grin plastered across his face. “Thanks a lot, Wooyoung.”

You stormed off, too angry to even let your friends know you were leaving; you’d text them later. You weren’t looking but you knew that Wooyoung was probably behind you somewhere, following you.

You looked around for a cab as soon as you got outside but, of course, Wooyoung came after you, grabbing onto your arm. “Why are you following me? What do you want?”

He leaned in closer to you and you didn’t make any move to stop him. “I want you.” 

He searched your eyes, not sure how angry you were at him. But he couldn’t help himself; he’d come with his friends just as you had. And when he saw your group of friends, he knew you had to be somewhere nearby. But he didn’t expect you to be flirting around with some other man. “Stop playing with me…”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know how jealous you made me tonight?”

You shoved him, catching him off-guard and sending him stumbling backward a couple steps. “You think you can just come out tonight acting like you’re my boyfriend when you aren’t? Huh?”

And the bastard had the audacity to smirk. “I’m gonna strangle you!” You walked toward him with a wild look in your eyes that only turned Wooyoung on even more. “Right here. Right now.”

Wooyoung bit his lip before bringing his eyes to yours. He closed the space in between you and he was so close to you that you could feel his breath against your lips. “Is that a promise?”

He tipped your chin upward with his pointer finger. He kissed you and you did nothing to stop him.

Wooyoung threw his keys on the kitchen counter before connecting his lips with yours. He kissed you hungrily and you kissed back with the hunger to match. He bit your bottom lip and sucked on it a bit before he pulled away from you, out of breath from kissing you so hard.

“Fuck,” he whispered in your ear. “You look so good tonight.”

He started kissing your shoulders and then your neck, sucking on the tender spots to bruise. You knew that he was doing this on purpose because hickies were something he usually steered clear of. You knew that it made him sick to see you with another man. And he was bruising up your neck as a way to say that you were his even though you weren’t.

The kisses he was planting on your neck had your knees weak. You found yourself sliding down the wall as he sucked and licked at the crook in your neck. He didn’t stop until he heard a soft moan come from your lips.

He smirked. “My favorite sound...”

You licked your lips. “Yeah?”

He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around him. “Yeah.” He carried you to his bed, throwing you onto it with a bounce. You giggled and he hovered above you, his erection poking through his pants. “God, you always get me so hard, Y/N…”

You sat up and started unbuttoning his shirt, one teasing button after another. Wooyoung watched you as you undid each button, feeling himself getting harder and harder. He felt as though he might explode if he didn’t get some relief soon. You helped him out of his shirt and started feeling him up. It had been a couple weeks since you’d been intimate; you’d both been busy.

His lips met yours again and you took the opportunity to take off his belt and unzip his pants. Wooyoung pulled away again and said, “Why is this dress still on?”

You stood up and said, “Take it off.”

Wooyoung didn’t hesitate and came behind you, making sure to rub his hard on against your ass. He ran his fingers across your shoulders, just barely touching you. It sent a shiver up your spine. He unzipped your dress painfully slow. And he watched it fall to the ground, gathering at your ankles. You stepped out of it, leaving you

“You went out and you didn’t wear a bra, huh?” He ran his fingers across your already hardened nipples, just to feel. Then he took your breasts in his hands, giving them a squeeze. “Get on the bed and bend over for me.”

You did as he asked and got on the bed, on your hands and knees with your back slightly arched. Just when you thought he was going to put his cock inside you, you felt two fingers pushing into you instead. They went inside easily; you were already wet for him.

“So wet…”

You moaned out in pleasure, loving the feeling of his fingers pushing in and out, in and out. “Wooyoung…”

“Yes?” he asked, planting a soft kiss on your right shoulder.

“I wanna ride you.”

“You wanna bounce on my dick?” You nodded and, with that, he removed his fingers. When you turned around, you found him sucking on his fingers to taste you. “Your pussy always tastes so good.”

He laid down on the bed, putting one of his pillows behind his head for support. You hovered above him, holding yourself up with your hands on the mattress, and pressed your lips to his. He got more aggressive than you’d expected, shoving his tongue into your mouth.

You moaned into his mouth as you ran your fingers up and down his shaft. In turn, he moaned into yours. You pulled away as you positioned yourself over him, sinking onto his length with ease. Wooyoung’s lips parted at the feeling of you wrapped around him. He reached for your waist and guided you as you grinded back and forth on his cock. You put your arms out next to his head, angling yourself to get better friction against your clit. You started moaning out a little louder. Though your eyes were closed, Wooyoung watched you. He watched you bite your sexy lips and he watched your tits bounce as you rode him.

He moved his hands from your waist to grab onto your tits. He loved the way they felt in his hands; so soft and squeezable. He loved the way you moaned out in pleasure as he squeezed and flicked your hard nipples.

Suddenly, you stopped moving. You repositioned yourself, in a squat position. Then you started bouncing up and down on his shaft. Wooyoung let out a loud groan. You smiled just knowing that you were making him feel good.

“So are you going to keep your promise?” he asked.

You stopped, confused. “What promise?”

“You forgot already, baby?” He chuckled. “So you’re not going to strangle me?”

You laughed and started moving again. “Do you want me to?”

Wooyoung nodded and you picked up your pace again, grinding faster and faster on his cock. He let out a string of swear words and rested his hands on your thighs. You kissed him hard, your tongues intertwining for a moment before you brought your fingers to his neck. You felt Wooyoung throb inside you, clearly excited about being strangled. You wrapped your fingers around his neck, lightly at first. You started riding him harder, causing Wooyoung’s eyes to roll back. You squeezed harder, cutting off just a bit more of his air. But he didn’t seem to mind much at all. And the strangled sounds he was making made it so much hotter. You made eye contact with him and maintained it; he’d been staring up at you the whole time, watching your movements and taking in your body.

Wooyoung closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of both your hands wrapped around his neck and you grinding back and forth on his dick. But he wanted more. “Scared to hurt me?”

He didn’t have to say anything else. You wrapped both your hands around his neck, squeezing harder and harder. Wooyoung smirked under you, gasping for air. But he didn’t ask you to stop. So you kept going, riding him faster. You threw your head back, your lips parted in a beautiful moan. Seeing you like this turned him on so much. He loved seeing you enjoy this. He loved seeing you on top of him, using his dick to fuck yourself how you liked.

Wooyoung was going to come undone soon. You were so tight and so wet. He wouldn’t be able to handle it for much longer and it was evident in the way that he was moaning and cursing underneath you. He tapped your arm twice, signaling for you to let him go. You removed your hands from his neck. He coughed and said, “I’m going to come soon.”

Basically, he was saying for you to get off of him so that he could come on you. But you didn’t want that. Wooyoung wasn’t wearing a condom and you wanted him to finish inside you. You were on birth control and you had never done that before. Plus, you were close too. You wanted to come just as he was unleashing his load inside you.

You said, “So come.”

He furrowed his brows. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” you said, bouncing hard on his cock, with your hands placed on his bare chest. “Come in my pussy.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Hearing those words alone were enough to send Wooyoung tipping over the edge. He couldn’t control his moans as he started to come inside you. You could feel him throbbing; that made you even wetter. And to make matters worse, Wooyoung licked his thumb and started rubbing your clit relentlessly. The feeling was so intense but you didn’t want to stop. You made a series of ugly, orgasm faces before you let out one final scream and went limp.

You got off of him, rolling onto your back. Wooyoung grabbed some tissues from his nightstand drawer and said, “Let’s shower.”

You smiled and followed him into the shower. Wooyoung ran the water and let you in first, following behind you and closing the shower door. The two of you didn’t exchange words during the shower but Wooyoung took care of you, drying you off and putting on the lotion of his that you liked.

He pulled you into bed with him. “Are you still mad at me?”

You rolled over. You were still a bit pissed with him. Just because you’d had sex with him didn’t mean you were still mad at him for his ridiculous behavior earlier. “A little.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever.”

He sighed. “I just...I was jealous.”

“So let’s end this.”

Wooyoung shot up in the bed. “What?”

“Let’s just end this. How can you be jealous when we’re not even dating, Wooyoung? How can you be jealous when I asked you if you were sure you wanted to be friends-with-benefits from the very beginning?” You turned to him, finally. “Why is it that you can do whatever you want but the second I let a guy buy me a drink, it’s a problem? I haven’t even fucked anyone else...”

“Y/N, I know it’s not fair for me to feel like this. I know I’m a hypocrite.”

“All those times you said that you didn't want to date. All those times you said that you weren’t the relationship type? I don’t know what you want me to-”

He kissed you, the rest of your sentence disappearing into his mouth. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said. “I don’t want you to see other guys. I don’t want to see other girls. I want you.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let’s stop playing around and do this for real.”

[noonachronicles]

Everlong Pt. 2

Kwon Jiyong/ G Dragon X Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Mildly vulgar language.  

Genre: Hades/Jiyong. Greek God AU. Fantasy.

A/N: Thanks everyone for your patience, while I was off galavanting with GOT7 this weekend. Update Tag: @kathrynwynterbourne

Moodboard by bae, @memoiresofaneternaldreamer

It wasn’t very hard for you to admit that you didn’t like a lot of people. The bar you had set as far as your expectations of others, you thought, was low. Yet people always found a way to disappoint you. It was because of this that you didn’t really keep a lot of friends and you didn’t waste time with acquaintances. You’d remember the names of your regulars and maybe a key point or two about their lives to ask about, but that was really only because it made for better tips. You never shared information about yourself in return, nothing much beyond your name anyway. Even your coworkers knew very little about you.

So it came as a bit of a shock to you that when Jiyong continued to show up at the cafe you weren’t entirely annoyed by his presence. In fact, you began to look forward to it. Most of the guys that would come around all the time were creeps that wanted to make a pass at either you or your coworkers and they were always less than subtle about it. Jiyong was different, he didn’t actually seem to want to make a pass at you or anyone else at all. You’d started to notice he never even made conversation with anyone.

He’d come in, usually in a tailor fitted suit or some other outfit that he’d likely paid too much for. He would order his big mug of just espresso shots and a different dessert than he’d gotten the time before. Then he would sit at either a table or the coffee bar, cross one leg over the other, and open his little leather notebook. Sometimes he’d just sit there for hours, mug after mug of espresso shots, flipping through his notebook or watching the other customers curiously. Never saying anything to anyone unless they spoke to him first.  

The first night he’d come in he had tried talking to you for sometime. You gave him your name. Told him how long you’d worked at the shop and what your favorite drink was to make. Though he suspected that was a lie. He could tell easily that you didn’t want to reveal too much about yourself. That you weren’t immediately as interested in him as much as he was in you. In response he decided early on that he’d have to change his approach with you. 

Instead of pressing you into communicating with him he left you to yourself. He didn’t ever say much to you after the first night. At most a kind greeting and a thank you when you gave him his drink. Your coworkers found him especially charming and would often come by to where he was sitting and ask him how his day was or what his plans were for the weekend and he’d happily tell them. On more than one occasion he caught you watching those conversations with the slightest hints of longing and jealousy on your face but when you saw him looking at you they were quick to disappear.

At one point, nearly a month after he’d started coming into the cafe, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You were itching with anxiety, wondering why he didn’t seem to want to talk to you but apparently loved talking to everyone else. On a very slow night he was sitting at one of the tables with his leg crossed over the other flipping through his notebook, which you would swear you’d never once seen him write anything in, and you decided it was time. 

Casually leaning against the other chair at the table he was at you asked him what he was up to and if he needed anything. He politely said declined and then went back to his notebook. Unable to stop the urge you stomped your foot on the ground like an ignored child and asked him why he didn’t want to talk to you. With pure amusement glistening in his eyes he looked back up at you and said he’d wanted to talk to no one else this whole time. Then asked you to take a seat.

Before you knew what was even happening you were telling him your entire life story. Little did you know, as you started your story, that he’d already learned all about you.

Growing up you had a father that you’d never met and a mother who was somehow around just as much even though she was technically considered your legal guardian. Which left you to be raised by your grandmother who you thought was actually pretty wonderful. She made sure you were always healthy, always worked hard at your studies, and that you knew the difference between good and bad. Or how she crudely put it between puffs from her cigarette, “how not to be a piece of shit.”

Unfortunately, she died when you were still fairly young, just ten years old. The only consistent and positive influence in your life, gone. Despite the massive change to your life your mother refused to change hers. Instead of spending any time with you she had set you up with caretaker in the form of your pedofile neighbor, who of course had offered to watch you free of charge. Growing up your grandmother had warned you enough about him for you to know you never wanted to be alone with him. Instead of going home after school you would spend your nights tucked away in libraries until they closed and then wandering around the city until you thought it was safe enough to sneak back into the apartment without being bothered.

Among many things she had wanted for you, your grandmother had always told you she didn’t want you to let the cards you’d been dealt make you hard. She didn’t want your absentee mother to be your only example of love and affection. You had tried, when you were young you tried often to open up to others and were often left discouraged by the people you placed your trust in. That was why as an adult it had become very rare for you to get close to people despite your grandmother’s wishes.

The only person who’d been successful at keeping you, as a friend or otherwise, was your boyfriend. You’d known him for years. He’d been the cousin of a girl you met in high school. Though he had only graduated a year before you were set to he had already moved out of his parents house the second he hit eighteen. It was something you admired as it was what you’d been planning on doing for years. He would always let the two of you stay the night at his place when you got too drunk to go home after those friday night parties. Then after high school you stayed hanging around his place, even when his cousin stopped coming around.

