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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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Crushed 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: Welcome back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

“Come here,” Jonathan rasps as he drags his hands over his chest.

Woozy and windswept in the afterglow of passion, you bat your lashes up at him as you lazily recline against the pillow. He wiggles his body down the bed so he lays flat. You watch him curiously and reach to play with a blond hank of his mussed hair. Never did you expect to see the refined gentleman in such a state.

“What do you mean?” You squeal.

“Here,” he slaps his chest, “sit.”

“What?” You exclaim, recoiling your hand. “I couldn’t… I wouldn’t want to hurt you–”

“Darling, quite the opposite,” he tickles your thigh.

“Haven’t you had enough?”

“Does it matter? I know you haven’t,” he purrs and wets his lips with his tongue.

“I…” your voice catches as your cheeks burn.

You go silent, contemplating his suggestion. More of a demand. As polite as he can be, he is hard to deny.

You slowly lift yourself, coming to your knees as you crawl towards him. He watches you with a glint in his eyes, humming as you get closer. He frames your hip and guides you over him, bringing you to straddle his head as you hover over him shyly.

“I don’t know, I…”

Before you can protest further, he hooks his hands over your thighs and pulls you down. You squeal as you crush him beneath you. He buries his face in your cunt, his tongue gliding into your tender folds, still shimmering with his last foray.

You let out tiny high-pitched noises as he holds you down, devouring you sloppily, shamelessly. He laps and licks and suckles until your core is alight and thrumming. He rocks your pelvis as he drinks you in, guiding your motion as you quiver and gasp for air.

It isn’t long before you’re moaning at the top of your lungs, tangling your fingers in his sweat-dampened hair, bucking your hips as you beg for more. He lifts you, tilting you over him as he trails his fingers along the inside of your legs.

He pokes along your cunt, his tongue flicking around your clit greedily. His fingers dive into you and you let out another whine. God, it feels so good. You plant your hand on the bed, holding yourself over him as he slides in and out, lapping incorrigibly as he hums.

He sucks on your bud, pulling away with a growl.

“Let me hear you, fawn,” he gropes your ass with his other hand before nuzzling your cunt once more.

You drone as he slurps and slathers, pushing you to the point of ecstasy once more. You nearly collapse over him as you cum. Your spine curls and your thighs vibrate as your pleasure stains his lips.

He slips his fingers free and his hand crawls up your back. He grabs your leg, flipping you suddenly. You exclaim in surprise as you land on your back. He bends over you, kissing along your tufted hair and quivering thighs.

“Louder,” he snarls and nips at your flesh, “louder, darling.”

“Jonathan–”

“Mm-mm,” he tuts and dips his head to tend to you again.

His tongue spread wide before swiping up, swirling and twirling, stirring you to another boiling point. You claw the sheets and arch your spine, moaning wildly as tingling waves flow through you.

“Darling…” he hisses as he parts, though not long enough for you to catch your breath.

“Jonathannn….”

He purrs as wiggles his head, hungrily smearing your juices around his face. Your breath hitches and you spasm. You cum again, losing count of how many times you’ve come undone.

“Oh, oh, oh,” you voice escapes you, louder with each cry, “oh, yes, yessssss, Jonathan.”

He pulls back and raises himself to sit on his heels. He snarls and drags you closer to him, hooking his arms beneath your knees. He folds you against him as he looks down, angling to glide along your entrance. He watches himself ease into you, inch by inch.

You writhe deliriously as he fills you. You reach to touch his stomach as he thrusts, head lolling back and forth. You wheeze between your teeth.

“Let it go, fawn,” he flutters his fingers up your stomach, “I want to hear you.”

You squeak, tiny little noises as you try to repress the flurry inside. He grips your side and ruts into you, harder as you mew pathetically. The clap of flesh mingles with his deep grunts.

“Jon— Urgh, yessssss,” you exclaim as your delight bubbles over. You can’t hold it back any longer. “Yeeessssssss,” your pleasure blooms from your chest and has you mindlessly ranting and raving, “Jon– Jon–a–Yess.”

He bends over you and slips his arms beneath you, curling his fingers over your shoulders and lifting you with him as he sits back. He moves you in his lap, tilting from below as he nuzzles into your neck. His breath dampens your skin as he huffs, the bed shaking with his fury, knocking against the wall in tempo with his need.

You fling your arms around him, hugging him tight as you cling to him, letting out a slew of desperate whines. He bites into the muscle along your neck as he slows you, teasing you cloyingly as he restrains himself.

“Not yet,” he purrs into your skin, “I’m not done with you, fawn.” He shudders as he keeps your hips rolling up, “let’s take our time…”

There’s a thunderous thumping that jolts you. As you push yourself up, Jonathan catches the back of your head. You look him in your faces, eyes round as a holler comes from just outside your apartment door.

“Keep it the fuck down!” Colin roars, rapping harder than before.

Jonathan merely snickers and before you can comment, maybe you should stop, or apologise, he smothers you with a kiss. His tongue invades your mouth as he overrides any protest you have. He fucks you slowly, dragging himself out only to snap back in. He draws away once more.

“Darling, make all the noise you like,” he slithers, “he is a paltry opener compared to us.”

🌷

“We’ll go by mine so I can pull out some fresh clothes,” Jonathan says as he stands and picks up his watch. “Shall I freshen up first or would you prefer? Rather, we might share the shower?”

You tilt your head at his offer, “we… I’m suspended. I don’t think I can go into the office with you.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t suppose either,” he grins, “I won’t be going in today. We’ve more pressing matters.”

“Oh?” You frown.

“A bridesmaid’s dress is in order,” he declares, “yes? Champagne I believe is on theme.”

“I…”

“Your sister messaged not long ago. She sent a lovely reference photo but I don’t believe the cut is quite you. Nonetheless, we will keep to the colour scheme–”

“That’s… you don’t need to worry about that. I can go by the thrift store next weekend–”

“Thrift? Darling, please, let’s not tarry. I’ll have to have a new suit cut to match. Perhaps a tawny brown lined with blue?”

“Oh, right, you’re… coming.”

“You don’t sound excited about that,” he challenges with an arch of his brow.

“I am, I just… things are still new, aren’t they?”

“Well, I did tell your mother I’d be there and your sister is expecting a plus one,” he says, “so I don’t see why you should worry.”

“I… I was just overthinking, I guess.”

“Yes, fawn, you can be overly considerate, but I like that about you,” he outstretches his hand to you, “though I suppose it’s what’s gotten you into so much trouble, as well.”

You wince. His reprimand isn’t lost on you. It’s the same thought that hasn’t left your mind in days. You asked for all of this. You couldn’t get over your own stupid crush and you let Colin walk all over you.

You take his hand. You don’t want to talk about all that. You’ll go get a dress and try to forget about it. You shimmy across the bed as Jonathan helps you to your feet.

“Well, I learned my lesson, didn’t i?” You frown.

“It wasn’t an insult, darling, I’m looking out for you,” he says, “I have thus far, haven’t I?”

There’s that edge in his voice. The one you hadn’t heard before he looked in your phone. The one you couldn’t expect. He’s nice, you’re just sensitive.

“Yes, let’s… get cleaned up,” you divert his reproach.

“Let’s,” he agrees and keeps a hold of your hand, trailing after you to the shower, “may as well get a bit dirty beforehand, hm?”

You hum and nod, hiding your discomfort. You want him but you can’t help the sting of his words, of the reminder of your mistakes. If you didn’t have him, well, this would all be so much worse.

🌷

As Jonathan drives up to the white facade of an upscale boutique, you shrink down in your seat. You don’t shop in places like this. You go to the thrift shops or hunt through the bargain racks at the mall.

“Darling,” he shifts gears and turns off the engine, “you really shouldn’t slouch.”

You fix your posture and glance at him. He doesn’t seem to notice the effect of his rebuke. It’s little things. Sit straight, oh your hair pin is crooked, don’t forget a sweater… considerate but too much.

“Sorry,” you undo your seat belt as he hits the button on his own. You wait for him to get out before you do the same, not wanting to overstep.

He waits for you before he steps over the curb, hooking his arms through yours as he leads you to the front door. He releases you only to open the door. He is a perfect gentleman, the complete opposite of Colin. How did you ever want your crass neighbour?

You enter as Jonathan follows, greeting the associates over your head. You let him lead, completely out-of-place among the sleek white mannequins and shimmering fabrics.

“Hello, we are to attend a wedding and require a dress in champagne,” he announces.

“Good afternoon,” a woman with a silver name tag on her chic black turtleneck chimes, “I’m Lucinda, I can help you.”

“Wonderful,” Jonathan puts his hand on your back, urging you forward, “I might be dated in my reference but are you familiar with Elizabeth Taylor in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof? The white dress. I believe it is a flattering silhouette for her.”

Lucinda looks between you and Jonathan, “oh, let me look that up.” She slides out her phone and keys in quickly, “oh, pretty. I think we have something.” She turns and waves you forward, “this way, please, we’ll get you a fitting room.”

You hunch your shoulders as you look around, intimidated by the headless figures in their refined drapings. Is this what he expects? What he’s used to? He must know you’re just an admin worker, not some stylish socialite. But it is just a wedding. Your sister would be disappointed if you didn’t dress for the occasion.

You’re shown to a curtained booth as Lucinda flits off. You stand just outside as Jonathan wanders around, eyeing up other garments, including a sleek camisole nightie cut to the ankle. He replaces it on the hook and moves on, stopping just before the wall of lingerie.

Lucinda returns with several hangers as he beckons to her, “would she require a shift? Or some particular undergarments?”

“Hm, well, in this cut, a corset wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Lucinda explains, “something skintone at least.”

“Mm, yes, fawn,” he calls to you, “come pick your size.”

Your cheeks sear and you bow your head down. You scurry over and sift through the hangers. He points you towards a piece close to your shade and you redirect. You pick out the right size and take it in hand. He brushes along your arm.

“Head up,” he reminds you.

