#and he always talks about how “I grew up going to *old Florida* on vacation”

[sscrambledmeggss]

I think what irks me so much about Mr Schue, is that I know exactly what type of Florida tourist he would be.

[cinematicgf]

Breaking the Girl~ 18+ dom!joel

Summary: as a casual photographer, you find the opportunity to go with your neglectful boyfriend to his hometown for the summer thrilling. Taking photos of his neighbors and friends whilst not blowing money on a huge vacation sounds perfect, a small job with his mum, neighborhood summer get-togethers and weekend beach trips accompanied by your trusty camera, why not?! But when a certain charming Southern man, known as your boyfriend’s old boss, enters the mix, you cant take your lens off the fine older man, and he cant seem to take it off you either.

Pairings: (no-outbreak) dom!joel miller x sub f!reader

Warnings and notes: 18+, smutty smutty smut, dom!joel and sub!f!reader, piv, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, doll, darling), dirty talk, drinking, swearing, oral sex (f! receiving), arguments, age gap (reader is afab! in their early 20s and Joel in in his mid-early 50s), reader in uni, bit of a praise kink ngl, boyfriend being an asshole and Joel being just as charming as ever, reader has some cunty thoughts but good for her honestly, just pure unbridled filth with a semi developed backstory<3 no use of y/n

~ 7.2k (oops)

A/N: hi all<3 I wanna thank you guys for the support of my previous Joel fic, I appreciate it so much<3 this is just a string of pure filth with limited backstory. my inbox is open for requests as usual, your feedback is always welcome and if you enjoy this fic please like, comment and reblog<3

~

She was the girl Left alone Feeling the need To make me her home

I don't know what, when or why The twilight of love had arrived

~

Summer was approaching quick and with your exams out of the way and all the stress of the last few months, the final week of university seemed kinda pointless. Yet here you were in class, daydreaming about all the things you would get up to. Perhaps you could rent a sea-side batch and spend your warm afternoons in the ocean before settling down with a book and a bottle of wine for the evenings. Or maybe, you could blow your barista allowance and go to Florida for the sweltering months. Truth is, you didn’t have any plans for the summer, and with the days counting down much too fast to comprehend, you found yourself at a loss for what to do on your break. No matter what you did, however, you know your trusty camera would be tucked to your side, film loaded in and an extra pocket in your bag to store the developed photos. Photography had been a passion of yours for as long as you could remember. You had saved up birthday and Christmas money for years in order to afford a camera for yourself and you had never gone anywhere without it. Unfortunately, the impending doom of your hobby “having no jobs”, as your father put it, meant that you had to change your uni major. Although, you had been cheeky and added in a photography paper here and there, just to satisfy yourself and to no knowledge of your father.

The sound of a backpack being thrown down next to you made you retreat from your thoughts with a jump. Your boyfriend pushed himself into a seat next to you, “So babe”, he began; god, how many times had you told him you hated being called that. “I was thinking, for the summer, you could come back home with me?” he finished. You looked at him with a frown, the last thing you wanted to do was spend another summer cooped up in a small town like the one you grew up in, the one you visited every holidays, just to be wrapped in uncomfortably tight hugs from elders commenting on, “well well, I haven’t seen you since you were this big”, making their hand level with their knees, “look at how pretty you’ve gotten, you have your mothers eyes dear, you must be so proud of her”, they would always say, giving a warm smile to your father as he too looked at you with a grin, knowing how insane you must think these strangers were. You loved seeing your father on breaks, but c’mon, sometimes you yourself needed some time to yourself.

You contemplated his offer briefly, “Hmm I don’t kno—” “Cmon!” he insisted, unwarily cutting you off, “It’ll be great, we can stay in my parents sleep out, I’ll be working for one of my neighbors who I had a job with in high school, and I’ve already asked my mom if she can find some work for you around her office. On weekends we can walk to the beach and go to the mall and whatnot, c’mon babe, it’ll be fun”. Great, a summer working in an office and hanging out with your boyfriends’ rich parents, sounds… delightful. But truth is, you didn’t have anything else to do over the summer, and maybe this would be a way to relax without spending a boatload of your hard-earned money on a shitty trip. “Hmm... fine, you’ve convinced me”, you pretend to be annoyed about it. He smiles and gives you a quick peck on the cheek which you ignore. “It’ll be great, we can go up Saturday afternoon. First day of summer, the adults in the neighborhood usually throw a barbecue at Joel’s, the guy I’m working for. Yeah, it’s a little rowdy with drunk adults and a pool thrown into the mix but I always find myself actually having fun”. At this point you felt a little excitement creep through you. You arrive and immediately there’s a party, hell yeah. Who cares about drunk middle-aged people when at least there are free drinks. “I’m sure we will have a great time”, you force a smile as he gazes at you, “as long as I’m with you”, he replies earnestly before adding repulsively, “can you bring something hot to wear, like those little shorts- I wanna impress everyone in town that you’re mine”. You cringed at the sudden ruin of the mood and his claiming you as his. It sends a nauseous feeling straight to your stomach with a hint of rage.

Six months ago, you may have laughed and slapped him lightly on the shoulder, but truth is, you had been meaning to break things off with him for a couple of weeks now. His constant unawareness to vile comments and the fact that you were always treated as an accessory to him, as if you weren’t a person at all, had just brought you to your breaking point. Not to mention your friend Em, who dated his much kinder friend, had broken the news that him and a girl in another one of his classes had been fucking on the regular. This should’ve hurt, but truth be told, you two had been distant for months now. The only reason that you hadn’t broken it off sooner was the slamming of exam period, as you spend two weeks with your head buried in books, barely seeing anyone, including him (you had kinda forgot about him over that time, if you were honest with yourself, and, you know you weren’t supposed to say it, but it felt kinda nice, not having the responsibility of constantly thinking about a significant other). Remembering all the outliers in your relationship, you cursed yourself for saying yes to the trip and not just calling it quits to spend summer alone. Well, you guessed you wouldn’t be seeing him all that much, with both of you working and you could use the excuse you wanted to check out the town to get away for a bit. God, you felt like a major bitch, but still, it was a free trip. So, fuck it. Call it compensation for how neglectful he had been of your relationship.

The trip back to his hometown was draining. You couldn’t help but wish your boyfriend would just ease up on the constant chatter so the two of you could sit in comfortable silence with the music blaring instead. He told you all about his neighbors and his parents and you couldn’t help but find yourself intrigued by this Joel Miller character he was working for. Single parent, self-made wealthy contractor with a charm about him, or so your boyfriend complimented, as he told the story of how Joel had offered him a job in high school when times were tight through his parents’ divorce. “Listen okay, literally everyone in town swoons for him but I’ve never seen him with anyone, I don’t know, maybe he’s just not looking to settle down. I personally don’t see it, he’s just an old man”, he mentions offhandedly. You were a little nervous to meet him after the string of admiration by your boyfriend.

Once you had arrived and his stepfather and mother had showered you with acclimation (“My goodness Sammy, look at this gorgeous thing, how did you manage to lock her down”). Getting ready for the much-awaited barbecue, you settled for simple, as the humid evening approaching told you that anymore layers, and you would be drenched in sweat. You added some accessories, equipping yourself with your camera and extra film as you and your boyfriend headed across the road to, supposedly, Joel’s house.

Already there was a congregation of neighbors and friends, all gathered around a pool in the backyard, beers in hands, chatting enthusiastically with others they, presumably, were all familiar with. It was utterly suburban, the sight bemusing you slightly as you force away a smirk. Making your way across the lawn and through already intoxicated neighbors you find a full cooler, preparing yourself with a beer before observing the strangers. Your boyfriend had taken off to greet friendly faces, taking the opportunity, you fixate your lens to your eye to capturing the action.

A sweep of the back garden and a few shots later your lens focuses on a tall man leaning on a porch pillar. You can’t help but stare through the disguise of your camera. The cross of his tanned broad arms stretching his t shirt against his chest, making the expanse that much more noticeable. One hand jammed into his pocket, the other superlatively cradling a beer.

His patchy beard lined his structured jaw, squinting as he laughed, dimples inverting the sides of his mouth exquisitely. All these featured crafted the most handsome man you think you had ever laid eyes on. Pressing the shutter, you snap a photo of him mid-laugh as a neighbor entertained him. His admirable laugh carried across the garden, a melody to your ears, you can’t help but smile to yourself.

“Babe!” you boyfriend calls from across the lawn, cringing once more at the pet name, you wander across the garden after being summoned. “This here is Joel”. Your eyes meet the older man finally greeting the stranger who has piqued your interest the past few hours. He had a southern charm about him, and the closer you get, you can see how broad he really is. His muscles sculpted through his shirt, the veins in his arm mimicking those of Michelangelo's David. What the hell was your boyfriend talking about “just an old man”, you couldn’t take your eyes off him, allure and all.

“Ah, so this is she”, he envelopes your hand in his, his calloused palms connect more gently than you expected with your own young, soft padding. “I’m Joel”, he introduces himself, “I noticed you snapping photos over there”, his smile softens his features, you can’t help but mirror his beaming. “Speaking of”, you say, reaching into your pocket, you hand him the photo you had taken earlier; his attractive face radiating from the Polaroid, “Here”.

Taking it, he inspects it closely, you hold your breath, faintly, always nervous of reactions to your craft, no matter how friendly the gathering. A mesmerizing smile breaks out on his feature, “Probably the best photo taken of me ever. And that’s saying something”, he adds, grinning. “Its all yours”, you offer, watching him pocket the photo with pride.

Joel and you fall into conversation seamlessly. You tell of your uni and photography endeavors as Joel starts telling you about his contracting business. How he got it off the ground with the help of his brother, Tommy, who was lounging on a pool chair beside Joel’s daughter Sarah, who he mentioned with a sparkle of joy in his eye any proud father would have. “So, after Sarah’s mom left, I decided to get my shit togeth—”

“Holy shit”, your boyfriend interrupts. Joel raises his eyebrows in confusion, and you sigh in question, as you were enjoying talking to Joel, “Listen, my old high school buddies are having a boys night at theirs”, he raises up his phone, showing the brightened notification on the screen. You don’t bother to read it. “I gotta go babe, sorry. Ill see you later on tonight, okay?”, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving you standing there speechless before weaving through the crowd of people in the back garden and leaving. You’re shocked, frankly. Sure, he’s been neglectful of you, but this was a new low. Ditching you at his neighbor’s party to go hang out with other people… you are truly dumbstruck. Tears of humiliation and pure anger burn on your lashes, threatening to leak down your face. You turn your attention to Joel leaning next to you, the same stunned expression accessorizing his features, brow slightly furrowed. “Well,”, he sighs after a beat, “that was a bit fucking rude. Sorry about th—“

“Excuse me”, it was your turn to interrupt him, as you fled from his domineering presence, frankly, embarrassed by your bastard of a boyfriend. Tears lighting a fire behind your eyes as your blood boiled.

“Fuck”, you took a look at the bottom of your empty beer bottle, heading over to the cooler. “Fuck!!”, you repeated to yourself upon opening the now empty chiller. Adults really did drink a lot huh, you thought, glaring daggers at the once full bin before wandering across the garden and inside the house.

You navigated the modern, utterly suburban house plan until you found a garage. Damn middle-aged men and their garages, you swear every dad you knew decorated their garage better than their own rooms. Thank god Joel was no different, because you knew there would be a fridge there filled with the good stuff. Once alone with your new full beverage, you let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. You were here, alone now, with people only he knew, did he expect you to just stand in the corner and drink by yourself, observing the party? Did he expect you to just go home? Honestly, the mere thought of it sent a rush of anger traversing up your spine. “Asshole”, you muttered to yourself, taking a swig of your stolen beer.

“Didn’t think pretty girls were thieves”, you heard a teasing voice behind you. You whipped your head around to make out Joel in the doorway of the garage, muscular arms tucked into his sides again, one supporting his almost empty beer. Had he… followed you? He uncrossed his ankles and made his way over to where you stood by the fridge.

“The door was open, arrest me officer”, you retort sarcastically, already over this whole shindig after being ditched by your boyfriend.

He chuckled lightly before noticing your peeved demeanor. “Ah”, he whispers to himself, “boyfriend troubles huh? More so, than the whole ordeal before hm, darling”. You glance at him through your lashes and roll your eyes, “You don’t know the half of it.” Sighing, he moved closer to you, his elbow caressing yours slightly, he looks down at you with an expression you cant quite make out, “All I can say is”, he begins, his voice low and gravelly, “if I had a pretty thing like you for myself, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight”.

Was he… making a move on you? You couldn’t tell. In your drunken state, you didn’t really care either, why not pursue it. Your boyfriend hadn’t touched you in months, the least Joel could say was no; so, fuck it, right?

You inch toward him, “and what would you do if you had me, Mr. Miller”, you coo, your voice tantalizing, wavering on a whisper as you gaze at him.

“Maybe one day I’ll get to show you”, he smirks. The two of you are unbelievably close, you can feel his breath fanning on your face and can smell his cologne. He is inundating your senses and you can’t get enough. You take the opportunity to weave your hands around his waist. He reaches an unbearably large hand up to your face and skims your cheekbone, his sizeable thumb halting on your bottom lip. You use the opportunity to take his finger into your mouth, suckling gently before releasing it with a soft kiss on the padding of his digit. You can feel him harden against you through his jeans.

“Fuckkkken hell”, he drawls, “temptress,” a darkness scintillates in his eyes.

A loud bang of a door close by followed by a whining, “Daddddddd”, has the both of you jumping apart as Sarah appears in view of the doorway. The young girl is rubbing her eyes, messy curls adorning her cute face. Slumping, she complains again, “Dad, I’m tired, can you tuck me in, please”. Joel gives her a warm smile, “I'll be right there baby girl, go get into bed okay, gimme a second”. She notices you for the first time, “I like your hair”, she grins, you cant help but smile at the young girl, “thank you honey, I like yours too”. With that, she disappears back through the door and up the stairs as Joel’s attention turns back to you, his former dark, eager look has returned.

“Come around tomorrow.” It’s not a question. Rather a demand. One hand engulfs your upper arm, giving it a light squeeze as he plants a soft kiss to your cheek, leaving you in the garage to comprehend the exciting conversation you had just had. Before he does, however, he stops in the doorway and turns back around to face you. “For the record, your boyfriend’s an asshole. Has been since high school.”, he gives you a grin but there’s a hint of concern behind his eyes. It was a shitty thing for your boyfriend to do and he understands that.

Your boyfriend had passed out on his parent’s couch when you left Joel’s house, so you made your way to the sleep out, thrilled to have some time alone to think about the events of the night. You couldn’t help but admit to yourself that the entire conversation with Joel felt good. Right, even; like Joel was actually trying to talk to you as any decent human being would. And maybe the bar was on the ground for your after your shitty relationship, but you didn’t feel guilty about wanting the older man. And he wanted you too. Maybe it’ll only be for a quick fuck, but it felt nice to be wanted. You thought about the conversation again before slipping a finger down through your wet folds, rubbing quick fast circles to the nub of your clit, exhaling soft moans. You imagined your hand wasn’t your own but Joel's.

The next day you woke up early. Your nerves shot as you take a shower, taking the opportunity of seeing Joel again to dress in lacy, barely there lingerie under your clothes (why you packed it… just in case, you supposed). If nothing happened between the two of you, or he admitted that perhaps he was drunk and just fucking around, then nobody would know your effort but you. However, if he did get to undress you, the choice to dress up would be an ideal one.

The door is open when you arrive, the summer entering uninvited through the hallway of the cozy home. Entering the doorway to the living room, you knock on the door frame, Joel appearing moments later behind you on the stairs. “Hi again, doll”, he greets you with a genuine smile, walking to the kitchen. Those dimples, carved by Donatello himself, you supposed. “You want something to drink?”, you nod as he leads the way past you. Handing you a dewy beer, you make your way to the couch to sit on the edge like a nervous child and admire the man in front of you. His t shirt tightening at the sleeves, barely able to fit over his muscular, slightly tanned arms. Jeans, ungodly tight around his crotch. You blush at the realization that you’re staring at him in all his glory. Your breath hitches as you focus your gaze on the skew of family photos dotted around the living me.

“Why’d you ask me over?” you come right out and question. In your drunken state last night, you didn’t care if it looked like you were coming onto him, if he said no, your intoxication dulled your embarrassment. But now, in your sober state, you needed to know, so as not to do just that. “I wanna take care of you”, he expressed nonchalantly, his focus occupied on finding a bottle opener. “And how do you presume to do that”, you continue, bemused by his confused expression lightening once he found what he was looking for, popping the cap before coming to sit next to you on the couch. He crossed his ankle over his knee, your eyes unfortunately for you, travel straight to the bulge in his jean. Perv, you curse to yourself. “Well, it just seems like your boyfriend isn’t doing a very good job, is he sweetheart?”. An exasperated sigh emits from your throat, your eyes roll unwillingly at the mention of your partner. You lean against the back of the couch, head resting on his forearm relaxing lazily behind you, as you take a sip from your bottle.

You realize you really do want him… badly. “Maybe I do need your help, Mr. Miller”, lolling your neck to look at him through your lashes, putting on a sad face whilst the hint of seduction in your breathy tone communicates everything to Joel.

He leans in and kisses you, gently at first. You deepen it, needing more of him as you moan into his mouth, giving him easy access to slide his tongue across your teeth. Tongue and teeth collide in a hot, messy kiss. His hand glides up your waist to your throat, where he cups your jaw with two giant fingers and squeezes gently. Quickly realizing you’re in the middle of the living room, gasping pulling away. “Shit, is Sarah home?”, you pant. “Friend’s house”, Joel says shortly, reconnecting your lips to his.

“Then, make me feel good Joel”, you coo, teeth running over his bottom lip. He exhales a low animistic groan, watching his eyes darken to a lust-filled gaze. “Yes ma’am”.

Next thing you know, he is walking you backwards to the spare bedroom downstairs. Both of you are so needy, you can’t even wait to make it upstairs to his own bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress, he works at your panties, lips connecting with your throat, neck, collarbone, a symphony of needy groans accompany your pleasureful sighs quickly filling the empty space of the room. Slipping a calloused hand between your thighs, he begins working to collect your arousal, coating the tips of his fingers before slipping a digit into your cunt. You exhale a gasp, he swallows into a groan, “Fuck, doll,” he breathes softly, watching his finger pumping in and out of you, “does this pussy ever get this wet for your boyfriend?” He palms himself through his jeans, relieving some of his building tension. “No Joel”, you gasp, “not like it does for you”. Mascara gathers at your lashes as you squirm on his sheets. Joel’s touch fills you with ecstasy, but you still need more.

“Joel—” you whine, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, desire and devotion flooding his features, you follow his line of vision to the sight of his digit fucking you, then to your camera lying on his bedside table. You see the gears turning in his head, barely able to comprehend what he is up to before he grabs the camera, taking it in one large hand, positioning the base on his palm as he bends his fingers to the shutter button. You turn your head away in bliss, all you can focus on are his expert fingers rhythmically pumping in and out of you. “C'mon baby, you don’t need to be shy around me”. The camera looks miniature in his hand, the flash blinds you, snapping your pure pleasure, freezing it as a passionate moment in time. Joel holds the strap by his teeth, yanking the filthy portrait out, throwing it on the bedside table. Fuck, that just made you even wetter, if that was even possible. “Joel—ah- Joel” you continue to whimper, unworried about the physical evidence of your filthy endeavors due to your young, committed cunt clenching unwilling around his fingers by how good it feels.

“I know, sweetheart”, he whispers understandingly, “Just gotta warm you up a little longer, okay sweet girl”, he slips another digit between your walls. Your back arches against the mattress, head thrown back as a string of moans and whimpers tumble from your lips. Joel’s eyes darken into a hungry, heavy look with every squirm and curse that falls from your lips. Your eyebrows knit together in pleasure as his filthy words and his tantalizing, skillful fingers aid the coil in your stomach to release slowly. Joel, camera in hand, snaps two more of him fucking you with his fingers, discarding them on the table again. “Fuck, my own little cam girl”, he drawls in your ear, smirking, “we got four left, gotta use them wisely now”.

Joel abruptly pulls his fingers out, leaving you gasping for air, whining, as the bliss slowly fades, your arousal still hot and heavily in need of him like the air you breathe. He drags his jeans and boxers off, tossing them carelessly onto the floor by the bed. Taking in his girth, you understand why he had to warm you up first. You damn near moan at the sheer side of it as the slick from your pussy assists his thick fingers to pump himself a couple of times. He smirks at your needy expression. Cocky bastard, he knows he’s big too. Settling between your legs, his tip of his cock teases your entrance. You can feel his pre-cum mixing with your slick, creating an exquisite cocktail. Repetition falling from his lips in an unsteady gravelly tone as he coerces you to take ever inch of him inside your cunt, with a melody of “good girl” and “you’re doing so good for me, pretty baby”.

Joel slides inside you so easily, with how wet you are for him. A soft hiss, and then his features mold into a symphony of pleasure and hunger. His capable fingers tangle in your hair he glides his length in and out, painfully slow. You finally find your voice amongst the soft gasps and ah’s. “Joel— need more, please”, your voices emerges as a breathy whisper; making his features darken with craving. “I know baby, I know”, he coos, “you’re so full right now, aren’t you. That’s it sweet girl, you’re so good, taking every inch of me into that pretty little pussy”.

Your mind is whirling 100 miles per hour as he whispers filthy phrases in your ear, the promise to fuck you hard and slow being almost unbearable to comprehend. His thick cock stretches you out, rock hard, forcing your legs wide open as your ankles cross around his waist for support. It’s too much, fuck! After a few seconds of adjusting to this size, he pulls all the way out. You whine slightly at the loss of him inside you before he slams back into your cunt, filling you all the way before repeating again and again and again. The head of his thick, impressive length kisses your g spot like no other mans has before. All the while he has one large, veiny hand around your throat providing a slight bit of pressure, his thumb caresses your lips, opening them to slide a finger inside. You take the hint as a call back to last night at the party, slipping his fingers to the back of your throat and sucking on them. He groans out a string of profanities, eyes glued to you as you feel his cock twitch inside you at the image before him. You release his fingers, a string of spit still attaching you and him, he uses his thumb to spread it around your lips before dragging your chin down to open your mouth, pressing his lips to yours delicately. You can barely keep up with his kiss as he continues to slam into you at a rapid pace. You’re moaning out his name, a chorus of Joel, Joel Joel-, he smothers your whines with his lips. Rocking his hips up into you slowly, he brings his thumb down between the two of you, his calloused finger after years of contracting, makes contact with your clit, rubbing circles to your neglected nub. You push his hand away after your body jolts from the stimulation and he lets out a low chuckle. “You about to come, sweetheart?”, his voice is restrained and needy. You can feel your orgasm building inside of you, teasing you as the crescendo builds. You nod quickly. Squeezing your eyes shut, your moans begin to become rapid sighs on your tongue.

“Eyes on me, doll”, Joel demands, you open them to be met by the southern man, slamming his hips into you. Fuck he looks so good on top of you right now. A thin layer of sweat coats his forehead and chest, his hair messy, two curls decorating his forehead. You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a beautiful sight. He lifts himself up on his knees, grabbing the camera once more, he takes a selection of photos of you taking him deep into you. He thumbs lightly at your clit for a shot, before the film runs out, a satisfyingly dirty collection of photos to remember your time together by lying next to the both of you.

Your hips move together in conjunction. His hands weave around your back, pulling you into him as his lips attached to your breasts, he anchors his tantalizingly expert fingers into your hair, the plush of your ass, circling your waist— Joel holds you as close as physically possible, his muscular arms crush you, teeth grazing the nub of your breast. There’s a starving kind of desire laced into his kiss. Involuntary clenches of your cunt around his impossibly hard cock, and your fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, you slide your hands around his neck to hold yourself steady.

Then, he’s pulling away slightly, his hungry eyes watching his length pump in and out of you, as he plants a strong hand on your thigh, spreading you open to receive impossibly more of him. You are simply a toy at this point, as he dictates the sheer brutal pace of how he fucks you. “God, you look so beautiful, full of my cock, doll”. He moves his lips wetly up your throat, your head thrown back. He smiles against your mouth, you give him a shaky “mmm”, he ardently peaks your lips, releasing after each kiss to watch your cock-drunken expression, his name the only word you can attempt, like worship on the edge of your tongue. “Joel- Joel- Joel, mmm”, you stutter a praise for the captivated audience, who is relishing in the sound of your pleading gasps.

“I wanna see how appreciative you are for this cock, baby, keep your eyes on me”.

His voice is firm as his hardened hands caresses the length of your spine. You feel him flex inside you, his dominant gaze securing you as he speeds up, watching as your tits bounce with his rough strokes. “Ohmygod–Joel–”, the promise of your climax rapidly approaches, the ache undoes all the tension inside you, overtaking every inch of you, causing your thighs to squeeze him impossibly tighter.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me now, Darlin, you’re doing so good, come around me, doll”. The praise, the pet names, him inside you, all sends you over the edge. Your cunt starts to flood and shudder around him, your eyes rolling back into your head as you feel your orgasm release. You squeeze around Joel’s cock so tight; your lungs can only gasp out a mixture whines as you come around him. Joel continues to fuck you through your orgasm, its hard and fast to the point where you can feel another coil build inside you. He can feel it too, shifting your hips up slighting in a way that makes your mind blow, you nearly scream out at how good it feels. “That’s my good girl, I need another one, baby. You can give me another. That’s it, Yes, give it to me pretty girl”, his lips attach to a soft spot behind your ear, making you moan his name, your delicate hands rake through his hair. He pulls out for a brief second, flipping you onto your side as he lies behind you, sliding back inside you again. Its almost as if he never left, you’re so drunk off him fucking you that you can barely comprehend what is happening. Just that it feels so good, his hand weaves around you to play with your nipple, squeezing it slightly as his lips pepper kisses to your neck. he gently hooks your leg over his, stretching you open impossibly wider. “I wanna feel that pussy squeezeing me again, baby”. He continues lacing a string of filthy words into your ear while retreating back to his signature move when the two of you first started, pulling all the way out and slamming into you again.

“Lemme, feel you comin’ when I fill you up, good girl.”

Your second orgasm blinds you as you moan through your bliss. Joel’s gravely groans behind you sound like a melody. His warm breath in your ear and progressive sloppiness, encasing the room in leud noises, accompanied by his broken moans signals to you that he is close too. You turn you head to capture his lips as the aftershocks of your orgasm spark through you, your thighs twitching against his. He meets them brutally, and you know you’re going to be bruised inside and out when this is over. By the time he’s pumped you full of his cum and pulled out, it’s leaking down the inside of your thighs. You attempt to catch your breath, as his cock settles between the two of you on your lower back. You cant help but smile as he rubs lazy circles to your bare hip.

“Fucken hell, that was incredible”, he whispers, more so to himself than to you. “You are something else, doll”, he breathes, still catching his breath. You turn yourself around so that you’re half on top of him, throwing your leg over his so his cock is resting between your thighs. “You’re not so bad yourself”, you retort, smirking up at him.

“You know, you look so fucking pretty on top of me like that, darlin’. Next time, ill have to get a shot of you riding me”. Your heart jumps slightly at the promise of a next time, which he notices, following up his sentiment.

“Are you staying the whole summer”, he questions, his roaming hands worshiping your waist. “Sure am”, you respond hopefully. “Well then, I guess I’ll be seeing you soon”, he gives you a genuine smile, capturing your lips against lip for a delicate kiss, his patchy,lightly groomed beard scratching softly at your cupid’s bow.

You’re still unable to form a coherent sentence, as you feel his slick cocktailed with your own leaking out of your cunt. You slide off him, propping yourself up on a trembling elbow, watching Joel pull his jeans back up over his hips. “Until next time then”, he promises, gliding your panties up your still-weak legs, a wet patch already forming on the fabric. Aren’t you glad you decided to wear these. He hands you the photos and your camera as you attempt to dress yourself again, feeling weak and so empty without him already. Handing them to you, he slips one into his jean pocket with a cheeky comment. Walking you to the door, he kisses you deeply, his grey-flecked beard scratching your cheeks. After your goodbyes you can’t help but miss him. Hell, you’d only known the older man two days; still, you wanted his company more and more as the hours went by, so you reached for what he had given you to remember you by, “until next time”.

You stand in the sleep-out kitchen, admiring the Polaroid’s he had taken of you. You filter through them, blushing more at the sight of each one, dirtier than the last, too caught up to hear the door open. “Hey”, the familiar voice makes you jump. Your boyfriend, out of breath comes stalking through the door. You scramble to hide the photos, collecting them in a bundle, attempting to put them in your jean pocket. You force a smile at him as his eyes travel down to the photos in your hand. “From the party right, lemme take a look at those,” he says enthusiastically, closing the gap between the two of you as he reaches for them. “No”, you try to brush it off, “the lighting isn’t right, they didn’t turn out great, ya know, night shooting is a bitch”, you try to pull the photos further from his grasp, but he has a firm hold on them, yanking them slightly. You gasp as they flutter gracefully to the ground, face up, dropping to your knees to quickly pick them up but he’s already seen. “What the fuck”, he whispers, grabbing one and gazing it, a deep-rooted frown carved into his brow. It was you, mouth frozen in a pleasureful ‘ah’ as a peak of Joel entering you was seen at the bottom of the frame. “You wanna tell me what the fuck this is”, his voice was wavering on a yell.