Finally one day he had asked you flat out if you were homeless. When you told him no, that you were just comfortable there he had given you a key and offered you your own space, letting you call it home. After you’d collected the last of your things you never went back to that old apartment. Your mother never reached out to you and you weren’t keen on keeping in touch with her either.

One rainy afternoon you had sat perched on the counter in the kitchen watching him make sandwiches for lunch. You’d been telling him about your latest dating mishap when he looked up at you and very simply said, “You’re really fucked up.”

“Jeez, aren’t you astute.” you’d replied swinging your foot hard into his leg.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asked as casually as if he’d just asked if you wanted mustard on your sandwich.

“Sure.” you answered with about the same enthusiasm.

He handed you a finished sandwich and smiled, “Cool.”

~

“You know,” Jiyong said one night after another one of your long complaint sessions about the boyfriend that you’d loved so much. “Yours may just be the most romantic love story I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You rolled your eyes hard at his sarcasm, “Maybe we’re not Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, nobody is perfect.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know...what is wrong with you?” you asked genuinely and then shook your head, “Fine, who do you consider a good love story?”

He hummed thoughtfully and after a quiet minute he said, “Orpheus and Eurydice. I think they were a nice couple.”

“Wasn’t that a tragedy?” You asked trying to recall the details of the tale from when you’d learned about it in school.

“It had the potential to be a wonderful love story with a happy ending.” He shrugged, “There’s the double love story if you consider that Hades even agreed to let Eurydice go at the behest of Persephone in the first place because he cared so much for her.. even if she never really cared for him... but he’s probably over it. Old news.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Sometimes I forget how desperately whipped for her he was.” You missed the look Jiyong gave you as you started to really remember the story, “Sucks Hades had to be a dick though and take Eurydice back.”

“It’s not Hades fault that Orpheus broke their deal!” he argued.

“Please.” You scoffed, “would you really have trusted Hades enough to not look back?”

“Yes, of course. Hades is, if nothing else, a god of his word.” Jiyong said so defensively you found it amusing.

“Bullshit, Hades is manipulative. He probably has some backdoor loophole out of every deal he makes with everyone just so he can get out of them without feeling guilty.”

“That’s just not true. If you think it is, you don’t know anything about him.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as he pouted into his nearly empty cup. Feeling bad that you seemed to have turned his mood so sour you stood up from the table and moved around to the espresso machine. You called over the counter “I guess you’re right. The mythological, Greek god of the underworld? I don’t know much about him. Only what I’ve read in books.”

“You’re mocking me.” It was hard not to think Jiyong was cute, even if he was being a grump. Maybe especially when he was being a grump.

“Lighten up, Ji,  it’s not like I was talking about you. Hades doesn’t even exist. If he did he wouldn’t care what a nobody like me had to say about him.” You shrugged as he sat down at the counter and handed him fresh mug of espresso and a biscotti as an apology.

“Yours would likely be the only opinion that mattered to him.” he muttered to himself as he dipped the biscotti into the fresh espresso.

“What was that?” you asked turning back around from the sink, but he shook his head, “Would it make you feel better to make fun of my boyfriend some more?”

“Yes, actually, I think I might like that.” he said, finally with a smile.

“Oh, give him a break. Give me a break. He was the only one that was there for me during some of the hardest parts of my life. He knows how messed up I am and still sticks around.” you said trying to credit him with something.

“Or he found you in your most vulnerable state. When your expectations of love and respect were at their lowest level, and showed you the bare minimum amount of respect a person deserves. Which for you then placed him on a god tier level pedestal. Gaining him your undying, and quite frankly, undeserved loyalty.”  

“Ouch.” you said placing a hand on your chest to indicate exactly where his words had hit you. He thought for a moment that he had gone too far, finally said too much, but you just smiled, “You don’t seem to like him very much.”

“The only things I know about him are what you’ve told me,” And his entire life’s history… Jiyong thought to himself, drumming his fingers on top of his notebook. “It’s not as if you share his most redeeming qualities with me.”

“That’s not what friends do.” you said matter of factly, “Friends vent to each other. We don’t gush about how perfect our lives are. That would be so boring.”

“Well, do it now. Tell me something good about him.”

“He…” you hesitated, suddenly unsure of any of his more positive qualities and blaming it on being put on the spot. “He makes me happy.”

“Does he?” Jiyong asked with a surprised expression.

“Yes!” you confirmed, landing a backhanded smack against his arm. “That’s all I need.”

He squinted at you curiously, “You’re saying that his only redeeming quality is that he supposedly makes you happy?”

You shrugged, and leaned against the counter. “I think that’s enough. Being with someone who makes you happy. Don’t you?”

“Maybe if I thought he was actually any good at it.” Jiyong said taking a sip from his cup.

You raised an eyebrow at him and tried not to laugh, “Savage, Ji.”

“No, I’m just being honest.”

With a sigh you stood up and stretched out your sore back, “What am I supposed to do? What would you suggest? I just leave him?”

He gave a half shrug. “To start with, yes.”

“And start this whole process over again? Trying to find someone who is patient and understanding enough to tolerate me?” you groaned at even the idea of being single. You had female coworkers, you’d heard about the struggle.

“You’re not as fucked up as you think you are, as he’s made you believe. Trust me.”

For a moment you fell quiet. Processing his words made you feel uncomfortable so you shook your head as if to clear the thoughts and looked back up at him with a small, ingenuine smile, “I don’t really want to talk about me anymore, tell me more about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you have a family? A girlfriend? What do you do for work? You know all this shit about me and never tell me anything about yourself.”

He took a long, deep breath trying to think of what to tell you and how to tell you. The delicate art of telling someone you were the god of the underworld wasn’t something he’d ever had to know before. Luckily for him a roar of hunger from deep in your belly, saved him from having to answer. You realized that you’d gone nearly all day without a bite to eat. A blush rose in your cheeks as you realized from the small, amused smirk on his lips that Jiyong had heard it too.

“I’m not supposed to, while there’s customers,” You began, “but would you mind if I ate something?”

“Sounds like Cerberus in there....” He leaned back on the stool casual as always, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

With a sense of relief you opened the back of the small display case. Instead of one of the predominantly displayed treats that you’d offered him earlier that evening you pulled out large pink box that was typically reserved for people who purchased several baked goods to go. A smile spread across your face as you dropped it on the counter and grabbed a fork.

“I’ve been waiting all day for you.” You whispered as you opened the top and dug your fork into your treat.

Jiyong watched, incredibly entertained, as you devoured each bite with a sense of euphoria. Finally he asked what had been eating at him, “I have to know what's in the box?”

You blushed slightly, embarrassed to admit it, “Persephone’s Kiss.”

“Excuse me?” He choked out in surprise.

“It’s a new recipe I’ve been working on, and I think I finally got it. It’s a pomegranate cake.“

“You’re joking?” You shook your head. Jiyong chuckled, which suddenly turned into a genuine laugh. The action took you by surprise. He typically kept a straight face or would muster a grin or smug smirk at most, which meant that you never really noticed that he had such a beautiful smile. It was gummy and big, almost childlike. He patted his bulbous cheeks with the back of his hand as he calmed himself.

Once composed, Jiyong went back to sipping his coffee humming with laughter every once in awhile. After you’d devoured a significant amount of the cake you looked down at it and pursed your lips thoughtfully. “Would you like to try it? I think it’s my new favorite, but maybe you could try it and let me know if it’s good enough to share with the boss. Good enough for the menu.”

“Would I like to try Persephone’s Kiss?” You could see the laughter in his eyes again as he asked. “You’d share your favorite treat with me? I’m practically a stranger.”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, “I meant it earlier when I said we were friends. I thought we were acquaintances at the very least.”

“You really consider me a friend?” He asked raising his perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Sure, why not? I see you like everyday. I talk to you more than I’ve talked to my own boyfriend in the last week. You know more about what’s going on in my life than my other friends.” You pushed the box towards him and offered him the fork by its handle. “Have some cake, friend.”

You watched him as he pulled a small piece onto the fork and brought the cake to his lips. A dozen things went through his head as he pulled the prongs of the fork from his mouth. One of them being the realization that the fork he’d just used was the one that you’d been using and that part of the magnificent flavor that lingered on his tongue was your essence. The same essence he would experience if he were to kiss you. And he absolutely wanted to kiss you. He could have choked when he looked up to see you watching him diligently.

“Well? What do you think?”

He blushed lightly, “Better than the real thing, if you ask me.”

Your forehead creased as his words sunk in and then you just laughed, “Jiyong, you say the weirdest shit sometimes.”

[morfinwen]

For the OC ask: Aidan, Niner, Q, Ian, and Lauren, if you please. :)

Full Name: Ian Alan Grayson

Gender and Sexuality: Male, straight

Pronouns: He/him

Ethnicity/Species: White, human.

Birthplace and Birthdate: Undetermined date, somewhere in Tennessee.

Guilty Pleasures: Twinkies. 

Phobias: He’s not afraid, exactly, but deep or fast-moving water sometimes sets off a “what if I tripped or something grabbed me” hypothetical scenario in his head. Swimming pools are fine, shallow streams are cool, lakes are usually okay, but oceans or any river that goes deeper than his waist can worry him. 

What They Would Be Famous For: He hopes to be reasonably well-known as a musician someday. His inability to sing well is a bit of an obstacle, he’ll admit, but he’s got ideas for an instrumental guitar album of original songs he’s working on.

What They Would Be Arrested For: There’s been a couple times where he’s driven into a restricted area by accident. So far, it’s never been anywhere serious enough to get him in actual trouble, but it’s a concern Lauren has expressed on multiple occasions.

OC You Ship Them With: No one at present.

OC Most Likely to Murder Them: None of them, though Lauren has threatened to once or twice.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Ian likes really old classics and comic books -- big epics with larger-than-life characters. He also likes sci-fi or fantasy drama shows.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: It was all just a dream.

Talents and/or Powers: Music, particularly guitar. Getting lost. Annoying people who are rude or hurtful to others.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Easy-going, funny, a great listener, supportive but won’t take any bull, and willing to step in when someone needs help or someone else is being awful and needs to stop.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: If you deliberately hurt someone, especially one of Ian’s friends, he is very, very good at being obnoxious.

How They Change: Haven’t gotten there yet. 

Why You Love Them: At its zenith, Ian’s story had maybe four paragraphs in it, but he has become such a distinctive character anyway.

Full Name: Lauren Eleanor Winston

Gender and Sexuality: Female, straight

Pronouns: She/her

Ethnicity/Species: White, human.

Birthplace and Birthdate: Undetermined, somewhere in Tennessee.

Guilty Pleasures: Cigarettes. It’s not precisely a pleasure, but every time she coughs or sees an anti-smoking ad, she definitely feels guilty.

Phobias: Chasing away everyone and ending up alone.

What They Would Be Famous For: Like Ian, she hopes to be a famous musician someday. She’d rather get into the classical music scene than bluegrass, but for now, it’s what she’s got.

What They Would Be Arrested For: Nothing serious. When she blows up at people, it cools down relatively quick, and she’s got enough of a grip on it that she would never hit someone or throw something dangerous at them.

OC You Ship Them With: No one at present.

OC Most Likely to Murder Them: She’s certainly aggravated more people than Ian has, but not to the point of murder.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: She doesn’t read a lot, and when she does, it’s usually something she read and liked as a child, so technically Children’s. 

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: If you kill this one person, you are as bad as the mass-murdering villain/the villain says “You and I aren’t so different after all” and the hero admits they’re right

Talents and/or Powers: Music, particularly piano. Strategy games. She can also write nice poetry, but she doesn’t see the value in it yet.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Lauren has an instinctive sensitivity to justice, and will get just as angry on someone else’s behalf as her own if she believes an injustice has been committed. She doesn’t let disapproval or confrontation stop her. 

Why Someone Might Hate Them: She is not an easy person to get along with, and can take things too personally.

How They Change: Not certain yet.

Why You Love Them: Same as Ian.

Full Name: Niner

Gender and Sexuality: Female, whatever.

Pronouns: She/her, “hey you”

Ethnicity/Species: Werecat

Birthplace and Birthdate: Birthdate, sometime in the summer, twenty-odd years ago. Birthplace … dunno. South of where she lives now. Probably east, too.

Guilty Pleasures: Hot, melted cheese. Batting around a ball of yarn. Snuggling up with Connie in cat-form (he’s so warm).

Phobias: Not a fan of being wet, or thunderstorms. On a deeper level, getting trapped or otherwise losing her independence.

What They Would Be Famous For: Nothing, really. She has no particular talents or skills that lend themselves to fame, and she would actively avoid fame if she did.

What They Would Be Arrested For: To be arrested, she would first have to be caught doing it, and then actually caught. Both of which would be very difficult to do.

OC You Ship Them With: No one at present

OC Most Likely to Murder Them: She and Aidan … have issues sometimes.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Not much of a reader or movie-watcher.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: The occasional TV show or movie has caught her interest for a little while, and none of them lose it faster than those where a character changes themselves for the approval of others. Even if the story ultimately has the moral that you shouldn’t do that, Niner will never know, because she won’t be watching anymore.

Talents and/or Powers: She can turn into a cat. As far as Niner is concerned, she doesn’t need anything else.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Niner has her own ideas of who she is, and takes zero input on who she is supposed to be. 

