#and the whole thing feels like i poured gasoline on my brain and set it on fire

[heehoighofoxijin]

Nose Blind

The following is a Br<3ken Colors fic I wrote based on an ask I sent that got answered. I've been itching to write it and I haven't until today. I also decided to do some art in MS Paint to go with it...because why not! So if you're interested...keep reading!

Metal pipe collided with my skull last night, and it knocked the whole world out from under my nose. It didn’t matter that you were defending yourself. Had you hit me anywhere else, I would’ve exercised some semblance of mercy. At least then I still would’ve been able to give you the liberty of a head-start before the chase. But darling, you’ve knocked my senses clean from under me—an unforgivable crime.

I was only trying to connect with you, honey. The loneliness that came over me that when the sun sank below the horizon was unbearable, and to expect me to endure that torture was the very same as the expectations I hold to you tonight. I would have preferred it if you kindly told me to leave. Now that you’ve destroyed everything I had to connect with the world, I feel it’s only right to return the favor.

Don’t cry now, sweetheart, because I’ve only just begun. This meadow is beautiful. If only I could smell it. You have that luxury, but you won’t for long. Drink it all in while you still can. The way the wind pushes the scent of the wildflowers towards your nose, how their incredible colors dance in the field, and how the trees rustle in the distance. Boy are you going to miss it all when all you can hear are your own screams.

The regret on your face won't save you now, my love. What’s done is done. If it’s any consolation, I raise my knife as a toast to your bravery. The goal may not have been to shatter my world into a million pieces, but your success in that department will not go unnoticed! I must admit to the courage and strength it takes to deal that much damage to my brain. You really sent me for a loop. For a moment I didn’t even process what had happened.

Was it really so hard to settle things peacefully with me, dear? Did you not hesitate to pick up the pipe when you saw me in your room? Where did you even get that thing anyway? And why? At what point did you stop loving me? What do you mean you never loved me? HA! That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told. If you didn’t love me, why were you so gentle with me? My nose never failed me until recently. I smelled no evil on you.

Now lift your head to the sky. Witness the shapes the stars make above you. Oh, how sweet it would have been to enjoy the scenery with you over a lovely picnic like I’d planned. Had you not made your mistake, darling, things could have been different. Open wide, now. I need to ensure you keep my name out of your dirty little mouth. I’ll strip you of your tongue so swiftly you won’t even have the chance to taste your own blood. Never loved me. How could you say such a thing?! Well, now you won’t be able to say anything. I hope you’re happy with yourself.

Ah, your eyes look at me with such judgment. But can you really blame me for this? You were the one who took it all away from me. All the color I saw in the world is nothing without the scent. Everything I once loved is blurry now without the one thing attaching me to them. Roses don’t even meet my eye anymore. All I see is red petals and thorns, tainted by blood from the mouth of the thief who stole my world from me. I laid pieces of my heart out for you! But you passed them up in favor of setting this field ablaze.

I bet you smell it now, don’t you? The gasoline. Here, let me give you a good whiff. You may as well be the one to check and make sure this is real. What a lovely, horrified face! I’ll take that as a good sign. I wonder if you’ll keep it up when I pour in down your nose.

You’re going to make a great ball of flame, you know. I bet your corpse will smell so horrid it’ll reach all the way to the heart of the city! And we’re pretty far out. It might take a day or two, but I’m sure somebody will find you. Maybe they’ll even feel bad. Personally, I won’t be able to find this place again. Without my sense of smell… Where did I put that matchbox?

There we go. What a flame! We could’ve danced this passionately, you know. We would have been perfect together if only you’d have listened to me when I tried to reason with you. If only you hadn’t picked up the pipe. If only you hadn’t tried to bash my head in. I have to say at least you tried to kill me. Unfortunately for you, your failed attempt led to your demise instead. Would it not have been easier for you to just love me back? Well, it doesn't matter anymore. Here, have some flowers from the field… Take them all, since you’re so fucking greedy.

Oh, hey DG. Steak? Sure. Don’t see why not. There’s a nice fire going here so you can cook yours. I'll try to at least enjoy the texture.

[americanah-tropicana]

…

[thesolferino]

Blood Red

⤷ knight!dream x assassin!fem!reader.

— summary: technoblade hires you to kill sir dream at king george’s ball while he’s off duty; sir dream wants a dance with the peculiar lady wearing a peculiar gown.

A red gown flashes past the sea of white and baby pink ones in a dazzling fashion, one of a Duchess or a Countess, surely not of a simple lady, but it flies by quick, so quick that you simply don’t get to catch the face that matches it. Quick enough that it leaves you stunned, slow enough for a knight’s eagle eye to spot.

The red is dark, darker than the simple scarlet red that the women wore on top of their buns or at the ends of their braids in the form of carefully tied bows. It’s dark, a dark maroon red, walking the line between uncomfortably red and obviously brown finely, careful not to cross each side. It’s an unsettling red, which makes it even more intriguing, especially to a knight - a knight who dances, off-duty, but fails to keep his eyes on the Dame in front of him, and he’s sure it might’ve gotten him in trouble if the porcelain mask hadn’t stayed stapled on his face, shielding his eyes from betraying him.

The red is outstanding, eccentric amongst all the pale, and the knight isn’t the only one who steals a look - the red was noteworthy, among the rest, and wasn’t that what a killer like yourself was made to avoid? Getting seen, getting noticed? Being the center of attention was for the masterminds, after all, not the ones who get their hands dirty; somebody might catch them staining.

It was a bad idea, the ones in charge had said many times before, but you always wore red to the job. They always dumbly ask why, you always repeat the answer. The blood would become invisible, you said. It was as if nothing had happened, at all.

That’s why your maroon flashed amongst the sea of ivory and lavender unapologetically, beautifully shining against the blush pink tiles, matching red heels clacking in obedience with your footsteps, feet moving lightly, gracefully, as if made for such a setting.

And when the song decrescendoed into silence and the violins started moving in a different pattern, the knight callously let go of the Dame’s hand and his feet carried him to where his eyes remained fastened on for hours, pale hand outstretching to your own, finally getting to see your face for the first time in the evening.

The red was too much for a Lady, and that’s why he knew exactly who you were. Maybe not by name, or by age, but profession and motivation were a strong guess. He’d been waiting for this moment - might as well make the most of it.

“May I have this dance, miss?” He spoke, hand still hovering in the air calmly, as she stared dead into the mask, right where she could imagine his eyes were. The stare gave him the answer to an already solved question - your gaze gave away absolutely nothing, and that’s what made him sure of it all. You’re good at your job, he supposes.

Beats of silence pass as couples sway behind you, some more gracefully so than others. You set your hand in his, lightly, carefully, so timidly it almost made him rethink it all. How could such a hand commit such vile things?

“Alright.” You spoke in return, placing your hand behind his shoulder, touch still as soft as before before slipping your other hand in his, not letting your fingers intertwine the way he may have wanted them to. He placed his arm on your back, just below your armpit, beginning to dance and move towards the center of the ballroom.

“From what I’ve observed, you seem to be a good dancer.” He mused, stretching his hand to let you spin, gown flapping around as you did, and he could’ve sworn it might’ve left trails of stardust on the floor everywhere you stepped. You smiled, in a way that screamed at him to escape, but his hand stayed glued to yours, moving further.

“I know a couple of things here and there.”

“How come? Excuse me if I am being intrusive, but I have not seen you at many balls. At least not the ones I attend.” He knew exactly why this specific ball was the one she attended, and the whole conversation inevitably leads to the answer he’s already aware of - he just wants to see how good of a liar you are, though.

“This is my first time here. I’m not a woman of some importance.” You replied, charm beaming off you like rays of light off the sun, and Dream could almost feel his legs tripping after the very hem of your dress. He’s playing with fire, and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself and pour heaps of gasoline. He’s always been like that, and perhaps George hates him for it, but George doesn’t matter anymore - he doesn’t exist as long as he doesn’t look at him. He’s off duty, and if he wants to play with the fire that lights just to burn him, then he shall do exactly that.

“Oh, believe me, you are of utmost importance if I’ve ever seen some.” He says, and you reply with nothing, simply spinning another time under his arm that holds yours firmly. He takes it as an invitation to spark some panic in you.

“Besides, the color of your dress would suggest otherwise. How come a simple lady’s wearing such kitsch cloth?” Dream points out when the two of you move a bit farther back, led by you, and he’s just about impressed at how well you are at suppressing all of this, especially when you let out a perfectly timed, airy chuckle in response, not a single flash of fear or danger in your eyes. It’s the first time that night that he’s actually felt like prey. Techno taught you well, didn’t he?

“I don’t think you’re one to speak on that, Sir Dream.” you respond, eyes flashing from the collar of his basil green suit to the nicely paired olive points of his shoes, back to the hollow eyes of the mask with a mischievous glint in your eye. He exhales a laugh.

“The color is pretty, isn’t it? Aren’t simple ladies allowed to feel like Duchesses every once in a while?” you continue, pulling the two of you mere centimeters closer, enough for any of the passing guests not to spare a single look, and enough for him to notice what you’re doing. He can almost feel a bead of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Maybe he’s more scared of death than he thought.

“I don’t think you’re a simple lady.” He professed, following your lead. You were pulling him dangerously close to the south side, where the balcony stood. You were impressingly good at this. “Simple ladies don’t have knives strapped to their thigh.”

He waited for a slip up, and he got none. Not a single hitch in your breathing, a stutter of your tongue - your lips, marked with a red lipstick that suddenly looked a lot like smeared blood even though it wasn’t, simply stretched into another coy smile. You say nothing, simply keep dancing, feet moving in a little bit of a different direction now, as to delay the operation, and he likes to think that’s enough of a slip up.

“Are you scared of death, Sir Dream?” Violins stammer in staccatos behind him, an awful representation of the tension he knows both of you feel, yet not a single other soul in the room can behold. The back of his neck grows warmer, and maybe it’s fondness, maybe lust, or maybe danger and that known feeling of being the prey in this situation, that he taps in with one foot, the other safely yet artificially placed on predator territory, because he refuses to admit he’s no longer the one with the upper hand, and his leg has lifted off predator land long, long ago.

“My death will be nothing more than a false victory to you.” He offers instead of an answer, hips swaying to the music and steals a glance at the rest of the couples dancing. It’s such an airy atmosphere, so calm, casual yet fancy, elegant. Gowns fly around and snake around naked ankles, but none of them are as pretty as yours. Dream refuses to think about the way his blood would look soaking it, and that’s when it clicks. You’re not so dumb, after all.

“I suppose it will, but your murder will be a true one.” you say, and your feet are tapping on the tiles a few feet too close to the balcony. Dream feels crazy, still dancing like this. He feels crazy, and maybe he should ask for help, scream, but he doesn’t. He dances on, dancing until either the stars or you take him.

“Will you feel alive if I take it off? Will he be more satisfied?” His head moves comically, just to bring attention to the mask that feels so unbelievably tight and suffocating, the strings pressing to the back of his head, threatening to snap. He wants them to snap so badly.

“It’s too late for me to feel alive now. I’ve been dead for years, and I’ll stay that way. Whatever you want, though, honey.” Your voice feels more like music than the actual musing of the fuse of piano and strings in his ears, and he still feels crazy. He feels high on something he’s never known. You haven’t killed him yet - maybe you’re high as well.

“I can bring people back to life.” He replies simply, six simple words that are nothing more than conversation fuel, but they hold so much meaning that he can’t miss the glint in your eyes. Your step falters for a second, but the knight’s eagle eye never misses.

“You don’t want me alive, you want yourself alive.” You whisper, heels clacking louder and louder now. Dream is convinced he’s going insane, but his feet move at their own accord, of their own body and soul.

“I want both of us.”

“Only one gets to stay.” You say, and it doesn’t make his blood go cold like he expects it to. It’s sort of depressing to know that his heart accepted his morality so quickly, much quicker than his stubborn brain.

“I don’t think you want me to go, though.” It’s one hell of a ballsy move, but when you press your lips together, he knows he’s done it. Unsure how, but happy he did, nonetheless.

“I’m quite unsure of what I want, I must say. Sir Technoblade does, though.” You spit his name out, and it forces an unwilling laugh out of Dream.

“Be careful, it’s death you’re dancing with.” You say, gaze as fiery as ever, reflecting the blood of your dress and the blinding lights of the chandelier that light your eyes on fire. He returns the gaze just the same.

“May I get one last dance with Death, then, before she makes up her mind?” The knight cheekily smiles, even though you can’t see it, but he’s sure you feel it. Your hand manages to go warmer in his own when you grip it tighter, and he thinks he’s got his answer.

“You know what? Death’s a pretty good dancer, but so are you. She’ll allow it.”

[wolf-queer-discourse]

Adventures in Aphobia #3

My last two Adventures in Aphobia both took on similar flavors of eye-rolling at shameless, obvious bigotry to anyone willing to look or care. But today, I found a different type of aphobia, and I’m actually eager to talk about this one. Have a read of this first.

Look, the bar of respect for ace people is so low it’s all the way in hell, but I mean, to many people, especially allosexual people, they may look at this post and think, “No, this isn’t aphobia. The poster wasn’t blatantly cruel.” But what some fail to realize is that politeness can be the thinnest of veils over the ugliest of takes. Polite bigotry gaslights the victims into thinking they can’t be upset about this.

So what’s the deal with this post?

PARAGRAPH #1 starts off innocently enough, saying ace discourse wouldn’t exist if people recognized complex relationships to sex and relationships. Even taken on its own, I do not agree with this. Ace discourse ranges all the way from outright denial of asexual existence to the strong hatred for and exclusion of aces from the queer community. Nearly everyone recognizes people have complex relationships to sex...that...that doesn’t mean ace people won’t be discriminated against. In fact, it’s an argument aphobes use constantly to try and gaslight ace people into erasing themselves. Ace discourse comes from a lot of places, but at the end of the day, it all stems from people’s refusal to acknowledge ace people and their unique experiences. This poster absolutely does not get to say “IT’s CoMpLicAteD”, and expect ace people to just disappear. Honestly, it’d be better and more honest if they said “Lol, ace people should go fuck themselves and hop to the back of the line with everyone else.”

PARAGRAPH #2 and #3 are not very objectionable on their own. Everything said is true. Society has very complicated views on sex, and life happens to all people. The ugly part of this is that the poster is setting up an argument here in which they will hand wave ace people into the “everyone else” crowd and pretend as if we’re all just too similar and no labels should even exist.

This is literally what enby-phobes do. They say “Well, gender is COMPLICATED”, which is true, but then they say “So like...aren’t we all really nonbinary when we think about it? Why should enby people label themselves?” I swear we’ve all seen this. The poster is agender. This argument could easily be whipped in their face. Different forms of bigotry can share very clear overlaps, and it’s very important to acknowledge where these arguments come from and why they exist. It exists as a way to shut people up. It happens to bi people too! Every day, people come out as bi and someone tells them “pff, everyone thinks girls are hot. I had a crush on my best friend once, that doesn’t mean I’m not straight! All people are like this!” Let’s call out this erasure where we see it. It’s not the same thing, and if anyone saying stuff like this truly believes what they’re saying, maybe they’re the ones who need to reevaluate their own identity.

PARAGRAPH #4 dips its ugly toes straight into blatant aphobia, having the gall to call ace and aro people “obsessed” with pretending their relationships with sex and romance are wholly unique and different. Nah, fuck right off with that bullshit. The poster even goes on to say ace people have created entire new social classes. Uh...WHAT? Is there some secret ace society with a caste system living in the shadows?? What is this person talking about?? I suppose you can’t be a true bigot unless you have some vague grievance to weakly hand-gesture at that you couldn’t prove given 20 years to do so. For the love of my sanity, just say you hate ace people! It’s okay! (I mean, not actually, but Jesus Christ does it save us all some time). They also say things like “somehow excluded from”. Replace asexual people with nonbinary people and take a joyride through this section, because the arguments are scarily similar. What would it take for this poster to acknowledge ace and aro people have their own experiences? Seriously, what? What holds you back from doing this?

It’s also funny to note the actual lack of substance to this argument. The poster is not giving any specific examples or even bringing up what being ace and aro mean. Yes, there is a pretty noticeable difference between feeling sexual attraction and not feeling sexual attraction. How many “allo” people do you know that say they’ve NEVER experienced this? Come on. The poster reduces asexuality and aromanticism down to allo people’s, in their own words, hyper-specific contexts where they don’t want sex or love. At least the poster admits any circumstance that allo people are comparable to ace people are extremely specific. But for real, are we hinging a whole argument on a few very specific examples of allo people having some similarity to ace people?

“Nothing about your relationship to sex or love makes you more or less LGBT. If you are gay and don’t want to have sex, ever, you are still gay. “

Mini strawman alert for the idea any ace person thinks you’re less gay if you’re also ace. And bonus points for an aphobe who refuses to use the definition of asexuality: not experiencing sexual attraction, and instead goes for “don’t want to have sex”. For the last. Fucking. Time. Not wanting to have sex and being asexual are NOT the same. Don’t make me pour gasoline in my eyes every time I see this.

After this, the poster goes on a tangent, which by the tone, seems to think it's very inspiring, and says no matter how you want to have sex (including only certain days of the week), you’re still straight! It’s so fucking condescending and gross to talk ace people out of their own identity like this.

“EVERY person who is heterosexual is different in how they perform or experience.”

Oh. My. GOD. THEY DIDN’T EVEN SAY STRAIGHT. THEY SAID HETEROSEXUAL. WUGGYUEGYUG. God help me. Can one be both bisexual and heterosexual? No…? Okay. So then. How is one both asexual AND heterosexual? What single brain cell in this poster’s head was responsible for this Chad of a sentence? I—

*deep breath* 

So. It’s interesting how the poster says “perform or experience it”. Asexuality is an identity. It is not a performance, and it is not defined by your actions. A straight person not having sex does not become asexual. And sure...people with the same label can experience their sexuality differently, but...to a point, guys. You can’t experience your sexuality out of the DEFINITION of the label. Heterosexual: Sexual attraction to the opposite gender. Asexual: Sexual attraction to no one. If a “heterosexual” isn’t sexually attracted to anyone, they are by definition, not heterosexual. It takes insane mental gymnastics to make this argument, so A for flexibility, I guess? 

“Gayness, straightness, and bisexuality are not defined by HOW you do or don’t want sex or HOW you do or don’t want to date, it’s just defined by WHO you want to be with.”

The first part of the sentence is correct, but it also defeats this person’s entire argument. Ace people AGREE with this. Being asexual is not the act of not having sex!! It’s not experiencing sexual attraction! You can google this! The second part of the sentence is mostly correct, depending on your interpretation. The issue is in part with the words the poster used: gayness, straightness and bisexuality. These words are not all equivalents. Gay could refer to sexual and or romantic orientation. Thus an ace gay person. Straightness is not actually an equal word to gayness. This is because straight is an exclusive term for a normative sexuality (in society’s eyes) in terms of sexual and romantic attraction. Some ace people DO call themselves straight, though it’s inaccurate. Ace people can be heteroromantic, but because being straight is so exclusive, you need to be both sexually AND romantically attracted to only the opposite gender.

The post basically ends telling ace people they’re all actually straight and were just confused the whole time. Lovely. And an erasure of gay aces too! Believe it or not, gay ace people do not like having their ace identities erased. Who’d have guessed?

Honestly, if anything this post is just kind of sad. A sad reflection of what people believe and how they truly do not see their own bigotry. They believe they’re freeing ace people from an incorrect label. They’re the heroes.

They’ll say “it’s okay, you’re not asexual” as if they've like...lifted a burden off of ace people. Like, “Oh, you think I’m not asexual? Cool, cool. Glad you cleared that up for me!” It’s sad how aphobes think, some very genuinely, that asexuality is just some high school party that went off the rails, and we’re all just coming out of the drunken haze, ready to go home. Ready to all laugh about it later, tease one another about how wild and silly it all was. 

Having your identity erased like this is fucking horrible, and I hope people like this can take a look in the mirror and see themselves clearly. All ace and aro people have a right to their identity, whether gay, bi, heteroromantic or anything else. End of story.

[crown-anon]

@hearts1ck my beloved

November 1st

CW: explicit; more CWs under the cut

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; reader has male anatomy; more specifics under the cut

edited 14 March 2021

anonymous asked

consider. okay. CONSIDER. consider masochist george. okay?? okay. okay LISTEN.

I think I have a problem with gimmicks also. because. because. ever since strawberry milk george, I. I have not stopped thinking about strawberry flavored lube. because! listen okay hear me out.

(this is absolutely 110% a response to discovering that you share a birthday with him. what of it?)

I know everyone likes pillow princess george and. that's okay. that's FINE. these are not mutually exclusive.

george looking up at you with The LookTM wearing some pink strawberry milk lingerie. not even lingerie really! just something cute like that

& him being like. "I know you love me 👉👈 but I need you to fuck me like you don't"

so I was. thinking. that brat george is the exact kind of person to say (playfully & consensually) "but I don't wanna give you head, I just wanna fuck >:(" after you've got him worked up, maybe from teasing him throughout the day, or edging him a little. but you still need some type of lube. so you go to apply the first bottle you see and he's pink when he asks you "😳 is that ... strawberry ... ?" and you're confused like ??? bro you just asked me to fuck you into next week why're you interested in the flavored lube

but. but listen. he would get so enthusiastic about it. at first it's just "maybe I can stand to eat them out just a little bit before ..." and then after you come the first time it devolves really, really quickly into the need to just. take care of you. and it stretches on until you've come three or four times, and you're still shaking, and he's just. completely gone in subspace

hmm ... george climbing up onto your lap when he's done with you, going in to give you a kiss, and he tastes like strawberry. and he ends up moaning right into your mouth because he's been so horny but so? understimulated?? that he outright jumps as soon as his dick grazes your thigh. it would only take a couple stuttery grinds before he's finishing on both of your stomachs

and he's just so cute when comes, or when he bites down on your shoulder to keep himself quiet. and it's your birthdays. so, you decide you'll give him a reason to cry. and he'll finally get put in his place! it's a win-win for both of you!!

istg every time I send you an ask I discover something new about myself. you. you have made a dreamteam simp out of me. I am but a shell of the man I once was. I think I should thank you? [👑]

hearts1ck

i say this nearly every time you send stuff in but...... by god you own my soul. all of it. this – i – first of all, the implications of masochist george losing his fucking mind when you’re rough with him? guhhhfjklgjgf. and ,..d,,f,,, ,, ,, george in pink lingerie. i. i . a... pink satin slip maybe or .... ohghfd; oh my god those. that cat panty/bra set. im ascending im losing my brain as i type this i cannot –

okay im back on earth. he’d get into that rhythm and settle like liquid while he gets to work on you, and his subspace face is so self-satisfied and nearly smug so he’s just having the time of his life,,, and he makes such a loud noise when his dick twitches against your thigh and maybe... JUST MAYBE he whimpers extra watery when you drag his hips to grind against where you’re wet and dripping/your spent cock as if he’s the one who’d get overstimulated by it. when he finally leans away, eyelids heavy, you gently fit your hand over his jaw and ask, “did you even ask? it’s one thing to come without permission, but not even caring to ask? georgie, i might just be offended,” and he whines “green”s against your neck before you even check-in

and because u made it abt both of our birthdays ,,,, spanks for each year we’ve been alive methinks ??? and then the scratch down his ass gets him hard again and he’s so embarrassed by it, ,,, , ,, ,, ,, ,, ,

also thank god you’ve joined the george boat. i’m so proud of myself for hopefully being part of the reason you got dragged over here HJFKDHSKD

#👑 anon #(my beloved) #keep #anon thoughts: george #redsick #SHAWTY WANT THE WHOLE CREW SHAWTY BAD

as soon as you said birthday spanks I decided I had to write more about this. and I was going to leave more snippets in your askbox like the fucking gremlin creature I am, but then my thoughts started. actually having structure? and then I started writing it. and I tried to do homework and write on study breaks only but. I just kept coming back to this. this is the polar opposite of writer's block. I think I'm cursed or something. so here I am rushing to finish this so that I may rest in peace!!

yes I've been writing nonstop since I sent you that ask. what of it. what the fuck of it.

when I said I discover something new about myself every time we interact, I. I'm serious. I think I might be insane or something. I'm way too sadistic. you'll see. what the fuck is this? what the fuck did I just write??

this would have done so much critical psychic damage if I had posted it on November 1st in real life, but mental illness says I can't let my horny thoughts rattle around in my brain for that long. so!! it's you guys's problem now xoxoxo

I'm not fucking proofreading this. love you though 💗

I did end up proofreading actually. oops! looks like posting at 23:00 isn't always a good idea.

