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thefanficmonster · 4 years

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Never Satisfied [Chapter 2]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

Collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“this chick is crazy...and I kinda dig it“

It’s been four days since the incident and he’s all but forgotten about it, removed it from his memory entirely as if girls hide from police in his car on a regular basis.

Today is colder than usual, and his body has been quick to respond to the change, aching around the joints. Some days it’s impossible to move, feeling his clothes and sandpaper and housing spikes as joints. Thankfully, today isn’t that bad, the pain is rather manageable. Which checks out well for him, considering he has to do some cleaning around his apartment. His skin itched at the sight of the mess his living space has become over the last few weeks he hasn’t been bothered to pick up the strewn about items or wash the dishes in the sink.

Standing in his living room, he turns in a circle, taking in the disaster that is surrounding him. His chest tightens, throat closing up due to the overwhelmingness of the work he has ahead of him while all he wants to do is hide in his room, under the blankets of his bed that is for sure not willing to offer him much comfort at the moment, seeing as how it too is a mess.

Forget about that! He isn’t sure if his mind is telling him to forget the task he has at hand or the comfort he has in mind. Either way, he knows what the right thing to do is. It may give him anxiety, but it has to be done.

He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, taking deep measured breaths and exhaling slowly just like his doctor had instructed him to do, in hopes to ease the tension around his lungs.

Calming down a bit, he finally decides to get on with it, starting with the smallest space he has to clean, hoping accomplishing a small victory would fuel his ambition to move onto the actual rooms with a lesser struggle. So, pulling on his favorite hoodie and a beanie over his black curls, he slips out of the front door and down the stairs of his apartment complex with a trash bag in hand. He may hate cleaning, but he hates messes more, therefore it’s an easy call to make. Easy when putting the two in comparison, a struggle when he actually has to get on with the process of cleaning.

With a deep breath as a final ‘You got this’ before action, he unlocks his car doors and looks around its interior. He starts off with the junk in the front - first tending to the passenger seat where he finds a couple plastic bags and a few water bottles. He keeps the area around the driver’s seat clean as can be, so he skips that side. Unfortunately, now he has to turn to the nightmare that is the backseats.

While it may be tame, compared to most, the three paper bags, five disposable coffee cups that he’d dropped to the floor are more than enough to annoy him. He also makes a frustrating find of a hoodie, a few shirts, a hat, and what appears to be a forgotten CVS bag of medication. Much to his dismay, there’s more: handfuls of old receipts that he is now shoving into the garbage bag he has in hand along with straw wrappers, a few stray cold fries dating back to God-knows-when. He sighs, somewhat relieved to see the backseat is doing a lot better now than it was a couple minutes ago, though it’s not even entirely clean just yet. Something catches his eye though - a choker that was probably covered by one of the clothing items he had found. He picks it up, turning it over in his hand. It’s made of soft leather with a gunmetal ”C” and a pentagram embossed on it. It has a leather braided cord on both ends to tie together and no price tag or brand to indicate its origin. He can’t remember buying this...but then again, retail therapy is a thing and it wouldn’t be the first time he forgot a purchase. He gives it one final once-over before shrugging and pocketing it. After collecting the headphones he’d also dumped in the back and retrieving a pair of boots from the trunk, he locks up his car and heads back into the building, mentally preparing himself for facing the terror of cleaning his apartment.

Returning to his place after tossing the trash in the dumpster along the way, Corpse locks the front door behind him and proceeds to drop the things he’s brought back near the front door.

This defeats the purpose of cleaning up in the first place, Corpse. He scolds himself but that’s what it remains at - just a scold. He slips the hoodie off his torso, but pauses when the leather collar falls to the floor. Tossing the clothing item on a dining room chair behind him, he picks up the choker and, without as much as a second thought, places it around his throat just below his Adam’s apple The metal feels cool against his skin and as he ties the leather cords at the back of his neck the corners of his lips curve upwards just a little.

I probably look stupid. He thinks to himself. Corpse tries not to look much at his own reflection, mostly because it’s a reminder of how little sleep he gets with the dark circles and worn out, exhausted eyes staring back at him whenever he looks. But when he catches a glimpse of himself in his peripheral on his way to piss, he admires his reflection, or more so the way the black leather stands out across his pale skin. He’s gotta admit, it looks pretty cool. Edgy. Very urban. Goth maybe? But he still prefers the chains he’s known to wear over chokers.

After doing his business, he starts heading toward his office with the intention of recording a new story for his channel if he manages to find a decent submission - and also to ignore the cleaning he still had to do eventually - when the sound of someone banging on the door of his neighbor’s apartment makes him jump, thinking the sound was coming from his door instead. Being the nosey bitch he is, he creeps to his door, listening to the muffled and almost completely incomprehensible voices from across the hall. The screaming match taking place is making him rather nervous and anxious and as much as he’d rather hide in his room and pretend he never heard or saw anything, he also doesn’t want the altercation to escalate into anything physical.

“You fucking bailed on me!” An angry female shout dominates over the other voice, a male one, that’s quick to follow the previous example with the tone volume.

“You almost got caught, it's not my fault you screwed up!” It’s the male’s turn to shout, his words intriguing Corpse.

Got caught? Screwed up what?

“Fuck you! You don’t just ditch like that! That’s such a dick move!”

Ditched? If it wasn’t for the ‘getting caught’ part I would’ve thought it was a flopped date?

“I wasn’t about to get arrested for your klepto ass! I’m done with your shit!” The male voice takes the upper hand again, and though the female attempts to speak, she’s promptly cut off by the male, “No! No, I said I’m fucking done! Get the fuck out of my apartment!” A loud bang that sounded remarkably like a chair being flipped over made Corpse jump again with his thoughts once again racing to try and make sense of the situation.

Klepto? So she’s a thief. Great. He rolls his eyes, not that he needed a reminder that he lives in a bad neighborhood, but he sure got it. He inhales slowly, finally deciding to check the aftermath in the hallway. Again, it isn’t his business whatsoever, but he can’t rest easy until he knows there isn’t an injured person outside his door right now. He peeks out the peephole before unlocking the door and sticking his head out to see a long haired individual still standing in front of his neighbor’s door. They have their back turned to him and are getting prepared to start banging on the door once again.

“Little scared-ass bitch! I’ll be back for my shit!” She screams, kicking the door to punctuate her point.

This chick is absolutely nuts. Everything in his gut is telling him to turn around and go back inside but his brain’s less-rational side is convincing him to check on her. He carefully steps into the hallway, swallowing nervously as he reaches out to tap her shoulder. “Are um-...you okay?”

The girl whips around, a furious expression on her face. Corpse makes a pause, his eyes widening at the sight of that familiar face.

Holy shit, I know this girl.

Standing in front of him is the girl who leaped into the backseat of his car only a few days ago.

Shit! What are the odds?

She’s wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a cropped sweatshirt with the quote “Mercury’s in Gatorade or Some Shit” written in bold letters and a solar system around it, with a leather jacket on top.

His mouth dries when he makes a realization...

Oh fuck. She’s way prettier in the natural light instead of that ugly light I saw her in that night.

“Oh hey! Parking lot guy! What are y-...is that my choker?” She interrupts herself, looking closer at the black leather on his pale skin, her brows furrowing. He’d forgotten he was even wearing it to be honest, but she seems to recognize it. “That’s my fucking choker, dude! I’ve been looking everywhere for it!” She reaches up seemingly with the intention of taking it off him, causing his whole body to freeze up.

Finally finding his senses, Corpse takes half a step back, eyes slightly widened, “Woah, hey! Easy there, I’m pretty sure I bought this.” He warns, hands hesitantly held out in front of himself to try and create some distance between them.

She seems not to take the hint at his desire for personal space as she reaches out again, stepping closer. “No, I made it with my own two hands, man! It’s got a C on it for my name - Cora.” She says sharply to the point of anger that honestly frightens him a bit.

He quickly unties the leather straps, removing it from his neck. However, he refuses to give it back so easily as he holds it up out of her reach.

Maybe if it isn’t on me she won’t be all up in his personal space. Yeah, it’s a bit evil, but he didn’t care. Besides, part of him is still mad about the fact she used his car as a hiding spot, shooting his anxiety through the roof in the process.

“I feel like you owe me for those fries you stole last time we saw each other. Make it up to me and I’ll give it back. If it’s even yours, that is...” He says, brows furrowing slightly and eyes narrowing as he takes another step back. “And, you know, for nearly getting me busted by the police for something I wasn’t even a part of.”

Sure, he was talking but her eyes are wandering analyzing him: first the silver chains around his neck that glimmer in the light and his dark hair, strands dangling carelessly as a curtain over his face.

He too finds himself admiring her, memorizing her features better in this light. She has olive skin and sports a little bit of a tan. Stray locks of wavy dark brown hair hang around her ears having come loose from her messy bun. She has earthy brown eyes with flecks of green that he can’t help but stare at, despite their current sharpness. Her right arm is decorated with a few small tattoos: a skull of some sort of animal that appears to be puking flowers; a small cartoon t-rex floating via many colorful balloons and a brain with a spiky spiral in the center of it. She has a single line drawn around her pinky finger on the hand of the other arm and the shadowy silhouette of a forest around her wrist. However, the one thing Corpse could see better than all of that, was she is pissed.

“Gimme my fucking choker back! I paid you for those fries, it’s not my fault you spent them on douchebag lessons!” She snaps, hopping to try and grab his arm.

She is pressed up against him now, a wave of perfume hitting him when she attempts another jump. He holds the choker higher, maybe even subconsciously, just enjoying the warm presence of another body for as long as possible - not that he’d admit that.

Corpse’s brief content comes crashing down as he stumbles backwards when he feels something hard on his hip and her hands grabbing at the front of his shirt.

“Wait-“ He tries to say, but is cut off when a good amount of weight pulls at his jeans. “Oh Fuck!” He rasps out, dropping the choker as he slams onto the floor. In the split second he spared to take a breath, his pants had been yanked down to his knees and his neck was crooked up against his door. He’s now lying on the floor as the girl hovers over him having landed with her hand on top of his head and one leg over his chest while the other is pinning his arm down.

While remaining unmoving under the girl, he takes a moment to let the previous five seconds sink in before replaying them in his mind:

This small woman, Cora she said her name was, had put the boot clad toes of her left foot into the pocket of his baggy jeans to use as a stepping stool. In turn, they were shoved down, effectively pantsing him and tearing the pocket before knocking them both to the floor.

Corpse leans against his door, jeans still around his knees, hair a mess as he watches Cora stand up from where she’d practically tackled him and equip the choker.

“Serves you right.” She sticks her tongue out, tying the piece of jewelry behind her neck. “Now get up before someone calls the cops, we both know what happens then.” She rolls her eyes and bends down, offering her hands to help him up after he situated his trousers.

“Ah-um...I-...” anxiety started reigning in his chest and head as he realized everything that had happened. He takes both her hands and she uses all her weight to pull him up. Her pull was so strong that when he stood up, he had to hold her tight to keep her from falling back. He stabilizes her, maybe a little too hard because her chest collides with his. He apologizes under his breath, releasing her hands quickly. “Don’t people buy dinner first before yanking off their pants?” He snorts, trying to make light of the situation and crossing his arms over his chest. “But then again, you stole my dinner.”

“Are you insinuating I should take off my pants?” She asks with a smirk.

Corpse nearly chokes on his own inhale, eyes wide as he quickly looks away.

Oh my god is she serious? “N-no!” He says, perhaps too quickly. Too loudly. His cheeks turned dark pink as he gapes at her for a moment before furrowing his brows again. He hunches his shoulders a little, doing his best to avoid those sharp hazel eyes.

She’s pretty. Way too pretty for him and now she has him all flustered. This girl has way too much power over the agoraphobic anxiety bundle that is Corpse.

“Oh so you’re insinuating that I should buy you dinner since I took off your pants?” She prompts, eyes narrowing with a delighted little smirk on her face. She has to be enjoying watching him squirm in embarrassment, otherwise, why would she keep asking questions like that? Of course she does. She is like every other girl in his life.

“I’m..-just...Forget it.” He mumbles, shrinking back away from her as he turns to go back inside the safety of his apartment.

She’s probably making fun of me. Great, as if I didn’t have enough self-esteem issues already.

Before he could get inside, a hand grabs his shirt at the small of his back. “Hey, I’m just fucking with you, dude.” She says, giving the shirt’s fabric a tug.

He turns and looks at her with wary eyes, wondering if she was trying to goad him into falling for her taunting again. But the ice in her gaze has melted and she gives him a crooked smile. “Lemme buy you dinner to pay you back. It’s the least I can do after you helped keep my ass out of jail.” She releases his shirt after a brief moment of reluctance and then offers her hand to him for a handshake. “Oh, I should introduce myself, officially this time. I’m Cora.”

Corpse looks at her hand and carefully takes it. She has small hands and his long fingers practically engulfed hers as he shakes it lightly. He gives her his name in return and she smiles that light filled, beaming smile he remembers from the car.

“Nice to, um- meet you, I guess.” He finds himself staring at her, unknowingly still holding her hand in his until she looks up and grins a little wider.

“This seems like a roundabout way to hold my hand, bro. You could have just asked,you know.” She teases, but this time it felt okay, his embarrassment having faded slightly, but he still hurries to look away and release his hold on her.

Corpse murmurs a quick apology, but before he could stick his hand back into the ripped pocket of his jeans, she takes hold of it again, tugging him forward. “Come on, lock your door. I’ll buy you something to eat. You drive though.” She lets go of his hand after a moment and, much to his surprise, he catches himself missing the warmth that it provided him while it was there. Turning, he ducked into his apartment to grab his hoodie and keys, feeling suddenly thankful he’d cleaned his car out.

Taglist: @vixenl @fockingwhore

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

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In A Storm

Bree gets stranded in a storm and just needs to find someone to give her a helping hand.

Calum x Black!OC, Bree. Idk what happened. This post doesn’t actually exist.

CW: 18+ Content (Briefest mentions of sex. It’s an almost fade to black moment, but there’s a tiny teeny amount of details.)

Enjoy my masterlist

You can support me on kofi.

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Bree wants to laugh. The light on her car came on twenty minutes ago. She thought then, maybe she should pull over, call her dad and see what she should do. She was so close to her friend, Drew’s house. And maybe it was stupid to negioate with herself that if it went out in another ten minutes she’d continue on and worry about it in the morning. Her lower back and ass was starting to hurt from the long drive though and if Bree was to stop she only wanted it to be at her final destination so she could stretch out and sleep.

Though in Bree’s defense, the light shouldn’t have gone out. If something was really wrong, then it would’ve stayed on. But it went out after a couple minutes. She was nearing her exit when it came back on. It was only another ten minutes according to the GPS. Just another ten minutes and then in the morning, she could get someone to look at the car. Now, not even two minutes from the new house, a whopping three blocks away, her car was slowly puttering to its end.

And breaking down two minutes from her new place wouldn’t be that bad. Things happened. But it was of course during her big move from her parents' place and in with Drew up in the Hills. This move is only temporary. She had a job starting in a week and after stacking up a few checks, Bree was going to put in an application to an apartment complex not too far from her job. But, of course, her car would break down in the middle of a downpour.

The rain was nice at first. Made her feel like she was in her own bubble down the winding roads of the highway. Though she was getting into heavier traffic closer to the city and folks were becoming a bit more impatient in their driving, the rain provided her a little bit of solace. It felt a renewal. Bree was flying the coupe and it felt right that even though it was exciting it was also a little sad. It felt right to have the rain hitting the roof of her car. It made her feel like she was shedding something--though she wasn’t sure what it was just yet.

But she did not need the rain and her car breaking down. Bree flicks on her emergency lights. Fat would have this for her. Fate would have this stored away just for her, at just the most inopportune time. Pulling the car off to the side of the road, Bree listens to the rain falling around her. She exhales, thinking what her next step should be. She’d have to call for a tow. And she’d have to let Drew know that she’d be delayed getting in and she should probably call her dad just to make sure she was handling the situation right.

Reaching for her phone, she taps to end the GPS’s route. She wouldn’t be needing that for a while. Her nails click over the glass screen and just as her fingers hover over her dad’s contact the screen goes back. Her phone started dying just as she got into the neighborhood and now without the car battery on, she was left with no charge. “Let this be a fucking lesson to charge your phone the night before your drive,” Bree tells herself.

Her portable charger box was somewhere in the mass of bags and boxes in her car. She told herself she’d put in her purse before leaving but due to late night last minute packing, Bree’s sure she dumped it somewhere into the depths of those boxes and there was no way she’d be able to unearth it now.

“At least you’re in a neighborhood,” she tells herself, looking for any signs of life behind curtains. “A light, a child, something,” she mutters, looking through the sheets of rain.

And right at the end of the block, a house down from where her car gave up the ghost, Bree spots two dogs in the windows. One fluffy and the other one with a pretty white coat. Normally, Bree wouldn’t be so inclined to just walk up to any old house. But a house with two dogs made her feel better. It felt like a sign. Throwing her phone into her purse, she took a deep breath.

She had just pressed her hair. And sure really it was not anything more than a blow out and a quick rod set, but still it meant that the second the rain touched her scalp her roots would revert, the curls would take back their natural form. Though, that would just have to be a fight for tomorrow. Right now she can’t be sitting in her broke down car with no phone or way to contact anymore.

“Do or die,” she sighs. Sliding the keys from the ignition, Bree leans into the door. “I just did my hair though. God,” she huffs, opening her door. The rain is cool. It’s almost a relief. The door is wet within seconds. Her jeans are no longer the light faded wash but dark denim blue.