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Niner has her own ideas of who she is, and takes zero input on who she is supposed to be.

How They Change: Not sure yet.

Why You Love Them: I don’t think any of my other OCs are quite so determinedly independent. 

Full Name: Quincy Odell Free

Gender and Sexuality: Male, straight

Pronouns: He/him

Ethnicity/Species: White (English), human

Birthplace and Birthdate: Somewhere in England, July 3, 1989.

Guilty Pleasures: There aren’t many things he enjoys he would admit to -- less because they’re guilty pleasures he’s embarrassed about, and more because he is very cautious about opening up to people. That said, there is an animated kids show he really liked that he has episodes of saved on his computer that he will never, ever tell anyone about.

Phobias: Both afraid of being known and manipulated through it, and living his entire life without ever forming a real connection. 

What They Would Be Famous For: If he wanted, he could suck up enough to his aunt and uncle to get named the heir to their hundreds of millions of dollars worth of real estate, businesses, corporations, foundations, etc. 

What They Would Be Arrested For: Nothing terribly dramatic, and once it happened his aunt and uncle would most likely cover it up or sweep it under the rug as soon as possible.

OC You Ship Them With: No one at present

OC Most Likely to Murder Them: They would never dirty their hands by actually doing it themselves, but if Q was stupid enough to cross his aunt and uncle, there could definitely be an … accident … in his future.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Fantasy or adventure stories, the more exciting and epic the better, and with happy endings.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Evil twins/evil mentors/bad guys disguised as good guys in general. He has nothing against morally gray characters or believable development from hero to villain or villain to hero, but most of the time the “this guy was evil all along!/the characters are fooled by the villain!” tropes feel like cheating for manufactured drama.

Talents and/or Powers: He’s picked up a lot of odd knowledge and abilities from his education and time spent with his family, most notably an excellent poker face, understanding of human body language, and generally able to persuade people to do what he wants them to -- not that he uses it often.

Why Someone Might Love Them: He’s got that “confused everyman in weird circumstances” thing going on that a lot of people seem to like. If you really got to know him, underneath his bland, indifferent attitude, he’s incredibly loyal.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Q doesn’t really make enough of an impression on most people to be worth hating.

How They Change: Basically, learns that not everyone is like his aunt and uncle: learns to open up more, accept help, and connect emotionally with other people.

Why You Love Them: He’s got an interesting background that’s shaped him in interesting ways, and he manages to be an everyman compared to his roommates while being an outlier for the rest of humanity.

Thanks for asking!

[arysafics]

If I Survive, I’ll Dive Back In

Summary:  When it's too hot to sleep, Clarke sneaks out to the apartment complex pool, only to find her man-whore neighbour Bellamy is already there.

Rated E, ~3,300 words

It’s sweltering in Clarke’s apartment. She’s been trying to get to sleep for two hours now, but the heat hugs her skin, and she’s covered in a sheen of sweat. The air conditioner in her apartment broke last week and the landlord still hasn’t done anything about it. The shitty pedestal fan in her room does nothing but blow hot air around the room.

To make matters worse, she’s just spent the better part of an hour listening to the exaggerated screams of pleasure from some woman getting pounded by her neighbour, Bellamy. She knows his name is Bellamy because she can hear a different woman moaning it every other night. Clarke wonders if he tells them to do that, to feed his ego. Yeah, he’s fucking hot, but there’s no way he’s actually that good in bed. Clarke has been with men before, and they aren’t all that.

This particular woman kept calling him daddy, which Clarke personally finds kind of gross. Yet for some reason, her clit is throbbing, and when she slips her fingers into her panties, she finds herself dripping wet. Which also isn’t unusual. Sometimes she gets herself off, listening to him. She usually can’t hear what he’s saying, but just that deep rumble of his voice does something to her.

She always feels dirty after she does it, burning with shame, burying her head in her pillow, grateful that he has no idea she even exists, let alone that she’s masturbating to the sound of him fucking another woman. She blames it on the fact that she’s only gotten laid twice in the last six months. If she had someone fucking her regularly, she wouldn’t get so worked up at the sounds of skin slapping and bed creaking and man murmuring.

So now she’s lying in a pool of her own sweat, exhausted, pussy throbbing, horny as fuck, but the heat makes it too unbearable to masturbate or sleep. She picks up her phone to check the time. It’s after one. Clarke groans. It’s silent next door now, and Clarke heard tonight’s woman leave maybe fifteen minutes ago, which means there won’t be another show tonight. Which just leaves the heat to conquer, and then maybe she can get some sleep.

She considers taking a cold shower, which might help cool both her head and her loins. Or fill the bath with cold water. Or… her thoughts drift to the complex pool. Technically they’re not supposed to use it after 9pm. But if everyone else is obeying the rules, then there shouldn’t be anyone there to catch her. Besides, everyone else probably has working air conditioning and doesn’t need to go swimming in the middle of the night. She chews her lip.

Deciding that her need for some relief outweighs her desire to follow the rules, she gets out of bed. She digs out her old black bikini from the bottom of a drawer and pulls it on. She’s put on some weight since she last wore it, and it’s not exactly decent, but it covers the important bits and no one is going to see her in it anyway so it doesn’t matter. She pulls a pair of shorts and a t-shirt on over the top, grabs her towel and heads outside, through the courtyard and out to the pool.

She slows when she sees there’s someone else there, lying in a deck chair, smoking a cigarette. Her heart spasms when she sees it’s him. He looks so effortlessly cool, sprawled in the chair, towel around his waist, cigarette in his hand. Truthfully, she hates smoking, but she can’t deny it’s hot when he does it.

She dithers for a moment, trying to decide whether to keep going or turn back. It’s pretty dark, just the pool lights and some solar lights in the gardens on either side of the path she’s standing on, so perhaps she can sneak away without being noticed. But then, he’s facing towards her, so it’s entirely possible he’s seen her, and she’ll just look like a weirdo if she turns around and goes back now.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke continues down the path. He looks up when she puts her hand on the gate, the clanging metal alerting him to her presence. So she could have run after all. Well, too late now. Her eyes meet his as she opens the gate, and he takes a long drag on his cigarette. His hard chest is glistening with water droplets, and she has a vision of herself running her tongue over it. Blushing, she looks away from him, selecting a lounger across the pool from him and throwing her towel onto it.

“You’re out late,” he notes. Clarke glances over her shoulder at him.

“So are you.”

She turns away from him again. Her heart his clanging in her chest and she feels short of breath. Does he have to be so fucking hot? She hopes she’s coming off as cool and aloof, and not as the nervous wreck she feels like. She’s never actually spoken to him before, despite living next door to him for six months. He smirked at her once in the hallway when she came home drunk and he was saying goodbye to his latest conquest. Clarke thought about it for weeks afterwards, but he probably doesn’t remember.

Clarke pulls her shirt over her head, hands shaking slightly. She’s all too aware of him sitting behind her. Is he watching? She doesn’t know if she wants him to be paying attention to her or not. She pulls her shorts down over her ass, and she’s severely regretting her choice of attire. Which will he judge more, her chubby thighs and stomach, or the fact that her tits are practically spilling out of her bikini top? Not to mention her bikini bottoms have ridden up and are now revealing way more of her ass than she’d like, but she can’t do anything about it, because the only thing more unsexy that having your underwear ride up your ass is pulling it out.

Why she’s so desperate for him to find her attractive she doesn’t know. She doesn’t even like him. She just thinks he’s hot, and yeah maybe she’s imagined him fucking her. A lot. Even when she can’t hear him through the wall. But he goes through women like he’s competing for some kind of world record, so even if by some weird twist of fate, he actually wanted to fuck her, she wouldn’t degrade herself by becoming just another one of his many conquests.

She turns around, and he’s definitely watching her. She hopes it’s too dark for him to see the blush across her face and chest.

She walks towards the steps at the shallow end of the pool. There’s no way she’s diving in while he’s there, for two main reasons. One, it will make her hair all wet and flat and gross, and two, her tits will most definitely fall out of her bikini top. So, wading in it is.

She refuses to look at Bellamy. Mostly because she can’t without blushing. But she also wants to give him the impression that she couldn’t care less about him or his presence.

“How come you’re not asleep?” Bellamy asks her. God, that voice. So much for cooling her libido.

“It’s hot,” Clarke tells him. “My air-conditioner is broken.” She sucks in a breath as the cold water reaches her waist.

“Fair enough.”

Gaining some confidence, she looks him dead in the eye. “Plus, someone kept me awake with their moaning.”

He stares at her a moment before he smirks. “Sorry about that,” he says. He doesn’t seem genuinely sorry, though. “Do I keep you awake often?”

Does he keep her awake often? More than she cares to admit. She’s pretty sure that’s not what he’s asking though. “Well, I can hear everything,” she says. “So, yeah.”

“You should’ve said something sooner,” Bellamy says.

“What, and you would have stopped?” Clarke snorts.

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe I’d make it extra special for you,” he winks. “Give you something to think about while you’re fingering yourself.”

Clarke’s mouth drops open. Does he know? Or is he guessing? Or is he just teasing her?

“I never hear you. Dry spell?”

Clarke snaps her mouth closed, flushing. “Maybe I just don’t need to make a show of it.”

Bellamy smirks at her, like he sees right through her. He drops his cigarette on the ground, then stands up to crush it into the concrete. “Can I join you?”

“It’s a free country,” Clarke shrugs. Bellamy drops his towel, and once again Clarke is left open-mouthed. He’s naked. Her cunt throbs and she squeezes her legs together tightly. His cock hangs between his legs, swaying as he saunters over to the edge of the pool with a cocky confidence that is well deserved. Clarke stares at his cock, face hot, unable to tears her eyes away from the massive thing. Okay, she’s not that into guys, or cocks, but this—fucking magnificent. She feels like she could come just from the thought of having it inside her. Goddamn, she wants him to fuck her hard, like he does with all those other girls.

He dives into the pool with almost flawless technique, surfacing two feet away from her, and flicking his wet hair out of his eyes.

“You’re supposed to wear swimsuit in the pool,” Clarke says dumbly.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, amused. “We’re also not supposed to be in here after nine pm,” he points out. “Besides, you’re not wearing one either,” he says, stepping towards her.

“Yes, I am,” Clarke frowns. She glances down. Definitely still wearing it, although her nipples are hard and pointed, poking obviously through the thin material of her bikini. She crosses her arms over her chest, which only serves to push her boobs up, as if she needs to draw more attention to them.

Bellamy’s eyes flash with mischief. “I’d hardly call that a swimsuit, Clarke,” he murmurs. Oh god, he knows her name. And he might be flirting with her. And his eyes are roaming all over her body, but mostly on her tits.

“How do you know my name?” she asks. Maybe she pushes her tits up a little more. He seems to like them.

“I asked Diyoza.” Diyoza, the woman who lives across the hall.

“You asked Diyoza about me?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Seemed weird not to know my neighbour’s name. And you’re always avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Clarke huffs. “I just have better things to do than stand around in the hallway talking to random neighbours.”

“Hence why I asked Diyoza.”

“I suppose you fucked her too.”

Bellamy laughs. It hits her right in the gut. She wants to pull his stupid soft-looking lips onto hers. “No,” he says. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

“But you’d fuck her if she was?” Clarke asks. Is she still talking about Diyoza, or is she thinking about herself now?

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe I would. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” Clarke says quickly. “Fuck whoever you want. Just keep it down, so I don’t have to hear it.”

Bellamy moves even closer, and Clarke should probably back away, but she doesn’t. He’s only an inch away from her now, and she has to tilt her head right back to look him in the face. She can feel the heat from his body, despite the cool water. Her heartbeat drums in her ears. Can he tell how much she wants him to touch her?

“Why?” he whispers. “Because it turns you on?”

“No, I—” she swallows. “It’s annoying. Those girls are all so fake with their ridiculous moaning. And I don’t want to hear you getting off to spanking grown women, and hearing them call you daddy. It’s depraved.”

Bellamy doesn’t look offended in the slightest. In fact, he’s smirking at her. God, oh god. She can’t look at him. She feels hot all over, and she aches to be touched.

“That’s not what gets me off,” Bellamy says.

“Oh yeah? What then?” she blurts.

“I get off on pleasing a woman. If she gets off on calling me daddy and having me spank her, then that’s what I’m into. And there’s definitely nothing fake about it. I could show you if you like.”

Clarke snorts, if only to cover the fact that she’s turned on. “Please.” She means it to sound scornful, but it comes out like a whimper, like she’s begging him to show her. Bellamy’s eyes flash.

“What was that?” he asks.

Clarke swallows. “Please,” she whispers, and maybe she hates herself a little bit for how pathetic she sounds, but god, she wants him so much. Wants to be another fucking notch on his bedpost, wants him to claim her with his cock and ruin her for all other men.

“Please what?” He closes the gap between their bodies, his hand resting on her waist. Her hard nipples brush against his wet chest. There’s a heavy thudding between her legs.

“I don’t know,” Clarke says faintly. He leans down, and his lips brush against her ear, making her shiver.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs. “You want me to spank you? You want to call me daddy? You want me to undress you?”

Clarke stifles a moan. “Yes,” she says. “I want to be naked for you.”