November 1st

CW: explicit, anal (kind of vague), bondage (collar + leash), corruption, domspace (I think??), edging, handjob, humiliation, masochism, oral, praise, sadism, spanking, subspace, swearing. I call George a whore and a slut at least once. and also, George calls yellow at one point. this one kind of surprised me so just. Be Careful. I cannot believe I wrote this. I don't know where this came from.

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; I use the word "sir;" reader has male anatomy; I use the words "cock," "dick," and "head;" reader can ejaculate

—

dawn shines through drawn curtains, illuminating the tile floor and your robed figure reflecting off it. batter sizzles in the skillet as you flip the last pancake over. this side looks golden brown, like honeycomb or caramelized sugar. that delicious, freshly-baked fragrance mingles with scented candles. it's perfect, you smile. he's going to love it.

you lift the pancake with a spatula, stacking it on top of the others on his plate. you bring it to his seat at the table, along with the butter, the syrup, the honey, the jam…and you go to pour him a drink.

"hey baby," you greet warmly to the sleepyhead rubbing his eyes in the entryway, still clinging to a pillow. his hair's a mess, only wearing socks and a sweatshirt that reaches down past his thighs. you reckon he'd only just crawled out of bed.

"morning…" he yawns, stumbling past you to take his seat.

"milk?" you ask, he only nods. "did you sleep okay?"

he hums affirmatively. "I…can we…"

one track mind, you joke inwardly. but you don't blame him. "of course," you open the fridge.

you hear him pause. "…is it too early for that?"

"no, no!" you give him a lighthearted laugh. "I kind of expected it, to be honest…I want it, too."

he's silent under the noise of you rummaging through the fridge. "I—"

"sorry—it looks like all we have is strawberry milk. is that alright?"

"yeah…yeah, that's alright. I…actually…wanted to try something new." you shut the fridge, he's fidgeting in his seat.

"hit me with it," your expression is gentle. you pass his cup off to him, but he holds his hand over yours a little too long, looking up at you.

"fuck me like you hate me."

you don't know if it's hearing him swear, or the way he said it so calmly, or how he closed his eyes and swallowed hard before his tone could dip down into something lower. but like a match in an torrent of gasoline, suddenly you're burning up.

you only realize you're staring when he bites his lip and looks down. you start to say something, but the words don't form.

he laughs nonthreateningly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "is that a yes?"

you laugh with him. "I…yes, absolutely yes." you turn back around to make your own stack of pancakes. "you should eat first, though."

"what?" he teases. "will I need the energy?"

you smile. "yeah. I think you will." you can practically feel him open his mouth in protest, but he stays silent after that.

and it stays mostly silent while you cook your pancakes. you hear the clinking of his fork on his plate, but it isn't very disruptive. it sounds like he's hurrying to finish his food.

when you go back to the table with your own platter, he's already done eating. he's red down to his neck, fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt, looking at you expectantly. you spot a pair of tassels peeking out from under it, just below his hip bones. is that…

he pulls the hem up just a bit, holding your gaze. he smiles, apparently satisfied watching your face heat up.

"I—you should go…go get ready," you manage. he gets up before you even finish your sentence, only stopping to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

except it isn't quick, when he slides his hand down to rest firmly on your collar, and leans in to trail kisses down your neck. "a-and leave that on," you stutter.

he pauses, just under your jaw. "leave what on?" he murmurs.

your breath catches, you shut your eyes. "whatever the fuck it is you're wearing under there."

he's hardly grazing your skin, but you can feel how hot he is next to you. it takes all of your willpower not to shiver.

he pulls back quickly, only his hand lingering. "I don't know what you're talking about." and just like that, he disappears into your bedroom.

you reach up a hand tentatively to your collar, hot to the touch. I'm in way too deep, you decide, and force yourself to take a bite of your food despite your nerves.

—

"that," you hiss. "that fucking outfit. that."

"oh, this?" he bites his lip, hooking his thumb in the keyhole. "this's just what I went to bed in last night."

"fuck you. we both know that isn't true."

he tugs gently on his top, pulling it a little to the side. "what's the big deal? can't I wear something special for my birthday?"

"it's special, all right," and you leave it at that, opting instead to slot between his legs where he sits waiting on the edge of the bed. you bring up a hand to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb across his cheek. you'll never get enough of the way he looks at you, like you're intoxicating.

…? you frown.

"is something…missing?" he perks up instantly at "missing."

"what…?" he chooses his words carefully.

"the collar—your collar. where is it?" you turn away to start going through your bedside table, but the way his lips quirk up into a sly smile isn't lost on you.

that's lube…that's a vibrator…where the fuck is it…? "w-what collar?" he stumbles over his words.

your mind jumps to say, the collar that came with that outfit, or I know you know what I'm talking about, but you won't give him the satisfaction. you decide to speak a little darker, only a firm "George." you hear him swallow.

"w-well," his voice is shaky, "you only told me to leave on whatever I was wearing under my shirt. and…I wasn't wearing that collar at breakfast…s-so technically…"

you stop looking immediately. you turn to take him in, legs crossed, stance confident, but expression showing uncertainty. you can see the regret on his face. "get up." he takes a shallow breath. "get up."

"I'm—"

"don't I'm sorry me," you snap. "you look for your fucking collar on your own."

he slips off the bed, looking ashamed, but starts digging through the drawer all the same. "I really am sorry," he murmurs. you take his place sitting on the bed. he finds what he's looking for rather quickly: a simple white leather collar with a bell, and a leash. he hands them off to you shyly. "um, here…"

"good boy," you praise. "kneel."

he shuts his eyes and does as he's told. you can see the bliss wash over his face just at being ordered around. his lips part a little as he lets out a heavy breath. if only I knew what this would do to him, you muse, I'd have done this ages ago.

you fasten the collar, revelling in how he shivers at the gentle sensation of cold leather hanging around his neck. you leave it a little bit loose, but still comfortable, and hook the leash in its place. he sits obediently still on his knees, looking deep in thought.

"Oh, I know what I'm gonna do to you," you bait. "how old are you today?"

"mmm. twenty-five." he looks down.

you smile, holding tight onto the leash. "I'm gonna edge you. twenty-five times."

he flinches away immediately, yet hums in pleasant surprise when the leash snaps taught. the bell jingles stiffly. "no way. that's way too much."

"I think you should've thought about that before you wore that to breakfast," you decide, tugging a little. he's caught off-guard and stumbles forward, stopping himself by leaving a clumsy pair of kisses on the inside of your thigh. the metal and leather feel refreshingly cool against your feverish skin. "we've got all day, baby."

you expect to hear some kind of protest, you're crazy. or a playful taunt, I'm better off doing this by myself. but he knits his brows and openly moans at the thought. "all day…" he repeats.

he looks up at you, almost pleading, and you can hear the resignation in his voice when he whispers "alright."

"get up here," you command. "on top of me." as he climbs up into your lap, a little too eagerly, you add, "and take your dick out."

you shrug your robe off your shoulders while he's working on his panties, and without thinking, you ask, "color?"

he stops, leaving his head poking cutely over the waistband. he looks up at you again. "…what?"

"um…color," you explain. "like, how are you doing? is this okay? I don't actually want to hurt you. uhhh…green means good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop."

he stifles a laugh. "you're such a nerd. I'm okay."

"alright." you blush a little. "we can stop whenever you need to. this is for you…" you think of something horribly unsexy to say. "…birthday boy."

now he's really laughing, with his whole body. you think the way it makes his collar jingle is cute. "oh my god. shut up. just shut up," his expression turns serious, and he drops to a whisper, "and fuck me."

that got you hot again. you pull him by the leash into a kiss, you bite his lip, you eat him up. and you grab the both of you together with your other hand, you moan in tandem. you can feel how you took him by surprise in the way he twitches under your thumb, the way he leans into you with his whole body. you part from the kiss and he leans back on his heels, panting hard, holding on to your shoulders for support. you can feel him shaking a little.

when you move your hand all the way up the first time, you squeeze both of your heads gently, and he practically falls into you. muffled in the crook of your neck, he begs, "god, do that again."

so you do. again. and again. what was a string of stuttered breaths turns into a single broken moan as you jerk the both of you off. when you think you're getting close, you let go of yourself to focus all your attention on him.

"fuck, sir," he whines—hahaha, that sir made your cock leak a little. he shut his eyes tight. "I-I-I think—I think I'm—"

just like that, you stop, and he goes slack, practically laying on you. but he doesn't grind back, or even move to touch himself. that won't last very long.

you let him come back down, knowing edging takes a lot out of you; maybe even more so than actually coming does. slowly but surely, his breathing steadies. you rub between his shoulderblades affectionately, still trying to ground yourself, too.

once you've found your voice again, you question, "are you gonna count for me?"

he makes a sound against your skin, somewhere between excitement and fear. "…o-one." you revel in how fucked-out he sounds already.

"one what?" you prod.

he seems at a loss, like he's forgotten himself, what he said. after a minute or two of pondering, he catches on. "…sir."

it's your turn to moan. your dick jumps at the honorific, still mostly untouched against your stomach. "good boy." and you dive back in. twenty-four to go.

—

it's noon. you're working on nineteen. and your partner's getting much more…expressive. he's started biting his hand to keep himself quiet, but he's still…

"I-I—oh fuck, I'm—fuck, I-I'm—I'm—" he whimpers through his teeth. and he yelps, whole body shaking, bell jingling incessantly, when he comes all over your hand and stomach.

you take your hand off him immediately, and this time he does try to reach down, ride through it, but you grab both his wrists to stop him. he grinds down uselessly against your thigh and your dick. although you're still hard, and only a hairline trigger away from coming yourself, it doesn't stop you from keeping this brat in line. you only bite your lip and close your eyes.

he leans his forehead against yours, moving in to give you a kiss, but you push him away.

"did you never learn how to fucking count?" you growl.

he winces. "I-I-I-I'm…I'm sorry—"

you scowl at your hand, covered in come. "here, slut," you raise it up to his lips. "clean this off for me."

he tears up a little, but takes your fingers into his mouth all the same. pretty quickly, though, he spits them back out.

"it doesn't taste good…" he complains.

"oh? oh, it doesn't?" you mock. "but it felt good, when you came without my permission, like a cheap fucking whore."

a couple of tears spill over, roll down his cheeks, yet he says nothing, only moving back in to lap his come off your hand. you can see it in his expression that he's not very happy about it, but he doesn't protest further.

"is this good enough, sir?" he asks, when it seems that he's gotten it all. it looks clean enough, you agree. you grab him by the chin, hooking your thumb in his mouth. you don't even have to tell him to suck.

"you come without my approval again, and it's over. you can go back to playing minecraft—or what-the-fuck-ever—with your friends for your birthday. do you want to sleep on the couch, Georgie?"

if he wasn't crying before, he's definitely crying now. he doesn't shake his head, but he circles your fingertip with his tongue enthusiastically, as if to say, I'll be good, I'll be good this time, looking up at you doe-eyed.

"bend over for me," you demand. "across my lap."

he does so immediately. he slips a little bit while he's changing positions, you hear the bell ring, and he scrambles to correct himself. he settles with his ankles crossed and his head in his hands, propping himself up on his elbows. you feel a little bad, you admit, but you won't budge; he has a safeword, you trust that he'll use it.

"let's try that again," your tone softens. "I want you to count for me, okay?"

he nods.

you pull his panties to the side, pause briefly, and bring down your hand with a satisfying smack.

"ohhhhhh—" he moans, jolting a little. "—holy shit, did you just spank me?"

your stomach drops, you go to rub him gently where you just hit him. "is that okay—?"

"it's hot, it's so hot, fuck," he shifts in your lap. "um, sorry…one."

seriously, something about hearing him swear awakens something in you, every time. you're fired up. you spank him again.

"mmm—two…" is he…? "three…"

you pause to massage his ass again, and to speak. "you're…you're hard again, aren't you?"

you didn't even spank him yet, but he lets out a moan. "fuck, I—I just. I want you. I want this. so, so much."

you wonder if this is actually the same George who was fidgeting with his pillow in the dining room this morning.

"you're so bad, getting turned on by something like this," you tease. he only moans in response.

"four—five—six—seven…" he chokes out. "it's starting to sting…"

you take a break, kneading the skin where your angry red handprint is starting to take shape.

"eight…nine…but god, it hurts so good…" he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "ten…"

at ten, you linger for a moment, holding a handful of his ass. "does it?"

"yes—yesyesyes," he buries his face in the pillow, and shivers. "fuck, eleven…twelve…"

you pull his panties down to his knees, and switch sides. he lifts his hips up, so I can reach him better, you guess. you don't miss the telltale glint of a butt plug, but you'll get to that later.

"thirteen—fourteen—fifteen—sixteen," he moans between slaps. he's gripping the pillowcase so hard his knuckles are white.

in this new position, the way he jumps with every hit makes his cock brush against yours just right. fuck, you're still hard from earlier. this time you're the one who whimpers.

"seventeen, eighteen," he pauses, breathless. you pull gently on his leash, he arches his back and moans, "n-nineteen." his bell jingles.

he grinds down, just for a moment, and the friction is delicious. you're a little dizzy, you think you might've thrust back. you both sigh at the feeling.

"…t-twenty…see? I-I can count…I'm a good boy…I'm good for you…aren't I?"

"you are," you murmur, but you aren't sure he hears you. "you're so good…"

"twenty-one—twenty-two…I-I feel like I haven't done anything right today…twenty-three…"

"…George…?" you hear a muffled sob.

"twenty-four…" he mumbles.

"George?" you start to get concerned. he just keeps crying. "hey…" you whisper. you gently prompt him to turn him over; the pillow's a little wet. you pull the panties off all the way, and get him out of the bra, which had a little stray come on it. you help him sit up in your lap, and pull him into a hug.

"am I really just a whore…?" he asks brokenly.

"you've been so good for me, baby. you've done everything I've asked." you wipe his tears away with your thumb. "are you okay?"

"but I—" he coughs. "—I came too soon, I came without your permission…"

you kiss his hair, and hold him to your chest. "you've been so patient. I'm proud of you."

he finally wraps his arms around you. "I-I'm sorry."

"nonsense," you reassure. "your comfort takes priority. are you okay? color?"

"I…" he searches for the words. "I dunno. yellow? I…that hurt, I think. being…degraded?"

you comb through his hair with your fingers. "I understand. thank you for telling me. I love you."

—

you stay like that for a minute. you grab him a snack and a drink, but for the most part, you just enjoy each other's company, tangled-up together. you don't bother putting your clothes back on.

it's later in the evening. you're straddling him, peppering his shoulders with kisses, and he's giggling underneath you. he turns over to give you a short and sweet kiss.

"baby?" he says, looking expectantly.

"what is it?" you sit back on your heels.

he hesitates. "…I wanna keep going. from earlier."

you're serious again. "are you sure you're okay?" you grab his hand, bringing it up to kiss his fingertips. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm alright," he assures. "I remember you promising me an all-day thing, though."

you blush, a little surprised by his forwardness. "of course. I think…I…" you laugh. "I wanna fuck you."

"yeah?" he smiles, leaning up close. "show me how much."

you hold his jaw while you kiss him, biting his bottom lip between your teeth. he tastes like the coffee and cream you made him earlier. you feel his breath hitch. he reaches up to hold your shoulders.

you pull back. "hey, blow me first."

"what? why?" he giggled.

"it's been a couple hours, I'm not hard anymore," you coax. "I thought you liked taking orders?"

he cringed. "but come tastes gross!"

you slid off him and hopped off the bed, opening the drawer. "suit yourself. you get to watch me jack off, then."

"fine by me, I think you look good when you masturbate."

"ohhh, I forget, you're too blissed-out to pay attention to how I look when you're getting fucking owned."

"I am not!"

"you are too!" he sticks his tongue out at you.

you open the lid, pouring a little on your hand, a little on your cock. it's translucent pink, seems a little fragrant. you give yourself a couple of strokes with a sigh.

he's quiet for a second, then, shyly, "um…is that…strawberry flavored…?"

you bite your lip. "I thought you weren't gonna give me head?"

"I was just curious." it's a weak lie, but you say nothing.

your eyes are shut, but you can feel him moving around a bit on the bed, you hear his bell ring a couple times. you feel a hand on your thigh, so you decide to peek. and holy shit.

your partner's made his way to the floor, on his knees between your legs, holding his leash in his mouth, his fucking mouth, what the fuck. his thumb's rubbing circles on the inside of your thigh. the half-lidded look he's giving you should be criminal.

"you—I thought you said you wouldn't…" you can't find the words. you reach out and take the leash from his mouth. you see your hand shake in front of you.

"I'm just watching…" he whispers, looking up at you, mesmerized.

you're only able to get a couple of pumps in before he's joining you, hand over yours as you get yourself off. just the extra sensation of somebody else's touch is enough to make you bite back a moan.

"fuck—!" you jolt when he licks a stripe up the underside. he mouths over the head, jerking you off on his own now. you move to grip the sheets in one hand, his leash in the other. and you come without warning. you see it end up on his hand and your stomach before you shut your eyes tight.

he's quiet while you're coming down, just helping you ride it out, giving you kisses on your thighs. when you look back down at him, he's got two of his fingertips in his mouth, licking them clean. he stands up abruptly, it startles you a little. you see his bell ring. and he grabs you by the hips and leans down to your midriff.

"…I don't think I cleaned you off all the way earlier…" he breathes, and he starts to lap up the mess of his and your come that's been on you since this afternoon.

what the fuck. why is this so hot? why is he so hot? all too soon, your spent cock twitches in interest at your lover. he cups it with a hand, smiling against your tummy. you're so sensitive it hurts. you think you mean to say something, but nothing comes out.

"hmm…?" he bites his lip. "you still want some more?" all you can do is whine. at this point, you don't know if it's in protest or invitation.

you don't get the chance to find out either, because fuck, he's really going down on you now. you don't know what the fuck he's doing with his tongue, or where his gag reflex went, but at this rate you're gonna come again.

"George—George, baby, I—slow down, I-I'm—" you plead. his leash slips out of your hand, you tip your head back.

he swallows.

—

the last thing you remember is coming harder than you ever have in your life. you think you held him by his hair. you might've fucked his mouth a little. he's never let you come in his mouth before…fuck…

it's nighttime now. he's riding your thigh, got one of his legs slotted between yours. the friction between his knee and your overstimulated cock feels embarrassingly good. you're so dizzy, all you can articulate is a loud moan. you don't sound at all like you remember. his bell keeps ringing and ringing and ringing as he grinds against you.

he leans down, one arm holding your hip, the other keeping himself propped up. he bites your shoulder, hard, hard enough to bruise. he comes on both of your stomachs.

"George," you beg. you're losing your voice.

"mmmmmmsir," he slurs. "fuck me."

"George, I…" you don't know what you're saying. the end of your sentence turns into a whimper.

"you need me to get you hard again? you need me to rile you up?" he turns to kiss your jaw, feeling around for your dick. "like this?"

"George," you sound urgent, until he squeezes right around the head, and you forget what you were saying. you're pretty fucking close to forgetting who you are entirely.

he sits up on top of you, grinning. "love the way you say my name, sir."

that name. all it takes is the way he says that fucking name and you're ready to go again. you flip the two of you over, so that you're towering over him instead. "you still didn't. fucking. ask me. if you could come."

he giggles, a little crazed. he hooks his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest.. "so what? so what? you gonna fuck me 'till I behave?"

"yes," you reach down, "I think I will." and you pull out the butt plug he (probably forgot he) had in all day.

"fuck—" he sobs. you watch his dick bob. precome drips into a pool on his stomach. "—green—green—so fucking green."

you're still sensitive from coming twice—you're pretty sure he is too. you lean down to give him a kiss, you moan into each other's mouths. he tastes like strawberries and his and your come. it is a little gross, you admit. but he's so tight and so fucking cute that you can't bring yourself to care. you part, and there's a line of salvia connecting the two of you.

"wait—" you say, but it comes out like a growl. "roll over."

he gets on his hands and knees, reaching back and spreading himself open for you. fuck.

you fuck him like that, holding the leash tight, loving the way he arches his back into the bed. the bell on his collar jingles incessantly.

you spank him, one last time.

"th-that's twenty-f-five—oh, fuck, sir," he growls, clinging on to the blankets for dear life.

you pin one of his hands in place and reach down to touch him. he starts laughing again.

"mmmmmmay I please come, sir? I—fuck—I'm so close, soclosesoclose," his breath stutters, you can hear the breaks in his voice. he buries his face in the blankets.

I'm close, you think, but the words don't make it out. "you're so good—you're so fucking good—come for me—fuck, come for me."

—

you're a mess. there's some drying solution of come and lube on your stomach. not to mention whatever the fuck's going on with your hair. your robe is discarded haphazardly on the floor. you think you've got a hickey, but you can't remember where.

actually, you're both a mess. he's also covered in come, sweat, and lube. he's got a red ring around his neck where you pulled him by the leash a little too hard. he's just covered in bruises. he clings to your arm, still fast asleep. you both passed out pretty quickly after…whatever that was, but you got back up a couple hours later. it doesn't look like he did, though.

actually, your whole bedroom is a mess. a blanket or two ended up discarded on the floor. there's an empty bottle of edible lube somewhere around here. your kitty lingerie set, still dirty, somehow ended up hanging in the closet. the first time you woke up you were both cuddling with a butt plug that you misplaced in the heat of the moment.

you don't think you've ever seen him like that. you can't even put it into words. you've never spanked him. he's never called you sir. you've never come in his mouth. he's never…begged for you like that before. you've never been so exhausted after coming that you both just, just fainted.

you feel lightheaded, and dead tired. you know you both must have gotten back up and gone at it at least a couple more times, but it's blurry, you can't remember. all you know is your vibrator's missing, and you feel…unusually empty, like you do the morning-after getting railed a little too hard.

last night…what the fuck happened last night?

you contemplate getting up, slipping your arm out of his embrace, pulling the covers back up around him, leaving to make breakfast. you're kind of disgusting, several hours after sex without cleaning up properly. you want to get yourselves some washcloths, maybe take shower together, or run him a bath. you know he's gotta be way more sore than you are.

you catch yourself staring, lost in thought; he just looks too cute when he's very clearly roughed up, but still sleeping soundly. and with the way he wanted…the way he needed you yesterday, you don't think he would want to wake up alone.

maybe it's okay if we sleep in a little longer.

you stroke his hair and whisper, "happy birthday, baby boy."

—

edited 14 March 2021

[thefandomlesbian]

Graveyard Shift

For a prompt from @unika542.

Summary: Realizing Misty is battling insomnia, Cordelia sets her text tone to the loudest one so she will awaken whenever Misty needs her. 

Read here on AO3!

Cordelia burned the midnight oil in her room, leaning over her bed. She had spread out ancient tomes as she planned class plans for the following weeks. The work of the Supreme was never finished, but she had to try to get her act together for the number of students she was now responsible for. Her council, not much more than students themselves, helped as they could, but there were only so many of them in a large school, and they all had their own haunts to deal with. Some more than others, Cordelia realized, sucking on her lower lip. Misty’s eyes hadn’t been the same since Cordelia had retrieved her from hell. They were emptier, less light, now. 

Cell phone buzzing, Cordelia glanced at the screen. Yikes. Three in the morning. But Misty’s name on the notification caught her eye. She opened it. “You up?” Misty had asked her. 

Pursing her lips, Cordelia reclined in her bed. The pillows were so luxurious where she struck her head, and with their touch, she realized for the first time how exhausted she was. “Yeah,” she texted back. “You okay?” 

The gray bubble of Misty’s reply appeared and disappeared and appeared and disappeared again. Cordelia waited. Then, finally, Misty texted her, “No.” Cordelia frowned and reached for her reading glasses, sensing this conversation was going to be long enough that squinting would give her a headache. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Can’t sleep. Nightmares.” 

Cordelia didn’t know why she was surprised. Misty had endured a great ordeal—several, actually. She couldn’t expect to walk away from everything unscathed. “Do you want to tell me about it?” 

A gif appeared of a cat shaking its head. “I don’t want to think about it.” She sent Cordelia another gif of a fat baby laughing. “Are you going to bed? I don’t want to keep you up.” 

A smile graced Cordelia’s face at the sight of the chubby baby kicking its legs in its crib. She rolled onto her side, holding her phone out. “No, I’m gonna be up for awhile yet.” It was true; she was going to be up as long as Misty needed her. “Pick your poison: fat babies, sad puppies, evil kittens.” 

Misty sent a crying-laughing emoji. “Hit me with your best shot.” 