You decided not to try to explain, “you wanna tell me about the girls you’ve been fucking these past few months, huh?”, you retort. “Everyone knows, everyone has told me to break up with you because of it, shit, you don’t even try to keep it a secret”. You voice is laced with venom, it was high time this discussion was happening, you just wished you had the courage to bring it up on your own, and not in this unwanted circumstance.

“Dont change the subject, who is he?”, he demands, his tone reaching shouting point. “Take a wild fucking guess. Do you need a hint? He stayed with me while you ditched my ass at your neighborhood party. While you humiliated me by just fucking leaving me there with strangers like the asshole you are.” You can feel rage-filled hot tears collecting at your lash line reminiscing about the event. “I know you’re going to try to break it off and think its your own doing but trust me, this”, you direct your finger between yourself and him, “this, has been over for a long time”. You push past him with force, grabbing your bag which you hadn’t even bothered to unpack, thank fuck, what a nice coincidence. You stomp toward the door.

“Fine”, he responds, “but as if he’s going to want you. He’s a middle-aged man with a kid, you were just a fuck”. It spirals you. You turn on your heels to look at him, he is frowning on the verge of tears (how many times had you been there before in his presence) and there’s a contortion of anger in his face, “At least he actually made me come”, you retorted hotly, walking out the door before you remember an extra detail. You pop your head back through the door to utter, “three times, actually”. And then you’re off. You ask his mother to drive you to the train station, explaining the split, briefly, and that you didn’t feel comfortable to stay. She insisted you did, kind lady, but didn’t pry into the details.

Once you had boarded and the train sped away from the dreaded events of the town, you felt relief course through you, no longer chained to that asshole. Sure, you know you should’ve done it sooner, and yeah, it wasn’t an ideal option what had happened, but this meant you could have some time to yourself this summer.

As you were back at square one, you daydreamed of the handful of friends who usually spent their summers on campus to call once you got back. Your phone screen lighting up with a ding, caught you off guard, the name causing your heart to skip a beat.

“It’s Joel. I heard the rundown from his mother, got your number in the process. Are you alright, doll?” he writes. You read it in his voice, subconsciously smiling at how his pet names aren't limited to face to face conversations.

You look at the bright screen in disbelief. He asked your exes mother for your number, meaning he wanted to stay in contact. Perhaps? One could only hope. You didn’t let your excitement get the better of you, however.

“Guess word travels fast. I’m fine, it should’ve happened sooner, honestly. I’m so sorry I got you involved”. You put your phone down, not expecting a reply after your apology. But the immediate ding had not only butterflies, but a whole zoo trampling around your stomach.

“If you’re going to be at your dorm over the summer, let me come visit sometime darling? Tommy offered to work more after your ex quit, so my plate is free”. He adds, much to your delight, “plus I think Sarah would love to see the campus.”

You smiled at the thought of showing the young girl around your college, she would be in awe of the library, you thought, remembering a glimpse of a large collection of books strewn across the table and shelf in the living room. You started to type a reply to Joel before another message comes through.

“and, for the record, those photos were hot, sweetheart”, he adds, a blush coloring your face, your gaze immediately drifting to the pocket of your bag where they lay, safe, sound, and where no one would be able to see, thank god.  

“I suppose I could work something out, for you” you reply, a smiling creeping across your features before double texting, “you know, I have extra film in my dorm... for emergency”. Discarding your phone on the table in front of you, you watch the countryside melt into a blur, feeling the most relaxed and content you had in a while.

~

if you enjoy this fic please like, comment and reblog! your feedback is always appreciated<3 thank you for reading

[hyliandude]

The Wisdom Loop - by Franco Lopez

I still remember that first time I was at an airport getting ready to board a flight. I was six years old, wearing a new striped polo and a paper crown, and was enjoying a strawberry starfish popsicle while holding a red balloon. It was my birthday. I had a pin that showed it off to everyone, and everyone was so kind all day. We were heading to Florida for the weekend to visit amusement parks, and I did not have a single worry running through my mind. Just before boarding the flight, I bumped into an elderly gentleman sitting just outside the gate, near the check-in booth, and facing out watching the planes come and go. He seemed so calm, but there was this unspoken pain behind his eyes. I could see them glistening, like shaky pearls, from the light that peered in through the windows.

               “Happy birthday young man,” he said in a hoarse voice. He was alone, but I noticed he had a half-eaten cupcake with an unlit candle on it on the seat next to him.

               “Happy birthday to you too sir,” I said astutely. I handed him my balloon, and he perked up a bit.

               “How kind of you,” he added. “I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Keep your kind spirit, and don’t forget to work hard in life for your dreams.”

               I remember it being such a cheerful and optimistic comment when I initially heard it, but looking back at that moment throughout my life, his advice always stuck with me no matter how odd it was to mention to a kid. I tried to be as kind with people as this stranger had been with me. I tried to work hard for my dreams as well. Even at six years of age, this resonated with me immediately. It got me thinking about my future, about what I was going to do every day to ensure I achieved everything I wanted in life. In hindsight, maybe this is not something a six-year-old should have been focusing on during his birthday vacation in Florida, but I couldn’t shake it. It was like a parasite of an idea that grew into the man I eventually became. I was industrious and focused all throughout school. I knew that I wanted to be successful in my business endeavors so I could earn an honest and comfortable living and provide for my family. I had an advantage over all others in life. I had been honing my focus since day one at the airport for my sixth birthday, and it led me to jump ahead of others and squash my competition. I had made a name for myself and had accumulated a level of wealth fit for Forbes. I owned several homes, had traveled the world for business, had put my kids into the best schools in the world, and had nothing more I could possibly ask for.

               As the years piled on, I retired comfortably and dabbled in time spent acquiring hobbies I didn’t know I could even perform. The sunset of my life was quickly approaching and there was nothing I could do to slow it down. I wanted more time to paint. I wanted more time to travel for fun, not just for business. I wanted more time to spend with my children and grandchildren. I wanted more time to learn and laugh. I had all this money, but very few memories of fond time with even my children in their youth. I can’t even remember how my first trip to Disney World panned out because of how focused I was on the rest of my life. I was shriveling away, unable to create new memories for me to cherish as I lost my mobility and freedom. The diagnosis didn’t help. I had a few months left and all I could do was spend them commiserating in bed with the memories of business deals and meetings that hold absolutely no value in my heart. I couldn’t remember the birth of my children, or how and when I met my wife, or my first family vacation. There were no pictures, no videos, absolutely nothing to account for those moments lost in the past. I regret it all. I know everyone talks about being afraid of dying, but nothing compares to being so close to death and being more upset about the things you didn’t get to do in life than death itself.

               There was a flash in my room, and I jokingly thought “Ah, this is it, the light at the end of the tunnel.” What a cliché. My private doctor walked into my room, and the closing glass door had flashed a glare into my eyes. How silly of me.

               “Good afternoon how are we feeling today?” he asked.

               “Same as before doc,” I said. I kept insisting I was fine and that I wanted to go out for a swim, but everyone said I was unfit to even walk, and that I’d never even used the pool I’d fitted to the house. It’s all I want to do now. I stare at it all day from out my window. Sometimes the grandchildren will go in, and I see them playing with their beach balls and inflatable animals. I wish I could join them and splash my feet with them one last time to ensure they remember those days better than me.

               “Do you know what today is?” he added. In all honesty, I had no idea. “It’s your birthday sir. Ninety-six years old today. The family is gathering to come up in a few hours. I know its against your current diet, but it’d be cruel of me to deny you,” he said, handing me a small cupcake with an unlit candle.

               It had been so long since I was allowed to have sweets from the diet. I could not remember the last bite of pie, or ice cream, or even a lollipop I’d had. I took a bite immediately upon receiving the cupcake and reveled in the delight of sweets and icing. It was emotional and I teared up at the thought of the number of birthdays I’d missed. Not just mine, but my children’s birthdays, my wife’s, my parents. The warmth of the sunset peering in combined with the sweet cupcake was sadly one of the most cherished recent memories in my life.

               As I opened my eyes, I found myself at an airport, sitting by a busy gate boarding for Florida. I had no tickets, so I could not go, but I placed my cupcake down and tried to find my doctor. As I looked around, a small kid bumped into me. He was young, wearing a striped polo shirt and paper crown, and enjoying a strawberry starfish popsicle while holding a red balloon. The pin on his shirt read “Birthday Boy!”

               “Happy birthday young man,” I said, in a familiar voice.

               “Happy birthday to you too sir,” said the young kid, handing me his red balloon.

               “How kind of you,” I said. “I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Keep your kind spirit, and don’t forget to…” I whispered the rest in his ear.

               The young kid smiled and energetically boarded his flight.

               I remained at the gate and finished my cupcake with a tearful grin as I watched his plane fly away beyond the horizon along with my repressed regrets. 

[tropes-and-tales]

My Best Friend’s Girl, Part Three

Characters:  Santiago “Pope” Garcia and F!Reader

WC:  4788

Other Pieces:  This is part of a series, which can be found here.

CW:  Language, pining, angst, backstory.  Drug use (pot, aka jazz cabbage), so 18+ only.

________________

Pope doesn’t see you right away when he lands in Florida.  He’s picked up at the airport by Frankie, and Pope grins to see his old friend, his hair out of reg and curling against his collar.  Frankie looks a little tired, a little older, but who the hell isn’t?

They drive to Frankie’s house, a cute little Spanish colonial that isn’t too far from where his parents live.  Sara greets them at the door, and she welcomes Pope, and everything seems fine.

At first.

The first day is just Pope sleeping off his jet lag and the crushing fatigue that seems to plague him anymore, and he notices nothing out of the ordinary.  When he wakes in the late afternoon, he finds himself alone in the house, so he prowls from room to room, casing the place, sussing out his friend’s life as a married civilian.  There’s a note on the kitchen table for him, that he should text Frankie when he wakes up because he and Sara are out running errands.

Instead, Pope calls you.  You pick up on the third ring, and you sound out of breath.

“Sorry,” he says.  “Did I interrupt something?”

“Just taking down wallpaper,” you reply.  “It’s miserable work.”

“You need help?”

You laugh at that.  “Always, Pope, but you’re on vacation.  How was your flight?”

The two of you exchange small talk, and Pope steers the conversation back around to what he really wants to talk about:  when he’s going to see you.

“Well, I think Frankie and Sara are going to my mom and stepdad’s holiday party.  They always do it up big, and the Morales are sort of secondary hosts.  I assumed Frankie would bring you along as a plus-one.”

Pope bites back the sigh; he wants to see you one-on-one, not in a crowd.  Frankie still doesn’t know that you and Pope are friendly now, and while it shouldn’t matter, it feels just a little off, like he should have asked for permission or cleared it somehow.  Which is stupid, really.

“When is this party?”

“Day after tomorrow,” you answer.  “You should come.  It’s a tragic comedy, watching my mother play pretend perfect family, and besides, if things get awkward, I can show you my old bedroom and you can laugh at my middle school photos.”

That makes Pope sit up and reconsider the possibilities:  sure, he’ll have to come clean to Frankie, which shouldn’t matter, but he’ll also be granted access to your inner world growing up.  Embarrassing school photos, posters of boy bands…Pope tries to picture it.

Besides, what guy could resist the fantasy of seeing where his dream girl grew up?  Isn’t that a common fantasy, the one where the guy sneaks into his girl’s bedroom?

“I’ll be there,” he finally says.

-----

Pope tries to talk to Frankie.  Really, he does.  He wants to air out all the secrets he’s kept – that he’s friendly with you, that he saw you in Mexico, maybe even mention how he feels about you – but a stubborn part of him holds it all back.  Why does Frankie even deserve to know?  Why can’t Pope keep this one, special thing for himself?

Practically, there’s never a good time in the next few days anyway.  Pope discovers all too quickly that the chipper welcome he received isn’t the reality of Frankie’s life.

It starts that night, after Pope talks to you.  He is just on the cusp of sleep when he hears Frankie and Sara.  At first, it sounds like talking but then voices start to raise.

“You never – “ he hears Sara say, but he can’t make out the rest of it.  He can hear Frankie’s response, but the words are garbled and low.

It goes on and on until a door slams, an engine in the driveway turns over, and headlights splash across Pope’s wall as someone – Frankie?  Sara? – leaves.

In the morning, he doesn’t mention it, and neither do they.

-----

The next day, there’s a definite chill in the air, and Pope gets a hint about what it’s source may be.

Sara seems to want to go somewhere for the holidays.  Her family is from South Carolina, but she wants to go to St. Kitts.  She has friends that celebrate Christmas there, and if she can’t go to St. Kitts because it’s too expensive, she wants a long trip to Miami.

Pope overhears all of this by accident, of course.  Frankie is out in the driveway, changing the oil in his car, and Pope is lying down with a headache.  Sara is in another part of the house, on her phone with a friend, but she must be near a vent because Pope can hear her words perfectly coming out of his vent.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she says to the person on the other end of the line.  “Stuck in the sticks with a bunch of lame assholes.”

Pope wonders if Sara considers her husband to be a lame asshole too, or if that’s just reserved for Frankie’s family and friends.

-----

Then it’s the day of the party, and Pope pushes all of his speculations about Frankie’s marriage aside:  he finally gets to see you.

The day crawls by.  Crawls.  He’s spent his fair share of long hours killing time, especially in Special Ops, but this is something else.  Not only is he anxious for the evening to arrive, but he has to try and hide that anxiety from Frankie.  

He fails utterly.

“You seem keyed up,” Frankie notices.  “Everything alright?”

Pope huffs out a breath and hews as close to the truth as he dares, in that moment.  “I won’t really know anyone there other than you and Sara.”  A beat.  “And Bean.”

Something passes across Frankie’s face at the mention of your name, some expression that Pope can’t place.  “Yeah, she’ll be there.”

Pope peers closer at his friend, and he considers the overheard fight from the night before.  “You and Bean…you patch everything up?”

Frankie shrugs at that.  “I guess.  Yes.  No, not really.  We…see each other and grab a coffee sometimes, but it’s not the same.”

“Maybe she’s just backing off because you’re married now, Fish.  Maybe she thinks Sara should be your friend instead of her.”

Frankie cocks his head at Pope and stares at him for a moment.  “You know, Bean told me almost exactly the same thing.”

-----

Early evening finally arrives, and the three of them pile into Sara’s car for the short drive over to your childhood home.

“We always go early to help set up,” Frankie explains.  “It’s sort of my mom and Bean’s mom, their annual thing.”

Sara snorts at that from her place in the driver’s seat, and that earns her a sharp look from Frankie, but no one says anything.

They arrive and park on the street, and Pope’s hands are almost fucking trembling, and he used to carry guns and shoot with the surest, steadiest hand around.  He follows Frankie and Sara up the walk, up the steps, and into your childhood home, and there you are in the middle of a goddamned Christmas explosion right in your living room.

There’s lights and garlands of pine and two elaborately decorated trees on either end of the room, and there’s Nat King Cole crooning on the stereo, but Pope can only look at you.  You’re a vision in dark jeans and a short-sleeved sweater that makes you look like home.  At their entrance, you look up, and Pope swears that when your eyes settle on him, your entire face lights up.

But you don’t come over and greet them right away.  Pope inches over towards you but your mother – decked out in a green velvet dress – is standing beside you and reading you a preemptive riot act.  He catches the tail end of it.

“…best behavior,” she warns you, and you shoot Pope a beleaguered look past your mother’s pointing finger.  “If you act up, you’re out of here, and I won’t even feel bad about it.”

“Yes, mom,” you reply mechanically, but then you push past her to hug Pope, and you even make a little squeal of delight that draws eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, lay a loud kiss on his cheek, and proclaim that Christmas has come early.

People notice.  Your mom watches the scene, and a few others that Pope doesn’t know watch as well.

Frankie notices.  Pope glances over at him, and he notes the furrows in his friends brow, the way his eyes are going from you to Pope and back again.

You don’t seem to notice Frankie staring – you give him a nod and a wave, but your old friend doesn’t get the welcome that Pope does.  You do notice your mom staring, so you grab Pope’s hand and drag him through the house, to the back porch and into your back yard.  There’s a little gazebo there, and you and Pope settle onto the bench.

“Sorry you had to see me get my usual tongue-lashing,” you say a little ruefully.  “My mom and I have a difficult relationship.”

Pope nudges your shoulder.  “Well, my mom is probably in the Caribbean somewhere playing shuffleboard with women twice her age.  So, welcome to the club.”

“How’s your vacation so far?  Happy to be back in the states?”

He answers as honestly as he can without seeming like a sad asshole.  He’s happy to be back, sure, but it just makes him feel more unmoored, more unsettled, spending the holidays in his army buddy’s guest room.

You read the situation exactly right, but you misunderstand the source.  “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out with Marta, Pope,” and for a moment, Pope completely forgets about his imaginary girlfriend.

“It’s okay.”

“Here.”  You wriggle in your seat, reach into a pocket and fish out a packet of something.  “If you want to partake, of course.  I can’t get through family events without them, anymore.”

In the dying light, Pope can just make out what they are – edibles.  Gummies, from the looks of them.

“No pressure, of course.  This isn’t an after-school special, and you can just say no and still be cool, okay?”

Your tone is playful and it makes him grin to hear that he’s cool to you.  He nudges you again.  “So this is who you are?  You a stoner now?  You smoke a bowl and listen to ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ with the lights off?”

Your tone shifts to what Pope calls your “academic” voice, a little all-knowing and completely adorable.  “First of all, Santiago, these are medical edibles.  I have a known, documented, long-standing struggle with anxiety and insomnia. Second, I don’t smoke the stuff because I have tender virgin lungs.  Third…well, stoned is the only way to get through these events.  Facing my mother sober is a sure route to madness.”

“I like it when you call me Santiago,” he admits.  “You always say it like I’m in trouble.”

“You aren’t in trouble,” you retort, shoving him back lightly.  “You are trouble.”

It’s honest-to-god flirting, and Pope refuses to drop the thread forming between you, so he reaches out and takes a gummy from your outstretched hand.  Together, you each throw back the piece of laced candy, and shit doesn’t really start until later, when it’s hitting you both.

-----

Pope’s drug of choice was always alcohol, and even that wasn’t very reckless.  He hates the feeling of being drunk, and harder drugs were almost always off the table once he joined the army, so all the cool stories of buddies doing lines of cocaine or dropping acid or getting stoned passed him right by.

He had one moment with pot in high school, someone brought weed brownies to a party, but it didn’t affect him at all beyond a dry mouth.

Those medical-grade gummies?  Those fucking hit him.

You both go inside because the food is being laid out, and people are arriving, and you separate for a while to mingle.  Pope finds Sara and Frankie, and he says hello to Frankie’s parents again, and everyone is talking boring small talk.  

Pope searches for you in the room – loses sight of you – finds you again.  The pot is already hitting him at that point, but he doesn’t realize it…and he doesn’t notice Frankie noticing the way Pope’s eyes are glued to you.  Frankie is on the scent now, he knows something is up, but Pope feels relaxed, loose, and doesn’t notice.  

Pope feels good.  Not just because he’s with you again, but the pot seems to calm every anxious, dark thought that rolls though his head nowadays.  He hasn’t felt like this since he was a kid.

-----

The absolute worst part of spending the holidays with other people are the awkward, earnest traditions they have.  He knew a kid in school whose family sang “Happy Birthday” to Jesus before opening Christmas presents.  He dated a girl once whose family stayed up late on Christmas Eve and drank disgusting homemade wine that tasted like vinegar.  

Your family is no different.  This is one of those parties where everyone circles up before they eat.  They go around the room and name the good things that happened to them that year, name the things they love and are grateful for.  

Pope is starting to feel even better, lighter and looser, but he’s sober enough to fumble through his response – he’s grateful for his new civilian job, and for good friends, and his eyes find yours at that last part.

Then everyone else goes – boring shit.  Your mom is thankful for her new car, for fuck’s sake, and your stepdad is grateful for some deep-sea fishing event he attended earlier in the year, and Pope realizes that your family fucking sucks after all.  That’s what they’re happy for?  A new sedan and a fishing trip?

Mrs. Morales is happy for her family, for her daughter-in-law, and Pope watches you as she speaks.  You’re feeling the pot too, he can tell, and it’s as if you and him are connected because you arch an eyebrow at him, and he feels like he can read your mind in that moment.

Frankie mumbles something about Sara, new love or whatever, maybe he says love growing deeper, and when Sara names a good thing that happened to her that year, she skips over any single moment she spent with Frankie and says, “I was really happy when I went to a club in Miami with my friends and met Pitbull.”

It makes Pope laugh, a single dry bark of laughter that he tries to cover by coughing, and the entire room turns and stares at him.

Then it’s your turn, and if Pope thought you were a charming weirdo full of random facts when you’re sober….Christ almighty, does weed ramp it all up to a thousand.

“I’m grateful for my ancestors,” you say.  “For mitochondrial Eve and Y-chromosomal Adam, and even further back, for the cyanobacteria which gave oxygen to our planet, for the first creature to crawl onto land – “

You probably have more to say, but your mom darts over and clamps a hand over your mouth, hisses something at you until you nod against her hold.  When she releases her hand, you add in a tone of mock-contrition, “I’m grateful for family, who have your back no matter what.”  The sarcasm is dripping, and Pope can sense the underlying tension which isn’t even underlying anymore – it’s out in the open.  What is the story there?

Your stepdad, the deep-sea fisherman like some lame middle-class Hemingway protagonist, breaks the tense moment by clapping his hands and announcing that dinner is served, and then the music is turned back up.

Pope waits for the room to clear a little, and he makes his way over to you.  “You’re trouble too, Bean.  Not just me.”

You giggle, and it makes Pope’s heart feel like its floating in his ribcage like a balloon.  “Do you have my new name yet?”  You reach and out punch him lightly on the arm.  “I hate being Bean.  I’m ready to be someone new.”

“I have a few.  You can pick.”

You make a gimmie gesture with your hands.  “Let’s have ‘em then, Garcia.”

“Okay.”  He rolls his head on his neck, feels that satisfying crack.  “Sunny.”

That makes you scowl.  “Sounds like a dog’s name.”

“Okay.  Blaze.”

“Like a trail blaze?  No, that’s even worse.  C’mon, Pope.”

“Siren.  No?  Elektra.  Thunder.  Turbo.”  He rattles off a bunch of names until it dawns on you, and you turn and punch him again, your face twisted in indignation as Pope laughs.  

“You didn’t even try!” you cry.  “You’re just naming American Gladiators!”

“Okay, okay.”  He swallows hard, and his mouth is suddenly dry as the desert.  “How about querida?”  Beyond the loose-limbed pot feeling, he feels a panic pushing up in him:  it’s only a pet name because he couldn’t really give you the ones he wanted, he can’t call you mi alma or mi amor…

Your scrunch your face in thought, and then nod.  “That one’s okay.  Spanish.  I can go with that.  Doesn’t it mean sweetheart anyway?  You already call me that sometimes.”

It’s too close, you’re too close to guessing right, and the panic is bubbling up in him so he pulls the kill-switch and jokes with you.  “I could call you Electric Slide, instead,” and that earns him a third punch, and the fact doesn’t escape his notice that you are far touchier with him than you’ve ever been before.

“That song is about a vibrator.”

Pope snorts.  “Yeah, you told me that fun fact.  But I looked it up, and that’s just an urban legend.”

“It isn’t!”  

“Yeah, yeah.”  He hooks an arm around your shoulders, steers you into the dining room where the food is laid out, buffet-style.  “I bet you know a guy who knows a guy who died from eating Mentos with Coke too.”

“There was a couple in my class who were murdered by an escaped serial killer with a hook for a hand, too.”

“You’re such a smartass,” Pope says.

“You love it,” you reply.

-----

You and Pope are the last ones through the food line, and there’s nowhere to sit, so you return to the gazebo.

“It’s better out here anyway,” you sigh.  “As much as my mom complains, she loves the drama of having a crazy daughter.  Gets her a lot of sympathy.  If I stayed inside, she’d just get me stirred up until I snap.  It’s our annual tradition, me ruining Christmas, her harvesting the pity for the rest of the year from her friends.”

Pope balances his plate on his knee and turns to face you.  “Querida, you aren’t crazy.  You’re one of the sanest people I know.”

“Nah,” you shake your head.  “You don’t know me that well.”

That stings, even if you didn’t mean it to.  “Frankie knows you,” he blurts out.  “He never said you were crazy.”

“Frankie doesn’t know me that well either, I guess.”

You’re both still stoned, and you chat in a meandering way while you eat.  Pope ends up spilling his guts in a way he hadn’t wanted to:  he tells you about his insomnia and how much he hates his job, how he feels unsettled and unsure of what to do next –

You listen to all of it, murmuring words of encouragement, and as Pope rambles, he grows steadily more aware not just of you, but of your body:  the heat of your bare arm brushing against his, your steady breathing, the careful way you chew your food.  You’re a little restless, you tap your feet in some pattern he doesn’t recognize, but you hit his foot every so often, which makes you sway away from him for a beat before you sway right back.

He watches you as he talks, and the words are spilling out without much thought because all he can focus on suddenly is your face – your slightly-red eyes, your mouth.  Fuck, your mouth – he’s thought about that part of you so much, imagined what it would be like to kiss you, to see your mouth on him, to see your mouth slack as he did things to you, the sounds you might make –

He wants to lean forward and kiss you, the moment is too perfect to pass up, but his thoughts feel slippery.  He can’t catch just one to focus on before it slips out of his fingers, but the one that keeps cycling through his head is this:  you’re stoned, she’s stoned…don’t take advantage of the situation.

So he doesn’t kiss you.  He only spills his guts about his lonely, unhappy life as you listen.

-----

Pope is given a view of what your relationship with your mother is like.  

It’s near the end of the night.  No one has left yet, but the mood in the room feels like the party is about to break up.  You and Pope are back inside, standing near Frankie and Sara and the elder Morales, and Pope notes how you stand apart a bit, how you refuse to really engage.  Mrs. Morales is making oblique small talk about babies, and your eyes are a little glassy as you stare ahead at nothing in particular.

Then your mother strolls over.

She’d just get me stirred up until I snap is what you told Pope as you ate outside, and that’s exactly what he witnesses: your mother sauntering over to the group, listening for a moment to Mrs. Morales hint at her desire for grandchildren.

Then she turns to you.  Fusses with you, as Pope has seen other mothers do with young children – she tugs at the hem of your sweater, brushes a bit of hair out of your face, makes a backhanded comment about how you actually wore mascara, that you actually made an effort this time –

Pope watches your face, and your eyes lose their glassy quality as you clench your jaw.  He swears he can hear your teeth creaking at the pressure.

“I tried to look nice for the party, mom.”

Your mother pulls a wounded look.  “I said you look nice.”

You huff out a terse breath through your nose, making your nostrils flare a little.  “No, you said I actually made an effort, and you used that tone – “

“I did not have a tone.”

“ – to imply that I never make an effort usually, that I’m just your fuck-up of a daughter – “

“Your language, please, this is a party – “

“Oh, this is the party.  Yes, I know.”  You glance around the room.  “People come to the annual Christmas party for the ham rolls, the festive atmosphere, and the screaming match between poor Beth and her crazy daughter, and all the ladies at book club will be aghast with concern until, what?  At least June?  And then you can switch back to the usual old story until we’re ready for Christmas again.”

That makes the group explode into action:  Mrs. Morales clucking her tongue sadly, Sara biting back a vicious-looking grin, your mother daubing at the corners of her eyes in the worst bit of acting Pope has ever seen.  

Frankie murmurs your name and reaches out, maybe to lay a steadying hand on your arm, maybe that’s been his role for a while now.  But you jerk away at the last minute and don’t let him touch you, and you pivot on your heel before turning back to them.

“Let’s just skip the next part, okay?  I’ll just leave.”  You step back to face the entirety of the partygoers and recite, “I’m sorry for disturbing your lovely party, as usual.  Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and a blessed fucking Yule to all.”  

Then you give a mocking little curtsey and march out the door without a backward glance.

Pope takes half a step towards you, has the thought to go after you, but Frankie put his hand on his arm and holds him back.  “Don’t,” his friend murmurs, and Pope knows he’s too out of his depth to do any good anyway.

-----

Pope is rapidly sobering up now, and he tries to get Frankie to explain it on the short drive home.

“Bean and her mom just don’t get along,” is all he says, and his words are clipped with a terse edge.  “Sometimes mother and daughters don’t get along.”

Sara laughs at that, and she turns in her seat to look at Pope.  “It’s an annual thing, the two of them fighting.  The party last year, the two of them got into a screaming match that - ”

Frankie makes a noise in the back of his throat and gives Sara a stern shake of his head, which makes her pout and turn back around in her seat, leaving the sentence unfinished.

That night, laying wide awake with his thoughts racing, Pope hears another fight between Frankie and Sara.  He can’t make most of it out, but he hears your name at one point, and it ends just as before:  slammed door, headlights across his wall, and someone driving away in anger.

-----

Over the next few days, it’s hard for Pope to pin you down.  You text him, you talk to him on the phone, but you’re noncommittal about meeting up.  Things feel weird, tense, and Pope doesn’t know what is causing it.

When he finally sees you, it’s another group thing.  The guys are getting together to attend one of Benny’s MMA events, since they haven’t seen each other in a while and since Sara is in Miami with friends now.  

When Frankie pulls into the driveway of a house that Pope doesn’t recognize, you come out a moment later and slide into the backseat of the car.