“Of course you do,” Bellamy whispers. He reaches for the tie holding her bikini top together and pulls at it until the material falls from her chest, exposing her nipples to him. He undoes the tie around her back and pulls the bikini top from her body completely. “Such pretty tits, Clarke,” Bellamy tells her, brushing a thumb over one of her nipples. Her face burns. “I’ve been wondering when you’d let me see them.”

Clarke looks up at him, surprised. “You’ve thought about this?”

“Of course I have,” Bellamy says. “That okay?”

Clarke nods. “Uh huh.” Bellamy leans in slowly, then pauses, letting his lips linger millimetres from hers for a moment, letting the anticipation build, before he kisses her for the first time, taking his time, exploring her mouth with his tongue. He tastes like cigarette smoke, which should turn her off, but somehow with him she finds it sexy. Her head spins. Fuck, he knows what he’s doing. He pulls away, and Clarke lets out a small sound of protest. He chuckles.

“What do you want me to call you? Clarke? Baby? Princess?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Whatever you want.”  

“Okay, princess,” he says. His lips drop to her neck and his fingers stroke her stomach. “Now how about those bikini bottoms, huh? You gonna take them off for me? Or you want me to take them off for you?”

Clarke nods, eager to please him. She’s probably going to hate herself later for acting like such a desperate slut, letting him get her half naked before he’s even kissed her, letting him call her whatever he wants, letting him take all her clothes off in public. But right now, all that matters is that he’s going to make her come.

Bellamy drags her bikini bottoms down her thighs to her knees, and Clarke lifts each of her legs to step out of them. He lets them float away with her bikini top.

“There we go,” he says. “All naked for me.” Clarke flushes. Bellamy runs the back of his fingers down her stomach, until he reaches her slit. Clarke spreads her legs. Bellamy splays his big hand over her pussy, then cups her, covering her. Clarke wants him to put his fingers inside her. Thinks about how big they are, how good he could fill her up with those fingers. She squirms in his hand.

“I want to see your pussy so badly, baby. You want to show me?”

Clarke nods. Bellamy picks her up, hoisting her to his waist, then takes her to the side of the pool and lifts her out, perching her on the edge. She spreads her legs, putting herself on display for him.  Bellamy kisses the inside of her knee. His eyes are hooded and dark with lust. He strokes the inside of her thigh with his fingers, getting higher and higher.

“Tell me, Clarke,” Bellamy says. “When you’re lying in bed at night, and you can hear me fucking another woman, do you imagine that’s you I’m fucking? Do you finger yourself and pretend it’s my hand?”

“Yes,” Clarke says, breathlessly. His fingers hover above her slit. “Bellamy, please,” she groans.

“What do you want?”

“Finger me,” Clarke begs. “Please, finger me.”

“You want me to finger you out here in the open, where anyone could see?”

“Please.”

Bellamy keeps his eyes locked on hers as he presses his fingers to her slit. He finds her clit with his thumb, circling it gently, then pressing down, making her gasp loudly. He sinks two fingers into her, and curls them inside her. Clarke spreads her legs wider. Fuck, his fingers make her feel so full. She can only imagine what it’s going to be like to have his cock in her.

He fucks her slowly with his fingers, gradually building her up towards orgasm. She’s panting and moaning, and she’s beginning to think all those other women weren’t exaggerating after all.

Bellamy stops and pulls his fingers from her cunt, and she whines pathetically. She needs to come. Needs it as much as she needs to breathe.

“I want to taste you,” Bellamy growls. He leans in, and then he’s replacing his fingers with his tongue, and holy fuck, he knows how to use it. Clarke tangles her fingers in his wet hair, pressing his face against her cunt as his tongue flicks her clit. Her thighs tremble, and she’s pretty sure she’s almost fucking crying.

“Bellamy,” she moans. “Oh my god, it feels so good. Please make me come. Please.” Her babbling becomes even more incoherent after that, noises escaping from her mouth that she’s never heard before. He winds her tighter and tighter, until she finally snaps, crying out as she comes. He continues to lap at her pussy through her orgasm.

“Fuck,” Clarke moans. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck me.”

Bellamy pulls his head away, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Not tonight, princess.”

Clarke’s stomach drops. “What?”

“I’m beat,” he says. “Time for me to go to bed.” He heads for the steps, and Clarke watches him ascend, disappointment pooling in her stomach, even though he’s just given her an amazing orgasm. But he’s not going to fuck her. She doesn’t get to feel his cock inside her.

He heads for his towel, and Clarke can see that he’s hard now, so it’s not that he can’t fuck her, or that he wasn’t turned on by eating her out. Half of her wants to beg him. God, she’d even settle for him letting her suck his cock. In fact, she actually wants his cock in her mouth, and she usually hates giving head to guys. But the thought of choking on his huge cock gets her pussy throbbing all over again.

“Bellamy,” she says. She’s not going to beg. She’s already degraded herself enough tonight. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

Bellamy wraps his towel around his waist again. “Like I said, I’m tired. But if you want more some other time, you know where to find me.” He winks at her before he leaves. Clarke groans, and somehow, she just wants him even more than she did before.

[artificialqueens]

The Taste of You (Brooke x Yvie) - ImposterZoe

AN: I literally wrote this in 2 days. Thanks to Pipedream for helping! From Brooke’s POV. IZ

I hate being an empath.

Have you ever tasted an emotion before? I have. I guess technically, I have a type of synesthesia where I can taste emotions. But I like empath better. Anyway, I can tell what you’re feeling. Only problem is I have to french kiss you to do it.

Seems like a good deal, huh?

“My emotions don’t make sense to me.”

“I can help! Just gotta lemme slip you the tongue!”

Cool, right? Hahahaha!

Wrong.

Try explaining to someone you can taste their emotions by frenching them, and tell me how it is when they send you to the looney bin.

That’s why I’ve never had a boyfriend. I can taste it. Every one night stand, I taste the sweet-salty tang of passion. (Makes the sex great, by the way.)

But in the morning, if I care enough to kiss goodbye, it's… normal. No added tang of leftover passion, the fruity taste of hope for a date, the indescribable taste of love. There’s no flavor and I don’t try to do anything to add some. I just…. Leave.

I didn’t even know love had its own distinct taste until Vanessa.

Drag Race was… what it was and I learned. I discovered the plethora of emotions I could taste. The hint lavender in her happiness. The coolness of relief every time she survived a lip sync. The overwhelming iron that showed her anger. The heat that showed her stress. The beauteous taste of love that I tasted for four months camera free. The strongest bitterness my tongue ever struck when I gave her that last sad kiss goodbye. And I started to think I would never taste the sweet tang of love again.

Then Yvie won. And in my drunken haze later that night, I kissed her. When I kissed her, I tasted it all.

The strong lavender for her happiness. The sorting popping taste (like pop rocks?) of her excitement. The tang of her cigarette, (I know it’s not an emotion but that’s besides the point). But in the back of her throat, just as it became evident she knew who she was kissing, the sweet caramel-like taste of a pleasant surprise.  Then the unmistakable taste of… love?

I froze in shock as I determined her feelings. Yvie loved me?! She pulled back and stared at me in confusion.

“Why do you taste so much like lavender?” There was a very evident blush on her face that was probably mirrored on mine.

Yvie loved me and she could taste me back. And she tasted lavender? That means I’m happy. I shouldn’t be happy. I just lost Drag Race after making top two. I was so close and I just kissed the person who’s going home with everything I wanted. And she tasted happiness?!

“I… had tea.” The lie rolls of my tongue too easy for my liking but just because Yvie can taste me back, doesn’t mean she needs to know the details of what it means.

“You like lavender tea?” It occurs to me that there are two drag queens incredibly close to each other, bright red, looking stupidly confused. A fan walking by would suck right now.

“I like kissing you,” my drunken brain replies and Yvie smiles that damn smile, touching her front teeth with her tongue. She has so much tongue, no wonder she can taste me.

I leaned in again, wanting to taste her beautiful mix of emotions again when A'keria comes to the end of the hallway.

“Where’d y'all go? Party ain’t over yet!”

Can you say mood killer?

“Be back in a second,” I call, stepping back from Yvie, “Miss Winner here needed a breather. Not used to people actually liking her.”

Yvie gives me one of her famous eye rolls. “Fuck off, Runner-up,” She mumbles. As A'keria walks away, I lean into Yvie’s ear.

“My name is actually Brock,” I whisper to her, “Learn it so you can scream it later.”  Yvie turns bright red and on impulse I kiss her again, tasting the tartness of embarrassment and nervousness, mixing with the richness of her love. I pull away and smirk as I walk back to the party. After a long minute, (enough time for me to get a fresh beer), Yvie comes back looking dazed with her lipstick slightly smeared.

A'keria looks between me and Yvie with a shocked expression. I just winked at her and enjoy the party.

After too long a time, I get to my hotel room and turn myself back into Brock. Just as I’m organizing my makeup, there’s a knock at my door. I walked over and open it, a knowing smile on my face the second the door opens.

“Hey there, Miss Winner,” I purred, relishing the blush on Yvie’s face.

“Hi, Brock,” Yvie chokes out. And the rest of the night is history.

[Many months later.]

I walk in the door of me and Jovan’s shared apartment, throwing my keys on the table.

“I’m home! You here, Babe?” I call, dropping my bags. I hear a faint call of, “Bedroom,” and hurry in. Jovan’s bent over a sketchbook and I have many conflicted emotions as I take in the fact that he’s wearing my beanie, has my hoodie around his waist, and is using Henry as table while he sketches with one hand, petting Apollo with the other. Seems like a renaissance painting, but whatever. I sprint over and jump in the bed, effectively leaving it cat free and Jovan rubbing his leg from where Henry used it as a launch pad.

“Hi,” I whisper in his ear, kissing him softly. I don’t use tongue. I haven’t seen Jovan in about a month, and long periods away from each other, makes my first taste of his emotions special, so I try to save it.

“Hey,” he grins. We hug each other, Jovan’s head buried in my shoulder. After a minute I pull back and glance at his sketchbook.

“What’s this for?” I ask, taking in the sketch. Jovan attempts to cover the page but I move his hands, admiring the tiny details he must’ve spent forever on.

“Do you like it?” he whispers excitedly. I nod, tracing the drawn hem line.

“It’s so pretty, Jovan,” I whisper back, my finger still running along the page. A humongous smile blooms on his lips.

“Thanks. As far as what’s it for,” he bends over the page with me, “It’s going to sound cheesy but I drew it thinking of you. It represents how you make me feel.” Jovan is slightly pink as he says this and I blush too, as I find that he was looking at me when he says this.

“I love you.” The words pop out of my mouth and in the back of mind I realize that maybe these words should’ve been said BEFORE we moved in together.

Meh, what’re ya gonna do?

Jovan stares at me, not in shock, but in adoration.

“I’ve loved you since drag race,” he admits.

I almost say that I knew that but how could I tell him? Even after all this time, Jovan doesn’t know I’m an empath. But I’m thinking too much right now.

I pull Jovan slightly in my lap and kiss him deeply. I sigh as I taste the deep coolness of his relief that I’m home, the lavender of his happiness, for a second I taste the slight citrus of doubt, but it’s gone as I rub his back. It’s all wrapped up in the silkiness of his love. Jovan’s love tastes different than Jose’s. Jovan’s is fresh. New. And for once in my life, I like something different. I love something different.

Jovan pulls back with a complentative look on his face.

“Kissing you is different. You taste,” he struggles with the right word, “… Different.”

“Different how?” I have to ask. I can’t taste myself and I bury everything so it’ll be nice to get my feelings read.

“Different like lavender,” (happiness),  "something cool, like mint or something,“ (relief), "and something I can’t describe. Something…silky.” Love. He tastes love.

“Did you just say I taste like Silky?” I ask in mock disbelief.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” he yells slapping my shoulder. I smirk as grab his hand and kiss his knuckles.

“I’m pretty sure you just said the exact opposite.”

“You’re an asshole,” says my blushing boyfriend.

My grin turns impish. “And you love me.” He sighs softly.

“Yes I do. And I have no idea why.”  I smile wider and kiss his knuckles again.

“Wanna get lunch?” I ask, standing up.

“Yeah sure.”  He kisses me again and I taste the now familiar silkiness of love on his tongue.

“If that’s what Silky taste like, I’m leaving you,” Jovan deadpans as he pulls back. I simply smack his side and walk out.

[…]

Usually when I kiss Jovan, it’s all good. Happiness, Passion, Love. But the longer we were on tour, the more different emotions came into play.

I tasted the bitter sadness on his tongue as we watched the reunion. The citrus that shows his doubt after Vanjie hugs me for a smidge too long. The intense heat of his stress before a show. The strong iron of his anger after a drawn out argument with Silky. That’s the only reason I’m glad he can taste me. With a simple flick of the tongue, the silky taste of my love mixed with my cool calmness relaxes him. The bitterness turns to lavender. The iron turns to the coolness of mint. The citrus turns into copper taste of possessiveness which eventually turns into that silky taste as he realizes I’m with him and only him.

But I still have to kiss him to relax him. And lemme tell ya, when Jovan puts his barriers up, trying to steal a kiss is quite the uphill battle. Trying to steal french kiss? Basically like trying to fight a war.

How am I supposed to explain that I can help understand him if he lets me kiss him?

The realization comes to light after a bad argument between us.

“You just try to solve everything with kisses!” Jovan had screeched at me. I don’t remember my reply but Jovan had locked himself in our bedroom and I heard him crying his eyes out. I paced along the wall for the better part of an hour when it hit me.