Cordelia did so. She fired off photo after photo of chubby babies, sad-faced puppies with all of their hanging folds, and kittens laughing with unsheathed claws at explosions in the background. A few of them, Misty sent back to her with captions added to make them into memes. Each one made Cordelia laugh; Misty had a brilliant sense of humor. “You’re funny,” Cordelia sent back to her, and she found a gif of a guy doubling over laughing and slapping his knee. 

A heart appeared. “Thank you, Miss Cordelia. I appreciate it.” 

“Are you okay now?” 

“I will be. I’ll let you sleep.” 

“I’m here if you need me, ever.” Another heart emoji answered her, and Cordelia closed the conversation. She was tired… but she didn’t trust that Misty was okay, like she said she would be. She opened her settings and changed Misty’s text tone to a stupid foghorn noise. Madison liked to sneak behind her back at times and change all of her text tones to the foghorn noise. It always caught her off-guard, and she hoped it would work to get her attention if Misty needed her again. She blinked at Misty's picture on the text conversation. She was beautiful. I hope I can help her. 

…

About a week passed before Cordelia’s phone made the foghorn noise. This time, it did wake her up from a dead sleep. She rolled over, fumbling around for her phone on the charger. Holding her phone away from her face, she squinted at the screen. Misty’s name topped the notification. “Are you awake?” 

Cordelia flicked on the bedside lamp and sat up, putting on her reading glasses. “Yeah. What’s up?” 

“I’m lonely.” 

Cordelia’s heart chipped off at the sight of those two little words. Misty was asking her for help… She needed a friend. I’m here for her. “What can I do to help?” she asked. 

“Can we just talk for awhile?” 

“Sure.” Cordelia scrolled through her camera roll, looking for a silly picture to send Misty. It took her a moment to land on a picture of a puppy hugging a kitten, but once she did, she tapped it and forwarded it into their conversation. 

Misty didn’t give her the answer she was looking for. “Aw.”

Two letters? Cordelia thought. I have to be able to do better than that. If puppies, kittens, and other infants of all species wouldn’t cheer Misty up, she had to up her game. That meant asking Misty. “What’s bothering you?” She tacked a heart emoji onto the end, hoping to entice Misty to answer her honestly.

It worked. “I smell smoke whenever I wak up. I can’ scape it. It follow me from my dream.” Her hands were shaking, Cordelia noticed, the way her words didn’t fit together exactly right. She’s not okay. But then, the little gray typing bubble appeared again, and Misty sent a fuzzy picture of the night sky. “Moon is beutiful tonite. Stars brite.” The camera wouldn’t focus on the sky, making nothing but little streaks of light on a black background, like Cordelia’s astigmatism. 

Whatever was wrong with Misty, Cordelia didn’t think she could fix it via text. Those anxious, shaky hands would come between them. She needed to use her speaking words, not her thumbs. “Where are you?” 

“Roof.” 

Frowning, Cordelia donned her robe and slipped her phone into its pocket, and then she tiptoed out of her bedroom. The ladder to Spalding’s attic was down. Cordelia climbed up it, careful not to get any splinters in her hands, and emerged in his bedroom, filled with weird antique dolls and a horrible stench like rotting bodies. “Ugh.” We’ve gotta clean this room out. She didn’t know what had happened to Spalding, but clearly he was gone for good, and if they allowed that odor to go unchecked, they would be lucky if they didn’t get the building condemned. 

The window stood wide open, the silver moonlight flowing into the room. On the flattest part of the roof, Misty rested, stared down at her phone and a lit joint in her other hand. Smoke curled from its tip and formed rings from her open mouth. Her hands shuddered with anxiety. Her hair was tousled, as if from tossing and turning for hours. She wore only a sheer nightgown, and her flesh formed goosebumps all over her limbs. The wind carried the smell of pot away from her. 

Cordelia crawled onto the roof, using her feet to brace herself against the shingles. “Hey.” Misty jumped in surprise, blinking back at her, and she started looking for a place to hide her lit joint. “Hey—It’s okay. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” She sat beside Misty. Her fingers still trembled. Cordelia took Misty by the hand and flattened out her fingers. “Talk to me.” 

“Just needed to calm my nerves,” Misty mumbled. She offered the joint to Cordelia. “Want some?” 

Had it been anyone else, Cordelia would’ve refused, but it was Misty, and Cordelia wanted to make sure she felt welcomed and acknowledged and understood, so she accepted the joint and took a long, deep hit on it. Her lungs crackled and burned. She battled with herself to keep from coughing so she could hold in the deep breath as she passed the lit joint back to Misty. Her brain clouded up, all fuzzy and soft. She coughed, unable to shake the piercing pain in her chest. “Jesus,” she gasped. She leaned back. Dizziness overwhelmed her. “That’s some strong shit.” 

“Yeah.” Misty kept puffing on it. “You alright?” Cordelia lay on her back, gazing up at the stars. Misty was right. They were beautiful tonight. The whole sky had her in awe. Misty grinned down at her and copied her, lying back on the roof. “Ain’t it beautiful?”

“Mhm.” Cordelia didn’t feel as chilly now. She kept Misty’s hand in hers. “Do you come out here a lot?��� 

“Whenever I can’t sleep, unless it’s raining,” Misty confirmed. “Sometimes when it’s raining…” She gave the joint back to Cordelia, who took another hit. The second one didn’t cramp her lungs as badly. “This is the only place I feel like—like a normal person,” she whispered. “The cold air, and the stars… I don’t know. It makes me feel. It’s the only time I ever really do feel.” When she took the lit joint from Cordelia, she took a final hit from it before it disintegrated into nothing, and she dropped it from the roof. “I feel so numb…” 

Misty’s hand in hers was bony but warm. Cordelia gave it a squeeze. She tingled all over. That’s some good stuff. She turned her head to look at Misty. “I want to help.” The wind carried her voice. A small, sad smile touched Misty’s face. “What can I do?”

“You’re here.” 

But that’s not enough. Cordelia couldn’t heal Misty. “When did it start?” she asked.

Long, spidery fingers shifted in Cordelia’s, taking their hands from clasped to folding their fingers together in a series of mountains and valleys between their knuckles. “When he lit the match.” Misty’s eyes were distant, unfocused. In their depths, the starlight reflected. Cordelia imagined an ember there, too, lying deep in the navy tones of Misty’s eyes, only coming to the surface when she remembered her darkest hours. “The gasoline hurt when he poured it on me. It burned, kinda, like acid. And it tasted—it tasted so bad. I was choking on the vapor before I ever saw the flame. And then he struck the match. That was the last thing I felt, when he dropped it on me.” Misty’s distant eyes moved to the sky. “Now, any touch… That’s all I can remember, or I don’t feel it at all.” 

Cordelia watched her, tears budding in her eyes as the moonlight glimmered over Misty’s alabaster face. “What did it feel like?” 

Misty’s eyes flitted to Cordelia, coming into focus. “Not everything feels like something else.” She squeezed Cordelia’s hand, and then she looked away. “I’m sorry if I woke you up. I don’t want to bother you.” 

“It’s an honor.” Cordelia stroked the back of Misty’s hand with her thumb. “I care about you, Misty… I want you to be okay.” These words brought Misty’s eyes back to her face. “And maybe together, we can work on that—that not-feeling thing.”

Teary blue eyes met Cordelia’s. “It’s scary. It hurts to try to break out of it. I think I’m safer this way.” 

“But you know that’s not healthy.” Misty nodded, averting her eyes. “Maybe we can just start with a hug?” she suggested. 

Misty chuckled, a wry, quiet thing. “Okay.” She opened her arms. 

Cordelia blinked a few times up at her. Her limbs didn’t seem to want to coordinate themselves for her to sit up and meet Misty halfway. “I’m so high that if I move, I’ll fall off the roof… so you come to me?” 

Misty giggled. It was light and happy. Cordelia hoped she got to hear it many more times. Her arms wrapped around Cordelia, and her floral scent wreathed them in joy. Cordelia held onto her body as Misty helped pull her up. The world spun around. Cordelia laughed. Misty didn’t let go, and neither did Cordelia. “You can’t take your pot very well, can you?” 

“I haven’t smoked since college.” 

“You could’ve said no,” Misty pointed out gently. “I would’ve understood.” 

“I wanted you to be impressed.” 

“Impressed by you unable to move on the roof and having to roll you back inside? You’re right, I’m riveted,” Misty teased. She helped Cordelia sit up. “Thank you, Miss Cordelia.” The wind tousled her pale gold hair, almost silver beneath the full moon. “I appreciate your help.” 

Cordelia smiled. “Anytime. I don’t mind. I want to be here for you.” She fumbled for the open window and managed to land on her feet, with Misty clinging onto the back of her robe to keep her from stumbling over herself. “What was Spalding doing up here? It reeks.” 

Misty shrugged. “I looked for it, but I can’t find the source. But the dolls are super creepy.” 

“Well, we can clean it up so you don’t have to climb through it when you need the roof.” Cordelia stifled a yawn with the palm of her hand. “I bet these dolls are worth some money.” 

“Probably.” Cordelia stumbled over the opening to the ladder. “Careful, there.” Misty steadied her. “Let me go first. I’ll catch you if you’re too messed up to use the rungs like a person.” Cordelia snorted. “Sh! People are asleep. They’ll hear you.” Cordelia found this especially amusing and covered her mouth with her hand to try to muffle the sounds. Misty walked her back to her bedroom. “Get some sleep, Miss Cordelia.” 

“I will.” Cordelia paused outside the door, and Misty looked at her expectantly before sinking into another hug. “Goodnight, Misty. Text me if you need anything.”

“Thank you. I will.” 

Cordelia closed her bedroom door, but she left it unlocked, just in case Misty decided to follow her into the room. 

…

Several weeks passed. Misty interrupted Cordelia’s sleep a few times. Each time, the foghorn awoke Cordelia, and she promptly answered it. Misty shared with her, little by little, and they exchanged memes and pictures. They worked together on cleaning out the attic, so twice, Cordelia joined her on the roof in the middle of the night, and they watched the stars or the sunrise. 

The sunrise had never been so beautiful as it was when it struck Misty’s exhausted face and rumpled hair. 

Cordelia had just started to drift off to sleep when a ragged scream pierced the air, echoing through the walls. “Huh?” She pushed herself up onto her elbows and tore off her sleep mask, reaching for the lamp on her bedside table. The foghorn noise blinged off thrice in succession. She jumped out of the bed and dropped her phone. “Goddammit!” She fumbled around on the floor to find it. 

Misty’s name scrolled across her screen. She slid the notification open. “HELL.” The next messaged was, “HHELP,” followed by a quick, “PLEAS.” Cordelia flung her phone back onto the mattress when Misty’s patchy cry ripped between the walls again, inconsolable and distraught. Her feet slapped the hardwood floor, rushing to Misty’s bedroom door. She flung it open. Misty thrashed on the bed in the dark. The blankets had tangled up around her like ropes. She battled them, tearing at them, as she gnashed her teeth and wailed. 

“Misty!” Her name didn’t disturb her from this nightmare. Cordelia tore the blankets from Misty’s body and tossed them onto the floor. Astonished, terrified blue eyes wrenched open, bloodshot and rimmed in red. They couldn’t focus on Cordelia; they were with her mind, somewhere far, far away. Her cell phone was facedown on the floor. “Misty—” Cordelia sat beside her on the bed. She reached to take one of Misty’s hands. 

Recoiling like Cordelia had burned her, she shrieked again. “It burns! Don’t touch me, it burns, it hurts!” She retreated into the corner of her bed, wedging herself up against the wall. Her eyes didn’t see anything at all, nothing but shadows and flames. Hands bunched into fists, she curled up into a ball, hitting herself. “Make it stop!” 

Cordelia followed her. “Misty, I’m here—I’m here.” She placed her hands on Misty’s shoulders, drawing her near, pinning her arms to her sides so she couldn’t hit herself. “You’re hurting yourself.” Misty howled, unintelligible but anguished, in response to Cordelia’s gentle touch. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” She pressed Misty’s face into the crook of her neck, snot and tears and thick saliva pouring from her face over Cordelia’s robe. There was a warm, wet spot in the center of the bed, and the heady scent of urine clung to the front of Misty’s nightgown. “Misty, I’ve got you, I’m here.” 

Another wail flew from Misty’s lips, muffled against Cordelia’s shoulders, and she writhed in terror and in pain. “It burns!”

“It doesn’t burn, it’s in your head—you’re here, you’re safe—” The lights flicked on, and Cordelia lifted a hand to shield her face, but icy water dumped over the bed, bathing both her and Misty in a frigid shower. “J-Jesus Christ.” Using her hand, Cordelia flung the slushy droplets from her eyelashes, peering up at Madison, Zoe, Nan, and Queenie, who all hovered over the bed. Madison still clutched the bucket she had used to pitch the water onto them, her jaw set and firm. “What the hell has gotten into you girls?” 

Slowly, Madison lowered the bucket, setting it on the floor with a hollow click. “Sorry. That’s the only thing we’ve found that works.” The girls gathered around, sitting in a circle on the piss-soaked, frigid bed, ice cubes and water pooling on the covers. “We would’ve been faster, but somebody was occupying the upstairs tub.”

“Oh, back off,” Queenie snapped. “She hadn’t had one in weeks. I thought I could use a bath bomb in the middle of the night in peace for once.” 

Motionless and quiet, a shiver passed through Misty’s body. Cordelia looked back at her. What Madison had said was true—her teary blue eyes were lucid again. “Thank you,” Misty whispered, her voice hoarse and brittle. She didn’t let go of Cordelia, and Cordelia smoothed a hand up her back. She flinched and grimaced. The phantom pain hadn’t left her yet. Azure eyes averted to the side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake all of you again.” 

How many times has this happened? Clearly, before they’d acted fast enough to keep it from waking Cordelia—or she was an abnormally heavy sleeper, which she found unlikely. “Does this happen often?” she asked, tucking a sweaty and wet blonde curl behind Misty’s ear. Her eyes fluttered closed at the intimate touch. 

“It used to be every other night,” Zoe said, sitting cross legged on the bed in spite of the wet blankets. “Nan would hear it coming before it happened, so Queene would put a silencing spell on the room so nobody else woke up, and Madison would fill up the super soakers.”

“It was like storming the beaches of Normandy every night around four AM,” Nan affirmed with a pleased nod. 

No wonder they all seemed so tired all the time. Cordelia was ashamed she had missed it. All this time, she had regretted the council had too much drama to support Misty the way she needed it… Maybe I was the one failing Misty. Misty blinked a few times. “What happened to the super soakers?” she rasped. 

“You kept exploding them with your mind,” Madison reminded her, sitting beside Zoe, and her voice was unusually smooth and soothing—no hint of sarcasm or bullying. “The bucket is altogether more effective.” Misty blinked a few times, wiping the icy drops from her eyelashes. She carried a dazed look, her trembling hand in Cordelia’s. Cordelia didn’t allow an inch of space between them. “But your bed is ruined. C’mon, get up. You can have Zoe’s bed. It’s her turn to wash your bedclothes.” 

“It was my turn the last time.”

“It’s definitely Madison’s turn,” Nan insisted.

“Madison just carried a five gallon bucket of ice water up the stairs from the backyard, so it’s somebody else’s turn,” Madison reminded them.

A wrinkle appeared between Misty’s eyebrows. “Why didn’t you just float it?” Her voice was barely audible over the rest of the girls tittering. They were so familiar with this routine. 

“Why didn’t you just float it?” Madison mimed in a high-pitched voice, and a sleepy, odd smile crossed Misty’s face, her fatigued eyes crinkling at the corners when she breathed a chuckle out of her nose. “When I’m having panic attacks in the middle of the night, you can float all the water you want.” 

Cordelia pressed her hand into the small of Misty’s back. “Don’t worry about the bedclothes, girls. I’ll get them tomorrow.” It was the least she could do, given she had somehow managed to miss all of this for months. Misty clutched her hand tightly, like she feared she would leave, but Cordelia wasn’t going anywhere. “Come with me.” Misty hitched a tight breath when Cordelia touched new parts of her body. “You can take a bath, and I’ll get you some clean clothes. You can stay with me.” Gangly limbs unfolded from where Misty had wedged herself in the corner between her bed and the wall, and she slid across the soaking sheets to follow Cordelia’s gentle touch. 

Misty looked back at all of them. “Thank you,” she uttered. Their gazes followed them down the hallway. Cordelia opened her bedroom door and gently closed it behind them, the latch clicking into place. Misty didn’t make eye contact with her. “I’m awful sorry I woke you up.” 

A hand went to caress Misty’s cheek, but she flinched away. Cordelia kept her hand to herself. “Misty, I’m not upset… I want to take care of you.” A harsh shudder passed through Misty’s limbs. “Let me draw you a bath, okay?” 

“Cold water, please—” Misty’s voice cracked. 

“Okay,” Cordelia agreed. She did as she promised, running the water as cold as it would go and filling it with bubbles She gathered up a towel and a nightgown and folded them in the bathroom where Misty could reach them, and then she left the door open for Misty, who stood like a phantom, gazing at the floor. “Hey.” She didn’t touch Misty again. “Are you okay?” 

Misty nodded. They both understood it was a lie. “Can I leave the bathroom door open?” she whispered. “So I can see you?” 

“Of course. I’ll stay right in bed.” Misty hesitated before she extended a shaking hand to Cordelia. Cordelia took her by the fingertips, not touching anything else, and brushed the pads of her fingers across them. “Call me if you need anything.” She lingered there until Misty pulled away, and she headed for the bathroom. Misty left the door to the bathroom ajar, wide open, so they could see each other, and like this, she stripped herself of her clothing. 

Cordelia kept her eyes to herself, viewing only a flash of ivory skin before she turned her back and changed out of her own sodden nighty in exchange for a clean, dry one. She settled herself onto the bed, the covers drawn back from where she had flung them when she had scrambled to Misty’s side. In her haste, she had folded her phone up in the blankets, and now she reached under them to find it. As she searched, the foghorn noise rolled in. Cordelia blinked in surprise, following the noise and pulling the phone out. Misty had just texted her. She took her phone with her in the bathroom, Cordelia realized. 

“I don’t remember texting you,” Misty said. 

A small smile touched Cordelia’s face. “I’m glad you did.” She sent a heart emoji and a heart-kiss emoji. Misty sent her a heart of a different color and some heart eyes. “Is it easier to text than talk?” 

“My throat hurts.” She was screaming, Cordelia acknowledged. Of course her throat hurt. But then, Misty added, “My chest hurts when I have that dream. The fumes still burn. My skin still hurts.” Cordelia’s phone made the foghorn sound again. “I didn’t realize your text tone was so loud.” Another foghorn noise. 

Cordelia smiled, tilting her head back as she relaxed in the bed. “I turn it on loud at night so I’ll wake up if somebody needs something.” It was only partially a lie, that only Misty’s texts made the foghorn sound and everyone else was expected to wait until the sun came up for their chance at Cordelia’s attention. “You can use the lotion in there if you want.” She hoped the invitation would help Misty’s nerves adjust to the real world, to the awakening world, instead of being dragged back into her memory again and again. 

“Thanks.” Foghorn noise. Cordelia sent her a heart, and she listened as Misty splashed in the tub and rinsed her body and her hair. Cordelia put her phone aside. She grew sleepy, but she stayed there, sitting up against her pillows, until she heard Misty unplug the drain and all the water rush down it. From where she sat in bed, she could see Misty stepping out of the tub and hastily drying herself. She rubbed her hair and her body. This time, Cordelia couldn’t bring herself to avert her eyes—perhaps she was too tired to remember to be couth. If Misty noticed, she didn’t mind or say anything. She donned the sheer lace nightgown Cordelia had given her, and she placed her dirty clothes and the wet towel in the hamper.

Misty sat down on the bed beside Cordelia, on the edge, like she was afraid to encroach upon too much of Cordelia’s space. She shivered from head to toe. Her lips were blue with the cold. Cordelia lifted her eyes to look at her. “You’re freezing.” She pulled the covers back. “Come here, let me warm you up.” 

Blue eyes found hers, and she grimaced as she scooted along the sheet. Even the smooth fabric irritated her body. “The cold helps,” she whispered. Her lower jaw chattered. The tips of her fingers, too, were tinted gray. She lay on the pillow, facing Cordelia. Cordelia’s hands moved toward her. Misty’s whole body tensed in some terrible anticipation, her eyes wide with fear and pain. 

“Misty…” Misty’s eyes fell closed heavily with shame. Cordelia touched their fingertips against one another’s. Misty gasped quietly at the touch. She had expected something much more brutal and heavy-handed. What type of people have touched her throughout her life? “I won’t do anything to hurt you. Let me start with your hands… You tell me when to stop.” 

Misty nodded. Cordelia brushed her fingertips against Misty’s, drawing circles around the pad of each finger. She moved down her long, spidery fingers in a spiral to the first knuckle, and then back up to the tips. A long breath wafted from between Misty’s lips. The tension ebbed from her. “That feels nice.” Cordelia headed down again, this time spiraling her touch all the way down to the base of her fingers and coming back up again to the tips. Her face relaxed as Cordelia worked. With her next movement, she followed Misty’s hands all the way down to the wrist. 

She paused, waiting for some encouragement, and Misty gave a slight nod, urging her on. Cordelia smiled a grim smile, and she started at Misty’s fingertips again, this time meandering all the way down to her forearm. Misty’s muscles eased under her gentle touch. She rubbed the tendons and ligaments which were ordinarily so tight. She made it to Misty’s elbows, and then, following her pattern of reaching joints, she worked her way back down her arm, massaging any of the muscles that twitched beneath her touch. She reached Misty’s fingertips again, and she repeated the process, past her wrist, past her elbow, pressing her fingers deep into the muscles of Misty’s upper arms. 

As her fingers grazed the tip of Misty’s shoulder, she paused as blue eyes flickered open and found her. Misty reached for a hug, and Cordelia accepted it, wrapping Misty up in her safe embrace. “Miss Cordelia?” Misty whispered, to which Cordelia hummed her acknowledgment. “Am I the only person who makes your phone make the foghorn noise?” 

This question surprised Cordelia. But she answered it honestly. “Yes, you are.” She brushed her hand over Misty’s damp curls leaving watery streaks on the pillowcase. “Why do you ask?” 

“Maddie thought so. She texted you a few times to make sure. I didn’t hear the sound again.” Indeed, Cordelia’s phone hadn’t made a sound—Misty was the only person who had a text tone. For everyone else, it was on vibrate. “I thought she was just trying to make me feel better.”

Cordelia allowed Misty to snuggle nearer to her, face pressed against her body. “Feel better about what?” she asked. 

Azure eyes found hers in the dim light of the room. “That—That I love you.” Oh. It struck Cordelia in the pit of her gut, these words. “Maddie thought… you know. I told her it wasn’t, but she’s been blowing up my phone regular about it since I started texting you instead of her.” 

“You used to text her instead?” Misty’s brow quirked in bewilderment, and Cordelia realized that a vague, strange, jealous answer was not what Misty had expected to hear. “Er—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded.” But I did, didn’t I? She was somewhat envious of Misty’s attention, not in a way she would ever act upon, but in a way that gave her a slight tingle in her tummy at the thought of Misty choosing to be with her over someone else. It made her feel victorious in a way. “She’s not wrong,” she said finally. Misty blinked, not saying anything yet. “I do… feel a certain way for you. But that’s not why I’ve been spending time with you.”

Misty smiled. “I know.” She sighed happily, easing into Cordelia’s arms. She was relaxed, worn from her ordeal, but her heavy-lidded eyes didn’t yet fall closed. “If we’re still working on the—on the not-feeling thing, maybe we could try kissing?” Misty suggested. 

A ridiculous grin crossed Cordelia’s face. She hadn’t even considered it. “I think I’d like that.” She puckered up her lips, and Misty slid forward and pressed her mouth to them gently. It was clumsy and raw and strange, them clutching each other, and when they broke away, they both were a little breathless. “That was nice.” Misty nodded. “We should do it again sometime.” 

A silly laugh left Misty’s open mouth. “I agree.” She nestled close against Cordelia. Her body was warm. “I’m tired,” she said quietly. 

Cordelia kissed the crown of her head. “Get some sleep… I’ve got you.” 

Misty fell into a dreamless sleep. 

…

The next night, Cordelia was surprised to enter her bedroom to find it empty. For some reason—and she couldn’t quite think of why—she had expected Misty to join her again. She left her door unlocked as she showered, just in case Misty decided to enter, and when she emerged, she checked her phone. No one had messaged her. I’ll wait. Part of her wanted to text Misty first, but another part of her worried she had misinterpreted the night before completely. But the hours ticked by, ten into eleven into midnight and beyond.