“Evening, boys,” you say.  “Ready to go watch a bunch of sweaty, shirtless men rolling around the ground together?  I know I sure am.”

It makes both Frankie and Pope laugh, and for a moment it feels like that very first leave together when Pope first met you.

At the event, it’s dark and loud and smells like sweat and spilled beer.  Pope greets Will and Tom and Tom’s wife, saving his fiercest hugs for his two brothers-in-arms.  You and Tom’s wife seem friendly, and the two of you fall into a conversation punctuated with lots of laughter.

When it’s time for Benny’s fight, everyone sits down – but when Pope tries to finagle himself to sit near you, he finds the seat already taken by Frankie.

-----

Pope never gets a chance to talk to you – not at the fight, not on the ride home.  Frankie drops you off, you wave at the two of them, and then you disappear inside.

But Pope does get a chance to talk to Frankie.

“You like Bean,” Frankie says on the drive home, and the edge in his voice is a challenge almost.  An accusation.

“Yeah.”  No point in denying it.

“For how long?”

“A while.”  Pope turns to study his friend as he drives, and Frankie’s hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles gleam white in the darkness.  “Does that bother you, Fish?”

“Nope.”

“Because it seems like you’re bothered.”  Pope doesn’t want to fight, but a small, mean part of him does.  The bigger, nicer part of him wins out, and he adds as a concession, “we’re just friends, Fish.”  It’s not a lie, and if Pope wants more, that’s just a desire he’ll keep to himself.

Frankie sighs heavily at that, like he’s relieved.  “I just have a lot on my mind, Pope.  A lot going on.  A lot to think about.”

Pope makes a thoughtful humming noise at that.  It’s obvious after only a week that Frankie and Sara aren’t living in matrimonial bliss, and even if Pope is irritated by Frankie, he still loves the man and wants him to be happy.  But he’s never been married, and he’s barely even had any long-term relationships, so he has nothing to offer in the way of wisdom.

Frankie takes the silence as permission to continue, and he says, “I think I really fucked up, Pope.”

He doesn’t even need to say the next part – it’s been right in front of Pope the entire vacation.  How worn down Frankie seems, how unhappy.  How hurt he looked the night of the party when you ducked away from his touch.