You obey and go back to Lucinda, showing her your haul. She holds back the curtain for you and you quickly hide behind it. You look at the clothing before you and feel yourself crumpling inward. You are entirely out of your depth. This isn’t you.

Do you really know who you are? You’re the stupid girl who lusted after her neighbour. The idiot who got herself suspended because she just couldn’t say no. You are clueless. You need someone like Jonathan to guide you.

You undress and put on the corset. As you see yourself in the mirror, you blink several times. Oh my. You shake it off and reach for the first dress. A shade of champagne with a subtle floral pattern across it.

You squeeze into it, the waist cinched just so, the cut of the skirt emphasizing your hips, the bodice further accentuating your figure. It’s gorgeous but it outshines you. You don’t know if you can carry it.

“Darling,” Jonathan drawls as the curtain ripples, “do you need help?”

“Erm, n-no,” you stutter and poke your head out, “I don’t know… maybe a different style–”

“Let me see,” he says, “I’m certain you look spectacular.”

“Well, I just… for a wedding?”

“I can’t give my opinion if you don’t show me,” he intones.

You gulp and shove the curtain aside. You emerge, arms straight as you march forward. You fight not to wilt before his gaze. His eyes rove up and down and he rubs his chin.

“Wow,” he utters at last, “fawn, you are… breathtaking.”

“Don’t lie to me–”

“I’m not, darling, truly,” he smirks, “I dare say, the bride will me mad with envy.”

“Oh,” you pout, “Geri would be… maybe–”

“And a good thing,” he interrupts, “you should always be the rose in the bunch, fawn. Don’t you ever let yourself fade into the background.”

“I…” you look down and smooth your hands over the fabric “thank you, I… it is pretty.” Your hand catches on the tag and you glance at the price, “but– oh! I couldn’t–”

“Don’t you fret over that,” he nears and puts his hands on your shoulder, “you let me worry about it. You only need to be as you are,” he leans in and brings a bent finger under your chin, “delectable.”

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #fic #crushed #dark fic #dark!fic #what's your number>#the night manager #colin shea #colin shea x reader #dark colin shea #dark!colin shea

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diavolosthots · 3 years

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Hey Queen! Beautiful Queen whom I love and adore! <3 It's me! Your bitch! That bitch! I was just thinking like, some wholesome Belphie is very much needed everywhere and for everyone. Like, MC is feeling super cuddly and stuff and they go to Belphie and it's just super fluffy and super cute, and really sweet - @belphies-cuhm-sluht <3

I scrolled until I found your request because I know you need it and I hope you feel better soon, cutie @belphies-cuhm-sluht

Cow Pillow (BELPHEGOR X GN!READER)

It used to be that sleeping your life away felt almost like a sin, like it wasn’t allowed. There was a time for sleeping and there was a time for doing things and out of 24 hours in a day, only eight could be spent resting or you’d feel guilty. Maybe it’s the work drive in you or maybe it’s the feeling of endless guilt that makes you feel like you have to prove yourself by doing things, more things, and definitely things done better than by others. Maybe it’s also because too many people called you lazy throughout your life so you vowed to never be lazy, somewhat neglecting your own self to prove to others that you were worth it. Who cares if you suffered, as long as everyone else was happy with you, right?

But throughout the years you found loopholes in that. They’re not even loopholes, but to you it makes more sense, and it makes you feel less guilty, rather than outright admitting that you like being lazy. These loopholes range from things like “I have spring allergies so I need some more rest…” to “well, it’s technically not due until the 25th…” to “People deserve love and affection and cuddling is my preferred type. It’s necessary to be loved in order to function.” All of these are valid all on their own, and yes, all of them are considered valid reasons, but it still makes you feel guilty admitting that, so you call them loopholes. Life’s loopholes to make you feel a little less shitty about something that’s, in all actuality, completely normal.

Today’s ‘loophole’ however, was actually something new to you, kind of. It was rainy and storming; the perfect weather to kick back and just relax. Maybe read a book so you couldn’t call yourself completely lazy. After all, reading does challenge the brain and as long as you’re stimulating some part of yourself, whether that be mental or physical, it’s okay, right? It totally counts. But you also had someone with you that’s… the complete opposite of you and he lured you in. He lures you into the deep depths of laziness that you’re unsure you’ll ever be able to get out of once you’re in them. It’s almost creepy how he does it, too, without even lifting a finger. Without a worry in his mind. Without… trying.

Belphegor didn’t care what people thought and somewhere, you admired him for that. He made it seem so easy. So what, he sleeps for 36 hours straight and no one bats an eye. If they do, he just avoids them. He doesn’t even pretend to give them the time of day and he’s explained it to you many times before. “Why would I worry about people I will never have to deal with, ever? Now that’s tiresome.” and it made sense. It would be tiresome to constantly think about how other people view you, don’t you think? Belphegor himself is hated by some, neutral for many, and loved by few, but he doesn’t care. The few people that love him, love him a whole lot and that’s all it takes for him. Maybe it’s also easier for him because that’s his avatar. Maybe. He does wonder how you do worry so much, though, because to him, that is crazy.

He actually made it a point to influence you as much as he can just because you’re almost as bad as Lucifer when it comes to getting stuff done and besides the fact that it’s, in his eyes, annoying, he also doesn’t want someone as interesting as you to end up with Lucifer. What’s that supposed to be? Wanna-be dad and step-parent? The last thing he needs is for the person he’s interested in to call him son. No thank you. Anyway, he made it a point to enter your dreams and drag them out a little bit (a lot) longer than they’d usually have. The small “oh my God I slept through my alarm!” that he heard the first few times had him laughing, but also thinking about how adorable it is. “You worry too much…” is what he’d mumble in his own sleepy voice.

Now it’s gotten to a point where he openly talks to you in your dreams and you willingly drag things out with him, but when you try to do the same in the actual world? He pretends to be asleep. Not because he doesn’t like talking to you, but he just feels more comfortable when he’s somewhat in control and can remove himself from the situation if need be, you know? That’s why he keeps his distance. He did openly admit that to you, though, and that’s fine. At least you know where he stands and that he doesn’t hate you. However, today you just… you just can’t wait until you fall asleep and until he enters your mind. It’s raining outside and you feel somewhat lonely. You’re in need of company and he’s your favorite type of company, even if you mainly hang out together in your mind. So today, you decided to just go into his room and join him. The worst he can do is say no, right?

But he didn’t even do that. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even realize you entered until you stood in front of him and in all honesty, he didn’t even fully register that either. It’s more like… he realizes he’s not alone but he’s also not awake and he definitely doesn’t care enough to open his eyes. “Hm?” You were already whispering his name, explaining awkwardly that you just needed to cuddle. “Cuddle…” he just repeated the last word, rolling over onto his back and for a moment you feared he didn’t even recognize a thing you just said. “Okay… come here then.” “Hm? Are you sure? I can leave again Belphie…” Maybe you should take this day to do something productive? Everyone else will already be lazy so one person should do something, right?

“Yes, come here. Lay down so I can lay on you.” He’s still not opening his eyes, only scooting back for you to join him on his bed and then waiting. You can either join or leave again and he doesn’t really care which option you choose. Except he does. He just won’t admit it if you choose wrong. “O...okay… yeah. I’m already here.” And you really, really would like to cuddle with him, after all. You laid down beside him, carefully, trying to respect his boundaries but also trying to remember that he did want to lay on you so should You lay on your back? “Oh… oh yeah okay this is fine.” You couldn’t even ask him because the minute he felt the bed dip, he moved back closer to you and curled into your side, placing his head on your chest and wrapping his arm around you.

“Is this okay? Belphie?” He only hummed in response, nuzzling into you, and you carefully wrapped your arms around him too. It felt nice. Really nice, and you found yourself relaxing almost immediately, although you did blame it on Belphie more than anything. He does have that calming effect on people after all. “You’re better than the pillow, but…” You looked down at his head confused until you felt him shift, his face buried deep in your chest now while he tried to keep his horns away from poking you. His tail swayed behind him for a second before wrapping around your waist right beside his arms. “That’s better…” you looked at him, poking his horn for a moment before laughing. How is this better? How is this comfortable? Can he breathe? He must be breathing otherwise he wouldn’t lay like this, right?

“You worry too much…” “What?” How did he know? You weren’t even asleep yet. He chuckled, lifting his head a bit and smiling at you, eyes still closed. “I don’t need you to be asleep in order to be inside your head… stop worrying so much. I know you want this.” He put his head back down right after, his whole body relaxing against yours and for a moment you wondered if this actually happened. “Belphie… I just…!” “Yeah I know. You want this but you worry about not doing enough. Just shut up already, okay? You, of all people, deserve to relax and what better way to relax than with me? Just ssshh… go to sleep. I won’t let you leave until I decide that you have rested enough.” And by that he means… you’re stuck with him on top of you until the next day has come and he’s thoroughly convinced you took some time for yourself.

“You’re so silly, Belphie…” But it also felt really, really nice to have someone that seemed to care so much. And he does. He cares a lot. And he wishes you’d be more like him, in a sense, but then again… he’d just keep you with him at all times and make you his new cow pillow. It’s not like that’s going to be an issue, though, right?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #belphegor obey me #belphegor avatar of sloth #belphegor x mc #obey me belphie #belphegor x reader #shall we date belphegor #obey me belphegor x reader

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writingquestionsanswered · 3 years

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Tattoo Shop AU - a quick, practical guide for writers

Guest Post by lebanon-hangover

lebanon-hangover said: this is based on my personal experience with the industry only, so depending on the era and country you are portraying, it may not be 100% accurate for your setting.

Hygiene

It may not be obvious at first glance, but most tattooists are clean freaks. We work with human blood every day, and we get clients from all ages, ethnic and social economic backgrounds, with all sorts of medical conditions.

We usually mop frequently, bleach the sinks, wipe down everything, and use cling film or bags to wrap everything. I mean fucking everything. We also scrub in, and sanitise the area on the person we work on.

Needles are collected in a sharps bin, and handled very carefully. Medical waste goes in yellow bags, and both are collected by a professional service.