By one, Cordelia couldn’t help herself any longer. “Are you okay?” She added a heart emoji. 

Immediately, Misty answered, “Yes,” and the foghorn noise buzzed. The gray speech bubble appeared and disappeared and appeared again as Misty typed more out to her. “I miss you, though.” 

Cordelia almost sighed with relief. “You too. Come over.” Within minutes, Misty tiptoed across the hall and closed the bedroom door behind her. “Hey. I was waiting for you.” She drew the covers back, and Misty folded herself underneath them. Her hair was tousled and eyes heavy. She looks like she was asleep. Cordelia spooned up beside her. “Are you okay?” she asked again, just in case the answer in real life would change. 

A sleepy smile touched Misty’s face. “I’m great.” She put her hand over Cordelia’s where she clasped her body. “I’m sorry… I thought maybe I had gotten everything wrong, so I didn’t want to come unless I was invited.” Her voice was heavy and thick.

Kissing the crook of her neck, Cordelia smelled her hair. “I should’ve texted sooner. I was afraid I’d gotten it wrong.” Misty made a happy, satisfied sound, settling down into the bed, and she fell asleep within minutes with Cordelia’s arms wrapped around her. She never settles so easily. Cordelia was glad Misty finally had some reprieve, but some part of her was still a little curious… She reached for her phone, and she texted Misty, “I love you.”

Misty’s phone blared a siren sound. She shuddered awake. “Uh—huh?” Blind hands groped for the phone. “Delia—” She had forgotten where she was, and her hands fumbled for the phone. 

“Sweetheart, I’m right here.” Cordelia squeezed her from behind. 

Misty peeked back at her. “What the hell’d you text me for?” she grumbled, but she rolled back over and nestled happily against Cordelia’s body, purring as Cordelia stroked her hair. She rubbed her face into Cordelia’s hand. She was a satisfied cat soaking up the sunbeam as long as Cordelia was near. Cordelia’s heart swelled with joy, and she allowed Misty to settle down, holding her near and focusing on the sound of her breaths until she drifted off to sleep. 

…

Cordelia didn’t hear the foghorn very much after that. Every night, Misty would curl up beside her, and they would stay close to one another until sleep consumed them. Misty’s bad dreams woke Cordelia when she stirred in the middle of the night. She had a night terror, too, and Cordelia dragged her to the tub and dropped her in cold water. The girls were right. It worked. Then, she bathed Misty’s body in the cold water and touched just her fingertips until the rest of her skin could accept touch once again. She slathered Misty in lotion to try to soothe her aching skin. Her blue lips buffered as Cordelia helped her don a fresh nightgown she hadn’t sweated in. 

“I’m so sorry.” Misty never stopped apologizing. Cordelia refused to accept the apology; Misty had done nothing wrong, and Cordelia told her so over and over again. She combed Misty’s wet curls back out of her eyes after she washed the sweat from them. “I thought I was getting better…”

“You are,” Cordelia soothed. “You are getting better. It takes time.” She spun Misty around and kissed her hard and led her back to bed, where she eased Misty into her touch until she could accept it, and then they made love passionately. Cordelia touched Misty until no part of her body shuddered with pain or with fear. 

Swimming in the post-orgasm haze, Misty spooned Cordelia. She was barely awake. “I think I want to marry you, Delia,” she whispered against the back of Cordelia’s neck. 

Cordelia blushed. This was the most unofficial way anyone had ever proposed to her—though, granted, it was only the second time she had ever been proposed to. “You want us to get married?” she asked, just to clarify, and Misty hummed her vivacious approval. “Alright. We can get married.” And they did less than a month later in the foyer of their home with the whole coven applauding. 

Cordelia never turned off the foghorn noise on her phone, though it only woke her now when Misty wanted to get high on the roof in the middle of the night and didn’t want anyone else to find out. Now, Misty would wake her by tugging her closer in the middle of the night, whispering sweet nothing into her hair. If she fought a nightmare, Cordelia pulled her from her dreams with gentle hands and showed her pictures of fat babies and sad puppies and evil kittens, and they took some pictures of their own, as well. They rested at ease in one another’s arms. “I’m so grateful to have you, Delia.” Misty pressed these words against her hair. 

“I’m luckier to have you, sweetheart.” Cordelia believed it to be true. 

[musicnoots]

Fire Drill

Band of Brothers - The Office AU

A/N: This is what it’s like in my head everyday. Again, all rights of this amazing scene go to the writers of the show.

Synopsis: Webster tries to teach Easy Company the basics of fire safety with a fire drill, and things do not go as planned.

Tags: @gottapenny @dustyjjumpwings @higgles123 @david-weepster @wexhappyxfew @medievalfangirl @bandofmarvels @junojelli @majwinters @curraheev @those-dusty-jump-wings

Normally, David Webster doesn’t do a lot of things for his job. He comes to work for Easy Company, a paper sales company, where he gets paid way too little. All he does is sit at his desk and sell paper. Most of the time, he tries to avoid the strange look Liebgott gives him from across the office, but usually, Webster works at his desk like a normal employee.

But today, he was going to educate his fellow co-workers on the basics of fire safety. Why, you ask? Well, he created a presentation on the topic a couple of days ago, but no one paid attention. Probably because he used a powerpoint. So, to get his point across, he thought it would be best to teach his co-workers through a real simulation. A fire drill.

He waited until Lipton left the reception desk, the perfect opportunity to set up his simulation. Minutes later, he was in the hallway hammering a nail into the lock of every door and blowtorching the handles so it would replicate a scenario where the fire is outside and they can’t escape. On the second door handle he blowtorched, Webster stopped and thought, Am I doing too much? before dismissing the thought and continuing with his business. People learn through various different ways. Experience is the best teacher.

Next, he poured gasoline into a small trash can outside one of the doors and lit up a cigarette, dropping it into the trash where a fire soon ignited. Today, smoking was going to save lives.

He went back to desk afterwards as if he didn’t disappear in the first place, and nobody suspected a thing. He tried not to smile when he sat down, knowing that he was going to finally get his point across was a good feeling, even better than when he graduated from Harvard. This time, his co-workers would be thanking him for teaching them what to do in the event of a fire. All thanks to a man named David Webster.

When the smoke finally came seeping underneath the door, Webster tried his best not to overreact. He wanted his co-workers to have a real life experience to prepare for the real thing. “Does anyone smell anything...smokey?”

“Did you bring your jerky in again?” Malarkey asked.

Dissatisfied with the response he got, Webster cleared his voice and looked at Lipton.

Lipton looked up and immediately stood up in concern. “O-Oh my God!”

Everyone stood up in panic when they followed the direction of Lipton’s gaze.

“Fire!”

“Fire?” Webster tried to look surprised, standing up with his co-workers as the panic quickly set in. “Oh my goodness! What’s the procedure? What do we do people?”

“The phones are dead!” Lipton exclaimed, holding the phone after trying to make an attempt to call for help.

“Oh, how did that happen?”

“It’s out in the hall!” Dike said in the swarm of people surrounding the door.

“We don’t know that! The smoke could be coming from an air duct!”

This was exactly how Web envisioned this in his mind. First five minutes, everyone would be panicking and not know what to do. It’s what every human does. They would panic until they realize they have to talk it out with each other to find out how to escape and deal with the fire safely.

Meanwhile, Lewis barged from his office. “Oh my God! Okay, it’s happening. Everybody stay calm! Everybody stay calm!” he said, clearly not being calm himself. “Stay fucking calm! Everybody fucking calm down!”

“No, no, Lewis! No!” Web yelled through the swarm of employees crowding the door. “Touch the handle, if it’s hot there could be a fire in the hallway!”

Lew then proceeded with caution, he let his hand hover over the handle. “What does warm mean?”

Concern soon ensued as everyone tried to find an exit from the fire, but Webster saw this as success. His co-workers were trapped so at this point, they have to figure a way out of here. “What next?”

George ran over to the door across the room and started to repeatedly touch the handle. “I-It’s warm.”

“Okay, go to the back door,” said Dick, who had no idea what was going on, but probably had the best survival rate out of everyone in the office.

As Web continued to give advice and hints to his fellow co-workers, panic started to form as everyone was eager to get away from the fire. They ran to the other side of the office to find a door that they could safely exit from with Ron taking charge in the front of retrieve a belonging.

“I have to get my purse!” Speirs yelled, but he instead grabbed Perconte’s bag because he remembered that his had a nifty little lighter there and couldn’t be bothered to find it, so he just took the entire bag.

“Things can be replaced, Ron,” Web said as calmly as he could in the heat of the moment. “People, human lives, however can—” Then he bolted to the other side of the room with the others.

“Ah, my hand!” Buck hissed as he grabbed the nearest door handle. “That’s hot!”

“Eugh! This one’s hot, too!” Bull said.

“Okay, we’re trapped! Everyone for himself!” Lewis screamed, and then it was pure chaos.

Everyone started to go their own way to find an exit, many weren’t even looking for a way to escape, but rather to find their belongings, panic, and do nothing. Bill, Joe, and Babe went in one direction and Dick, Eugene, and Lipton went in the other.

Babe went looking for his tupperware of spaghetti that he made two days ago, nearly ripping his entire desk apart just to find it sitting neatly on his desk. Realizing the container was too much for him to be holding in this situation, he opened it and shoved the spaghetti into his pockets. Bill and Joe were busy unsuccessfully breaking the windows by throwing things at it. So far, they’ve thrown the computer, Babe’s empty tupperware container, and Web’s framed diploma from Harvard. Harry was at the vending machine where he broke the glass to take all the snacks he wasn’t able to get because he didn’t want to spend money. Speirs was scouring the office for some loot and Perconte was yelling for his purse.

Floyd went back to his desk and opened the the last drawer of the filing cabinet to his dog, Bandit. “Hey, it’s okay,” he cooed to help it calm down, watching as Malarkey jumped on top of the desk, opened a hole in the ceiling and climbed in. “Don. Don!”

Malarkey looked back down at Floyd carrying his dog. “Stay alive, I’m getting help!”

“Pull me up!”

“You’re too heavy!”

“I only weigh 135 pounds,” he sighed, but it looked as if Don had already left. “Save Bandit!” Floyd yelled before throwing Bandit into the ceiling.

Meantime, Web was overseeing the chaos around him and giving subtle hints in a time of disorder and pandemonium. “Have you ever seen a burn victim? Exit options—where do we go folks? Exits points, people. Remember those procedures!”

It was the armageddon. The office was in total disarray and no one knew what to do, yet Webster still went with the plan and actually thought it was going quite well. In his opinion.

“What do we do?” Lipton asked. The smoke was getting really heavy and it was difficult to breathe.

“Use the surge of fear and adrenaline to sharpen your decision making!”

“Okay, I am not dying here,” Dick muttered before taking off.

Web then nonchalantly lit up some fireworks and tossed it onto the ground, creating more panic and upheaval from everyone. Screams were heard and Lew started to throw his chair at the window repeatedly in a state of crisis.

“What is that? What is that?” Chuck yelled.

“The fire’s shooting at us!” Liebgott screamed, and panic increased by a whole eighty percent.

To make matters even worse, Web thought it was a good idea to pull the fire to add on to the concerning noises in the office. Malarkey’s legs appeared from the ceiling and that was the actual breaking point—it was total chaos and everyone thought they were going to die.

The only people who had a sense of what to do where Dick, Eugene, Lip who were unplugging and moving the office printer from the wall to push it aggressively against the door. It’s not the best idea, but it was good enough for the mental and emotional state of everyone and their one brain cell.

Meanwhile, Lew actually broke the window, but instead of escaping, he screamed out for help.

Everything was in shambles. Dick, Eugene, Lipton were pushing the printer against the door to break it open, everyone else was screaming and panicking, Johnny and Ron were arguing because Ron was taking everyone's shit, and Lew was screaming out of the window. Even worse—Joe was starting to cough from all of the smoke and it was starting to concern some of the employees.

All of a sudden, Web silenced everyone using an air horn. “Attention everyone! Employees of Easy Company! This had been a test of our emergency preparedness. There was no fire. It was only a simulation.”

“What?” Had it not been for the laws of this land, Dick would have beat Web’s ass for this. All of this for a simple test? He doesn’t get paid enough to go through all of this.

“Fire not real. This was merely a training exercise,” Web announced. “So, what have we learned?” Joe fainted, and Web rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. It’s not real, Joe.”

“No, no, no!” George came running from across the office. “You will not die. Joe. Joe, you will not die! Joe! Joe! I’m gonna give him mouth-to-mouth.

“No, don’t give him mouth-to-mouth for this,” Dick said as he urged Eugene to help Joe.

But George was determined to revive Joe for the second time this month. He took out his wallet and shoved it into Joe’s mouth as everyone grabbed his arm and tried to pry him off. “Don’t swallow it!” He yelled as Joe started to regain breathing and everyone was screaming in the back for him to stop. “I-I’m fine, leave me alone!”

[minghaoss-archive]

mercury •lee taeyong(m)

"I don't ever mind sharing oxygen

I just wanna get lost in your lungs."

summary : it's the summer of your last year at school and you're still a frustrated joykill who wants to have her fun.

this is a planned series, tell me what you think, fellas

Part 1, 2

........

"Why me?" Taeyong asks this, with his pitch black eyebrow raised and his hands undoing the leather belt he prides himself in owning.

You gulp, pushing your glasses up your nose and shooting him a bashful look which makes him grin toothily. You search the deep shelves of your brain and delve out an answer that you'd cater to a question you didn't have the answer to. "Why not you?" You pause, having satisfied yourself with such a witty response. You smile at the entangled fingers of yours in your lap.

Taeyong pushes your chin up so you look at him instead, his eyes are a darkest form of black, sparkling like someone liqiuefied the night sky, generously stitched with stars and poured it into his irises. He's so beautiful. You think, unable to take your eyes off of him. When he touches your mouth, you're suddenly met with the realization that you have been gaping at him like a dumbstruck fool, your cheeks start to burn with a flaming red.

He grazes his thumb over your lower lip and pulls the muscle down, "Nice try, smarty but you need to answer better."

You think about it. You were on the field trip of the graduation batch of your school, which would later follow your last summer as a highschool student. (And) Unlike, most of your happy, experienced classmates, you were a virgin. The matter sat well with you for the longest time. You hid your libido away under the pile of study books and nerve wracking tests. You had little problem with it- until the last year of your highschool rolled around and an adult you'd become without having what is deemed to be one of the most special experiences of one's life- or at least that's what it was in the endless sea of romance novels you'd swallowed whole.

So here you were, despite having a boyfriend of four months, with little to do with touching or sex, here you were with another man in his wooden cabin whilst your boyfriend roasted marshmallows unknowing of the sin you're cooking up behind his back, here you were after you'd left that reddened parchment in Taeyong's locker which read 'I want you to rid me of my innocence.' - how ironic was it as the act of it itself was not at all innocent. How you mustered up the courage to do such a thing astonished you, had you really sent him a letter like that after you'd overheard some girl in your class saying how good he was in bed?

Regardless, you'd always had a crush on the leather jacket wearing, tattooed on, dark haired boy-longer than you'd like to admit and the feeling hadn't gone away even when you were someone else's girlfriend. He was everything you weren't but wanted to be. He looked like he could corrupt you to your bones and truly, you'd let him. So what was so bad in wanting the boy you'd ever so slightly loved for the first time in your life to take your virginity away from you? Nothing.

Taeyong leans in and brushes his nose against yours, his ring clad finger holding your chin in place, "You're taking too long, princess. Why, why not your stupid boyfriend?" You hum in the feeling of the alien proximity, it seemed that every little thing you imagined yourself doing with him had taken the shape of reality.

"I want you to ruin me." Taeyong's eyes darken at this, as if you've flipped a switch in him. He kisses you in a chaste manner at first, as if all he wanted to do was kiss, his fingers travelled into your hair as he pulls it back and elicits a low moan from you. Your stomach feels like it could explode from the weird heat fluttering inside. You'd never kissed anyone before, not even your boyfriend-as weird as it sounds, you both agreed on taking it slow- you did really mean it except.. the pace of your relationship was a little too slow for your liking but you hadn't the courage to tell him about it.

Taeyong kisses you again, with more heat in the kiss, as his fingers touch your throat gently, his thumb rested on your jugular as he pushes your little striped skirt upwards with his idle hand. "You're thinking about something, stop. Think about me now. Only me." He says, letting the touch of your fingers travel into his hair. His tongue tastes of coffee and marshmallows, and you bask in the feeling of him intermingling in every bit of you.

He fiddles with your oversized red crop top and pulls it over your head. He backs away, looking at you with a ravenous desire, he grabs the hem of his shirt and drags it off.

With inky eyes flitting over the newly exposed skin of your body, he drinks in your underwear, the lavender colored bra you wear with a small pink bow sewn in between and the garter belt which connects your pretty thigh highs to your underwear, which too has a matching bow but it's red in color, the fabric of your wear is black, like your socks, matching your outfit.

You blush at how uncoordinated the colors are, feeling like he would laugh at you for it. Seeing the look in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted as he pokes his tongue out and slides it over his teeth, your inside feel a familiar twist.

"God, you're just.." he starts but swallows the word against your mouth as he kisses you with great covet.

He hooks your thighs around his hips and pushes you down, he pulls away from you just to kiss you again, he really can't get enough. His black hair falls over his eyes and you look down at where your bodies are interlinked.

There's a deep scar engraved in Taeyong's lower abdomen, the small detail adds edge to his milky skin, he leans against you and you finally feel the hardness press at your clothed core. You sigh at the contact. You did this to Taeyong. A feeling of pride invades your stomach.

There's a peculiar air to the way Taeyong touches you, as if you were delicate, you're the most precious thing he's touched. When your arms wrap around his neck, he feels an inclination to stare at you. Like he couldn't believe it was happening.

He feels an urgency to call you his angel, and he does, in the way your hips rolls against his and the way his name falls from your lips. "You're so sweet, you're so pure, sweetheart." He says, kissing the skin below your chin. You feel like your body may burst into flames at the recurring phrases tumbling from his mouth.

It feels surreal, becoming one like this. You wonder if he can hear the erratic beat of your heart. You're one. You're whole. You feel like Taeyong completes you, as if all your life you've been one broken part of a pair. He makes you feel perfect. He makes you feel complete. There's a burning sensation in your lower stomach as you look at it bulging with every little thrust Taeyong delivers.

He holds your legs higher, over his shoulders as he gets to a deeper angle which sets your whole body alight.

You felt like you were a product of arson. Your body ablaze and you feel like you might fall over the edge any second now. You felt like you were at the peak of a mountain and you'd slip and fall without warning.

You raise your arms to wrap around his neck as Taeyong rests his palms against the small bed sheet to keep himself up, "Taeyong." You whimper as his member twitches inside of you from the name calling. "Please." Your plea spurs him on, as he continues with harder thrusts, "Please what, sweetheart?" His voice is a mix of a groan and a whimper when he feels you clench around him.

"Please kiss me." And he goes, stroking your sweat glistening in your hair, he holds it away from your face. “Precious, pure pure, my baby’s so pure.” He says, his thighs shaking as he slows his pace down.

When he feels like he would let off, he pulls out, you watch him pump himself before he cums on your stomach.

Taeyong cleans you up with a spare towel in the cabin and holds your legs apart. “I need to treat my pretty baby right.” He says, looking up from his lashes, eyes softening at the sight of your swollen mouth, heated cheeks and creased brows.

That day, before dusks kisses the horizon, your inner thighs are littered with generous bites Taeyong has left you with, he eats you out like it’s what he was born to do, his hands, one of which have the tattoo of a Phoenix-you see, holds your hips down as he laps at your core, curling his fingers inside of you, before you cum all over his hand.

He looks at you with a smirk on his face, his hair a touseled mess, his mouth is moist from eating you whole and he wipes neither the smirk nor the mess on his mouth until he leads you out of the cabin. You can’t believe it happened-Taeyong really is your first.

Taeyong drapes his sweater over your body, it smells of gasoline, just like he does. You marvel, as the black wool guards you from the frost bite in the area. You reach the camp fire separately, coming back to a bitter reality. You take a seat beside your boyfriend, Hendery, his eyes following you with a bright smile on his face, guilt shoots up your throat like bile as you watch the raven haired boy look at you with love in his eyes. You knew it was wrong, what you did. Your heart feels like it could break any minute now, the effect of realizing that what you did with Taeyong was a one time thing shrouded you like a blanket of hazy clouds.

Hendery compliments your sweater, pulling you out of your thoughts, and tells you he admires your choice. He holds your face, your body freezing at the contact as you feel him press his mouth to yours. The crowd surrounding the fire cheered and hollered with ‘woahs’ and ‘get a bedroom, you two.’

Your cheeks burn, at the action, mostly because you couldn’t stop thinking about Taeyong’s kisses when another man has done it to you. Your eyes dart across the crowd to meet Taeyong’s, they are darker than dark, and they look right to you, as he sits down on a log, the parting of his legs allowing a girl to sit between his legs. You wonder if it’s that easy for him, questioning the look in his eyes for a glint of envy. He looks as if he could set the boy beside you on fire.

Hendery breaks the staring by asking you if you had coffee before coming to the trip given the taste of Brazilian roasted beans he’d gotten from kissing you, he tells you he knows his coffee well and that you have good taste. He tries to ask you what brand you like the best, you open your mouth to answer, wracking youf brain for a lie. Every one of your classmates are staring right into your timid face, your nails dig into the material of your skirt. When their attention wears off as you continue to remain silent. They get back to grilling marshmallows, you’re relieved momentarily but Hendery still insists you answer, pressing your interlaced fingers to encourage you to go on.

“I had coconut milk Brazilan brewed coffee.” Taeyong whispers, taking a seat beside your boyfriend, breaking the silence. Hendery raises his brow at first, looking half astonished and half offended before his face falls with realization. He looks at you with widened eyes and you bite your lip as you let your gaze fall to your lap.

That night, you lose both your virginity and your boyfriend. Both to (and for) the same person.

......

[theentiregdtime]

bleasse can u write dee and dennis getting rlly high n coming out to eachother or dee somehow finding out mac and dennis r together 😳

PHILADELPHIA, PA

8:00 P.M.ON A FRIDAY

“Damn it, Deandra, what in the shit are you talking about?”

“Yeah, Dee, I’m not following this at all. But it’s getting late, and we haven’t had any customers since noon, so I was thinking me and Frank could just leave-”

“No, no one is leaving, okay?” Dee insists. “I called a meeting and you two are going to shut up and listen to me for once!”

Frank and Charlie exchange a glance. Charlie looks like he’s willing to make a run for it if they both do, and Frank is frowning at him like he knows there’s no way out. They’re not saying anything, but they always seem to know what the other is thinking- they have this weird, creepy telepathy thing.

“So…” Charlie whistles, gaping at Dee like like he thinks she might blow up at any moment (she might), “what’s up?”

“Is this about the ladies’ night thing? ‘Cause we already voted on that.” Frank waves his stubby, little arms through the air. “We get it, Deandra, you want puss, but we can’t just go givin’ out free drinks, this ain’t a charity!”

“For the love of-” Dee snarls in her throat and rubs at her face. She’s going to kill them. She’s going to kill all of them. But she can’t kill them yet, at least not for a couple more years, not until she knows she can get away with it- so she regains her composure with and sighs. Her bangs are all ruffled now. “That’s not what this is about. It’s about this.”

She holds her phone out for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to see.

“What am I looking at?”

“Well, Frank, she took a picture of a phone with her phone, which is cool, definitely worth the wait, but what would be even better is if we got a third phone and-”

“Not the phone, you boobs!” Dee spits. “The text!”

Charlie swipes her cell to squint at the picture.

“It’s… It says… milk…”

Frank pats Charlie’s shoulder and takes the phone from his hands. He adjusts his glasses and puts it up to his face- like, right up to his face. Like, he definitely has to be too close to read it now. Any closer and it’ll literally be on his face.

Again, Dee is going to kill them.

“Meet you at 9. Don’t say anything to Dee or Charlie. This is the best thing ever and I don’t want them to ruin it.” Frank pokes the screen. “Then there’s some sort of little yellow man smiling at me-”

“Give me that!” Dee snatches the phone back from Frank’s fat, grubby fingers. “The point is, Mac and Dennis are up to something and they don’t want us to know.”

“Yeah, okay, but why did you read Dennis’ texts…?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah, that’s shitty etiquette. You never know what Donald could be texting about- could be you see somethin’ you don’t wanna see.”

“It’s Dennis,” Dee corrects him knowing damn well he’ll re-forget within the hour, “and he left it on the bar! That’s fair game!”