Don’t say it, Fish, Pope thinks desperately.  Don’t say it, don’t say…

“I think I fucked up and married the wrong girl.”

~~~Tag List~~~ @marvelousmermaid​   @bookishofalder​   @hkmultifandom​   @cannedsoupsucks​   @brandyllyn​   @lawfulgranola​  @shakespeareanwannabe​   @greenvita   @bananas-pajamas  @rachelxwayne​   @stardust-fray   @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​  @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt​   @isvvc-pvscvl​   @rae-rae-patcha​

[yourbleedingh3art]

04.05.21 the trouble with sexual assault

personal essay / blog post

content warning // related to sexual assault, grooming, power imbalances 

I was sexually assaulted on Valentine’s Day. Painful annual reminders are expected, and never fail to make their presence. I know I never got over it.

The assault itself happened when I was unconscious, thus unbeknownst to me until the morning after, when I woke up in my bed with no memory of how I’d gotten there. The realization didn’t fall on me. It was an attic leak I didn’t notice, cause I’d never go up there, until water’s dripping on me from the ceiling. Drip, drip. Harmlessly eroding the surface. 

Healing was painfully slow. I was an unwilling patient. To me, there wasn’t anything to heal from; Nothing happened. It was an automatic choice. That couldn’t have happened to me. The denial did not feel like denial. It felt like nothing. It felt like the truth. Because nothing happened to me. Nothing out of the ordinary. I didn’t think about it. 

Months after I was assaulted, I started to piece together I was assaulted. And everything hurt. 

This isn’t about that, but what came before it. 

Middle school. 

No fun! Really, though. I hated middle school. 

It hated me right back. I’m not sure who hated who first, but middle school and I got to being straight up enemies. And I wasn’t very friendly, because screw this school, screw everybody in it, screw this big stupid world where everybody’s having fun but me. I was dramatic, expressive, smart, negative. I didn’t seem to interest other people much. Yes for conversations, yes for homework, not so much for friendship. But I didn’t want their friendship anyway. I thought I was awesome. They didn’t. So screw them. Strike first. Nothing hurts if you didn’t care about it in the first place. In sixth grade, I decided I would never be dateable. It was just natural order. But I was gonna surprise them all. I just wasn’t going to care. 

I feel like I grew up fast.

Everybody told me so, too. Is that just a thing they tell kids with no friends? I kinda thought so. But I saw their point. I was always talking to adults. I could sense my own maturity. On birthdays, how old is she turning? “11 going on 20!” 

I started to really like that about myself. 

High school was a lot different from middle school. It was bigger. And it wasn’t private and Catholic, which really made the biggest difference. And boys - they liked me here! They saw me here! I was reconsidering the Truths of the World I’d decided in sixth grade. 

The boys that liked me, at first, were my own age. The flirtations were predictable. It felt good, so good, to be wanted. Everything right in the world was to be the one pined after, the one they notice, the one they talk about, just for the power that comes with it. I never liked feeling powerless. And I was damn tired of it. 

I liked the feeling of being in control more than I liked any boy. Besides, I’d already decided they were all unimpressive back in middle school. And I was more mature than them. So I liked the juniors more. The seniors seemed too out of my league, too hard for someone with no connections. But I knew the juniors would talk to freshman girls from time to time. I had a shot. And it’s what I deserved, someone older, more suited for me. 

I didn’t really have to try.

I guess they just found me. I started listening to punk music, fell in with the alternative crowd, started dressing different, looking different. I started knowing people that knew people. I became a familiar face and name in the community. My friends dated juniors. Or they fucked them, which was crazy to me, the ultimate unreachable status. I wanted it. Just to be able to say I’d done it. I was a complete virgin. 

They found me. And they were the artists and the band members and the designers and upperclassman and how could I be so lucky. I was eager to impress. They introduced sex to me, told me regular sex was boring, not for people like us. People like us, we were 11 going on 20. We had a dominant and a submissive and it would be so hot if you would let me choke you and I can sit there and let him choke me and he’ll call me hot, doesn’t seem so bad, and I’m a man so I like to be more dominant, and if you like it that way, I guess I like to be more submissive. People like us, we work like that. 

I was better than everyone else if I was People like us. I’d have more power. Everyone would want to be me. I sparked intrigue. 

I played the part with enthusiasm. The little slut, the little whore, learning all the words they wanted, learning when to say what, and when, and what it did to people. I just couldn’t do the actual sex part. It terrified me. I had a low pain tolerance. I was scared it would hurt. 

But it was easy to say I wanted to get slapped, spit on, degraded. It was making me stronger. It was making me wanted, which was making me stronger. What they wanted became what I wanted. I didn’t see the problem with that. For all of high school, I didn’t see the problem with that. When the juniors became seniors and then became graduates, still saying the same sweet things to me, I didn’t see the problem with that. When I finally did start having sex, 17, first time, I asked him to choke me and spit on me. And I didn’t see the problem with that. either. 

I thought I had always been the one in control. 

Which made me very stupid. And very easily controlled. 

I was far from the only one. That realization was another painfully slow drip. This was wrong. I wasn’t a winner. I was a victim. And so were my friends. And none of it was normal. It never had been. Fuck. 

It came after the sexual assault by at least a year. The realization I had been groomed, and the people I’d looked up to and modeled myself after, they’d been groomed, too. Fuck. 

One big mess. 

It felt like another problem. Even though it had already happened and the effects on my behavior and personality were cemented, the realization was the problem. Things are so much easier when you can frolick around in ignorance. I wanted it back. I hated when things when hard. It seemed like things were always hard. How was I supposed to take it? 

And why? 

Why me?

Why was this my fucking problem?!

I was upset first. Sobbing second. Confused third. All three now, fourth. 

It wasn’t my problem alone. Thus, I had responsibility. Nobody else needed to get hurt like me. And if I continued not to do anything, they would. The bad guys were still out there. And they were winning. And all the small people they’d hurt had to watch. Motherfuck. 

Everyday could be a day I throw a tantrum about the world being unfair. 

But what else could I do?

Because I knew it had to be something. In the months it took me to process I had been sexually assaulted, I watched people befriend, praise, and publicly uplift my assaulter right in front of my eyes. It felt so wrong, but I’d decided the pain was my cross to bear, my price for taking so long. I felt so much anger with myself, for letting him live a life unaffected. I felt so much guilt. And it felt so unfair, he could be happy, when I walked around changed. 

If you don’t say anything, victims hurt. Victims will always hurt, but they don’t have to hurt from silence. 

Two days ago, I got back from a vacation in Florida. Before my vacation, a member of a formerly popular and adored local band, the Happy Yew, directly messaged me. The “formerly” is due to the fact Happy Yew frontperson, E. Streeter, had racked up dozens of accusations of inappropriate sexual behavior, assault, and grooming of minors. The band member was asking me if I had any firsthand “proof” of E’s misconduct. It upset me to think about the subject. I told him no, went to Florida, and tried to ignore the entire thing. Sensing a pattern here? 

Two days ago, I got back from a vacation in Florida. And then I read some Instagram stories. The Happy Yew had disbanded upon E’s controversy, as well as publicly distanced themselves from them. (E is nonbinary and uses they/them.) This announcement, posted on their Instagram page, was erased. All traces of controversy had been scrubbed. The band members were actively on a “proof run,” messaging anyone they assumed had information to discredit the current portrayal of their frontperson. All signs pointed to this: They were going to let E back in the band. They were going to pretend none of this had ever happened. 

But I think it did. 

Because E was one of the juniors that groomed me. And I have proof. 

[adventures-or-death]

Road Trip Notes 8/24 Thur 8/28

Covid put the kibosh on visiting my Dad in Florida so we canceled our flights, hotel and rental car and made a last minute decision to go on a road trip instead. It wasn't hard to figure out where to go because we love the beach and have road tripped from Las Vegas to California many times before. Our last road trip was to Newport Beach, California, which was nice, but it was crowded and touristy. Before the Newport trip we went to San Diego and stayed at the Hampton Inn near Seaworld, but the location was too far from the beach and I didn't feel good about the crackheads running around outside 24/7. We always take our dog with us on road trips. The last time we visited San Diego we found Dog Beach, which is a huge off leash beach dog park located in Ocean Beach. Shooter loved it and we loved watching him and all the dogs play in the sand and swim in the ocean. So going to San Diego again was almost a no brainer for us. I booked an Airbnb a couple blocks from Ocean Beach, which is right next to Dog Beach.

The goal for this trip was to chill out. No running around seeing the sights. We’ve done that before in San Diego. It's a gorgeous place and I love seeing the sights, but this time I needed some time to decompress.

Day 1

We arrived, plopped our bags on the bed and took the dog for a walk to get the lay of the land. Before going, I did a little research about Ocean Beach and learned that the town of Ocean Beach was laid out in the late 1800’s, but it didn’t really take off until the first decade of the 1900’s when electricity and paved roads arrived. It became a big vacation haven until the depression hit in the 1920’s. The town tanked for a while, but the 50’s came along and the population exploded. The 60’s brought in a heavy hippy surfer vibe, which still strongly remains today. I’ve been told that Ocean Beach is one of the only original California surf towns left in California that hasn’t changed all that much since the 60’s. The town motto is “Keep Ocean Beach Weird.” Perfect for us!

We left the cottage, walked the dog two blocks to the beach, made a right, and just past the rocks, Dog Beach begins. Dog Beach is one of the country’s first beaches for dogs to run freely off leash. Not many rules apply at Dog Beach except you must pick up your dog’s poop and make sure your pup behaves well with other dogs and humans. We’ve been to Dog Beach a couple times on past road trips and have never seen a vicious dog fight. Dogs of all breeds, shapes and sizes zip around the beach in harmony. It's fun to watch them smash in to waves while fetching balls and playing with each other in the water. After watching surfers ride in waves and exhausted Shooter with exercise and play, we made our way back to the cottage. Before going inside, I hosed Shooter down with fresh water and did the best I could to get the sand out of his coat. Once cleaned up, I went inside to do some organizing. The first thing I noticed when entering the Airbnb was the heat. I looked for the air conditioner right away and that's when I realized there wasn't one. How did I overlook this detail? I looked down and saw a small box fan and let out a laugh. Seriously? I looked up and there was one ceiling fan over the main bed. Oops! Thankfully San Diego weather is perfect almost all year around, but the heat inside the place was really noticeable. I also noticed no television. Great! I can't stand the TV on while on vacation. The place was quirky to say the least. It was decorated in a cute beachy way and had two queen beds, a kitchenette and a bathroom. The shower was almost too tiny for Mark to fit in to it. We laughed. Ocean Beach is old! The cottage floors sloped and felt spongy in some places. Outside we had a big picnic table, umbrella, barbecue and a thankfully we had a dedicated parking space in the back (This is extremely important in Ocean Beach). After unpacking and turning the fans on full blast, we walked a few blocks to a Mediterranean food truck for dinner. The falafel was great! We brought the food back to our picnic table and sat outside in the cool salty air talking the rest of the night away.

Shooter G.

Beach Cottage

Day 2

Went to breakfast at Day Break Island Grill on Bacon street. I had sourdough waffles and Mark ordered an omelette. We were the only customers so I worried about the quality of the food. Turns out the food was amazing. So much so that we went the next day and I ordered some delicious peanut butter, banana chocolate oat bread breakfast thingy that I wanted to eat every day for the rest of my life. The staff was laid back and super friendly. Businesses in Ocean Beach encourage you to bring your dog. It's probably the most dog friendly town I've ever been to. As soon as we walked in to the restaurant they plopped down a water bowl for Shooter and gave out menus for us and our dog. They have a doggie menu! I love that. After breakfast we changed and went to the beach. The Pacific Ocean is cold. Mark went in up to his waist and waded for a while. I stayed by our chairs and watched the world go by. The beach is my happy place. I practically grew up on a beach, so whenever I get the chance, that’s where I’m going. We walked Shooter in to the waves and all along the coastline. It was a pretty day.

After the beach we returned to the house, showered, rested for a while and went out for seafood. Shooter is the most well behaved boy! We're so lucky. He quietly lays under the table and watches things while we eat. After dinner we spent the majority of the time outside at the picnic benches then went to bed. The sun wore us out! Thankfully the cottage cools when the sun goes down.

Day 3 We went back to Day Break Island Grill and chatted with the waitress again. She was telling us about the town and how most of the people there aren't tourists. She said some of the homes are Airbnb's, but most are either owned or regular yearly rentals. It made sense because the area didn't feel touristy to me. It's extremely laid back and really quite. I expected it to be rowdy at night because I assumed all of the houses were vacation rentals, but I was wrong. You could hear a pin drop outside once the sun goes down. After the beach we grabbed some lemonade and walked through a tent festival where a bunch of legit hippies were selling all sorts of weird shit that only made sense to them. They had a giant bongo circle where twenty or so people slapped bongos while smoking giant blunts. The smell of patchouli oil was strong and the smoke was thick. I felt old. After getting a contact high at the festival we walked to the pier and around town to check out the sights. I didn't see one big box store. It was like the town was frozen in time at that 70's peak surf town time. Perfect.

Got home, took showers and slathered on as much lotion as possible to keep my skin from leathering. We hung out at our picnic table and talked a lot again. Yay for no television! Eventually beachy breezes fanned us to sleep.

Day 4

No matter how much sun block I slathered on to my body, I still managed to get a sunburn. I didn't bring an umbrella from home, but I still wanted to go to the beach. It was our last day! I called a couple surf shops and none of them rented umbrellas. Why would they? I took a shot and called an equipment rental place and they told me that they had one umbrella, but they didn't rent it out. They must have heard the desperation in my voice because they broke down and rented it to me for 15 bucks for 24 hours. Yes! The place was within walking distance so I picked it up. It was one of those big half dome umbrellas that you pitch like a tent. Even better! Mark wanted to check out Coronado Beach. We ran out of time the last time we were in San Diego so we gathered everything up and spent the day there. Coronado Beach sand has a mineral in it that makes the sand sparkle like there are diamonds in it. It's beautiful. The town is ridiculously rich. Nothing like Ocean Beach at all. The homes are in the multi-millions. Ridiculous. We pitched our half dome tent and went for a really long walk along the shoreline. Everything sparkled. The waves were big. Many were out swimming in the chilly Pacific. After our walk, we hung out under our half dome for a long time talking. Mark went in for a swim while I zoned out. Towards the end of our stay, we went for another long walk in the opposite direction. I didn't want to leave. Got back to the cottage in the late afternoon/early evening, took showers and walked to dinner to a Thai fusion place in Ocean Beach. The food was great. The air cooled down our sunburns. We ate outside and watched people pass. Shooter was under our table and was being the goodest boy. Sadness sunk in towards the end of our meal because we knew it was our last night. We had to go back to the Airbnb and pack up for an early departure the next morning.

We'll definitely go back to Ocean Beach. I hope the town stays the just the way it is and doesn't turn in to one of those instagram tourist traps.

Thank you for a great time Ocean Beach!

[something-tofightfor]

21, 24, 37, 46,54 (lol no jk) 74, 94

21. How was your day?

My day was uneventful, and I’m v. tired. I already told you this, but I only got about 3 hours of sleep last night, and it’s hitting me hard right now. I got a lot of work done, though, so that’s a plus! 

24. What was your last dream about?

I had a really strange dream the other night, and I remember it vividly: I was on a boat, but I was alone, and I was in the middle of the water. I CLEARLY do not know how to drive or operate a boat, so I have no idea how I got out to wherever I was. The weirdest part, though? I was dressed in an old-timey frontier dress...but the boat was super modern. 

37. Ideal vacation

I have two ideal vacations: 

1. I want to go to New Orleans, but not for Mardi Gras or any of the celebrations like that. I want to go and spend HOURS wandering through the cemeteries followed by HOURS sitting in Cafe du Monde eating beignets and drinking coffee. I also want to find the SPICIEST creole and cajun food that I can and just eat nothing else (aside from the beignets) for like a week straight. There’s so much about that city that I love, and I just feel like I’ll love it more once I finally get to experience it. Anyone been? Anyone got any tips? 

2. I want to go to Europe, because I’ve never been. London and GB would be fun, but I also want to go to Amsterdam and Germany and Greece and the Netherlands and Poland and ... just everywhere. The cultural sites over there are so much cooler than the ones over here, and I want to see all of that old architecture and be in the places that I grew up reading about. Greece is probably at the top of my list, though. Bucket list vacation, if I had unlimited funds to spend, though? Would include cage diving with great whites off of Australia. If I die, I die... I’ve got a GoPro, so at least people would know I went out HAPPY. 

46. The most dangerous thing you've done

I drive alone a lot, late at night to come home after out of state concerts, but that’s not really dangerous aside from the fact that I’m usually pretty tired. 

So I’ll say... when I was in college, my friend and I went on a mini road trip to see Chevelle in North and South Carolina and then in Orlando, Florida. We didn’t tell ANYONE we were going - just left in the middle of the night and WENT. My roommates thought I disappeared, but I was just having a great time. I didn’t tell my dad that I was leaving, though, and when I hit a curb and blew a tire out in Myrtle Beach... it was a friggin’ struggle to get it fixed without having to tell him since my car was under his insurance at that time. 

I also drove across the country in 2007 with 4 of my friends, left them at Pike’s Peak to hike (at their request) for the day and drove BY MYSELF without GPS or cell phone tracking to a hospital in Colorado Springs to meet my friend Andrew for the first time. I’d been talking to him over AIM for like 2 years at that point, and we’d planned to meet up, but he got admitted to the hospital for a Crohn’s complication like 2 days before we got there. I could have been abducted or murdered or whatever... but I wasn’t! 

54. Any tattoos or piercings?

Nope, not a one. 

74. A legend from where you live that you like

I think I’ve talked about this before, but there’s a cemetery about 20 minutes from me that has this giant marble ball gravestone atop it called the Witch’s Ball, and the legend is that there’s a woman buried beneath it and she’s a witch, so the ball will always be the opposite of what it’s supposed to be (hot in the winter, cold in the summer) ... and my friends and I went to see it when we were in HS... and sure enough, it was a cloudy fall day, and the damn thing was HOT. 

Another one is that this place is super haunted. I’ve been multiple times because there’s a really cool waterfall right by it. It’s very eerie here, and the road literally just stops in the middle of the woods, so that’s cool.

94. Write 3 things about yourself - only one of them must be true

... alright, Logan Delos. Here we go... 

1. I’ve never been to Canada.

2. I played the flute in middle and high school.

3. I know how to ski, but I would like to learn to snowboard, too. 

[infinitesolarflare]

10-1-0: An Incarnate’s Tale

Oh, forgive me, I see there is some information you'd need for this, well my name is Sullivan Koji. I am the one who has taken over the quest of saving our lives, in our world man has been turning a blind eye for too long. There are few selected humans to be one of the "World Walkers". Being a World Walker means you have achieved the highest level of concentration, determination, and compassion.

I guess you should understand, the common conception of time, and the universe as we know it are wrong. Long ago mages, like us humans were created, there purpose was to save the earth from certain destruction. They lived long lives, and as the mages grew old, they became corrupt. This is when man truly entered the dark ages. As the mages battled one another they discovered that after killing a mage he would burn a bright red, then dissolve. The particles of what once made up the mages were thrown farther than any human could ever imagine. These particles are what humans know as stars. Gazing at stars is a human activity with a far greater importance than they know. The mages attempt to communicate with the World Walkers through this, to find if there are any left.

Now, this is where things fall into place. There were 10 mages each holding a section of the Portal. The Portal is the one thing given to the mages so they can infinitely travel in all directions. My mission, embody the mages, become the one and only Mage left. I have been chosen because what the common man takes as a dream, or nightmare is actually a tool. A tool so useful it takes years before one can even view another world.

The one goal for man is to reach the year, ZERO. Once there man can live at peace, without war, death, poverty, hunger, and hatreds. The ones who the mages see fit to achieve peace are reincarnated every 400 years or so, these souls have purpose, they are meant to reach ZERO. Common people are pawns in the world games of chess. Those souls are reincarnated almost every second of every day. Useless people, unworthy of the true paradise, some call it heaven, others don't believe in it. I have not been there, but I've seen it. My goal for now is to build the portal, show humans what life is supposed to be....

This is almost the end of our lesson together, I Sullivan Koji, have been reincarnated only 3 times so far. This is my story, these are my trials, my tests, and my tears. To reach ZERO I must concentrate once within each universe of the infinite universes. The Old Mages War took place on an open plain, which was the only universe at one time. When the High Mage Geishino was murdered his energy, not only burned a hole into time itself but also exploded into all directions, which we know as The Big Bang. Now there were 7 mages after the High Mage. They traveled throughout all universes, battling one another, the 10 portal pieces are somewhere within them, I WILL find them....

The radio in Sullivan's room is playing Good Times Bad Times by Led Zeppelin. He has been awake for 3 days, his eyes are bloodshot, his eyes water as he sits up. "where do I go today?" his thoughts seem as though they were talking to him aloud. Sullivan has only a few friends who understand his destiny. His life long friends, and blood brothers, James Blackard and Micheal Himaru. Sullivan, from an early age displayed signs of being the World Walker this universe needed. His friends thought he was short a few screws. As we entered highschool, I stared to understand what I was...who I was. I confided in them all that I discovered and they wanted to join me in my quest. Before they could do this I needed to explore how to travel through universes.

FEBRUARY 13, 2019

Friday, 06:17

"Its already time to start, ugh this will be a long day." I focused harder and with more energy than the day before, I attempted to complete my first Walk. I sat in complete silence, in a dark room. Which was located in the basement of my parents house, I was only 17 still. As my breathing slowed, and my pulse crawled to almost a complete stop, the very first visible portal appeared in front of me. And just as quickly as it came, it was gone...vanished into the abyss. "All that fucking work, just to have it amount to nothing" I was beyond frustrated at my poor performance at keeping my cool.

FEBRUARY 13, 2019

09:14

I walked out of the basement room, my eyes squinted almost completely shut from the glow of the sun. It was an abnormally warm and sunny day, usually the frozen tundra of which was once new England was gloomy, and around 10* at all times and just a terrible place to be. This is where I called home, this depressing wasteland of no bodies. Today the sun was in full force and it was a scorching 47*. It reminded me of when I was younger, in 2013 there were swimming pools, beach days, and ice cream trucks. That all became history in 2016, the poles reversed their magnetic fields and plunged the northern hemisphere into an ice age, at the same time causing uncontrollable droughts in the southern hemisphere. With scientific advances skyrocketing in the previous years, we genetically enhanced the human races' ability to adapt to changing environments. 22% of Earths population took to the adaptations well, the other 78% died. They all just died, deteriorating to unknown people of what seemed like a time long ago. These are the most important people to my research, proving most humans are just pawns in a war they could never comprehend.

FEBRUARY 13, 2019

11:43

"uh, I am stuffed" there was no response from my abandoned kitchen. Everyone I know, everyone I loved, gone, they never made it through the treatments. There was no known location of James or Michael, or even if they were alive... I thought of them everyday, they were my drive, the reason I kept myself from killing myself. "Today is the day I find my location for my new home, a research lab, something I can control completely. Underground, deep, safe from the environment, somewhere I can keep myself and others I find alive. I gather my gear, put on my jacket, and leave.

FEBRUARY 13

13:17

I walk through the wasteland and look at the building that were once stores, shops, restaurants, and malls. " I wonder which of these will be my lab? These all were places I used to go as a kid, I even worked at a few of them. I can't believe this was all destroyed in just 3 years.. I miss my old life." I came upon the WalMart near what used to be Springfield Massachusetts. I searched for an entrance, everything was locked, boarded up, and chained together. I wander around, coming across the outdoor section of the garden center. I look through the prison like gate, which once housed flowers, lawn mowers, and all the things you could ever need for gardening. "this is how I'm gonna do it!" I pry the gate open at one of the sliding sections of gate. I squeeze through and the gate, clashes against itself as I stand up. I walk to the door and discover a door, no chains, no boards...no locks. I back up about 30 yards, sprint full force into the door. It crashes open, when I readjust to the new surrounding, I am overcome with joy, hope, and a feeling of accomplishment. The abandoned WalMart was lit up, it had power! "Finally, I have found a suitable place to get started on my lab!" The shelves were still stocked with tools, electronics, food (which was mostly useless at this point), and clothing! I wander the empty store, looking for tools to aid my needs. I go to gardening and grab a pickaxe, shovel, and a wheel barrel. I go to the shoes section of the store, rip the shelves down and throw the shoes aside. After I clear myself a space of about 30ft by 30ft I begin my tunneling.

FEBRUARY 13

15:25

"Wow, this is harder than I expected" I had only accomplished a depth of about one foot on the square area. I knew I needed help...but from who? No one was around, I hadn't talked to a human in 743 days. "Fuck this, it'll never work, its not worth it!" I through down my shovel, stormed out of WalMart and hiked home.

I was tired from my failed excavation, I felt disappointed, like I had just failed my drivers test. "SULLIVAN!?" said a familiar sounding voice as I walked down my dirt road. I snapped around with intent to shoot whoever it was, as I drew my gun I smiled, shed a tear, and dropped it. "Michael? I have been searching for you since the day the world froze over...is it really you?" "yes sully, its me. I left my home in Florida to come see if you lived through this nightmare." "wow, I can't believe it, your actually here, you came back..." "well believe it, I'm here and I know James is around still, he told me he was going to his vacation house for a few years, I knew we would all meet up one day." well we need to find him! I hope he's alive.." as we entered my house, Micheal stopped at the front door, and he removed his shoes, just as my mother always wanted. "so where are your parents?" Michael said with a caring tone. "dead. They died once the ice appeared." Michael's face dropped to one of guilt, "I'm sorry Sull..." "Don't, its fine." I just

finished making tea, I went to the cabinet and grabbed the sugar. "still drink yours with 3 sugars mike?" "I see you haven't forgotten a damn thing sully, sharp as always."

CHAPTER 2

A SUCCESSFUL ENDEAVOR

As the sun rose from what seemed to be an unending night, Mike and I unbolted the lock's from our shelter, which had finally been w q the week before, the WalMart was now the number one safezone for surviving. Or so I thought, as we entered the isles of rundown old equipment, the smell of stale food and the sound of mice filled the store. Everything that was once civilization has been turned to rubble, the common man no longer has beliefs, morals, or

[johnnusz]

‘I’m going to say my piece’ on pandemic spring break

Udonis Haslem

❮❯

Miami Heat forward and Liberty City native Udonis Haslem discusses the coronavirus pandemic, what it was like growing up hungry in South Florida, and why spring breakers needed to stay home to avoid COVID-19.

BY UDONIS HASLEM

This article by Miami Heat veteran Udonis Haslem was originally published by The Players’ Tribune and contains explicit language.

You see that video going around of these silly ass college kids down in South Florida on spring break? Talking about, “If I get corona, I get corona, bro,” and all that nonsense?

Man, I’ll tell you one thing for sure.

Those kids have never been hungry a day in their life.

They never had to worry about nothing more serious than a pop quiz. But they’re still coming down here — coming to our state — in the middle of a pandemic, acting like nothing’s going on??

I’m not usually the kind of guy who does this sort of thing … . I don’t write a lot of articles. But if you f--- with my city, I’m going to speak on it.

So I’m going to take a second here and say my piece.

It’s funny — these kids fly down to places like South Beach for a couple days to party, and they think that’s Miami. But they’ve never seen the real Miami. They’ve never been to Liberty City. They’ve never seen the side of this city that’s living check to check. The side of this city that’s surviving meal to meal.

And let me just tell you something, man — there’s a Liberty City in every city. It’s regular people, with regular struggles. And I don’t know how I can get everyone to listen, but I say this from the bottom of my heart: The people growing up in the real Miami? They’re as vulnerable during this crisis as anybody.

And I’ll tell you one more thing — this idea about those people, that because of this coronavirus they’re going to go hungry? They were already hungry. Way before all this. They were already worrying about where their next meal was gonna come from, or where they’re gonna sleep tonight, or how they’re going to get their next dollar.

And that’s what I need to get off my chest right here. Because it’s been eating me up — to see all this coverage of our city, from all these people who don’t even know what they’re talking about, that’s just focused on a bunch of kids acting stupid.

This ain’t your f---ing beach, bruh.

This is not your spring break.

This shit is real life — and come to think of it, it’s more than even that.

This shit is life and death.

But how do I know, right? I hear y’all already, with your comments. I’m just some rich basketball player. How can I relate to that? What do I know?

Man, I grew up in Liberty City.

I had never even been to South Beach until my rookie year in the NBA.

We were living a whole different life across the bridge.

We saw things no kids should see. Drug addiction was all around us. Homelessness was all around us. My mother, God bless her soul, struggled with addiction and was homeless for years until she turned her life around.

I was that kid getting those free school lunches you read about on your Twitter timeline. Matter of fact, most of us in my elementary school had lunch cards. We went to school to eat, you know what I’m saying?? Those fish sticks were everything. That little carton of chocolate milk was everything. If you skipped school to f--- around in the streets, you might go hungry that day.

I didn’t know anything different. To me, that was just the norm. Like if you had three dollars to buy some chips and a sandwich for lunch? Man, I was looking at you like you were the weird one, you know what I’m saying?

And so while I might not be a doctor or a congressman or anything like that, I do know one thing — just as someone who grew up where I grew up: If our schools have to close down for a long time because this corona thing gets out of control, millions of kids are going home to empty refrigerators.

The worse this pandemic gets, the worse it’s going to be for those kids.

Really think about that.

And also ask yourself this question: Have you ever been hungry before?

I mean really hungry? Not just, like, “Damn, bro, I gotta get on Grubhub right now” hungry.

No, I’m talking hungry.

Because here’s something that only those who’ve really struggled will ever know: Everything changes when you’re hungry. Everything, man. Your whole entire perspective changes.

I’ll tell you a true story. Any time I see a bowl of raisins? Mannnnnnnn. Listen. To this very day, if I see raisins, it’s like I get triggered. I mean it — if I saw a bowl of them on the table right now, I might go apeshit. I might damn near flip the table over. Can’t see ’em, bro. Can’t smell ’em. Makes me sick.

It’s because when I was growing up, we had too many nights where the only thing we had for dinner were those little red boxes of raisins. Nothing else, no lie. That was the main motherf---ing course. Man … you know that smell I’m talking about? The smell of that California Raisin-ass cardboard? You’d be sitting there thinking, “Alright, it’s only about 15 hours till I get to school tomorrow so I can get some fish sticks.”

And that was the reality for lots of kids before all this coronavirus stuff and all this economic pain, you know what I’m saying? That’s just life. Kids going hungry, that’s our normal, right?

If this crisis doesn’t wake us up and make us change as a country, I don’t know what will.

When the average person in Middle America thinks about this virus, and this “social distancing” talk and all that, maybe they picture a bunch of schools shutting down and then these kids going home to a bunch of nice houses and chilling for a couple months. Eating snacks, playing video games. Mom’s working from home, doing conference calls. And I’m glad that’s a reality for so many kids.

But for a lot of kids, for the other half of America, it’s not reality.

For them, home might not be the safest place.

Maybe there’s a reason these kids don’t go home until it’s time to sleep, you know what I’m saying? Maybe there’s a reason they stay out at the basketball court or at the Y until they lock the gates at night.

Might be violent in that household, you feel me?

If this situation gets out of control, and we have to keep everybody off the streets? That house they’re holed up in might start to feel more like a prison.

For a lot of kids, the truth is that school is the only structure they got. It’s the only food they can count on. It’s the only safety that’s guaranteed.

You take that all away? You better be prepared to protect them.

And that’s really the thing about this crisis that we’re living through right now. This moment we’re in … it’s not about you. It’s not about your spring break, or the way you wanna live your life. It’s like, yeah, trust me, bro — I wanna chill, too. I wanna work out at the gym, too. I wanna be on the court again, grooming these young bucks.

So hell yeah, I want my old life back, too.

But this ain’t about me. It ain’t about you.

This thing is about us.

This virus is going to affect everybody, especially the most vulnerable.

So if you got a nice, stable environment? Keep your ass home.

If you got a roof over your head? Keep your ass home.

If you got a crib with Netflix and a refrigerator full of food? Keep your ass home.

I can’t tell you what’s going to happen with the coronavirus. I’m not a public health expert. But I am a certified O.G., and I’m definitely qualified to tell you about what’s going to happen in these streets with so much of the economy shut down. If people don’t take this situation seriously and pull together as a nation, millions of kids are going to suffer.

They didn’t ask for this life. They got dealt this hand when they came out the womb. It’s our responsibility as a nation to protect these kids. You don’t have to be rich to do your part. You don’t have to be a saint, neither.

You know, I tell people all the time, I was raised on the wings of the O.G.’s.

If it wasn’t for other people reaching out their hand to me, I never would’ve made it out of my situation. I never would’ve lived my dreams. And listen, you didn’t have to be Mother Teresa to help a kid out, you know what I’m saying? You didn’t have to be working for the Red Cross to catch me on the corner where I wasn’t supposed to be, and hand me five dollars, like, “Take your ass to the store and get some food. You’re not supposed to be here.”

My O.G.’s did that for me. They looked out for me, even though I wasn’t their blood. True story — I never had a real NBA jersey growing up. My O.G. Buckwheat gave me one straight off his back. Literally took it off, handed it to me. For nothing.

You know whose jersey it was?

Alonzo Mourning.

Ain’t that crazy? Imagine telling Zo, “Couple years from now, this broke-ass kid from Liberty City is coming for your rebounding record, bro!!!!!!!”

And you know, Buckwheat … let’s just say he didn’t have a regular job. But he always made sure I was good. All around me, I had people like that. In the middle of the struggle, we had each other’s back. Sometimes people look at the inner city like it’s all crabs in a bucket, like it’s every man for himself, but that’s not the full picture.

We survived because there was always somebody willing to come pick you up at four o’clock in the morning, no questions asked. There was always somebody willing to give you the shirt off their back, or the basketball shoes off their feet, or the last five dollars in their pocket.

Can we really say we got that same feeling of solidarity right now, as a country?

I look around on social media, in the middle of this disaster, and I see a lot of people talking about “me,” you know what I’m saying?

My way of life. My vacation.