Used ink caps may look full, but the ink gets diluted by blood. Like you dip the inky needle into the person, but you also dip the person’s blood into your ink. These are medical waste too.

Cleaning up must be done promptly after the session. Bin everything disposable, put things through the ultrasonic and the autoclave, and sanitise the area. We may take machines apart, but more for maintenance than cleaning, sometimes we swap parts in them too.

We have two sinks, one for hand washing, one for cleaning.

All inks and needles have use by dates.

The internal dynamics of a studio

Depending on the country, some tattoo shops tend to have ties to biker gangs, and some of those internal dynamics and unwritten rules are often present.

There’s a pecking order and it’s dead serious. Basically the longer you’ve been in a shop, the higher ‘rank’ you are, you get the better positioned stations, first pick of walk-ins, etc (Unless the client is asking for someone by name). Regardless of your actual experience in the industry, like if you move into your old apprentice’s shop, they are still senior to you. If the owner or their partner is an artist, obviously they are on top of the chain by default.

We are self employed, but we have a boss. You are only making money if you are working, but you still have set work hours.

We get paid by the clients, and we pay the studio a cut. In return, there are some items provided by them, and some we buy for ourselves. Usually the chairs, tattoo beds, gloves, cleaning products, clip cord covers, masks, aprons, ink caps, vaseline, green soap, and some basic ink is provided by the shop. We buy our own machines, arm rests, stations, pedals, power supplies, clipcords, tips and grips, needles, special colours, stencil fluid…these are a personal preference, and often depend on the artists’ style.

We totally ask to try out each other’s equipment sometimes, or ask for a certain type of needle if we ran out.

The receptionist is usually just one of us, maybe a piercer, but it also can be a hired person in top studios.

The apprentice in the traditional system is often mistreated, and they have to pay for their education, have to be there multiple days a week and don’t make any money. It’s kind of like a tear them down, build them back up again thing to see if they are really serious about the job. Times are slowly changing, but 99% of them will always need a second job. Most of them are working as bar staff.

When you open a new studio, you must visit all the existing local ones and introduce yourself, otherwise you may get a brick through the window. Otherwise there’s not much beef among individual artists, they are often friends, go to conventions together and party after, etc.

The Artists

Tattooing is a fairly physical job, stretching skin is very important. We have to also keep our clients safely still, so we often use positions to pin them down a bit. Sometimes you hit a reflex point on the foot or under a knee, and you don’t want to get kicked. Sometimes you have to pull away super fast, cos they are sneezing, yawning or giggling.

Most tattooists drink a lot of coffee, tea or energy drinks.

Some people are all rounders, some have specific styles, but we recognise each other’s art styles. Sometimes we delegate work to each other, if we think our coworkers style fits the concept better. For example if there’s a person who does script well, we give them those projects.

We don’t like when people come in with designs from other artists. Art theft is frowned upon, and we work best with our own drawings.

Most apprentices practice on their own legs, and sometimes we tattoo each other when it’s quiet. Most people have cover ups, or bad pieces from their early days. The artists’ own tattoos sometimes are in a different style than what they do, but we like to collect ink from friends or colleagues we admire.

In the first 1-2 years one is an apprentice, then junior artist. At 5-8 years of tattooing, you have earned your stripes and are considered an experienced artist.

Conventions are really fun, but can be stressful. You can make good money working at one, and sometimes get awarded for it too. We can also spend a lot at a convention.

Sometimes we poke our fingers by accident, and it’s a scary thing. Good case scenario is just some random dots on your fingers. Let’s not go into the bad case scenario.

We do guest spots sometimes, just to meet new clients, and change it up a bit.

We spend a lot of time drawing up things, and designs are meant to fall on specific muscles, stretch with the skin a certain way, so they are tailored to the body proportions of the client. A good tattoo is also an optical illusion, complimenting the body shape.

Social media presence is like a second job, you need good photos, and you need to market yourself.

Tattoo ink does not wash out, so some stains are inevitable when pouring it out. Those ink bottles get stuck so easily, and we wrestle them a lot. We try to avoid it, but wearing all dark colours is a thing for a reason.

The Clients

Tattooists need to have a good ‘bedside manners’ too. We get nervous or self conscious people, and we are told personal things during long sessions. For example scar coverups and memorial pieces can be very emotional.

We have pretty good poker faces and first aid trainings. People can faint, get shaky, throw up, some have seizures, have b.o., get sweaty, etc the same way as at a blood donation event? It’s no big deal really. We sit them down, give them some water and some sugar, and re-book them if necessary. Most artists keep some wet wipes, mouth wash, deodorant, sweets, maybe even some clean clothes at work, just in case.

If someone comes in with a wild idea for a jobstopper, we would sit down and have a long talk. If they haven’t got many tattoos, we usually try to stir them towards more safe choices, offering them creative ideas. It’s like those jedi mind tricks sometimes.

If someone is undecided, we show them our own hand drawn flash sheets. Once its gone, its gone tho, we don’t use the designs twice.

Pinterest is full of photoshopped fake tattoos, some that won’t even work as real ink. Many people also touch up their work digitally on photos, so some clients have really unrealistic expectations.

We can totally tell if someone is intoxicated or hangover. It thins the blood, and they bleed out the ink, and it’s super annoying. if it’s bad, they will be sent home and rebooked.

Some folks are self conscious about body hair, their size, stretch marks and scars. Chances are, we have seen similar, and we aren’t bothered by it, because it’s work. Surgery scars, scars from accidents, self harm scars, burns, we see it all the time. We shave some really hairy dudes all the time girl, your legs are fine. Seriously. If something makes tattooing you dangerous we will tell you.

Fit, muscular people are harder to tattoo because they are really firm. Its a workout for us.

Everyone gets midnight messages about the aftercare from nervous clients, and drunken booty calls about getting inked right at this second. We have copy paste replies…

We get creeps sometimes. Stalking, weird conversations, tmi info dumps etc.

Other things to include (for fun, or for plot reasons)

We sometimes have those “oh fuck” moments. We all do, but mistakes can be fixed, and we play it cool.

Tattooing takes time. Usually 30 minutes to multiple sessions though years and years.

Healing tattoos takes about 2-4ish weeks, and your characters shouldn’t go roll around in dirt, sunbathe, swim, pick at the scabs. Nasty infections, and messed up tattoos would be the results.

If you have a strong immune system, and you get a lot of work done in one sitting, you may get a brief bit of a temperature. It’s normal, and will go away.

Its a lot easier to get seriously drunk after getting a tattoo. Be careful.

We sometimes draw on each other for practice with our marker pens.

Tattoos are inside the skin, not on top of it. Imagine a low opacity, skin toned layer over the ink, adding to the healed tattoos’ colour. Please stop making your characters skin fully transparent.

Heavy blackwork and palms are done in multiple sessions.

You can’t cover up moles, because if they develop skin cancer, the dermatologist can’t see the signs.

There’s a stereotype about piercers having blacked out sleeves.

Stencil fluid looks just like cum.

You get that annoying itch on your face when you scrubbed in, put on gloves and finally ready to go.

Some artists have a strong preference for coil or rotary machines, and they bicker about it a lot. Coils are louder, more punchy, and more traditional, perfect for lineart. They can be customised, and they last forever. They are also called glorified doorbells by people who prefer rotaries. Rotary machines are smoother, lighter, and often use needles that are pulled back into the cartridges for safety. They are better for shading and delicate line work. Older tattooists often say they are dildo or butt plug shaped, overly delicate and are for “soft millennials” only.

Every artist owns like 5 to 20 machines, and they have specific machine builders they are loyal to.

The “which cable is broken and cutting out” guessing game. Clip cords and pedal cables get worn out easily, and that results in your machine running really jerky.

Walk-in always show up 10 minutes before closing.

We often look quite silly at work. Sleeves rolled up, folks use all sorts of plastic ppe, headlamps, and we tie up our hair. Add couple of purple smears from carbon paper, and we aren’t scary at all.

#writing guide #writing tips #writing advice #writer's guide #writeblr #writing community #writing #writing help #submission

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

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

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

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

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

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

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

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

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugy

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drpepperwithcream · 3 years

Text

GoS Aftermath Part 3 :)

*dabs* Here you go! *Nae Naes away*

Adrien was bored. His father was busy doing something, his homework was done, he didn’t have any extra curriculars to do.

“Someone looks bored.” Plagg said.

“I am.” Adrien sighed.

“You know who isn’t bored?”

They both smiled and said “CHAT NOIR!”

Adrien transforms and hops out of the window, hopping rooftops.

He loved being Chat Noir. It gave him an escape from being depressed at home. Being able to see the beautiful views Paris had to offer and being able to help the citizens, it made him happier.

But the best thing about being Cat Noir, the thing that would always make his day...

His staff rang. He checked the caller ID and a smile spread on his face.

“M’lady, I didn’t expect you to be out this time of day. Do you like watching the sunset too?”

“Hey, I need to talk to you. Is there some place we can meet up?”

“Yeah, I know the perfect place.”

“Great, send me the address. And Chat? Don’t scare me!”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

He hangs up and sends Ladybug the location he knew all too well.

The Grand Paris Hotel... Bar...

He made it and walked inside, seeing his beautiful lady on the bar stool. His heart skipped a beat and his chest became warm and fuzzy.

Ladybug turned her head as she approached and she smiled.

“M’lady, you look lovely.”

“Hey, Kitty. Thank you for not sneaking up on me.”

“Of course.”

Jean comes out with a red drink with blackberries in it.

“Here's your mocktail Ms. Ladybug, a raspberry Shirley temple topped with fresh blackberries. A Grand Paris specialty.”

“Thank you”

“And for you Monsieur Chat Noir? The usual?”

Ladybug nearly choked back her drink.

“No thanks, I’ll take the Chat Noir mule Mocktail, please.”

“Ah, yes! The blackberry and mint drink. Very good choice sir. I’ll be right back.”

“So this isn’t another attempt of taking me out on a date is it?” Ladybug asked.