It’s another moment before she fully pushes herself out of the car, locks it and then runs up the driveway, purse clutched tight to her side. The rain’s not a chill to her bones. But it’s like a refreshing sip of water. The jog’s stretched out her lower back a little. Under the refugee of this strangers porch, she shakes a little bit of the water from her hair and raps at the door. “Please don’t be a creep,” Bree whispers, biting the corner of her lip. “Also, not an axe murder. Would not be cool.”

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Calum walks past the two dogs perched on his couch to the front door. Calum agreed to dog sit Moose for the day while Michael took South to the vet. The poor guy hadn’t quite been eating like before and Michael, the worrier that he is, decided not to wait to check him out. Crystal had gone out of town and rather than letting Michael have to fret over South and Moose, Calum happily offered to watch Moose while Michael took care of what he needed.

Calum’s not really sure what he expected to find on the other side of the door. It could’ve been anyone really--Michael, a mailperson, possibly a random kid asking if they could get access to his backyard to retrieve a rogue ball. But not someone, completely drenched, nervously running her teeth over her bottom lip. “Sorry to bother you. I just need to use your phone. My car broke down. I’m a genius who doesn’t charge her phone before driving 5 hours across the state.”

Calum looks past her, over her shoulder to see a car--he assumes it’s her--pulled over to the side of the road. He looks back to her. The college sweatshirt hanging heavily from her frame thanks to the pouring rain. Her hair sticks to her face a little. Whatever eye makeup she was wearing has started to run down her cheeks. “C’mon in,” he waves hurriedly for her to enter.

“Thanks,” she smiles, stepping inside but not going past the indoor welcome mat. Her shoes squish as she walks onto the hardwood floor.

“Is your car far?”

“Nah, just like a house down. I saw the dogs in the windows. Seemed like a safe bet.” She holds out a hand to the dog intrigued by her. The pure white pup happily sniffs away at her hand while the smaller husky colored dog watches from afar.

Calum turns any shoes suitable to go out into the rain. “I can help you push it closer to my house, that way none of my neighbors get pissy. That’s if you’re okay with getting wet again?”

The woman laughs. “I think I’m passed getting worried about wet. You’re the one that’s bone dry.”

“Not worried about it really. I’m just sick of my neighbors, at this point.”

“Don’t want the HOA on your ass?” she teases.

“God, not again.” Into some old tattered boots, Calum faces her. “I’m Calum by the way.”

“Bree,” she turns, slipping her purse over her head. “Is it okay if I set this inside? The phone’s dead but I don’t want it getting wet or anything.”

“Yeah sure,” he waves to the coffee table.

Both of them pause on the front porch. Bree’s already wet like she said, but now her hair’s truly fucked. There’s no denying that. “Really, I could foot the heat of your neighbors,” Bree offers, not really wanting to go back into the rain.

Calum chuckles beside her. “Let’s say me and the HOA are on thinner ice than before.”

“Thanks. Even though I’m getting you wet. Just want to say that now before we’re both drowning in this downpour.”

“No problem.”

The second her sopping wet shoes hit the first stair, Bree definitely notes the air is cooler now. And it could be because she was already wet once before. And somehow had managed to adapt in the two minutes she was inside Calum’s place to the warmth. Now in the rain again, the chill is definitely hitting her bones. She runs again to her car. Her keys are clicking between her fingers.

Her grip slips around her keyes and she curses before picking them up. Calum’s already positioned at the trunk, waiting on her. It’s a bit of embarrassment that heats her cheeks, sitting inside her car. She hadn’t meant to make anyone else do so much extra work or have anyone else subject themselves to the rain. With fingers gripping tight to the steering wheel, she leans out of the window just a little to let Calum know she’s ready.

Thankfully, she hadn’t coasted super far out from Calum’s driveway. Bree keeps an eye on the nose of her car. It’s slow of course with only one person behind to push. When they get just pass the mailbox, Bree gives a shout and puts the car into park. She throws her head into the steering wheel, exhaling.

Behind her closed lids, all she seems to see is the cut of Calum’s jaw. Why did he have to be hot? Why wouldn’t he have been just some decent guy with two dogs? But he had to be hot and willingly to subject himself to the rain for her. She still has to call a tow truck and Drew, and her dad. There’s not much time for wallowing in the misery life liked to hand her.

Throwing up her door, she finds Calum right at the driver side passenger door. “I can throw your clothes into the wash while you use my phone. Sound okay?”

The rain is clinging to the lines of his face, washing down his cheek and riding the line of his jaw. Bree tries to focus instead of his eyes. But even the rain there, on his lashes, is so goddamn beautiful. “Thanks again, Calum.”

“Don’t worry.” They walk back up his driveway. Calum lets her go ahead of him to get inside. But he leads her down to the bathroom, where Bree stands, still dripping water onto his floor.

The press that she worked so hard is gone. The roots have coiled around each other. The ends are curling and she knows soon, they’ll follow suit. It’s in the mirror that she sees the mascara’s run down her face. She can’t believe she has to look like this, showing up at a strangers door and that stranger being so attractive too.

“I’m literally a drowned rat,” Bree exhales.

“But a cute drowned rat,” Calum returns. In his hands, he holds a towel, washcloth, and a stack of dry clothes out to her. “Pardon that I lack any kind of underwear other than boxers, but I hope they suffice until your clothes are dry.”

Bree nods, heart thundering in her chest. Did he just call her cute? There’s no way her ears heard that. “Thanks. You’re like totally saving my ass right now. But also, like, I do have some clothes in my car. Just means going back outside.”

“Neither one of us is facing that hell storm again. You’ve braved it twice, Bree. By the way, the hot water’s a little fussy. I got it fixed recently but you still gotta talk sweet to it.”

“Noted, charm the hot water.”

Calum points out where to find other essentials in the bathroom and then backs out of the room with a tiny wave, lips lifting into a tiny smile. It feels nice under the warm run of the shower head. Bree definitely needed a little bit of patience with the hot water but once the temperature evened out it became well worth it. Just her luck to work out like this. But she’s immensely grateful Calum’s so understanding. If not, she’d most likely wind up stranded, or she’d be tied up in someone’s basement.

It’s not a thought Bree likes lingering on. But it’s just a reality for her. She hadn’t necessarily helped herself. When the light first came on, she could’ve found a car shop nearby. She could’ve waited there for a few hours, got it fixed and saved herself this trouble. Bree won’t be making anymore negotiations when it comes to her car anymore. That’s a lesson that really only needs to be learned once and she’s received the message loud and clear.

Outside the shower, she takes in the gray t-shirt with splotches of white on the lower torso and sweatpants offered up to her. It feels all too intimate, to be wearing someone else’s clothes. Bree doesn’t know anything besides his name. And well, he has dogs. And he’s cute. And he has a fucking nice house. Though she hasn’t seen a lot of it, Bree already feels how cozy it is. It’s lived in, with decent space. It’s full. Calum’s house feels full even if it’s just him in the house with two dogs.

Bree likes that feeling, walking into a house and feeling how bright and warm it is. It told her more about Calum, that he had this very embracing and calm energy about it. But that didn’t fully negate the fact that he was a stranger. And she was a stranger to him and she was still standing in a towel. Slipping into the clothes presented, she gathers her clothes into the towel, hopefully to keep from making an even bigger mess of her evening.

Outside the door of the bathroom, Bree’s immediately greeted by one of the dogs. She’d guess they’re a toy poodle, but she can’t tell for certain. “Hi,” Bree coos, bending down to scratch behind one of their ears. “What’s your name?” The pink collar and tag tap just a little in the excited pants. “Oh, you look ear scratches huh, girl?”

“That’s Moose. Old man’s Duke. He’s not a big of people. So I apologize in advance.” Calum’s comes from further in the house. His t-shirt and shorts now changed into sweatpants and a ribbed tank.

“So Moose and Duke, your partners in crimes?”

“Moose isn’t mine, as sad as I am to admit it. She’s a friend and I’m just dog sitting for a little bit. Duke’s my precious old man.”

Bree’s heart shouldn’t clench like it does. Precious old man, why not just stick a knife into her chest. There’s no way to tell how long Calum’s had Duke but it’s abundantly clear that Calum adores Duke. “We can say Moose is your partner in crime too. Even if it’s just for a day.”

Calum chuckles. “Yeah. And as you can see, she’s not afraid to get what she wants.”

Bree nods, turning her attention back to Moose for just a moment and pressing a soft kiss to the top of the dog’s head.

“I can take those, by the way.”

Calum’s hand is outstretched, ready to take the damp clothes from her. Bree shouldn’t be staring at the veins in his hands and forearm. Nor should she be wondering what the back of his knuckles feel like against her cheek. But Bree could absolutely wonder how to prove to Calum’s old man that she was trustworthy--and that is a much safer thought.

Bree hands over the makeshift sack. “Thanks, again.”

It’s a curt nod. The smile seems genuine though. “I’ll get this into the wash.”

Bree stays where she is for the moment, both hands scratching at Moose’s chin.It’s safer to say here. It’s safer to just give into Moose and give her all the affection because if Bree stands, she’s going to do something reckless, like peek through a room or try to find the laundry room just to steal another glance at Calum.

His departure doesn’t last long enough. Calum comes padding back down the hallway, the soft recessed light reflecting off his skin. The hum and rumble of the washer is clear as it echoes throughout the house. “If you’re calling for a tow,” Calum starts, holding out his phone. It’s unlocked and on the keypad. “You’re risking the rain again.”

Bree groans sliding to her butt and resting against the wall. “You’re right. I’m just moving in with a friend for this new job and I didn’t anticipate my car breaking down during my drive.”

Calum leans into the wall opposite from her. “How far away is it?”

“Literally it’s like two blocks from here. A light came on and I didn’t pay attention to it and I’m just a fucking idiot.”

“Hey, no, it’s alright. Shit happens all the time.” Calum sides down the wall, squatting. “You can spend the night here. I know it’s only two blocks, but the weather’s a fucking mess. I can help you move and you can get your car towed to a shop. It all works out.”

Bree wants to tell him to shut the fuck up. She wants him to take back everything he just said. There’s no way she can survive a night in this man’s home. “I don’t want to impose. Maybe the rain will let up.”

Calum shakes his head. “Really, just spend the night. We can transfer whatever you need into my truck in the morning and once the truck gets your car I can take you to your friend’s house.” Calum smiles softly when he spies Moose curling up into Bree’s lap. “Besides, Moose likes you. I think she’d be sad to see you go.”

“But your old man Duke, I might have to put some work in with him.”

“He’s gotten better. Just talk sweet to him.”

Their laughter is soft. Bree rests her head into the wall. She still has his phone and she’s reminded that she ought to call Drew. “You’re right. I don’t want to go back out into that rain.”

He motions with two fingers and Bree hands back the phone. The unlock is quick. “Make your calls. I got tea, coffee. I think there’s hot chocolate if you want that. If you haven’t eaten, we can figure that out too.”

“You do realize that I’m like practically a stranger. I showed up at your door like a fucking drowned rat. You didn’t even tell me my mascara had run.”

He knows all that. Calum doesn’t need to be told that. And sure it probably sounds dumb and definitely a little stupid. But there was something about Bree that makes him worry less. It helps that she hasn’t flipped, hasn’t given out any indication that she knows who he is. And maybe it’s not safe to assume that she doesn’t know. But he has a strong feeling that if she did, they wouldn’t be having such an easy conversation. His gut would tell him if something was suspicious.

“You looked pretty stressed out. I didn’t think you needed to know that your mascara was giving you raccoon eyes.”

With the phone to her ear, Bree glares at Calum. It’s playful and he laughs in returns, before pushing up off the wall. Moose sits with Bree but watches as Calum carries himself into the kitchen. He ought to be ashamed. He ought to feel more guilty at the way he wonders what she looks like beneath his clothes. And it doesn’t help, not at all, that she looks cuter, in his clothes than he ever did.

It’s comforting to know now at least Bree seemed to be less tress. When she first stood in front of him on his porch, her brown eyes were blown, shifting her weight. She looked somewhere between frustrated and almost amused. Like she had expected something like this to happen to her. Though, there was still an air of apprehension and worry.

“I’m safe,” Bree says. Her voice carries throughout the house. “Just some car trouble. I’ll get it seen in the morning. Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

The conversation soon ends but it’s only another minute before her voice picks up again. “Hey, Dad. Yeah, it’s me, Bree. Had to borrow another phone for like two seconds. Anyways, car went flatline on me. But I’m okay and safe for the night. Gonna get it checked out in the morning.”

There’s a pause. Calum pours a glass of water, figuring that’s the safest bet until Bree gets off the phone. “Yeah, Dad. Really I’m safe. In a..hotel...No the car’s not just out on some highway. Just--” Whatever Bree was about to say clearly doesn’t outrank her father’s statement. “I don’t have an estimate yet. Hopefully it’s not too much. I don’t know. I’ll worry about that tomorrow….Thanks. Love you too.”

Bree’s glad the house isn’t a maze. It makes finding Calum a lot easier. But as she settles onto the barstool, sliding his phone back to him, she does wish she had more time to mentally prepare for Calum’s gaze. His eyes are warm, and inviting. That’s not a thing she needs to be worried about right now. Right now, she’s got to worry about her car and moving, and paying to fix her car.

“Have you eaten yet?” Calum turns to the fridge, listing off the options he has, even offers ordering something for her if none of his options sound appealing. “Tea, coffee, hot chocolate. Which I’m like ninety percent sure I already offered, sorry.” It’s paired with a soft chuckle.

Bree did eat. She made sure to text her dad when she stopped and when she got back onto the road. But maybe it’s just the adrenaline, the stress of her car, and maybe it’s partially something to do so she doesn’t say something stupid, or completely left field. “Hot chocolate would be nice.”

Just as Calum sets the mug down, a buzzer sounds. Both dogs bark for a moment before quieting down. “I put a blanket in the dryer. Just in case you were cold,” Calum explains. “Did you want it or is that overkill?”

“You--you didn’t have to. But I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no, of course.” He knows he’s staring. Her smile is bright and shows off all her teeth too. Like she’s not afraid of anything, or maybe she’s learned to put on a smile even when she’s terrified. His gaze lingers a little too long on her lips. The way she works her teeth over the skin, but they’re still full. Calum wonders if they’re soft too. “So,” he starts, spinning to face his cupboards, “you said you were moving? Just a couple blocks down?”

Bree nods, eyes trailing down his shoulders and back that flex as he grabs onto the blue box. “Yeah-yeah. Got a new job and a friend of mine agreed to let me crash with them until I got an apartment. Wanted to save up some more money before throwing myself into the woes of financially living alone.”

Calum hums, tearing open a packet. “Sounds like we’ll be neighbors. At least for a little bit.” Paws click on the floor. Too light to be Moose and when Calum glances down, he spies Duke lapping at his water bowl in the kitchen.

“I mean, it’s a couple blocks,” Bree insists. If she says that, if she puts more distance between them, she won’t be tempted to drive through his neighborhood and she won’t be tempted to make a joke about staying over more often. She won’t make any moves tonight either.

“Close enough,” Calum says. “A couple blocks, a couple minutes. I’m sure you’ll always remember this street though, after tonight.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Her drink finished, Calum hands over the mug. Their fingers brush, just a split second in time, hardly enough time to really know it’s happening, yet they know anyway. Bree tightens her hold around the warming ceramic. It’s still too hot to really take a drink. But Bree sips from it anyway, after a couple gentle blows onto the dark brown sweet drink. She prays, chants to herself, that she most definitely should not linger too long on the thought or the way her skin felt electric.

“You sure you’re not hungry? I really don’t mind ordering you something.” Calum clears his throat. There aren’t many times Calum’s glad that the bar seat has a counter at waist height, but this time in particular he’s grateful. His spine still tingles just a little.

“I ate already, thanks.”

“Any dessert? I’ve got ice cream and there’s a great place not too far that delivers cookies.”

Dessert. It’s not even the fact that Calum asks. It’s how he asks. His brows shooting up on his face, thumb pointing over his shoulder to his fridge and freezer. It’s the way he bites his own lip, leaning into the counter on his elbows. Bree’s not sure if it’s some secret language, if he’s asking more than just the tub of sugary confection in his freezer.

“Really, I’m okay. Thank you.”

Calum nods. “Yeah, okay. No problem. Well, I gotta check on that load of laundry. But feel free to watch TV, snuggle with Moose, see if you can champion Duke’s heart. You’re free to whatever’s in the kitchen.”

It’s a curt nod as Bree works down another sip of her drink before Calum leaves. Once she’s sure he’s gone down back into the depths of his place, she drops her head onto her neck. Fuck me, she mouths. She can text Drew, let them know the true details of what the hell is going on. Though Bree knows the response will be a swift, You better fuck him and I want deeds.

Her phone. It’s still dead. Turning on the stool, she spots her purse still on the coffee table and both dogs curled up on one end of the couch. They watch her with curious eyes as she walks over. Thankfully an outlet is nearby with a phone charger already snug into the outlet. Nothing was plugged into it. She hoped Calum wouldn’t mind for the time being.

Plugging in her phone, Bree settles onto the far end of the couch, letting Duke have his space. But Moose is not shy and walks over, head resting in Bree’s lap. “Help me win over Duke, Moose.”

Moose’s response is turning to her back, gazing expectedly. “Okay, sure, since you’re yanking my leg,” Bree laughs, rubbing her hand over Moose’s belly. Duke still doesn’t seem bothered by her presence. She can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Though she’s inclined to say good. He could be barking, and yet, he’s just watching, assessing Bree.