If we don’t start talking about us, then a lot of people are going to suffer.

You know how many kids would hit me up in my DMs every day, before all this went down, talking about, “Hey UD, you got a job for me? I know you own some Subways. I’m just trying to get some money for my family.”

Every day.

I’m no doctor, or no politician, or no public health expert. But I know one thing, man. We all got a responsibility to those kids.

So where my O.G.’s at? Who gonna step up for them? I got two ideas for you.

If you can afford to donate some money to support meals for the kids who really need it, help out the people at Feeding South Florida.

Every $1 provides about six meals for people who really need our help right now.

If you can’t? (And believe me, I understand if you can’t.) If you can’t, you can do something real simple. If you got a roof over your head and some food in your fridge and you don’t have to go to work to feed your family, just do the easiest thing in the world, man.

F--- your spring break.

Just keep your ass at home.

[bountyofbeads]

‘It Feels Like Being Hunted’: Latinos Across U.S. in Fear After El Paso Massacre https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/06/us/el-paso-shooting-latino-anxiety.html

‘It Feels Like Being Hunted’: Latinos Across U.S. in Fear After El Paso Massacre

By Simon Romero, Caitlin Dickerson, Miriam Jordan and Patricia Mazzei |Published Aug. 6, 2019 |New York Times | Posted August 6, 2019 |

EL PASO — After 22 people were shot to death at a Walmart in El Paso over the weekend, a Florida retiree found herself imagining how her grandchildren could be killed. A daughter of Ecuadorean immigrants cried alone in her car. A Texas lawyer bought a gun to defend his family.

For a number of Latinos across the United States, the shooting attack in El Paso felt like a turning point, calling into question everything they thought they knew about their place in American society. Whether they are liberal or conservative, speakers of English or Spanish, recent immigrants or descendants of pioneers who put down stakes in the Southwest 400 years ago, many Latinos in interviews this week said they felt deeply shaken at the idea that radicalized white nationalism seemed to have placed them — at least for one bloody weekend — in its cross hairs.

“At least for Latinos, in some way, it’s the death of the American dream,” Dario Aguirre, 64, a Mexican-American lawyer in Denver and a registered Republican, said about the impact of the killings on him and those around him.

Mr. Aguirre moved to San Diego from Tijuana when he was 5, and was raised by his grandmother in poor Mexican neighborhoods. He enlisted in the Air Force, and later became an immigration lawyer — a classic American success story.

“Many clients tell me, ‘We’re the new Jews, we’re just like the Jews,’” Mr. Aguirre said. “It’s quite a transition from being invisible to being visible in a lethal way. It’s something new to my community. We are used to the basic darkness of racism, not this.”

There are now about 56.5 million Latinos in the United States, accounting for 18 percent of the population — nearly one in five people in the country. That’s up from 14.8 million in 1980, or just 6.5 percent of the population, according to the Pew Research Center. Nearly two-thirds of Latinos were born in the United States.

From Miami to Los Angeles, many said in interviews that evidence of racism had become much more prevalent since President Trump was elected pledging to end what he called “an invasion” across the southern border of people he often characterizes as violent criminals. But the seeds of anti-Hispanic sentiment have been apparent in the country for years, they said.

Daniel Alvarez, 66, who was born in Cuba but has lived in the United States since he was 13, said that talking about the shooting took him back to when he was in high school and he tapped a young woman, another student, on the shoulder. He had not yet learned that some people in the United States can be uncomfortable with being touched unexpectedly.

“The woman turned around and said, ‘Get your dirty hand off me, you goddamn spic,’” recalled Mr. Alvarez, now a senior instructor in religious studies at Florida International University.

His voice caught and he paused as he choked back tears. “I was totally paralyzed, because I could not fathom what had just happened,” he said. “I could not figure out why somebody would refer to me in such ugly language, and I’m 66 and this happened so long ago, and it still gets me.”

Here in El Paso, a border city of about 680,000 that is about 80 percent Hispanic, the massacre has felt uniquely personal. Chris Grant, 50, a witness to the El Paso attack who was wounded by the gunman, told The El Paso Times that he had seen the gunman allowing white and African-American shoppers out of the Walmart but was spraying Latinos with bullets. In an online post, the attacker complained about a “Hispanic invasion of Texas.”

Residents now talk about how it feels dangerous to go out to eat or to the movies. Gun shops in the city are bustling with customers, many of them Latino.

“It’s basically out of the instinct of not wanting to be a victim,” said Zachary Zuñiga, 32, a lawyer in El Paso who signed up for a shooting course and is planning to buy his first gun.

“I want to be able to protect my family if people like this are going to come here thinking they can shoot up places where my family and friends go,” said Mr. Zuñiga, who grew up in a home where his parents never had guns.

G. Cristina Mora, a sociologist at the University of California, Berkeley, who specializes in immigration and race politics, said the attack was likely to have generated a deep sense of unease for Hispanic Americans no matter how long they or their families have lived in the country.

“This has impact beyond the first generation, the immigrant generation,” Professor Mora said. “It reverberates. It doesn’t have to be you who crossed the border. It just has to be you who are not Anglo.”

Suzanna Bobadilla, 28, learned about the shooting while she was on vacation in Connecticut with friends from college. She tried to avoid reading about the episode in detail for the first couple of days because it was too devastating, but could not avoid the story any longer when it surfaced on her social media accounts.

Ms. Bobadilla’s father came to the United States from Mexico as a graduate student in the 1980s and married her white American mother. Since open hostility toward Latinos has grown more common over the past few years, she said she spent a lot of time avoiding the news in order to look out for her own mental health.

She either reads or listens to the president’s statements, but avoids watching him on TV because it is too upsetting, and even scary, to see crowds of people chanting behind him when he talks about immigrants.

“As a child of the ’90s, I was taught that if we just share and come together and be collaborative, we’ll have this harmonious society,” said Ms. Bobadilla, who has worked for Google in San Francisco since she graduated from Harvard University.

But lately, she said, that has begun to feel like “really hard work that is exhausting.”

In Los Angeles, Kenia Peralta, 18, has been glued to Twitter and news sources reading about the shooting. It has prompted her to question her own identity as an American.

“If this is what America is supposed to be, only white, then I guess I am not American,” said Ms. Peralta, the daughter of immigrant parents from El Salvador. She and her 15-year-old brother live with their parents in a one-bedroom apartment near downtown Los Angeles.

“I will always be seen first as Hispanic, no matter if I was born here,” said Ms. Peralta, who will enroll at the University of California, Irvine, this fall.

Bertha Rodriguez, a 73-year-old retiree who was born in Cuba and grew up in the Midwest and in Mexico, where her father worked as a jockey, said she had a hard time talking about the El Paso shooting without breaking into tears.

“I live in this terror for my grandkids,” said Ms. Rodriguez, who now lives with her mother in Century Village, a large retirement community in Pembroke Pines, Fla. She said two of her grandchildren happened to be at a Walmart in Louisiana when the El Paso massacre unfolded. “This is not the United States that I grew up in,” she said.

In Connecticut, Karla Cornejo Villavicencio, 30, said she felt physically sick when she learned that the gunman in El Paso had seemed to have targeted Latinos. She and her parents came to the United States from Ecuador without papers when Ms. Cornejo Villavicencio was 5. She is temporarily protected from deportation under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program and is applying for a green card through her spouse, but her parents are still undocumented.

Now finishing up a Ph.D. at Yale in American Studies, Ms. Cornejo Villavicencio was out to dinner with her partner when she heard the news about the attack in El Paso. She briefly cried in the car but then stopped herself. Crying is considered a sign of weakness in her family and she was scolded for doing it as a child.

To her, the shooting felt like the culmination of a lifetime of fear, one that used to be about her parents getting deported, but now included the possibility that they could be targeted in a terror attack.

“It’s really hard to be alive as an immigrant right now and to not be sick and exhausted,” she said. “It feels like being hunted.”

Simon Romero reported from El Paso, Caitlin Dickerson from New York, Miriam Jordan from Los Angeles and Patricia Mazzei from Miami. Erin Coulehan and Arturo Rubio contributed reporting from El Paso.

[ghostiedoesherbest]

Patches - IV

Trigger Warning: talk of abuse and abusive relationships

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Pidge had returned to the castle without her father and she was sad despite rescuing all of the other scientists that had been held captive. Mateo and Lotor had been sitting in the former’s room, enjoying each other’s company as they regalled one another with funny stories from their adventures, unaware of the offer that Zarkon had made to the Paladins in their absence. Lotor was busting his gut over the story Mateo was telling him about he and Lance finding a turtle while they were on vacation in Florida. Lance had always been afraid of turtles for some reason and that fear increased when the turtle had these loud squeaking noises. Lance immediately started screaming which only caused the poor terrified turtle to squeak even louder. 

“What happened after that?” Lotor was barely able to wheeze out as he held his sides. 

“I went back the next day with some strawberries and I saw that same turtle. I put one in front of it and it ducked into its shell. It took some patience but eventually it came out and started nibbling on it. I was going to leave it there with some strawberries but it started following me but it was so slow that it was pitiful. So, I got permission to take it home and keep it as a pet,” Mateo explained with a wistful smile. “I learned that he was male and named him Toby.”

“How long can these ‘turtles,’ live?” Lotor asked in concern, not knowing how long the human had been in space.

“Well it depends on the species. Small turtles can live for about eighty years and the big ones can live well over a hundred years - I mean deca-phoebs. So chances are, Toby might outlive me,” Mateo chuckled as he scratched his neck. “Lance’s older brother, Luis promised to take care of him since I couldn’t keep him in the barracks with me while I was in the Garrison.”

Lotor was about to delve into the story of how he almost adopted a flesh eating monster that used its cute appearance to lure its prey into a false sense of security when Mateo received a message from Shiro. Lotor watched as Mateo’s smile faded when his eyes scrolled over the holographic text that appeared before him. He turned to the prince with a grim frown, “We’re needed in the control room.”

Lotor quickly sobered and Mateo gave him the time to gather himself before they left his room. The brief walk was filled with tension and Mateo was trying not to show his worry for Lotor as not to worry him as well. There were even more grim faces upon entering the control room. Mateo ignored the glare that was leveled at him and the prince at his side from a certain Altean princess. “What’s going on?” he asked, taking in everyone’s resolute expression. 

He crossed his arms when no one answered as he patiently waited for them to answer his question. It was Shiro who finally broke the silence before Mateo could grow impatient. “Pidge wasn’t able to rescue her father but...we know where he is and how to get to him.”

Mateo blinked in surprise, his brow furrowed in confusion as he and Lotor shared puzzled looks, “Then why all the long faces?”

Shiro sighed in exhaustion, “Zarkon has Commander Holt and he’s willing to trade him for Lot -.”

“No.”

“What?!” Pidge shrieked in outrage. “What do you mean no! That’s my dad!”

“And this is Zarkon we’re talking about!” Mateo snapped back. “Do any of you honestly think that he’d actually hold up to his end of the deal even if you did go through with it?”

“What do you mean ‘if?’ This is my dad we’re talking about!” Pidge snarled,

“You have all of my sympathy but we have to think about this objectively. Our goal is to take out Zarkon and someone has to take the throne after him. After the first attempt, I’m pretty sure he gets that and he also understands that Lotor would be able to take over after him. If he gets Lotor then this would have all been for nothing. Zarkon wins because for all we know Lotor is the only Galra willing to work with us outside of the Blades of Marmora.” 

“Who -”

“Sh sh sh,” Mateo interrupted Lotor’s inquiry with a finger to his lips, “I’m on a roll here.” He returned his attention to an obstinate Pidge and continued, “We need to have a plan - multiple plans in fact because we can’t trust Zarkon.”

“But we can trust Lotor?” Allura scoffed. 

“More than Zarkon that’s for sure,” he retorted.

“What if they’re working together?” Pidge demanded. “What if this is all some big plan to earn our trust and betray us later?”

“Then it’s even more important to keep Lotor out of Zarkon’s hands. I know you want to jump at the chance to have your father back but we need to think this through.”

Shiro put a hand on Pidge’s shoulder, “Mateo is right. We need to be prepared.”

“My father has held the universe in a death grip for millennia, but he sees it slipping from his grasp because of your efforts and because of mine,” Lotor said, hesitantly resting a hand on Mateo’s shoulder to feel grounded. This will be one of the most difficult things that he will ever have to do. “With our forces combined, we would provide the greatest threat Zarkon has ever faced. He knows we could topple his empire, so this is his attempt to tear us apart. But united, we could forge a new path, open doors to new worlds, and crush the tyrannical ways of an old regime.”

“It’s a regime you ran! We can’t listen to him. He just wants to save his own skin! He shouldn’t even be out of his jail cell!”

“If you return me to my father he would surely see to my demise. And with his most legitimate threat to the throne removed he would only grow stronger,” Lotor admitted.

“One less threat to Zarkon and one less threat to us,” Pidge coldly retorted.

Lotor turned his gaze onto Allura and took a step forward to stand in front of Mateo, “Your father, King Alfor, once stood side by side with Zarkon and protected the universe from harm. There was no foe the paladins of old couldn’t defeat. Sadly, that time of peace has been lost, but, together, we can find it once more. Princess, imagine a new generation that could lift the mantle of peace. The children of King Alfor and Emperor Zarkon, you and I, a royal alliance between Altean and Galra.”

Lance grew defensive when he interpreted that as Lotor making a pass at Allura, “How ‘bout we don’t imagine that!”

“Lies! Every word is a lie!” Pidge insisted unwaveringly. 

“So suddenly Zarkon speaks the truth?” Mateo asked as he watched the very one sided exchange. “You’re still ignoring the fact that Zarkon is our biggest threat and he’s lining everything up so that either he or someone like him could be on the throne. Do you really think he’ll do as he says and return Commander Holt? You expect the corrupted leader of a ruthless empire that has murdered his friends, crushed civilizations under his heel, and ceaselessly chased us through the universe will honor his word?” 

“You think he’ll double cross us,” it wasn’t a question on Shiro’s part.

“I don’t think, I know, Shiro!” Mateo implored.

Lotor nodded in agreement. “I believe he would do anything to rid himself of me and claim the Lions of Voltron.”

Allura’s expression was troubled as she thought over this information, “An alliance with the Galra heir could end the war.”

“What?!” Pidge demanded in outrage. 

“It’s not ideal,” Allura said, trying to placate the volatile Green Paladin. “I don’t like trusting the Galra but it could be our best option.”

“No!”

“Pidge think of the lives we could save. Think of the countless worlds we could free,” the princess tried to reason.

“Think of my father!”

Mateo sighed in exasperation and approached the Green Paladin before bringing his fist down onto her head. 

“Ow! What the heck Teo!” 

Mateo regarded the younger girl with disappointment. “Pidge I don’t want to be that guy but shut your trap and listen. I’m gonna go slow so you can keep up. We’re at war, a war that will never end if we don’t screw this up. If we hand over Lotor everyone else is screwed because Zarkon’s place is secure and even if we did manage to take him down afterwards, the empire would have a power vacuum and we all know how that would turn out. We have the chance to end this war in our lifetime and giving Lotor to Zarkon might tip the scales in his favor in one way or another.”

“You wouldn’t understand, you never even met your dad!”

Lance and Mateo both took in sharp breaths for entirely different reasons. Lance, because he’d seen the murderous look in Mateo’s eyes for a split second and Mateo, to keep himself from throttling the petulant Paladin. He leaned down to glare into her hazel eyes.”I’ll let that go because you’re Lance’s friend,” he said in a deathly quiet tone. “But your voice and wants aren’t the only ones that matter. Hunk, you’ve been quiet. What do you think?”

Hunk flinched, surprised at being addressed. He began to twiddle with his fingers as he tended to do in tense situations, “I don’t know - I mean. If this dude here is on our like he says he is,” he turned to Lotor with uncertainty, “you are saying you’re on our side right? Then, couldn’t he lead the Galra toward peace from the inside like they’ve been saying?”

This was as much as Pidge could take as she rose her voice over Hunk’s, “We are turning him in and getting my dad back. We have Voltron to bring peace to the universe.”

Mateo scoffed, “Voltron is a weapon, not a miracle worker. How long would we have to fight if we turn Lotor in? Months? Years? All because you value your dad’s life over others? How many will die for this Pidge? How much blood are you willing to have on your hands for this?”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair,” Mateo snapped at the Paladin’s weak response. “If we do this your way we lose more lives than necessary because of you and you better be ready to live with that because I’m not.”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Shiro scolded, getting between them. “We’re trading Lotor for Commander Holt and that’s final.” 

“But Shiro -” Mateo tried to protest, not noticing the way Lotor tensed or how his fists were clenched.

“That’s final, Mateo.” Mateo grit his teeth and glared at everyone in frustration. Lance, Hunk, and Coran avoided his gaze, Allura and Shiro gave him looks of resignation, and Pidge met his gaze head on with one of disdain and anger for not being on her side. 

“If you’re gonna send him to his death, then you might as well make him comfortable beforehand,” he grunted, knowing that he was outranked by the Black Paladin. However, he dared anyone to contradict him as he led Lotor away. Lotor followed in silence, unsure what to say about what he’d just witnessed. The tension in Mateo’s back set him on edge, until he stopped and let out a sigh that seemed to make him deflate. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what we’re about to put you through.”

Lotor chuckled in an attempt to reassure him, “I’m honestly surprised that you still defended me as much as you did. Although, I must admit that I didn’t expect the Paladins of Voltron to be so...”

“Impulsive?” Mateo offered him a bitter smile. “Yeah, it’s actually pretty amazing that we’ve survived this long. There’s only so much you can do when you put an insanely powerful super weapon in the hands of children. Someone’s gotta play devil’s advocate and often times that makes you the devil in some eyes.” 

Lotor hummed in thought as he continued to follow Mateo, recognizing the hall that they were walking in. Mateo stopped at a door and Lotor was met with the sight of the brunette’s room. Nothing had changed since they had last been there, but Lotor noticed with intrigue that Mateo had a little compartment that went unnoticed before. He watched the human tap that compartment and open it to take out a small touch screen device wrapped up in a long blue wire. Lotor sat on the bed next to Mateo when he absently waved him over while unraveling the wires from the device. 

“I don’t know what the Galra have for music, but this always puts me at ease,” Mateo said as he offered Lotor an earpiece. 

The Galra prince hesitantly took the earpiece and placed it in his ear. He watched Mateo scroll into a playlist, not recognizing any of the songs written using one of earth’s many languages. Mateo selected a random song and it began to play. Lotor was intrigued by the sound of stringed instruments and high hats filtering through the earth device, and glanced out the corner of his eye to see Mateo leaning back on his arms with eyes closed. His chin was tilted back, baring his vulnerable neck to Lotor as he lost himself in the music. The prince mirrored his position and closed his own eyes, letting the melody and words envelope him and set him adrift.

He felt weightless as the music took him away from his problems and tried to ignore the dread that came from the anticipation of coming back down to them. His eyes fluttered open when the song ended. “What was that song about? The singer sounded like they were in deep despair.”

“That’s because the singer is narrating the life of someone in a really bad relationship. He’s hurting her and lying to her, breaking her heart and then promising to never do it again only to repeat the cycle. She makes an effort not to set him off, thinking its her fault but nothing she does ever works. The one thing she finds solace in is the rain. It’s cooling and comforting for someone coming from such a heated place and it gets her mind off of her situation if only for a few moments.”

“Why is she still with someone that hurts her?”

“Because she loves him, and love can make even the most perceptive people blind sometimes. She wants to leave this man behind and get better but her heart is trapping her with him. She believes that this man loves her as much as she loves him despite the abuse and that’s what keeps her there. In the end, she does end up leaving him to start a new chapter of her life. She’s decided to put herself first because she knows she deserves better. This was one of my mom’s favorite songs,” Mateo sighed, not even flinching at the twinge his heart gave at the mention of her. He’d long gotten used to the ache. 

“Why would your mother love such a sad song?” Lotor asked in confusion, the phrasing not lost on him. Sure, he could appreciate the song but in his experience, most people favored more upbeat and joyous music than what he’d just heard.

Mateo chuckled, “You know I asked her the same question and you know what she told me?” Lotor gave him a puzzled look, queueing him to continue. “She told me that this song is a testament to strength. This woman wasn’t some great warrior with a legendary weapon. She was a tired woman who wanted more than to be beaten down by life, but she had the strength to be her own savior. No one came to her rescue because no one was going to come. She had to do the saving on her own and that takes a strength that I don’t know if I’ll ever have if put in her situation.”

Lotor stared off in thought, reminded of certain aspects of his own life, “I suppose I can see where she was coming from.” He returned to his previous position, listening to the next song that had already begun to play while they’d been talking.” 

Mateo watched him out of the corner of his eye and made up his mind. He reached into the still open compartment that held his phone. It didn’t take a genius to know what Zarkon would do to Lotor once they hand him over, so he took out the only possession he had that would at least allow the prince to put up a fight. Wordlessly, he slipped it into Lotor’s hand and the prince curled his fingers around it like it was a lifeline. Neither of them said a word as Lotor placed the knife in his boot and they tried not to think about his looming fate. This was the most Mateo would be able to do for Lotor and he hated it. They were supposed to be the good guys, so why were they doing something that felt so damn wrong?

Tag List: @starfaring-princelotor @motheroflittlelions@fandomsoffeelings@done-with-your-shit-shirogane @kirahhhh@legendofcarl @lotor-for-emperor@marvelheaux @yanderemommabean@lotorrential @planet-jumping-warrior

[echelonlab-blog]

Must Be The Rain

I was busy cleaning up the mess left over from the party when he finally arrived, looking like Santa, with a bag full of gifts slung over his shoulder. I could see the fancy wrapping paper sticking out the top of the toy store bag, and one name came to mind, Connie. No way did he wrap those gifts himself, she did it for him, and even though she was in attendance, she mentioned nothing other than the fact that Shan would be running late. “Knock knock,” he said in that low, gravelly voice of his through the screen door. Jesus, he looked hot and I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I could taste blood.

“You’re too late Shannon, the party ended an hour ago.” I said bitterly, not bothering to walk over and open the door for him. The party was supposed to take place outside in the backyard, but sadly. the forecast called for rain. We normally don’t get a lot here in sunny California, so it was just my shitty luck it had to happen today of all days.

“I know, I’m sorry, my flight was delayed. I really tried to get here this time Bekka.” He studied my face, trying to see if I believed him or not. “Where is she?”

I glared at him, shifting all of my weight to one foot. “In her bedroom, playing with her new toys.” I was pissed as hell with him for never showing up on time like he promised, but at least he showed up. My father made endless promises to me when I was Ellie’s age and never kept a single one. I was so hurt by his lies, but I blamed my mother for not shielding me better. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about that with Shannon. He’d never hurt her like that.

“Can I at least come in and give her these gifts, please?” That sad face and pouty lip still tugged at my heart strings six months later. I wasn’t over him and didn’t think I’d ever be.

I tried like hell, but couldn’t stop my lips from curling upward. “Fine,” I said with as much attitude as I could muster. He opened the door and stepped inside, his boots clicking on the hardwood floor as he laid the bag down next to the couch and proceeded toward me. He leaned in, gripping my arms tightly and planting a kiss on my head as he forced me into one of those strong hugs of his. Just as I started to gather my argumentative words, he let go and sauntered down the hallway to our daughter’s bedroom.

“Daddy! Daddy!” I could hear her excited squeals echoing through the house the second she saw him. She missed him terribly and asked when we were going home pretty much daily.

It crushed my heart and I could sense my eyes beginning to water slightly as I sighed, listening to them playing together. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. I simply couldn’t deal with him rarely being around and the temptation that only increased while he was out there on the road. Even though he never actually had sex with anyone else, he had the intention of doing it and backed out at the last minute. I found out after the fact, but the point is, he thought about it. This led to many, many horrible fights. Of course, there was the option to travel with him, stop any chance of it happening again, but that would be too difficult with Ellie. Tour life really wasn’t the place for a rambunctious three year old, and I had to put her first. So, after one too many fights, I packed up and moved into a nice little three bedroom house about fifteen minutes from Shannon.

He made it known that he wasn’t happy with my decision and seemed to be determined to get me to come back to him. He came by often, when he was in town, trying to talk me into coming home. “What did you bring me?” The door burst open and Ellie flew past me, racing over to the overflowing bag. Clearing my throat, I wiped my eyes and continued to pick up the mess in the dining room while watching my daughter go nuts, pulling the first package out of the bag.

“Open them up and find out princess.” He grinned as he came to a halt next to me. Folding his arms, he nudged me with his elbow and nodded over in the direction of our baby girl.

Ellie was already shredding the wrapping paper and I rolled my eyes, noticing that he got her the most expensive toys. “I just cleaned that room up Shannon!”

“Always so negative Bek.” At least he shaved that horrid beard. Last time I saw him it was so out of control and he was much more handsome without it. “I’ll take care of it, okay.” I watched him go sit next to her on the floor, folding his legs in front of him and pulling all of the presents out of the bag. He stacked them up for her to unwrap, handing her a new one each time she finished oohing and aahing over the one in her hand. He then shoved handfuls of the discarded bright pink paper into the empty bag.

Once she was finally done opening his gifts, she asked if they could go outside and play. It hadn’t rained yet, but I could see the gloomy gray clouds building in the sky and knew it wouldn’t be long before it was pouring. Shannon conveniently brought over her new rain coat and matching boots for the little vacation he had planned for next month and oddly enough, that was all she cared about. He asked me two months ago about taking her to Florida for two weeks next month. The coat and boots were merely a precaution, I guess. Apparently September is a rainy month in the south.

My daughter sat on the floor, seemingly mesmerized by the red boots with dark polka dots on them. Ellie slipped off her new shoes and shoved her little feet into the boots. She always was a daddy’s girl and he knew it. As soon as she stood and took a few steps, gazing down at the ladybugs on top of the rubber material, she bolted over to him. “Let’s go outside! Da…ddy.”

I shook my head as she tugged on his jeans. He only laughed, “Okay, okay.” He then squat down and helped her into the jacket, buttoning it up. “Show mommy how cute you look.”

She spun around and smiled at me, but before I could dig my phone out of my pocket and snap a pic, she ran over to the door. “Are you really going outside like that?” I asked, shocked that he was really doing this.

He drew the hood of his jacket over his head. “I suppose so. I’ve got a change of clothes in the car, so I should be good, but I appreciate the concern. If I get sick, are you gonna take care of me? You know, make me stay in bed and feed me some soup?” Raising his eyebrows, he blew me a kiss.

He earned himself another eye roll before exiting the back door with Ellie. I cleared the table, throwing the few remaining party plates with half eaten cake and melted ice cream into the trash. It took me just a few minutes to finish cleaning and move the large plastic bag full of wrapping paper that Shannon left in the middle of the floor, to right outside the front door.

When I was done, I stood in front of the French doors, watching him twirl Ellie around with her screeching in delight. She looked up to the sky, enjoying something she knew I’d never do with her. She had Shannon so wrapped around her little finger that he’d do pretty much anything she asked. When he set her down, she started stomping through the puddles that had already gathered on the pavement. Something as simple as playing in the rain made her light up with happiness, and I was already thinking about going out to join them.

Sadly, just as I was about to put a jacket on, they were coming in. Another missed opportunity. Ellie was pulling Shannon impatiently toward the door. I could hear her saying something about playing with her new doll. I stopped her, asking that she take off the boots and jacket at the door. Shannon already knew the drill and stripped himself of the black hoodie, wringing out the water and hanging it over the back of a chair. His shirt was soaked too, but he darted through the house and out the front door, returning minutes later with a suitcase.

I was busy wiping up the trail of water he left on the floor so that nobody fell and I hadn’t realized that he disappeared. I tossed the damp towel in the laundry basket in the bathroom and pushed my partially closed bedroom door open. There he was, standing there shirtless and holding a clean t-shirt. I looked away really fast, but it was too late, our eyes had already met. It was that look of confidence that made every shade of light and golden amber in his eyes begin to spread darker brown around the edges. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were in here.” I turned to walk out, but he was quick and spun me around.

He dropped the blue fabric and caressed my cheek. The sound of my name rolling off of his lips ignited every fantasy I’d ever had about him all at once. The second his lips touched mine, all of the pain, doubt and angst blurred together with the ache of missing him. The connection between us was still very much alive and then he pressed his lips against mine even harder. His tongue slipped between my lips and the most intoxicating wave shot through me. I missed him so fucking much it made my head spin.

I wondered if he knew how crazy he made me when he pulled back, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear and staring deep into my eyes. “You miss me as much as I miss you Bek, I can sense it in your kiss. Aren’t you sick of being apart?”

“I do miss you-“ Just as I started to respond, Ellie began calling for him.

“Shit,” he picked up the blue Journey shirt from the floor and slipped it over his head. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back in a few.”

I knew that once he left the room, he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. This conversation would have to wait until another time. I picked up his wet clothes and stared down at his boots and suitcase, inhaling the familiar scent of cologne I’d come to know and love so much. I threw the wet clothes and a few pieces from my laundry basket, into the washing machine.

While he kept Ellie occupied, I was able to do some things I had been putting off and got dinner ready. Shannon kept her busy even when she grew bored of the toys. They sat at the table coloring for a while. I knew Shannon loved my veggie nuggets and I saw his face when I brought the food to the table. “I assume you’re joining us.”

“Can I?” He asked, picking up the crayons and shoving them neatly back into the box.

“That would be nice,” I responded before heading back into the kitchen for some glasses. He complimented me as we enjoyed a meal with Ellie, something we hadn’t done in a while. After having a slice of her cake, he even offered to clean the mess from dinner while I bathed Ellie and got her into some pajamas.

Shannon went back to play with her for a while and I relaxed on the couch. I was stunned that he was staying as long as he had. This was impressive. Most of the time he stopped by, made an appearance and then darted off to go hang with Jared or some friends.

At bedtime, Ellie was insistent that her daddy read her a story and lay with her until she fell asleep tonight instead of me. I finished up the laundry and got cozy on the couch, playing a game on my phone. It was over an hour later when he plopped down next to me, taking the phone from my hands and placing it on the coffee table. Both of his hands gently cupped my face and I was sure he was going to kiss me and then beg to stay, but he didn’t. Instead, he just kissed my nose and slid his arm around my side. Shannon pulled me against his chest. “Listen, I’m sorry I missed the party, it was beyond my control.” When I didn’t respond, he squeezed me tighter. “You don’t believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you. Your mother said that you’d be late and I know she doesn’t lie.” I just couldn’t get my mind off of that kiss and how it made me feel. I mean, it’s not like I left him because I didn’t love him anymore. When you’re in love with someone, feelings don’t just fade away.

“I enjoyed spending time with her. Thanks for letting me hang out for a while.” He got silent and then a few moments later, he made his classic plea. “Bek please come home.”

I sighed, dropping my head against his chest, “Shannon..”

“Okay…. let’s not ruin the night, it’s been so nice. I should probably go.” He released me and stood up. I remained quiet, watching him head into my bedroom for his things. “Walk me out,” he said, reappearing wearing his boots and carrying his suitcase. He didn’t even bother to ask for his missing clothes. In a way, I wasn’t ready for him to go. Part of me wanted, no, needed him to stay, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

“Sure.” I was a coward. Silently, I followed him out to his car and allowed him to pull me into a tight hug. Despite the heaviness in my belly, it still fluttered wildly against his body. Being so close to him again soothed me much more than I had expected. I felt the first few drops hitting my face as he released me. “Shit! You’ve got to be kidding me.” It was starting to rain. “Twice in one day!”

“It’s only water Bek. You don’t know what you missed out on earlier. Ellie had a blast.”

Jesus, what was happening to me. He’s the only man that can piss me off and make me want to kiss him at the same time. Lunging forward, I cupped his cheeks and kissed his full lips. The rain made tracks down our faces to where our lips met and I could taste the droplets in the kiss. He slid his hand along my jaw, his fingers stopping behind my ear and tilted my head back, deepening the kiss. I was dying to feel every inch of his skin. The rain had come out of nowhere and made me blink rapidly as I broke the kiss. “Fuck! Look, I don’t want you to go.”

“What?”

Why was it so hard to admit my feelings? “I can’t do this anymore. I miss you and I hate being apart much more than the stupid reasons I left you for. I trust you and I don’t want you to leave.”

The rain hammered down on us as we stood there, kissing passionately under the bright street light. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” He whispered, but I only shrugged in response. “Must be the rain,” he said with a grin.

[artificialqueens]

Here I Go Again! (Group Fic) - Epilogue (Finale!) - pureCAMP

A/N - at long last she is done and she is here and she is the dancing queen young and sweet only seventeen

In all honesty, Trixie wasn’t sure she was going to go on a honeymoon at first. As she planned the wedding with her mom, the only thing on her mind was that her mom would struggle to cope. Trixie was in no position to be gallivanting off to the four corners of the world, seeing and exploring because of her frivolous dreams. She was old enough to know that money was tight, the workload was excessive and Sharon would struggle to complete it all without Trixie’s help. 

Of course, she could never say it out loud. She’d planned a honeymoon just so that her mom didn’t question her. Sharon would be mortified if she knew that Trixie had actually planned to stay at home after the wedding, and continue her work. She’d insist that Trixie went out to see the world, found a home elsewhere - but Trixie just knew she couldn’t.

It wasn’t fair.

But things changed on the day of the wedding. With Trixie unmarried, and Sharon now married, she didn’t see why she couldn’t travel the world. Her mom had someone to care for her, even if she swore up and down that she didn’t need to be taken care of. It was no secret that she worked too much, and he could make her take a break. Additionally, they’d want some privacy for a honeymoon of their own - which was the least that Trixie could do for them.

So, with bright smiles and teary eyes, Trixie and Brian sailed away from the island she’d grown up on, heading for the musty airport that would take them all over the world.

They saw America, from California to Texas to Florida to New York. They made their way through South America, visiting the beaches and cities in Brazil and Argentina and Peru and Mexico. They toured Europe, starting in Scotland and making their way round to Ireland, back to Wales and then to England, to France and Spain and Portugal and Germany, moving further and further across the map. Trixie could hardly name all the places they’d been to, the things they’d seen. To her, it was a jumble of new places and new sights and new people and new experiences.