“I don’t know.” Charlie shrugs. “I’m kind of starting not to take your side anymore, it’s like, you’re the bad guy here…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank agrees, talking with his mouth full and spitting crumbs. What is he even chewing? Is he eating loose saltines out of his pocket? “No one likes a sneaky bitch.”

Dee pinches the bridge of her nose.

She’s wasting her night for this! And why? So she can save the bar and keep these two dick nips in business? She should just walk right on out of here, pour some gasoline, light a match, burn them and this whole place down, go home, put on her pajamas, watch a movie…

She opens her eyes and remembers that she’s still in the back office, and she still hasn’t gotten her point across to these rabid weasel men.

“Listen, you little shit brains.” Dee pounds a fist on the desk. “I think it’s very obvious what’s happening here.”

Charlie nods. “Well, yeah, it’s been-”

“Mac and Dennis are selling the bar.”

Frank chokes on a cracker, hacks it back up, and swallows hard.

“Selling the bar? They only own half the damn thing!”

“Yeah, and like,” Charlie cuts in, “why would they sell it? I mean, what would we even do all day?”

“Look, I don’t know exactly how or why, but I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. They’re meeting with someone tonight and they’re gonna get rich off this deal and leave the rest of us out of it- and if it’s the best thing that ever happened, then it must be a shitload of money.”

Dee would actually be thrilled to get out of this dump. It’d finally give her the chance to focus on her acting career. She could leave these jerkwads behind, move away from this garbage town, meet some refined people who don’t consider chocolate mints high-class living… But she needs her cut, they owe her her cut.

Even if she doesn’t technically own any shares of the bar, those sons of bitches owe her for putting up with them and their stupid schemes and their verbal abuse for years and years and years. She could give a shit about what happens to Frank and Charlie, but she needs them on her side for this, or she’s never going to get anywhere.

“But I’ve got a plan. I turned on Dennis’ location sharing weeks ago and he hasn’t noticed, so we can track him and-”

“Jeez, Dee, what the hell is this?”

“You are not coming out on top here, Deandra.”

“I mean, this is saying more about you than Mac and Dennis.”

“Just- Shut up for five minutes!” Dee yelps, then switches to squatting and baby-talking down to them. “Can you do that? Can you shut your mouths for five whole minutes while I talk? Or do you want to be out of a job? Do you want to live in the sewers? Do you? Huh?”

Neither of them gives her any lip.

“Good. Now, Dennis should arrive wherever they’re meeting in about,” -she glances at the clock- “forty-five minutes, which gives us just enough time to stop by my apartment, work on some disguises, figure out our characters-”

“Wait- Wh- Our characters?” Charlie stammers.

“Well, yeah. See, we need to intercept the deal, disguise ourselves as Paddy’s customers… you know, tell some stories about what a piece of shit the bar is!” Dee throws her hands in the air. “It’ll be easy, because the bar is a piece of shit.”

Frank raises a skeptical eyebrow. “So to save the bar… we’re gonna make everyone hate the bar. Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Oh, like it’s going to jeopardize our flourishing business.” Dee paces to the other side of the room. “I bet no one’s even in here right now, and if they are, we sure as shit aren’t serving them!”

Dee swings the door open and peeks out into the bar. Aside from one of the regulars fast asleep in a booth (he’s old, he mostly comes here to nap), there’s only one customer. He notices Dee and perks up, waving in her direction.

“Hey, can I get a Jack and Coke, or…?”

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” she snaps and slams the door shut, spinning back around to finish detailing her plan.

“Anyways, here’s what I’m thinking…”

—–

“This is so cool.”

Dennis glances up from his Riesling to find Mac gawking at him across the table. He has both elbows on it like some sort of barbarian, leaning forward onto his arms and grinning so wide that it tugs at the wrinkles around his eyes. He looks completely normal, and not at all like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

“It’s, aha…” -he chuckles and sets his glass down- “the same as it always is.”

“Well, I know, but it’s… different now.” Mac reaches across the table and brushes their fingers together, just the ghost of a touch. He leans on his free hand and makes a face like his entire brain has turned to mashed potatoes and all that’s left is Dennis. Dennis pretends to think it’s stupid. “S'awesome.”

Mac’s right, it isn’t the same, not exactly. All of the usual pieces are there. Everything is as it is every month- the uncomfortable chairs are the same, the wait staff is the same (he assumes, he can never remember), the menu is the same, and they’ll spend twenty minutes looking at it before ordering the same meals they always do.

The only thing that separates this from a regular monthly dinner is that little feeling in Dennis’ chest like something is swirling around inside of him, like something’s been filled- like it’s overflowing, in fact- and it’s going to spill out of him at any moment. It’s a good feeling, surprisingly. The air conditioner is blasting directly on his back, and his chair is wobbly, but he’s warmer and more comfortable than he’s ever been in his life.

“You know, I was thinking…”

“Are we ready to order-”

“Begone!” Dennis snaps at the waiter, flitting a hand through the air in a shooing motion. “Can’t you see we’re busy here?”

“Yeah, don’t interrupt my boyfriend, asshole!” Mac shouts so loudly that people five tables from them turn their heads. He seems so giddy to say it that he can hardly keep still in his seat.

The waiter rolls his eyes, huffs, and stomps away. He’s mumbling something under his breath, and typically, Dennis would demand he turn around and say it to his face like a man, but it’s not worth it tonight.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Mac all but giggles. “That was badass, dude.”

“You know what? It was.” Dennis drinks the last sip of his wine, then holds the glass out over the edge of the table. “But the service here is absolutely unacceptable, I mean, have you even seen a waiter?”

—–

It’s almost 9:20 when they arrive at Guigino’s.

They would have made it on time if not for Frank and Charlie changing costumes every ten seconds. They didn’t listen to Dee’s suggestions at all. Why listen to her? That would almost make too much sense, it would be too reasonable.

In the end, they seem pretty happy with what they’ve settled on.

Frank is wearing a dark wig, a feather boa, and what he thought was a very expensive dress, but is in fact a red bathrobe- and to make matters worse, he has his Crocs on under it. Charlie’s sporting a purple suit with too-small sleeves and pretending to smoke from a pipe. They’ve single-handedly managed to make themselves the two most conspicuous people on the planet, but Dee couldn’t change their minds. They said if they were going to do this whole mystery thing, they really wanted to pull the classy Clue vibe.

So Dee is the only one dressed like an actual waiter, rocking a fake mustache (not that you can tell) and a three-piece suit she thinks matches the Guigino’s attire (she can never remember what the wait staff looks like). She’s got it all planned out. She’s going to intercept orders, drop in on Mac and Dennis’ little exchange, and get some patrons talking about what a shithole Paddy’s Pub is.

And Frank and Charlie are going to do… whatever it is that they’re doing.

Before they go their separate ways, they duck in front of one of the windows and peer inside. It’s a crowded night, which is good- it’ll make it easier for them to blend in. Dee scans the restaurant until she spots Mac and Dennis seated near the kitchen.

“What the hell, why are they alone?” Dee whispers, her breath fogging up the glass.

“Well, maybe they’re just on a-”

“They must be keeping it on the down-low,” Frank cuts Charlie off. “Don’t want to be seen together.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, how would they even communicate?”

“I don’t know, through the waiter or something. You know, passin’ notes, sendin’ messages- encrypted messages. They buy their table fish, that’s code for let’s make this deal, they have ‘em bring the chicken instead, that’s like, how about you up the ante a little bit?”

Goddamn it. These goddamn sons of bitches. They’re going to tank this whole thing before it begins, they aren’t helping at all, and Charlie is actually pretending to take puffs on the pipe even though there’s no one out here!

“What are you talking about?” Dee asks, knowing it’s futile before she even finishes the question.

“The chicken is sub-par, Deandra.”

“Yeah, everybody knows that,” Charlie agrees.

“It’s very dry.”

“No, about the secret messages!” she hisses.

Frank shrugs. “All I’m saying is, must be some pretty high-profile characters.”

Dee isn’t so sure there’s a sale happening anymore. There’s definitely something going on, but she doesn’t know what it is. Looking in, it kind of seems like it’s just one of their lame monthly dinners, but there must be something else… and she’s going to have to figure it out on her own.

But she’s not completely alone. She and her character, Alfredo, a waiter with a dark past who can take any order but the order of his own heart, who can clear any table but can’t turn the tables of fate, are in this together.

“You guys go do your Nancy Drew thing or whatever.” Dee stands up and twirls the tip of her mustache. “I’m going to hit this place from the back.”

—–

Frank and Charlie make their way inside as Dee sneaks around through the back entrance and into the kitchen. They look pretty damn classy, if Frank says so himself.

Dressed like this, they can sit at any table they want and blend right in with the rich folk. Frank should know, he used to be one of them- he knows how to look the part.

His Crocs squeak against the tile with every step up to the hostess’ podium.

“Good even-”

“Yes, darling!” Frank announces and flips his hair. “I’m Miss Scarlett, and this is my lover, Professor-”

“Professor Purple,” Charlie finishes his sentence for him, taking a drag from his pipe.

“It’s Plum, Charlie,” Frank whispers.

“What the hell is a plum?”

“It’s a fruit.”

“That doesn’t sound right. That’s not a thing.”

“Anyways!” Frank turns back to the hostess, voice booming again. “We’re meeting with some associates, so if you don’t mind, we’ll just make our way to their table.”

Before she can object, they’ve already passed the podium and are approaching the nearest family. They’ve got to start somewhere, so they might as well go in order. After all, you can never know an undercover agent just from looking at ‘em. They invade right under your nose, like Red Dawn.

They drag a couple of empty chairs up to the first table, a suspiciously average-looking couple with a small child (they’re starting younger and younger, these child spies). The scooting noise echoes through the restaurant, and it’s loud as shit, but Frank isn’t picking a chair up off the ground- not with his nails freshly-cleaned.

“Boy,” he starts as they both plop themselves down, “have we had a rough night.”

The supposed 'mother’ narrows her eyes at them. “I’m sorry, who are…?”

“We just came in from Paddy’s Pub,” Charlie elaborates, crossing his legs and taking another fake puff. He looks fancy as shit. “Let me tell ya’, that place is a hole- literally! There are glory holes in every wall!”

The woman gasps. The man beside her pulls their alleged child towards him and covers his ears.

“I got bit by a rat there once,” Frank says, “now look at me- I’m covered in hair! And I used to be beautiful.”

“Yeah, and this is just the hair you can see,” Charlie adds.

“Here,” Frank hikes up his skirt and lifts his leg up, with a bit of a struggle, on top of the table. His heel lands in a very warm carbonara. “Let me show ya’ my ankles.”

—–

Dee pokes her head out of the kitchen door, a plate of fried artichokes or some shit in her hand. She’s close enough to Mac and Dennis that she can mostly make out their conversation over the clattering and steaming noises in the room.

“I don’t know, I was just surprised you didn’t want to tell them,” Dennis is saying. “I assumed you’d be screaming about it every day for a week.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Dennis, but you know how they are, they’re gonna be jealous of us, 'cause they’re all sad and alone, and they’re gonna be total assholes about it.”

This is it. This is going somewhere. Dee picks one of the breaded green things off the plate and pops it in her mouth. It’s mushy and it tastes like the underside of a pickled boot.

“So what? Since when do you care?”

“I’m just- I’m worried they’re gonna talk you out of it.”

A pause.

“Mac, baby, this has been a long time coming, nothing is going to-”

Dee misses the rest when a waiter bumps into her from behind. Fuck.

“Oh, uh, excuse me,” she says in her gruffest voice, standing up straight. She brushes the panko crumbs out of her mustache.

The waiter is just squinting at her for some reason- perv.

“Do I know you…?” he asks.

“Not possible,” Dee answers, shaking her head. “I just started here yesterday. And before that…” -she gazes into the distance- “well, that’s a story of another time, another place, a story of love and betrayal and murder-”

“You know what? I don’t care.” The waiter pushes past her and stops at Mac and Dennis’ table.

What an asshole. If he were the one talking, she’d listen to him! That goddamn jerk! She should teach him a lesson. If she weren’t so busy with this mission, she’d pants him or tie his shoelaces together or something.

This is a problem, too. If he’s Mac and Dennis’ waiter, Dee is never going to be able to spy on them without him calling her out.

She sneaks past the three of them and stops beside a family a few tables down, setting the cursed plate of artichokes between them.

“Your appetizer,” she grumbles.

“We didn’t have a-”

“It’s on the house. They’re fantastic, you’re gonna love 'em, they taste nothing at all like a live octopus.”

Dee stays put at the end of their table, trying to listen in on the conversation. They’re still talking to the waiter- they always have so many goddamn questions. They can’t just order food, no, that would be too simple, it’s always what’s the soup of the day and can you make me Tuesday’s soup instead and how fresh is the fish and where are the tomatoes in your bolognese from?

“Did you… need something or…?” the man at the table questions.

“Shh,” she hushes him without looking.

They’re discussing their little scheme again, but Dee can’t make out what they’re saying. Damn it. She’s going to have to get closer.

She swipes a carafe of water and winds around the half-wall, shimmying down until she’s hidden by one of the faux plants. She pretends to water it, pouring cold chunks of ice down into the pot as she eavesdrops.

“I just can’t believe it took so long.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t spent the better part of your life raving about how sinful and unnatural- Why are you picking off my salad? You hate salad.”

“Yeah, but I like croutons, dude. You should have asked for chicken on this.”

“That’s absurd, Mac, everybody knows the chicken here is sub-par.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Dee catches a red blob and a purple blob whipping across the restaurant. They’re making it hard for her to focus. She turns to watch them for a second, and in that short time, witnesses Charlie eating spaghetti with his hands and Frank showing a very uncomfortable-looking woman his teeth.

“Oh, goddamn it!” she whispers.

Dee was going to leave them to their own devices, but they’re going to make a scene and get themselves kicked out. If Mac and Dennis spot them, they’re going to know Dee’s here, too, even if she’s wearing an incredible disguise. She can’t let that happen- she’s going to have to go interfere.

—–

“So…” -Charlie picks up a spaghetti noodle and drops it into his mouth, sauce dripping onto his shirt- “which one of you gentlemen is looking to make a deal?”

He’s managed to ditch Frank, who’s started with this weird 'the beer at Paddy’s shrinks your teeth’ angle, and has decided to act out his own plan instead. See, he has a good thing going at the bar, but these are some very money-having people they’re talking to, people looking for investments, people with lots and lots of shiny coins… and Charlie has plenty of ideas.

The well-dressed men across the table exchange a look, then turn back to him with their hands folded.

“We’re listening,” one of them says. He has a funny voice- he sounds like an evil cat.

This is new. Charlie almost doesn’t know where to go from here. The last three groups asked him to leave or threatened to have him kicked out, and he’d bounced between them with a 'very well then, good day!’ and a tip of his pipe.

But now, these are smart people. They’re actually listening to what Charlie has to say- no one ever listens to what Charlie has to say! If they did, they wouldn’t be here right now. They’d know that there is no scheme and this is just a stupid date they’re crashing!

So he might as well take advantage of the situation and make himself some coins, or rubies, or chalk, or you know, whatever the currency is where these dudes are from. Either way, it works for him.

“My good men…” -he slaps his hands down on the table for dramatic effect- “have you ever thought gee, I sure am a big fan of red cheese, but it’s hard to eat all this wax? Well-”

“No, no, we’re not interested in any of that,” the other guy interrupts. “We’re interested in her.”

Charlie’s eyes follow the path of his finger, which at first, he thinks might be directed at Dee (but who would want that?).

He sees that he’s, in fact, talking about Frank, who’s busy pulling hairs out of his eyebrow and showing them to a child. Charlie isn’t sure what that is, probably some kind of 'Paddy’s is radioactive’ thing.

“What?” he asks in disbelief. “No way, man, I could never sell-”

A fat stack of money is slammed down on the table. Green money. Paper money. Soft money!

Charlie sneers and leans in.

“I’m listening…”

—–

“Why are we still talking about this, dude? It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh no, you do not get to decide that,” Dennis bites back, jamming his glass in Mac’s direction and spilling a few drops. He’ll admit, he’s a little wine drunk. “If I say it’s a big deal, then it’s a big deal! This is a relationship, Mac.”

Mac seems stunned by that. Maybe that’s the first time they’ve used that word- Dennis isn’t sure anymore. This new bottle of Pinot Blanc he’s ordered is fantastic and his fish is overcooked, so he’s just been drinking… and at this point, everything is starting to blur.

“I know, Dennis.” His tone is softer now, but he’s still arguing. Son of a bitch. Beautiful son of a bitch. “It’s just, this is our thing, and people are always trying to get in the middle of it, and for once, just for like a week, I didn’t want it to be anyone else’s.”

Dennis had really pictured this being the other way around. He’s always the one hushing Mac and urging him to keep things just between the two of them. He assumed Mac would be harassing friends and strangers alike, telling them what an outstanding boyfriend Dennis Reynolds is, to the point of annoyance.

Dennis has always been the one who’s wanted to scream his feelings at the top of his lungs, but didn’t for fear that someone else would hear him. Now that person is Mac, who has so boldly decided to reverse the roles without warning, and Dennis doesn’t know how to be in this position.

He doesn’t even know how to answer. Instead, he swirls his glass, watching the liquid slosh around and around so that he doesn’t have to look up at Mac’s dumb, tender puppy dog eyes.

“You know what?” Mac says, and scoots his chair out. “Fuck it.”

He assumes Mac’s going to walk out of the restaurant. That would be apropos, wouldn’t it? Dennis walks out of the bar for a year and Mac walks out on their dinner date for the night. It’s not even a drop of his own medicine and it still burns like acid.

Whatever. He slugs down the rest of his drink and pours himself another- might as well get hammered.

—–

“Excuse me, Sir, may I refill your water?” Dee asks, doing a shitty voice that sounds like Batman, as she approaches Frank’s table.

He waves her out of the way. “Fuck off, I’m trying to watch Charlie.”

It doesn’t work and she only leans in closer. Her breath smells like old sauerkraut.

“Goddamn it, Frank,” -she’s back to her normal squawking voice- “you two cock socks are going to blow my whole cover here. What are you even doing? Why are you sitting by yourself?”

Frank gives her a shove so he can spy on Charlie’s negotiations. He’s pretty good at reading lips. Like right now, one of the guys is saying something about marrying a horse. Twisted sack of shit.

“Because! Charlie is trying to sell me to those mafia-lookin’ guys. He’s a damn double agent!” Frank hollers through a mouth of bread. “But don’t worry, I solved the problem. As soon as those sons of bitches stand up-”

“For the love of- I don’t care!” Dee flaps her hands around. She looks like a chicken. “I was fine with you two doing your stupid costumes, and pretending to be a couple, and putting your body parts in peoples’ soup, but you cannot make a scene! I am this close to figuring out what Mac and Dennis are up to.”

Frank dips another breadstick in his soda and crams it down his gullet whole.

“Who gives a shit?” he tries to say, but mostly what comes out is root beer bread. He’s already reaching for another. “Charlie double-crossed me-”

Dee snatches him by his feather boa and digs her talons into his collarbone. It does not feel great. Frank swallows his food in fear.

“Listen, you son of a bitch, I don’t care if Charlie sells you, because you know what? You’re worth nothing! If he trades you for a shiny paperclip, which he probably will, it will still be more than you’re worth. You guys had one job! All you had to do was shut up while I spied on Mac and Dennis, but no, you’ve somehow gotten yourselves involved with some foreign investors who clearly don’t mind a short, foul, hairy woman who reeks of salami! I swear to god, if you can’t just sit here and keep a low profile for the next fifteen minutes, I will come down upon you like-”

There are a couple of taps on a microphone, and high-pitched feedback fills the restaurant. Most of the patrons moan and cover their ears.

“Shit, sorry, that was loud. But also, I’m not sorry, because I’ve got shit to say.”

That’s Mac talking.

Dee lets go of Frank and he drops back onto his seat. Both of them turn to watch Mac where he’s standing by the piano. He’s whispering to the pianist- actually, it looks more like he’s threatening him- who starts playing a song that sounds vaguely familiar, but Frank can’t place.

“Look, you’re all here tonight because you have people who love you and care about you and take you on dates and aren’t afraid to let you know how they feel. But let me tell each and every one of you motherfuckers… that person you’re with, that person across the table from you, who seems like the only person in the whole, entire world… they’re a piece of shit compared to Dennis Reynolds.”

Oh, yeah, they’re doing the gay speech thing again. Always a classic. Dee looks surprised as shit even though they’ve been through this, like, eight times.

Frank loses interest and dips another breadstick into his drink. They’re made for each other, they always have been- bread and root beer- he doesn’t get how everybody doesn’t see that.

“The first day I met him, I thought Dennis was the smartest, handsomest, most awesome-est guy I’d ever met- but I was wrong. Because every day I wake up, I meet a new version of him that’s somehow even better than he was yesterday. But I’ve been acting so stupid and scared and lame… because all my life, I thought if I just wasn’t loud about something, it would go away. But I don’t want this to go away, so I’m gonna be loud!”

Daniel (is that his name?) is making a stupid face. He looks like he just won the lottery or some shit.

“Dennis, look, I didn’t tell people about us because I didn’t even think about other people! I almost never do! You’re, like, everything to me, man. And I’m so lucky this happened. You’re the meaning in my life. You’re the inspiration.”

“When you love somebody,” Mac sings along to the piano, except he’s really just yelling, “til the end of time!”

The music fades out, and is immediately replaced by the confused chatter of irritated customers. One of the waiters says something about how he’s got to find another job before he finally ends it all.

“Oh, they’re just bangin’,” Frank says with a shrug.

“Ohhh,” Dee draws out, “that makes sense. Well, see, that- that’s nothing. I don’t care about that.”

“I just can’t believe Charlie didn’t know.”

“Right? He’s usually on top of this kind of stuff.”

They both start to blow the joint, but they don’t get far before a symphony of chairs falling and plates shattering resounds across Guigino’s. Frank looks over to see both of the investors have fallen to the floor atop each other, shoelaces tied together, covered in broken glass. Charlie stops counting the money in his hands and stares, wide-eyed, at Frank.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Frank roars, whipping a wrench out of the back of his dress. If you’re gonna look the part, you gotta act the part!

He charges towards Charlie’s table with the wrench above his head, his wig flying off in the process. “Someone’s got to get bludgeoned!”

“Wait,” Mac says into the microphone, “Frank? Charlie?”

“Oh, goddamn it!” Dennis shrieks. “What are you people doing here?!”

“Wait, actually, that’s pretty funny, Charlie,” Mac chuckles. “Did you do that?”

“No, man!” Charlie shouts back. “That was all Frank! That’s hilarious, man!”

Charlie reaches out to give Frank a high-five… and eh, he decides he’ll forgive him. He tosses the wrench to the floor and gives Charlie’s hand a slap. No one can split up the gruesome twosome, not even a couple of men in black looking to buy a glamorous whore.

“Well, that’s just…” -Dennis chugs the rest of his wine straight from the bottle, half of it ending up on his shirt- “that’s awesome.”

“I know, why hasn’t anyone thought of that before?” Mac laughs into the microphone.

Before either of them realizes she was ever even there, Dee storms out of the restaurant with a growl.

Dennis raises his glass, flinging wine on the couple next to him. “Monthly dinner, baby!”

The four of them hoot and holler together, and yeah, Frank thinks, bread and root beer make a pretty good couple.

[halogensleep]

pour your gasoline on me (let’s torch the whole world down) Ch. 7

When the phone buzzed in her back pocket three times succinctly, for the first time in six months, Charlotte became curious and… another emotion that she didn’t quite have the words.

Excitement. That was it, she realised.

She remembered the feeling fondly, savouring it on a moment to moment basis as she reached into her jeans to slowly pull the phone screen into view. When she clicked the home screen and opened the camera streaming app, the weakly felt feelings vanished instantly, the space they left behind was filled with a cold and clinical kind of boredom.

She watched Becky stand there beside a decomposing body without a care in the world, brow furrowed, expression scrunched, reading the two sentences of handwriting that Charlotte had left there some months prior. When she was done she tore the letter into pieces and exhaled a deep sigh. Her eyes found the man in the chair, the man that Charlotte had robbed her of the simple pleasure of killing, and Becky said something to him that Charlotte couldn’t quite make out.

“Er…” The woman sat across the table cleared her throat. “Am I interrupting something?” She fidgeted uncomfortably and played with her long ginger hair.

“Yes,” Charlotte said pithily.

“We can rearrange?” Her tone was upbeat, the disappointment still detectable. “I haven’t been using dating websites for very long… and I’m not… I’m not really busy with much what with being so new in town?” She winced, well aware of how pathetic it all was. “Maybe we could do something next—”

“No.” Charlotte put her phone away and finally met the tacitly embarrassed brown eyes opposite. “I’ll be busy.”