“I get it,” Bree states to Duke. “You’re thinking, sussing me out. I respect that.” Bree didn’t want to be the type to be nosey but staring at the living room and the house itself. What did Calum do? Drew had a decent break in the producing and DJing world and bought a house up here. Does Calum do something similar? And if so, why wasn’t he more worried about having some stranger in his house?

Bree’s phone buzzes. Text messages from Drew and her dad. Old alerts from various group chats and email alerts that were all muted all she drove. Just as she reaches back for it, a snout presses into her hand. “Moose, you’re literally getting snuggles right now,” Bree laughs.

“Oh, he’s not going to like that.”

Bree looks up to Calum who’s grinning and then down to the snout. She gasps at the sight of Duke resting his head against her hand, his body curled up next to her. “Oh my god, oh my god. Is this real life?” she whispers, looking up to Calum.

“Yeah, this is real life.”

“I would literally die for you and I just met you,” Bree chuckles mostly to herself, gently petting the top of Duke’s head.

Calum tries not to think about how Duke really isn’t all that fond of new people. And for him to curl up next to Bree is an amazing feat. Does Duke sense something Calum can’t? Or maybe they’re both sensing the same thing, that Bree’s striking and funny. And above all, she’s safe. It’s almost like Calum’s known her forever, but maybe Calum just wants to feel that, so it makes everything he’s feeling and on the verge of doing make sense.

“You do realize I literally don’t care if you want to change the channel,” Calum returns, settling on the opposite end of the couch.

“This is literally your house! I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

Bree is a puddle of dogs and is sinking into the cushions of his couch. Calum risks a glance from the movie. He thinks it’s one in the Batman franchise but he can’t be sure. The curls have become evident, even though she’s tried to tame them into a high bun. Her cheeks are full, much like his.

“So what brings you into town? I think you mentioned a new job? You don’t have to get too deep into it if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I interned remotely at this magazine for a while. Wrote articles, did some shoots for them. It was mostly music based, looking at underground and indie artists. They had to lay some folks off. But I was already looking to go elsewhere. Got hired and getting paid more so now I’m moving into the city since it’s not a remote position. My friend Drew’s letting crash with her. I got hired like last week so I hardly had any time to find a place or anything.”

“Drew? Like Drew with the dreads who’s literally DJing at almost every club in this fucking state Drew?”

“You know her?” Bree asks.

“Yes! I met her in the studio a couple times. I didn’t even realize she was in the neighborhood.”

“Studio?” Bree figured Calum had to be a creative type and very successful at that. She just hadn’t suspected that thought to be true.

“I dabble,” Calum returns, shrugging his shoulders. Dabble sounds betters, doesn’t put too much pressure or anything.

“Looks like dabbling is working out well for you.”

“So, do you shoot shows for certain bands or just whoever?”

“Just whoever. In some ways I want to be on the cutting edge. A few bands from the old magazine I covered caught a wave. I don’t want to say I’m the reason why, but,” the sentence trails off into a fit of giggles.

“But you’re the reason why,” Calum concludes with a laugh. The two of them talk for hours. Bree telling Calum about the embarrassing trip to the gas station when she realized she had pulled in the wrong way to fill up her tank today and how when she was a kid she’d constantly mix up her left and her right. She still does if she’s honest, so she’s the worst person to ask for direction.

Calum doesn’t share a lot, the occasional story about when he and his friends lived a house together and going a little too hard on the whiskey in coffee and how once he split his pants during a jig. Though mostly Calum just let’s Bree talk. He finds that she can go a mile a minute but she’s good about pulling at certain strings. When she brings up knowing Drew since they were kids, and Calum mentions his friends, she asks about them. Just what it was like growing up with them and what about living with them that he misses.

“Honestly, I’d rather talk to you than be interviewed by any other talk show hot for a decade at least.” Calum states it only after realizing it’s nearing midnight. Michael’s come and gone to pick up Moose. Bree’s hot chocolate has turned cold.

“It’s because I hate interviewing people. I like having conversations,” Bree returns. Duke’s settled between them, facing Calum now but doesn’t shy away when Bree scratches along his back.

“I’m not much of a talker, normally.”

“If that’s your way of saying I’m talking too much, you can just say it. I’m used to it.”

Calum shakes his head. “No, no, not at all. It’s just, you’re easy to talk to, that’s all.” Bree curls up, feet tucked under herself as she faces Calum. HIs t-shirt seems to swallow her up but also she wears it like she owns it, the front tucked into the band of the sweatpants just a little. “Like really easy to talk to,” Calum whispers, trying not to imagine the sight of her beneath him. He hasn’t had something like this--a conversation that could last hours and the ease to almost spill his guts-- in years outside of the guys.

“I know I’ve probably said this like a thousand times, but really thank you. For helping me out. It means a lot.” Bree looks up from her lashes. She knows that look that Calum’s giving her. It’s the eyes from when he questioned dessert. She didn’t want to believe that he was into her, not like that at least.

“You--Really, it’s nothing.”

His gaze hasn’t faltered, as if he’s reading every thought behind her skull. It’s intense and god, it’s not the thing she needs. Keep it together, she reprimands herself. “I’m just, I’m going to dump this.” Bree stands, taking her mug into the kitchen.

“No, no let me,” Calum rushes, pushing to his feet. “You’re the guest.”

Bree wishes Calum had stayed on the couch. She needed to get away, just to breath and think clearly for two seconds. But Calum’s right behind her and his hand reaches out behind her to take the mug. At the sink, they face each other. Close enough that she can feel just how warm he is, smell the Old Spice body wash she saw under the sink on his skin.

“Really, I don’t mind. You’re already doing a lot today.”

Calum didn’t realize just how tall Bree was until now. She stands just about eye to eye with him, only off by a few inches. Four or five, if Calum had to venture a guess. And it would be so easy to kiss her. Just drop his chin a hair and capture her full pouty lips. “Helping someone in need isn’t a lot.”

Bree exhales her laughter. “It’s not a lot when you’re a good person, that’s for sure.” She tugs at the mug just a little, pulling into her body just a hair. There’s not much space between them at it stands. “Please,” she whispers. She doesn’t even know what she’s saying please for. Is it please let me wash the damn mug and walk away? Or is please just kiss me already so there’s no more dancing around this tension?

Calum moves the mug, both of them moving along with his instrumentation. The mug settles into the basin of the sink with a soft thud, the spoon clicking against the sides. “Please what?”

And the words are falling from her lips before she can stop herself. “Kiss me.”

Calum exhales just a hair and cups her jaw into his palm. Bree meets him though, closes the already centimeters between them. Their lips touch for a brief moment. It feels like the first sip of ice cold water on a hot water. It’s satisfying, makes you exhale in relief and it’s only in that moment as the first slides down your throat that you realize how thirsty you’ve been. Calum secures a hold to her waist, pushing her into the counter. Their lips meet again, and again, slightly harsh exhales as hands pull at t-shirts and tanks.

Calum trails a hand under the hem of the t-shirt, running his palm over her stomach and side. Bree shudders at the touch, head falling back on her neck. Calum seizes the opportunity to lay a trail of kisses across her throat. Her sighs are like literal music to his ears. He sucks at the skin to hear it again. And he’s greeted with something much better. Bree moans, arms locking around his neck. Her fingers dance along his shoulder and back and when her head finally reconnects, she reconnects her mouth to Calum’s.

The kitchen turns into a bedroom. All Bree focuses on is the feel of Calum against her, as shirts are shed and pants too. Calum swallows down every sound she gives him. He drinks in the sight of her, head thrown back into his pillows, and legs wrapped around his waist. Bree kisses along his biceps, teeth grazing over the tattoos on his skin. Their senses fill with each other, the sighs, the moans, the pleas, the encouragement and even the awkward shuffle and giggles. Calum never wants to hear his name for another set of lips ever. Not with the way it falls so easily from Bree’s mouth. Bree hums when she hears the grunted curses Calum exhales as his hips rock into hers.

With Calum’s arm draped over her naked waist, he presses a kiss to her cheek. Bree turns to face him, a grin at her lips. “I’m washing that damn mug. Just so you know.”

Calum laughs, shoulders shaking and he squeezes at her waist. “Why am I not surprised at that fact?”

“I don’t care if I have to sneak out of the bed at 5 in the morning. I’ll do it.”

And true to her word, Bree does wash the morning. It’s helped of course when Calum’s alarm goes off and in the shuffle of him rousing awake and trying to turn if off, Bree slips out from the sheets. She throws on his t-shirt again and bolts to the kitchen. The morning is nice though, though she has to steal clothes from the trunk of her car before they can transfer all the boxes into Calum’s SUV.

Calum closes the trunk down, wearing the t-shirt she borrowed and in jeans. Sunglasses cover his face while a trucker hat hides away the curls. “Tow truck said what time again?”

“10 am. So another,” Bree checks her phone, “10 minutes, hopefully. Thanks, again.”

“Really, don’t worry about it. And you can stop saying thanking me. I know it’s a thing you’re probably going to do like a thousand more times.”

Bree swats at his arm. “Look here, I’m trying to be polite. You can be a sour puss elsewhere.”

Calum cackles. “Sour puss? That’s a new one. Also, you sure you don’t want any breakfast? I know a place nearby. Great pancakes.”

“Not much of a breakfast person.”

He nods. “Noted. What about lunch?”

“Yeah, I’m definitely a lunch person.”

“Good, because they have good sandwiches and fries too.”

“Was-Did you just ask me on a lunch date?”

The rumble of a truck cuts through the open air. Both of them turn to see the tow truck coming down the block. Once Bree gets the finalized details about which car shop they’re taking her car and giving said car shop the okay to call her once it’s ready, Bree turns to Calum. “You never answered my question and if it is a date, I’m paying.” Calum insisted on helping her out by paying for the tow.

Calum’s smile is bright. “I’m not a cheap date.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“Is Drew home? Do you have a key? We can drop your stuff off, eat, and then check up on your car?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“I know you said you’re bad with directions, but I need you to navigate.” It’s not hard or long before they reach Drew’s place. Not quite long enough for a full song to finish. Drew’s out on the porch when the two of them roll up.

She laughs, leaning onto the railing. “Bree when you told me you got stranded I thought you landed on the side of the road. Fancy meeting you again, Calum.”

“Hi, Drew. Turns out we’re neighbors.”

Drew arches her eyebrow, looking at back at Bree. Bree holds up her hands. “I’ll explain everything later. Over dinner.” Calum tries to bite back his grin, but glances over to Bree. The question dances across his eyebrows, everything everything? Bree rolls her eyes, going to the trunk.

____________________

When a knock sounds at Calum’s door, he almost doesn’t answer it. That laziness is helped by the fact that he was almost on the verge of sleep. But another knock immediately follows it. “Coming!” he calls out. He checks his phone first, but sees no text from Bree.

As the door cracks open, Calum’s greeted with a bright smile. Bree stands at his door. No rain this time, no mascara running down her face. Just her full cheeks and pouty lips and bright smile. “You said you’d text me.”

“I made cookies,” she returns, holding up the carrying tray. “As a thank you.”

Calum laughs, opening the door wider to let her in. Bree walks in and immediately spots Duke on the couch. “My precious boy!” she coos.

Calum takes the tray knowing that she’ll get distracted soon enough. It’s been a little over three weeks since Bree showed up at his doorstep. Most days they call, or text. Occasionally, Calum drags her out of the house to grab dinner with him or a couple drinks. There’s some unspoken rule, an energy between them. They keep it casual. But even still conversations on the phone can go until 2 in the morning. Calum just listening to the sound of her voice. He asks nearly any question under the sun just to keep her talking.

Bree asks more about the band, never crossing a line. Mostly to see how the other guys are doing, especially their dogs. Calum tells her a bit more about the music he’s making but work is mostly kept separate. Bree doesn’t want Calum to think she’s using him. Calum asks about projects but never makes her divulge more than she’s comfortable with.

Calum cracks open the tray and sees a mass of chocolate chip cookies displayed in front of him. He picks one off the top and the center practically melts in his mouth. He hums at the taste but knows there’s no way he can have that many cookies in his house. “This is too many cookies,” he calls out over the bite.

“That’s why it’s called sharing!” Bree returns, kissing the top of Duke’s head. She wonders into the kitchen, taking a cookie as well. “Did I interrupt a nap? I’m sorry.” His eyes are puffy and he keeps blinking.

“Was trying,” he admits, lower back resting into the edge of the counter.

“I’m sorry! I’ll go. Oh my god, really. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Bree is quick to push away from the counter and almost gets to the front door. Calum’s quick though and wraps her waist up in her arms.

“Nap with me?”

“I’m not sleepy. I just wanted to stuff my face with cookies and cuddle Duke.”

“You can do that, just stay with me please.” He buries his nose into her neck, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. He covers her neck in kisses between pleas. Bree giggles at the light scratch of Calum’s scruff. He’s started letting the bread grow out, even though it’s a slightly pitiful excuse of a beard.

“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll stay.”

With her head resting on his chest, she listens to the steady rhythm of his heart. His hold is warm, but not uncomfortable. Duke’s at their feet and Bree thinks maybe she could take a nap. It wouldn’t hurt at all. Especially not if it was a nap on Calum’s chest. It was crazy to her, to think that fate had stranded on the side of a street but also introduced her to a great friend. And maybe there was more. Maybe there’s more for them down the road. But for now, they had an understanding.

“Did you think when you showed up at my door like a drowned rat this is what would happened?” Calum’s voice is soft and a little mumbly.

“No, I was bracing for you to be a serial killer. And instead you’re a serial cuddler, so I’ll that that any day of the week, hands down.”

They laugh, chest shaking against each other. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“It’s much appreciated,” Bree says in a whisper. She lifts her head just a little. His eyes are close, lashes practically brushing long his cheek. She lightly traces the moles around his mouth and cheek.

“That’s not napping, Missy.” Her response is a soft kiss and Bree rests her head against on his chest, arms squeezing at his waist. The moment is still and feels like it could never be broken.

______________ Tagging @5-secondsofcolor for your morning reads.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood one-shot #calum hood blurb #calum hood imagine #calum hood x black OC #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer blurb #h writes

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akitokihojo · 6 years

Note

would you ever consider writing inukag’s first time together in it’s about time

I honestly didn’t expect this to turn out as long as it did… I’d kind of been thinking on it for a while and it got away from me.

Also, I think this will be my final installment for It’s About Time. While I thoroughly enjoyed writing this particular part of it- I’d say it’s my favorite overall- I think it’s about time it ended.

I really hope you guys enjoy this…

Stay

Inuyasha turned the keys in the ignition, bringing the soft hum of the car to a stop, the silence surrounding them comfortable. Kagome was looking over at him, a soft smile curving her pink lips up, the color of her cheeks shadowed by the clouded sky blocking the moonlight. He reached over, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, grazing his thumb along her soft skin, relishing in the look she was giving him. It was tender and calm, her eyes expressing contentment.

“Thank you for dinner.” She said, leaning into his touch. “But, seriously, can I pay next time?”

“No.” He said flatly, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you want to pay so bad.”

“To be fair.”

“It’s a date, Kagome. Men pay. That’s how it goes; I don’t make the rules.” Inuyasha shrugged.

“Yeah well, jokes on you, manly man.” Kagome said, scrunching her nose. “I paid the tab.”

Inuyasha blinked at her, cocking his head in confusion. “I’m pretty sure I gave the waitress my credit card.”

“Mhm, but my bathroom break right after wasn’t actually a bathroom break.”

“What?”

“I met her at the register.” Kagome smiled deviantly. “She knew the ropes; girlfriend has to secretly pay because boyfriend wants to seem like a gentleman even after their eighth date.”

“Eighth?” Inuyasha cocked a brow, ember eyes staring at her skeptically.

“Close enough.”

“Wait, but I got the receipt! I signed and tipped!” The half demon quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, lifting his hips to maneuver the wallet out of his back jean pocket.

Kagome tried not to laugh, but not even pressing her lips into a tight line could fight off the puff of air that left her lungs as she fell into a fit of giggles. Inuyasha’s face had fallen as he examined the crumpled receipt he’d shoved into the fold of his wallet, noticing the small, black text just below the blank signature line on the customer’s copy reading Kagome Higurashi.

“I was- oh my god- I was so surprised you didn’t notice! I totally thought you’d throw the receipt at my face in the middle of the restaurant!” She clutched her sides, her muscles cramping from how hard she was laughing, the dull stare she received from Inuyasha making it worse. A short-lived crumpling sound pulled her slightly out of her reverie, and she opened her tear-blurred eyes in time to see the balled up receipt just before it hit her nose, bringing another round of light giggles.

“All you’ve shown me is I can’t trust you to use the restroom anymore.”

“Inuyasha!”

“Nope! You gotta pee, you better hold it till I bring your ass home!” Inuyasha huffed, crossing his arms over his chest while shrugging a shoulder.

Kagome crawled her upper body over the center console, loving how he never backed away from her no matter how mad he pretended to be, turning to welcome her kiss. She grazed her fingers over his jaw, following the sharp line of his face to meet his neck, curving her hand around the nape. She could feel his arms relax over his chest, opening up for her, his hands softly stroking her arms. She didn’t mean for the kiss to be her partial undoing, her body tensing in a way to control her need to take more of him in as she tilted her mouth away and sighed out against his chin. “It’s okay to… let me pay for things, Inuyasha. It’s just me. I’m not someone you have to try and woo.” Kagome leaned back, taking his hand in hers and pressing their palms together. “This is us, remember?”

Inuyasha shook his head disbelievingly, licking the taste of her off his bottom lip. “Oh, I’m definitely still gonna try and woo you.”