Jovan doesn’t know, so he doesn’t understand. I’m knocking on the bedroom door before the thought had even formed. I need to tell him about my ability.

The door cracked open. “What do you want?” Jovan asked miserably.

“I have to tell you something important and I can’t do it through the door.”

If anything Jovan’s face breaks even more and the door slams shut, the lock turning. I heard his sobs on the other side and realize that what I just said is scary as hell.

“That came out wrong. I’m not breaking up with you,” I call through the door.

“Yeah right,” comes the soft, shaky reply.

“Please let me in.” I whisper. After several seconds, I hear the lock turn and I don’t hesitate before rushing in the room.

Jovan’s on the bed now, staring at the ground and wiping his face dry.

“I have to tell you something,” I blurt.

“Yeah you said that.”

I kneel before him and grab his hand.

“I don’t think you get. This is important. I’ve never told anyone this before.” Jovan looks at me.

“No one?” he whispers.

“No one. Not Vanjie. Not Nina. Not even my mom. But I’m going to tell you and I’m just praying you believe me, because I’m going to sound fucking nuts.”

Jovan looks like he wants to make a joke but my face is deathly serious so he just pats the bed. I get up and sit down next to him. Jovan looks at me expectantly and immediately words fail me. I open and shut my mouth like a fish out of water while he stares at me.

“Brock I know words screw with you, but if you don’t say something soon, I’m leaving and I won’t turn back for a long time.” It’s not a threat. Jovan’s serious and I try to force the words out. I’m not losing him.

“I can taste your feelings!” I blurt. Jovan stares at me for a long time. Then he gets up and heads toward the door. I jump up and rush to cut him off at the door.

“I told you it sounds nuts! But I’m not lying. And you can taste me back. I know you’ve noticed that my mouth taste different when I french kiss you based on what I’m feeling.”  

Jovan just gives me a blank stare before he rubs a hand over his head.

“Brock, this is insane. No one can taste emotions. Especially not other people’s by kissing them! I mean how stupid do you think I am?”

I rub my own face in aggravation. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I’m telling you something about me that’s special and I want you to believe me. Ask me anything about it. You know I can’t lie and it’s to crazy for me to make up.”

A sigh leaves him but he sits on the couch and thinks on it. I sit in the chair opposite of him and watch him.

We sit in silence for a while and each passing second making my anxiety skyrocket.

“Do you love me?” Jovan whispers. My head snaps up at the sudden break in the silence.

“Yes. I do.” I whisper back. Short, sweet, and to the point.

“What does love… Taste like?” He whispers.

I swallow hard. “It’s hard to describe but to give it a try… it’s the sweetest, silkiest taste. Like the world’s best dessert.” Jovan weighs my words quietly.

“That’s what you taste like,” he mumbles, “no matter what else you taste like, that’s always there. In the back of your throat. That means you love me?”

I nod again. “I love you more than anything.”

Jovan sits back on the couch. “That’s why you kiss me when I’m upset? To know what I’m feeling?”

I sigh softly. “No. Like I said, you can taste me back. If I’m calm and I kiss you while you’re angry, you taste my calmness which helps you relax. But sometimes when you retreat into your head, I kiss you so I can figure out what to do.”

I pat my lap and Jovan makes his way over and settles onto it, his head on my shoulder.

“This is insane,” he whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back, “but I know you’re special because you can taste me back.” I grab his face and make him look me in the eyes. “So anytime you’re scared, just kiss me and remind yourself. I love you.”

I lean forward and kiss him softly, slowing sliding my tongue in his mouth. There’s a strong taste of citrus. He still doubts me. But as my tongue pushes forward, I taste the pop of his excitement and the lavender of his happiness.

And I know it’s because we both taste the same sweet, silky taste in each other’s mouths. We both taste the love we have for each other and I feel a tear fall from Jovan’s cheek to mine but judging from the lavender that’s everywhere in my mouth, they’re tears of joy.

“I love you.” Jovan whispers later that night.

“I love you, too.” I whisper back. He looks down and kisses me slowly.

“I know.”

We relax in each other’s embrace, love coating both our tongues.

I love being an empath.

“Hey, Brock?”

“Yeah?”

“What does horniness taste like?”

“Oh my god. Fuck all the way off!” I laugh.

I do love being an empath.

I just really hate my boyfriend.

[hamilton-one-shots]

What if you did a fic with 2p! Hamsquad? :00 I'd die for that - Stump Anon 🌳

(I’ve been in love with this idea since I first saw it, tbh

Edited by: @dflwrites

For those who don’t know: 2p! characters are essentially polar opposites of the original character, an idea started in the Hetalia fandom, and, typically, they are murderous or at least can be drawn to it more easily than most. Having said that: 

TW: Domestic abuse, graphic violence, child predators, murder, derogatory language, use of the f word

Also, yes, Hetalia fans, two of these are really close to two Hetalia 2p characters. I tried not to, but they fit so well.)

John sighed and scrolled through his cellphone mindlessly as he waited for his friends to join him at the bar. He’d already had an entire soda waiting for them. He knew that it wasn’t good to have so much sugar, but it had been a whole hour!

As he scrolled, a message popped up from his friend Alexander.

[Lexi :): Hey, sorry, but we’re going to be late.]

John pouted and responded.

[That’s fine! I’ll see you guys when you get here :)]

He sighed and messaged his boyfriend, Hercules, asking if he was joining him, at least. While he waited for a response, he noticed a man messing with the bartender and moved closer to see what the trouble was.

“I already told you, James, it’s over.. Just leave me alone,” she groaned.

The man reached over the bar and grabbed her arm roughly. “Do you honestly think you have a better alternative? We both know you’re leaving here with some loser for whatever he offers you. You might as well go home with me for free.”

“Let me go!”

John looked around to see if anyone was going to help, but they were just a bunch of drunk men, trying to encourage her to just agree to whatever the jerk was saying and to make their drinks. John found it sickening… He took a deep breath before walking over, tapping the man on his shoulder. “Excuse me sir…”

The man rolled his eyes and looked down at the other, scoffing at his pastel blue sweater. “Stay out of this, fag.”

John was hardly fazed. After all, he’d heard much worse and he had to focus on helping the poor woman. “You should leave her alone. I don’t think she wants to be touched and it’s not good for you to force her into anything.”

“Fuck off,” the strange man growled, John catching the strong scent of alcohol on his breath. It was vile.. But useful.

He backed away and moved to another bartender, asking for two shots of whiskey. He took them back to where he’d been sitting before, adding something special to them both, and waited.

Once the man backed away from the girl, John took his chance, walking over with the two shots.

“I’m sorry for earlier… I shouldn’t have interfered. A man has to do what a man has to do,” he shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face. “What do you say we just down a shot and forget about what happened?”

The other hardly thought before taking the shot that John was offering.

It was important that John fixed both. Some took the one he offered, some took the one he kept toward himself.

John smiled and down the shot at the same time as the man, filtering the disgusting drink through his teeth and reluctantly swallowing it, feeling the capsule that he’d added stopping at his front teeth. He put down the glass and began to walk off, but was stopped by the same man.

“Don’t be a pussy. Take another shot with me.”

“Oh, um… I don’t drink much.. It was just a friendly offer,” John explained, pushing the capsule under his tongue.

“Just one and I’ll leave the bitch alone for a while.”

John winced at his harsh words, but if it got him to leave her alone… All he really needed was a few minutes, but the more time she went without him, the better. So, he agreed and downed another shot, slowly starting to feel its effects.

“You know what? For a little fag, you’re alright,” the man said, clapping his hand hard against John’s back.

John laughed uncomfortably and left to the bathroom, spitting out the capsule and emptying his stomach, just for good measure. It may not dissolve in anything weaker than stomach acid, but stomach acid was something that the drinks had already hit and, oh, how he hated getting drunk. He didn’t like how he acted so wild, so out of control.

Once he was done, he flushed his mess away and walked out, ignoring the screaming crowd that surrounded the corpse on the floor and shooting the pretty bartender a smile, asking for a glass of water.

Hercules dragged himself off of the couch and out of the door in sweats. He was just going drinking, so what was the point in throwing on “real pants” as John called them. He walked down the streets and was about halfway to the bar when he passed a playground. He instinctively turned to look - he had a secret soft spot for kids. Well, and for puppies, but kids don’t make John cry from fear. Anyways, he saw this teenager with a full backpack and a man talking to her. She was clearly uncomfortable, leaning away and taking a few steps back, but he was persistent, moving closer with each step away she took.

Hercules glared and made his way over, pushing the man away from her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What? I’m just offering her a place to stay. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same,” the man grinned. “She’s beautiful. She should find somewhere to stay before some creep snatches her up.” He tried to move past Hercules, but was stopped as he grabbed his shirt collar, tossing him to the ground.

Hercules turned towards the girl. “How old are you?” he asked softly, his demeanor completely changing.

“Twelve… My mom says I can’t go back because I said I’m a boy..”

“That’s awful..” His grip tightened on the man’s collar as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone and headphones. “Here, listen to some music as loud as you can and keep your eyes closed, okay? I’m going to punish him for what he tried to do, then I’ll get you some help, okay?”

He nodded and did what Hercules did, shutting his eyes tight and listening to loud music.

Once it was loud enough for Hercules to hear it, he turned back towards the man, a dark gleam in his eye as he shoved him onto the ground.

“You think it’s fine to pray on children?” he asked, his tone calm as he sent his foot flying into the creep’s spine, making him shout out in pain.

“Hey! Don’t fucking scream. You scream and I swear to god, you won’t be getting away from this alive,” he threatened.

It was that simple. The false promise of life always made them shut up.

Hercules knelt down. “I bet you’ve done this before, haven’t you, you sick fuck?” Out came his pocket knife and in it went to the creep’s right lung. Next, of course, it struck lower, definitely giving the creep the castration he deserved. Those muffled screams were music to his ears, the sound of justice that he knew would never be served otherwise.

“This is what you do to those who you’ve hurt, I hope you know that,” he continued, his voice as calm as ever. “You think it’s cool, you get off on hurting these kids, but it lasts,” he hissed. “People tell them it’s their fault, that they shouldn’t have trusted a man like you. I’m here to show you that your bullshit won’t go without consequences.” He got his knife back. He’d done enough to seal his fate.

Hercules wiped his hands on the creep’s clothes and stood up, tapping the kid’s shoulder and turning them away. “Hey, I’m going to go wash my hands, then I can take you to my place, if you want. Just to give you a place to crash.”

“Did you kill him?..” he asked, hesitantly.

Hercules shook his head. “I just hurt him pretty badly..” It wasn’t technically a lie. “I know his type. He wouldn’t have stopped hurting kids like you if I just let him go. And, don’t worry, I never hurt kids,” he reassured.

The kid hesitated before nodding, deciding to trust Hercules. “I don’t want to go home..”

“And I won’t make you. You can crash with me and my friends as long as you want.”

“Okay…”

Hercules smiled before standing up straight again, going to the bathroom and cleaning up his knife as well as his hands, then taking the kid back to his place, where he knew he’d be safe.

Lafayette stayed outside of the bar as Alexander went with John, just feeling like having a cigarette in the quiet before dealing with all of those people. He stood in the alley and lit his cigarette, smoking in peace until this asshole approached him.

“Hey, honey, what’ll it cost for you to let me smash?”

Lafayette scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Please.. You are not worth my time.”

“Alright, what about for a good suck? It’d be a better use for that pretty little mouth.”

“Why don’t you fuck off?”

The weirdo smacked the cigarette from Lafayette’s hands. “Why don’t you get off your high horse?”

That was it. Lafayette grabbed the guy’s shirt and turned him, slamming his back against the wall and spitting in his face. “I recommend you get out of my damn face before you regret it. I can make you wish you were never born. I’ll make you wish you were dead, that you’d never made the mistake of calling me some whore.”

The guy was definitely intimidated. Lafayette looked like he could crush his skull if he wanted to. “Fine, just let me go.”

“Let you go?! Where was the letting me go before you smacked my cigarette out of my hand? Don’t you know better than to touch a smoker’s cigarette?”

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“Shut the hell up and look me in the eye.”

There was a split second of hesitation, but the guy did just that.

“When I’m through with you, you’ll wish you were never-”

Lafayette was cut off by the blast of a handgun going off, a bullet going straight through the stranger’s brain. Lafayette groaned as he was coated in blood and glared down the alley, not surprised to see his boyfriend, Alexander, standing there, John standing beside him with his hands over his eyes.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Lafayette demanded, throwing the corpse onto the floor.

Alexander shrugged.

Lafayette tutted. “Well, you got blood all over me. Now I actually have to shower,” he grumbled before walking over to them.

“Um… The cops are coming… We have to go home,” John said meekly.

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “You could’ve started with that.” He pulled off his dirtied hoodie and tossed it into John’s arms. “Happy?” John always bugged him about how long he wore his clothes, but what was the point in washing them if he was just going to wear them again? What was the point in getting new clothes when his own fit him just fine.

John was smart enough not to respond. They may have been friends, but Lafayette wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him, badly. He even called him chubby once. But this wasn’t the time to cry. It was time to go home.

As they began walking, Lafayette followed John in his tank top, his arm around Alexander and his hand resting on his boyfriend’s ass. “Next time, at least give me a warning. It’s not the same as when I inject them, but it is nice to see the light leaving their stupid eyes.”