“I didn’t say when?” The woman smiled politely through her humiliation, still upbeat, still hopeful for something more beyond tonight.

Charlotte got up from the table and put her jacket on, purse tucked over her shoulder, drink necked quickly. She caught the waiter’s attention with a wave of her hand and gave the universal hand gesture for the bill.

“I know.” Charlotte lifted her eyebrows at the woman, and then left just like that.

…

“You know,” Laszlo said, chewing his food. “I was hoping you called me over to tell me you’re ready to work again. I got you a new chop shop. I had the refrigerator moved for you. Your cooking is very good but…” He paused and smiled, glancing from the plate back to the disinterested woman drinking red wine at the kitchen counter. “Without murder, you and I really do have nothing.”

“My psychiatrist said I need a break from work to clear my mind.”

“Which one? They don’t seem to last very long.”

“All of them.” Charlotte shrugged and itched the back of her neck, longing for something she wasn’t sure could exist in her tiny, insulated world of violence and boredom. “Besides, you have the troublemaker on the payroll so it’s not as if there’s no one to pick up the slack.”

“You haven’t said her name in six months.” Laszlo laughed and gawked at her. “You know this, right?”

Charlotte said nothing to that. She nursed the wine in her hand and rubbed the side of her temple, and after a moment Laszlo stopped waiting for an answer, the moussaka was shovelled down by the forkful until there was nothing to annoy her last nerve but the sound of Laszlo’s slapping, gobbling mouth.

“Have you seen her?” Charlotte’s voice was full of disinterest as she asked the question.

“You know the rules. You both agreed to them.”

“I’m not asking where she is or what job she’s doing… just… whether you have seen her?” Charlotte insisted. “Did she look angry, preoccupied, maybe?”

“I’m always watching both of you, very carefully.” Laszlo eyed her sternly. “I bailed you out with the Collective at risk to myself, don’t forget that. There will be no more favours, just work.” He nodded to his plate. “And, maybe sometimes dinner.” His big red cheeks bunched into a smirk.

“I invited you over here to tell you that things might get messy, between me and her.” Charlotte got to the point. “I thought I would give you the courtesy of telling you to your face.”

“I’m well aware of the gift you left her.” Laszlo set down his cutlery. “So long as there is at least one of you left ready to work at the end of this… I’ll mind my own business and leave you both to finish your own.”

“And if there isn’t one of us left, in the end?” Charlotte smirked.

“What do you care? You would be dead too.”

“Are you a gambling man?”

“Sometimes.”

“Who would you bet on?” Charlotte’s stare lingered over him curiously.

“Eh, it could go either way.” Laszlo shrugged. “I like you both but one hitwoman is easier than two, dead women don’t cause problems or tell secrets.”

“Pragmatical, even for you.”

…

The thing that felt infuriating in Charlotte’s mind—which was the only thing she did feel between the long pangs of boredom, occasional infuriation—was that Becky was so disappointingly easy to predict.

She was at fault for that, partly, and she knew it too. She asked questions that should never have been asked. She snatched at every bit of information she could get, always thirsty for a new revelation, always hungry for a new puzzle piece. Then, when there was nothing else exciting to discover, she had nothing left but routine and predictability.

She ached for Becky to push the envelope.

She ached for something unforgivable.

Instead, Charlotte came home a month later from her first official business trip to discover flowers at the back door of the new chop shop. It was pathetic. It was underwhelming. It was, for all intents and purposes, the calling card of a woman trying to subtly gloat that she had found the address, the foreshadowing of a face to face visit, soon.

Before, when Becky did something, Charlotte always felt one-upped and impressed. Now she just felt bored; so incredibly bored that it was becoming all the more impressive on a day-to-day basis just how fucking bored she really was.

Charlotte dumped the flowers in the sink and didn’t even bother to look at the card attached to the neat black cellophane wrapping.

“Let me guess.” Charlotte rolled her eyes and looked at the bedroom door that was left cracked open a millimeter or two, hopeful for a taste of something familiar at the very least. “I’m going to walk in there and find you masturbating?” She walked over and kicked the door open.

Nothing but pristinely made bed sheets.

“Of course you’re not,” Charlotte lowered her voice and sighed.

She spent the evening neatly unpacking her clothes and hanging them back in the wardrobe, washing what needed to be wash, burning what needed to be burned in the incinerator. The guns, the knives, the toolbox of her profession, that was carefully placed back under her bed.

She had lost the joy of killing, and she wished she had the emotional spectrum to grieve for that loss on some level. It felt as though her favourite past-time had been tainted by someone else, as if every time she thought about a job she was also thinking about Becky. Boring predictable Becky, whispering insults in her ear about how she would have done one thing or another differently.

She spent two hours in the bath, drinking wine, preening, soaking, toying with the idea of whether things might become interesting again if she just got it over with and killed the troublemaker. Becky—because she was so achingly predictable—would galavant straight into a clear trap just to prove a point that Charlotte couldn’t actually kill her. Except she could. Charlotte could kill her. She could make it quick and boring too, a bullet right between the eyes, or maybe cut her throat and leave her to bleed to death, alone, cold, waiting for the other shoe to drop right to her last breath.

Eventually, Charlotte sat at the kitchen counter and ate instant noodles for dinner with a chilled glass of Dom Perignon. Thinking, not thinking, stirring the soup at the bottom, drinking a little more than she ever used to, waiting for it to be late enough to go to sleep.

Charlotte glanced at the flowers in the sink and blinked for a moment, unsure on whether she was noticing something interesting or whether she was just inserting it there herself. Except what she was seeing wasn’t interesting, it was worrisome, it was evoking a slither of emotion she wasn’t sure she had ever felt before, it was making her crave for the simpleness of boredom again.

Charlotte reached over and picked up the flowers from the sink, a selection of newly bloomed pink chrysanthemums to be precise. If Becky had gone somewhere to buy flowers she would have chose lilies, carnations, a typical white funeral flower that was symbolic of death, because she was boring and predictable. Charlotte stared at the flowers and thought about the one place she knew for certain where chrysanthemums were lovingly grown in the front garden. The one place that she hadn’t in her wildest dreams predicted Becky would ever visit.

Charlotte swallowed and opened the card.

It had been left blank.

…

Charlotte didn’t bother to call ahead, partly because she already knew what was waiting for her, and partly because she wasn’t sure she wanted the truth confirmed. In the part of her brain that understood how morality worked on a mechanical level she knew that she had brought this on herself, and that it was her cross to bear because of it.

A thing that was always going to happen, someway or somehow.

Charlotte walked calmly up the path towards her sister’s front door and rang the bell. She waited for some minutes before she pressed it again, slightly hopeful that this was a ruse, slightly hopeful that this wasn’t a line they were truly willing to cross with one another. She glanced around the front of the property to see if there were any signs of a forced entry. Of course there wasn’t. Becky didn’t have to force her way anywhere, ever, one smile was always more than enough to do the dirty work for her.

Charlotte walked around the rear of the property and swiftly kicked the lock off of the back door.

‘Baby… I wanna keep my reputation. I'm a sensation… you try me once you'll beg for more. Oh, yes sir. I can boogie. But I need a certain song… yes sir, I can boogie! If you stay you can't go wrong, I can boogie, boogie boogie, all night long…’

The song playing from the iPod speaker had been slowed down to three quarters of its usual speed. It was haunting, drawn out, every note dragging on and on until it was no longer a disco song but rather an elegy, a reminder that Charlotte had played with fire and this was her wound. Stupid games, stupid prizes.

Charlotte clicked it off and calmly walked over to the slumped over bodies on the sofa.

She was crying, strangely, quietly, almost as it were a secret even from herself, but she wasn’t upset in the slightest, not really at least. She was crying but on the inside there was just… nothing. It was as if her body knew what to do with the grief but her brain simply didn’t.

She bent down slightly and appraised the work. Her sister first and then the little one, although she needed a moment to gather herself in between. A bullet for each, no bruises, no marks to suggest it was a prolonged affair. Becky had simply came and went, was probably here for no longer than ten minutes all in all.

Then Charlotte felt it.

Anger, visceral untempered furious white-hot blinding maddening neverending screaming into the aether burn the world to the ground and pour the ashes in Becky’s goddamn fucking mouth until they scald her throat the entire way down anger.

She saw the note Becky had positioned inside two tiny hands and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she reached over and took it.

Did you really think I didn’t know she was yours?

Who are you now they’re all gone, Charlotte?

Come show me,

Becky xo

[nckjcns]

( ❛ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ  𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊 — gregg, joe, & ariana )

@ariianas @kecry

[going to post this as an intro bc chatzy deleted the whole middle section UNTIL joe came in. all u missed was a really sad ari finding him & calling joe. so yeah here enjoy bye.xx]

Gregg: it seemed like the shit was piling up & dealing with it was something gregg had no intention of doing anytime soon. in order to ignore it all ( plus the pesky little memories that were currently occupying his mind ) drugs were his new best friend. there wasn’t any filming that needed to be done today and barbara was god knows where- so the brit was alone in his LA apartment. bored & alone. that was the scary part, though. when you have nothing to do your memories creep up on you like a thief in the knight. you end up thinking more than usual & allowing your brain to just do it’s own thing. like a character off of breaking bad he poured the magical contents into the cooker & loaded his syringe with about 20 units of water. once the two were mixed together he watched the contents turn into something that reminded him of gasoline. the male loaded his needle and took a second to rethink his decisions. it didn’t help, though.“just a bit more..” he whispered to himself before injecting the needle into the nearest available vein. he had to switch arms daily or else his veins would collapse from overuse and make it more than noticeable how he had been torturing his body. there was a small sting when the needle first broke through his newly tanned skin & for a moment-- he felt total bliss. while he was so focused on the feeling he forgot to stop squeezing the syringe and the drug continued to snake its way through his body. he remembered, eventually, but when his body went weak & his eyes began to close; this all seemed like such a terrible idea. it was too late. he had no idea what was happening but it was all happening all too fast. as his body went warm and the room began to spin his only thought was; “junkies die. not me. i’m not a junkie. so this can’t be happening to me.” everything went black & the male laid back on his bed, needle still in his arm.

Joe: seeing gregg's name show up on his phone was the shock of his life. he knew that his /former/ best friend was going through something recently. joe knew what was going out, and despite his better judgement he didn't reach out to him. he figured his WIFE could handle it. the wounds the situation between ariana and gregg caused where healing. scaring over in fact. but seeing that name pop up on his phone made it feel like it was just /yesterday/ they spit those awful words at each other. he let it ring a bit longer before he reluctantly accepted the call, putting it to his ear. "uh......hello ?" the twenty six year old awkwardly answered. he tried to sound tough in case this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation. but joe was an anxious fuck, his fingers were ALREADY trembling.

Ariana: ‘ fuck ’ she mouthed to gregg, her entire frame heating up in pure nerves. the last time ariana heard joe’s voice was the day that ended it all, which sent an unsettling pain to the pit of her stomach. “hey, it’s ari,” she started, “don’t hang up.” the decision to spit out the truth was far from easy since this would be the /second time/ she delivered news about her husband, which would have ultimately proved joe right. with that aside, ariana took a moment to deeply inhale and exhale before mustering up enough courage to speak. “to make a very long, fucked up story short ───” she swallowed, not knowing how he was going to react, “gregg had an accident and ... you’re the only person i know that could help. like, right now.” she was practically pleading for his assistance as she stood in place, crossed fingers in the hopes that the other male wouldn’t disappoint.

Joe: hearing ariana's voice was.... well, it was the last thing he expected. joe was absolutely awful with any type of confrontation, and for a woman he used to adore so much... he couldn't help but to harbor an intense dread whenever he thought of her. "uh----------," was the only thing he could get out when she insisted not to hang up. it was tempting, he couldn't lie. but when she said gregg had an accident, all bets were off and he quickly shot off "wait---what, what kind of accident ? is he okay ? are you okay ?"

Ariana: “i, uh, don’t know what you would consider ‘ potentially overdosing, ’” she sighed, speaking in a whispered tone, loud enough for only them two to hear. there was another inch of relief as he stood on the line with her, not blaming him if he just decided to hang up at the mention of her name. this wasn’t about her ( or so she kept convincing herself ), so she prayed that joe could finally look past that once he arrived. “i’m fine, but he’s pretty ... you know, banged up.” that was far from a lie since gregg’s appearance took a complete turn, compared to any other night they spent together.“look, can i expect you here within the hour, or what?”

Joe: "....do you know what he's using ?" joe is suddenly doing fifty things at once, flinging up off the bed, tossing his clothes and possessions into a suitcase. for now, none of the hurt feelings and harsh words mattered. he just had to get wherever gregg was at. "what do you mean an hour ? i thought you guys left bali ? you're going to need to be more specific with what's going on here, ariana.... please."

Ariana: with occasional glances over her shoulder, actually spitting out the next words required more work than she thought. “well, i walked in his room and there was a needle in his arm,” she spoke, growing completely numb with the situation, “and he would’ve choked on his vomit if i didn’t get here when i did.” she had no clue if gregg wanted joe to know the finer details, but one look at him and joe would’ve instantly pieced it together. her head tilted itself at an angle to his next sentence, which instantly caught her by surprise. “we did, and when the hell did you fly over there ? ─── you know what ? not important, just hurry.”

Joe: "okay. that's heroin," joe confirmed, instantly feeling sick. people DIED from heroin overdoses every day. "i----uh, is there any weird brown substances around ? if there is, flush it." the actor instructed, throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder. "like right before you guys left. but listen---i'll get the first flight i can. in the meantime, don't let him leave the room, ariana. even when he goes to the bathroom, you watch him."

Ariana: the reassurance in his voice about the substance sent goosebumps to her arm, wondering how she allowed it to get this far. so far that gregg looked past her, and focused on a near-death experience instead. all of her bottled up emotions were slowly eating up her core, and could you blame her ? for the moment, the mention of the bathroom strikes her attention, yet she’s too consumed in her own thoughts to acknowledge the boy’s former activities. “yeah, i- i’ll watch him. unblock my number.” with that, she hung up, lowering the phone from her ear. “he’s coming.”

Gregg: it had been a total of about 24 hours since gregg had his little incident. according to ariana they were waiting on joe ( for some reason ) and gregg went from sick, to kind of okay, to even more sick. his body was craving more of something he couldn’t have. ariana wouldn’t even let him out of her sight- he couldn’t shower alone, eat alone, let alone use the bathroom alone. it was exhausting. but what made it worse was that his body was beginning to feel like it was collapsing every hour that passed. gregg was spending his last few hours in bed, not wanting to be bothered at all. his current mood was overly irritated and he couldn’t stop shaking. this was the worst feeling in the world-- craving something he knew he couldn’t have. & his body beating him up for being free of it. “come on.. is this really what we’re gonna do? hold me in this room until what? i have shit to do.”

Ariana: from the moment that ariana stepped foot into gregg’s apartment, she had no idea what the past few hours would’ve entailed. the young starlet completed a huge transition since she first entered, the set of tasks that she had to accomplish took most of her energy hard of her. it was hard enough for her to sleep due to the nightmares, but a deep sleep meant she might’ve missed any plea for help from her husband. ariana was beginning to question joe’s arrival since hours passed without any form of communication, but stalling gregg had been her main concern. “shut up,” she deterred his motives, eliminating any thought of him moving from his own mind, “you did this to yourself, so now you’re going to sit in it. literally. there’s no shot in hell that you’re moving until you’re sober .... completely sober, greggory.” one palm brought itself to her face as she finished speaking, gently rocking herself back and forth. “don’t even think about it.”

Joe: he had friends who did hard drugs. charlie heaton, the most famous one. but joe had spent the entire flight reading up on his heroin withdrawal information, from detox, to what to feed him. he had became a walking, talking addiction counselor in a matter of hours. joe was nervous as fuck but this wasn't about him. gregg's life was at stake, here. reaching gregg's apartment door, he knocked, shifting his weight back and forth as he anxiously awaited an answer.

Ariana: thumbs fiddled with themselves as she sat in silence, continuing to chew on her inner cheek as she surveyed her surroundings. with gregg falling in and out of sleep, there wasn’t much to do other than wonder how she had gotten to this point. not only that, but how she allowed the other male to fall back on drugs opposed to her. she snapped out of her thoughts prior to a couple of knocks, the same knocks that sent her flying across the spacious walls to the door. ariana took a moment to compose herself, moving any strands of hair behind her ears before swinging the door open. “finally,,” she started, a small smile placed itself on her lips, “i honestly thought you were a no-show.” seeing joe was weird, of course, which must’ve been why the smile faded once she remembered why he came. “he’s upstairs, and i’d, uh ... walk on thin ice, honestly. he’s moody, and incredibly sassy.”

Joe: seeing ariana for the first time since everything.... that was intense. if this had been any normal situation, joe would be flubbing up every other word, a flustered mess. instead, he gave her a sad smile of acknowledgement, "come on. you know i couldn't abandon him like this." he took a step inside, setting his duffle bag on the floor, heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, for gregg. "that's because he wants to get high," joe replied with dismay, "i---uh, yeah... be up there." and with that, he trudged up the stairs, heart racing. he paused at the door, giving it a gentle knock to let gregg know someone was about to enter. then joe stepped in, door closing behind him. his heart broke at the sight before him, but he somehow remained stoic, "hey there, old buddy."

Gregg: gregg might as well had been twinkling his toes and saying his alphabet with how ariana could freely go downstairs while he sat up here like a nine year old on punishment. he knew what was coming-- a pity party was about to rain in on him in his bedroom. if it wasn’t joe at the door, it was barbara, and he had yet to figure out what was worse. being sober fucking sucked. all he could think about was his parents and all the dumb things he had gotten himself into in the past few months. joe walking in was like a scene out of a movie- no matter how fucked up he was he couldn’t deny that he missed him. “ah! the man of the hour!” the male raised his arms up and showcased a huge smile, his voice clearly sarcastic. but as soon as his arms went past his head he threw his upper body over the bed and vomited into the newly positioned bedside trashcan. his stomach contracting & causing him severe abdominal pain afterwards. “oh fuck me.” he groaned before tossing his head back.

Joe: gregg looked awful. and seeing that.... it really took a toll on joe. as a man who typically became lost in his emotions, he had no choice but to swallow it all and be the STRONG one for once. if he even had it in him. but he wanted to think that he /did/. before he could say anything in reply to gregg's sarcastic remark, he was already vomiting. joe rushed to his side, setting the glass of water on the nightstand. "well---good news is, looks like you're just puking up stomach acid at this point. bad news ? you're dehydrated. but i'm afraid if you drink that water, you're just gonna throw it up again. not good, right ? joe sat on the edge of the bed, tentatively because he didn't know what gregg would do next, "so where's the heroin ? you got anymore ?"

Gregg: there was no way gregg could even see the severity of the situation right now. he was way too deep in his shitty mood and the constant shivering and vomiting wasn’t making it any better. but the worst part of it all was that he wanted to sleep, but the concoction of everything he was going through wouldn’t allow his eyes to close for more than a second. yet, through all of this, he knew joe was his saving grace. “ok.... so... /doc/ do i drink water or do i sit here and fucking off myself.” at this point he was irritated, if they weren’t going to let him get high then this was going to be a shit show. the male placed his hand on joe’s shoulder and sighed. “no. i don’t. or i wouldn’t be dying right now. but look. ariana. she’s a bit of a.. worrisome kind of girl. but you. i can reason with you. tell her i’m fine, let me.. get more of my happy stuff and we can go on about our lives like this never happened.”

Ariana: all ariana could do was sit on the sidelines while they reunited, fully aware that she was main reason as to why they fell off in the first place. the thought of them rekindling their friendship was something she could look forward to, watching how familiar their mannerisms were for each other. “gregg,” she scolded him, arms crossed themselves across her chest, “behave.” she decided it was best to momentarily tune out of their conversation, she owed them that much. besides, it seemed to ariana like joe knew /exactly/ what would cure gregg, ultimately the goal for inviting him into another secret. regardless of gregg’s unpleasant reaction to his arrival, ariana was sure that she owed joe more than she could promise. only if he managed to fix gregg, of course. eyes peered on the their conversation, kind of content with the way things were playing out so far.

Joe: there were some things that joe felt confident with, but risking gregg's life ? it wasn't something he was willing test the odds with. "listen, i---" his gaze shifts between ariana and gregg, knowing full well she was the only rational one here. "okay. so here's what we're going to do. we're going to get a doctor here. make him sign a nondisclosure," he nodded, feeling like this was the best way to ensure gregg got the care he needed, "and buddy, if you let a doctor check you out, he's going to give you something to help you sleep. wouldn't that be nice ? sleep ?"

Gregg: the males brows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head to all the comments that were being made right now. “oh fuck no!” he exclaimed both at ariana telling him to behave and also at joe mentioning a doctor. “you hate me. i’m convinced. is this my karma? look, i watched thirteen reasons why. you can just shove some gatorade down my throat, i’ll curse you out for a bit and we’ll be fine.” rolling his eyes, he couldn’t stand the thought of a doctor. at least not one that was going to be invading his personal space and judging him on his recent decisions. “sleep is cool i guess..” he mumbled, at this point sounding like a teenage boy.

Ariana: “gregg, are you kidding me? this isn’t a fucking television show,” she snapped, genuinely concerned for his well-being. the fact that he would even allude to that in a situation like this told her everything that she needed to know. there was nothing she wished more than to keep gregg’s wishes about a doctor, but if that’s what it took for his recovery then ariana was willing to look past his desires. “exactly, and you’ll waking up feeling like the old gregg again.” she was desperately praying for this to work since it was the only option, any other choice would expose this rendezvous.

Joe: joe scoffed when gregg actually compared what he was going through to a television show. thankfully, ariana spoke for him, quite literally taking the words out of his mouth. "i'm not saying he's going to do anything crazy ! maybe give you an iv, some vitamins, hydrated. jesus, that's going to take a hell of a lot less time than going cold turkey. and--and," he began having to focus his thoughts, "doctors, they can't say shit anyways, right ? that's against the law. no one will even have to know this happened except the three of us."

Gregg: “that didn’t stop-” the male paused, refraining from relating this situation yet again, to a tv show. it took him a moment to really look around and notice his surroundings. ariana wasn’t letting him do what he wanted and putting her foot down for the first time. and out of all people joe was here. he was actually here. someone that gregg loved a lot more than he would admit came to help. so this had to be more serious than what gregg could see. “ok..” he let out a sigh before biting the inside of his lip. “call the damn doctor then.”

Ariana: ariana cocked her head to the side once he started, only to roll her eyes once he stopped himself from speaking. part of her wondered where this desire to be high came from, especially since there were other methods before heroine. cocaine, for instance, seemed to be amongst hollywood’s most elite stars. some fell from the addiction, but thankfully gregg wasn’t a beloved star who was gone before his time. and, to ariana’s surprise, would have joe to thank for gregg’s swayed decisions. “finally,” her arms fell to her sides, “he has some sense. welcome, we’ve missed you.”

Joe: "listen, if it makes you feel any better," he said, looking his best friend in the eye, "i'll be here the whole time. i promise. if you need someone to yell at, talk to, anything. i'm not fucking leaving this room until you're good." with a deep sigh, addressing the fact he truly /wanted/ to be here. he stood up, offering ariana a hesitant smile, flashes of his awkward self appearing as he jabbed his thumb toward the door, "i---um, i'll go make some calls and get someone here."

Gregg: all other factors aside, gregg really appreciated what everyone was doing for him. this wasn’t him, it never was. but he let the things he was going through attack him until he didn’t know what else to go to once alcohol stopped working. but it was finally time to face his fears and he was so blessed to have the two most influential people in his life to help with that. “thank you.” was all he could make out as he nodded at the both of them.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Encyclopedia Biblica

Gabriel x Reader

Summary: After trying to revive your Dad and Uncle you accidentally unlock a gate between Pugatory, Heaven, Hell and Earth... After realizing the mess you’ve made can’t be cleaned up by just yourself, you go to the only people you have left in your life asking for help. Say hello to the new Team Free Will.

Warnings: Talk of Suicide, Death, Angst, Crying.

A/N: So I wrote this towards the end of boarding school and the whole idea for the series came from a situation and conversation I was imaging, as no one in the SPN fandom has ever really phrased the said conversation in the way I have. The conversation isn’t in this chapter or for a lot more chapters. I actually think I’ve lost the rest of the story besides the first couple of lines of the next chapter... I really hope I can find it though because it was honestly really great and despite the fact that no one really pays attention to my SPN stuff I liked this idea.