“No, but it could be if you wanted it to.” Chat said.

She dipped her fingertips into her drink and flicked her fingertips in his face, playfully splashing him.

“I’m kidding, but I did think you’d like this place.” He used a napkin to wipe his face, his tongue licking the side of his face to taste her drink. “Your drink is pretty good.”

“It is nice here, and you frequent here often?”

“Yeah, I do. Whenever I’m bored or I have extra time, I’ll stop here. Mr. Bourgeois actually has a policy that prevents reporters and media from coming up here unless given permission for interviews, since mostly celebrities frequent this bar.”

“Really?”

Chat Noir nodded.

Jean brought him his drink. “Anything else I can get for you two?”

“No thanks.” Ladybug reached into her yo-yo compartment and Chat Noir reached into his pocket and they paid for their drinks.

“So what is Chat Noir’s usual.” Ladybug asked her partner.

“Promise not to laugh?”

She nodded.

“I get a glass of milk.”

“You really are a cat, aren’t you?” she huffed out, holding back her laughter.

“How else do I get these strong muscles?” He flexed in front of her, earning a soft smile from his lady. “Anyway, what did you want to talk about?”

“Is it alright if we go upstairs to the roof? For privacy?”

“Lead the way, M’lady.”

They both headed upstairs to the roof, them finding a table and chair by the pool, with a view overlooking the city.

The sun had just set and the stars were beginning to poke out.

“Listen, Chat... I know that you’ve noticed that something’s wrong... with me.”

“I have...” He wasn’t going to lie to her. “I know we can’t exactly talk about our personal lives, but I want you to know that I’m here for you, and that I care about you.”

“I’ve been stressed, and overwhelmed, and...”

“Got your heart broken?”

“... I loved him so much, but couldn’t be honest with him.”

“Because of the mask.”

“Wait...” Him knowing everything she was saying. “You too?”

“Yeah... I loved her too, but... It didn’t work...” Chat Noir sighed and shook his head. “You do seem better though. I know you have a lot more stress than I do, but you do seem better than when we went to the movies.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me... But I do feel better... because I did something.”

Chat’s ears perked up as he took a sip.

She breathed in, and out. “I told someone.”

Chat Noir choked on his drink, coughing as processed what she said.

Ladybug placed a hand on his back, helping him get his breath back.

“That- that was totally meant to be a spit take” He choked out.

“Sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah...” He got his breath back. “You told someone? That you’re Ladybug? Like someone in your civilian life?”

“Yeah. I did. I felt like you should know.”

“Wow. I...” He was surprised.

“You’re not mad are you?”

“Mad? Why?”

“Because I didn’t tell you first.”

“What? No, I get why you didn’t tell me. Our dynamic works because we don’t know who we are, and what if Hawkmoth akumatizes one of us, or if the akuma mind controls one of us, all of that. Besides I like the mystery around who you are.”

“I’m glad, and I promise when Hawkmoth is defeated, we can discuss revealing ourselves to each other.”

“Of course. If anything, I’m surprised that you told someone. I completely thought that I’d accidentally reveal myself first because of Plagg.”

Ladybug laughed. “I thought I’d accidentally reveal myself, you’d be surprised if you knew my civilian self was me.”

They shared a laugh together.

“But, the main reason I wanted to tell you is because I know this job is stressful and I know we can’t reveal too much about our personal lives, but I don’t know how stressful being Chat Noir is in your life.”

“It gets stressful at times, but being Chat is a freedom that I wish I had more of in my personal life.”

“I’m glad, but for when it does get stressful, I want you to have someone to lean on... someone who isn’t me.”

Chat Noir paused. “Wait... do you mean?”

Ladybug nodded. “If you want to you can tell someone.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m guardian now, so I make the rules.” She joked. “But seriously, if it’ll make your life easier, you can tell someone. It’s only fair.”

“Any restrictions?”

Ladybug thought. “It can’t be a woman.” Just to cover her basis of protecting herself and Alya.

“Okay. Thank you, m’lady.”

#miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #marinette #ladynoir #adrien #plagg #tikki #miraculous gang of secrets #miraculous season 4 #mlb season 4 #part 3 cuz I say so

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sachigram · 3 years

Text

With Teeth Chapter 3

((click here to read on ao3!!))

“Is that man coming by here again?”

Izaya pauses in his typing, sparing a glance at Namie, who is staring at him from her side of the desk. She looks bored, but that's nothing new. She hides her emotions well. It's one reason he can tolerate her, despite her unpleasant personality and obsession with her brother. She's fun, hard to predict. She's a challenge.

“What man?” Izaya asks, knowing full well what she means. She scoffs at him, and he grins at her. “You'll have to be more specific.”

“That one. The one you're obsessed with. Heiwajima. He's been coming by here every month around this time, skulking and making rude comments. This will be the seventh month, right?”

“Observant, aren't you?” Izaya asks, turning back to his typing. “I can't predict what Shizu-chan does, you know that. He does what he wants.”

“Yeah, but there's a pattern now. People like him don't normally have patterns, do they?” Namie tilts her head at him, something other women might do to seem cute. With Namie, it's always a disarming tactic, something she does to seem smaller when she's actually a power player. Izaya is used to her by now, even without reading her mind.

“That's part of what makes him so unpredictable. He's random until he isn't, and then he breaks his pattern when you least expect.” Izaya waves her away. “Ask what you want to ask, and stop with the games. We're both busy people.”

“You've got something on him, right? You're blackmailing him? It has to be something like that. He wants you dead even more than I do, and that's saying a lot. There's no way he'd suffer in your company more than he had to.”

“Whatever I do or don't have on Shizu-chan is between him and me. That makes it none of your business, Namie-chan! Unfortunate for you, but true all the same.”

“Are you guys fucking or something?” she asks, and she shrugs at the look Izaya gives her. “What? There's not much else you'd keep secret. If he gave you something actually juicy, you'd be holding it over his head much worse than this. Unless you had something to lose too, you wouldn't care what happened to him.”

“You are the definition of an 'over-thinker',” Izaya informs her. “Sometimes things are what they are, and nothing more.” Almost on cue, a thundering knock raps at the door, and Izaya motions for Namie to get it. “Who knows who that could be! Look professional, would you? We're running a business, here.”

“Yeah, I'm so curious who it is,” Namie says sarcastically, wrenching the door open to reveal a grumpy-looking Shizuo. He doesn't bother greeting her, just steps around her as he stomps into Izaya's apartment.

“Shizu-chan, what a surprise!” Izaya calls. “Terrible to see you, as always.”

“Fuck off and die, flea,” Shizuo says, heading straight for Izaya's fridge. Namie watches him for a moment, and then she turns back to Izaya.

“Shall I leave you to your fornication?” she asks.

“Oh, I don't know,” Izaya muses. “You're pretty, Namie-chan, when I don't have to look at your face. Maybe you could join us for the evening.”

“I'd rather be eaten alive, thanks.”

“More like you have plans already to stalk that brother of yours. Don't bother; he's having a date night at with Mika-chan at your favorite Italian place! He made reservations yesterday.” Izaya tilts forward, smirking at her as her face reddens with rage. “Run along, won't you? Who knows what they might do for dessert?”

Rather than retort, she picks up a folder from Izaya's desk and throws it as hard as she can. The papers fly out, flowing through the air like confetti, and she slams the door behind her hard enough to make even Shizuo flinch.

“Fuck. What's her problem?” Shizuo asks.

“Lots of things. She has more problems than most,” Izaya says, going back to his typing. He makes a mental note of the fact that Shizuo went straight for the pork tenderloin Namie prepared the day before, and then he looks up at his expected guest. “How's the bloodlust?”

“Same as it always is. Too fucking much,” Shizuo replies, already chomping away on cold leftovers. He never bothers with reheating them, anymore.

“And yet, you haven't bitten anyone. It seems you either have more self-control than I ever would've guessed, or you're exaggerating your symptoms.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shizuo says, and he flops onto Izaya's couch, giving Izaya a scrutinizing stare. “Does your secretary not know you're a witch?”

“Of course she doesn't,” Izaya replies. “Why would she?”

“She practically lives here.”

“She works here, Shizu-chan. This is an office, first and foremost.”

“Funny. I thought it was your apartment.” Shizuo takes another bite of food, his cheeks bulging almost comically with the amount he's eating all at once. When he speaks again, it's with his mouth full. “Even your place is a front. No one knows anything about you, huh?”

Izaya gives him a withering stare, grimacing at the grotesque way Shizuo eats.

“You're awfully conversational today. Why the sudden interest in my life? Usually you just barge in here, eat my food, and sit in silence until you're the true monster you've always been.”

“I guess I'm just curious about the way you do shit. Shinra told me all about how rare it is, what you are. He said you're probably keeping my secret so I'll keep yours,” Shizuo says. He finishes the last of the container of pork tenderloin, and then he goes back to the fridge.

“By all means, tell everyone what you know about me. The people who don't immediately run screaming from you will hardly care. I've been called terrible things, and for good reason. Calling me a witch in public will hardly matter.” Izaya turns back to his screen.

“Got no reason to tell anyone about you. I don't give a shit what you are.”

“Wonderful.”

There's silence for a bit, the sound of Shizuo chewing, of Izaya's fingers clacking against the keyboard. Izaya spares a glance up at Shizuo, who seems to be thinking about something, his brows furrowed. Curious in spite of himself, Izaya can't help but dip into Shizuo's mind. He snorts, and it draws Shizuo's attention.

“If you wanted to go to Shinra's place for this, you should have,” Izaya says. Shizuo snarls at him.

“Don't fucking read my mind.”

“Then stop thinking so loudly.”

“You said you didn't read minds often!”

“And you said that was a lie.”

Shizuo growls, his mind going to static as he considers throwing Izaya's entire counter out the window. Truth be told, Izaya wasn't lying when he said he doesn't try to read minds very often. It would be helpful for him in his line of work, but he was always more interested in doing the work himself. It was more fun, more challenging, easier to convince himself he didn't need his magic to be as powerful as he was.