“Fine,” She smiled. “I’ll wait you out. You’ll exhaust yourself sooner or later.”

The half demon exhaled roughly, closing the space between them to kiss her some more. Good lord, this woman drove him crazy. She was as equally stubborn as he was, compassionate, unfairly gorgeous, and wildly independent. He’d learned so much about her since they first held hands just over three weeks ago, confirming they were soulmates, quickly making them inseparable, and he found himself eagerly wanting to know more. He wasn’t sure if the whole fated part of things played a roll in this, but he was unnaturally excited whenever she was near, his body physically aching to be directly beside her, content with whatever sort of contact he could get. He could easily get greedy, as could anyone in his situation, but it was also so easy to feel wholly satisfied. With Kagome, holding hands was enough. Hugging thrilled him. The small kisses he’d receive in the halls of their college when they crossed paths as she ran from one class to the next had him melted into a pathetic puddle on the floor. He’d never had the pleasure of feeling this way before; thoroughly happy and unafraid of judgement. This is us. No, to him it was just her. He couldn’t bring himself to reach, even as she began to get more and more into their kisses each and every time, little-by-little, their tongues exploring one another’s mouths, her hands steadily grazing over his skin, starting at the neck and stopping at his shoulders, growing more courageous night after night and dipping her fingers beneath the collar, or even tickling the skin just above his jeans. The things she did to him with that breathy sigh and her curious fingers. The things she did to him with the blushed, bashful looks and swollen lips. He was so fucking lucky with exactly what he had.

“You need to get inside.” Inuyasha said, inching away as she inched forward. He chuckled as she whined, their foreheads now pressed together, mouths so close but not touching. At first, she shook her head, playfully denying him, but he granted her one last, tantalizing kiss that she sighed into, her hot breath dancing down the skin of his cheek, and she finally nodded.

“Come on.” He smiled, opening his door. “I’ll walk you up.”

No matter how many times she’d tell him he didn’t have to escort her from the parking lot to the fifth level of the apartment complex, Inuyasha wouldn’t listen. In fact, Kagome was pretty sure he was literally never listening when she told him not to. He wouldn’t respond with one of his infamous grunts, wave her off, or tell her to deal with it. This was one of the only things her boyfriend would actively ignore while proceeding about his business, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and leading her up the staircase. From the get-go, Inuyasha was more protective than she’d initially expected. Maybe because of the situation he’d found her in when they first got together, or maybe because that’s just how he was naturally. Truth was, she hadn’t figured it out yet.

It was quiet on her floor, the clap from the heel of her boots muffled by the old, brown carpet. This was the part she hated; unlocking the deadbolt, saying goodnight, the last kiss of the evening, watching him walk away, that dull ache that resided in her chest when he wasn’t next to her anymore. Tonight, it was worse. The saddening sensation began to grow in the car, grew worse inside the stairwell, and had sunk into her gut by the time her key was in the lock twisting it open. She told herself it was normal. It was a new relationship. They were in the honeymoon stage. All she had to do was swallow the feeling and it would dissolve by the time she changed into her pajamas, but tonight everything felt so different. Kagome wanted more from him; not that what she was getting wasn’t enough. In fact, everything had been so completely wonderful and intoxicating that she found herself wanting to see how long it would take until she was addicted.

Apparently, she was standing at the border.

The apartment was dark and empty, the soft meow from Sango’s cat sitting on the head of the sofa greeting them. She looked back at Inuyasha, the small grin on his face sending a flurry of flutters through the entirety of her abdomen. She desperately didn’t want to hear him say goodnight, but she knew the words were about to come from his mouth. Quickly, she leaned onto the tips of her toes, ever-so-gently grazing her lips along his bottom one, stopping him mid-word.

Inuyasha looked down at her, the pink on her cheeks subtly growing brighter as her chocolate eyes looked back at him with an emotion he couldn’t quite determine. Her mouth was slightly parted still, the fluorescent light of the hallway shining off the fine sheen on her plump lips. His voice had faded away completely, and he knew there was absolutely no chance of retrieving it now. On their own accord, his fingers had threaded into her thick, dark hair just behind her ear, gripping gently, bringing her up to meet him half way as their mouths pressed together in a kiss so sweet, so slow that even he grunted softly into it.

Kagome pulled him closer, grasping at the front of his button up, the warmth of her body seeping through her dress like liquid through cloth. It was almost too much to handle. The faint vibration of her mewl against his mouth knocked the remainder of the air from his lungs, and he had to pull away, no matter how bad he didn’t fucking want to.

“I should go.” He said, pushing her bangs aside and placing one last, scant kiss to her forehead.

Kagome leaned against the door frame, watching him head toward the stairwell, his long, silver hair swaying slightly with his strides. Before she knew it, she’d opened her mouth. Before her nerves got the better of her, she managed to speak confidently enough that anyone would think she’d rehearsed it.

“Inuyasha,” He turned around mid-step, a dark brow arched in question. “Stay.”

The half demon smiled, suddenly overcome by a happiness he hadn’t expected to feel at her request. It didn’t take a signal from his brain to tell his feet to head back to her immediately; Kagome was like a magnet drawing him in. As soon as he was within arms reach, he grabbed her, their lips colliding in the kind of kiss that would make passersby think they hadn’t seen each other in months. Her feet stumbled backwards inside the entrance of her apartment, Inuyasha’s solid footing keeping her from tripping any further as she wrapped an arm around his neck and threw the door shut with the other.

They were breathing heavily, brought on by the build up of their excitement, Kagome’s fingers traveling down his arms and to his hands gripped at her waist. Her deep brown eyes gazed up at him as she took her bottom lip between her teeth and led him the remainder of the way to her bedroom. He hoped he didn’t appear as nervous as he felt, glad she wasn’t the one with the heightened senses and wouldn’t be able to hear the sound of the palpitations behind his ribcage, but if she put a hand to his chest, she’d no doubt be able to feel it, and whatever cover he was managing to pull off would be blown.

Slowly and gently, Kagome nudged Inuyasha to sit on her bed, backtracking slightly to close her bedroom door. She turned on the light on her desk, preferring the softer hues it gave off to the harsh ones of her overhead light, glancing back at the half demon behind her.

“Are-are you sure, Kagome?” He asked, ember eyes piercing her, looking for the honesty he knew she’d give.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” She answered without hesitation.

“I’m serious. We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t ready. We could just lay here… Sleep.”

"Inuyasha, I want this. I want you.” Kagome assured him, moving to stand in between his legs, her fingers stroking back rogue strands of hair from his face. “Is that okay?”

“You have no fucking idea how okay that is.”

“Good.” She whispered, her breath teasing the ear atop his head.

Kagome stepped back, creating a distance he couldn’t easily reach her in, his ember eyes following her every move. She bent forward, unzipping the small booties at her ankles so she could kick her shoes off, swallowing the nerves that built up as she removed the cardigan from her shoulders. Her hands reached to the back of her neck, slowly sliding the zipper down as far as she could before re-situating her arms behind her to drag the metal clasp to the small of her back, the loosened, black fabric falling effortlessly from around her arms. Kagome pushed the cocktail dress down her hips until she was able to shimmy it to the floor, toeing the puddle of cloth to the side and allowing her boyfriend to look her over.

Inuyasha had to flex his jaw to make sure his mouth stayed closed, swallowing thickly as he took her all in. She stood before him in only her bra and panties, the colors of the undergarments matching, while the lacy designs on her bra differentiated them. Her creamy skin looked so bare, so touchable, that he found himself worried his rough hands would mar her skin insidiously in his enthusiasm, but as she approached to take up her former position in between his legs, he found his arms opening to welcome her in, gliding his palms around her thighs to hold her from the back. He never wanted to see streaks of red painting her perfect body, never wanted to be the cause of any blemishes or marks, but as she bent down to place a sweet and heartfelt kiss to his lips, he fully understood that when she said she wanted him, she meant it.

She wanted all of him, demon claws be damned.

She quickly found herself breathless as his large, warm hands traveled up her body, feeling everything he could as her fingers fumbled over the buttons of his shirt, pushing the plastic through their respected loop and moving onto the next, traveling down the thick, plaid long sleeve until the front opened to show his black undershirt. The thin material helped Kagome feel more of him, her hands openly roaming over his chest, observing the muscles that twitched beneath, bringing her to eagerly push the button up from his shoulders and down his arms. The half demon helped her along, following her silent demands and taking it a step further as he pulled the black tee over his head, tossing it to the floor behind her. Before he could crush his mouth to hers again, she gazed down, taking the sight of his bare torso in, the ridges of his toned abdomen so defined that she couldn’t help but softly rake her nails over them.

Watching her study him, watching her seemingly enjoy nothing more than staring was pushing him over the edge. He couldn’t just sit back anymore. He needed more of her. Kagome was going to be the death of him, and there was no better fucking way to go. He stood from his seat, her body only pushed back minutely by his rising, his mouth hovering just above hers as he dragged his fingers up her sides, following the curve of her waist until he grazed the band of her bra, switching directions and following the path around her back. Meeting in the middle, just above the dip her muscles created at her spine, he pinched the clasp, the garment coming loose immediately.

Kagome licked her lips, unexpectedly loving how his breath teased her cheeks. He was so close, all she had to do was arch her chin upward and they’d meet, but the hazy, half-lidded gaze he was giving her was too beautiful to look away from. She shrugged her shoulders, allowing the straps from her bra to fall, his hands guiding them down her arms and creating a faint trail of pebbles on her flesh along the way. Before Inuyasha looked down, took in the sight of, admired, what have you, he kissed her. He was steady and sure, his skin hot against her own, making her wish she could be pressed chest-to-chest with him for the remainder of the bitter winter.

Inuyasha wanted to feel every inch of Kagome. He wanted to taste her, explore her, and figure out everything that made her tick. He wanted to erase the fine creases her clothes created, the pads of his fingers tracing what her bra had formed, running from the middle of her back, under her arms, and just below her breasts. He felt her shudder as his thumb tickled the delicate skin, a sharp inhale coming from her nose as he moved to feel more, bringing his palms up around the side to feel the swell of flesh that was pressed so solidly against him. He kept inching upward, feeling her chest rise and fall with her slow, heated breaths, the sharp line of her collar bones, her throat, and ending at her jaw, his hands cradling it perfectly.

For the first time, he could feel himself becoming greedy. Inuyasha wanted to hear more of those little noises that escaped her throat when he kissed her harder, or slid his tongue against her own. He wanted to see how hard she would grip the belt loops of his jeans to pull him impossibly closer if he inched away, and he wanted to see just how powerful that heady scent she gave off would grow to be. This was her body’s response to him and it had him throbbing, aching to experience all of her as slowly as he could. Inuyasha would drag this out as long as he needed to, just to make sure he took every tiny, minuscule part of her in.

He was guiding her, turning her, the backs of her legs now bumping the edge of the mattress as he gently tipped her onto it, the two of them skillfully crawling their way up to the heap of pillows at the top frame of her bed. They never lost contact, Kagome made sure of that. As soon as her head met a pillow, Inuyasha was pressed against her, his hands roaming up and down her sides, nails slightly catching on the edges of her panties as he traveled around her hips and down her leg, hitching a thigh around his waist as he wedged himself in between. His jeans chaffed wonderfully against her, catching at her skin as he rolled into a slow grind, her soft moan muted by his thick grunt. She wanted more. She didn’t want anything dividing them. She wanted his body to leave an impression on hers, wanted the heat radiating from within his clothes to seer her through. Inuyasha was undeniably bringing her to the brink with nothing more than simple touches and and rugged grunts.

Kagome’s hands fumbled along his sides, his hips twitching slightly as she accidentally grazed a ticklish spot at his ribs, quickly moving along to push at his jeans so he’d get the hint. The half demon shook his head, breaking the kiss, dipping to pay attention to her jawline and neck, painting the sensitive skin with licks and flicks of his tongue, his hot breath causing her to inadvertently open up so he wouldn’t stop. Good god, she never wanted him to stop. Not once had she ever felt like this before. Not once had she felt so wholly succumbed and entirely entranced. Inuyasha was so good to her. For her. How did she get so lucky? How did she get gifted with something- someone so wonderful? Kagome understood that the how and why were inexplainable, but she planned on never taking him for granted. She was still getting familiar with what it felt like to have a person that was yours and yours alone; not as a piece of property, but as a heart that completed yours and made you experience what it was to be alive. Every glance he’d given her over the last few weeks had her reeling. Every touch and connection had her indescribably happy. Kagome was falling- hard and fast. She was terrified and elated. Anxious and thrilled. She couldn’t stop. A muffled thought told her to hold back, but there was no way she could control this. The more Inuyasha touched her, kissed her, learned her, cared for her, the quicker she slipped to her rapid downfall.

Again, Kagome pushed down his jeans as much as she could, the button still holding them firm to his hips. The half demon wasn’t budging. He stayed firmly against her, his pelvis giving a small grind as he sucked at her collar bone, driving Kagome wild. She whimpered, feeling powerless and helpless to his taunting ministrations. Inuyasha chuckled against her skin, giving a small kiss to the area he’d been working on before pressing himself up to look at her.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, voice low and gruff. Kagome couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, the beautiful hues swimming with something that absorbed her entirely. She smiled, nodding slowly.

“I’m sure.”

Inuyasha kissed her lips, her chin, the front of her throat, the dip between her clavicles, her chest, and sternum before sitting upright to unbutton his jeans. He stopped halfway down his zipper, really taking in the sight of her for the first time since he’d removed her bra. She looked almost shy, like she was trying to resist her initial instinct to hide her exposed parts. Her arms were folded inward, her fingers nervously trekking over the opposite forearms that laid on top of her flat tummy, causing her breasts, plump and full, to squeeze together. Her shoulders were flexed upwards, one a little closer to her cheek than the other. Her skin was fair, barely any freckles, the fuzz on her arms so light, you’d hardly think she had any. There was a scar on her waist, sandy-colored, and he’d have to remember to ask her about that later but for now he just wanted to cover every inch of it in sweet kisses. Her stomach was toned, hips curvy, and thighs beautifully thick.

“Fuck, Kagome, you’re gorgeous.”

It took all of his willpower not to dive back down and continue where he left off, glad she was about to fill the atrocious gap for him as she sat up, taking her knees from the side of his legs and kneeling in front of him. Kagome’s mouth went straight to his shoulder as her hands wandered over his abdomen, moving down to push the loosened denim below his butt. Her hands grazed the front of his hips softly, running over the cloth of his boxers and treading over the band that kept them secured.

Kagome enjoyed, more than anything so far, the way Inuyasha’s defined muscles tensed beneath her touch, and the way his breath hitched a certain way when her fingers splayed out and reached closer to his hardened length. Moving slowly, she kissed up the side of his neck, using her tongue at the spots that caused his hands to tighten their grip on her hips. As soon as she reached his jaw, Inuyasha moved in, claiming her mouth, groaning as she rubbed his cock through his boxers.

He broke away as he gasped, a husky sound, but she quickly silenced him with another kiss, their lips moving in perfect synchrony. His hands went to the back of her neck, holding her to him as he moved against her heatedly, sighing out through his nose as Kagome reached into the waistband and skillfully tugged his length. His entire body shuddered, his pelvis rolling into her hand, his flesh scorching her palm and causing her to whimper out as his tongue shot into her mouth to taste her own.

“Please.” Kagome muttered. The ache within her had become so powerful, so overwhelming, and she desperately needed it to be satiated.

Inuyasha didn’t have the right to deny Kagome when she sounded this way. Without hesitation, he backed off the bed, kicked his jeans and boxers carelessly to the floor, and then pressed his body back into Kagome’s, guiding her to lay against her pillows once more. Kagome fidgeted slightly, lifting her hips and shifting her panties down until she could flick them away, welcoming his body between her thighs. Inuyasha wanted to spend more time on her; kissing, tasting, teasing, exploring, but his time was up and they were both at their threshold.

He wanted to ask if she was comfortable, wanted to make sure she was ready, but the mewl from her throat and the way she grabbed his sides to press them together had him reeling, forgetting how to speak altogether. Inuyasha shifted, sliding inside of Kagome, slow and controlled. She arched her back the further he went, sighing out in what one would guess was relief. He swallowed her breath, crushing her lips with his own, moving against her while he propped one of her thighs above the line of his hip, thrusting in deeper, relishing in her gropes and muffled moans.

Kagome felt like she was burning up from the inside out. His body fit so perfectly against hers, rolling tantalizingly, meshing wonderfully, bringing her to experience a high she’d never had before. The half demon grunted thickly, biting into the curve where her neck and shoulder met. She couldn’t help the whimper that slipped from her lips, trying to meet him thrust-for-thrust but failing to control her muscles as they began to tense and tremble. She was to the point where she didn’t know what to do with her hands. They gripped the comforter, nails scraping the fluffed designs in the material, fumbled over the ridges of his back muscles, clutched his grinding hips, touching whatever she could as she was pushed closer and closer to climax with each and every second that passed. Finally, her hands found their home pressed against her mouth, trying to keep her voice down as an overwhelming sensation flooded over. Inuyasha had propped himself up on his hands, taking her at a different angle, quickening his pace and hardening his thrusts.

A shrill carried through her from her toes to the crown of her head, body writhing uncontrollably, thighs tensing against the half demon. He dipped his head down, whispering something sweet into her ear that made her orgasm all the more invigorating, her whines and cries seeping through her fingers as if they weren’t even muffled.

Inuyasha was barely hanging on, the thread keeping him together thin, hardly sustainable, about to snap. He bucked against her harder, his murmurs turning into hoarse grunts as he crumpled over, every nerve ending in his body engulfed in electricity. Kagome sighed out his name, her voice like scissors to the string, and everything in him went completely ridged, his voice catching in his throat as he came.