Brian somehow retained everything, which Trixie loved. He rattled off random facts about the cities they had walked through, hand in hand whether it was raining or sunny. He’d even gone to the extent of buying a huge world map, marking the places they’d been with little hearts. To anyone who asked, they were on an unofficial honeymoon. Everything was perfect.

“I miss my mom. Does that make me childish?” Trixie asked one night. She was already in the hotel bed, tucked up to her chin under the thick sheets, waiting for Brian to finish brushing his teeth. When he came in, flashing a pure-white smile, he shook his head.

“No way. I miss your mom too.” He replied, deadly serious. “You’ve written to her, though. At least you know she’s not worrying too much about you.”

Trixie sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. I just wish she could write back, you know? But it takes so long for my letters to arrive from wherever the hell we are when I write them, and then by the time she responds we could be anywhere else! I want to know how she’s doing.”

“Well, judging by your nosy snooping, I’m sure she’s doing just fine with her new beau.”

After Brian had been told the full story - the diary, the three guys, Sharon’s story - he seemed quite amused by the whole situations. Letting him read the diary had definitely been a mistake, though. He thought it was absolutely hilarious, and whilst reading about your mom’s sexual escapades in hopes of finding your dad is one thing, reading it with your boyfriend whilst he laughs is another thing entirely.

“Gross, Brian. You promised not to talk about my mom like that!” Trixie told him off, shoving him as he climbed into bed. Grinning, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, clinging like koala as she struggled.

“I promise not to promise things, such as myself to you and talking about your mom.” Brian said. “Hey, we’re not out here much longer. This is our last week, then you get to see her again.”

For a while, there was a peaceful silence. Trixie had almost fallen asleep until Brian interrupted it.

“Do you think Sharon married Justin because she loves him, or because he’s your dad?”

Trixie rolled over. “Both. We don’t know for sure, but we both… we both think it’s him. And it’s clear how much she loved him then and loves him still.”

Things felt calm. Their previous drama and stress was over. Trixie had seen things she’d never dreamt of seeing in her lifetime, that were worlds apart from the sandy beaches and simple life of her home. Though she missed it dearly, things felt good. As she fell asleep, in the last week of her honeymoon, she dreamt of a happy family, reunited on the Greek shores.

On their flight home, however, Trixie didn’t fall asleep to happy dreams as she had most nights on their trip. A childish excitement had stirred up ever since they’d boarded the plane, with the knowledge that soon enough, she’d be home again. Having grown up alone, Sharon was a combination of a mom, a sister and a best friend, rolled into one. Trixie missed her beyond belief.

With Brian fast asleep on her shoulder, Trixie had alternated between reading her book - a strangely exciting story detailing the love, loss and drama of a new political figure - and making small talk to the old lady sat beside her.

They’d chatted mundanely for a few hours, partially because Trixie felt bad for her. She was clearly travelling alone, with a sad look on her face. At a guess, Trixie would put her at mid-seventies. Her grey hair was swept into an elegant, but slightly dated bun, and was mostly grey. Despite her morose expression, she had a kind face and spoke in a friendly manner, introducing herself as Joan.

“So, what’s bringing you to Greece?” She asked.

Trixie glanced over at Brian, peacefully sleeping, and smiled to herself. “Coming home from a vacation. It’s a pretty long story, but it was kind of a not-honeymoon. What about you?”

Joan sighed quietly. “Returning home, too.”

“Oh, whereabouts in Greece do you live? The mainland?”

“Not… quite.” She said uneasily. “I don’t live there, not anymore. I used to, a long time ago, but unfortunately this time, I’m being brought back by a tragedy, if you will.”

Trixie furrowed her brow. “I’m so sorry, I hope you’re okay.”

For a moment, Joan was silent, frowning to herself. Something about the look on her face was incredibly familiar, but Trixie had no idea why. As far as she knew, she had never met this woman in her life until now. Yet somehow, there was a lingering sense of familiarity.

“I’ll tell you this: you’re young, and you can learn from my mistakes.” Joan turned, staring straight at Trixie. “Teach yourself to forgive. Someone I loved dearly made a mistake once, and I didn’t forgive them. My… My husband’s recent passing has made me realize that life is short and can easily be wasted. I have a fear now that it may be too late to forgive this person, or that quite rightly they won’t forgive me. Learn it young, and don’t make my mistake.”

Trixie nodded thoughtfully. She wanted to further comfort the old woman, but she wasn’t sure what she could say to make any of it better. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how lonely it must’ve felt. Her whole life, even if it wasn’t much, she’d always had her mom. Family was the one thing that Trixie knew she’d always have. Joan had nothing.

“I don’t see why they won’t forgive you.” Trixie said eventually. “Time is supposed to heal all wounds, isn’t it?”

Joan smiled sadly. “So they say. But some mistakes don’t deserve to be forgiven. You surely wouldn’t forgive your mother for kicking you out.”

Trixie frowned. “She wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Then she’s a good mother. I wasn’t.”

“H-Her mother kicked her out.” Trixie found herself saying. “She was pregnant really young, and she was kicked out as soon as she found out about me. She never let it stop her, if anything she grew from it.”

Joan listened intently. “Would she forgive, do you think?”

Trixie shrugged. “She’s… very headstrong. I was never really allowed to ask questions about Nana. She always said we didn’t need her because we had each other.”

“Gosh, she sounds just like my daughter.” Joan smiled, a hint of bittersweet sorrow tainting the happy expression. “She was a firecracker, she did what she pleased. Nowadays it’s celebrated, but we all thought it was shameful behaviour back then.”

Somewhat detective-like in manner, Trixie noted that Joan had said ‘daughter’, rather than ‘someone’. She wasn’t sure why, but the genuineness of the older woman beside her made her want to help unravel the story. She seemed kind and deeply regretful, and the idea of her being able to reconcile with her daughter made Trixie feel all warm inside. Perhaps one day, Sharon would be able to meet with her mom and their broken relationship could also be fixed.

But maybe Trixie was thinking ahead a little too much. Next to her, Brian snored quietly, jolting her back into real life.

“Either way, you have to try.” Trixie affirmed. “There’s no way you can receive forgiveness without asking for it. No matter how scary, you have to try.”

Joan nodded. “You’re very wise for such a young woman. I’m impressed, dear.”

Trixie grinned. “That’s all down to my mom. She’s the best woman I’ll ever know, guaranteed.”

She showed Joan the photograph on the lockscreen of her phone - Sharon and Trixie smiling together on the hotel courtyard, just after Sharon had ended up getting married to Justin. Standing side-by-side, their identical smiles made them look almost like twins.

Upon seeing the photo, Joan faltered for a moment, as if there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Within moments it had faded, and the older woman seemed to shake herself, smiling at the image. Trixie brushed off the sudden change in her expression.

“She’s very beautiful, like you. How old are you, dearest?”

Trixie blushed. “I’m twenty.”

Once again, Joan’s face fell for a moment before she regained her composure. The change was ever so slight that Trixie wasn’t sure she’d actually seen it or not.

“This was what was supposed to be my wedding. Me and Brian here were engaged, but we called it off because it felt too soon. My mom ended up getting married instead, but that’s an even longer story. Let’s just say, I threw her life into chaos for a few days and she managed to forgive me.”

Joan chuckled. “I see. Well, Trixie, it’s been lovely talking to you. I should probably rest now, but I’ve enjoyed your company a lot. Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble. Goodnight,” Trixie finished amiably, settling back into her novel. Every page took her a little bit closer to home, and that was all she needed.

—

“TONY! TONY!” Trixie yelled, waving as hard as she could from the docks. “TONY!”

She was running, one hand wheeling her suitcase behind her as Brian lugged the rest, burdened with the weight of it all. As soon as they’d touched down back in Greece, with the sun just an hour away from rising, she’d purchased a garland of fresh flowers from a local street vendor on the mainland and was wearing them around her neck. They bounced as she ran, tangling over her white vest.

Tony, one of the sailors who took people back and forth from the mainland to the island, was a few feet out into the small stretch of sea, fishing by himself. Usually, he would only take passengers on Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays, but Trixie knew he’d make an exception for her. Much like many islanders, though he wasn’t one himself, he had watched Trixie grow up.

“EH? ÀNGELOS? IS THAT YOU?”

The nickname of ‘angel’ had arisen simply from her blonde hair, a trait which both Sharon and Trixie had. It was a little more uncommon on the island, of traditionally olive-skinned and dark-haired residents, so many referred to her in such a way. Brian, however, still grumbled that he needed to stop making a move on his almost-wife.

“You’re so stupid.” Trixie giggled, kissing his nose. “TONY? CAN YOU TAKE US HOME?”

Tony nodded, and in no time he had sailed back from his perch, handing his fish to one of the market vendors with a shrug. He and Brian carried their bags onto the little boat, and soon enough they were sailing in the early morning sun, ready to go home.

The warm sunshine and cool sea-spray on Trixie’s skin felt so nice. Of course, some of the places they’d been had the same kind of weather, but nowhere felt as right and as natural as her home did. Part of her was convinced that, at this point, she could memorise the exact pattern of the waves beneath her.

“I’m so excited. I feel like it’s been forever since we saw my mom.” Trixie breathed, spreading her arms wide to take in as much as she could.

“Almost four months.” Brian agreed. “Three and half, I think. Have you ever been away from her that long?”

Trixie shook her head. “Nope. I think a week might be the longest.”

“Christ.”

“I never needed to!” Trixie defended herself, laughing. “Anyway, it was probably for the best this time. She deserves some time to relax and celebrate with her new husband.”

Brian wrapped his arms around her waist. “Yeah, you’re right. Justin’s a cool guy, I need to hang out with him. You and Sharon can have a girly catch up, and we’ll have some bro time.”

“Sick of me already?” Trixie teased, mock-offended. “I’m kidding. But no offence to either of you, I don’t think you’ll be having bro time. You’re not exactly the bro type.”

Brian hummed. “I guess not. Man to man time, then.”

“If that’s what you wanna call it. Me and mom just call it, you know, friendship.” Trixie shrugged.

“That works too.” Brian said, and then burst out laughing. “Hey, look, land ahoy.”

Before Trixie could react to Brian’s statement, or make a dumb pirate joke as she normally would, she spotted the edges of the island beginning to form in the horizon. There it was, her home; tall and hilly and with white buildings and white sand and beautiful memories permeating the entire place. Her heart warmed at the mere sight of it.

“I’m home!” She trilled, squeezing Brian’s hand. “Oh my god, I’ve missed it so much. I’m home!”

Trixie squealed and bounced like a little girl for the entire rest of the journey, when Tony assisted their bags off and waved them goodbye. Within seconds, she’d discarded her shoes and was running in the sand, revelling in the knowledge that she was actually, really home.

“Trix? Bags?” Brian tried.

Same as before, Trixie wheeled her one suitcase up the steps, as Brian struggled with the rest of it. It was still early in the morning, so the two of them had time to creep into their new home and dump the luggage there. Sharon had fixed up one of the old parts of the hotel that was no longer used - a similar area to where she had raised Trixie - for the two lovers, as a wedding gift. They had their own little place, with two storeys and a balcony onto the sea, but they were never more than ten minutes from Sharon, should they need her help. Trixie knew they definitely would in the coming years.

“I always thought pink was the prettiest colour,” Trixie remarked, looking around at the teal that made up the entirety of their interior. “But this is seriously beautiful. I love it.”

She flopped backwards onto the bed, breathing deeply. “Mm, fresh sheets… and they smell of sandalwood! My mom is amazing.”

Brian laughed, throwing some clothes at Trixie so they could change out of their airport garb into something more topical. As the sun properly rose, filling the room with light, Trixie watched the sea ebbing and flowing. A sense of peace washed over her, like the tide erasing the stress of a day’s footprints along the beach. She was a clean slate.

After freshening up a little, Brian joined her on the balcony. Their view was amazing - they could see the whole of the beach, and a little of the courtyard where hotel guests ate and hung around during the day. As usual, the washing lines were all still strung up, with colourful sheets flapping around in the breeze.

“Sheets are still up. Your mom must be slacking.” Brian nudged her and grinned. “She’s usually up by now, isn’t she?”

Trixie shoved him, even though he was right. “Hey! She’s just gotten married, she deserves a vacation! Her idea of a vacation probably is starting work at six thirty instead of five, anyway.”

Not long after she spoke, Trixie spotted two figures walking into the courtyard. Though they had their backs to her, she knew exactly who they were instantly.

“There, see! Mom and Justin.”

Brian nodded appraisingly. “Guess you’re right. Speak of the devil and she shall appear. In a skirt, no less.”

For most people, the observation would’ve been a little pointless, but it made sense to Trixie. Sharon never wore the kind of long, flowing skirts that she was wearing today, preferring to wear practical clothing that she could work in. Her usual attire was denim dungarees, patched up at the knees where the material had worn thin from her constant toiling. It was beyond unusual to see her in a skirt, but Trixie thought nothing of it for the time being.

“Come on, come on, we have to go down and say hi! I can’t remember what they look like anymore.” She exaggerated, giggling. Her eyes lingered for a couple of seconds on the pair, tearing down the coloured sheets into baskets and laughing together, before she turned away.

“Hurry, Brian!”

They made their way down towards the courtyard as fast as they could, now unencumbered with bags and suitcases. A childish thrill was still holding Trixie’s chest, causing her heart to hammer and thump with sheer excitement. Even though she’d kept on about it, she truly hadn’t realised the extent of how much she’d missed home.

The sound of their footsteps skidding onto the stones caused both Sharon and Justin to turn in unison. Upon seeing her mom’s face, Trixie gasped in delight.

“Trixie! Oh, my baby girl!”

The two all but ran towards one another, hugging as tightly as they possibly could. Trixie couldn’t see, hear or smell anything other than her mom, the most amazing woman she’d ever known. Everything about her was home, especially the tight-squeeze of her full body hug. Trixie blinked back tears, just about managing to subdue them as they talked without breaking apart.

“Oh, my girl. I’ve missed you so much on all your adventures. You need to tell me everything,” Sharon rushed out, all of her words spoken into Trixie’s neck.

Trixie responded by squeezing even tighter. “Of course, of course. Oh, mom, it’s so amazing to see you again. I’ve missed you every single day.”

“You’ve been gone so long, my gorgeous girl. So many things I want to talk to you about.”

At last, Trixie pulled away from the hug, gazing lovingly at her mom’s face. As she had expected, she looked happier - younger, even, like she’d taken a dip in the fountain of youth. Her blue eyes were sparkling, and a pink flower was tucked into her hair, presumably by Justin.

However, her eyes didn’t stay searching Sharon’s face for long. They soon wandered down, noting the definite curve of her stomach that hadn’t been there before. As both Trixie and Brian stared at it, wide-eyed, Justin wrapped an arm around Sharon’s waist and tenderly kissed her temple.

“Welcome home, Trixie.” Sharon said, her voice impossibly soft.

Trixie’s mind was reeling. “Mom, you’re…”

“You’re not upset, are you?” Justin’s tone was gentle.

It took Trixie a moment to realize that they were nervous about her reaction. Sharon was chewing her lip, uncharacteristically insecure, and Justin was rubbing her back. He seemed to be hiding it better, though there was a hint of doubt in his usually-twinkling eyes.

“Upset?” Trixie asked incredulously. “How could… How could I be upset? You’re having a baby! You’re really pregnant!”

At that, Sharon’s face split into a grin, a mixture of relief and tearfulness all in one. Both Trixie and Brian rushed forwards to congratulate the pair. It was possibly the most unexpected news they could’ve heard, but Trixie was positively ecstatic about it. Images of a tiny baby had already started flitting into her mind. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would they have Sharon’s eyes, or Justin’s hair? For the second time that day, Trixie was sure she could feel her heart swelling with love.

“How long have you known about this?” Brian asked. Trixie was overjoyed to see the excited smile on his face, mirroring her own emotions.

Justin beamed. “We went to the twelve-week scan on Monday, so nearly thirteen weeks. It’s already been such an amazing ride.”

“You’ve seen nothing yet, babe.” Sharon laughed. “It’s not all fun and games and cold jelly. Well, not for me anyway.”

Justin shook his head. “Gross or ugly or whatever will happen, I’m here every step of the way. That’s the least you deserve.”

Brian frowned. “Correct me if my maths is wrong, however I had an incredibly comprehensive mathematical education back in Mother Russia so I doubt this frivolous linguistic formality very much, but twelve weeks is three months, yes?”

Sharon nodded. “Yes, I’m three months pregnant. Hence the slightly more forgiving loose skirt.”

“So this happened pretty much straight after the wedding? Justin, you sly dog.”

As they cracked up, Trixie protested. “Hey! Don’t call my dad a sly dog!”

She wasn’t sure why ‘dad’ had came out, nor why it sounded so natural, but it made her stop and smile briefly, her protest suddenly forgotten. Whether the genetics agreed or not, this was her dad, stood with her mom, and Trixie was going to have a little sibling.

From then on, they eased back into a somewhat altered version of their usual routine. Justin, it seemed, had insisted on taking on the physical work, so that Sharon didn’t have to. She still pottered around like mad, doing laundry and sweeping and cleaning and cooking for their few guests. Trixie had noticed a proper reception was now set up, with one singular computer, antennae and wifi-box courtesy of Willam, which meant that a few more people were beginning to hear about the place. There was currently a total of twelve - two groups of young vacationers that had heard about the place from the new-fangled website. It sounded small, but it was their most in years.

Each morning, after Sharon had taken down the dried laundry, folded it away and cooked breakfast for the guests, Trixie and Sharon would head down to the beach, to walk, relax and catch up in the sunshine. By lunch, Justin and Brian would’ve finished most physical work and they’d eat lunch as a family on the sand. Evenings were spent finishing off any odd jobs, Sharon cooking dinner for the guests, and then spending their free time however they wanted, but usually together.

It was perfect.

Justin, for one, was loving the new routine. He got to wake up next to his beautiful wife and spend the days with his daughter and her boyfriend, like a real family would. Of course, Sharon would always protest that it really wasn’t that glamorous, but Justin begged to differ.

He didn’t care that he had to hold back Sharon’s hair as she was sick, and rub her back, and clean up any stains where she hadn’t gotten to the toilet bowl on time. Though she told him he was crazy, he relished every moment of it. This was what he had missed beforehand. If anything, it tugged at his heart to remember that she had done this alone all those years ago. It would be awful of him not to be as involved as he was.

“God, I’m so lucky.” He’d said, the night that Trixie and Brian had returned. The couple were lying in bed, almost half-asleep until he’d spoken.

Sharon had smiled. “Why’s that?”

“It’s amazing.” Justin told her. “I have all the joy of a beautiful grown up daughter, and life-changing experience of raising a baby, and the most breathtaking wife I could ever imagine. As far as luck goes, I’ve got it all.”

At that, Sharon had blushed, even though it was hard to tell in the fading light of dusk. She’d curled up closer to him, guiding his hand towards her tummy as she lay her head on his shoulder.

“Three months… Wow. I couldn’t have predicted this if I tried.”

“Oh yeah?” Justin teased

“Yeah!” Sharon laughed. “You and me? Marriage? A baby? Twenty years ago, maybe, but now? It feels like a fever dream.”

Justin grinned. “I can assure you that you’re awake, doll. I’ve had to pinch myself every morning since I got here and you’re still here, so it has to be real.”

For the most part, Sharon seemed okay with his enthusiasm. He appreciated that she’d done this before, and knew a lot more than he did, but she seemed to be letting him fumble and learn and try to protect her anyway. Thankfully, she wasn’t too shy to let him know when he was being too much, and her stubbornness had helped to ensure that everything stayed the way she wanted it.

It wasn’t all too often that Justin was right over Sharon, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“You’re such a worrier! You’re just like Trixie, a little fusspot. I’m fine, pumpkin. I can handle myself.” She told him, shaking her head affectionately.

“But the repairs are gonna take at least the next few days. I don’t wanna leave you on your own-”

Sharon cut him off with an open palm. “Justin! I’m not gonna be alone, you know that. I have Trixie, Brian if I need him, and anyone else I can intimidate into helping me. I’m only holding down the fort, I’ve been doing this for well over a decade.”

Justin conceded; she was right, after all. Every time he glanced down at the bump, he felt an urge to sweep her up and protect her, but he knew inside she’d hate to be bubble-wrapped and treated like she was fragile. This was Sharon, after all.

So he headed off towards the back of the hotel, where one of the buildings had seen the roof collapse entirely. Something to do with rain, he had been told - rotting wood and the weight of the water had caused it to cave in. It would take a while, but it needed to be done and there was no way he would let Sharon do it.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She was amazing at handiness and repairs, like she was amazing at everything. It just so happened that cooking and cleaning was amongst the skills that Justin wasn’t so good at, and Sharon’s guests didn’t deserve food poisoning. It made more sense for her to relax and take the easier jobs that he couldn’t do.

Over at the hotel courtyard, Sharon was mentally ticking off the list of jobs she needed to complete. The laundry had been taken down and folded into a basket, ready to be sorted and reused. Breakfast was done, and she was in the middle of serving it. There wasn’t a lot else to do, besides taking in any late arrivals. Maybe she could check her o-mails, or whatever they were called. Willam had set her an account up, and she was finding it quite fun to talk to him all the way in LA.

“Alright, two sausages, one egg and some beans for you…” Sharon stacked the plates along her arms, grinning at the young group of vacationers. University students, she guessed. “Traditional Greek salad… pain au chocolat… and some toast! Hope this is good enough!”

Ever since being put online - or was it on the line? She still wasn’t sure - Sharon had seen a surge in the amount of guests. Not too many, yes, but young people on gap years had begun to show up, having learnt of their whereabouts from the Internet. It was definitely brilliant for business.

“You know, I don’t understand why this place isn’t like, a five star booming business. It’s so nice here! So quiet!” One of the girls said.

Sharon smiled at her. “You’re sweet, thank you. No one really knows we’re here, we’ve just scraped by over the years. It’s nice to see new people.”

Another member of the group nodded. “I’ve been texting all my friends telling them that they have to come here. It’s not expensive and yet it’s worth, like, triple the price. This place is amazing!”

“Texting, that’s like o-mail, right? They’re similar?”

The group laughed. One girl volunteered, “Uh, it’s email… But yeah! Come look.”

Within minutes, the girls had pulled up a chair for her, and were scrolling through their phones, showing her bits and bobs she’d never remember. Texting was easy enough, but she didn’t understand some of it. Instant gram seemed confusing, as did Snapped Chat. Still, she had a lot of fun experimenting.

A little more time had passed than she’d anticipated, laughing with her new guests. It was only when she caught sight of the time, on tiny numbers on top of somebody’s screen, that she realized.

“Shit! My new arrivals were dropped off ten minutes ago! I’m the worst host…” She sprang up from her seat. “Sorry, ladies, it’s been really fun with your Twe- Twi- Twitter, but I gotta dash-”

Before she could go any farther than the centre of the courtyard, Brian appeared up the steps, leading the group of tourists with him.

“No worries, Sharon, I got them. Ladies and gents, this is Sharon, the hotel’s superwoman and owner. If you need anything at all - new towels, bedsheets, a friendly chat, advice on where to go, she’s your woman.” He introduced her, grinning the entire time.

Sharon swatted at him, before pulling him into a quick hug. “Yeah, sorry guys, it’s a little crazy. If you want to follow Brian to our new reception desk so you can sign in and sort your booking, I’ll be right there.”

Under Brian’s control, they headed out, many of them admiring her hotel as they went by. Sharon felt a feeling of pride sweeping through her. It had been hard, yes, and it had taken a lot of work, but she really had something to be proud of. Against all odds, she’d raised a child and managed to run a successful business. The payoff was so worth it.

One of the new guests hadn’t followed Brian, she was stood behind, where she had been at the back of the group. Sharon turned, about to ask the woman if she needed assistance, when all the blood drained from her face, and she stumbled.

“Sharon.”

Everything about her was what Sharon had sworn she would never have to look at again. Loose but smart clothing, telling of somebody who knew the climate well. Christ’s cross hung on a chain of silver around her neck. The same brown hair, though greyer than Sharon had last seen it, in the same twisted bun.

“No. You’re not here, I know you’re not. I’m imagining this.”

Sharon could see this very face in her mind, clear as day, yelling ‘I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU IN MY HOME AGAIN!’ at her. She remembered those same blue eyes looking at her with disgust, not love, and the way those same thin lips had pursed and curled. She remembered being pregnant and scared and cursing herself that somehow, twenty years later, the situation was exactly the same.

“Y-You’re trembling…” One of the young girls reached out to try and steady Sharon, but she only stumbled back further.

“God, she’s as white as a sheet…”

Unable to see straight, Sharon rubbed her temples, trying to make the black spots go away. It didn’t work.

“This isn’t happening.” Sharon said firmly, sure that if she believed it hard enough, it would be true. “You’re not…”

—

“SHARON FAINTED! COME QUICK!” Someone yelled.

“What?!” Both Trixie and Justin yelled in unison.

Bored with having nothing to do, Trixie had spent her time with Justin, helping him with some of the roof repairing. She’d learnt a thing or two from her mom - just enough to be a useful asset.

“She fainted? Fuck, I knew something like this would happen. Quick, come on Trix.” Justin breathed, dropping his tools as fast as she could.

Trixie bit her lip. “Should we just leave all this?”

“Yeah.” Justin decided, his face grim and marked with sweat. “Fuck the repairs, she needs us. We gotta go.”

“You’re right.” Trixie agreed, sprinting as fast she could alongside Justin. Sharon had been there for Trixie her entire life, and would continue to be. The least Trixie could do was be there for her.

As she ran, her heart pounded with fear. She knew logically that her mom would probably be fine, but the worry still had encased her chest in its icy cold fist. Sharon had never fainted before, especially not out of the blue. It was well known that she wasn’t shaken easily. Besides, she was pregnant. Even if she was fine, they needed to check on the baby. Trixie poured on the speed, thinking of her tiny sister or brother and her mom all at once.

“There you are!” Brian gasped, the messenger stood next to him, panting. “I… I don’t know what happened. I didn’t see it.”

All of the new guests, along with the current ones, were gathered in a circle around Sharon, who lay across three chairs in the courtyard. Trixie shoved past them, noticing Justin doing the same.

“I… I didn’t want to risk moving her too much, so I just put her here.” Brian explained, looking distressed. Trixie placed a calming hand on his back.

“Okay, that’s okay. Mom, I don’t know if you can hear me, but you’re gonna be fine.” She spoke quietly, her lips close to Sharon’s ear. Nearby, she could hear Justin taking control of the situation, making everybody clear off and go back to their vacation. The last thing they needed, or even wanted, was everyone gawking.

“Ma’am, that includes you. I know everyone is concerned but I can assure you her family are going to take care-” Justin was saying.

She looked up as he was cut off by the remaining guest.

“I’m her mother, and I should be here too.”

Trixie didn’t have time to make the connection in her head before she was freaking out. She knew this woman; they’d been sat next to one another on the plane. Her name was Joan, and she hadn’t seen it before but she really did bear an uncanny resemblance to…

“You need to go.” Trixie said, forcing urgency into her shaky voice. “You caused this. Get out!”

Joan squeezed her eyes shut, as though she were in pain. “I need to speak with my daughter, when she wakes up.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that twenty years ago when she needed you. She doesn’t need you anymore.” Trixie replied curtly.

Justin sniffed haughtily in agreement. “She won’t speak to you. She has more respect for herself than that.”

“I know.” Joan said. Not once did she attempt to defend herself. “I have to talk to her, though. You said it so yourself, Trixie. There’s no way you can receive forgiveness without asking for it. No matter how scary, you have to try.”

Trixie scowled. “That was before I knew you were my grandma, the woman who made my mom’s life an unnecessary hell! You could’ve changed everything. I could’ve grown up with enough food on the table and a mom who wasn’t overworked to the breaking point. But I didn’t, because of you.”

“I know.” Joan said again. “I’m ashamed. But with the passing of her father, there’s no one left.”

Justin looked livid, far angrier than Trixie had ever imagined he could be. His eyes were fire, his jaw clenched as though he was exerting an extreme amount of control. Judging by his white knuckles, he was.

“She doesn’t have no one. She has a beautiful, intelligent daughter. She has a husband. She has a baby on the way. She doesn’t need you.”

“I need her.” Joan replied simply. “I’ve been awful to her, but a wise young woman who was raised by the most resilient person I know told me that I had to at least try. My husband’s dying wish was for us to have some kind of relationship after so many years apart. He wanted me to seek her out because he knew he didn’t have long enough left to do so himself. I’ll allow you to think on it, as I need to go to my room. Please, if she awakes, let me have one moment with her. That’s all I ask.”

With a deep sigh, Joan turned and walked away slowly. Trixie watched her back until she was gone, her chest heaving up and down with repressed anger.

“I don’t like this. Not one fucking bit.” Justin spat.

“Me neither.” Trixie agreed. “Why the fuck should she be allowed to waltz in after twenty one years of nothing?!”

Brian rubbed her hand gently, soothing her. “As someone who isn’t technically affiliated with Sharon in any way… I’m kinda looking at this objectively. Sharon’s mom wants to reconcile with her estranged daughter. This could be a chance to apologise and reunite, couldn’t it?”

“But twenty one years, Brian! Why now?”

Brian shrugged. “It’s as good a time as any, really. In a non-biased way, surely it’s better to apologise after two decades rather than never apologising at all?”

Neither Trixie nor Justin could formulate an answer. They didn’t even have a chance to try, as Sharon began to stir.

“I d-don’t know what happened, I-I was just stood up and then-” She spoke quickly, sounded disorientated. “What’s going on?”

Justin was the first one to her side, kissing her cheek and placing his hand on top of hers, resting on the bump. His concern was so genuine and tender that Trixie squeezed Brian closer to her, touched by it.

“You’re okay, baby. Just relax for a moment, before we delve into-”

Sharon bolted upright, moving so quick that both Trixie and Justin flinched back in surprise. Her face twisted into an expression of pure dismay, and she rested her head in her hands.

“Oh, god… she’s here, isn’t she? She’s really here.”

Unable to hear her mom sounding so dejected, Trixie knelt besides Justin. She had to try and cheer her up somehow.

“It’s alright, mom. It’s not a huge deal, right?” She tried. “I was- I was sat by her on our flight back. I never would’ve known…”

Sharon scowled. “I’ll bet she fucking knew. Fuck, Trix, I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Trixie was confused.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel.” Sharon murmured. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know why she’s here.”

The more Sharon spoke, worrying herself about the sudden arrival of her mother, the more Trixie started to come around to Brian’s idea. Truthfully, she didn’t think Joan deserved a chance to talk things out with her daughter, not after so long, but there wasn’t much else that they could do about it. Surely, she reasoned to herself, getting closure would be better than leaving things open ended like before. Speaking softly in order to try and keep the situation calm, Trixie expressed her thoughts. Justin pursed his lips.

“After everything she did?” He exclaimed. “I shouldn’t have left, but the least she could’ve done was looked after you. I didn’t know. She did.”

Sharon sighed heavily. “I know what you’re getting at, Trix, and you too, Brian, but… I don’t think you understand how scary this is for me. The last time I saw that woman’s face, I was eighteen years old, three months pregnant and not sure what my future would be. I’m in the exact same situation right now, just older.”

In a way, Trixie could understand it. She’d already been rejected once. She wasn’t sure if she could handle it a second time.

Brian cleared his throat. “Sharon, if you don’t mind… Again, I’m the outsider here. I’m not really part of this family.”

He waved off Trixie and Sharon’s attempts to reassure him that he was indeed a part of the family, and always would be.

“The way I look at it… yes, it’s been a long time, and yes, she fucked up bad. But she’s here now, in your home. She can’t reject you or hurt you here. All around her is the evidence of your success. You’re happily married, you have one and half kids - your life is something to be proud of. Make her see that. Let her be sorry.”

Sharon nodded fractionally, like she was afraid to agree. “I-I guess it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

—

The past few months of Trixie’s life had seen more change than she had ever thought possible, and she loved it.

Her mom, for the first time in twenty years, was speaking to Joan. It was clear from the get-go that no matter what, the relationship would be tense and strained and awkward, but they were at least trying. Sharon had made it clear that she didn’t want her mom back in her life, and Joan was perfectly understanding, but they had talked. Talking was a good start.

From what she’d been told, Sharon had caught her up on everything that had happened, from the day she was kicked out until now. She had said her goodbyes to her mom at her dad’s funeral, feeling much more confident in her decision with the support of her family. Though the damage couldn’t be undone, the air was clear. A building weight of twenty years had been lifted.

Secondly, she’d watched excitedly as her life transformed around her. A baby sister, the doctor had said. Somewhere inside the bump, sleeping soundly, a tiny baby sister was waiting to meet her family, and Trixie couldn’t wait to see her. Hours and hours of her free time outside of the hotel were spent perusing shelves of clothing, fawning endlessly over little pink dresses and shoes and blankets.

Though related, the last and biggest change was the arrival of her sister.

Trixie remembered wondering how one tiny human could look so beautiful. She was a perfect porcelain doll, too pink and precious to be a real baby. As she was swaddled into a warm bundle of white blankets, blinking her big blue eyes at the world in front of her, Trixie swore she felt her heart doubling in size.

A lot of things had happened in Trixie’s life, with many differing opinions on them all. But one thing that everyone could agree on was that Aquaria was the perfect name.

[toni-rowland-blog]

don’t forget to remember me. | self para.

kat killing off all of toni’s family members when she has to go places .... more likely than u think.

this made me rly sad actually.

tw: ashleigh rowland DEAD AF.

A hand reached across the desk to grab the loudly buzzing phone  and Toni grinned softly at the caller ID, her brother. That could only mean her niece wanted to talk to her and even if she was in the middle of writing a speech to her new boss about how shitty he was treating Noah, she’d take the call straight away. Sliding answer across, the brunette held the phone between her shoulder and ear. “Hey, Monkey! What can I do for you?” Though her brow was furrowing as soon as she heard noises in the background. Crying, Stella was crying and Jason was just breathing. “What the hell, Jase? Can  you say something, did someone die or something?” Her words were teasing, but the noise that left her brothers throat caused her to sit up straighter just as her sister in law; Julianne was speaking into the phone.

“It’s your mom, Toni. Do you think you can come here? Jase and Stella.. I can’t take care of them both.. and your dad, he refuses to do anything.” Somehow at her sister in laws words, a lump grew in the womans throat. Her mom, they’d never gotten along. In fact Toni found herself hating the woman the older she got, and as horrible as it seemed a laugh escaped her throat as vision grew blurry.

“Shut up,  Jules. That’s not funny.. that’s not funny.. and I can’t just go on vacation because you guys think pulling some kind of prank is cute.” Yet as she spoke the words, the simple whimpers of grandma, i want grandma slipped through in the background, and just like that the brunette was up and grabbing her keys, and phone and her jacket. If anyone in her family was so important to her, it was Stella and even if she wasn’t that one the little girl was pleading for she knew that she had to be there. 

“I’m on my way, okay? Right now.. I’m gonna catch a flight.. I’m going to the airport right now.” Words were spat before she headed from her office, swiping at the tears that fell on porcelain cheeks. This all felt foreign to her. She always thought one day her mom would realize and they’d have more than a few good moments together, that they’d be okay. Yet that wasn’t the case anymore, clearly.

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