“I hate you,” Shizuo hisses. It's the truth, Izaya can sense. Shizuo hates everything about this, being here, relying on Izaya, speaking to Izaya, smelling Izaya's scent all around him. Like this, Shizuo's mind is so loud and consumed with rage that Izaya pulls back, unwilling to listen to all that incessant noise and clatter.

“So go to Shinra's, then.”

Shizuo doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. Izaya doesn't even need to read the beast's mind to know what he's thinking. Shizuo doesn't want to be seen that way by anyone he actually cares about. Izaya doesn't count in Shizuo's simple mind.

Of course it would be something like that.

Izaya pushes it from his mind. He's always loved seeing the worst aspects of other people, seeing them at their lowest, their breaking points, and choosing to love them anyway. Part of what makes Izaya able to love mankind as a whole is being there when they break, observing them as they either pick up the pieces or destroy others as they have been destroyed. It doesn't matter how it happens, whether Izaya has to cause it himself, or not. Their choices are their own.

Even in Shizuo's case, he's choosing to come here, to rely on Izaya, to trust in Izaya to help him remain himself.

“What are you smiling about over there?” Shizuo barks, snapping Izaya from his reverie.

“Oh, nothing,” Izaya lilts.

Creepy fucker. Shizuo thinks it, so clearly it seems almost direct, as if he wanted Izaya to hear it. Knowing him, it's more than likely. Shizuo doesn't censor his thoughts or his words, after all, and he's never been afraid to tell Izaya what he really thinks.

Seemingly content with the amount he ate, Shizuo sits back on the couch, his legs bouncing in nervous anticipation. He's always filled with anxiety on nights of the full moon, and Izaya can't exactly blame him. Even if Shizuo has a higher pain tolerance than most, the transformation is still incredibly painful, and Shizuo worries about keeping his sanity more than anything else. He's terrified of hurting someone, anyone, even Izaya, and he finds comfort in the fact that Izaya would never let him get close enough to actually hurt him.

Sometimes Shizuo is so human it's sickening.

***

The first time Izaya was consciously aware he was dealing with a dangerous, inhuman creature, he was in middle school.

Tsukumoya Shinichi found Izaya first, of course, an incredibly tame bloodsucker, but an irritating one all the same. He was Izaya's first official client that wasn't a desperate spirit, and he also had the annoying habit of popping up out of nowhere, eager to poke and prod at Izaya like a test subject, much like Shinra, but much, much more adept at getting under Izaya's skin. Izaya was just beginning in his potion-making back then, and Tsukumoya was enthusiastic about needing to feed less. A fellow lover of humans, it had been a long time since Tsukumoya had taken a life. He knew the right amount to drink, but he also had the habit of getting lost in his work, forgetting to feed, and always risked taking too much from the first victim after a period of accidental starvation.

“That's where you'll come in. You could have an entire market of potions for those like me, those that don't want to hurt anyone in the world of the living,” Tsukumoya explained. He had popped up out of nowhere again, met Izaya on his walk home. The sun was freshly set, and Izaya was walking home from Shinra's, enjoying the rare break of caring for the toddlers since his parents were home.

“Isn't making a potion as simple as reading a recipe?” Izaya asked, already irritated by the vampire's presence. “Couldn't you do it yourself?”

“I could,” Tsukumoya said, “but it would only be a drink at that point. I'm not a witch. There would be no magic in it.”

“How fortunate for me,” Izaya said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Tsukumoya merely laughed at him, as he always did. The vampire seemed to view Izaya as a trinket of sorts, the kind of thing one might pick up on a whim, and then keep for a long time.

“Just think about it, would you? There aren't many options in this world, or the next. Witches are few and far between, as you're aware,” Tsukumoya said. “It's been centuries since I met one as powerful as you.”

“So you've said before,” Izaya replied.

They walked in silence for a while, Tsukumoya still grinning like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, and Izaya with a small frown on his face, irritated by the fact that between Tsukumoya, Shinra, and the twins, he was always having someone trail after him. They were passing by an alleyway when Izaya's body screamed at him to RUN and NOW. He felt the pinpricks of danger along his skin, but he was rooted to the spot, too curious for his own good.

“Stay back,” Tsukumoya said, his voice calm, but tight. “That one's pretty strong.”

“What is it?” Izaya asked, straining to see through the darkness of the alley. He could see a figure, huge and looming, but he couldn't make out any details. As if in answer, a ferocious growl sounded, and Izaya was bombarded with the ugliest thoughts he ever heard in his life.

Kill, kill, blood, bite, KILL, KILL, KILL—

Izaya pulled back with disgust, and his sudden movement seemed to trigger the creature, who lunged forward. Tsukumoya yanked Izaya out of the way, too fast for Izaya to truly follow, and then Izaya got a full look at what was after him.

The creature was massive, covered in patches of thick, course fur. It had glowing eyes filled with madness, singularly focused on Izaya, the same thoughts running through its head. Teeth, sharp, jagged teeth, were in the creature's gaping maw, too large to truly fit.

“Werewolf,” Izaya said aloud, as fascinated as he was on edge.

“Yeah,” Tsukumoya answered, “and we interrupted his meal.”

Only then did Izaya notice the blood all over the creature, the viscera under its claws and in between its teeth. He inhaled sharply, and the creature lunged again. It seemed to be all Tsukumoya could do to dodge it.

“You shouldn't be out walking on nights of the full moon!” Tsukumoya said through clenched teeth, throwing Izaya over his shoulder as he ran up the side of the building, the wolf hot on his heels. “Haven't you read enough to know what's out here by now?”

Izaya had. He knew what was out here, knew the risk, but he didn't care enough to stay safe indoors. He couldn't bring himself to regret his decision, not when he could see firsthand what a werewolf could truly do. He propped himself on his elbows to watch the werewolf from over Tsukumoya's shoulder, and his stomach felt like it was dropping to his feet when the vampire detached from the building, free-falling in a careful spiral towards the ground.

The wolf fell after them, still only thinking the same thoughts as before, and Izaya didn't know what Tsukumoya's plan was, didn't wait to find out. He gripped his hand, and the wolf seized, a confused yelp leaving it as its arms and legs snapped to its sides, sending its body careening into a crumpled heap on the hard concrete. Tsukumoya wasn't breathing heavily, not the way he should've been after such physicality, but Izaya reminded himself that for as human as Tsukumoya seemed, he wasn't, and he had no need to breathe. He set Izaya down on the ground and moved towards the still snarling wolf, who snapped at them repeatedly, still trying in vain to bite them.

“Was he one who could've used a potion?” Izaya asked, watching in awe as he approached behind Tsukumoya. He felt fear, certainly, but not nearly enough to leave.

“No,” Tsukumoya said, “this one enjoys the hunt.” With that, he lifted his foot, bringing it down hard on the wolf's head. Bits of skull and brain-matter splattered onto the ground and walls as the wolf's growls ceased, and slowly, the body left behind became that of a man's. Izaya stared at the grisly scene, finding it strange that the first tangible thought he had was that he wished Shinra could be here to see this.

“Sorry,” Tsukumoya said, turning to Izaya. “He would've just killed someone else next month. It was better this way.”

“Yeah,” Izaya said, his body still thrumming with adrenaline. “I've never used my power like that on anything living before.” He didn't really even mean to. He didn't realize it was happening until he was doing it. Tsukumoya only laughed, of course.

“Oh, Izaya, that's only the beginning of what you could do.”

***

Hours later, and Shizuo is back to his usual pacing, his looming form weaving between the coffee table and the TV. Izaya is staring at his computer screen, trying to keep up with the chatroom conversation, but it's nothing he's interested in, and his attention keeps drifting elsewhere, his vision blurring as he loses himself to his thoughts.

He was up the last few days with another assignment. Shiki has been keeping him busy lately, definitely trying to occupy as much of Izaya's time as possible. Shiki really enjoys his petty tormenting, and Izaya has to admit he's been stepping out of line these past few months. He hasn't admitted to anything, of course, but he doesn't have to.

—like shit.

Shizuo's thoughts cut through Izaya's. Shizuo is glancing at him as he paces, his mind the usual maze of self-loathing, bloodlust, and emotional static, but it's clear he's thinking of Izaya, too, specifically that Izaya doesn't look well. Shizuo is thinking of the last time he saw Izaya in the middle of the city, and how he resembled a caged animal, manic, listless, poised to strike. Izaya's jaw tightens, and he fights to keep his expression neutral as he stands and moves to the kitchen, bypassing Shizuo.

Shizuo's thoughts continue to carry as Izaya makes tea. The monster is thinking of how small Izaya is, like this, with Shizuo's form so massive in comparison, but also all the time. Shizuo has always thought of Izaya as flea-sized, a beanpole, something annoying to be flicked away, but somehow Izaya always returns. Shizuo thinks Izaya is completely out of his mind, would have to be in order to keep coming back to annoy him.

But there's a comfort in that, isn't there? Izaya thinks, and Shizuo goes completely stiff, his body turning slowly to face Izaya.

Get the fuck out of my head.

“It's not my fault your thoughts are so loud. You're practically screaming them at me.” Izaya finishes with his tea, and makes his way back to his desk. “Besides, is it really even considered eavesdropping if you're thinking of me?”

Yes. Shizuo's ears are pulled back, his teeth bared. You've invaded enough of my life, you fucking parasite. Let me think in peace.

“Monsters don't deserve any peace,” Izaya mutters, but he grants Shizuo's request, and leaves his mind. At least, Izaya tries to. It's strange. He's never encountered this before. Izaya doesn't read minds often, at least on purpose, but most people are always subconsciously guarding themselves, even without being aware of Izaya's abilities. With Shizuo, he's both protecting and projecting his thoughts to the point that he's pulling Izaya in more than he's pushing him away. If Izaya had to guess, he'd say it's because Shizuo has never had to guard himself. For all of Shizuo's confounding nature, he's incredibly simplistic and straightforward, and his close proximity to Izaya is only making his thoughts even louder. Izaya groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.