—

The whistle from the wind outside seeped through Kagome’s closed window, the sound noticeable in the silence of her bedroom. She should have been asleep. Her eyes would close on their own accord, comforted by Inuyasha’s deep, steady breaths and unbelievably warm body pressed solidly against her back, but she didn’t want to let her consciousness slip. He’d told her before that as a half demon, he didn’t sleep much; he didn’t need it nor want it. He didn’t get worn out or fatigued easily like humans did. Yet, here he was, sleeping soundly while holding them together. She was enjoying his hot breath drawing patterns along her skin, the small twitches his body gave as he dreamt, the feeling of his arm tucked sturdily around her waist. Whenever she opened her eyes, they focused solely on that arm, his skin tone muted by the darkness. Kagome didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to bathe in the absolute happiness she felt in this moment.

Ever since they began talking through their skin, Kagome kept a pen at bedside. The pen hadn’t moved, even though those effects had faded away the moment their hands touched. If anyone asked her, she’d be more than willing to admit she missed the sensations. There were times where she felt faint tingling; when Inuyasha was approaching and even sometimes as they walked hand-in-hand, but nothing that resembled the prickling she felt then. It was fun communicating the way they did. It was exciting when she’d wake up to little messages on her palm.

She reached for the pen and scratched the cap of it against the heel of her hand, tickling the thin skin at the edge of her wrist. These sensations guided her to her soulmate. She felt so lucky, so thoroughly contented, so filled with something that was too soon to speak that although she missed the little aspects of the beginning of their relationship, she was also grateful he wouldn’t receive her message.

Inuyasha stirred behind her, sighing out against her neck.

“What are you doing?” He mumbled, voice thick from sleep.

“Nothing.” Kagome whispered, slowly drawing out the words with the ballpoint end.

“You’re writing something.”

She stopped, slightly taken aback that he knew, wondering for a moment if they’d actually faded away and slightly fearful that he’d see.

“I can still feel when you draw on your hands. Not like before, but still.” Inuyasha continued, snuggling into the curve of her shoulder, his arm holding her tighter. “What did you write?”

“Nothing.” She whispered again, keeping her hushed tone as soft as possible, relieved that it was only the sensations that kept them connected. She finished the third word, looking satisfyingly at her shadowed palm before rubbing her thumb to erase the context. “Just a reminder for tomorrow.”

He grunted before placing a kiss to her naked flesh. Kagome sank into him, cradling her closed hand to her chest and finally allowing her eyes to drift shut.

Those I think might enjoy this more than some: @morikothehalfangel @littlemissinukag @keichanz @cstorm86 @lordbankotsu

#smut #inuyasha #kagome #kagome higurashi #inukag #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fanfiction #inuyasha smut #InuKag smut #inuyasha fic #inukag fic #akitokihojo #my writing #it's about time

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gal-liveblogs · 5 years

Text

So we start off Homestuck 2 with a picture of space. Got some green space clouds. So far nothing I would not expect. Though I see there also appears to be a spaceship of some kind, zooming through all this space. Would this be Dirk’s ship?

. . . Yep. That’s defiantly Dirk’s ship. I’m sure Theseus has some really deep, literary meaning, but the reference flies right over my head. As does most of Dirk’s references. He’s too smart for me.

I find it funny that Jake continues the tradition of emblazoning his face on his things. We saw his alt-self of Grandpa Harley doing at all the time. Dirk, of course, has to scribble out the face of his ex.

Dirk. Dirk, are you wearing a villain cape right now? Is that what you’re doing in this moment? Dirk, please.

He is totally wearing a villain cape, complete with tattered edges. He is also wearing a Heart gi, because Dirk is nothing if not anime.

Jesus Christ, I already see the paragraphs of orange under this. You’re gonna make me read all this, aren’t you. Dirk?

Dirk proves to be as verbose as ever.

So did Dirk really write out all his narration on physical pieces of paper and scatter them over his desk? Did he do that just to be Extra, or is that something he has to do as an Author now? Do they only count in the narrative text if they are actual text and not just his own thoughts?

Whatever the case may be, Rose interrupts his soliloquy.

I have it on authority that decanting is sometimes necessary to ensure a wine is at its best. I like to think that the same was ultimately true of her.

Decanting of a person’s soul sounds particularly ominous, thought I can’t express the exact reason why.

ROSEBOT: I just imagined you wearing an apron over your god tier outfit and almost felt my facial fuselage buckle in such a way as to approximate a fleeting smile.

Glad to see being a robot and also assimilating all her possible selves Rose remains a sass queen.

DIRK: Alright we get it you are literally a robot.

DIRK: No need to keep pointing it out every chance you can get. I got enough of this with the Auto Responder.

ROSEBOT: I'm just playing along.

ROSEBOT: One of the fundamentals of bad science fiction is that any artificial beings must make their inorganic nature known at every juncture they can.

DIRK: Do overly precise and completely meaningless statistics that you pull out of your ass on the fly also count?

ROSEBOT: Oh absolutely.

ROSEBOT: That's one of the first things you just sort of spontaneously learn when being booted up.

ROSEBOT: For example, I've calculated that by making these remarks I have raised the base level of amusement in all my conversations by 36%.

DIRK: Well I don't personally find them very funny.

Dirk has some trauma with robots pulling out bullshit statics. Which makes it all the more fascinating he continues to build robots that can have free thought.

Jesus Christ, it wasn’t just the lighting, Dirk’s shades really are orange now. Hussie may not have known about Kamina when he designed Bro, but Dirk always wearing Kamina glasses has just become a part of his character. So much so that they are even colored like Kamina’s instead of black now. I have to wonder, had Kamina not been a character that already existed or if people hadn’t kept pointing out that Dirk/Bro wore shades similar to an anime character, would Dirk be so anime? Is being anime just a character trait that Hussie gave him because of a funny coincidence and he wanted to play up the joke, or was he always intended to be so anime?

Also is that trashcan literally an inferno?

ROSEBOT: I just thought you might like to know that we're getting pretty close to your chosen crash site.

Do they not know how to land the ship? Does the ship not have landing gear? Do they need to crash for narrative reasons and otherwise would be perfectly capable of landing normally? Is Rose just making a joke?

DIRK: Wait, crash site??

Oh, good, Dirk is as confused as I am. So that rules out narrative reasons.

ROSEBOT: A landing gear appears to have fallen just a little outside the realm of vital.

So lacking landing gear it is! God damn it, Jake.

DIRK: (God DAMN it English.)

Ha!

ROSEBOT: Don't be such a chud, Dirk.

I am afraid to ask what a chud is. Is that like a cuck? I don’t know what a cuck is either. I am also afraid to ask what a cuck is.

ROSEBOT: She's functionally mortal, remember?

Yeah, that really sucks that Karkat, Terezi, and Kanaya all lack godtier. Karkat would complain about his lack of flight abilities, but I’m surprised Terezi or Kanaya never brought up this fact. Especially Kanaya, what with her marriage to Rose. Kanaya would eventually grow old and die, leaving Rose to keep on living. Of course, Rosebot has decided to leave her loving wife behind so in this particular case that point doesn’t matter.

DIRK: You mean to say that you don't think we'd be in peril if it came to it?

DIRK: There's nothing about our situation that strikes you as falling within the bounds of precarity, as far as the rules are concerned?

ROSEBOT: Oh. You're right. I suppose I hadn't thought of that.

ROSEBOT: But I think we can remain calm in the knowledge that nothing particularly heroic is going on right now. At least, not that I'm aware of.

DIRK: ... Right.

Not sure if Dirk’s meaning flew over Rose’s head, or if she’s just choosing to ignore the possibility of Just deaths as a joke.

That doesn't mean this (*gestures to the narrative*) isn't still going to be a thing, though.

I don’t know why, but this tickles my funny bone.

All in all I think you'll find, as far as narrators go, I'm an excellent... hm. On second thought, maybe that's a bit of a problematic phrase. Yeah, yikes, that one's got a sordid history. Best we steer clear of it. We're all lucky I'm around to make those kinds of sensitivity judgements on everyone's behalf.

I’m glad you can recognize that Homestuck fans all have a fight or flight response that that memetic phrase, but I don’t appreciate you patting yourself on the back for being sensitive when you, as a narrator, could not use Roxy’s correct pronouns once they came to light.

It's time to get this story back on the rails, back to what it was always supposed to be. I know it, and you've somehow always known it too. There was something else, some other route that Homestuck was meant to take but then didn't, a way that wouldn't've spent so much time dicking around with stuff nobody cares about. Like seriously, why did we all have to sit through talking about everyone's most intimate and private feelings for two hundred thousand fucking words. That would never have happened in Act 1. Where did it all go wrong?

So Dirk’s grand plan is to go back to the asinine tomfoolery of Act 1? To do away with character relations and feelings and have people messing around with their sylladexes? I must say, I never would have expected this from the likes of Dirk. I thought he was all about the complex thought processes and inner turmoil.

Thank you for returning the narration to classic black, Dirk. It’s so much easier on the eyes.

Channelling my full potential as an ascended player of Heart, I expand my consciousness to commune with the boundless force of collective willpower that is the internet.

Wow, who knew Heart players could become the internet. I mean, I guess it makes sense. The internet is just a collection of people, and Heart is all about the soul.

I was really hoping the command box he made would be an actual command box. I missed out on the Homestuck days of old where the command box was a real thing. It would have been fun to be a part of that myself, but I understand the fandom is just too big for that ever to be feasible again. That’s why it was done away with in the first place, and that was when the fandom was smaller.

The writers came up with e good command, though.

Yeah, I have a feeling Dirk is going to decide to ignore this command and stop taking suggestions. Either that, or he’s going to inform us that he is not making Homestuck, he’s making Homestuck 2.

But I should have known better. People think you can run a story like this? This must be just about the stupidest idea anyone has ever come up with. I'll just have to make up the commands myself from here on out. Seemed to work ok for the other guy.

Yep, pretty much what I expected.

Oh Jesus Christ, what even is this room?

O.K., let’s take things from the top. Looks like we got the beta kids’ entry items, as well as their Aspect flags from Prospit and Derse. Why does Dirk have these things? There also appear to be some cruxite dowels next to them, but they are any of the colors we’ve seen before.

WOAH, HOLD UP, Are those Dave’s copies of SBURB? Or are they Bro’s? Clearly Dirk has just collected a bunch of items from various points in Homestuck’s timeline like some sort of museum. For what purpose, though?

Oh my god, there’s a Tab watering can. I assume it was alchemized, since Dirk mentioned earlier using alchemy to make his rad new shades. I wonder why Dirk has that Skaianet poster on his wall. I would have thought he’d want nothing to do with anything Jake had his fingers in. Then again, there also appears to be a kotatsu with Jake’s bedspread in the middle of the room.

I can’t tell what the green thing is next to the mutated kitten. Or what that other green thing next to the robot horse is either.

OH FUCK ME THERE’S A ROBOT CAL IN THE PROCESS OF BEING MADE. DIRK, NO. WHY. YOU HAVE THE NARRATIVE CONTROL NOW, YOU SHOULD KNOW CAL IN ANY FORM IS BAD NEWS.

Is that... Is that an anime body pillow there at the bottom?

I also keep my FLORA OF THE SUCCULENT PERSUASION in here, so's I can keep an eye on them.

Dirk grows succulents... That is not a character trait I expected of him.

> Continue

#homestuck 2 #homestuck 2 liveblog #liveblog #gal liveblogs

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imtheperfectvoid · 7 years

Text

So I’ve been REALLY fixated on Danganronpa the last few weeks (replayed the last two games and recently finished DRV3 as well) and I realized I have many many thoughts about certain characters and their respective arcs/stories/behaviors/etc. and bc I enjoy shouting my thoughts into The Void That Is The Internet I’m just gonna mash em into one post and send it out to sea. Spoilers for DR1, SDR2, and DRV3 under the cut (and sorry, it gets looooooong)

DR1:

My biggest thought I’ve had is that, over time, I’ve slowly begun to realize that I just... don’t like Kyoko as much as I thought I did. Like, when I first played the game back a couple years ago, I thought she was pretty alright. Not a favorite, but perfectly fine. However, after replaying recently, I kinda realized she just... rubs me the wrong way? I guess? Like, I understand why she is the way she is, but she just constantly comes across as being so abrasive and distant and mildly unwelcoming. Byakuya is the same way, though - hell, he’s even more abrasive and unwelcoming - but I enjoy his character more. I couldn’t figure out why until it hit me about nearish the last chapter; it’s because Kyoko switched gears and started opening up to Makoto in a way that just didn’t feel natural or earned, y’know? Byakuya was an absolute shitheel, through and through, but his character shift (as small and hardly noticeable as it was) still made sense because he came to realize that him neglecting the feelings and thought processes of others can really bite him in the ass (a la Sakura’s trial) and he starts to cooperate a bit more with everyone. Kyoko, on the other hand, just kinda... decided to open up to Makoto a bit too fast for not really any clear, distinctive reason. Maybe I glossed over it? Maybe I just didn’t read deep enough into her lines or take enough interest in her Free Time events? I don’t know. All I know is this: Kyoko’s character development in terms of her connection with Makoto and the others felt too forced and disingenuous overall, like it lacked sincerity.

I enjoy Hagakure. Like, people seem to generally find him irritatingly dumb, which I get, but honestly? Sometimes his shit is just so wild that I can’t help but enjoy it.

Same with why I like Byakuya so much. He’s a dick, but he’s pretty entertaining to watch and listen to, especially when he’s thrown off guard. That shit’s the best.

I have no idea why but... I also would’ve liked to learn more about Ishimaru? He just seemed fascinating to me, especially in his Free Time events when you learn about his family and his history of harassment and whatnot

Junko being the mastermind was really unexpected and I enjoyed that twist a lot. I did not see it coming when I first played, and the small clues they left throughout the game pointing to her were very clever!

This first game will forever be iconic in many ways, but it is sadly my least favorite of the trilogy only because they just kept getting better

SDR2

*slams fists on table* I! WANT! MORE! GUNDAM! TANAKA! (I am fully aware that he was given quite a decent amount of development, both throughout the story as well as in Free Time events, but god, I don’t know what it is but I just fucking love this guy)

People seem surprisingly divided on Kazuichi??? Which is understandable but I liked him plenty. Sure, his thing with Sonia was a bit... much... but aside from that, he’s pretty enjoyable and funny. Like Hagakure, but less dumb, I suppose.

Honestly??? I wish the blackened in chapter 4 had been Sonia- please hear me out on this one. By no means do I dislike Sonia - she’s great, I love her! - HOWEVER, I think this could’ve led to a lot more interesting development for everyone. Imagine the insanity of realizing Nekomaru, a giant, strong, agile, keen robot who couldn’t even be killed by a bazooka to the chest being killed by Sonia goddamn Nevermind. That would be a mindfuck and a half (granted, they’d have to do some serious explaining on how she’d have done it. I don’t doubt she’d take on the Final Dead Room, though - she seems plenty capable of challenging that tbh). Not only that, giving her the same motive Gundam had is just as fitting and sad enough to boot - she’s the Ultimate Princess, of course she’d want to motivate everyone and use her influence to keep their morale up in such a seemingly hopeless situation, right? Hearing her post-vote explanation for why she did it would be heartbreaking. And possibly my biggest reason for wanting Sonia to be the blackened? Imagine Gundam and Souda after her execution. Now wouldn’t that just be a moment of despair? Gundam, likely, would be very steely and unflinching on the outside, probably saying something about how “the Dark Queen no doubt knew this was her moment to take flight from this world and prevent you mortals from abandoning the lives you’ve been so fortuitously bestowed” or whatever, but god, I genuinely feel like he’d be torn up about it inside (I should add: I’m not a sondam shipper, by any means - I don’t ship Gundam with anyone - I just like the idea that Gundam is so unaccustomed to kind gestures and compliments that he just gets nervous about them coming from literally anyone (like with Hajime in Free Time events)). And Souda???? He would either try to play it tough or he would be a fucking wreck. And as much as I like Souda, I’d love to see how he carries through the rest of the game after Sonia’s execution.

Komaeda is vastly overrated. Like, don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy his character - I think he’s complex and interesting and his batshit insanity is goddamn hilarious at points, but he’s waaaaay too overhyped. Bouncing off this thought, I also feel like his character went through a lot of ups and downs in terms of enjoyability. Like, first trial? Very enjoyable - we learn he’s fuckin cuckoo for Hope Puffs and it’s great but also awful but also great. Fifth trial? We see how far he’s truly willing to go to fuck with others and bring despair so that hope can shine through, and it’s fascinating. There are other times, though, where he’s just... annoying. Not really adding anything new and just babbling about hope and despair and saying the same tired shit again and again. But what makes him a neat character is that he’s at least fun to hate. Granted, not all the time, but most of the time, yeah, it’s fun to hate this guy. Getting frustrated at how he holds back information crucial to a case or how he turns his nose up at those he thinks are below him - it’s done in a way that I at least don’t get annoyed by hating him, and I have a good time doing so.

Y’know who’s not fun to hate, though? Saionji. I fuckin hate Saionji. I honestly do. Nothing fun about hating her. Nothing fun about her at all.

I am fascinated by Twogami/Imposter’s story and character as a whole. I would love to know even more about them.