“ ‘auntie.. is grandma with you?” The quiet words that hit her ears as she tiredly stepped into her nieces room at five AM (florida time ), just because she needed something good, caused her to sigh. If her mom was good at anything, it was being  grandma. The Seven year old should’ve been asleep, they both knew it. Yet Toni couldn’t bring herself to tell her to go back to sleep. Instead she stepped over toys toward the princess bed, kicking her heeled booties off as she did. Julianne had begged her not to wake the kid in fear of tears again, but if she wasn’t sleeping it wasn’t Toni’s fault, right?

“Squish over, honey.  I’m coming in..” teasing words were covering up sadness even though Toni didn’t want it to be there at all and as soon as she climbed into the bed, arms wrapped tightly around her niece tugging her closer to her side. Eyes closing for a minute, she let out a deep sigh, “I’m sorry, babe. That’s not how it works.. I kinda wish it did. I wish I could’ve been friends with Grandma. I wish you knew her for longer..”

A sniffle was what she was met with, and before she knew it the tanktop she’d had under her work blazer slowly grew wet with tears, and her fingers were brushing hair from her nieces face. The fact that her sister in law and brother were trying to sleep down the hall didn’t phase her as her niece started speaking through her tears. “Grandma used to make cookies with me, and sometimes she’d smell like the stuff that daddy cleans his glasses with sometimes.. but she was nice and she’d take naps with me, sometimes even if I wasn’t supposed to take a nap and she’d sometimes mess up my pb&j but.. she’d just giggle and make a new one. Sometimes if she didn’t drink her funny smelling water, she’d get shaky and mad at grandpa.. but I miss her. Where’d she go?”

Kids feelings were so simple sometimes, unlike Toni’s. Her head was spinning with how she felt. Sad, and angry, and also happy all at once. All her underlying pain would stop but, she’d also miss her mom  for what it was worth, missed all the snippets of memories that she could remember from when she was little. “Sometimes, baby.. people don’t fit here anymore. Sometimes something happens, and it’s very sad but..” a shaky breath and she squeezed the little girl tighter. “Sometimes, people go with the the angels.. and grandma isn’t shaky anymore, and she’s really happy because she has nothing to worry about.. nothing’s going to hurt her anymore,” a kiss to her nieces forehead, and she swallowed the lump in her throat again for the millionth time. 

“Are you going with the angels, auntie? You used to get shaky sometimes.. when I was smaller, and you were sad..” The question caught her off guard and the shuttering breath the brunette took was something that broke the silence. “I don’t want you to go away, too.”

“Grandma couldn’t get better, sweetheart. She loves you so so much.. but she couldn’t get better. She was just too sad.” Stella lifted her head, an elbow digging into Toni’s ribcage as she looked at her with red rimmed eyes waiting for her answer, as her lip quivered. “I’m trying my best.. I’m not gonna leave you, not until I’m way older, older than grandma and your daddy. You gotta go to sleep though.. your mommy asked me to take you to get a pretty dress and maybe some lunch tomorrow and I don’t want a grump with me because if you’re grumpy we won’t be able to go to the cupcake place after and you’re gonna need to take a timeout instead.”

As she finished her sentence, Stellas head was already on her chest, elbow still digging into her ribcage, and Toni realized she was stuck. Even for a short person the bed was tight but she closed her eye anyway.

“Auntie  Toni.. can we get the peanut butter one.. cause that was grandmas favourite but  i didn’t really like it, but i’m still gonna eat some, okay? ” a half asleep childs voice caught her off guard and the brunette yawned softly as her fingers  continued through blonde hair.

“Yeah, peanut butter. You got it kid, we’ll split it.”

[kz32816]

2020 Recap

Babe,

This year has officially made it to the top of the list for the worst years we’ve ever had. Us, and the rest of the world, but I’m focusing on us. So in January, we closed on our first house. I was so excited to finally settle down with you. I had dreams of decorating together, celebrating holidays, having parties, being as loud as we want, spending quality time in our home, expanding our family, and watching our little ones grow - all in this home we worked hard to get. It was perfect. I saw the beginning of the rest of our lives fold out right in front of us as I made fun of you for not signing your full legal name on the closing papers. I was so in love with you and with this life we were building together as a married couple. Then February and March hit, and along with it came the pandemic. The world was in chaos. We mostly had no idea what we were doing with our lives and our home as we stumbled through quarantine. You were temporarily laid off for two weeks and then I was laid off for four months. An incredibly frightening time for me as I didn’t trust the unemployment to cover our expenses. But as the quarantine grew longer and the summer months came, I noticed you treating me differently. In hindsight I can see it perfectly, but in the moment it was unclear. Thinking back, you were mean when we were moving it, but I thought you were stressed out because you were doing all the work while I was working 2 jobs and was never home. But as we got into the summer, you started drinking more and smoking weed every day. You started to degrade me and make fun of me openly around our friends. Any sort of problem I had and came to you about, you made me feel like garbage or like I was being an inconvenience to you. You didn’t care about spending time with me - really truly quality time. You thought hanging with literally anyone else on this planet was better than coming home to me after work, or so you made it feel. I knew something was wrong and tried doing things about it but you were resistant to therapy and nothing I ever did was good enough, so I stopped trying. Because why would I keep giving effort to someone who doesn’t even want to be around me anymore? Someone who definitely didn’t find me remotely attractive enough to be intimate with me. I was nothing more than a roommate to you. A roommate who was never good enough. Then the fall came around. You finally noticed there was something wrong with our relationship and decided to try and work on things ourselves. I finally pepped up enough to give some more effort. We would talk and talk and talk and neither of us would be able to actually hear what the other person was truly saying. It was so frustrating because we both were putting in effort, but not in the way the opposite person wanted. It was hurtful, frustrating, annoying, painful, but it was growing and learning, and I was happy to be in this painful spot of life with you because even though we weren’t great, we were still working. Then December came. You went to Florida to hang out with your best friend who is single and never wants to get married. I thought about you every single day you were gone. I redecorated the living room and was so proud because I thought you’d love it. I was so happy for you to go down there and spend some time away because I knew you had been stressed out and I knew you deserved a good vacation. I tried my best to leave you alone and not text you throughout the week because I knew you needed a break. When you came home, I was literally so excited to pick you up from the airport I could barely sit still from the time you texted me that you were wheels up. And what did I get when you got home? A phone call with severe annoyance in your voice, “why aren’t you here? I said 8:30″ and “okay well just get here”. In the car I let you talk about how amazing your trip was. I’d ask you questions about it because I knew you’d love to talk about it and it made you happy to recount the week you had in the warm weather. When we finally got back to our house I was looking forward to just spending time with you and talking to you because it has been just about 7 days since I had seen you and wanted to be near you and just talk to you. But what did I get? “I gotta watch the rest of the show before they take it off netflix” and “babe stop talking I have to watch the show” immediately after we walk through the door. I was honestly the most hurt in that moment. I had built up excitement all week, waiting for you to get home, missing you so badly it hurt, and when I finally got you back, all I got was a STFU from you. The following week was the worst week of my entire life. The next day you came home from work and told me you wanted a divorce. That you haven’t been in love with me for a long time and that everything we had together, you only did it because I wanted it, not because you did. That half of our relationship was basically a lie. And that you didn’t see a way we could work things out. Zack, I don’t know how you could have ever let those words come out of your mouth. After you promised me multiple times, alone and at the altar, that you would do anything and everything to make it through this life with me. And you so easily came to the conclusion that you wanted to throw away our marriage. After everything we had been through. It was the actual EASY route to scratch everything and leave, even though you don’t think so. What is hard, and what marriage is all about is choosing to stay when things get tough and uncomfortable. To do everything you can possibly do to find solutions and fix the parts that need fixing. I was willing to do that. I have always been willing to do that. And you, you just threw it all away. Just like that. I spend Christmas in a daze. New Years I got so drunk I texted a guy from my old job who has always been interested in me (an annoying mistake since now he won’t leave me alone and I want literally nothing to do with him). I wanted to drink until I forgot about you, but clearly that didn’t work well as we both know. Now here we are in 2021. You had a change of heart and want to work on things. You talk nice to me and take me out on dates. We spend time together, REAL time, and we live separately. But I’m still hurting. I still hear those words you said to me every day. Everything you do doesn’t feel genuine to me. It feels like you’re doing all these nice things because I once wanted you to. I am hurting because I reflect on all of my favorite memories of us and realize most of them were lies. You weren’t happy and you never told me. Our wedding day, my most favorite memory, is all a lie. The smile you wore in our pictures, I look at it and remind myself that you weren’t in love with me. You were unhappy and you married me anyway, tricked me into believing you were in love with me, because “that’s what we were suppose to do, get married”. I’ve been in love with you, unconditionally, despite the ups and downs, despite the way you’ve treated me in the last year, and I still very much despise you for deceiving me like you did. You turned my fairy tale life, with all the ups and downs and happy times and hard times that I was looking forward to spending with you, into a lie. Now you’re just a stranger to me. A familiar stranger. Everything you do now is a lie. And I want to be with you so badly, and some days when we’re together, it feels like I can be myself around you again and love you freely like I used to, but once we part, I’m reminded of the pain you put me through and the foundation of our relationship being all a façade. And those thoughts tint the time we have had together; past and now. And I think the thing I hate the very most, is under all these thoughts and feelings that I encounter daily, I am still in love with you. I still look at your smile and laugh and it warms my heart. I see your eyes and your beard and your goofiness. I love the way you feel when I throw my arms around you and how excited you get when you talk about something you love to do. And I hate it because I’m reminded that you’re not in love with me. And you haven’t been. For a long time. You’re taking me out for Valentine’s Day. A favorite day of mine. And I was actually genuinely surprised you wanted to take me out since you don’t like celebrating the day and you think it’s a fake holiday. But I struggle with what to do for you for this day. One side of me wants to get you something extravagant, as I would have done if we were still together. And the other part of me wants to get you nothing. But mostly, what I want is to be able to love you freely and wholeheartedly again. So, what I guess I’ll do is settle for this letter. I want you to know, as we’re going into therapy soon, how I felt and how I still feel. I don’t think there’s a way to ever convey the breath-taking, suffocating, things I felt from your decisions a few months ago. But I hope you can understand that I want nothing more than to be able to love you wholly again.

[yumotohakone]

Haunted House Hang-up (Voltron-SS) (Klance fic)

My @voltron-ss gift for Nicole!! (@nsart ) I hope you like it!! This monster of a fic is like,,,,,12k words somehow wtf 

Read it on Ao3 here!! (please read it on Ao3; my italics don’t paste over right onto tumblr–the fic is the same but I just feel like it’s missing something w/o the emphasis,,,and it’s much, much too long to go through to put them all back)

Summary: Keith runs a paranormal YouTube channel with his friend Pidge.  Pidge is friends with Hunk, who is friends with Lance, who is very very haunted. And also very, very pretty.

Warnings: Some violence, blood/injury, mentions of death, horror elements

“Shit, shit, shit!” Keith hissed under his breath. He cringed when he heard the equipment clang noisily from where it had been thrown haphazardly back into the bag. He yanked open the drivers’ side door and barely had time to chuck his luggage into the back before Pidge was clambering into the seat next to him and screaming.

“Drive! Drive!” Pidge gasped, glasses skewed on their face.

“I thought you said the place was abandoned?” Keith yelled, foot slamming down on the pedal. The strain on the old, beaten-up truck was not lost on him, and he gave a silent apology to the well-loved car.

“It was!” Pidge said back, their face bright red. “They hadn’t been back there for at least a decade! How was I supposed to know they would take their cute little anniversary vacation at their shitty, rotting cabin?”

Keith groaned, heart still drumming with adrenaline.

“Go check the equipment,” Keith said, exhausted. “It got a little rough back there.”

“Keith, I swear to god if you broke anything I–”

“It wouldn’t be my fault! Did you want me to get shot by an 80 year old lesbian couple??”

“I mean.”

“Pidge!”

“C’mon dude! It would be so funny!” Pidge climbed into the backseat to check the equipment.

“We didn’t get any data from that, so unless we can find a new hotspot in like, two days, we’re not gonna have anything for the channel.”

Keith and Pidge ran a YouTube channel together called Paranormal_InfoDump, where they went to supernatural hotspots for evidence on paranormal activity. That, or they posted unedited, hour-long rants of them infodumping about their favorite cryptids. The channel was moderately popular, kinda, at least among the supernatural niches of the internet.

Their current attempt at a video was in an old cabin that was rumored to be haunted by some triplets from the 18th century. The legend went that they were killed in a freak horseriding accident and their father, who they were riding with, just hid their bodies instead of telling anyone the truth. So they were pissed at him. And now they were ghosts.

“We can just edit a blooper reel, or like, make it a vlog.”

“But I hate vlogs,” Keith grimaced, “Whatever. We can go back to the cabin later. What’s the next spot on our list?”

The car pulled up into the parking lot of IHOP, where the duo waltzed in for some pancakes. As usual, Matt glared at them when he had to serve them because they always went to IHOP for the explicit purpose of bugging him.

“Y’all gonna get into sugar comas.” Matt grumbled, ruffling Pidge’s hair when he approached. He didn’t even have to take their orders–they always got the same thing. Double-blueberry pancakes for Keith, and french toast for Pidge. Neither of them got sides, because sides were for posers. So were drinks, but that was where they disagreed, so Pidge would just order Sprite and Keith just ate his meals without drinking anything which Pidge makes fun of him for sometimes. It was all good though because Keith would just make fun of them back for the way their feet couldn’t touch the ground in the chair even though they were almost 17. But whenever he did, they would always clap back with–

“Yeah, well you’re 19 and you still don’t know how to swim even though you grew up in Florida.”

And then Keith would reply–

“Is it really ‘growing up’ in Florida when I was only there from ages 13 to 18?”

And then the topic would change.

“Okay, so the next place we should hit up should definitely be something big,” Pidge said through a bite of french toast, “Like, real big. Like…St. Zarkon’s Estate big…”

“Pidge…” Keith drawled, “You know we can’t. That place is too much for us. You remember what Allura said, right?”

“Yeah, but we both know you’re dying to take up the challenge–no pun intended.”

Keith sighed, knowing Pidge was right. St. Zarkon’s was the oldest building in town–a huge mansion that dated back centuries and belonged to an insanely rich family that got their fortune from some seriously shady means. There were rumors that the family performed fucked up medical experiments in the basement, and that they were teamed up with the orphanage/hospital/asylum/whatever place the source said, because the story changed all the time. Either way, that place was notorious. And also illegal to get into because of “safety regulations”–but Keith and Pidge knew it was really closed off because of the rumors.

Anyways–Allura was a psychic. They met her through Craigslist and went to her before every haunt they hit up for a consultation. That day, she told them she sensed more figures in the home than what was predicted, and that they should be aware of the color purple. Of course, they ended up ignoring the purple rocking chair on the porch that wasn’t there the week before when they scoped out the place.

When they asked her about St. Zarkon’s a few months back, she just gave them a look and asked them if they really wanted to go to a place that looked like it was gonna fall over with the next breeze. She said she foresaw the feeling of distress and injury.

Then Pidge asked:

“But do we die?”

To which Allura sighed and responded:

“No.”

They had their minds set, but then Allura told them if she heard of them going to St. Zarkon’s she would start charging them for consultations again.

“Pidge, why are you bringing this up now?” Keith said, cutting up his pancakes into little triangles.

“Ok, so I have this friend–”

“I thought me and Keith were your only friends?” Matt interrupted, refilling Pidge’s Sprite.

“You’re my brother so you don’t count,” Pidge said, “but anyways I have another friend that I met in Robotics club. He’s super cool. But the reason I bring him up is because he has another friend who is apparently extremely sensitive to ghosts. Like. They’re just somehow magnetically attracted to this other friend, and they have been since forever.”

“What does that mean for us, exactly?” Keith said, trying to catch on.

“We bring a ghost magnet to a ghost hotspot–guaranteed ghosts! Ergo: guaranteed results and proof!” Pidge chugged some Sprite and burped obnoxiously after, which made Matt cringe from where he was on the other side of the restaurant. “According to Hunk, his friend is so surrounded by ghosts that weird supernatural stuff is just kinda normal for ‘em .”

“I see what you mean,” Keith said, thinking, “How do we know it’s true though? We’ve gotten lots of bullshit stories before.”

“I haven’t asked yet, but we could probably get Hunk’s friend up for some testing. We could sneak it in with our research system, yanno?”

Keith and Pidge, before any haunt, always did extensive research to make sure they were prepared. Keith thought it over. Since they were already interested in the Estate, they didn’t have to do so much research on it, and could probably dedicate some time to running a few tests.

“Plus we could test out some new gear me and Hunk were designing,” Pidge started flapping their hands at the wrists excitedly. Pidge had designed and built all the gear themselves. “It’s so cool having another brain to talk things out with in the building process! Hunk’s an engineering major and also a cook so his mind works differently than mine and he has some really cool ideas!! He’s so fun to work with.”

“That sounds awesome.” Keith finished his pancakes. “Do you know a lot about the friend? Do you think they’d say yes?”

“I mean, I’ve already got Hunk pretty involved, so I think he’d be able to talk his friend into it. We’ve got another Robotics Club meeting in two days so I can spring the question then.”

The two finished up their food, but not before demanding Matt bring them kiddie menus and crayons, which he was lawfully obligated to do seeing as he was on the clock.

It wasn’t until four days later that Keith was woken up from his blissful sleep by the obnoxious ringtone Pidge set for themselves.

“Pidge what the fuck. It’s 7AM no human should be awake at this hour. Why are you calling me and why can’t this wait until when I get up at 11?”

…Is what Keith meant to say when he picked up the phone, but between his general grogginess and the pillow shoved over his face it came out more like: “Hnnurrrghhhh,” which, thankfully, Pidge understood.

“Get your gay ass up, Keith and get over to the cafe in twenty. Hunk and his friend will meet us there.”

Keith groaned, willing himself to sit up. He knew if he wasn’t over there Pidge would end up breaking in through his broken bathroom window again. Keith threw on some sweatpants and a muscle-tee and lazily tugged his hair into a ponytail. It was too early to put effort into his appearance, and besides, it’s not like Keith really cared about what Pidge and their new nerd friends would think about his outfit. His clothes had nothing to do with anything.

Keith skipped breakfast, knowing he could just get something at the cafe. “The cafe” was just the simple name most people gave to the one cafe in the area that didn’t have a green mermaid plastered on the front. It was mostly due to that idyllic “cafe atmosphere”. Somehow, even in the middle of spring, that place always made you feel like it was the dead of fall. Not just fall, but autumn. It was nice. Keith liked it there.

The walk to the cafe was a short one. The old metal bell gave a cheerful ring when Keith opened the door. The sunlight streamed in through the faux stained-glass windows and bathed the whole cafe in a soft, orangey-yellow light. He saw Pidge sitting at their usual booth in the corner of the cafe, looking absolutely miniscule from where they sat across from a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man also at the table. Keith gave him an appreciative once-over. Not Keith’s usual type, but the man had thick, well-built arms and a friendly smile that was very easy on the eyes.

Keith walked up to the counter, intending to order something small for breakfast. He gave a glance to the person in front of him and immediately had to pull a double-take. The man in front of him was… pretty. Keith had never used that word to describe a man, and he didn’t think he would be, well, interested in anyone fitting the description.

The man was tall, with long, long legs emphasized by strappy white wedges and high-waisted shorts. He wore a flowy crop-top, in a pastel-pink color that went well with his rich, coppery skin. When he reached over to grab his drink, Keith could see the clean white polish on the his nails, and the many bracelets and rings he wore. What really struck Keith’s attention, though, was the crown of colorful flowers that sat primly on the man’s brown hair. The flowers didn’t have a plastic sheen, and were too smooth looking to be cloth, so Keith could only assume they were real.

Keith watched in utter horror as the man turned heel and approached the familiar corner booth to sit next to the handsome, heavy-set man that was animatedly talking with Pidge. Keith stared at the back of the man’s head, swallowing thickly, wondering how in the fuck he was gonna do this. He approached the counter and picked up a pastry, contemplating just running away before Pidge saw him. But, of course, like some kind of telepathy, Pidge chose that very moment to see Keith, and excitedly waved over at him.

Keith was intimately aware of his careless attire and suddenly regretted not dressing a little nicer. It was only when he slid into the booth next to Pidge that he was able to get a look at the man’s face.

“–this is Hunk, my friend from Robotics Club,” Pidge introduced. Keith sheepishly pulled his eyes away from the pretty, flower-covered man across from him so he could meet Hunk’s eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” Keith said, a little stiffly, but then Hunk smiled reassuringly at him, and Keith felt the tension ease from his shoulders.

“It’s great to finally meet you, Keith!” Hunk shook Keith’s hand. “Pidge has told me a lot about you!”

“Oh, and this is Lance, our resident ghost magnet!” Pidge gestured to the remaining stranger. Keith finally got a good look at the man–Lance. Along with the flowers, Lance was covered in jewelry, the soft light of the cafe bouncing off of the gemstones to dapple Lance’s skin in the reflected colors. Lance’s face tensed a little at Pidge’s words, but before Keith could analyze his expression, Lance’s face smoothed back out.

“What can I say, I’m irresistible even beyond the grave.” His voice was positively saturated in cocky confidence. “It’s more of a curse–having to fend off admirers from both planes of existence.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Lance fiddled with one of his earrings.

“Will you help us?” Keith asked, bluntly. Lance glanced at him, a thin eyebrow raised in question. “We’re paranormal investigators, and we think having you would be useful–if you’re even telling the truth about being ghost-sensitive.”

Lance bristled.

“You’re lucky Hunk talked you two up so much or I wouldn’t even be here.” Lance leaned back, arms crossed, easing into an air of cool. “You don’t even know how many wannabe ghostbusters I get trying to coax me into their bad mojo.”

“And you don’t know how many bullshit ghost stories we get from people saying they can talk to the dead or summon spirits. I can tell you I’m only here because of Pidge, because personally I hate bringing in outsiders.”

“Wow, okay, what a big hotshot we have over here.” It was Lance’s turn to roll his eyes. “You don’t even know the beginning of the bullshit I have to deal with–”

Lance was cut off by Hunk interjecting.

“Guys!” He put a hand onto Lance’s shoulder. Lance looked at his friend, then pouted and slumped back in his seat. “Lance, dude, take a breath, chill out a little bit. We already went over what they want, remember? You agreed to come.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance mumbled. He leaned on Hunk, his cheek nuzzling into his friend’s bicep. “Sorry, buddy. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a sec; be right back.”

Keith, still seething from Lance’s attitude, berated himself when he caught his eyes tracking Lance’s backside when he walked away.

Pidge tugged his sleeve to pull him down and whisper at him.

“Are you okay, dude? You usually don’t get worked up like that.”

“I’m fine. There’s just something about the way he talked that got under my skin.” The way Lance kept undermining Keith and Pidge and their work made Keith see red. He poured a lot into the channel, and so did Pidge; hearing someone disrespect it was like a personal attack, somehow.

“Sorry about that, guys,” Hunk said apologetically, “Some days can be a little more rough on him than others. Last night, all the hot water in the house ran out suspiciously early, and the bulb in the bathroom shattered while he was in there too. He had to spend all night in a top-to-bottom cleanse to expel the thing.”

“There was a ghost in his house?” Pidge said, eyes widening.

“Oh god, yes there was,” Lance groaned dramatically as he slid back into his seat. “I have no idea how it got in. I think this one necklace I got from Etsy was a fucking dud so the little bastard hitched a ride. It was awful.”

“You had a ghost in your house?” Pidge repeated.

“Yeah, uh,” Lance blinked, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “I try to prevent it as much as I can. When a spirit attaches to a home it’s so hard to get rid of, so you gotta exorcise those fuckers ASAP.”

“You’ve done that before?? You just expel ghosts often?” Pidge looked almost in awe.

“Yup,” Lance popped the ‘p’. “Hunk did tell you supernatural stuff happens to me all the time, right?”

“Yeah, but I just thought he meant, like, you go to haunted places and the ghosts come out to see you–not that they follow you around!” Pidge suddenly pulled back, “That must suck if you’re not looking for them, dude.”

“THANK YOU!” Lance exclaimed, “ Finally someone understands. Thank you, Pidgeon; I think we’ll be very good friends.”

“So will you help us?” Keith asked again.

“Sure–” Keith and Pidge sighed in relief before Lance continued, “–but only if Pidge builds me a drone that looks like the Millenium Falcon. Hunk refuses to do it for me.”

“Are you kidding? I would fucking love to do that. I can even add in a claw that you can use to pick up stuff, or like a candy dispenser.” Pidge looked giddy. Lance’s eyes lit up and he leaned over to grasp both of Pidge’s hands in his own.

“Pidge, I would die for you.”

The rest of the cafe meet was Pidge and Lance geeking out over the features to put on Lance’s drone, with Hunk occasionally butting in to keep things reasonable. Keith bit back some snarky remarks, but every once in a while one would slip out, and Lance would immediately snap back with another in reply before he was distracted away from a full argument.

It was…kinda nice, Keith would suppose. Hunk was very kind but would not hesitate to say something to passive aggressively put the others in their place. Lance got along incredibly with Pidge, but for some reason, whenever he would say a word to Keith it would end with the two of them bickering. After the tension of the first argument broke, though, none of the bickering in question would be openly malicious. In fact, it was kind of fun. It was like they would just try to one-up each other with every smart-ass one liner.

They eventually decided on a day to meet up so they could do some testing with Lance’s abilities, then went their separate ways.

The meet was at Pidge’s, because they had the most equipment set up and ready to go. They did a number of tests on Lance and gathered data in their chicken scratch handwriting, leaving the research element to Keith, mostly. Lance was pretty compliant, and often cracked jokes while having his body poked and prodded with strange tools.

Eventually Pidge decided to take Lance “on the field”, and take him to haunted spots to observe him there. That was how Lance and Keith ended up sitting on bean bags in the library while Pidge and Hunk fiddled with computers and machinery in the background. Keith was trying to get Lance to tell him more about the paranormal aspect of his life, but Lance got increasingly defensive about it and kept trying to dodge the topic.

It was kind of the cycle they got into whenever they were left to their own devices–Keith would prod Lance about ghosts, Lance would change the topic, they would bicker for a little bit before moving the conversation elsewhere. It wasn’t a bad thing by any means, they did learn a lot about each other. For example, both of them liked watching true crime documentaries on Netflix, or the fact that neither of them could ever sit still to read a book in silence.

“I either had someone explain it to me, or I got my siblings to read it aloud,” Lance said, reminiscing. “Obviously, I could read it myself just fine, I just got lost super easily, yanno? I’d end up thinking of some question or imagining a scene and next thing I know I’ve been on the same page for ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I always got antsy. Sometimes the words would get mixed up and it would hurt my head, and then if I wanted to keep going I would have to point at each individual word and read them separately but then I wouldn’t absorb anything that was going on. It’s gotten better as I’ve gotten older, though.”

“Yeah, same. Nowadays I just use audio books.”

Sometimes they would lapse into slightly awkward silences, especially when the topic of childhood came about. Keith was about to say something when Lance blurted out:

“Uh, do you know you have a ghost following you?”

“What? Wait, wait, what the fuck?”

Lance looked incredibly sheepish, hands flying up to backtrack.

“I, uh–it’s just that….shit this is weird to explain.” Lance bit at his thumbnail, which was a pale purple that day. “It’s like…there’s this…energy? Around you? I don’t know something about it feels really…protective? In like a loving way I guess…have you ever had a pet?”

Keith blinked. Lance usually didn’t talk about the ghosts he sensed. He said it didn’t really do anything but make him really sad, so he tried to avoid looking into the ghosts’ personalities or whatever. The one time they got him to mention something was when he had sat on a swingset at the park and almost burst into tears. The ghost was of a second-grader.

“Um…when I was a kid I had a cat?” Keith replied. He hadn’t thought about Red in years. She was a fluffy orange tabby with a grouchy personality who always sat on Keith’s head whenever he laid down. He loved her a lot and was devastated when she passed.

“Yeah, yeah…that’s kind of the feel I get,” Lance’s eyes went a little distant, as if he were lost in thought. “She’s…just kind of watching you…in a good way…”

Lance blinked.

“Uh, I haven’t mentioned this before but, um…if you could like, give me something of hers then the…connection, I guess, would be stronger.” Lance nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “If you want.”

“Are you some sort of medium?” Keith asked, carefully.

“Not really? I mean I can’t summon just any spirit I want or anything, but if something is there then I can like sense it. It gets stronger whenever I’m in a spiritually charged area or I have something physical to hold. So, like a medium, just they have to come to me.”

Keith dashed thoughts of contacting his parents. Lance just said he couldn’t force any spirit to show themselves, and besides, that would be an incredibly awkward situation to force Lance into.

“Have you ever talked to a ghost?”

“Yeah, plenty.” Lance bit at his lip. “It was a lot easier when I was a kid, before I started trying to block them out.”

“Block them out?”

That pulled a chuckle out of Lance, and Keith was glad to have dashed some of that somber look in Lance’s eyes.

“Not all ghosts are good ones, Keithy–” Keith grimaced at the nickname. “What do you think all these pretty gems and flowers are for? I live for the aesthetic but not enough to bathe in it.”

Lance gestured to the flower behind his ear, and the gemstones on his amulets and necklaces. “All of this is for protection–the gems and the flowers. I even make my own incense and essential oils. It’s actually how I met Hunk.”

Hunk’s head popped up at the mention of his name.

“Are you telling him our meet-cute?” Hunk’s voice got Pidge’s attention too, for a short while. Lance laughed again, the former serious mood completely gone.

“Yeah! You see, Hunk’s family runs half of a flower shop.” Lance waited for the inevitable questioning ‘half?’ from Keith and Pidge before continuing. “So years and years ago, the Garretts and the Balmerans had two rival flower shops that were trapped in a bitter blood feud–Romeo and Juliet style. Then one day, completely unlike Romeo and Juliet, the antique shop owner from across the street played the flower shop owners in poker. In an embarrassing, alcohol-fueled night, the two owners had accidentally made an agreement to combine their shops if they lost to the antique shop owner. And they lost miserably, because every Garrett and Every Balmeran I have ever met have zero poker-face skill.

“So now Hunk’s family is half the owner of the best flower shop in town–well, the only one in town–and I met my best buddy because I’d just been buying all of my plants like a moron and Hunk finally decided to save me and show me how to make my own garden after watching me spend–how much money was it again, buddy?”

“Oh god, it was horrible. He spent, like, at least 500$ in about two weeks. I couldn’t let him do that to himself, even if he was great for business.”

The story got a laugh out of Keith. When he glanced over at Lance again, though, he found the other just kind of staring at him with a look so soft it made Keith’s stomach twist pleasantly, and he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning like a loon. The action just made Lance’s mouth twist into a smile, and in that short, quiet moment, they were both just smiling at each other, and Keith hoped that Lance was feeling the same way, even if Keith himself couldn’t explain what that feeling was.

After running through all of their equipment at least twice–which took about another week and a half–Pidge had finally decided they were ready for St. Zarkon’s. As tradition, before they could go, they would visit Allura.

“So…we’re going to meet your psychic?” Hunk asked. Despite the fact that his best friend was a ghost magnet, he was somehow skeptical of a psychic.

“Yeah, she’s amazing. We always go to her to make sure we won’t, like, die or something.” Pidge shrugged. “She’s really accurate, but not like, telling your whole future word by word stuff. It’s mostly cryptic warnings and feelings.”

“And you’re sure she’s legit and not using confirmation bias to make you think her vague statements are predictions?”

“No, dude, she’s our friend. Plus she stopped charging us ages ago.” Pidge replied.

They entered Allura’s establishment, and immediately Lance gave a long, and particularly pleased sounding breathy noise that had Keith’s face burning bright red. Hunk turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Buddy, are you okay?”

“Hunk I have never been better. This place is so clean. There’s a lot of good feelings around here and I can’t sense a single ghost. It’s so good. Do you think she sells any of these gems?”

“I think she does, actually. We’d have to ask her though. C’mon, she should be expecting us–”

Pidge was interrupted as the clack of heeled footsteps approached them. Allura looked stunning as usual, her voluminous silvery hair framing her dark skin and shimmery clothing to give off an otherworldly feel. She’d barely looked up to greet them when Lance had gasped loudly in surprise.

“Allura??”

At the sound of Lance’s voice, Allura’s face snapped up to meet his, a similar look of surprise on her own face.

“Lance? What are you doing here?”

“Allura!! You’re psychic??” Lance approached her, going to grab her hands familiarly. Keith’s brow furrowed.

“Wait…you guys know each other?” Pidge asked.

“Yeah! We’re in the same dance class! Allura is my partner!” Lance looked positively ecstatic. He turned back to Allura, still holding her hands with a bright smile on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me you were psychic, Lu? This shop feels so clear I might just camp out here forever!”

Keith found himself glaring at their clasped hands and the affectionate nickname. Over the time that they had gotten to know each other, Lance had been pretty open about his affections for attractive people of all sorts. Keith may have been gay, but he knew Allura was absolutely gorgeous–he had eyes. He should’ve figured Lance would be all over her, and considering they had a history–

But it’s not like Keith cared or anything. He had no reason to care about who Lance did or did not have romantic inclinations for. Keith knew he found Lance attractive but he wasn’t dumb enough to get a crush on him or anything, obviously. He liked Lance as a friend. Strictly as a friend. A friend with a heart-stopping laugh and endless blue eyes and the lightest smattering of freckles on his shoulders and–

“Well, Lance, I can’t just go around proclaiming I’m a psychic to everyone.” Allura’s voice pulled Keith out of his stupor. She had let go of his hands, thankfully.

“Yeah but didn’t you ever, like, feel anything weird about me?” Lance asked.

“…I wasn’t sure if you were aware of the happenings around you, Lance. Most people aren’t.”

“Allura, when I was five my best friend was a doctor with a noose around his neck that only I could see. It was only when I was 13 I found out he died in the house in the 1400s. I sat on a swingset last week and saw a second-grader with the upper half of their face gone. My ‘Lita basically force fed me holy water when she met me for the first time.” Lance looked at her. “I know.”

“I didn’t realize it was that serious, Lance, I’m sorry.” Allura placed a comforting hand on Lance’s shoulder. “My visions are very weak when I’m away from my crystals.”

“It’s okay, Lu,” Lance grinned at her, “It’s not your fault. Anyways though, I’m over here with the nerd squad for some ghost hunting.”

“Oh! Lovely! Well, you all should come along with me to the back and I’ll start the consultation.”