“Fine, I have one more offer for you Darling and then we’re done here: I’ll help you, if you become Queen of Hell and reign by my side” he smirks as he taps his fingers on the table. I stare across the table, contemplating the offer; I let out a big laugh tilting my head back, eventually looking back to him.

“Really Crowley? Are you serious? Did you actually think I’d accept that?! I mean, come on- really? If I can’t trust Heaven, and I can’t trust the devil I don’t know- why would I trust the devil I do know?” I continue to laugh before flick a strand of my hair over my shoulder, “Don’t answer- I’m sorry, I just- I can’t believe you actually thought I’d go for that... I mean, what? You contract me to be married to you and reign over hell for all eternity- no! Until I die, and then you’d just kill me so my side of the deal would never have to be dealt with!” I pause for a second, “I can say it’s not a bad idea- but no thanks”

“you know you can’t do it on your own Y/N- don’t be daft” he scolds me as a warning while I turn around and start walking away; I smirk at the thought before rethinking: is this really such a bad deal? Yes. Yes it is- you know what Dad would say, he’d tell you that ‘Any deal Crowley offers you when you’re in a bad place isn’t a good deal- even if it seems like it is at the time. I become determined as I think of them- my Dad... My Uncle.

I can and will do it by myself... I will.

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I collect the reagents in the bowl and look over the spell again... Today is the day I think to myself as I look up at the sky- it’s definitely looking like a storm is on the way. The tall grass in the field I currently stand in is starting to sway with the gusts of wind periodically drifting through, growing greater and greater with each new gust. Thunder rumbles in the distance and I count the seconds between the thunder and lightning: one Mississippi- two Mississippi- three Mississippi it looks like it’s close by- perfect.

As the lightning approaches I pour the gasoline in the bowl and strike a match to toss in- this should be it. My fear, hope and wonder swell inside me as I smile, awaiting the lightning to strike precisely in a minute or so. Looking down at the two tombstones we planted four months ago in remembrance and commemoration for the work that they’d done- my family. My Dad and Uncle, they were all I’d had... and now I was alone.

Thirty seconds pass, the thunder seems to rumble exactly overheard. I stand in the grey, dark atmosphere the storm has projected onto the Earth. The hillside is dark, I stand by a big willow tree with huge roots protruding throughout the ground around it. The wind gives me a prick of anxiety throughout my gut as it blows my hair around in wafts that fail to seize with the wind. The tall greenish yellow grass around my ankles blows in all directions as the atmosphere changes to something I imagine would happen before a tornado strikes down.

I process it when it’s too late... the lightning strikes around me and I fly back, landing near a tree. I feel fried... my brain feels tingly; I lie on the ground staring up at the stormy sky- Did it work? I try to sit up and look around, but fail to move an inch. I feel the tears well up in my eyes as I know now that I’ve failed- this was all for nothing- the last thing I hear is the faint buzz of my phone ringing a few feet away where it’d fallen out of my pocket during the strike.

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My head pulses in waves as I blink slowly, the bright light hurts my eyes as I eventually gather the strength to open them. I see Gabriel sitting next to my side on the couch, looking to my right I see that we’re in the living room back at the Bunker. “What happened?” my voice comes out grumbly and hoarse as I sit myself up against the arm of the couch.

Gabriel shakes his head and looks down at the ground for a moment before looking back up, “What did you think you were doing Y/N? You could’ve killed yourself if I hadn’t found you!” Gabriel chastises me as I look to my left-into the Library- not wanting to meeting the anger and disappointment in his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter... it didn’t work” I sigh as I look down at my hands intertwined, resting in my lap, “thank you for saving me though,” I whisper as I look up into his eyes half-smiling; the anger within his eyes starts to diminish some as I stare into his fierce, caramel eyes.

“Just tell me this- were you trying to kill yourself?” Gabriel whispers in reply, he looks like he’s about to cry, though I’ve never seen him cry before, so who knows.

“No!” I exclaim with my hands as I look at him shocked he’d even suggest such a thing, “What are you? Cra-”

“Crazy? Sometimes. But honestly, Y/N, what the hell? Don’t give me that look- it makes sense, your Dad and Uncle just died and so, I don’t know- maybe you thought you had this grand idea and since you were in just the right mindset it seemed rational, hey- hear me out, look at me. I’m not saying that’s what you did, I’m just saying that’s what it looks like- that’s what I thought, okay?”

Gabriel explains calmly, making me question if despite my intentions, maybe I was actually trying to somehow put myself in the right situations to get myself killed. “Especially when I found you like that” he whispers so low I almost don’t hear him.

No, I wasn’t- I know what I was doing and I was doing it for the right reasons “Okay,” I say grumpily trying to avoid the conversation. I tuck my legs in so they won’t hit Gabriel when I get up from the couch. I walk to the kitchen, “How long was I out for?”

I hear Gabriel get up and follow me, “Three days,” I stop dead in my tracks, making him bump into my back. I turn around hastily.

“What?”

“Three days- you were out for three days. I healed you, I made sure you were alive and alright.” I bite my lower lip and try to swallow the lump in my throat; I walk through the doorway into the kitchen, not even feeling hungry but wanting something to do- Gabriel follows.

I open the fridge, quickly scanning it- Everything’s probably expired anyways I sigh and close it, I turn around to see Gabriel sitting on the edge of the table with one of his knees bent so his foot in on the tabletop. “What? What do you want Gabriel?”

His questioning look quickly turns to sorrow as he opens his mouth to reply, “For you to take care of yourself”

“I am”

“Unless you just happen to somehow not be hungry after three days of being KO’d, I think you should eat something” Gabriel suggests in the fatherly tone he uses on me when I’m obviously putting aside human necessities for arbitrary purposes, or not so arbitrary purposes in my mind. Not even to mention being told to take care of myself by an angel alone-not to mention archangel- just annoys me to some degree because Gabriel doesn’t even have to worry about hunger, let alone many other things.

“Everything’s expired, okay? I know it is”

“you expect me to believe everything in there is expired Y/N? Really?”

“No, but I know for a fact that it is Gabriel! I haven’t been back here,” I sigh as I feel sadness start to build in my belly, my face starting to get hot at the thought of tears.

“You mean since-” Gabriel starts but I finish,

“Since they died? Yeah... I mean since they died! I couldn’t bear to come back here so I’ve been drifting around.” I feel a few tears slip down my face and I turn away, he can’t see me cry- I wipe away the tears trying to gather myself together before turning back around. Quickly composing myself I rejoin the conversation. 

Gabriel smirks as he zaps a sandwich onto the table, gesturing to it smugly. i hate when he does this- he tries to manipulate me with his powers and abilities. I sigh and repeatedly look from the sandwich to him, back to the sandwich- should I take it? “Yes, you should” Gabriel says as I grab the plate and walk back into the ‘living/war room’.

“Where are you going?” 

“If I want to get everything back together then I have to be productive, at least go out and get groceries, duh” I say with a bit of the sandwich in my mouth; I grab my jacket off the back of the couch and turn around ready to leave, putting my pointer fingers around the keys in my jacket and pull them out, swinging them for emphasis that I can in fact take care of myself.

I freeze as I feel dread, guilt and shame fill my chest... flashbacks of the night they died come to the front of my mind at the thought of driving my father’s car. I have to do this... maybe if I can just prove to Gabe that I can take care of myself he’ll leave me alone.

Gabriel’s face changes to an expression of sorrow for a second before he snaps his fingers- “There, you don’t have to get groceries- it’s done- everything you’d need, or want is in the fridge”

“Gabriel! Just stop- I don’t want your help, okay? This is on me! I don’t need your help! I don’t need you to do basic things I can do for my goddamn grown-ass self! I don’t deserve it anymore... maybe you shouldn’t have saved me” I set the half eaten sandwich down on the side table next to the couch before taking my jacket back off and going to the one place I feel myself. “I just want to be alone, okay?” I call back over my shoulder, hoping he understands he’s not wanted.

I leave Gabriel standing sad and alone in the living room as I walk to my room in the Bunker, right down the same hall the Library is connected to; I start to cry as I close my bedroom door. I feel my breaths becoming heavy as I strip myself of the three day old clothing and walk into the bathroom, turning on the shower, then turning it back off... too much effort.

I throw on a big t-shirt, crawling into my bed and crying... just go to sleep Y/N, just go to sleep.

[ofthemuses]

A sentence meme of my favorite Halsey lyrics

From all her songs/albums. I love Halsey so freaking much. So I’m gonna make another Halsey meme. Also, I realize that her new album has less quotes than the others, but I haven’t listened to it as much yet! Cut for length because it’s long. 

“Throw me in the deep end, watch me drown.”

“ I'm helpless, clinging to a little bit of spine.”

“Viral mess turned dreams into an empire.“

“Survival of the richest, the city's ours until the fall.”

“They're Monaco and Hamptons bound, but we don't feel like outsiders at all.“

“What kind of dough have you been spending?“

“What kind of bubblegum have you been blowing lately?“

“All we do is think about the feelings that we hide.”

“And California never felt like home to me until I had you on the open road.”

“Your laugh echoes down the highway carves into my hollow chest, spreads over the emptiness. It’s bliss.”

“Would it really kill you if we kissed?“

“And there's a storm you're starting now.”

“I'm a wanderess.”

“Don't belong to no city. Don't belong to no man.”

“I'm the violence in the pouring rain. I’m a hurricane.”

“I found myself reminded to keep you far away from me.”

“Didn't know where we were running to. But don't look back.”

“Feet first, don't fall. We'll be running again.”

“I'm searching for something that I can't reach...“

“I like the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies.”

“And I swear "I hate you" when you leave.”

“My ghost, where’d you go?”

“I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me.”

“What happened to the soul that you used to be?“

“I love him but I know I'm gonna leave him...”

“You're only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope.”

“You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece.”

“I'm covered in the colors, Pulled apart at the seams.”

“And now he's so devoid of color. He don't know what it means.”

“I know I've only felt religion when I've lied with you.”

“You were red and you liked me 'cause I was blue. You touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky. And you decided purple just wasn't for you.”

“Everybody wants to know if we fucked on the bathroom sink.”

“We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night But the ending is the same every damn time.”

“They think I'm insane, they think my lover is strange.”

“But I don't have to fucking tell them anything.”

“I don't have to fucking tell you anything.”

“That's the beauty of a secret. You know you're supposed to keep it.”

“They know you walk like you're a God, they can't believe I made you weak.”

“These days I can't seem to make this right. Well, is this fine? Will it be alright?”

“When his hair falls in his face, And his hands so cold they shake.”

“Now we're lost somewhere in outer space. In a hotel room where demons play.”

“I've got a lover. A love like religion.”

“I'm such a fool for sacrifice.”

“I'm such a fool to pay this price.”

“I found the savior. I don't think he remembers. 'Cause he's off to pay his crimes. And he's got no time for mine.”

“Every single night pray the sun'll rise.”

“I was as pure as a river, But now I think I'm possessed.”

“I’ve been cold since you left.”

“You've got a fire inside but your heart's so cold.”

“'Cause I've done some things that I can't speak of.”

“I've tried to wash you away but you just won't leave.”

“I came here so you'd come for me.”

“I'm begging you to keep on haunting me.”

“You weren't looking for me.”

“Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me?“

“Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?“

“You can't wake up, this is not a dream.”

“You're part of a machine, you are not a human being.”

“ Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline."

“Well my heart is gold, and my hands are cold.”

“Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?“

“I sat alone, in bed 'til the morning.”

“My mind's like a deadly disease.”

“I'm bigger than my body. I'm colder than this home.”

“I'm meaner than my demons. I'm bigger than these bones.”

“Goddamn right, you should be scared of me.”

“I couldn't stand the person inside me. I turned all the mirrors around.”

 "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends.”

“ I know you wanna go to heaven but you're human tonight." 

“You know the two of us are just young gods.”

“I'm the king of everything and oh, my tongue is a weapon.”

"If you wanna go to heaven you should fuck me tonight."

“You told me this is right where it begins.”

“I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me.”

“ you clutched my brain and eased my ailing.”

“And I try to refrain, but you're stuck in my brain.”

“And all I do is cry and complain because second's not the same.”

“I'm sorry, but I fell in love tonight.“

“Feel like we've been falling down like these autumn leaves.”

“We're the underdogs in this world alone.”

“I'm a believer, got a fever running through my bones.”

“They can break our hearts, they won't take our souls.”

“Would you bleed for me?“

“I bet you kiss your knuckles right before they touch my cheek.”

“But I've got my mind, made up this time.“

“Cause there's a menace in my bed. Can you see his silhouette?”

“Set a fire in my head, tonight.“

“Would you lie for me? Cross your sorry heart and hope to die for me?“

“Don't forget me, don't forget me.”

“I wouldn't leave you if you'd let me.“

"one day I'd realize why I don't have any friends" 

“ I don't let him touch me anymore.”

“Cause I have spent too many nights on dirty bathroom floors to find some peace and quiet right behind a wooden door."

"please don't go away" 

"it's too late" 

“ I can't stop thinking that I almost gave you everything.”

“And now the whole thing's finished and I can't stop wishing that I never gave you anything.”

“Now I'm constantly reminded of the time I was 19.”

“Now if I keep my eyes closed he looks just like you.”

“Would've gave it all for you, cared for you. So tell me where I went wrong.”

“But you've been replaced. I'm face to face with someone new.”

“Can you hear my heartbeat fucking kickin'?“

“And you thought that you were the boss tonight. But I can put up one good fight.”

“Don't you see what you're finding? This is Heaven in hiding.”

“Said this ain't what you usually do, and a girl like me is new for you. And I can tell you mean it cause you're shakin'.”

“'Cause I'm Heaven in hiding.”

“'Cause I can sometimes treat the people that I love like jewelry.”

“Sorry that I can't believe that anybody ever really starts to fall in love with me.”

“Didn't mean to leave you and all of the things that we had behind.”

“Someone will love you but someone isn't me.”

“ I believe that we're meant to be.”

“Look, I don't mean to frustrate, but I always make the same mistakes.”

“I'm bad at love, but you can't blame me for tryin'.”

“You know I'd be lyin' sayin' you were the one that could finally fix me.”

“But I never got the chance to make her mine, because she fell in love with little thin white lines.”

“But I always think about it when I'm riding through.”

“I know that you're afraid I'm gonna walk away each time the feeling fades.”

“She doesn't look me in the eyes anymore, too scared of what she'll see, somebody holding me.”

“When I wake up all alone and I'm thinking of your skin.”

“She doesn't call me on the phone anymore.”

“She's never listening, she says it's innocent.”

“I must've crossed a line, I must've lost my mind.”

“I miss the mornings with you laying in my bed.”

“I miss the memories replaying in my head.”

“ I hide and cower in the corner, conversation's getting hard.”

“And I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire.”

“I'm standin' in the ashes of who I used to be.”

“Now it's my own anxiety that makes the conversation hard.”

“You said I should eat my feelings, head held high.”

“I won't take anyone down if I crawl tonight.”

“And I went tumbling down trying to reach your high.”

“But I scream too loud if I speak my mind.”

“I don't wanna wake it up, the devil in me.”

“Gotta wake up, come back to life.”

“You said I'm too much to handle.”

You said I shine too bright, I burnt the candle. Flew too high.”

[hookedonapirate]

Request prompt?--My SO has just dumped me and I've gotten piss drunk and I've a) drunkenly stumbled into the incorrect bathroom in the midst of ugly sobbing and you either forgot to lock the door or were out in the open and are very concerned about my state. B) somehow managed to get into your room and not my own (whether apartment or hotel) and I'm trying to masturbate my feelings away and boy were you surprised. Cheers!

A Helping Hand

Chapter 1

A/N: So, I couldn’t resist writing scenario B nor could I cram everything into a one-shot so there will be more.

Rated: M

Ch 2

The bar was crowded and loud. And the air was dreadfully thick. It was the last place he wanted to be, but far better than the alternative. Killian shuffled through the crowd, the obnoxious beat playing through the speakers and boisterous chatter doing nothing to numb his thoughts. Every noise was muffled and faded out by the conversation that echoed in his mind like a freight train sounding through the night. Reminding him of the last time he saw her before she walked out and slammed the door, disappearing from his life forever.

Killian plopped down onto a stool, slumping over the bar counter as he waited for the bartender. He just needed something to drown the pain. Something strong.

The argument started with something small, quickly spiraling out of control like gasoline to a fire. He was gone too much, he wasn’t adventurous enough. He didn’t love her anymore. According to Milah. Her tone was laced with anger, eyes devoid of any kind of love… at least any kind of love for him.

What it all boiled down to was that she already knew it was over before it was actually over.

All of the obscenities and excuses she threw at him that night were just a mask. Covering up her betrayal. Everything he thought that he knew was a lie. She was a lie. Her empty promises and scheming attempts of showing him how much she loved him and telling him she was divorcing her husband. It was all just a bloody fantastic charade.

“A rum, please,” he drawled out when the bartender approached. Killian watched him fetch a glass and pour the golden brown liquid from the bottle before sliding it over.

Killian clenched his jaw as he grabbed the glass, the bitter memories of the ungrateful bitch embedded in his brain. He threw back the rum, the wretched sting of alcohol sliding down Killian’s throat as he gulped it down, thinking about how his whole world had turned upside down in a blink of an eye.

He had never seen it coming. He knew there were problems brewing between them after he lost his hand. After his discharge from the hospital. But he thought he had been imagining it all. He refused to accept that she was embarrassed of him for being injured and having to leave the Navy. He refused to believe that she went back to her husband.

He gave up everything for her.

The relationship had caused tension between Killian and his older brother, and eventually the control Milah had over him pushed Liam away. Killian lost the close bond with him because of her. Liam didn’t approve of the relationship from the beginning. He didn’t think she was good enough for his brother.

Milah was married, not even separated with her husband at the time and she had tattoos all over her body. Killian fought with his brother many times about her and they eventually stopped talking to each other all together. All of the days they spent working side by side and serving in the British Navy together, turned into bitter memories. And even though Killian crawled back to Liam on his hands and knees, figuratively speaking, begging for forgiveness and even though Killian was now staying at his flat, he was in much too dark a place to hope that things would go back to the way they were before.

He downed another glass of rum. Then another. And a few more. Slowly drowning out the mixture of rage, anguish, and sadness inside of him until he had the courage to stand on his own two feet. Taking a deep breath, he dragged himself out of the stool. Between the jet lag from the treacherously long flight from England and the buzz that took over him, the sting in his heart was still fresh, but somewhat bearable. Killian maneuvered his way through the bar and stepped outside, the chill of the air waking his senses ever so briefly. He took a cab to his brother’s place, his words slurred as he attempted to give the driver the address. Killian was surprised he even remembered what it was.

~*~

Emma’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter as she hastily threw her dirty clothes in the basket with a groan. She hated doing laundry on Friday night, but it was the only time when all of the machines weren’t being occupied. And now she was reduced to a pair of grey shorts and a yellow tank top as she retrieved a bottle of laundry detergent from the closet and threw it on the pile. It was rather light but she had at least two more loads left before she had to buy more. Her phone was ringing incessantly against the hard surface but she chose to ignore the call. It was most likely her ex-boyfriend, Neal, trying to get back with her. She’ll check her phone later.

She grabbed her keys from the counter, and took each of the handles of the basket, making her way across the beige carpet to the front door. She tucked the basket in one arm as she turned the knob with her free hand, locking the door behind her. She couldn’t wait to get this over with as she trudged down the hall with determined steps. She walked down the three flights of stairs and unlocked the door to the laundry room.

Entering the empty room, she dropped the basket on the cement floor in front of the washer, relieved that there were a few unoccupied machines. Lifting the lid, she started emptying the clothes into the washer, a mindless task that she always dreaded. While doing so, she noticed that her roommates clothes were mixed in with Emma’s. Elsa was one for accidentally throwing hers in with Emma’s when she had too many for one load. Emma rolled her eyes and tossed them in the washer.

She loved her roommate dearly, but ever since Elsa started seeing the neighbor across the hall, she had been a little distracted. She mostly stayed at her boyfriend’s place, and Emma didn’t know why Elsa didn’t just move in with him. Not that Emma wanted her to. They had become close friends ever since she posted the ad for a roommate two years ago. Emma would be sad to see her move out, even if only across the hall.

Once all of the clothes were transferred, she grabbed the laundry detergent and tipped it over the opening of the machine, pouring in the contents.

Emma’s eyes widened with disbelief when she realized there was hardly a thin stream of the blue liquid left. Elsa must have used the last of it and didn’t bother to replace it before she left for the weekend. Emma started shaking the bottle violently, trying to get every last drop, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Letting out a loud huff, she started unloading the washer, but then stopped. She had another idea. Emma slammed the lid shut and grabbed the basket and her keys, exiting the room. She went upstairs and unlocked her door to deposit the basket in her apartment. Once she set it on the floor, she went back out, shutting the door behind her and making the small trek across the hall.

She had a key to her neighbor’s apartment and he was out of town with Elsa, staying at her sister’s place for the weekend. Surely, he would have some laundry detergent. She unlocked the door and went into the apartment, quickly finding some liquid detergent in the closet and snatching it up. She locked the apartment back up and headed for the stairs, passing the elevator on her way as it opened.

~*~

Killian somehow made it to the third floor, although he had no recollection of how he got from the bar to his brother’s apartment. All he knew was that the door of the elevator was in front of him as it ascended, and he was positive that he would not have survived the stairs. He was now feeling the effects of the rum, his mind unfocused, his eyes lazy and his vision disoriented. He felt dizzy from just watching the elevator doors open.

Now, he just had to find which apartment was Liam’s.

Killian had rarely visited his brother since he moved to New York to begin teaching, and Killian’s stay was very brief before he dropped off his luggage and left for the bar. Liam had already went with his girlfriend for the weekend when Killian’s plane arrived in New York. Liam didn’t even bother to meet him at the airport. He left a key under the doormat. That’s how estranged they had become. Killian was shocked when his brother even agreed to let him stay while he attempted to pick up the pieces from his breakup. He supposed it was because he had told Liam he was no longer with Milah and he wanted to turn his life around.

Stepping out of the elevator, a flash of golden hair passed him. He barely got a glimpse of her face before she was heading towards the stairway, but her backside was quite the view. Killian had to blink to make sure he was not hallucinating. Either he was really smashed or she had a really hot ass, perhaps both. Sexy, toned legs quickly disappeared as she fled down the stairs, not even noticing his presence. Killian had to remind himself what he was doing as he tried to shake the image out of his mind.

Oh yes, finding his brother’s apartment.

He snapped out of his gaze and turned around, trudging down the hall., trying to remember which apartment number it was.

Liam’s address was in his phone, but Killian was really in no condition to try and search through his cell to successfully pull up the apartment number. He saw one door read 8C, and was certain that was his brother’s, although it could also have been 6C, but it was hard to tell when the number and letter were drifting through his blurry vision like they were.

Wow, he was really trashed. He just needed to sleep it off.

He stepped up to it and looked down to fish out his keys, seeing there was a doormat with a picture of what he made out to be a sailboat. Yes, this was definitely the one. Now, if only he could unlock the door.

He struggled with the keys, attempting to find the correct one in his drunken state (he only had two keys). Killian shifted a bit, almost stumbling over, but with slow success at trying to keep his good hand from shifting, he managed to slide the apartment key in the hole. Before he could even turn the key, the door opened. He must have forgotten to lock it when he left for the bar. Oh well, he was really too drunk to give a fuck.

Stumbling into the apartment with movements that were far from graceful, he shoved his keys in his pocket and made his way to the bedroom, running into a laundry basket and some furniture and mumbling a string of curses along the way. When he reached the first door he could find, he shut it behind him and chucked of his shoes, wondering why the bedroom had tiled floor.

He undressed himself with great struggle, barely able to unbutton his shirt, lazily tossing it to the floor. Hooking his thumbs underneath the hem of his pants and boxers, he decided to screw it all; he hated sleeping with his clothes on, so he shoved the offending material down with force and kicked them off until he was bare naked, besides his black socks and the chain around his neck with Naval charms. He reached for what he thought was the bed, quickly realizing that it was the bathtub when there wasn’t a mattress or blankets, but solid walls and a great big hole instead. He got in anyway, deciding this was probably better in case he had to vomit. And at this point, he was too far gone to care.

He settled in the tub, feeling the coolness against his back as he leaned his head on the edge and stared at the dark ceiling. With the loneliness of the apartment, he could feel the pain rising to the surface again. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, expelling a long, weary sigh that was nowhere close to expressing how much sorrow he felt. After enduring three bloody years of Milah’s nonstop complaints about her husband every chance she got, how could she to do this to him? How could she just betray him and leave after everything?