Junko being brought back again was a bit... much, yeah, I’ll agree - I as a bit disappointed that they just made her the Big Bad again, but honestly? The whole Izuru Kamukura twist made up for it. Same goes for the simulation twist; yeah, had it just been “it was all a game!! nothing really happened!! your friends are fine and monokuma ain’t real lmao”, that would’ve been real shitty, BUT by making them all Remnants of Despair, leaving the dead people most likely dead (though it’s implied that they can actually wake up, it’s just unlikely), and making Hajime technically the mastermind behind this killing game, it became a really good twist ending.

This game had some bomb-ass music, especially with the 8-bit mixes and stuff. V v good

FUCK (IMPROVED) HANGMAN’S GAMBIT. “””IMPROVED””” MY ASS. YOU RUINED A PERFECTLY GOOD GAME MECHANIC IS WHAT YOU DID. LOOK AT IT - IT’S GOT UNFAIR PLAYABILITY

This game used to be my favorite of the installments, but then... but then...

DRV3

Yup. This game’s my favorite. It’s got the best overall cast (but I’ll give SDR2 credit for having my favorite character of the whole series - my sweet boy Gundam), best music, best debate game mechanics, AND best post-game content.

GONTA GOKUHARA IS A BIG FRIEND WHOMST I LOVE VERY MUCH

A lot of people seem to be divided on how the protag switch from Kaede to Shuichi was either good or bad. Personally? I liked it. Yeah, it would’ve been really cool to have a female protag for a change, but Kaede felt too... complete, I guess? She felt like a very self-realized, confident character. While yeah, that would also be cool to see, having a very confident, strong character as the protag from the get-go, I like seeing a protag go through something like this starting out weak or unrealized and coming out on top with more of a complete character than they started with. I love Kaede, and I love Shuichi. I thought the protag switch was acceptable.

People also seem to be divided on how they feel about Ouma. And by “divided” I mean a lot of people love him a lot and some people hate him a lot. I really liked Ouma’s character a lot. I don’t like Ouma as a person - God, Christ, I do not like Ouma as a person - but his character was absolutely fascinating to me. Having a character being the total embodiment of a lie was so interesting, especially in a situation where truths and lies can gravely affect the outcome of a vote. And much like Komaeda, he was enjoyable to hate, but to an even greater extent. So many moments with Ouma were fucking hysterical. He’s got some of the best lines (”Stop making such dumbass comments and keep your smelly breath in your dirty mouth” still cracks me up with the delivery he gives for it. Also any time he yells and his voice does the screechy thing is fuckin great) and his sprites are a goddamn trip (his creepy smile sprite that just keeps getting creepier over time???). There’s a lot I can say about Ouma but I’ll just keep it at that. I don’t love him by any means, but I greatly enjoy watching him throughout the game.

People are also very divided on the ending. I loved it. I love when shit gets so meta that it blows me outta the water. And it’s really easy to fuck up a metagame ending like that, but I don’t think DRV3 did (well, I’m a bit let down by the post-credits bit - kinda would’ve preferred for it to just cut off where it did before the credits - but even that wasn’t enough to really detract me) I even liked the twist of the mastermind (even though I definitely had my suspicions solely bc Tsumugi was just too boring, and Danganronpa wouldn’t make such a nothing character for no reason, even if being plain and boring was literally her character trait, y’know what I mean?)

I’m gonna be real upfront about this - I really liked Korekiyo at first and am subsequently really disappointed with how they chose to develop his character. Granted, the whole “I’ve killed nearly 100 women in order to appease my dead sister whom I was supposedly in an incestuous relationship with and is also a tulpa in my own mind who speaks through me sometimes” was definitely something that threw me for a loop and a half and was a surprising twist, but “surprising” doesn’t equate to “good”, not in this case. See, I loved the mysterious and creepy vibes Korekiyo gave off - doing his Free Time events, I saw how intelligent and composed and fascinating he was to interact with. His views on humanity, his views on a lot of things, were just so interesting. I wanted to see more into him, see what more he had to offer, and I thought we’d get something like that in chapter 3 when we unlocked his research lab, and I was really looking forward to it. When they threw that twist out there, I was... really let down. Making him something that was just so objectively vile and inhumane seemed unfair and not as interesting as it could’ve been. I was expecting him to be more Gundam-like (looks like they’d kill you but is actually pretty nice and likely would not kill you) or maybe even slightly Komaeda-like (his obsession with the beauty of humanity drives him to say and do some weird shit, which ended up being kind of true, but not to the extent I was expecting) Kiyo’s development felt too over-the-top, too, in that sense; like, it wasn’t enough that he’d killed nearly 100 women - he also had to have a tulpa who was his sister that encouraged him to do these things, and he also had to be in an incestuous relationship with said sister when she was still living. That’s just... a lot. Like, waaay too much. Had they thrown that out, kept his weird shtick about how “humanity is beautiful, even when ugly” and all his other overall strangeness, I think he could’ve had a far more compelling backstory and character arc. Honestly, maybe get rid of the serial killer bit, get rid of the incest, and he becomes more interesting while still being a character who eventually kills someone for the wrong reasons (i.e. maybe to see “the beauty of a life leaving its physical body” or something, not for his own survival or escape). Hell, maybe even keep the tulpa to give a twist on his story that focuses on how he’s unhealthily coped with his sister’s death. Maybe his sister tells him to do these things but he doesn’t listen to her and tries to avoid causing harm to others and block her out. Or maybe she’s more rational. Or maybe it’s not a tulpa and Korekiyo knows she’s not really with him but he pretends to help himself cope. Any of these would’ve been interesting to delve into (albeit assuming they’re done properly, as well). I didn’t anticipate to linger on this for so long but goddammit, I really wanted a cool character out of Korekiyo and was cheated out of it and it really disappointed me.

(also some people like korekiyo way too much and it frightens me)

(same with ouma like guys c’mon)

But on the bright side, I do love me some good “seesaw” memes

I’m also amazed at how there wasn’t a single character in this game that I didn’t enjoy to some degree. DR1 had Kyoko, Hifumi, and Celeste whom I never ended up feeling very strongly for one way or the other (though Celeste freaking tf out in the 3rd trial is always enjoyable to watch), SDR2 had Saionji and also had Mahiru and Akane who were kinda “meh” for me. But DRV3? Yeah, Angie got pretty annoying in chapter 3, and yeah, I can see in what ways people would get annoyed by Tenko or Himiko or Ouma or Miu or... most of them, really, but everyone in this cast was interesting and enjoyable for extended periods of time. Some, all the way through the game! (Looking at you, Gonta, Miu, and K1-B0)

THE DEBATE SCRUM SONG IS A FUCKIN BANGER

AND THE DEBATE SCRUM IN GENERAL IS AWESOME

Thank God they fixed Hangman’s Gambit

A lot of the music in this one was really really good!! I have the soundtrack CD in my car and I very much enjoy it and will probably blast it during my drive back to campus on Monday

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

#danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #super dangan ronpa 2 #sdr2 #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #dangan ronpa

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tempestshakes01 · 6 years

Text

3/24/19

Here’s another entry in this embarrassing public online diary (I love it.):

Health: 4/10

The weird cough is still lingering, but now it’s gotten a bit worse in the daytime. I’m still hacking up mucus until I vomit (or moan and cry to NOT vomit because I just ate and I’d rather NOT throw up a bacon burger, thanks) and it’s fuckin miserable. I’m worried that if this lasts, I’ll have to fly like this and my flight is an overnighter--prime cough/nausea/vomit hours. UGH.

Other than the cough and my persistent jaw acne, I’m the perfect picture of health. I feel great.

Well, no. My ass has a massive bruise because yesterday I slipped down Leah’s stairs (wood laminate is slippery as hell in socks!) running to the bathroom to...ugh...puke up a glob of mucus and bits of burger.

But other than that!

Work: 7/10

I still feel like I did something wrong and no one is telling me. I’m friendlier and peppier now that the winter blues (read: depression) are slipping away with the sunny skies and warmer weather (all that snow--16 inches on the ground at the start of the month--melting), but I think the damage is done.

Except, other than not being super chatty, I’m not sure what the damage is. The only admin that’s normal is the principal. We’re getting along great! A few colleagues are still the same including Mr. Married Lumberjack whom I had a crush on.

I’m probably paranoid though. I’m also bored out of my mind. Things are smooth for 85% of the time and that’s...great, but also...it’s too smooth and I feel judged doing more because Veronica is gone.

Okay, so that most likely makes no sense, but it’s how I feel.

Home: 9.5/10

Things are superb with my parents. I’m headed to D.C. with my mom next week (along with every 8th grader in America...I’m so stupid...) and we’re going to try to keep it as civil as possible when it comes to politics. My dad is texting, but not smothering me with attention. In fact, I should call him more.

My sister seems to be doing...the same. Lots of astrology posts on the gram, but no mention of Paris (her potentially mentally-ill ex) so that’s a relief. The kids are doing great as well. Nick and I are texting more often. He even asked my advice about our parents which was new. I want to ask him about Alyssa because I’m still utterly curious about that situation, but I know he’s still hurting over it and the fact that he had a “quarter-life” crisis when he was working 50+ hours, going to school full time, and interning at the church. He’s decided to graduate as quickly as possible, quit the preacher path, and stay in the coffee game.

Apparently, he got a promotion and a raise, so he’s making really great money. Plus, he’s like...super passionate about coffee. More passionate than he ever seemed about Jesus or school.

We’re currently fighting about NCAA brackets and our current favorite music, and it’s great.

Friends: 6/10

Reconnecting with Jack and Nicol is super nice. I just don’t know how to proceed and how quickly and if I’m an annoyance. I also want Nicol without Jack as well, but I don’t want to offend either of them (not that I think it would! but the chance makes me hesitate...) and they’re such a partnership that I wonder if it IS a big request to separate them.

We went to see Us today and I didn’t like it very much. We’re going to see Back to the Future on Tuesday at the old theater. They invited me to the former; I invited them to the latter. I trust this will all work out.

Gosh, and I don’t trust Leah at ALL which is wild because I probably hang out with her the most out of anyone, but yeah. There’s something about that girl that I don’t trust.

Went on Facebook and saw a photo of my childhood best friends (we were a trio: Valerie, Kristina, and I). They were on a backpacking trip together in Alaska. They live entirely different lives, but they still maintained a great friendship over the years. God, and they went into chemical engineering so they’re both making BANK, but they’re the most down-to-earth women.

I don’t know...I guess it makes me think...for the billionth time...how different my life would be if we’d never moved from El Paso.

El Paso was idyllic. My childhood consisted of bike rides out into the desert, street games with a plethora of neighborhood boys, summer secrets and stars, theme parks and athletics, best friends who were boys that I knew I could fall in love with, best friends who were girls and I knew I could trust with my whole heart. I lived a good life there.

When I left, things started to peel apart, but it sort of seemed--for the most part--most of the El Paso crew grew up in the same way they had been...in that easy, perfect sunset sort of way. Most everyone I grew up with went Homecoming and Prom and did senior sunrise and went to good schools where they did the greek life and then got jobs in the sciences or medicine or moved out to Hollywood. They’re utterly normal and successful now in a very...the way they tell you things will go in life.

Anyway, that childhood best friend I thought I could fall in love with? Went through a long-haired rave phase circa 2012/13, but is currently dating a white girl who wears cowboy boots, no makeup, and studies sports medicine in the same grad program as him. It’s the way things were supposed to be and it’s just weird to see their lives (through the filter and lens of social media) go so simply. Also, his hairline is going and he looks bloated, so the white-half is coming for him in the aging process, ha. His Mexican mom still looks BOMB, so poor guy for inheriting his dad’s hair follicles.

And anyway, that childhood best friend I could trust with my whole heart? Dating a republican future politician named John Smith and traveling South American for the next couple weeks working in various hospital and women’s health care. She’s a nurse and probably a damn good one. She got her boobs done a couple years ago and I sometimes wonder if we’d still get along.

Media: 5/10

This is a bullshit category just to give a VM hot-takes, but I’ll play into my own bullshit.

I’m not watching any TV except B99. I watch about 3 movies a week and I try to make 1 a classic or a “difficult” title. I watch mostly youtube, to be honest. I like Hot Ones, Bon Appetit, Jenna Marbles, theTryGuys, Tasty, Brave Wilderness, Millenium Dance Complex ‘n’ adjacent choreographers’ channels, and various media video essays.

I’m reading a lot of books...but they’re all YA. Which isn’t bad! I’m just laughing that it took me reading Airborn by Kenneth Oppel (my favorite adventure YA book) out loud to the students to remind my dumb reading brain how fun books could be. Apparently, I’m a fantastic reader and I do wonderful voice and I make the story seem like a movie. We’re on the sequel and I’m about to start the His Dark Materials series.

That Worlds podium? TRASH. Justice for S/B.

Yeah, so I’m on a VM cleanse, right? Cause with the winter and all the crazy, it was just an unhealthy piece of media in my life. I miss the GC though, but that’s about it, lol. Oh, and with the new content (I tried to resist!) it’s clear that I did miss them doing their thing and I need to unload some of the thoughts whirling in my head.

Ugh, I have thoughts about the whole timeline of events because I see people questioning or backtracking, and I’m like? We seriously went through an awful series of events that made all the previous weirdness make sense (but left lingering brand-new weirdness). Except that’ll just bring back old feelings that I’m trying to move on from.

Geez, I can’t believe I’m about to talk about them in a gossip-y way again, but uh, I’m glad that they seem to be repairing their friendship and that Scott legit looked happy. The vibes are definitely friendship so far, or like, 2015-vibes. Which who knows where that will lead in the future? Will they do things messy like last Fall/Winter? Do they think they can try again or are they now afraid of fucking this up so badly they can’t come back from it? Are they going to accept each other as only friends and maintain those boundaries? You love me, real or not real? WHO KNOWS. I hate this ride.

Also, I’m aware of some of the gossip because I’m fool who caves from time to time for a few minutes and I remember (god, again, I hate that I’m still invested even with this time off) that J was selling her Coachella tickets, and now it’s been announced that VM are doing that show in Korea which takes place the same days as a Coachella weekend. So. Yeah. I’m putting my money on J being in Korea because why sell the tickets (just take a friend), but I’m also still wondering if this is all going to end up like Klawes-era.

Literally, I wake up believing 100% that J’s gonna be the one Scott’s going to marry because it’s just that time. Then, I go to sleep 98% believing that no matter what, somehow, someway, Tessa and Scott are going to end up together.

inTERSTIngLY, I have neglected to message Tinder matches the past couple weeks and I believe 50% of the time that I’m going to end up alone because I’m not even trying. (Cut me some slack though. I haven’t had an acne flare-up this bad in years and it’s wrecking my confidence.)

Music: 10/10

I take hour drives out of town and find obscure trails and I hike for an hour...and let me tell you my Spotify is killing it.

Current favorite songs:

How Do You Know - CALIPH (you know what I’m thinking)

Stone Street - MS. WHITE (fun)

anything from Oliver Tree (his music speaks to me as does his fucking stupid meme humor)

Wow. - POST MALONE (sue me)

anything from Duckrth (so much fun)

Charms - ABEL KORZENIOWSKI (don’t imagine VM dancing to this)

The Cheek of Night - ABEL KORZENIOWSKI

Sucks - ANGELO MOTA (dark and atmospheric hip hop that makes me wish I could dance cause it’s calling to me to choreograph something to it)

bury a friend - BILLIE EILISH (lol I can’t dance, but I’m learning Kodish choreo for this as a workout)

Beverly Blues - OPIA (a summer jam)

#miranda this is your life

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Falling From Grace- Part 1: The Journey

Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael have a prophecy to fulfill. They might not have always been Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael but they have always been brothers in the fight. Mythology!sos. Each guy is a God reincarnated from various mythologies

Calum- Tangaroa

Luke- Aengus

Ashton- Zelus

Michael- Bragi

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on kofi

Find the ‘deleted scenes’

____________________________

When they find him with half his body still submerged in water, they are not surprised. His body adorn, as always, in black ink, half his hair tied up into a top knot, the rest falling down over his shoulder blades down to the middle of his back. “Tangaroa! We must go.”

He lifts one hand from the water. They cannot see but his mouth moves as hushed whispers fall over his lips. The other three men wait at the edge of the ocean, toes licked by the push and pull of the waves crashing against the shore. Bragi watches, eyes fluttering close at the feel of the breeze against his skin.

“If you start quoting some poem, I’m leaving you all here,” Zelus huffs.

“You won’t make it far,” Aengus retorts. “You need us. All three of us. Remember what happened last time.”

Zelus turns his face from the baby faced, blue eyed, and blond curls man to his left back to the brown body still swaying in the ocean. He doesn’t need to be reminded of what happened the last time he tried to stray away from them. When he walked away, the Earth rumbled. The ground started to crack. All of the gods and Creators stood up in the darkening sky. Their voices boomed in unison, “The end falls upon us unless you reunite with your brethren.” Of course he was not selfish enough to let the world fall apart on his hands.

Zelus was just sick of fulfilling this same prophecy over and over, only for it to crumble yet again. The four of them, together, could only maintain the existence of life. Never mind the fact that Zelus knew that Tangaroa’s purpose was the biggest one. Water, from which everything begins and ends. The sea, a calm, almost forgetful body until it was angered. Water carried life and it could crush life too. Tangaroa never overestimated his rule. He never made himself the leader of this ensemble. He always lingered in the back, puffy brown eyes hidden but keen and he stayed quiet.

He let the others be loud and he lingers, quietly laughing and smiling all the way through their time on earth. Zelus didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous. His role, in theory, was no less important. Without any feeling of eagerness, people would create nothing. Without a sense of drive, they would invent nothing, nothing would be propelled forward. But he felt partially responsible for some of the nastiness in the world. Tangaroa always told him it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t make them hold onto to such vile beliefs. He only simply told them to believe. And that’s all his job was but it never negated the doubt, never made him feel that much more at ease about the fact that sometimes people believed in the wrong things.