They all piled into the darkened room behind the curtains. Allura had once told them the over-the-top decorations were more for the sake of the customers than anything she actually needed. The one prop in the room that was truly necessary was the murky, indigo-colored crystal ball in the center of a table.

“So, where are you all intending on going this time?” Allura asked. When her fingers touched the stand of the crystal ball, however, she jolted, giving them all a concerned and level look. Pidge didn’t seem to notice when they responded.

“We’re finally tackling St. Zarkon’s Estate,” Pidge said confidently, “Not only do we have Lance, but me and Hunk have been working on a ton of new tech for it! We’re totally ready.”

Allura’s face was pinched.

“Alright…I can already tell I can’t stop you this time…” She took a heavy sigh and gently touched her fingertips to the smooth surface of her crystal ball. She breathed deeply, eyes shut. After a few moments, she opened her eyes with a shuddering sigh, her hands shaking.

“This…this is not going to be easy,” She mumbled, “There will be distress, there will be injury, but there will also be catharsis, and there will be the beginning of something new. Marmora will guide you.”

The room went quiet. Allura shook her head slightly.

“I don’t like this…” her voice was quiet, “But my visions are telling me this will turn out right in the end, somehow.” She gave them all a meaningful look. “I trust you all.”

“Thanks, Allura.” Keith gave her a small smile.

“What did you mean by ‘Marmora will guide us’? Who’s Marmora?” Hunk asked.

“I am…I am not sure. My visions are usually strong feelings or images of a moment, but never detailed.”

Keith frowned. The name sounded familiar, somehow.

“Welp! Time to get this show on the road! The sooner we get there the sooner I can get home to kick Hunk’s ass in MarioKart!” Lance proclaimed suddenly, breaking the soft atmosphere. Keith turned to look at Lance but the other was already marching out the door.

“I mean…he’s not wrong,” Pidge shrugged, “St. Zarkon’s is, like, an hour’s drive away. We should probably get going before it gets too dark.”

A wave of murmured agreement washed over the rest of the group. They bid their goodbyes to Allura and met Lance back at the car.

“Lance what the hell are you doing?” Keith asked, deadpan. Lance had been halfway inside the car, leaning over the driver’s side. Keith tried to force his eyes anywhere else but Lance’s…lower half was all that could be seen of him. It didn’t help that the sheer cardigan he wore had been shucked up and to the side, leaving the long line of Lance’s black leggings on full display.

“I’m just setting up some tunes for the road!” Lance laughed, suddenly. “Hunk left the AUX cord where I could find it–so I call dibs!”

Pidge groaned. Keith knew how much they loved having control of the music.

The group piled into the car, Hunk driving, Pidge in shotgun (they called it), and Lance and Keith in the backseat. As the car started up, Lance’s grin was downright devious as he held up his phone. All of a sudden, a poppy, unfamiliar music riff began, Hunk whispered a quiet “oh god” and then Lance was screaming lyrics along with the vaguely nostalgic vocals of an early 2000s boyband.

Lance’s playlist was…eclectic at best, painful at worst, jumping from cheesy musical numbers to badly autotuned pop garbage with Lance singing throughout all of them. Every song was a performance and there was no end in fucking sight. Keith had never longed for a single moment of quietmore in his entire life.

Pidge complained every two songs and Hunk tried gently to console them. Whenever they tried to turn the music down Lance would screech at them until they stopped. Keith had seen Lance act over-the-top but this just seemed downright obnoxious. Even Keith tried to say something, but Lance just ignored him completely and kept singing.

It’s not like Lance couldn’t sing, but after belting out a few songs he got lazy and whiny sounding.

Eventually, they stopped at a gas station to refill, and Lance stepped out of the car to use the bathroom, leaving the rest of them in blissful silence.

“Oh thank god.” Pidge dragged their hands down their face. They reached for the radio, but Hunk stopped them. Pidge looked at Hunk with the most abject confusion and betrayal. Hunk tried to smile at them reassuringly, but Keith could see the conflict on Hunk’s face. Hunk glanced out the window behind him before turning to Keith and Pidge.

“Look, I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you guys this, but uh,” Hunk awkwardly rubbed his neck, looking severely uncomfortable, “…this is Lance’s happy playlist. He kind of only plays it when he’s upset or nervous. He hasn’t said anything to me, but I think this whole…St. Zarkon’s ghost thing is really getting to him. I know it’s painful…believe me, I know–”

“Yo, Hunk, it’s okay dude,” Pidge put a hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “You should’ve just told us that sooner. I mean, damn, I hadn’t even noticed Lance acting that weird or anything, but….I probably should’ve. At least asked him or something.” Pidge looked sheepish. “I forget, sometimes, that not everyone is as excited over ghosts like me and Keith are.”

Keith bit his lip. Knowing that Lance was nervous kind of put things into perspective. Keith probably should’ve seen it coming, as he was the one left to talk to Lance the most while the other two worked on the tech. He knew Lance wore an overabundance of protective charms; he knew Lance cleansed his house with herbs almost religiously; he knew Lance had a history with spirits getting physical with him or his stuff. What Lance didn’t tell him, Keith had guessed. Keith suddenly felt a little guilty for not thinking of Lance more.

“We’re…kind of shitty friends…” Keith said suddenly.

“What? Oh god, no–jesus–don’t think that,” Hunk sounded distressed suddenly. “Lance tries to hide these things. It’s not your fault he does it well. Hell, I’ve known him for years and even I didn’t see it. I guess he just convinced himself to do this.” Hunk paused for a second. “I know he might have a weird way of showing it sometimes, but Lance really likes you two. And I think he even likes how into ghosts you are.”

“Really?” Keith and Pidge said at the same time.

“Yeah, I think it’s just because of how much you believe in all of it.” Hunk suddenly had a look of guilt. “He, uh, doesn’t have a good history of people believing him. Even I didn’t believe him at first. I was there for him and I supported him but I think I just told myself he was making it up somehow. I only started believing him for real after, uh…let’s just say something really bad happened.”

They could tell that Hunk didn’t want to say anything more, and just left it at that.Though Keith would bet money that Pidge was dying to ask more. Before they could, though, Lance came back, with a blue slushie and a plastic gas station bag.

“Heyo, guess who brought snacks?” Lance held up the bag. “We’ve got powdered donuts for Hunk, Nutty Bars for Pidge, and some Sour Patch Kids for Keith.”

“Thanks buddy,” Hunk said pleasantly, biting into a donut as he started the car.

“Anything for you, big guy.” Lance’s grin was lopsided and showed off the dimple on his cheek. Not that there was any reason for Keith to notice that. Keith almost didn’t hear the aggressive sound of plastic wrap being shredded to pieces.

“Woah, Pidge you eat faster than my little niece on a sugar rush.” Lance raised an eyebrow at Pidge, stifling his giggles. In the short while it had taken Lance to hand out the food and talk to Hunk, Pidge was already one Nutty Bar down out of two, and was enthusiastically working on the next. Pidge didn’t respond aside from a weird growling/hissing sound they made whenever someone tried to interrupt their snacking. Keith was used to it.

Keith looked down at his own snack, fingers running along the package. He was kind of surprised Lance remembered. Looking back, he probably only ate them once or twice in Lance’s presence, and he certainly couldn’t remember saying they were his favorite–except for once in a video.

…but Lance probably just assumed Keith liked them from those few times he saw Keith eating them. There was no way he sat through twenty minutes of Keith ranting about the Jersey Devil just to get to the part where Keith said Sour Patch Kids were his favorite candy. Probably.

Keith glanced over at Lance, only to lock eyes with him. Lance jumped and looked away suddenly, stuffing his slushie straw into his mouth. If he didn’t know any better, Keith would say Lance’s face looked a little pink before he turned away…?

“How did you know to get me Sour Patch Kids?” Keith asked, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. He traced his finger over the serrated edge of the package, feeling the plastic on his fingertips, before tearing it open and popping a gummy into his mouth. He rolled the candy around his tongue, letting himself feel the roughness of the outside before it melted. It was always his favorite part about eating them. That, and he liked the sour part.

It took Lance a second to respond. When he did, his voice was a little timid. It was almost difficult to hear over the music, which started to play again–something peppy Keith had heard on the radio before.

“Well, they’re your favorite, right? And I mean, you are eating them so I’m guessing they still are.” Lance’s face scrunched up. “You’re not one of those people who eats things they hate just to be polite, right?” Keith rolled his eyes, laughing a little at the horrified look on Lance’s face.

“Of course I’m not like that,” Keith replied, “If I hate something, you’re gonna damn well know how much I hate it. Pidge can testify.” Keith suddenly called to the front of the car, “Pidge! Remember Thanksgiving last year?”

“Oh yeah, my gross great-aunt Sheryl kept trying to get you to eat the green beans.” Pidge turned to clarify. “Keith kept telling her he hated green beans, but she wasn’t listening and wouldn’t let him leave and she kept trying to put a spoonful onto his plate. Keith ended up yelling at her. Oh god I can still hear it now: ‘I do NOT want any of your slimy white-people food Sheryl. I’ve eaten ass that tastes better than your cooking.’ Man, Sheryl shut the fuck up after that. It was amazing.”

“You did not.” Lance nudged Keith’s shoulder in amazed disbelief. “No wait, I can totally see it. Holy shit, Keith, you’re my hero.” Lance was laughing, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, and his two front teeth were just a little crooked, and the slushie had dyed his tongue blue, and he was…beautiful. Keith couldn’t help but grin back at him, a little dazedly.

Soon, Lance finished his slushie, and was free to go back to singing along with his happy playlist. Every once in a while, Pidge would pipe in when they recognized something, and the two had a lovely duet to the PokeRap together. They took turns rapping each of the verses while the other beatboxed. Neither of them could beatbox.

Eventually, though, they pulled up to the chainlink fence encircling the Estate. High on the hill, the dilapidated mansion loomed above them, looking like every cliche from every old Scooby Doo cartoon. As they approached the fence, Keith saw Lance tense up. Hunk and Pidge were working on getting the equipment out of the car, so Keith turned to Lance, concerned.

“Are you okay?” Lance looked startled at the question, eyes tearing away from the Estate to focus on Keith.

“…Yeah, um…” Lance did not look okay at all. “I’m totally fine. I’ll be fine.” Lance sounded like he was trying to convince himself as he rubbed his own arms, as if he were cold. Keith, unused to comforting but wanting to help, put a hand on Lance’s bicep. Lance’s focus was again pulled away from the Estate and was entirely on Keith. He looked a little surprised, but not displeased, and was about to say something when suddenly a loud crash startled them both.

Lance clung to Keith’s arm, eyes darting fearfully around him. He was slouched down and pressed so close Keith could feel the rapid beating of his heart. Overcome with the urge to protect, Keith had to resist the way his arm wanted to wrap around Lance’s waist and tug him closer.

“Sorry about that, guys!” Hunk said, drawing their attention to the heavy-looking piece of machinery in front of him. Though the danger was apparently gone, Lance still hadn’t let go of Keith. Not that Keith was particularly complaining.

Pidge caught sight of them, however, and gave Keith the most devious look. Keith groaned internally, knowing already he would be forced to sit through an endless barrage of teasing when they got home.

“Okay, how do we get in?” Hunk had piled up the equipment onto a metal trolley Keith had stolen from the highschool when he was in the 7th grade.

“There’s an area of fence that isn’t in the ground properly, so we can lift it to get inside,” Keith said, casually, “I marked it off with some rope, but after this we shouldn’t need to come back, so I’m probably just going to take my rope back with me.”

“How did you find that part of the fence?” Hunk asked.

“We scoped out the place a while ago.” Pidge grinned. “Allura said not to go inside but she said nothing about just circling the perimeter. We gotta be thorough.”

The group followed Keith as he walked around the edge of the fence, looking for the knot of rope.

“Oh, there it is. Farther than I remember.” The rope was eye-level, so Keith just reached into his waistband to pull out his knife and slice it off.

“Woah! Dude! Why do you just have a knife on you?” Lance’s grip on Keith’s arm had tightened, and he jumped back a little bit–without letting go of course.

“Um…I always carry this on me?”

“Just…in your pants? You just carry a knife…in your pants…at all times?” Lance was speaking slowly.

“…yes?”

“I was going to make a bad joke right now but the mojo around this place is really getting to me. Can we just get on with it?” Lance sighed tiredly. He leaned against Keith’s shoulder, his hair tickling Keith’s cheek. Keith stiffened but didn’t move. Hunk caught his eye and mouthed ‘sorry’ at him. Apparently Lance’s touchiness got worse when he was scared…?

Hunk, being the tallest, lifted the fence so they could all walk through. From inside the gate, the Estate actually didn’t look as far away. As they made their way up the hill, they went over the gameplan.

“Okay, so I’ll start recording when we get to the porch. We walk into the house and hang around the first big room recording data with the equipment until we get something, or until we don’t get something, then we move to the next room,” Pidge explained, “Whatever we do, though, we always stick with the group. No walking around on your own. I mean, this place is old as balls and is probably rotting as we speak so it’s just safer.”

With every step they tool approaching the Estate, Lance just seemed to inch himself closer and closer to Keith. Eventually Lance had stepped on the back of Keith’s shoes one time too many and Keith had to stop, which caused Lance to walk right into his back.

Keith looked back at Lance, prepared to be annoyed, but all he saw were Lance’s big blue eyes wide with terror.

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay in there. You got this.” Keith’s voice was a little too quiet and stiff, but he hoped he was able to get his sincerity across. Keith pried Lance’s hands off of his arm and instead moved to clasp Lance’s hand with his own. Having Lance walking beside him was much better.

The group stood on the front porch, Lance had intertwined his fingers with Keith’s and was biting his lip as he stared at the door. Pidge took out their camera and put a hand on the doorknob.

The door creaked shrilly as it struggled open, the rusty hinges practically screaming at the strain. Pidge’s flashlight caught on the dust in the air and the gaping, moldy holes in the floorboards. They carefully tested every step before moving forward, as if they were looking for traps in an Indiana Jones movie. Everyone followed immediately behind them, not wanting to accidentally step on a weak area of the floor. Eventually, they had all piled into the front room, with a big spiral staircase to the right and doorways to the front and left.

Pidge and Hunk set up the equipment on the trolley. Lance trembled next to Keith. A long, dry scratching noise sounded from somewhere on the floor above them, like fingernails being dragged over wood. Lance whimpered.

“Guys…I really, really don’t like this.” Lance mumbled.

“That was probably just some animal or something. Hunk and I haven’t finished setting up all the way but we don’t have any super strong readings yet, at least not from this room.” Pidge turned to Hunk. “Do you think we should move on?”

The group looked around the room at their options. They had decided beforehand going upstairs was too dangerous, and the doorway to the left was blocked off by fallen ceiling beams. The only way to go was forward.

“Keith and Lance, you guys go first to scope out the area and make sure it’s safe. Pidge and I need to make sure the equipment will be okay. Can you handle that, buddy?” Hunk said the last part to Lance, mostly. Lance nodded shakily, nails digging painfully, unintentionally, into Keith’s hand.

They slowly progressed down what was revealed to be a narrow hallway. The only light was from Keith and Pidge’s flashlights, and the murky sunlight that filtered through the holes in the ceiling at random intervals. The scratching noise started up again, this time more aggressive–starting and stopping like something was repeatedly dragging its claws over the same spot. From behind them, glass broke.

Lance grit his teeth, jaw clenching painfully. What felt like an actual, physical force shoved into Keith’s back, a chill washing over the room. Keith stumbled into Lance.

“Woah! What the fuck!” Pidge cried, “Guys! We just got a massive spike in activity!”

Lance’s unoccupied hand reached up to press against his head, his eyes clenched tightly. The scratching grew louder, closer. More glass broke from somewhere. The chill had brought wind. From behind them, the sound of footsteps over rubble. Lance groaned.

“Lance? Are you okay?” Hunk asked from behind them.

Then, Lance fell to his knees, his pained groans growing louder as he pressed both hands to his temples. Hunk tried to rush forward. The scratching stopped only to be replaced with the sounds of doors slamming shut, and the clatter of wooden boards being met with blunt force. The footsteps on rubble grew closer.

“No…no, no!” Lance mumbled, voice hoarse, “Stay out! Stay out! Get away from me!” His hands gripped at his hair. The light shone a murky gray over him, the dust spiraling around his body. All of the light disappeared for half a second–the flashlights, the equipment, the sun–

Everything came back, brighter, and less than five feet in front of them stood a massive, ancient looking floor-length mirror that hadn’t been there before.

Several things happened at once.

Lance screamed. The mirror shattered. Keith felt claws gripping his arm as he tried to lunge for Lance. The floorboards below them gave out. Darkness.

Keith felt a searing pain in his side, and a throbbing in his head. He belatedly realized he still had his flashlight in his hand and slammed it against his hand until it worked again. He stood slowly, legs shaking, and coughed when he inhaled dust.

“Lance?” He asked, voice wavering. Then, more sure: “Lance!”

Keith heard a responding groan and raced to it as fast as his injuries would allow. He dropped the flashlight and kneeled by Lance, who was curled into the fetal position, whining in pain, though he didn’t have any visible wounds. Unlike Keith, who could feel the blood warm and sticky at his side, plastering his shirt to his skin.

“Lance?” Keith asked gently, turning Lance over to look at his face. Lance was dazed, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Lance!”

Then, the room started to quake violently. Keith wildly waved his phone around him, trying to gague the room while shielding his eyes from falling debris. Around him, pantries and shelves were rattling and shaking, their old glass bottles like a sick imitation of windchimes, before falling and smashing on the floor. The wooden planks on the walls thumped against each other, splintering at every crash. Keith curled over Lance, who was still unresponsive.

Then, a voice.

A raspy voice, like a sharp stone scraping against a metal plate, ear-bleedingly shrill and gritty. The voice spoke in a language Keith couldn’t understand, yet it still made his blood run cold. He swaddled Lance into his arms protectively, cradling him, a hand going to clutch at his knife.

A figure, foggy at the edges like an old watercolor painting, appeared in front of him, glowing with a pulsing light, flickering in and out of existence. The only things Keith could make out were thin strands of stringy, messy hair and long fingernails caked with blood and dirt. The figure had no mouth. Its eyes were blank. And yet it spoke, inching closer, a twitching arm reaching towards Lance’s limp body. Keith bared his teeth, knife raised threateningly.

Lance twitched. The figure’s hand came dangerously close to brushing a claw against Lance’s face, and Keith saw red, slashing viciously at the arm. The creature gave an indecipherable sound of agony, loud and harsh and grating. Then it surged backwards as if being forcefully dragged away, a heavy wind followed their movements, throwing broken glass and rubble into Keith’s back. He hunched over Lance, who had started to shift.

When the wind died down, Keith felt Lance shiver. Then, he convulsed violently, gasping desperately like he was struggling for air. A hand gripped Keith’s arm, the other going to claw at his neck.

“Oh shit, shit shit!” Keith hissed to himself. He stuck his knife between his teeth so he could use his free hand to pull Lance’s nails away from his own throat. Keith immobilized Lance’s hand by grabbing it with his own, a facsimile of how their fingers had been intertwined before. Lance’s body spasmed a few more times before going still again, his breathing evening out.

Keith stared into Lance’s eyes and felt a wave of relief wash over him when they refocused.

“….Keith?” Lance’s voice was a whisper. “Why do you have your knife in your mouth? ….And why is it glowing?”

Keith blinked. Lance sat up slowly and Keith used the hand not holding Lance’s to take the blade out from his teeth. He turned it in his hand, quizzically. The familiar runes were glowing a neon purple–which provided them with light, thankfully, since Keith had no damn idea where the flashlight went.

“Do you remember what happened?” Keith asked. Lance rubbed his forehead with his palm, looking pained.

“I….uh…there was this presence, and it kept slamming into my head, trying to get in…it was so dark, Keith, like, usually with ghosts I feel some of what they feel but this one was nothing… it was just…empty.” Lance swallowed. “Then there was a mirror and it showed me everything. Everything that had ever happened in this house, all of the people who died here, what happened to them. The images just kept coming and coming over and over and I could hear them. Eventually the screaming stopped and it was crying but worse than that was the silence. Because when there was silence there was nothing to hide the rest of the sounds of the machines and the hacking and the sizzling–oh god, Keith.”

Lance threw himself into Keith’s arms, burying his face in Keith’s shoulder, his arms flung over Keith’s neck. Keith couldn’t imagine what Lance had been through. Lance took a few, shuddering breaths before he pulled away.

“We…should really get out of here,” Lance mumbled, not looking at Keith.

“Yeah, we need to get Hunk and Pidge and never come back to this shithole.” Keith stood, wincing at the pain in his side. Now that Lance was okay, the wound had made itself known again, tenfold.

“Shit, Keith, are you okay?” Lance tried to look at Keith’s side, but Keith gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I’ll be fine. We just need to figure out where the hell we are and how to get back before that fucking thing shows up again.”

“…What thing?”

“The fucking ghost thing, whatever the fuck it was. It tried to touch you when you were, uh, out of it. But then it left.”

“Jesus Christ.” Lance’s voice was strained. “Long nails? Ugly long hair with garbage split ends?”

“…yes?”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay, we really gotta leave.”

The two had guessed they were somewhere in the kitchen storage, and that the servant’s quarters should be nearby. From there they could find a staircase and get the fuck out. Lance mentioned Hunk and Pidge, and when Keith suggested checking their phones, Lance dejectedly told him that the ghost probably drained all their batteries.

“Tell me, doc, is it bad?” Lance said dramatically, eyes shut as he held out his phone to Keith.

“Shut up,” Keith said in lieu of admitting Lance was totally right.

The floors were littered with old junk they had to step around–bottles and furniture and broken things Keith didn’t want to compare to bones. Lance clung to him, whispering prayers under his breath. Every once in awhile Lance would cringe and tuck his face into Keith’s arm, whining quietly as they stood stock still. In those moments activity would pick up again, and Keith’s body would stiffen at every scrape, drag, and crash he heard around them. They always moved a little faster when they heard any sound come from behind them, though.

Eventually they stumbled into the servant’s quarters, which was marked with an old, faded sign on the wall.

“Yanno, this place kinda reminds me of a Skyrim dungeon, yanno? All the old wooden furniture and weird glitches from the fucking ghosts really bring that atmosphere together.” Lance muttered. While Keith didn’t see anything, Lance would swear up and down he could catch glimpses of blood splattering on the walls, old chains swinging from the ceiling, giant cockroaches skittering across the floor, doors and chairs blinking in and out of existence. He said it had something to do with the bad energy of the house messing with him–whatever was haunting the place had some real twisted visions.

Lance held Keith’s hand as they crossed the small room. Keith was seconds away from testing the first of the weak looking steps when Lance suddenly stiffened. Color drained from his face as he stared directly at Keith, whispering one word:

“Run.”

They had started barreling up the staircase, hand in hand, when the room behind them exploded. Metal cutlery and splintered wood bursting forwards, the ancient bedframes jumping from their places to shoot through the ceiling. They heard a high-pitched scream from somewhere in the house. The raspy voice came back with an animalistic screech.

Keith could see fucking light at the top of the staircase when suddenly his hand was jerked down.

“Fuck!” Lance yelled. He yanked his foot from where it had broken a hole in through the stair, but it woudln’t budge. The disaster of the servant’s quarters was drawing nearer, the cold presence of the ghost nipping at Keith’s ankles. Keith let go of Lance’s hand–noting with desperate heartbreak the sad, resigned look on Lance’s face at the action–and moved to grip Lance at the waist with both arms, wrenching him out of the floor and throwing his body over his shoulder to race up the rest of the way. The stairs they had passed started to shatter behind them, one by one, and clawmarks slowly appeared on the walls, rising along behind them, gaining more and more speed until Keith was bounding two steps at a time to avoid getting caught on the splinters. By the time they reached the top step, Keith hurled Lance into the next room and turned to slam the door behind him, his knife still clutched in hand.

Keith’s chest heaved, the pain burning sharply. He knew the wound at his side had most likely torn even deeper. Keith’s eyes caught on the soft glow of his knife as it pulsated under his palm, slow and steady. From behind him, Keith heard a pained groan.

“Oh, shit– Lance.” Keith turned to see Lance sprawled on the floor, legs thrown up against the side of a counter at the far end of the small room.

“Wow, thanks Keith. If I wasn’t injured before I sure as fuck am now. Jesus.” Lance crossed his arms, looking entirely un-pleased at the turn of events. He looked pretty silly like that, pouting and upside down. Keith laughed breathlessly, partially from the image, and partially from the sheer overwhelming emotional overload he was experiencing. Lance grinned back, laughing just as breathlessly as he laid there on the floor.

“So…” Lance started after their laughter had pittered out.

“Yeah…” Keith responded.

“Where are we now?”

“Uh, the servant’s kitchens, I think. Around here there should be a back door, but there’s gonna also be a few hallways and sitting rooms or something.”

“Okay…let’s get walking I guess,” Lance said. He reached his arms out in a grabby motion. “Help me up? The blood is rushing to my head.”

Other than some bruises, Lance was fine. Keith was praying they could finally leave without anymore fanfare. They were making their way down the only unblocked hallway, heart rates finally slowing back to some kind of normalcy, when they heard the awful, horrible, dragging of claws behind them.

“Oh come the FUCK on!” Lance cried. He and Keith started running again. “We JUST got away from this bitch!”

The hallway seemed to grow infinitely longer, the end twisting and morphing like a bad optical illusion. Keith felt bile rise in his throat. Lance groaned and clambered for Keith’s hand, trying to keep steady.

A mirror appeared in front of them and Lance screamed. This time, Keith could catch a glimpse of what was reflected. He saw a familiar set of eyes staring back at him solemnly before Lance had pulled him into a room. Another mirror appeared in the doorway before being immediately shattered, forcing Keith and Lance to step back further into the room.

The figure appeared in front of them again. Keith tugged Lance behind him. The figure once again reached its clawed arm towards Lance, and Keith growled deep in his throat. He sharply raised his knife, its light suddenly intensifying. The creature hissed, rearing back. Keith slashed towards it blindly, emboldened but not thinking properly. The creature screamed and vanished again. Keith looked down at his knife.

“I think…I think it’s afraid of my knife…” Keith mumbled, “Why the fuck is a ghost afraid of my knife?”

“I….I don’t know Keith…” Lance panted in between breaths, “Maybe…maybe I’ll fucking ask her when she’s not trying to kill us.”

“Her?”

Lance stiffened, looking uncomfortable.

“When that mirror appeared again…I saw her. She was just as pretty in life as she is now, Keith. Something evil  seeped into this house a long time ago, and she became its keeper.”

Then there was silence.

“Let’s just go, Keith, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

They started walking again. The hallway had returned back to normal.

At the end of the hall, there was a massive set of double doors. There were halls to the left and right, but they were blocked by rubble and holes in the floor. Once again, the only way to go was forward. Lance swallowed thickly.

“There is something really off about this damn room,” he muttered. Keith nodded, somehow able to feel what Lance was saying.

The doors opened much too easily–smooth and quiet, as if maintained. They were in perfect condition. The room they contained was packed floor to ceiling with books, desks and corkboards and flyaway papers everywhere. The room smelled heavily of ink and chemicals.

“It’s…the study.” Keith furrowed his brow. The ceiling was glass, so the whole room was illuminated with bright daylight. Unlike the other rooms, this one was void of dust, and stood perfectly still and golden, as if frozen in time. They walked forward cautiously.

Pristinely on the back wall, high above their heads, the centerpiece of the room: an enormous, oil painted family portrait.

“It’s…the Zarkons, right?” Lance had whispered.

There had been no evidence left of the family’s existence aside from their name, and the cryptic blueprints that had been scrounged up from old records. The portrait showed a mother, father, and young child–though the faces of the father and child had been burnt away, and the mother’s eyes had been savagely scratched out.

The massive wooden doors slammed shut behind them. The ghostly figure that had been stalking them stood once again before them. Mirrors appeared around her, encircling the room. Reflected in them was the painted mother, with her serene smile and clawed x’s over her eyes.

Keith held his dagger securely. In knowing it would protect them, somehow, he felt stronger. Fleetingly, a thought crossed his mind and he quietly gave thanks to Red, who he kept thinking about ever since Lance mentioned her. He apologized for being shit at taking care of himself when she was trying so hard. Despite that, though, he knew he was at least going to go down fighting, and he was going to go down fighting tooth and nail to protect Lance.

The figure started approaching them once more, the mirrors closing in along with her creaking movements.

“Fuck! If we’re gonna die here, I gotta say something–” Lance cried. Keith wanted to tell him they would get out alive, but Lance interrupted before he could– “I love my family so much, and I miss them a lot; I wish I’d told Hunk how much I appreciate him; I should’ve reminded Pidge how fucking brilliant they are, and fuck, Keith, I should’ve told you I liked you sooner.” Then Lance did something unthinkable. He darted forward and pressed his lips to Keith’s cheek, firmly but for just a second, then hid his face into Keith’s neck again.

Keith barely had the time to process Lance’s words when a rush enveloped him–a thrumming wave, as if he were caught underwater in a storm. It pounds in his head and he could feel it down to his teeth but it was somehow empowering. Somehow familiar. And the creature drew forward quicker and Keith’s knife grew so bright it overpowered the sunlight in the room so there was nothing but a bright, bright white and Keith lunged forward towards the creature. He shoved his arm forward, stabbing his knife and pushing it deeper into something he couldn’t fathom, he distantly heard screaming but it was muted and drowned by the thrumming in his head and he felt powerful in every bone in his body, his hands gripping the handle of his blade. He felt another set of hands over his own and with that he was able to finally force his way through.

The light faded. It took awhile for Keith’s eyes to adjust, but when they did, he was faced with the unnervingly empty study, the mirrors and the figure gone. Exhausted, Keith collapsed to his knees, looking up at the skylight with glazed eyes.

“Holy shit…” Lance whispered, awe and disbelief in his voice. He kneeled by Keith, grabbing the other’s face to look him dead in the eye, an exhilarated expression on his face. “Keith…I don’t know how the fuck you did it but– you did it. She’s…I’m…she’s gone!”

Then Lance, still gripping Keith’s face, pulled that face forward to firmly press his lips to Keith’s.

“That was so fucking awesome, Keith.” Lance was breathless when he pulled back, the adrenaline mixing with their relief in an intoxicating combination that made people do stupid, wonderful things like kiss their amazing, wonderful, stupid friends.

Keith’s brain still hadn’t caught up to the events that had occured when Lance gasped and suddenly turned.

Keith’s eyes focused on another figure, this one more complete and solid looking than the last, with a face Keith had only ever seen in old photographs in the backs of closets. The new figure looked down on them without a smile, but the look in her familiar eyes was soft.

“…Mom?” Keith’s voice was so, so small. She slowly lowered to the floor, appearing weightless still. She slowly picked up the knife from where it had clattered to the floor. Keith timidly reached a hand to meet hers as she handed him the knife. She smiled softly at him, before blinking out of his sight.

Before either Keith or Lance could say anything, the wooden doors burst open again, but instead of a ghost, it was Shiro, in full uniform.

“Keith! Are you okay?” Shiro approached them, and Lance looked extremely confused and shocked.

“Woah okay, did I get knocked out in that weird blast because I can’t be having that hot firefighter dream again what the fuck,” Lance mumbled only half-coherently.

“Ew, Lance what the fuck that’s my brother.”

“Oh…oops….sorry Keith,” Lance said distractedly, watching as Shiro lifted away some heavy debris from the door.

Eventually they were out of the house, escorted safely by Shiro, who Lance could not keep his eyes off of.

The moment they stepped out onto the grass they both had an armful of Pidge barreling towards them.

“Y’all are idiots, holy shit,” Pidge had yelled at them, pounding their tiny fists into their chests angrily.

“Ow, Pidge, injured here.” Keith had muttered, still a little bitter about the way Lance’s face was bright red when Shiro went to check for injuries on him. When Keith spoke, Shiro’s head snapped up and he immediately went to his brother.

“How bad is it?” Shiro said, motioning for Hunk to come over with a first aid kit in hand.

“Uh…” Keith tried to lift his shirt and winced. Shiro’s brow furrowed.

“Holy shit, Keith.” Lance’s eyes were back on him, extremely concerned. Keith was a little smug about having Lance’s attention again, for some damn reason. Why was he–

“Oh.“ Keith’s lips slowly slunk into a devilish grin. He couldn’t mention it in that exact moment–not with everyone around–but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t say anything the second he got the chance.

The hospital was a blur, but Keith was able to zone out while his side got patched up, and was finally able to process what had happened. Sort of. He was at least able to think about it a little bit, but in the end, he boxed away thoughts of his mother for another, more mentally stable day, choosing to instead remember how Lance smelled like fresh flowers when he was near, and how soft his hands were when they held his face.

Keith shouldn’t have been allowed out of the hospital so quickly, but they made it happen somehow, probably because of Shiro. They’d all decided to go out for a celebratory picnic at the park, because apparently Hunk cooked a lot when he was stressed, and was making sandwiches nonstop for the few hours Keith was in the hospital.

Lance had already told the others what had happened on their end–with a lot of embellishment, and suspiciously leaving out the confession and the appearance of Keith’s mother. In turn, Pidge told them what happened to themselves and Hunk: they’d been chased around by the ghost, and it smashed all their equipment, but they were able to get out through a boarded up door that Hunk apparently “shredded with his bare hands”, though they panicked when they realized Keith and Lance weren’t with them and immediately called Shiro.

Eventually, Keith noticed that Lance had wandered off away from the group. Keith searched for him, also sneaking away to follow where the other was. Sitting in the bed of Keith’s truck with a blanket from the backseat, Lance was staring at the slowly pinkening sky with a far-away look on his face.

“Party too boring for you?” Keith said casually, laughing a little as Lance jumped.

“Oh, hey Keith,” Lance replied, smiling. “How’s your side?”

“It’ll be fine.” Keith bit his lip, risking a chance by moving to sit next to Lance. His legs dangled off the side, and Lance’s were curled up under him criss-cross. “So…today has been fucking insane.”

“Oh Christ. Understatement of the damn year. Worst haunting of my life, I never want to step foot anywhere near another house that’s more than fifty years old ever again.”

“I keep thinking about everything that had happened…I know it’s all over but…” Keith sighed, noting how Lance looked at him a little worried, “…I feel like there’s something we haven’t finished…”

Keith shifted to face Lance more fully, one of his legs lifting to rest on the other side of Lance’s body in the truck. Keith leaned in slowly, a crooked grin on his face. He felt Lance’s breath on his face, and the stumble in its rhythm when Keith moved closer. Looking into Lance’s pretty blue eyes he saw them focusing on Keith’s mouth before flicking up to meet his eyes.

“It might be the painkillers messing with me, but I distinctly remember it went a little something like this…” Keith gently took Lance’s hands and placed them on his own face. Lance’s tongue darted to wet his lower lip before he made a quiet, frustrated noise and pulled Keith’s face to his own–just like he did before, only this time, Keith met him with equal fervor, arms coming to rest on Lance’s waist and tugged him closer, Lance lifting onto his knees to slot in between Keith’s thighs. Their kiss was warm and slow. When they pulled back, Lance’s face had a dazed looking grin, and Keith felt bubbly and gooey in his chest, knowing he had the same goofy smile.

“So…wanna go out for some coffee or something?” Lance asked impishly.

“I just saved your skinny ass from an evil ghost, the least you could do is take me out,” Keith replied, just as playful.

“Dork.” Lance leaned his head onto Keith’s chest, relaxing like a lazy cat while Keith’s arms came to circle around him. Keith reached over to drape the blanket over both of them, and Lance sighed contently as he snuggled up closer. They whispered stupid jokes to each other as they watched the sunset.