Snapping his eyelids shut, he tried to summon other thoughts. Anything to help dull the misery he felt. Anything that would temporarily relieve the unbelievable sadness that overwhelmed him. So he thought of the last image he could recall; blonde hair, milky skin and long legs. Killian forced himself to stay focused on her, not that it was very difficult. And it was working. His cock started stirring to life and he couldn’t resist the urge to touch himself, to curl his hand around his hard cock at the image invading his thoughts.

He had went to the bar looking for someone to give him a quick fuck, but he found himself nowhere in the mood to be sociable or charming. Instead he would just take matters into his own hand. He didn’t need a woman anyways. He had one good hand and that was all he needed. Women just teased him, making him fall head over heals and then when he was weak, they thrived on the opportunity to reach into chest and rip out his bloody heart. Technically it was only one woman, but still, he was far better off on his own.

Slowly falling down the rabbit hole, he quckly pictured the blonde again and started moving his hand up and down his length, stroking himself.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed.

After a couple of rather dreary days, it felt good to just feel himself and give himself pleasure underneath his own hand, even for just a brief moment.

He bit his bottom lip at the thought of her ass and the exposed skin below, her luscious creamy thighs that he wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of. He didn’t get a chance to see her face but he really didn’t need to. She was carrying a bottle of liquid detergent, indicating that she had been heading to the laundry room, so he pictured himself stalking after her and entering the room to show her what he knew she never had before; a good, hard, satisfying fuck.

Already nearing his peak, he started thrusting into his grasp, greedily searching for sweet bliss as he pondered what it would be like ramming himself into that gorgeous ass from behind as she braced herself against the washing machine. Her hair was in a long braid so he imagined how bloody fantastic it would be to grab and pull on it while he pounded into her over and over, taking his pleasure. A low grunt tickled his throat as he pumped himself fiercely at the thought of yanking on that mane of golden hair, making her scream out in pleasure.

~*~

Emma came back up the stairs after she had started the washer and went into her neighbor’s apartment to replace the detergent. She knew he wouldn’t mind that she was using it. Even before he and Elsa started dating, she often went across the hall to borrow from him when she was out of something, whether it be coffee or pancake mix or laundry detergent, her neighbor was always happy to help out.

Although, the first time they met, he had just moved in from England and she came over knocking on his door asking for a cucumber. He looked at her as though she were nuts, but Emma legit needed a cucumber for her roommate’s puffy eyes when she had an allergic reaction to some medication she had taken. It turned out, he really did have cucumbers in his refrigerator. In fact there was never a time when the British man did not have something one of the girls needed. Of course they’ve never came by asking for tampons but, hell, he probably had a stash of those too from an ex-girlfriend or just because he was a very thoughtful guy who was surrounded by female occupants in the other units.

Emma came back to her apartment and started to insert the key in the lock when she remembered she never locked it after she dropped off the clothes basket. But she was only gone for maybe ten minutes. What were the chances someone broke in during that amount of time? She opened the door and set her keys on the end table, heading for her bedroom. Emma was all sweaty from going up and down the stairs several times, and the apartment was rather warm.

She turned down the heat and decided to take a shower while she waited for her clothes to wash. Emma peeled off her clothes, stripping down to her lacey pink bra and matching underwear, throwing her dirty clothes in the hamper. She didn’t have anymore clean clothes, but she could borrow something of Elsa’s. They were similar in size, except Elsa was an inch taller.

Walking down the hall and reaching the bathroom she opened the door, flipping on the light.

“Bloody hell…”

Emma was dead in her tracks when she let out a scream that surely the neighbors would have heard. Quickly trying to cover herself with her hands she averted her gaze from the sight. But it was too late. She had already gotten an eyeful.

“What the hell?!” The words tore from her throat, panic rushing through her blood as she tried to slow her heart rate down and catch her breath. In a haste of ungraceful movements, she grabbed her bathrobe from the door hook and covered herself up with it, trying to comprehend what the hell she was seeing without actually looking directly at him.

There was a man in her bathtub. A naked man. He had squinted his eyes shut to block out the light of the room and was now slowly opening them. He noticed she was there but she could tell he was drunk as he lifted his head and arched a brow, pulling his lips into a smirk, his eyes scanning her body. And while doing so, she was very much aware that he had his hand around his stiff and rather large cock. And he was masterbating! In her tub! Where she washed herself!

A million thoughts were racing through Emma’s mind, making her dizzy with fear as she grabbed a pair of tweezers from a drawer underneath the sink. Keeping her eyes fixed on his face to avoid seeing his junk again, she held up the tweezers as though it were a weapon, threatening him with it while she used her other hand to hold up her robe. ‘Nice, Emma. What are you going to do, tweezers him to death?!’ she asked herself, still struck with shock.

The ridiculously attractive man with a mop of messy black hair, did not seem to be the least bit intimidated as his smile faded. His steel blue eyes were dark and full of wreckage, his lips and jaw lined with well more than a few days’ worth of stubble.

“If you wanted to join me, all you had to do was ask.” He attempted a flirty tone, but his words were slurred as he spoke in an accent that sent shivers down her spine.

Her mouth was dry as she managed to speak again. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?!”

A befuddled look fell upon his features. “What are you talking about, lass? This is my brother’s apartment, and you’re the one rudely barging in without knocking, turning on bleedin’ lights and not even offering to help a poor bloke out.”

She scoffed dramatically. “Sorry to tell you this, but you’ve stumbled into the wrong apartment.” There was irritation and a hint of amusement in her tone, but it was far from playful. And once she was able to tear her gaze away from his dangerously appealing face, she noticed he was still stroking himself. “Could you please stop that?” she asked as she bent over and picked up his shirt, throwing it over his package.

He finally stopped, but she was certain it was because he was too tired to continue. A look of confusion washed over his features as though his brain was finally registering what she was saying. “But this is 8C, love.”

“No, it’s-” she started, when realization hit her. Now it made sense. This was the brother that Liam had mentioned but never spoke about. “It’s not. It’s 6C. Liam’s apartment is across the hall.”

“You know him?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yes, he’s my neighbor and also my roommate’s boyfriend.”

Killian looked at her in bemusement. “Emma’s your roommate?”

“No, I’m Emma. My roommate is Elsa. Now, if you would be so kind and remove yourself from my tub, that would be great.”

“But, your doormat has a picture of a sailboat?” he mumbled, scratching his head.

God, this guy really was smashed. “No, it’s a Swan. My best friend got it for me when I moved in.”

“Ah, now that makes sense,” he drawled, resting his head back against the tub with a lazy smile.

Emma sighed, a mixture of frustration and exhaustion as she set the pair of tweezers on the counter. She didn’t even know Liam’s brother was coming into town.

“Lass?”

“Hmmm?” Emma lifted her head and eyed him questionably.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he groaned, his face as pale as a sheet. “Could you help me out of the tub?”

Emma immediately put on her robe, securing the belt around her waist before she came to his side and grabbed him under his arms, trying to pull him up. “You’ll have to help me.”

He leaned forward and lifted his weight, allowing her to wrap her arms around him and haul him up into a sitting position. Emma summoned all of her strength, registering the close proximity she was to this naked man. Her body was pressed to his as he breathed in her ear, and he reeked of alcohol. He grasped onto her tightly as she lifted him up with all of the body strength she could muster. She realized quickly that he was wearing a prosthetic replacing his left hand as it rested against her back.

With his help, she finally got him in a semi-standing position and she let her eyes fall, waiting for him to step over the edge, when she noticed that his shirt had slid down to the bottom of the tub and he was now exposed again, but the only thing that mattered at this point was helping this guy out of her tub so that he didn’t vomit all over himself. “Okay, now step over the tub, so we can get you to the toilet. Can you do that for me?”

A broad, lazy smile crossed his lips. “Anything for a lovely lass like you.” He slowly lifted his leg one by one until his feet were on the tiled floor, but by that point it was too late. Vomit started spewing out of his mouth, running down her clothed back. Emma moved more quickly, getting him to the toilet (luckily it was close) and helping him kneel on the floor.

He started upchucking into the opening as she held onto him by his bicep and rubbed his back. “That’s it, let it out,” she urged him in a soothing but resentful manner. Liam was sooo going to owe her for this.

Another round hit him and his body clenched as he continued to puke, making unpleasant sounds as he did.

When he finished, he caught his breath, his face still in the toilet, just in case there was still more to come.

Emma took the opportunity to leave his side and grab a blanket. It was one that Mary Margaret had knitted for her but it was the only one she had other than the blankets on her bed. It needed to be washed anyway. She retrieved it from the sofa and entered the bathroom again, draping the blanket over his back before fetching a washcloth from the cupboard and dampening it under the faucet. “All finished?” She asked him, wiping the the remnants of puke from his mouth and chin.

“I think so,” he managed in gargled voice.

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed. Come on.” She set the washcloth aside and wrapped her arm around his back underneath the blanket and lifted his arm, curling it around her shoulder as he started to stand up. She turned her head, looking up at him and urging him to move. He flashed her a wink and a flirty smirk.

“You don’t have to ask twice to get me into your bed, love.”

The slightest hint of a smile pulled at her lips, her cheeks filling with blush. This guy was hitting on her in his birthday suit, completely plastered, but somehow it was the most adorable thing ever. She would hate to see the responses he got from women he was hitting on while he was sober. “Okay, let’s go.”

Killian put his leg forward, and at first he started to fall, not being able to hold his weight. His legs started to buckle underneath him, but she spoke encouraging words and eventually they made it to Emma’s bedroom. She should have had him sleep in Elsa’s bed, he was Liam’s brother after all, but she’d rather him puke in her bed rather than her roommate’s, because that was the type of person she was. Always putting others before herself, even though she frequently got screwed over in return, but mostly by the ex-boyfriend that she would rather not think about right now. That was an entirely different story.

Emma helped Killian walk carefully and slowly across the floor, vaguely aware that his junk was swinging below, just inches away from her, his leg brushing over the fabric of her robe and rubbing against her leg with every other step.

They finally made it to their destination and Emma pulled apart from him to push the blankets back before sitting him on the edge of the bed, making sure to cover him up with the blanket. “I’ll be right back with your clothes and a throw-up bucket,” she told him. If he was going to sleep under her blankets, she was certainly not going to be having his naked body and manhood taint her delicate sheets.

The bastard didn’t listen though, and instead he laid back and lifted his legs on the bed, sprawling across it in his (gloriously) naked form. Emma averted her eyes, groaning her disapproval. “You don’t listen very well, do you?”

Keeping her eyes shielded, she reached over and pulled the blankets over him. She would just clean her bedding very, very thoroughly tomorrow when there was no longer a naked drunk person sleeping in it.

“You sound like my brother,” he mumbled, stirring and getting awfully comfy in her bed.

She sighed again and left the room to retrieve his clothes and the bucket she promised him. She set the bucket to next to her bed and folded his clothes, laying them on her upholstered chair across the room before leaving again to get him a glass of water. She returned to him and lifted his head, urging him to drink it, which he did, before she set it on the nightstand.

She eyed his prothstetic as it rested beside him over the blanket.

“Do you want me to…?” she started, pointing towards it.

He gave a soft nod and she reached over and gently removed the brace, setting the prosthetic hand next to the glass of water.

“What’s you name, beautiful?” he asked, as though he forgot who she was, flashing her a charming smile. She returned it with a sarcastic smirk.

“It’s Emma, remember? Emma Swan.”

“Apologies, love.”

The pet name tugged at her belly. He really needed to stop calling her that.

“Such a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I’m Killian,” he uttered softly, lazily offering his hand. “The much better and more handsome Jones brother.” Emma blushed and shook his hand, rolling her eyes. His innocent smile became a devious one.

“Oh my god!” she shot her hand back, remembering what he was just doing with that same hand only moments ago. “Okay, it’s time for you to sleep,” she demanded, trying to calm her voice down. “And it’s time for me to take a long and cleansing shower.”

Killian wiggled his brows in a suggestive manner. “I’d be happy to join you if you need some company,” he said slowly, his words slurred.

“Gee thanks for the offer but I think you’ve spent enough time in my tub for one night,” she replied sarcastically. “And wipe that charming smirk off your face, because,” she waved her hand between them, “Ain’t nothing going to happen between us, got it?”

He seemed to accept her answer and snuggled the pillow underneath his head as his eyes fell shut. “Whatever you say lass.”

“Okay. Now, get some rest and I’ll make some breakfast in the morning. Sound good?”

He groaned, a look of disgust on his face. “Not really.”

“You might feel differently in the morning.” Emma started to head towards the door.

“Swan?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned around, lifting an eyebrow. “Hmmm?”

“Could you make pancakes with blueberries? My mum used to make me pancakes with blueberries.”

She sighed. “On one condition…”

“What’s that, love?” he mumbled languidly, his eyes still closed.

“I’ll make you blueberry pancakes if you refrain from masturbating in my bed.”

“As you wish.” He was slow on the draw but there was promise in his garbled words.

“Then we have a deal.” Did she even have pancake mix or blueberries? Probably not. Definitely not. Maybe Liam did, though. “I will make you blueberry pancakes.”

Killian didn’t waste any time falling asleep and Emma left the room, doing as she promised. She removed her robe and underwear, tossing them to the floor and stepped into the hot, steamy shower, washing the evening out of her hair.

When she got out, she put on a pair of Elsa’s sweatpants and a t-shirt before leaving her unit to transfer the clothes to the dryer.

She came back, depositing the basket on the floor before entering her room to check on Killian. He was sound asleep. Emma shut the door with a soft click and grabbed her phone off of the kitchen counter, seeing that she had two missed calls from Elsa and one from Liam along with a voicemail.

Listening to it, she realized that the reason for the call was to give her a heads up about Killian’s stay at his place while he got back on his feet.

Yeah, some heads up.

Emma went to the sofa, setting the phone on the coffee table as she plopped down on the couch. As she turned on the television, she realized how much more boring her night had gotten compared to earlier. It was certainly an interesting turn of events.

How did she go from engaging in a mundane task such as doing laundry to walking into a drunk, naked stranger in her tub masterbating? She tried to block out the images from her mind, but there was really no use. She might as well just accept the fact right now that they would be burned into her brain forever.

Emma flipped through the channels while trying to evade the thoughts of the naked man in her bed and realizing that she had to put up with him living across the hall.

She was so going to kill Liam. Or Killian. Or both.

[a51cross]

#poetry hr

I lost mind

I guess ill set it free

Things are hectic

Not smooth how they used to be

Sometimes im drowning

In a lake of air

Please take the oxygen out me

The whole world doubting me

Loose words turn to allegations

Alligator me

Tough skin leave me with no friends

Check my palace see

Only me in my world of chaos

Please end my reality

6ft dying slow is where

He rather be

Gathering my last breaths

Moving as slow as slug in salt

Lights burning me

Blades cut to the third degree

Fron the ones

I swore had love for me

My brain popped like bottles

Hoping no one will open me

Spill me over like coffee beans

I guess my brain a mess

Trigeminal achored to my stress

And last regrets was leaving your face

No emotions pour over

Like gravy over plates

Body trembles like earthquakes

To depressed to even masturbate

I can live forever saying im feeling great

Its only a lie i can never shake

Hearts at break

So i pump my brakes

Cause i cant lead the way

On the side road of love

Hoping someone will stop and stay

To help me i can't fix it all

Im so unhealthy

Im a probably fall

Into this wave of gasoline

I need to light it all

My soul on fire

Im the cannon ball

Im sinking in the ocean

Someone watch sink

Cause he could never crawl

Lost his heart,brain, i don't mind

Can you take it all

Number then a bitch

On her third bottle of alchool

.....

[littlemissrio-blog]

Help

All I can think to say is "Help." Except I can't ask for help, so here I am. I was working on another post, one about my excursion as a sober person to the bars last night, but I got hit hard with a wave of sadness I can't seem to shake. If I can't sleep, as usual, maybe I'll finish that one and get that out too. For now....just listen to me whine. I'm in the middle of two significant struggles in my life right now. Everyone has their struggles, I think that's why I don't feel comfortable relying on anyone else just yet for help. Mine seem standard, cliche, I did them to myself and probably don't deserve anyone's help or sympathy. At least that's how they feel. I'm trying to reconcile them, figure out where exactly I am in them, figure out how to articulate them to other people. One of my biggest issues as a person is general, is I become overwhelmed with words. Not as in verbal diarrhea. Although I definitely have that problem too. As in, when I feel something very intensely, it's as if I can see a cloud of words in my mind, all of the complicated mixture of feelings that I'm feeling, all at once. I can't pull a single one out to articulate. I can't focus on one to process it. PAINFEARSADANXIOUSTEARSOUCHHELPLOVESCAREDPLEASEHELP They all flood at once. Word after word, feeling after feeling. And it shuts me down. Completely. So I don't say anything. And then I explode, but I explode all the words at once and it doesn't make sense to anyone, not even me. And I say every wrong thing, and I don't explain how I'm feeling properly, and I think that because I have a picture in my mind that what I'm saying paints that picture. But it never does. I look back later and it's never the right picture. I never made it to the right point, never the main point. I always say something else, and it's infuriating. Since I struggle to articulate, and become overwhelmed, I often don't say anything. Or I think...I don't know what I think. That the person I ask for help will think it's stupid, or that they're tired of dealing with me. And this is where I am now. I've talked to one friend about my two struggles. The main one is being sober. This is the hardest one for me to talk about. I still don't know how I feel. It's so huge, it's taking so long for me to process. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to say to myself. If I don't know what to say to myself, how can I say anything to anyone else? But I asked her if she could talk, and she called me. I made her tell me stories about nothing for nearly 20 minutes before I worked up the nerve to even hint at what I needed to talk to her about. I don't remember what I said. All I remember is as soon as I opened my mouth, the tears came pouring out instead of words. I remember that as soon as I started talking, I didn't seem to be able to stop it. I told her all the things I had been keeping to myself. That every Friday, I go out for sushi and wine. I drink a bottle at dinner, and then drive to a friend's house and drink another bottle and then drive home like it's nothing. That I've been drinking so much liquor my stomach is bleeding again. I can't go to happy hour without having at least 4 or 5 drinks, and of course driving home. Because I can't be the girl who was "too drunk" and because getting an Uber is money I don't want to spend, and then I'll have to get back to my car to get to work in the morning. Because naturally, I drink pretty much every day so this would be a daily hassle. And naturally, I need a bedtime drink to put me to sleep, so I stop at the gas station on the way home and buy myself a couple of 2 for $3 beers to drink in 45 minutes or less, because it's past my bedtime, and I have a schedule to keep. At least...I think this is what I said. In my mind, these are the things I didn't have the courage to tell anyone, ever, so they were the things I needed to say to make it real. Maybe all I did was sob and tell her I was a drunk and an addict and I needed to be sober. I do know I didn't go into the details about the "addict" as a differentiation, but it was enough of a start that I felt relieved. I asked her not to tell anyone, that I wasn't ready to talk about it with other people. I can barely figure it out in my own mind still, I'm definitely not ready to make the announcement to the world yet. It's a funny thing, trying to figure out how much of an addict you are. When I list out the things I do, it's obvious in the rational part of my brain. These are the things that other people do that make me worry over them constantly and use them as warning stories to others, but when I do them...it's just my nature. It's just how I am in my mind, it's just...it just is. So there's a part of my brain that pipes up and says "No, no, no you're not a drunk. You aren't an addict. You're fine. You're overreacting. You're being dramatic. You just want attention, stop being ridiculous." I never fully understood this voice until now. I had an idea of it, but I couldn't comprehend the inner dialogue and how convincing it can be until right now. Now I know why they use former addicts as counselors. You can't understand it until you've had the conversations with yourself. This whole being a sober person thing has it's own set of new and exciting issues. We all know by now that I don't sleep. I sleep even less now. I have to relearn how to do all of my favorite things, because all of my favorite things I've always thought were made better by drinking or being fucked up in general. In reality, I think I'm doing pretty ok with the sober part. I feel much more like myself, the version of myself that I love. I don't have the ridiculous mood swings, or anger that I've never really ever had but suddenly pops up when I'm drunk. I feel much more clear headed, I don't feel overwhelming sadness all the time like I did before. I would drink when I felt anxious especially, but weirdly enough that anxiety level has dropped immensely and it doesn't really pop up all that often. I have plenty of habits to break and new routines to get used to, but all in all I can honestly say I feel so much better. Until...I miss my friend. This is my second major struggle, and they come hand in hand. I've lost my best friend, because I was a drunken asshole. I mean, asshole to a level that I have never achieved. In a way I can't comprehend. I was completely terrible to a person who has never been anything but good to me. Ok, maybe not anything but good, but every struggle that we've had as friends he's made huge leaps to "fix." Looking back on some of the things I was so upset about, I can pinpoint a moment in my own life that was wrong with me, but I took it out on him, and yet he still adjusted for me. I've been going over and over the things I said, and I can't figure out why I would say any of them. He's had his own struggles, and in reality all I've ever done is love him and want the best for him. In my heart, I do nothing but cheer for him, and know how amazing and capable he is, and I literally smile from ear to ear when he accomplishes something or overcomes a hurdle that's been put in his way. But in my mouth, I seem to hold nothing but gasoline and matches meant only to set our friendship on fire. And that's what I did. I don't know why. I don't have an explanation for it. All I have is that I was drunk, and I was hurting about something else, and instead of leaning into him like I should have, I did everything I could to make him leave me. Maybe I was feeling one of those "poor me, everyone leaves me" bullshit things that happen sometimes. I was grieving the one year anniversary of the death of someone very important to me. And then I drank. I drank a lot. And then I drove home. And I got up the next day and started drinking and I drank all day and I lost my shit. And with my shit, I lost the most important person in my life. So, now I'm grieving him too. I can say that I would not be in the position of getting sober if it hadn't happened. I do know that it's a fucked up silver lining. I would have killed someone. I would have killed myself. I would have ended up in jail. I've probably already killed my liver. I know that my body and the weight that I seem to struggle with are taking huge hits because of it. And I'm trying to be thankful for this moment, this clarity, the feeling level headed and normal again. But Jesus Fucking Christ, I need my friend. I know that I need to give him space. And that he's done with me and we'll never be friends again because I've done so much damage. And he probably won't say that I have, because I can admit that there are moments that I miss him so intensely that I send him messages because I seem to lack that impulse control. But I have tried. So hard. I've taken to turning my phone off at night and when I'm at work and leaving it in my car so that I don't have access to it and can't beg him to tell me why he ghosted me. I do understand him being upset with me. I would be upset with me too. I have a harder time understanding how he can just completely cut off the level of friendship we had like it didn't mean anything. Maybe that's his way of dealing with it. In my mind....my anxious, twisted mind...he doesn't think about me anymore. I don't exist to him, he's already forgotten me and doesn't care about me at all and never will again. I know that's probably not true. I hope it's not true. Not because I want him to hurt too. I would give anything to take all of the pain he's been feeling lately for him. I know that I caused him pain, more pain than anyone has any right to, so that statement probably sounds like bullshit. But I would do anything to take his pain away. Take this pain away. But I hope it's not true, because that would mean that I meant so little to him. I don't think it's true because I know him. I know how deeply he feels things, how important things are to him, how hard he worked to overcome things and show me that I was important to him and that he loved me. And then I set it on fire. And that's on me. And it kills me every day. So here I am. Tonight I couldn't take it. I missed him so much. There were so many funny pictures and articles I read today, so many inside jokes I wanted to send him and the sun went down and I couldn't take it. My friend was in bed, I couldn't call her. Besides, if I set my mind on something, there's no way she could have talked me out of it. She told me I should write things down. All the things I want to tell him. So that's what I've been doing. This is not that. That is a much different list. A list of all of the things I should have listened to when he told me, all the things I regret, all the things I wish I hadn't said, all the things that make him amazing, all the things that make him the most beautiful sould I've ever seen in my life. I write them down so I don't bother him with them. I'll probably never get to say them to him, but I write them down. So I got up, I went to the gas station. Watched the drunk guy in front of me fumble with his dollar bills. My heart hurt so bad I puked in my parking lot, but I stood there and ignored the 2 for $3 beers calling to me just feet behind me. I bought a pack of cigarettes. I did not pick up my phone and send him a text. I came back here and wrote this down. Hopefully I can continue to avoid the texting, give him the space away from me he needs and probably deserves. I don't have a witty ending for this. I am a human who is struggling, and right now I'm happy with how I'm doing. I'm definitely not perfect, and I'm not nailing all of it. But I'm definitely doing at least 92% better than I was 9 days ago.