Bragi pulls the hair back. It won’t stay this length or maybe even this color for long. First they must wait for Tangaroa first though. They always wait on him. Like a mother on the verge of birth, they wait patiently, with some huffed complaints, and wait for him to take the necessary time. He blesses the waters and the waters shall in return bless him back. There is a balance and in his human state, in this mortal host, he must praise it like any other man would.

“Have we thought of names?” Bragi asks.

“I like the sound of Luke. I haven’t had too common of a name in a while,” Aengus answers. He appeared first, quite unusual for him. But Zelus got caught up with Zeus and his siblings, Kratos, Nike and Bia. He didn’t quite fork over the details of the meetings and everyone knows not to pry for more than they are given.

So Aengus cut his hair down, now the curls wrapping around his head and dressed in shorts and a short sleeved top. He’s forgone his sneakers as he waited for the others to arrive on the beach. “Alright Lucas,” Zelus teases.

“Just Luke,” comes the retort with a squeaky laugh. People lay eyes on him and are find himself falling deep into the blue of his eyes. Tangaroa likes to tease that if not for his waters he would have nothing to compare his eyes too. Even though it’s just a joke, the truth is not lost on them.

“I like the name Michael,” Bragi says. “There’s something strong to it.”

“Then you are Michael, starting from now,” the newly dubbed Luke answers. The two other men turn to the brunette man, hair still long and blowing in the breeze from the ocean front. He watches Tangaroa’s figure wade up to sure. “Ashton,” he says. “And I like to think that this man knows how to take his damn time.”

“Blessings are not rushed,” Tangaroa answers, taking the towel from Luke’s fingers with a nod. “Calum,” he states, naming himself, this next form.

With the last man finally dry and decent, though he’s missing a shirt. He’s still wearing the cloth around his waist but ties the towel around, aware that here, now, the sight of his bare back will be frowned upon. “You’re bare ass never gets old,” Michael laughs.

“Great language from the bard,” Calum quips with a smile.

“I’ve sung about war and unimaginable violence. I’m allowed to use the word ass.” The four men trudge up the sandy shores. It’s easier to meet up here, in Australia. Strange things happen here. But their journey will take them elsewhere. It always does. “The house is set up here, for now,” Luke starts as they approach his car. Nothing flashy, just a black four door SUV. They need nothing to attract attention to themselves.

Calum sits in the back with Michael. Luke drives and Ashton rides in the front seat. They wonder what chaos will be brought for thim this time. Who will they run into this time that’s the center of their mission. “I won’t leave this time,” Ashton says.

“No one’s holding it over you,” Calum returns.

“I am.”

“You always are. Let it go. New time here, new plans. Nothing old.”

He’s right. But it’s still not an easy pill to swallow knowing you’re the reason shit nearly went to hell. Not that it didn’t happen even when they weren’t here, looking at the currently political landscape. At least he didn’t necessarily fuck this up. It was not his hand that directly impacted that. Water, zeal, beauty, and poetry. They shall always be combined to each other. What is life without water? Life is not sustained without water and to some, life comes from water. What is life without zeal? Boring, life is pointless without an eagerness. What is life without aesthetic value? Bland. Life has no texture if there is no variance in appearance. What is life without words? Life is stagnant with the inability to share stories.

Or at least that’s what the other gods and Creators have told them. And here are the four pillars humanized, able to walk amongst the new age. Ashton rests his head into the leather of the seat. How shall they fix the world this time? What will be the medium through which they must speak? Will they combine to make a circuit of poets again? Will they fight alongside activists in afros and bellbottoms again? See, that’s the unfortunate truth to their situation. No matter how many times they fix things they always fall apart. History repeats itself. Because those in power don’t change their hearts, they just change their mouths.

Luke pulls into the lot of the apartment complex. The men climb out, shuffling quickly into the entrance. People will start to talk soon enough and they will move on. The apartment’s and clothes are always picked out by various servers of the counsel. They don’t interact with them much besides their initial meeting. When the doors swing up, a woman’s already sitting at the dining room table. “Welcome back,” she grins.

Calum recognizes her, she’s not just some server from the counsel. “Ḥauḥet, nice to see you again.”

Her jeans are form fitting, the heels are new. “What are you doing here?” Ashton asks. She’s not one to get involved in such matters.

She shakes her head, the tight braids falling around the sides of her face and the beads at the ends clicking at her gesture. “I’m here because I need to be. Now, I need names.”

They go down the line, all listing off the names they’ve chosen for themselves. She nods, noting them all down on a notepad. The three of them rest against the wall, accustom to the flash that it sure to come. It’s white walls perfect for most state IDs. They all slip into the either the white or black t-shirt provided. Luke went through this process earlier, but he’s yet to be told what’s happening exactly. With that, they excuse themselves to the back.

As they settle into the two bedrooms, each man notes the outfit laid out for them. Michael takes in the baggy cotton pants and oversized black t-shirt. He’s not upset by this select. Ashton takes in the skinny jeans, t-shirt and books. The jeans have a hole in the knee. He hooks his finger through the frays and wonders what is in store for him with attire like this. Calum thinks nothing of the dress pants, leather boots and button up. There’s a leather jacket hanging from the door. He’s not sure if it’s for Michael so as he slides the bottom into his pants, he notices the sweatshirt Michael pulls on. The jacket is his then, he figures. He’ll wait to put that one. Each man also as a spare tank top or undershirt. They all forgo the nice shirts until they’re settled with all the deeds ironed out.

Ashton holds back the laugh, watching Luke slide into the suede chelsea boots. “I would ask what style choices you’ve made to wind up here, but I have a feeling not even you know.”

The jab is a tired one, but Luke laughs in an exhale. “Some sort of eccentric cowboy, I would guess.”

“That is one way to put it.” They finally gather at the dining room table. The apartment is mimial in it’s directions. A lot of blacks, gray, and blues. It’s homey with the chocolate brown accents. It’s best this doesn’t get too comfortable.

“If we’re dressing like this, it is safe to assume that we are not clerks at a market this time,” Michael grins.

Ḥauḥet smile, nodding her head at him. “Thank you for the obvious.” She slides a wooden box closer to them. “This time the stakes are a little higher.” Upon lifting the top, she reveals guitar picks and a pair of drumsticks. There’s no symbol or name yet. “Rather than taking the journey away from you, I left the name up to you all. But we’ve got to backtrack. Get you guys a name and story.”

A band, and if they’re famous enough, which they are bound to be, the stakes are high. They’ve got to keep quiet about their true forms. They have to keep a tight circle at first until they settle into their cover, until these names and stories because who they are, not who they are pretending to be; they must become one, much more so than before. They all glance to each other. Maybe they won’t be too big, maybe they won’t create too much noise about themselves. Maybe this is will be small.

“How far back are we going?”

“Right now, the goal is to age you all to about 22. We won’t go all the way to the beginning, we’ve got childhood covered. But to fourteen at the earliest. Enough time to cover most the internet age.”

They all nod, grabbing at the manilla folders she hands to them, birth certificates, licenses, phones, some cash. “You have old skin; when you’re ready, I can take you back, I can make you new.”

They know not to waste time. As they slide wallets into pockets, Ashton speaks. “No need to wait.”

With a nod, she turns to the kitchen. Her lips move almost silently as she sprinkles the last herb over the clay like mixture. It glows for a moment as the blessing falls from her mouth. Luke beams. “Oh, I don’t need that.”

She quirks her eyebrow, mouth pulled up to the side of her face. It it a silent plea for him to say something else smart. Ashton speaks up, “Not every one’s blessed to have been conceived and birthed in the same day. Now hush so she can continue.”

She paints their faces one by one, first down the bridge of their nose, over their forehead, around the jaw, covers the chin and then finally she covers their cheeks. The mixture is cold, but warms with the touch of her hands. Calum hears the whisper of a splash in his ears. His eyes are closed, the mud tightening around his skin. But he knows the sound of the water anywhere. Ashton feels her grip on the back of his head and lets his muscles relax. Her touch is sure. His nose just barely brushes the water before she pulls his head back.

A warning. He inhales deeply, expels that breathe and the nods, inhaling again. She dunks his face that time. The water is cold, ice cold. It makes his teeth chatter. But he grits his teeth, still failing at holding the shiver at bay. The fabric of the towel is soft as it swipes of his face. She holds it to his face for only a moment, before she wipes at his cheeks, chin, the outline of his jaw, over his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. When his eyes flutter open, she’s already moving to Michael, giving him the same warning before his face submerges into the wooden bowl of ice cold water.

Luke is dunked next. Then finally Calum. He needs no warning. She wipes his face clean. They’ve all been washed, brought to their age. Then she can go back. It won’t take them long to see what story to create. Her span is only a million years, forwards and backwards. Though most often, she only looks ahead. The past is done with her. There is no need to manipulate or review it. It does not matter if someone remembers it correctly, the history is written and it is final. She motions for all of them to take hands and as she pours all the used water into the same bowl that once held the mud mixtures, she pulls up a murky picture.

Michael knows what she’s doing. She’s letting them see what they want in it. They physically won’t travel back, they will just implant memories. “Three of us meet in the same school. Luke starts posting covers. The internet is a hard place to gain traction, to many people all striving for the same thing. But we know we can defy the odds. So,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “word gets around, Luke and I start playing together. And then Calum record some covers and the three of us are a band. But what’s a band without a drummer? A band it is not. I message Ashton over..” the story is losing him. He needs something to stay current.

“FaceBook,” she interjects. “Myspace is slowly dying at this point. FaceBook is gaining traction. You can make pages for bands up there, you can make a page for just about anything.”

Michael nods. “Yes, it’s just a simple message. Anything too flourished and wordy is not going to work. He agrees and it starts. I make the facebook page for the band. We don’t have a name, or at least one agreed upon. There’s a list. 5 Second Summer is a top contender.”

“But you make it 5 Seconds of Summer and ask us, after the page is made,” Luke jumps in. “I think that would add a nice touch.”

“We leave school. Record deals. Touring.”

“You get scooped up by another big band of the time. It’s massive,” Ḥauḥet adds. Michael adds on. Studio records, live albums, EPs, merch, crowds, sold out arenas. Style evolutions, which winds them all here, right on the brink of their third studio album. They’re still in the midst of recording it. This gives them time; they can settle into these personas. They can become real.

They beging work on their individual stories, the good, the bad, and the ugly. But do not make it very far. Ḥauḥet settles in behind Calum. Michael’s hair is now finished, a long fringed cut hidden under a beanie. The tattoos that once looked like graphite marking on his skin darken the tattoos becoming real against his pale skin. Calum unravels the knot. “Cut it.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “I am.” They move from the living room floor, a mess already of hair, into the kitchen. She draws a small bowl of water, as he bends of the sink basin, she covers the scalp with the water. Just once and he stands, hair dripping down his navy tank and holds out his hand. She cannot cut his hair, not without his explicit consent. He takes the first whack, pulling the hair over his shoulder and snipping through the mass.

As it falls in black clumps at their feet, she prays over it. They let the fallen strands lay there and Calum hands her the scissors. “You can finish it.”

“How short?”

“Short,” is the only word he utters. So she cuts it short. Nothing too short, there’s still a couple inches of curls left for him. The apartment is put back together soon after she finishes making them over. She slides back into the black heels, clicking as she approaches the front door. This will be the last time she sees them until they return. She prays blessings over them.

“The water will stay good for three days,” she warns. “After then, the gates will close. Time will resume. You will have to go with whatever is imprinted.” Imprinted. It makes it real; it imparts into the universe and the universe does whatever it needs to make it so, photos, memories, people. Their fate will be sealed after three days.

They nod. Three days isn’t a lot of time for a cover of this scale. But keeping those imprinting waters open any longer increases a lot of risk. She continues, “You will have a little over a year. Here you will put together an album. Here you will embed yourselves into your lives. You will start here and you will go. I have faith.”

“Your faith means a lot,” Ashton says even though he’s the most eager, he understands the gravity of the situation. This is more pressure than they’ve ever dealt with. They still have stories to sort, places to figure out. But they are smart. They will be able to pull together a good cover.

They hold themselves up in that Australian apartment, sitting around a wooden ball with water and mud. They speak their lives into existence. Ashton dubs himself the unofficial dad of the band. And it works. He’s the one that pushes them constantly, wants bigger and better things. No one argues at the insistence. Calum is fairly quiet, they know that will continue on. Michael takes a chance on video games and anime, trying to find stories to connect with and finds himself entranced at the talent and worlds built. Stories come in many forms and he is not one to let any story go unturned.

On the second day, Luke is the first to crack. “We’ve got to do something. I can’t stare at these walls anymore.”

“We can’t blow our cover. We don’t have a solid story,” Michael counters, the kitten shaped headphones resting around his neck now. He’s been spending half his time sucked into video games and the other half still working out the kinks of their story. They only have one more day.

“Things don’t have to be perfect. They just have to be real,” Ashton says. “Whomever it is out there we’re meant to help just needs us to be real. Real people who hurt, who laugh, who cry.”

“How do you hurt?” Michael retorts. “What is your pain?”

“My pain is that I cannot save them all.”

“Everyone with an ounce of compassion hurts like that.”

Ashton sighs. Michael’s point is valid. They need stories, gritty and complex, not just soft generic ones. He remembers a small boy from many years ago, when they first started this prophecy. They sat on a grassy hill. They were all servants, but this boy was exceptionally young. He told Ashton how his father had left him. His mother was trying to find work, but every house she started to work for she would flee because someone in the house would make advances towards her. Ashton remembers from their time in the mid eighties towards the break of the 1990’s. He had found a kid, waiting on the corner, head covered with a hoodie. This boy, no more than thirteen, forced to sell, because he’s the man of the house due to his father’s death. Their pain is real.

“My father leaves me at a young age,” Ashton starts chest already aching as he remembers those boys, staring down into the murky water. He can pay homage to them in this life. He wasn’t able to magically turn their lives around when he was there. He couldn’t completely blow his cover. He did do what he could for them, grabbing them meals when he was free, giving him a few dollars here and there. “It hurts, seeing my mother so down. But I step up. It only makes sense right. She eventually remarries, but there is a lot more alcohol in the house. She tries to hide it. But nothing is ever really hidden. We all see pain. Especially children. Children know pain but sometimes never have the words for it.”

“You can give them the words,” Michael assures. No one is sure why it has to be a band. But the more they research what’s happening in the world, the way the political landscape is filling with more and more hate, it becomes obvious. People need a thing that unites them. They need something, or someone, that shows them they are not alone.

Ashton squeezes at Michael’s hand. “Yeah, I can do that. We can do that. That is--” he pauses, watching his reflection distorted as it may be, in the water. He wants to say that is Ashton’s story. But he is Ashton, this is his life now. This is his truth. This is his history now. “That is my story, working in food service, desperately wanting a way out for my family. Knowing I’d fight heaven, hell, and high water for them. Only knowing music as a way out. Being in band after band and needing release, a breakthrough.”

Michael nods. “And that is your story.”

“Why make yourself carry pain?” Luke questions. “You could’ve had any story.”

Ashton shakes his head. He couldn’t have chosen any story. “If all of us have no pain, how do we connect? Pain is a part of every story. Without it, what do we compare joy to. How do you know your joy?”

Luke steps to the kitchen table, bracing his weight on his arm. The water shakes just a little. “People know pain. Even in a two parent household with siblings and nothing but love, people can still know pain. It’s a pain to prove oneself. It’s a pain to think you know someone and they strip you of everything you thought you were. I know pain because I know what it feels like to have no clue who you are anymore. Just a kid trying his best but makes maybe a few bad decisions along the way, tries to put too many people in his life that aren’t good for him, but too stubborn to see it.”

Calum walks over next. He’s been stewing on this, writing down the words that fail to cross his lips. But now is the time. He sees himself, Ashton, and Luke in the water. They are waiting on him. They need him. “I know pain from broken trust. I know pain from the harsh drop of reality. Not everyone that says they’re your friend is actually your friend. People will share your secrets, they will expose you. Someone breaks my trust. Someone violates privacy, someone, anyone, everyone shares a private moment. I know pain from my own quietness, trying to bury that in bodies and only making myself more distant. I know pain from alienation and being other, for being different.”

Michael stands. He knows pain, he knows violence from his lives previous. “Pain is sometimes sneaky. My pain sneaks up, makes me think I’m all alone, that sometimes I’m not worthy. It makes me think that things can go wrong at the blink of the eye. I worry sometimes about things most people don’t bat their eyelashes to, my pain is quiet and yet somehow the loudest in my own ears.”

The water starts to bubble. At first it might seem like someone’s shifting of the table is making it slosh. It becomes clear that’s not the reason as steam starts to billow. The water bubbles, threatening to spill over the edges, but never hitting the table. All four men watch for a moment. A chill runs through all four of them as all the water evaporates into steam. The mud bubbles too, thins and then disappears. They have no clue where it’s gone.

“The gates closed,” Calum says after a few minutes of staring into the empty bowl.

“We still had a day,” Ashton huffs.

“She was listening.”

“So what next?” Luke asks.

“We sing, we make music. We help the world,” Ashton answers.

“We can’t do that here,” Michael counters. “We’ve gotta go somewhere else.”

The bowl moves. It’s subtle but Calum watches the slight movement. Something appears under the bowl. Another manilla folder. He picks up the folder, it’s thicker than it appears. When he peeks inside he can see plane tickets, there are deeds, photos. There’s a small packet for each of them. Of course she wasn’t actually done with them. Of course she had another trick up her sleeve.