What's wrong with you? Shizuo sends, and Izaya blinks up at him when he realizes Shizuo is now sending his thoughts freely and directly.

You're making my head hurt. Izaya thinks back. Shizuo growls a bit.

Good. You deserve it. Fuck you.

Izaya snorts and sips at his tea. This is new for them. In all the time Shizuo has spent here in his transformed state, he's never really conversed with Izaya before. The conversation isn't exactly thrilling, but it's an improvement over Shizuo's usual brooding pity party.

Izaya turns off his computer, deciding he's done playing with his humans tonight. He carries his tea with him as he pads over to the couch, passing by Shizuo again, who glowers at him the entire time. Izaya sits down on the couch and turns the TV on, flicking through some different channels before he decides on a cartoon he likes.

Shizuo isn't looking at the screen, but his ears are twitching towards the sound of whimsical music. Izaya wonders if Shizuo deprives himself of all creature comforts on nights of the full moon because he's afraid of this being his new normal, afraid of accepting this is his life now. It's laughable, and Izaya does laugh, can't stop himself. Shizuo's head whips towards him, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously, still incredibly human even in that distorted, monstrous face of his.

“Don't look at me like that. I'm only watching TV,” Izaya says, and he sips at his tea. Shizuo goes back to his pacing, his ears pulled back. He's pissed, as usual, and he wants to ask questions, but he knows Izaya won't answer them. Curiously, Izaya delves a little deeper into Shizuo's mind, wondering what it is exactly that Shizuo wants to know.

Out of my head. Shizuo sends angrily. Izaya pouts and obeys, wondering how Shizuo even sensed him eavesdropping.

You're no fun at all, Shizu-chan.

***

The first thing Izaya really notices when he stops floating along is that he doesn't recognize where he is. It's a normal-looking house, filled with pictures on the walls, and it takes a few moments for Izaya's eyes to focus on them long enough to make sense of the faces. Shizuo's picture is there, and he's smiling, flexing for the camera as Kasuka stands stiffly at his side. They're both young, and like this, with Shizuo's dark hair, it's incredibly easy to see the similarities between them. From a distance, they could be mistaken for the same person.

“Why are you here?” A voice asks from behind Izaya. He turns to face Shizuo, a spitting image of the child in the photograph. He's maybe ten years old, if Izaya had to guess. He's looking at Izaya like he knows who Izaya is, despite the drastic difference in their ages. “Get out.”

“I'm not sure why I'm here,” Izaya says, his hands going in his pockets. “Is there something you wanted to show me?”

“Fuck, no. I want you to get out.” Shizuo's fists are bloody, and his body is covered in tiny scrapes, his clothes filthy. He's been fighting. Izaya can't help but wonder when the fights started, how young Shizuo was the first time he was jumped.

“Am I dreaming?” Izaya asks aloud. He doesn't remember closing his eyes, but it's possible he passed out. He hasn't slept, and he hasn't eaten. He thinks of Shizuo in werewolf form, pacing around and refusing the comforts he desires and he scoffs.

“How the fuck should I know?” Shizuo's fingers twitch, and he's glancing nervously at the stairs. His parents are up there, Izaya realizes, and Shizuo is afraid of them for some reason. No, that's not it. He's not scared of them. He's scared of them being scared of him.

“Were you fighting? You're so young here,” Izaya says. The Shizuo he met was already broad-shouldered and blond, carrying a heavy reputation with that strength of his. This Shizuo is nervous, jittery, unsure of himself.

“You're in my head,” Shizuo accuses, and then he jolts as a door upstairs opens. “Why are you always in my head?”

“I don't know,” Izaya says honestly. “I'm beginning to think you want me to be here.”

A woman begins walking downstairs. She's strikingly pretty, her face similar to Shizuo's and Kasuka's, her dark eyes large and kind. She moves to Shizuo's side, putting her arms around him. She doesn't acknowledge Izaya.

“You didn't mean to,” she says, petting through Shizuo's hair. “You were trying to help.”

“I still hurt her,” Shizuo says, leaning into her and closing his eyes. He seems to have forgotten about Izaya. “I couldn't stop myself.”

“Kasuka said you were trying to do the right thing. You were only trying to scare the bad men away. You're a good, sweet boy, Shizuo.”

“Where's dad?” Shizuo asks, and his mother pulls away a little, giving him a false, gentle smile.

“On the phone with the police. Don't worry, they just want a report of what happened.”

“I already told them what happened.”

“Yes, but they want to hear it from an adult.”

Izaya looks from the scene to the doorway, which is shrouded in darkness. He makes his way over to it, stepping through, and he finds himself outside the wreckage of a convenience store, multiple people buried in the rubble. Shizuo is there, breathing heavily, Kasuka at his side.

“Was this your first time hurting an innocent person?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo snarls at him, tears in his eyes.

“Go away.”

“I can't,” Izaya says, and he walks towards the woman's unconscious body. “You throw your little tantrums all the time. Who knows how many people you've injured?”

“I don't mean to!” Shizuo shouts. Kasuka isn't paying either of them any attention, is only looking towards the distance where a cacophony of sirens are moving closer to them. “You hurt people more than me. You ruin lives all the fucking time, you like doing it. You're the real monster here and you know it!”

Izaya ignores him and looks around, deciding to explore all he can while he's here. Shizuo follows after him, face still contorted in rage.

“How would you fucking like it, huh, if we walked around your memories, all the things you don't want people to see out in the open? All the things you're scared of, ashamed of? How would you like it, flea?!”

Izaya scoffs, turns to tell him to shut up, but everything shifts around them, and they're suddenly in Izaya's childhood home, the twins both screaming in their cribs as a young Izaya curls in the corner, sobbing as the lights flicker around them and doors open and slam repeatedly. Shizuo's expression changes as he looks from Izaya's younger, terrified self, to the real Izaya in front of him.

“Flea?” Shizuo is older, suddenly, and he looks so fucking concerned that it makes Izaya's teeth click together.

“OUT!” Izaya roars, and the scene dissolves around them. He and Shizuo both wake with a start, still in Izaya's living room, Izaya on the couch, Shizuo curled up in the floor, human again, sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Wha— What was that?” Shizuo asks as he sits up, his voice unsteady. “Were you in my past? Was I in yours?”

“Get the fuck out,” Izaya hisses, scrambling to get off the couch and stand over Shizuo. “You had no right, no right.”

“I didn't do anything! You're the one with—magic. What did you do, huh?!”

“I don't fucking know!” Izaya snaps, and then he turns on his heel, marching towards the door. He steps into his shoes, throws his coat on. If Shizuo won't leave, then he will. He refuses to stay here with Shizuo looking at him like this, with pity clear in his gaze. The door slams behind him as he hurries out of the building, his skin prickling and his hands shaking more and more with every step he takes away from Shizuo.

#with teeth fic #shizaya #Izaya Orihara #Shizuo Heiwajima #werewolf shizuo #witchy izaya

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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Text

like no one does

written for my @stb-bingo square: G1 - Tuxedo, with 1.8k of soft stevetony, love confessions, and single dad tony

also on ao3

Tony slumps back against the wall of the elevator, leaning his head against the cool metal and hooking his fingers under his collar to loosen the bowtie. There’s a dull throbbing at the base of his skull that’s been slowly spreading upwards all night with every painful conversation. He hates nights like this, where he has to dress in his absolute best just to talk to a room full of people he either doesn’t know at all or knows too well and doesn’t like.

Playing the game never gets any easier, he’s come to realize. Sure, he knows all of his lines now and knows how to play the part, but he still feels just as numb and empty at the end of each night as he did right at the beginning. The only difference now is that there’s someone waiting for him on the other side, and tonight he’s lucky enough to get two someones.

The elevator doors open, and Tony huffs as he’s forced to stand up straight again. The entry to the penthouse is dark when he walks in, setting down his wallet and keys on the side table. Light is flickering from the television in the living room, and Tony follows it like a beacon to find a blonde head poking out from the couch.

Tony flops down over the back of the couch, letting his head fall onto Steve’s shoulder without so much as a hello first. Steve must not have heard him come in, because he jumps at the sudden contact before relaxing when he sees it’s just Tony. Steve’s fingers thread through his hair, and Tony lets out a heavy sigh as his nails lightly scrape against his scalp.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs. He stretches one arm out for the remote without dislodging Tony’s head from his shoulder and turns down the volume of the TV so it’s just a hum in the background.

“Hi,” Tony mumbles. “Peter in bed?”

Steve nods, “For a couple hours now. He wasn’t a fan of how I did the voices in his book, because apparently Grover doesn’t sound like that. I thought it was pretty spot on myself, but hey, Peter knows best.”

Tony snorts, knowing exactly what Peter’s face would have looked like when Steve didn’t do the voice the way he likes it. The little frown on his lips and big brown eyes that always make him feel like he’s committed some kind of horrible offense by not getting his accents exactly right.

“If it helps, Rhodey is the only one who actually does it right. He banned me from reading that one to him a long time ago.”

“Oh, good,” Steve laughs. “I thought I was the only one on the banned list.”

“Nah, it’s you, me, Pepper, and Happy. The kid’s got specific tastes.”

“Wow, I wonder where he gets it from.”

Tony pouts, “Don’t be mean to me. I had a long night.”

Steve twists himself so he can press a kiss to Tony’s temple. “Why don’t you come sit next to me for a little while? I can tell you all about how you can make a grilled cheese wrong.”

Tony debates just throwing himself over the couch and seeing where he lands, but the consequences probably aren’t worth saving himself twenty seconds. He straightens to walk to the other side, then sets himself between Steve’s legs with his back to Steve’s chest. Steve shifted when Tony stood to rest against the corner of the couch, and their legs stretch out together. He’s badly wrinkling his tuxedo, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Tony twines his fingers with Steve’s on his stomach and tilts his head back to rest against Steve’s shoulder, sighing contently. “Alright, enlighten me on how you make a grilled cheese wrong.”