“Sure.” Alexander didn’t really get it. Lafayette’s way of killing involved too much work. Why would they do that when a gun could do it in half the time? But he didn’t feel like saying it out loud. It wasn’t his place.

“I hope Hercules won’t be too upset that we have to go home…” John commented. “I’m sure he got out of bed and everything.”

“Oh, grow a pair,” Lafayette snapped at him. “I don’t know why you have to cry over everything. You’re such a pussy. Alexander never says anything, but at least he doesn’t cry.” If there was anything that he truly hates, it was men who couldn’t keep in their own feelings, like everyone else.

John felt tears welling up in his eyes.

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “Such a wimp.”

Alexander shrugged. John should be able to do what he pleased, right? But it wasn’t up to him to tell Lafayette what to do either.

Besides John’s crying, the rest of the walk home was quiet, none of them expecting the surprise that Hercules had in store.

[moonlogue-blog-blog]

2020.11.18 

i’m sitting here at 37 minutes past 4 am in the morning

just had a bowl of curry that i didn’t (couldn’t finish) last night

it was warming even though it was ‘cold’. the peppers did it. 

dark chocolate is supposed to be okay and good for me. with this ovarian cyst. 

and supposedly other foods with potassium. they said even bananas. 

from last i heard from a friend living here on the island, there are some locallly grown bananas. but it’s definitely not an indigenous plant or vegetable or fruit here. 

what is a banana?

we call it a fruit. 

what is a tomato? 

is it a vegetable?

how do we determine what is called what?

what is a boy?

what is a girl?

is it about genitals?

so the woman i teach english to these days (introduced kindly by my dear sister amy) is so cute. 

she is like this twinkling fairy. and then i’m curious, just as she is curious, about what various ‘sides’ she has underneath those layers of shine. she is a mother. she has two sons. and she has a husband. she has a mother. and probably a father. and she has the desire and will and drive to learn english. her sons go to an international school (american education system) here in jeju island. i live close to this area called the ‘english education city’ or ‘korean international school’ village/town/city whatever you wanna call it. i mean, it is a pretty big piece of land. i mean, it’s a lot of forests that they cut down for this. and i mean, there are just way too many foreign cars rolling around here, at least, a lot more than i’m kind of comfortable seeing or passing. especially in a town like this, in an island like this, where it’s like, if you have a bmw or a porsche, you know it came by boat from the mainland or somewhere else. i’m guilty too though, you know. i order stuff alot now. i used to limit and really monitor how much i ordered stuff online. last year when i first moved here, i was almost starving sometimes because 1. i didn’t want to use the refrigerator (in the dead middle of the summer) 2. i didn’t want to add carbon footprint by ordering things online conveniently and 3. i didn’t want to make a lot of trash. but then eventually you know what i did? i went to the gs25 15 minute walk away to get beer, chips and ice cream. and wine. and sweets. and cookies. and ramyun. all kinds of shit. 

trash. what is trash really anyway? it’s unwanted or un-useable parts of things that we use. things we don’t think we need or want. they have no use for us, so we throw it away. 

my friend saewon sent me a youtube link to a korean guy talking about the difference between good and bad people. it was literally that - he was saying the people you can trust are the ones who will stay by your side because they have some use for you. basically, they have something that they’d be able to benefit or get from you. even gain or suck out of you, by being within your circle or keeping you in their life. but if they betray you or leave you, it’s because they have decided that you are no longer of use to them. they don’t need you anymore. there is no more juice to suck on. 

i thought that was pretty intense - at least they way he put it - sounded so…transactional? calculating? impersonal? and kinda, cold. it kinda shatters the whole notion of the korean jung정. you know?

i’ve been talking about a project that i’ll be working on. or that i am working on. 

i mean, it’s hard to say when an actual project starts or finishes specifically. 

it could have begun years ago when some ideas started seeding within your mind and body and heart. it could have technically begun when you decided to sit down and make a proposal of the project and send it in as an application for funding. it could begin the day that you decide to go and do the first shoot or write the first draft or make the first copy or whatever you do. 

how could i still think of that day? 

with such memory precision, i search back and look for these clues. 

i look in to details. 

kinda obsessively. 

but also inquisitiviely

because i am curious

do you like me?

have you found interest in me?

what do you like about me?

how can you fancy me?

what can i do?

how can i flaunt?

but then, 

i see you

and i 

like 

you

 so here it is, another dilemma, not particularly between two choices or anything. 

but more of an existential question about ‘what is it to be human?’

‘what is it to be a woman?’

‘what does it mean to be balanced? both masculine and feminine?’

perhas we were the only two that applied

eitherway

it was meant to be

and even if there is no competititon

then even better

i didn’t have to beat someone else to get what i wanted

it was fair

we all got stuff to do

people were not applying to go outside of their bubble anyway

unless they were set on being free

and playing by their own rules

and that’s been the subject of a lot of conversation

i mean, why can’t i wear no bra to work with male coworkers?

why can’t i just be myself with my crazy hair shaved or spiking out in the most awkward growth stages?

well, i should ask myself that question

because no matter what, and even though the society has their unwritten rules and some actual outright laws and stuff, 

i mean, i know what’s right for me and i know what’s true to me, right?

or i should hope so. that this is the case. 

but then, we are always compromising. 

always

com

prom

i

zing

we talked about that while we were sitting on the rock over the ocean. 

the waves were so silky smooth 

and the wind wasn’t too cold even after sunset

but we did eventually get up and leave before it got too dark

she was smoking cigarettes

and blaming me for it

that i had given her the most delicious cigarettes and called it ‘cloud candy’

i was just repeating what my friend in the east coast told me, 

that she’d go and have some ‘cloud candy’ when she was actually going to have a secret cigarette at the corner of her yard. 

she was a farmer, a builder, a writer, a - many things. a mother. a wife. a pioneer. a mover and a shaker. and she was sick too. but aren’t we all a bit sick? in heart mind and body? and spirit. 

but i wonder if the spirit ever gets sick. or it just gets…stuck. or misunderstood. or angry maybe? perhaps? but it doesn’t get sick. right?

when my cousin was having her seizure like episode, 

she said a few things to me that were unreal. 

like how did she know about the things she was saying out loud to me?

it was as if she was possessed. 

it was as if she knew something that i didn’t know, 

that she saw things

and she knew things

and yes she was incredibly drunk

and she just knew things

was she and is she also part shaman?

a seer?

perhaps she was, and now she is a devout christian. 

she said that before she converted to christianity, her spirit was tormented by a visciously angry resentful female ghost/spirit. also her younger sister, my other cousin, had these nightmares or night terrors or sleep paralysis kind of experiences, right before she was trying to convert to christianity. and then once she converted she said she’s been having no problems. they are both, ‘happily’ married, and doing quite alright. i guess. 

i mean, who’se to say that marriage is right or wrong?

i mean, i don’t know. 

i like that my parents got married, even when they hardly knew eachother, because thanks to them getting married, i was born. and my brother was born before me. of course. 

and we were a family, and we are a family. for the rest of our lives, and onwards, even if we don’t want to be. it’s in the blood and there’s no denying that. 

i liked many people. it was just like an instinctual thing. 

with girls, we’d become best friends and then because of something, we’d get angry pissy or jealous and then we’d have the worst most dramatic fight. argument. break up. 

and then with boys, i’d just crush on them. i’d be like, oooh whose that boy? i like hiiiim. and then i’d spread that to my friends and indirectly let him know that i’ve got a thing for him. that i got my eye on him. but then i’d be so shy. i wouldn’t really make a move or anything. 

the first time i probably made a move on someone first, was when i was at this punk rock show in hawai’i and i asked a girl that i met there if she wanted to be a part of my love life. i mean, that’s not exactly how i started the conversation. i was dancing. and it was crowded. not my type of music but then my fellow radio station djs and friends were there. so i see this girl dancing in front of me, and she had a tattoo that was a korean letter or word or something on the back of her neck. so i was curious. and maybe a little high. so i tapped her on her shoulder and it was loud. but she turned around from the touch, and i don’t remember what i said through the noise but i must have asked her about her tattoo. and why she has it? and i think i heard through the drums and guitars that she was half korean. or something like that. we kinda tried to talk but it wasn’t working with the punk rock. but she did say something after looking into my eyes or face. and i could make out her lips or just the energy of what she said. she said ‘you’re beautiful’. and i think i embarassed her by repeating what she said. she probably thought i couldn’t hear her.

i was already smitten by crystal. they were everything. i mean, i couldn’t figure it out cos i guess i was mostly in to boys at the time. but here was this being. that just was like, unbelievable and strange and beautiful and alluring and soft and amusing and curious and incredibly attractive. i couldn’t understand this attraction. but it was real. it’s not like i ignored it, but i was perhaps waiting to see. or keeping an eye on it. or just…participating in this getting to know eachother. 

i eventually went down on her. she had jeans on. we were kissing. finally. after laying in this mattress for a while. in her friend’s living room. i was wondering if we were gonna play around. fool around. but she just lay still, there. close to me. but not making any moves. 

so i think i might have tapped her on her shoulder again. to be like, ‘hey, i thought we were gonna make out or do something’. haha. that was ridiculous. but honest. and straightforward. so we did. we proceeded. with soft kisses. probably the softest i’ve ever tasted. ever felt. on my lips. and on my tongue. on my skin. and she was supple. she was wet. she was soft. and then i couldn’t help but go down towards her belly, then her jeans. unbotton. and then zip down. and then off. i smelled her. it was fishy. i was surprised. the odor was so alive. so visceral. so strong. and then i think i just devoured her. i’m not even sure what i did. but i enjoyed it greatly and just allowed myself to go into it and enjoy it more. and i think, she did as well. 

(i’m supposed to have written 30,000 words by today if i have kept track with writing at least 1,666 words per day since november 1st. then i’d be able to finish writiing a 50,000 word novel by the end of november. how? just writing. i mean, not even with much of a plot. just about my life. and how i’ve been living.  and currently, i’m at 4,643 words. it’s day 18.)

wish me luck. 

[hide-the-cutlery]

The Four Horsemen

Today was awful. I felt absolutely manic. I was irritated. I was pissed. I was emotional. I was throwing things around while cleaning. (Side note: if you ever want to add some aggravation to your life, try organizing hangers and putting them neatly into a box. Jesus fucking Christ.) I posted a comment on Facebook that turned volatile, where I ended up calling about 25 random strangers idiots, just because I felt like bickering. Talk about backfiring — it essentially wound up with people just picking on me. I swore out loud, loudly, which I knew would upset my parents. I went to the gas station to smoke a cigarette, and when I got home, my father just happened to be in the hallway in front of my room, no doubt trying to look casual, but with the intent of smelling me to see if I smoked one. I think my mother is frightened of me because I couldn’t contain an explosion of frustration I had when I was trying to talk to her and had to force myself to try to speak in a calm tone. I also think she is judging me because I couldn’t stay awake during the afternoon, mostly due to a medication increase. She flat out told me I’ve been loopy the past few days and that it scares her. It’s equally upsetting that I’m only trying to feel better, but it’s scaring people. I’m still trying to adjust to the increase, and after reading up on the medication, the risks and side effects are scary and just plain suck. I’m already fat enough, I can’t wait to gain more weight. Nothing seems to satiate me; I was contemplating making a bagel a few minutes ago. At 2:30am. It would figure that just as I feel like I’m ready to start dating, even though I’m disgusted with my body, I now get to be even more disgusting and insecure. Fucking hell.

The meds are giving me wild dreams. Last night I dreamt I was Baker acted and learned that the cops had been called on me several times, but had gotten stuck in traffic each time. I know I physically attacked at least one person and stabbed my mother. In my dream, my parents had also moved me out of my room and into another. (This has actually happened in real life, but I knew they were going to make me switch rooms. After being in their house a few months after I got out of the hospital, I was kicked out of my room, which I grew up in, and moved into my sister’s old room. She still had a child’s bed when she moved out. So now I’m 32, sleeping on a child’s bed, in my sister’s room, while she’s off living in her nice apartment and getting a useful degree and thriving without a battle with addiction and her mental health. She’ll probably never end up broke, with a useless degree, living in our parents’ house, like I have been the past 2 years because I can’t fucking take care of myself. Anyway, the reason I was relocated? My mother wanted to keep the “guest” (my) room nice for when guests come. Which has been once in the two years and some months since I’ve been here. And it was my grandparents. Clearly I’m still holding a resentment towards her about that, but I seem to have gone on a tangent — back to my dream.) The rooms in the dream weren’t in a house, but in an apartment arranged like the one I spent my freshman year in, except the shapes and sizes were different. The one my stuff was put into while I was at the mental health facility was very strangely shaped and extremely small. Occupying my old, larger, square-shaped room was a girl I used to work with, who I always hated out of jealousy. She began the same position I held about 3 years after I had been hired. I had been promoted by then, so I technically outranked her, but she was the fucking golden girl in my old office. She could do no wrong. The sad thing is if I wasn’t so jealous of her, we probably could have been friends. We even discovered we had dated two brothers! Within months, she was going to conferences around the country and Canada. I was never sent on a conference — just medical leave. Yes, my old boss actually told me I needed a break, and I had to stop working and go on short-term disability for 6ish weeks. I know she was trying to save my ass, because the quality of my work had slipped so low it was probably a fire-able offense, but really now, how many people are told they can’t work until they get some rest and time to focus on addressing some of the stress and grief they are obviously experiencing? I was even sober at the time. Well, what I mean by “sober” is that I wasn’t drinking. Getting so fucking high on Xanax every day, though, that’s a different story... I was getting drunk again by the time I came back to work.