All of them have experience with music in their lifetimes, here on Earth and away. But it it still a little strange to know that just four days ago they were driving up the coast and to walk into recording studios with people smiling at them, like catching up with friends. But it is catching up with friends. This is their life. “Enjoy your time at home?” they’re asked repeatedly throughout the day as the work.

The response is always the same. “Yeah, it was great to just relax. Got antsy though. Ready to work.”

But nothing prepares them for how hard this is. What’s their sound now? Where do they want to go? What do they want to say? What is their entire purpose? The play instruments is easy, it’s the putting words down that frustrates them. But they go out, they enjoy this newfound youth. It burns them of course. Like life does to everyone. Friends take advantage of their generosity, use them for only selfish gain. A couple of them strike out in love.

Calum brings the cigarette to his lips. He’s not proud of the new found habit. But it helps. He always tries to stay distant from people during these moments on Earth. Even though they are long, he knows he will not be staying forever. He will not grow old with anyone, he can’t. And it sucks, because he sees his family as actually his and he loves them. But they will never know him. They will just have Calum, but not the man in the flesh host. Never the man that can trouble waters. That’s the part he hates the most about this.

“Why do we do this to ourselves? Why are we the ones to do it?” Calum questions standing outside the recording studio. “Why can’t we have love? Why can’t we have real lives?”

This disease of uncertainty and frustration usually hits all of them at some point. Ashton is trying to not get hit again, knowing what can happen. Calum wouldn’t dare try to split. He wouldn’t leave them. He knows it’s too important that they actually go through with this. The other three would have nothing if not for him. What life would he give determination to if there was no life in the beginning? Ashton pats him on the shoulder before dropping the hand and tucking it back into the pockets of his jeans. “This is a real life.”

“It’s like, crashing into reality. We get no ease. It’s like if you took someone and suddenly dropped them in Japan. They’d wake up with no way about.”

“Saying everyday you wake up, it’s like waking up in Japan.”

“Yeah, and I’m alone. But not necessarily. Just low.” He’s mostly pissed at himself. He met a nice girl, they had a great weekend together. But he knows he had to cut it off before it got any bigger, before it got any more serious. It’s easier to save face that way. As his eyes flutter close and his lungs pull in one more drag, the room number, her room number flashes, 305.

“Talk to me,” Ashton urges, noting the far away glaze to Calum’s eyes. So Calum spills his guts, tells Ashton everything maybe even a little too much, down to the room number. Ashton leaves Calum to his vice, to the smoke billowing from his nostrils and walks back into the room.

He’s got an idea. Ashton approaches Luke with the concept and with the help of a couple other writers, they conceptualize the rushed and dazed feeling of waking up somewhere new without even remembering how one got there. They put to sound, live in two takes, the bounce and electric feeling of a whirlwind life, of a life that keeps moving even when you’d wished for it to sit still.

The months tick past, sometimes feeling like seconds rather than days upon days. While sitting at home, resting, there’s a knock on Ashton’s door. Luke stands in front of him, eyes sunken into his face, the bright blue that once lived in his eyes dulled. “It’s bad,” Luke whispers. Ashton wants to tell him no shit. But he bites back the comment and pulls him inside.

It all starts with one night. And then one night turns into two. Then two turns into three. Luke knew ultimately, after the few few weeks, he should probably save himself. He wasn’t going nowhere. He was going downhill. But he wanted to make it last. He just wanted love, if only in the dark, if only it didn’t cause him so much pain. Luke cries into his hands, curled up at the foot of Ashton’s couch. “The worst--,” a hiccup interrupts him. Ashton sits next to him, gingerly rubbing at his back. “The worst part is that I know I shouldn’t go back to her. She’s no good, but I’m no good at saying no,” he huffs, face red and snotty.

The human existence is a rough one, not even gods are exempt from the pain. It is not a graceful descent into full humanity. They all hit their lows. “I wanted to trust her. I knew she was bad for me,” Luke sobs into Ashton’s shoulder. While Ashton may be known for his eagerness, his yearn to always be doing, sometimes Luke’s own stubbornness becomes his own undoing. This is not to say that achieving, or wanting, is wrong. But sometimes we want for the wrong reasons. We want the wrong things.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Ashton starts softly. “Pain is an indication of life. This is just life. Get knocked down seven times and stand up eight. We always get back up, okay? Even if it takes a while and even if our legs are unsteady, we get back up.”

“Am I alone?” Luke cries. “Is this all we’re destined for loneliness and pain? Am I crazy? Has this prophecy turned me insane?”

“You’re not insane. You’re not alone. You can never be alone with me. I’m always going to be here.” Always and here, what hollow words to Ashton’s ear. But he means them, deeply--truly. He means the essence of those words to his core. “You can stay with me for a little while. No one’s here but me. Bring Petunia over too. We’re family. By choice.”

It takes another twenty minutes for Luke to collect himself. The release of weight making him tired. Ashton watches for a moment as Luke lays, curled up on the couch cushions, a blanket thrown over his body. Tears sting behind his eyes. Why do their lives feel like they’re falling apart? This has never happened to them before. They’ve never been this high up it feels only to crash so far down. Ashton is grateful for a moment that walls cannot talk. They hear; they see. But if they could talk, they would have a lot to say, a lot of the dark corners to expose.

They hit a wall. So many songs about pain and reflection, but how do they package it all together. How do they give it out to the world? “People want to know they’re not alone,” Michael urges. “All our songs. All the pain. It’s so they know they’re not alone. We’ve created something incredible. It’s not just sound, it’s color, it’s taste too.”

“We know that. It’s evident they need a connection. But how do we get them to connect with us?” comes the rebuttal from Ashton. He’s restless having spent the better part of the day, trying to wrap his own head around the question. He wants to be doing something, creating, putting to use the buzz in his gut. But he’s here, across from Michael instead.

Calum has watched the exchange between Michael and Ashton for maybe off of a minute, coming in with some food for the three of them. Luke wanted something different, so he’s a couple minutes out from the studio. “We be honest,” he says with a shrug, setting the bag down. “We’ve got how many songs here that deal with heartache. Why shy away from the truth?”

Being vulnerable is a little dangerous for them. If they open up too far, if they say the wrong thing, everything could collapse. Calum is aware of this risk. But he knows it’s a risk they have to take. If they cannot even have an ounce of vulnerability, then the whole thing is for naught. It is just a waste if even in all their struggles, they attempt to hide that with their fans. Life is challenging just because they are in this position does not exclude them.

“So you propose, we risk everything?” It’s not meant to be a question as it falls from Ashton’s lips. But it’s something about it that seems right, but he knows it’s very wrong.

“Without risk there is no reward. What do we teach people if we refuse to learn ourselves?”

“We teach them nothing. We teach by example,” Ashton concludes. “Isn’t that how the entire world has worked at this point? They’ve been led by someone, something.”

“Aren’t we led by something?” Calum counters.

“But we’re led by the right things. So we let them, fans, anyone that listens. We tell them what drive us.”

Calum waves his hands around the room, even though it’s just the kitchen of the studio. “We are driven by honesty, intuition, failure, love, heartbreak, friendships, growth.”

“We are driven by our truest selves, the heartache and difficulting of making art. We driven by ourselves. We are driven by the fans.”

The dawn of a new year approaches them. The time of them huddle in away in dark corners, writing day in and day out are about to start paying off. Their risk, to be bare and vulnerable as possible, is going to start being real. Ashton sits, phone in hand staring out into sun just at it hits over the horizon The dark & light shared this year of my life in an incredibly unbalanced way. I had to further understand both sides of myself to continue becoming the songwriter & creative being I dream to be. It never ends & I don’t want it to x Ashton curses the character limit on twitter. It, without fails, always makes him go band and cut out some of the parts to his tweet.

The days tick by faster than ever. The first single set to release in February and January feels like it’s whizzing by. The holidays do that, it appears every time they come back. Time feels shorter and shorter to them here, as humans, as people. But time stretches on forever as gods. Maybe because time matters much less to them. Ashton fiddles with his phone again. There’s some sort of solace in knowing he can type whatever he wants and there are people listening. It’s terrifying, but it’s connecting in a way. It’s not lost on him on how disheartening social media can be. There is a whole screen, time zones, countries that divide users. They are not getting the instant feedback of someone’s face, someone’s tone at comments. His finger draft another message, another reach into the void to see if the void will reach back. The worst/best part is everything good In my life originated from heartbreak

They sit. They have to sit and they have to wait. But, even though the notifications are off, they can see the mess of their mentions. They can see the videos, people reacting to their return. Even though their hearts are filled with joy, they are not free from nerves. Radio interviews, magazine interviews, photoshoots, press comes at them with full force. They have to explain how the album comes to be, they have to explain that this is just an evolution, not discovery. But that feels inaccurate, incomplete. “We had to rediscover ourselves. We really had to ask ourselves what we wanted from this album and rededicate yourselves to this band.”

I wrote it for me,

I wrote it for you

I wrote it for us! Ashton concludes at the end of one tweet. The press isn’t easy, they are bounced around, like dots on a map. But the fact that they get to play shows keeps Ashton energized. He knows just on the other side of every microphone is the stage, the rumble of his bass drum shaking up his entire body. Just on the other side is the roar of a crowd excited to see him, to hear them, back at home, back at peace.

That shouldn’t be his peace, he thinks. But the rush of adrenaline feels so familiar to Ashton. The memories aren’t just memories; they aren’t just mud and water, they are pieces of his soul. A year. A whole year trying to become one with this persona and it’s happening, when he least expected to with drumsticks in hand and a crowd screaming back at him. He watches the other three men on stage night after night, this is home for them too. For a moment, for a brief blink in the cosmos this is the only place they belong.

________

“That flight was too early,” Michael mutters, pulling his beanie down over his face. He’s the first one to fall asleep on the couch. Luke nods off next to him, headphone cover his ears. Calum watches as the two guys doze off first and he shields his eyes as well. There are champagne flutes with mimosa’s littering the glass table in front of them, but they are almost too tired to celebrate. Tour is not easy, sleep seems evasive some nights and more cooperative during the day when they have things to do.

Sleep evades Michael the most some nights. His fingers twitch to play his beloved harp, but his shoulders are tense. He’s still watching bodies gather. The mass of dead but soon to be undead still haunt him, the ruins of his tongue still scrap the top of his mouth as he sings. His throat still closes up on him occasionally, making him wake in a panic. The flight’s not too early, he just didn’t sleep. He knows the other guys know what keeps him up. He claims it’s videogames, claims his body is just tired. But he wishes for his mind to finally ease. Nearly two years here and his brain still has not forgotten his years prior.

Michael wakes with a start, the tightness of his chest starting to burn. He’s still sitting on the couch with orange juice and champagne mixing in his nostrils. Ashton looks up from across the table, brow arched in silent questioning. Michael waves his hand. It is neither here nor there. Michael finds his phone, plugging in the cat eared headphones. He blasts YoungBlood into his ears. He hopes no more dead men walk after him.

“Youngblood wasn’t going to be next single. But it was just an extra song that you got when you pre-ordered the album. But we saw-we saw how people were reacting to it, so we decided to put it out.”

They know better than to hold their breath; they know not to watch those charts like a hound. But sometimes, that’s the only thing they know how to do. Youngblood smashes it way onto the charts and it stays, it climbs. It soars and with it go their hearts. How did they manage this? How did life reward them like this for all the shit they endured? But god are they grateful.

Even when times feel at their darkest... think of the people you call home & be strong. He is home; Calum knows that on the road with the other guys. They are his family, by choice, by fate, by the cosmos. But something in him misses the water. He shouldn’t go back. He shouldn’t step foot on a beach, near an ocean. Not with the fighting that occured, not with the history there, the bad blood that gathered there. It shocks him he doesn’t have more trouble on land. The ocean was his only resort. But he thanks his mother that he’s able to walk her dirt, her earth, and be safe. He knows she’s still protecting him while he fulfills his duties.

“You miss it don’t you?” Luke asks, watching the way the bassist fiddles with his rings. They’re doing press, but it’s clear he’s not here.

Calum nods. He was forced to sea, he was pushed away. But it provides him comfort. This is home to him but he has not forgotten what comfort feels like. “I only miss it when I’m not on stage or writing. I think it’s because I have too much time to think. Too much time to second guess myself.”

Without much thought, Luke draps his arm around Calum’s shoulder. He knows that feeling, the dizzying spiral when all your thought collapse in on themselves. And you’re left with the weight and mess to pull yourself back together. “Hold on just a wee longer,” Luke whispers as the next interviewer steps in through the door.

` Calum doesn’t miss the slight accent that falls through the sentence. “Next you’ll be pulling out your green tights, calling us laddies instead of mate.”

Luke can’t bite back the laugh that falls over his lips as he gently pushes against Calum’s shoulder. “You’re going to regret that, mate.”

When Calum opens to door and notices Luke dressed in shorts, compression tights and flip flops with a bag thrown over his shoulders, Calum doesn’t even open his mouth to ask why. He throws on his hoodie and sneakers. He makes sure his wallet and phone are with him and the men walk silently to the elevators. No words are exchanged in the back of the Uber either. Calum keeps his hood up and over his face, watching streets whizz by. He notes some seagulls. Sand. A beach. Calum turns to Luke. “What is this?”

“By some measures, it’s just a lake. It’s our day off, figured we earned the right to just relax.”

They thank their driver and slide out of the backseat. Calum settles onto the towel and slides out of his sneakers. It’s not barren, the shore, but it is definitely not packed. Though it’s not a shock in April on the East Coast. Once the socks are off, Calum stands and walks to the water’s edge. It’s freezing against his feet. It’s no sea, but he will take it. His lips start to move before he can stop himself. Blessings, blessings, and more blessings fall out of his lips. He thanks his mother.

Luke walks next to the man, shivering at the first contact. Some white filters through both men’s vision. It only last a second and the watch the tail of the bird fly away. “Much of YoungBlood isn’t just about my life here, as a musician,” Luke offers.

No one really discussed what past issues they were bringing to the table. They were just stories, things that had happened to them. Luke continues. “She flies for me, waiting for me to come back. She’s the one I want back.”

“And you tried to bury her in all the others.”

“Caer,” Luke whispers. Calum reaches out, holding on his shoulder. He’s never said her name out loud before, not to the guys. “My plan, before this happened, was to go to that lake. I would was going confess my love to her. I’ll never know could’ve happened between us. She’s kind of the inspiration Meet You There.”

Calum thinks of the lyrics, the chorus striking him. “Maybe one day you’ll meet her.”

Luke nods. “On that lake, where she still remembers me. Where I’m still able to reach her.”

_______

The pain is real, it is evident. They watch fans connect to song after song. They read the letters. This is what they were meant to to do, even with all the not fun issues, the fans showing up at their doorsteps, the sometimes cruel comments online. But the reward is much greater than the risk. Not just awards, not just another number one album, not just another chart topping song. The reward to see a mass of diverse faces unite under one love. They’re whole purpose was to create something to unite people. It is incredible to see that night after night; it is awe striking to having thousands of voices singing back to them the songs they wrote with so much vulnerability. It is amazing to see their work flying, topping charts. But to hear and see the hearts it’s touch means a lot more.

“Goddamn it, can I get the house lights on? I miss you guys so much,” Calum speaks into the mic. He continues his speech before inviting Luke to speak about the glittery blue blazer. The crowd is a sea of phone lights in front of them. The mass continues almost to a point where Calum can’t even fathom the massiveness. He brings himself back to reality to joke about a matching g-string. He finally gets to continue after a pause for Michael’s thoughts. “So, uh, tonight is a very special for a couple of reasons, number one my beautiful sister is the room somewhere. Number two I got my best friends and my brothers on stage, playing with these guys.”

And he means it. Calum means it from the bottom of his soul when he says they are his brothers. Who else rides out centuries of resurfacing onto the earth? Who else rides out the insanity of their fate but your brothers? Even when they clash sometimes creatively, even when the vision had to change and evolve time and time again, they stood by each other. Calum strums his bass as Michael speaks, heart soaring at how much London means to the band, hyping the crowd out for the few songs that they have left. This is a band of brothers. Four spirits who are only trying their best: Sea, youth and beauty, determination, and poetry.

What is their story without words? What are words without determination to put them down? What is determination without an aim and a goal for something beautiful? What is something beautiful without it’s mere existence?

Calum stands up on the riser, Michael mirroring him for a moment. Luke stands in the middle. Ashton builds up the anticipation before rolling into his drum solo. The lights are low, the red is flashing over them. The recording plays and the wind up begins. “Let me see you jump. Jump, jump, jump!”

This is their existence, as Calum cocks his hips, hands sliding up and down the bass strings. Michael steps down from the riser, face screwed up as his moves up and down the frets. Ashton rocks his whole body into the drumming, the sweat already soaking through his shirt. Luke leads them through the chorus again, working his old golden nails over his guitar. Everyone attempts to pour past, present and future onto that sage. They don’t know what they will the next time they are brought back. They don’t know who it is they are trying to reach. All they do know is that each time they’re brought here, they need to pour out love, understanding, unity.

Michael walks to the drum risers and Calum follows behind him, after getting the crowd ready to jump. They rip into their instruments, Calum twirls around, mic pack flying out of his pocket. Michael bows a little, letting the grooved metal slot against the grooves of his fingers. Luke bounces for a moment and there is a crowd shouting for them, but it is not just any crowd. It is a crowd brimming over with love. It is not their names they are shouting, it are all the other gods they are crying out for them. They are just the four chosen, but the four that need the credit. This is their second home, this is the place where they are putting everything out on the line. And the line is paying them back.

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