“First, you start by being anyone but you, apparently,” Steve says lightly. “Then you proceed with the rest of the steps exactly as you left in the instructions, and by the end, Peter looks at you like you’ve just insulted his very being.”

Tony laughs, covering his eyes with his hand, “Oh, God. I’m sorry. He didn’t do this to you all night, did he?”

“No, he was actually great,” Steve says, and Tony can hear the smile in his voice. “He said I’m better at coloring than you are, so watch out, because I’ll be his favorite soon.”

“You’ll be taking it from Rhodey, not me,” Tony jokes.

Steve holds him a little tighter, hand finding its way back to his hair. He massages the base of Tony’s skull with gentle pressure, alleviating some of the tension from the headache that Tony isn’t sure how Steve knows he has. “I don't know about that. He spent the whole night telling me all his favorite things to do with you. It was really sweet.”

“So things were good?” Tony asks hesitantly. It was the first time Steve has been alone with Peter for more than five minutes since the start of their relationship eight months ago, and he wasn’t really sure if they were ready for that yet. The gala forced his hand though, as his usual babysitter couldn’t make it and everyone else had to be in attendance at the same event. He was intending just to skip it when Steve offered to look after him for the night.

“Things were good,” Steve confirms. “We had grilled cheese, colored together, played with legos, then we watched Finding Nemo, and he handed me a tissue when I cried.”

Tony grins, “You cried?”

“He told me you cried during Up the other day, so don’t even start.”

“Everyone cries during Up, Steven,” Tony defends. “Well, except for Peter, because I don’t think he really understood what was happening at the beginning.”

Steve hums, “I can watch him anytime you need me to, you know. I like spending time with him, and,” Steve pauses like he’s deciding on the words, “I like that you trust me with him.”

“Of course I trust you. I wouldn’t still be with you if I didn’t,” Tony says. He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to the underside of Steve’s jaw. “Peter, he’s my most important thing, and you’ve never made me feel bad about that. You understand it when I have to cancel sometimes or when I’m late because Peter was having a bad day. And he doesn’t really like a lot of people, but he asks about you every day he doesn’t see you.

“I don’t really know where I’m going with this, because I’m tired and I don’t think I’m making any sense, but I guess if there was a point it would be that he likes you, and I know you care about him, and I really like that. It’s - it’s good.”

“I do care about him,” Steve says, leaning forward so he can kiss Tony’s lips softly. “And I care about you, which is why I’m going to take care of you and get you to bed.”

Steve slips out from behind him and gets one hand under Tony’s knees while the other arm wraps around his back. Smiling, Tony holds onto Steve’s shoulders and lets him carry him down the hall.

“How’s your headache?” Steve asks.

“It’s gone thanks to you,” Tony says as Steve pushes the bedroom door open with his elbow. “I don’t know how you knew I even had one.”

“Your eye was doing that twitchy thing.”

“That twitchy thing?”

Steve nods, setting Tony down on the edge of the bed. “Your left eye does a thing when you have a headache and the lights are too much.”

Steve kneels in front him and unties his shoelaces, while Tony tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “You know that, huh?”

Putting the first shoe to the side, Steve puts the sock with it and starts on the other. “And I also know that you’re probably hungry still, because you never really eat at those things, but you can’t eat right now or else you’ll get a stomach ache because it’s too late at night.”

The second shoe and sock join the first, and Steve rises to his feet to work on undoing Tony’s bowtie with nimble fingers. “You should have some water before bed, though, or you’re going to wake up with a new headache. I’m sure you only had one glass of champagne, but you’re a lightweight nowadays, darling.”

Steve sets the tie on the bed and reaches down to undo the buttons on his jacket, then the ones on his vest. The cufflinks come off next, and while Steve sets them back in their box on the dresser, Tony shrugs out of the jacket and vest. Steve straightens them out of the crumple Tony left them in when he comes back. His hands move to the buttons on his shirt, and Tony catches his wrist before he undoes anything.

“You don’t have to,” Tony says, even though he wants him to. “I can do it myself.”

Steve smiles, dipping his head down to kiss Tony’s forehead. “I know you can, but I’m taking care of you.”

There are unspoken words behind the statement, and Tony thinks about them while Steve takes his time working open the buttons on his shirt. They haven’t said them yet because Tony wanted to wait. He said from the start that he needed slow, warned Steve that he would need more time than most, and Steve surprised him by not only saying he was okay with it, but actually being okay with it.

But eight months in, Tony doesn’t know why he’s waiting still. He’s felt it for a while now, and he knows that Steve feels it as well. It’s plain on his face every time he looks at him, in his eyes as clear as if it was written there.

Steve reaches the bottom of his shirt, and gentle hands push the fabric from his shoulders to leave him in the undershirt and black trousers. He turns after that, heading for Tony’s closet and opening a drawer.

He comes back with Tony’s favorite pair of gray sweats in his hand and asks, “Are sweatpants alright, babe?”

Tony doesn’t know why, but he laughs. Steve gives him a confused but amused look in return, not following along with wherever Tony’s head is at, but knowing well enough that he isn’t laughing at him.

“So they’re either okay or it’s a hilariously bad suggestion,” Steve says.

Tony stands up, walking over to where Steve is standing, backlit by the light from the closet. He stands on the tips of his toes and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve returns the embrace automatically, strong arms enveloping him in comfort and warmth.

He says it before he can talk himself out of it or find a reason why not to. “I love you.”

Steve gives him a soft smile and lifts one hand to cup Tony’s cheek. “Well that’s really nice to finally hear.”

“I wouldn’t know. You haven’t said it back.”

Steve laughs, and he leans down to kiss Tony soundly. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against Tony’s and whispers, “I love you, too.”

#stevetony #my writing #my fic #stb bingo #superhusbands #superfamily

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twstarchives · 4 years

Text

Leona Kingscholar・Voice Lines

Additional Voice Lines: Gala Couture Event Card

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “Why should it bother anyone how I look? Let me do what I want.”

Groovy “Hmph. Is my school uniform really that unusual?”

Home Setting “What’s up?”

Home Transitions “Ugh, I’m tired. Everyone telling me to get to class is so annoying.”

“Ruggie was lookin’ for me? It’s probably nothing important. Leave me alone.”

“If you’re bored you should just sleep all day. Think about how much time you could waste.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Why’re you staring at me? What, you wanted to see me? Heh, you’re so direct.”

Home Taps “A necktie? You seriously think I’d wear something that fancy?”

“I’m starvin’... Oi, go get me something to eat. Don’t worry, I’ll share if there’s any left over.”

“I don’t like restricting clothes. Who cares if I look a little sloppy?”

“Your life is something that’s almost entirely decided for you the moment you’re born. You’re not gonna get far with dedication alone.”

“Stop poking at me; it’s pissin’ me off. If you need something then use your words.”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “I don’t like getting hot and sweaty, but I hate losing even more.”

Groovy “Well, my magift skills will get rusty if I don’t take it seriously every now and then.”

Home Setting “Like hell am I putting any effort into this class.”

Home Transitions “Other dorms challenge me all the time in magift. Obviously I have very good sportsmanship.”

“It’s so hot... I’m feeling like a cold bath. I wanna head back to Savanaclaw.”

“I like competitions. If you ever want to challenge me, I’ll take you on any day.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Strength training... hm. I don’t think it’d make a difference to me if I trained like that or not.”

Home Taps “Brute strength is way better than pretty-looking magic. But obviously the most important thing is using your head.”

“Ah, whatever should I do? I just hate doing things so feral like using fangs and claws to take someone down, but...”

“Jack? His stubborn side is irritating, but with a build like that he’d make a great magift player.”

“I enjoy the ‘using your wit to take down your opponent’ aspect of magift. I don’t really like the physical part of it.”

“My hair tie’s coming loose? Then fix it for me.”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “It’s boring having to do things you already know how to do. Classes are so tedious.”

Groovy “C’mon, stop followin’ me around like a little kitten. I hate being around kids.”

Home Setting “Let’s make it quick.”

Home Transitions “The Botanical Garden has the perfect temperature; it puts me straight to sleep. Don’t you feel that too?”

“You can tell what’s in something if you smell it, right? ...Ah? Must be inconvenient not having a strong sense of smell.”

“I’ve been looking for a good place to take a nap. Let me use the Ramshackle Dorm.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Why are you looking at me like that? Even I sometimes participate in class. Just depends on how I’m feeling.”

Home Setting (Groovy) “...Achoo! Oi, you left some kinda weird pollen in the Botanical Garden. Go get rid of it outside.”

Home Taps “Ruggie washes my lab coat for me too. What’s wrong with that? It’s convenient.”

“I hate the smell of chemicals; they give me a headache. Makes me wish I had the same nonexistent sense of smell all of you have.”

“You want me to help you with your work? Ha, you must really be stuck if you’re coming to me of all people for help.”

“There are a lot of plants back in my hometown you’d never see at this school. Actually, it’s just full of nature over there.”

“Knock it off. You’re going to get it if you keep playing with my tail like that.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “You reek of strong chemicals... Go take a bath or something and wash off that odor.”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “A ceremony? I hate formal things.”

Groovy *yawns* “...Oi, let’s go nap somewhere.”

Home Setting “My plans after this? Like I know.”

Home Transitions “You wanna know if I’m skipping today...? ...I’d be doing that if I could. Ruggie was warning me not to.”

“Let’s go and get this over with already. Ceremonies are just child’s play anyway.”

“Having to listen to all the teachers’ long speeches now... Hah. Just thinking about it makes me depressed.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Trein’ll blow up at me if I don’t have my hood on during the ceremony. ...Hah, it’s so annoying.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Heh~ Even you can pull off these ceremony robes. Heheh... Don’t get mad, I’m just messing with you.”

Home Taps “No one’s gonna notice if one or two people are missing from the ceremony. Let’s dip.”

“Crowley always talks for so damn long. Doesn’t he know how to make things brief?”

“Savanaclaw will stay in line even if I’m not there. That’s what it means to be trained.”