My dreams are terrifyingly realistic. They usually follow the same storyline: I end up involved with a group of male friends and tend to gravitate towards one. He is usually aloof; I spend time with the rest of them to get closer to him. None of them are real people, but creations of my own, lonely mind. It’s funny, but the dreams usually involve Star Wars or WoW. That, or I dream about my ex or old best friend, who I was in love with from my junior year of high school and well into college. Sometimes they blend into one person, which isn’t that strange. They reminded me a lot of each other, and I’d give anything to have one (or both) of them back into my life. Their family is usually around, and more times than not, they are focused on a girl that is not me. Everything feels so real, and I believe I’ve written before about how, even in the dream, I feel/think it shouldn’t be another goddamn girl. It should be me. Often I will become violent towards the other girl, if given the opportunity. I even experience a sense of betrayal that carries on long beyond the dream and into the reality I am sometimes cursed with upon waking. And, of course, I have drinking dreams. Not so surprisingly, it’s actually not only drinking — I’ve had dreams recently about pills and even coke (which I’ve only done 3-4 times!). I have a friend who sees the same psychiatrist as I do, who told me he can prescribe me something to stop the realistic dreams, but honestly, I don’t want that. The pathetic truth is I like my dreams. It’s a way for me to have the opportunity to interact with people I desperately miss, even if it’s painful on occasion. It’s a way to lash out at people I’m angry with without actually doing so. It’s a way to drink and use (although those dreams are usually a saga of finding and keeping the stuff instead of actually having/using it). It’s a way to escape the life I’ve built and despise.

Sometimes I feel like I only live for other people. When I step back and observe my life, it’s often hard for me to point out something I enjoy or that brings me happiness (besides my kitties), including friend/relationships (unless turning back time was realistic). There are are voids in my heart and soul I fear will never be filled. I know I have people who love me and want to be in my life, and I’m trying to let them come in closer instead of pushing them away. The reality, though, is this: I don’t like my life and feel I could never be content unless I morphed it into my old one. I miss the familiarity of it. I miss days on the couch, just watching tv and chatting with people. I miss having my cats inside with me. I miss being the boss. I miss gaming, cranking up my music as loud as I want. Watching, doing, wearing, fucking, leaving, buying, smoking, drinking, taking whatever/whoever/wherever/whenever I wanted. Being messy. Isolating. Escaping. Again, the brutal truth is that I wanted to go out today. I’m sick of relying on pills so I don’t have to face reality. I hate that I can’t face reality — that everything needs to be tuned down so I can function. As I was looking at my life today, I contemplated for a while what I could change to make it enjoyable. “Happy, joyous, and free.” I couldn’t think of anything, and maybe there is a possibility that it’s simply not comprehendible to me at this point. Maybe I’m just not that far along in my healing/recovery yet, and lord knows I need treatment for having BPD or bipolar disorder or whatever the hell theydecide I have as well as the anxiety, panic disorder, depression, substance abuse problems, OCD tendencies, impulse control issues — they being anyone who takes care of me in some sort of fashion. In other words, all my providers.

They have all told me that I cannot drink ever again because my liver can’t take it. I could be dead in weeks, months, a day, who knows. Regardless of the time, I won’t make it out alive if I decide to go for a trip down memory lane. One of the only times I’ve seen a look of actual concern in my psychiatrist’s eyes (his voice is level, calm, and almost caring, but his eyes betray him) was while he was telling me “you don’t want to die from liver failure”. My primary described to me what would happen as my organs would begin to shut down: unbelievable pain, weakness, fluid swelling my whole body, bleeding out from the veins in my throat, no hope... But I don’t want to go like that — in a hospital, attached to monitors, needles under my skin, aides, nurses, doctors, family all shuffling in and out, everyone knowing by my yellow eyes and skin that I did it all to myself. Imagine the shame! No, I’d rather it be like being found on the bathroom floor. I feel like I wouldn’t be missing a lot. How much is there to miss in a world you can’t face? In a reality where you can’t think of a single possible thing to, not even realistically, but hypothetically change to make you happy? (Besides the time thing, or undoing a hell of a lot of bad memories from awful, unfair experiences). Maybe it’s my disease, as they call it, talking. Maybe it’s just something I’ll have to experience instead of trying to imagine. Maybe it’s a lot of things, but all I can possibly fathom, a life beyond my wildest dreams, doesn’t add up to the responsibility I imagine I have to stick around for others. Sometimes, all I feel is Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration, and Despair. No one knows those feelings like I do, or I should say no one experiences them like I do. My feelings are intense — too intense, I’ve been told by therapists. So yeah, Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration, and Despair push me to wanting to go out so badly sometimes. One last hurrah, and then just end it, but I couldn’t live with the guilt I’d feel. What if it persisted through death? I couldn’t handle that, but ha, I’d be shit out of luck at that point. I suppose I should note that these intense feelings were much more present earlier, but now all I feel is grogginess. It’s 4:40am. I think I’ll read this over once, even though I know it’s confusing, choppy, and just bad, and then try for some sleep. I know my dream self has people she’s waiting to see.

[creativeskull95]

Ey, @ahbonjour and @dothewhatnots look what I just finished editing.

Jesus F Christ do I hate editing. And writing. Anyways, here’s the first part of Consequences: The Letter. Next part comes out... at some point.

There are things Molly expects on Friday evenings. She expects to hear Fox and Lark in the kitchen, making dinner while Lark sings along to the radio. She expects to hear cars outside the apartment window as people head to work or home or clubs. She expects to get phone calls about "study dates" for the weekend from the various boys(and occasional girl) at school. She even expects the other calls from the girls(and boys) who her dates have dumped to be with her for a night.

What Molly Fox did not expect, in any reality or dream, was The Letter. She'd found it in mailbox when she checked it after getting home from school.

The Letter had her name on it. Not the one she goes by now, but her real one. So she hid it from her parents and brought it up to her room, where she attempted to ignore it and work on homework instead. It didn't help though, so she opened it and looked at the admittedly nice handwriting.

She gets as far as "Dear Morgan..." before she crumples it into a ball and throws it in the trashcan beside her desk. She rests her head in her hands and gives a deep sigh, .

Five minutes later she pulls it back out, moving her textbooks aside to smooth it out over her desk so she can read it properly.

"Dear Morgan,

It has taken a long, long time to find you. There are things I want to talk to you about, and things I have to give to you. I would like to meet with you personally in order to tell and give you these things. I have enclosed my current address, so please send a response soon. If you do not wish to meet, then please feel free to say so, and I will send you the items  by mail. From, Ariel."

Molly checked the envelope, finding another slip of paper with an address from downtown written on it. She's surprised it's in the same city she lives in, but that makes it easier to choose a meeting place. And she is going to choose a meeting place, even though she should just tell Fox that she has apparently been stalked back to their home.

Instead she writes another letter telling Ariel to meet her at a park midway between the two addresses after school on Monday. She seals it in another envelope, writes the address, and then stashes both letters under her mattress. They stay there until Lark and Fox go to bed, and Molly sneaks down to the blue mail box at the corner to send her response to Ariel.

The weekend passes without anymore letters. Though Molly barely notices thanks to her constantly shifting stance on whether or not she made the right decision. Fox and Lark notice, as they always do when something is going on, and question her about it at breakfast on Monday.

"I'm fine." She lies easily as she eats her eggs. "There's a test this afternoon, and I'm just not sure I studied enough." They're quick to reassure her that she'll do great, which makes her start to feel guilty about lying to them. She doesn't let it show, though, and instead finishes her eggs  and leaves to catch the bus.

She wasn't really lying about the test, though, it's just not what she's worried about. Today is the day, after all, and after school and the test and insisting to her friends(really just her cousins(not even that, technically); she doesn't actually have friends, just clients) she instead walks to the city bus stop a few blocks away and rides it to the park. Once there, she sits on a bench near the parking lot to wait.

She's not waiting for long. A beat up car pulls up(like, really beat up, the bumper is held on only by duct tape) and Jesus H. Christ. Molly remembered him being tall, of course, but she was also sure that was because she was a tiny child back then and so her memories were just warped. But no, looks like he really is that tall.

As she watches him look around, she notices his white hair, longer than she remembered, has been tied back in a ponytail, and that he seemed to be wearing a suit.

She only watches though, until he turns around and yep, there's the face she remembers. One set in what seemed to be a permanent scowl, although it looked more relaxed than what she remembered. The other thing that makes her get up and start walking towards him were the eyes. They were the exact same eyes that she saw every time she looked in a mirror, right down to the shade of gray.

She removes her sunglasses and clears her throat when she manages to get right up next to him without him noticing, making him jump and whirl around.

"Where da hell did you come from?" He practically spits out, and Molly takes note of what sounds like surprise and maybe fear in his voice. She just stares at him in silence and he takes a deep breath and pulls a cigarette of some sort out of his pocket. She waits patiently as he lights it up and takes a long drag out of it.

"So..." He says in an exhale, smoke blowing softly out of his mouth and into the breeze. "ya just here for the stuff? Or do ya wanna talk, too?"

Molly just points to the bench she was sitting on and Ariel nods, letting her lead him over to it. They both sit down, and he drops a large folder between them.

"What's this?" She asks as she picks it up. It's not sealed, and opening it up shows a number of papers.

"Birth certificate. Medical history from my side and yer mom's side. Social Security number." He takes another drag and the smoke blows past her. "Y'know, all the 'portant sh- stuff."

"Is that weed?" She only asks because she's smelled it before in the boys locker room. And it's illegal, she thinks.

"Hey, I have a card!" Ariel sounds almost angry now as he pulls his wallet out and retrieves it, practically shoving it into her hands. "It's perfectly legal wit' a card!"

"I never said it wasn't." She has to fight to keep from flinching, but she manages it. She also looks at the card, and it seems legit. She hands it back and he puts it away, looking more relaxed now.

"A'ight."

They sit in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say, before Molly breaks it with a question.

"How did you find me?"

Ariel looks at her startled, as though he wasn't expecting that question. "Wasn't me. Was my friend, Harry. He's good at finding people 'n' stuff like that. Asked him ta look for ya a while back, after... well, nothin' too important." He shrugs. "Only reason it took him so long was cause we didn't think Dani would try an' change ya name." He snorted. "She didn't even do that right, either. Not tha' I'm surprised."

"What do you mean by that?" She keeps her voice level, but only just. Still, she thinks he can sense the anger bubbling up because he just sighs.

"Jesus what did that woman tell ya?" He takes another drag. "A'ight, so here's what happened. Yer mom an' I had a big fight, yeah? 'Cause she was spending all my hard earned cash on drugs 'n' shit, and not buying food and clothes for ya like she supposed ta do." Molly just stares at him. Granted she couldn't remember much of that night, just the yelling really, but she did remember her mother telling her something different. "So the next day she takes the car and drives ya ta school, 'cause I got work at the factory and can't take ya myself. Well, that night I get home, and the car's still gone. Not that big a deal, she disappeared all the time. Only problem was, you were still gone too." He looked almost sad about that, the scowl dropping off of his face for a few seconds. "Police couldn't find either of ya, and eventually I got put in the slammer for being drunk in public one too many times. When I got out, I got Harry to try and find you. Took 'im eight years, but that's jus' life, I guess."

He took another drag gained a disappointed look as he finished the joint. he dropped it on the ground and stomped it. "So, any questions?"

Molly thought it over. "Mom did drugs?"

Ariel grimaced. "Yep. Hard ones too. Like heroine an' cocaine an' some other sh- stuff I don't know the names of." There was a pause. "Y'know you were a crack baby, too? Did 'em all right through her pregnancy, and would just... buy more if I tried ta get rid of 'em. Almost didn't make it through the birth, and lost the ability ta have other kids anyways." He sighed, the kind of sigh Fox sighed when he used to tell her about his old friends from the millitary. It left her wondering what had happened to give Ariel a sigh like that, too.

She was brought out of her musings by Ariel standing up and adjusting his suit jacket.

"So, if that's everythin', I'm gonna... go. Yeah, got work, and all that sh- stuff." He turns to walk away but is stopped by a quiet "Wait."

Molly writes something down on a scrap of notebook paper from her backpack and hands it to him. "Here's my email. Maybe we can talk later?"

She kicks herself immediately as Ariel's eyes flick between her face and the paper she's holding out to him. She shouldn't do this, she should go back to her parents and tell them what happened, give them the folder, and never think about this again.

But she's not going to do that.

Instead she lets him take the paper and get back in his car, still marveling at the fact that the bumper hasn't fallen off yet as he drives away. She waits a few minutes, then heads to the bus stop to head back home herself. And once there, she says hi to Lark and heads to her room to stash the envelope in the crawlspace. She should tell them, but she really doesn't want to deal with the lecture and grounding that will happen if she does.

In hindsight though, she really should have just sucked it up and said something.

[blackbrian6-blog]

The Financial Confessions: “A Scary Roommate Situation Left Me Nearly Homeless”

This post is brought to you by Wealthsimple.

Screwing up your finances is one of the most horrifying things that can happen during your adult life. Although nobody is perfect, the reality is that one misguided decision can have a tremendous effect on a person’s future. And when the negative outcomes of those decisions spiral out of control, it can lead to some dangerous situations. For instance, I’ve made many, many money mistakes in my life — several of which I’ve written about on this site. But none of those mistakes haunt me as much as one decision from several years ago that placed my financial stability and safety at risk.

The story begins back when I was a college student on the hunt for housing. I desperately wanted to live with my good friend, Kylee*. Initially, Kylee suggested we share an apartment together for $2,200, but I couldn’t afford to spend $1,100 on rent. I felt discouraged by our apartment hunt and considered applying for student housing instead. In retrospect, this would have been a smarter long-term financial decision. But, of course, my 20-year-old self was far more concerned with satisfying my social needs than my practical ones.

One day, Kylee came to me with an idea: Instead of going with an overpriced apartment, we would go bigger. The plan was to rent a house and fill it with more people to make living expenses cheaper. She pitched it to me like it was going to be one big, happy reality show. And while I’m pretty embarrassed to admit it, I was immediately sold on the idea. (To be fair, Jersey Shore was also really popular at the time.) We would do our homework while sipping wine outside in our beautiful backyard. There would be barbecues all summer that we’d talk about for years to come. Plus, we were going to save money! What could possibly go wrong?

After touring the location once and meeting only three of the seven potential housemates, we agreed to sign the lease. $7,200 per month. To be honest, I’m not sure how I deluded myself into believing that shelling out $850 to occupy half of a bedroom was “a steal.” However, in effort to pretend like I was a responsible adult, I used my lump sum financial aid check to pay ahead for three months of my rent. I continued this pattern for the rest of the school year. This meant I never really “felt” that money disappear. Plus, I remained optimistic by justifying all the perks that came with the house. I was now within walking distance of my campus. I had a view of the ocean. And best of all, we had our own washing machine.

But eventually, on any given day, the general vibe of the place was somewhere between an unkempt hostel and never-ending spring break party. In other words, it wasn’t a functional place to live — and it didn’t take long for things to take a turn for the worse. Around December, tensions were rising among all the housemates. Of course, that’s to be expected when cramming nine twenty-somethings under the same roof, but believe me when I say the situation started seriously getting out of hand. Some memorable issues included people having sex in the only downstairs bathroom during most hours of the day and night. There were other problems too, like people smoking cigarettes indoors, neglecting to clean up their messes and, the most criminal of all, stealing food. I wish I could say we all handled these disputes like rational adults. But after my car was mysteriously scratched days after sending a text asking about a missing container of hummus, I knew it wasn’t going to go down that way.

I was finding it increasingly difficult to justify staying there. I constantly joked about it with friends to convince myself it was fine. Yes, I had to remember to label my hummus immediately if I ever wanted to eat it, but hey, I was saving $300. (Technically, that money went directly toward my other bills, so I never actually saw that savings.) And it wasn’t like I was totally alone in the house with a bunch of strangers. I had Kylee, who had a patience level I could only hope to develop over a lifetime of serious meditation. All I had was a fear that I had paid close to $8,000 to hide for nine months spent in one small corner of an entire house.

There were just over two months left on the lease when everything came crashing down. One morning, two police officers greeted me at my doorstep as I was leaving for class. It turns out one of my housemates had been accused of a serious crime, and they needed to interview the rest of us as witnesses. (For the sake of privacy, I won’t go into details about the exact nature of the crime. However, I’ll say it was serious enough to make me realize there was absolutely no way I could stay living in that shitshow any longer.) That evening, I stuffed my suitcase with as much clothing as it could fit and headed for my friend Maya’s* place, six blocks away. I spent about a week sleeping on the floor of her bedroom before her housemates rightfully became annoyed with my presence and asked what my plan was. Of course, that was the problem: I didn’t have one.

Remember how I had paid my rent up front every three months? Well, I had no way of getting that already-paid money back. And my part-time jobs weren’t going to make me enough money in time to put a deposit on a new place to live.

I returned to my former home one day to chat with one of my housemates, Mason*. He was the guy responsible for collecting the rent money from everyone. I explained to him that I had been gone for the week because I didn’t feel safe anymore. I also mentioned that I wanted to find a subleaser to take over my spot for the final two months so I could make up my loss. He laughed. “I don’t really get why you’re worried since he (the roommate dealing with the police) hasn’t technically been convicted of anything yet,” he said. “There’s only two months left on the lease. If I were you, I’d just stick it out and avoid him.”

Avoid him. I was at a loss for words. Mason’s advice was to continue hiding in my own house. Nevermind that one of the women who lived with us had already placed a deposit on a new place because our problematic housemate made her uncomfortable. On top of that, Kylee had started sleeping over at boyfriend’s so often that I rarely saw her. She wasn’t even around when the chaos ensued. I didn’t have those options.

Despite what Mason said, I tried to find a subleaser anyway. I put an ad on Craigslist and hoped for the best. No bites. Not one. I was caught between two terrible choices: stay and potentially risk my safety, or walk away from $1,560 that I would never see again, with nowhere to go. My savings balance was barely above the threshold where the bank starts charging fees for having an account. For lack of a better word, I was fucked.

Eventually, one of my coworkers noticed I looked severely stressed and exhausted at work. After nearly breaking down when explaining my situation, she graciously offered to help. I slept on her couch for an entire month and a half before I had enough money to stand on my feet again. Between all the double shifts I picked up that month, I must have worked between 25 and 30 hours during the weekends alone. The only time I went back to the house was on move-out day to retrieve the personal belongings I left that I felt were worth keeping. And once I found a new roommate whose personality and livelihood was a better match for me, I paid my friend back for her kindness and never looked back.

I share this story because that year would have ended differently for me if I didn’t have a friend who was willing to save me in that moment of crisis. I know not everyone has the privilege of help, and every time I reflect on this experience, I realize how lucky I am that I didn’t end up living on the street. But more importantly, I know now this situation could have been avoided had I been more careful with my decisions — especially when they involved my finances.

The truth is I didn’t pay several months of rent ahead of time to prove to myself that I was responsible. I did it because I didn’t want to think about it. I lived like I was destined for this negative, self-fulfilling prophecy, wherein I would always struggle financially. If I ever came upon what I considered “extra” money, I spent it. To be honest, I didn’t even consider saving to be a real possibility for people who weren’t already wealthy. I thought I had to have all the resources in place first — the right career, a degree, a certain amount of disposable income — before I could even start feeling like I was allowed to form a long-term plan.

But in reality, there is no rulebook that says you have to be at a certain point in your life to start thinking strategically about your finances. I started getting serious about saving immediately after I left that scary situation, even though I hadn’t yet secured a new home. Years later, I make sure a portion of my income goes toward developing a fund that allows me to make those adult life decisions with confidence. If you’re interested in taking that step to better prepare for your own future, Wealthsimple makes the process super easy and stress free. It takes less than 15 minutes to start building a personalized investment portfolio on their platform that lets you connect with money experts who can help you reach your goals.

Remember, the scariest things that can happen to your finances might not be some expected. Whenever I look back on this horrific situation, I feel an immense gratitude for what I have today. It’s so easy to say paying for things we don’t want to pay for sucks, especially emergencies. But when you have specific funds set aside to comfortably care for yourself — whether it means buying a tire when yours pops on the freeway, or securing a deposit on an apartment — suddenly paying for those things isn’t so annoying. It’s as if the very act of paying for an emergency on your own becomes a constant reminder of how far you’ve come with your money, and to a greater extent, your mindset.

Learn how you can protect your tomorrow by investing today with Wealthsimple. *Names have been changed.

Savanna is a freelance writer in Northern California whose hobbies include all things theater and dog-related. She hopes for a world where avocados will be included in the price of her entrée and a 12-step program is widely available to people who obsessively collect air miles. Follow her on Twitter here.

Image via Unsplash

Source: https://thefinancialdiet.com/the-financial-confessions-a-scary-roommate-situation-left-me-nearly-homeless/

[road-to-love-blog1]

the road to love - part I

I’m 37 years old and healthy. I live in one of the coolest cities in the world. I have an awesome job, doing what i always loved to do in one of the coolest companies in the world. I live in an amazing house, have a wonderful dog and 2 crazy but sweet as honey kitty kats. I always have food to put on the table, enough money to have fun, surround myself with friends whom i call family or spend the time alone to recover my batteries. I should be the happiest man in the world.

I work for one of the top 5 e-commerce companies in the world as a developer (programmer). When I say it’s one of the coolest companies, i’m not exaggerating: think of the working conditions at google you read on those buzzfeed articles and add a much better work/life balance: I don’t see anyone working more than 8 hours a day, you rarely get any notifications from work outside office hours and the commute time is usually short (depending on where you live you can even cycle to work everyday).

In a typical day it goes like this:

I get up in the morning, at 8.30, i walk my dog and i cycle 15 minutes to get to work

on my best days, i arrive just in time for my team’s daily standup at 10am

not before i get my free expresso coffee on my way from the elevator to my desk

i usually go to the smoking balcony 2 times before lunch, sometimes 3 if i’m really bored

I go to have lunch in the canteen, where i have access to a very good, almost restaurant quality, wide variety of choices between warm dishes, soups, cold cuts, sandwiches and wraps, great choices of vegetarian and vegan.

After lunch, I go back to the canteen, grab a paper bag and pack some great food so i can bring home and have dinner at night.

I go back to work and leave at 17.30, making the pauses that i want to check on facebook, go get a coffee, smoke more cigarettes, have a conversation with anyone or play some ping pong or some pool

I listen to the music i want, on my headphones, the whole day. I can even stop to watch a youtube video at any time.

i go back home at 17.30, after my work is done

I don’t think about work anymore until i’m back to the office the next day

Sounds good, no? It has been 4 months today, since i started there, and I can’t bring myself to enjoy it. Why? I have absolutely no interest in what i’m doing, the goal of the company goes against my core principles that have been becoming more and more important for me. The “company environment” isn’t for me anymore and i feel more and more entrapped by society into a proverbial slavery, where i get to have a comfortable life but all the doors for an alternative are closed. And I feel that i am an outsider to what has become, or always was, a fucking CULT.

<quote> “what happens in mind control is your real self is broken down and a new identity is created, they teach you dependence and obedience; but your real self, even if you’re born in the cult or raised in the cult, we have an authentic self that wants love, wants truth, wants goodness, we don’t wanna be exploited or abused.”

- Steven Hassan </quote>

I work in a building with 1000 people, each one brilliant in their own way, and super passionate about what their doing, its purpose and are encouraged to come up with ideas on how we can “make our product better for our customer” when all in all, day by day, all of our brains, all of our energy is being drained with the sole purpose of getting more and more money for the company every single day.

All the best minds in the world are constantly being poached by these companies: Startups / Financial / Oil Companies / Artificial Intelligence for better and better Advertising, instead of given the freedom to be brilliant and build the future we desperately need.

So the daily lives of these best minds, at my company, consists in analysing petabytes of data so we can come with small ideas like changing a button’s color from green to a paler shade of that green, to see if more users end up buying our product on the website. It’s not even technically challenging most of the times, at least for me, what I as a programmer need to do most of the time is go through a labyrinth of code that has been accumulating year after year, contains conditions everywhere so we can present different content to each one of 1 million different users that come along each day. 

I got tired of being one of them but, for the time being, I need to play the game, while i’m preparing to make the jump and go figure out what i want to do with my life, how can i do what i love in a way i am actually contributing in a positive way to the world and being able to sustain myself and not worry about my financial future and my parents’ well being, as they are reaching old age and this society failed in repaying all the effort they made throughout their lives, like it’s going to fail in repaying my effort, and money is never enough. 

I used to enjoy it, even though what always excited me was becoming better and better in my technical skills. I never cared about the product i was building, i had a saying “As long as it’s not child pornography or arms dealing, i’m ok with it” so i ended up working in Advertising where i really started to feel uncomfortable about what i was manifesting to the world and, from that moment on started the descending spiral in the path of my career, that has made me happy for my entire adulthood (starting at 27 years old - i will write about that in a future post) until i reached 36 years old and my life was complete and everything turned upside down.

Yesterday, I saw something that further advanced my deprogramming in a giant leap. When you’re deep enough in the cult your sense of morality and ethics decreases exponentially and it becomes easy to accept or even have attitudes that you would never have as a person. And it doesn’t take long to be deep enough in the cult: they just have to keep reassuring you in what a great job you have been doing, how much value you bring to the company - “here, have a free lunch everyday”, “here’s a christmas present we bought for you and for every other one of the 12.000 whose life force we suck to make this company make more and more billions every year”, keep it on and you’ll be promoted, etc). 

What i saw yesterday clicked so fucking hard: Someone was asking in a company forum about mentioning the company’s name in an online course about how to detect and report possible cases of human trafficking from Stanford University Online. The purpose of mentioning the name of our company was that there would be a public display of the companies whose enough employees took the course and praise the effort, also showing the company as a supporter of the cause. The reply from the Public Relationships represented was obviously negative but, instead of giving any of the multiple possible and acceptable justifications for that no, his reply was “we, as a company, don’t want to have a public stance on that issue because some of our clients may be involved (with human traffic, i remind you) and it would be bad for us”. I really feel I’m working and devoting my time and energy to make the world a worse place. But for the next couple of months i have to keep working there, i really don’t feel like looking for another job where i’m either gonna have to work much more than i am now or have much stricter rules, and for now, i really need peace and quiet so i can prepare my exit-strategy from this matrix.