“My ears are so pushed down... Why are the school’s ceremony robes made like this?”

“Yeah, yeah, we gotta go. You don’t need to pull me; I already know.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “You’re always so serious about things. Don’t you ever get tired? ...Ha, yeah, that was a stupid question.”

Dorm Uniform - SSR

Unlock Card “Calling out to me like this—you don’t seem to know fear.”

“I usually don’t let my prey slip by me... but I’m in a good mood right now. I’ll make an exception and won’t eat you.”

Groovy “I’ll show you what ‘leader of the pride’ really means.”

Home Setting “Savanaclaw students need to hide their vulnerable sides.”

Home Transitions “The Ramshackle Dorm is really nice. There’s no life or anything there so it’s the perfect place to sleep.”

“The ways of my dorm are simple. It’s a survival of the fittest. You better be careful if you don’t wanna get eaten.”

“If you need something then go talk to Ruggie. He’ll tell me if he thinks it’s important.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Are you curious about Savanaclaw? Alright, I’ll tell you about the dorm life here.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “For an herbivore, you’re really lax about getting near me. Aren’t you scared? ...Heh, you’ve got guts.”

Home Taps “It’s annoying how the feathers on my staff are swaying all the time... but they’re supposed to pay homage to the bird that served the King of Beasts, so I’d get yelled at if I took them off.”

“Where I live, scars are seen as a sign of bravery. They say the King of Beasts had a big scar going through his left eye too.”

“A vice dorm leader? In the past I let some people try their hand at it, but everyone who challenged me lost and gave up. So we don’t have one for now.”

“‘Why did I become the dorm leader?’ Isn’t that obvious? It’s ‘cause I’m the most superior.”

“Oi, stop clinging to me. I hate the warmth. And you’re not a kid anymore.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “I don’t have time for you right now. The afternoon hours are the perfect time for me to sleep.”

Duo Magic Leona: “Oi Vil, after me!” Vil: “Don’t order me around, Leona.”

Tutorial “Oi, let’s go. Come with me.”

Lv Up “Getting some support feels nice.”

“This isn’t bad, but I’m still not full.”

“No amount of power in the world is going to get in my way.”

Max Lv Up “Haha, it feels like the whole world has become mine. Keep devoting yourself to me and I’ll let you have a reward.”

Episode Lv Up “I told myself I wasn’t going to hang around herbivores, but I’ve been getting interested in you. I’ll keep on looking after you as long as you’re not causing trouble.”

Magic Lv Up “Wanting to stay with me while I’m practicing my magic is so typical of you. Most people would just curl up their tails and whine about it.”

Limit Break “Obviously I can do it if I try. ...I just don’t wanna do it.”

Groovy “You wanna see me actually being serious? ...Haha. It’s 100 years too early to show that to an herbivore.”

Lesson Select “Hey, sit in front of me. If I’m in the back I can sleep in peace.”

“This isn’t really something to think so hard about. I’m getting tired of waiting.”

“Everyone’s sittin’ side-by-side working together? I’m good, thanks.”

Lesson Start “Ah~ Boring.”

Lesson End “...That class was so boring; it was all stuff I already knew.”

Battle Start “I know how to fight with more than just power and fangs.”

Battle Win “Didn’t you know I was going to win?”

Other

Profile Quote “Life’s not fair, is it? Don’t you agree?” ¹

January 2020 Trailer “Before joining this academy, don’t you think you should work on that little roar of yours?” ²

Countdown Poster “If you want to see the light of another day, then curl up your tail and do as you’re told.” ³

Login Bonus “You’re here again? It’s a waste doing this everyday. But I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you that someday your efforts pay off.”

Player Birthday Wish “You don’t have to look at me with those pleading eyes. Of course I know it’s your birthday. Forgive me for not leaping for joy.”

Magic History

Good ★

“The king, huh...?”

“The weather’s nice.”

“I made eye contact with the cat.”

“Wish I skipped.”

“Struggling with an incompetent king...”

“Zzz...”

“I’m tired...”

“He was a passive king.”

“Finish this already.”

Great ★★

“Doesn’t everybody know this?”

“I don’t need the textbook.”

“What are you surprised about?”

Perfect ★★★

“It’s feral instinct.”

“Move on already.”

“Obviously.”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“Why’s Crowley here?”

“Making a country thrive...”

“It doesn’t matter who’s here.”

Flying

Good ★

“I’ve been tired since this morning...”

“That all you got?”

“What a pain...”

“Easy win.”

“Coach Vargas is so annoying.”

“I’m starvin’...”

“I don’t wanna move around when I just ate.”

“Have Jack teach you.”

“I caught a bird.”

Great ★★

“I’ll just do it.”

“Too easy.”

“Watch.”

Perfect ★★★

“I could do this in my sleep.”

“Aah? I was asleep.”

“This is easier than walking.”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“Does he really have free time right now?”

“Look ahead and fly.”

“How long do you want me flying for?”

Alchemy

Good ★

“Just do it however.”

“Gold... Not bad.”

“I'm not in the mood for this.”

“Seems like something Ruggie would like.”

“Crewel...”

“The smell of chemicals hurts my nose.”

“It’ll work if you just mix it.”

“I’m getting hungry.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Let’s take a break.”

“Pay attention.”

“I wanna sleep in the afternoons...”

“Ah, the pot scorched.”

“Finished.”

“Is this enough already?”

Great ★★

“You didn’t even know this?”

“Don’t make light of me.”

“I’m tired of this.”

“Feels like my nose is acting up.”

“I did this last year.”

Perfect ★★★

“I’m bored.”

“I want an actual challenge.”

“I can do this without even thinking about it.”

“Do that later.”

“Need some help?”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“Teach, explain this.”

“I don’t even have time to sleep.”

“Oi, smoke! By your hands!”

“Crowley’s real pushy.”

“I just have to do this, right?”

References from The Lion King:

Life’s not fair, is it?

You might want to work on that little roar of yours

You shall never see the light of another day

#leona kingscholar #voice lines

399 notes · View notes

atinybitofau · 4 years

Text

S E O N G H W A ⥈ mafia au series

RECAP: southside’s little devil brings you home to his boss and you both spend the night together for the first time. the next day is filled with eventful surprises. serves purpose, it’s about time you meet your future husband.

word count: 2600+ , tags: angst fluff

characters: ateez (ensemble), reader

⤩ CHAPTER 1 ⤩

prologue . character list

It started with childish attraction and before he knew it, obsession. Seonghwa wanted to know where you were, what you were doing, who you were with— he wanted you on his mind 24/7. If not his mind, in his peripheral. And like San says, he’s a petulant man. If he was offered the oppurtunity to not move a finger, he’ll take it. And though getting you was easy, learning to have you was proving itself difficult already.

Hongjoong had his own desires and call it jealousy but Seonghwa didn’t like the fact Hongjoong had the most beautiful woman wrapped around his finger. Knowing you were already somehow bound to city side, Seonghwa wanted to take you out of it as soon as possible. To him, you were a prize that he wanted. A prize that he couldn’t lose to Hongjoong. He’s already lost enough to the city scum.

You woke up remembering the bed dipped a little late at night. San was very hospitable in your arrival and you weren’t exactly mourning your father’s death— moreso exhausted that it took so long.

The moment you arrived, you were content on taking a nice cold shower and heading to bed. After settling down a little, inhaling this new scent you were forced to familiar with, you laxed in solemn lonesome and buried yourself in a bed that wasn’t yours. At first, it were strange to you the string of events that happened in no less than 24 hours now. You came to accept it as easily as you did to your fathers gruesome history. While you slept however, the scent you lulled to strengthened and a presence you’ve never felt was suddenly there.

Seonghwa was quiet; relaxed and seeming stressed enough not to care that you were already sleeping on the other half of his bed. He fell asleep beside you that night and you only glanced at his back for a brief minute before closing your eyes again. You woke up to the same silence Seonghwa arrived in and his scent lingered away.

On Seonghwa’s mind, he can feel you staring. He can feel your curiosity and it feeds his desires more. He can’t explain how hard it is not to turn around and face you. Tell you what he’s feeling, how he feels, how he sees you. A beautiful woman rightfully his. And in no means was Seonghwa an insolent man, albeit a little sinister when he needs to be, but he respects you. He see’s you fit to share his position and he’d have it no other way with you sleeping at his bedside.

He fucking deserves it.

He wakes up and brushes his finger softly against the bone of your cheek before getting up to leave not even 4 hours later. He’s got enough sleep and no doubt it’s because of you. He has a lot of things to do before he gets to marry you the day after today.

“Good morning, hot stuff.” San flirtatiously licks at his lips, finger pushing his glass frames when he catches Seonghwa strut through the door. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“I’m an engaged man, San.” The elder pairs with an eye roll.

“Boohoo, cry me a fucking river.” Still annoyed at most, San slips him a plate of food at 4 o’clock in the morning. “And what’s our lucky future bride-to-be doing?”

The always furrowed Seonghwa smiles at the mention of you. “Sleeping. What else is there to do?”

“Mhm. Yet here you are bright and early ready to do what again? Hyung, you just got back from overseas. I’m sure Yunho and I can handle y/n’s endeavors for the day. After all, it’s just a dress fitting. How hard can it be?”

Seonghwa whips a glare at satan’s little assistant, teeth gritting at the thought of leaving you with a bunch of imbeciles.

“Being with y/n may be very tedious. Which is why I’ve called Jongho from his activities in Gangnam to join you. And I didn’t get up this early to save grace, Sannie. I got up to meet with the big city’s big man to win y/n’s hand a little more.” Seonghwa pokes his fork at San’s direction. “Don’t sulk at me. I don’t want my fiancé running for the hills before I can even marry her.”

The hitman bellows before sulking anyway. “Remind me again why you’re marrying a woman this soon? For fucksake, Hwa, you’re 22. We haven’t even tried covering Gangwon’s territory and you’re already celebrating our loss.”

Seonghwa rubs at his temples remembering what his bigger tasks at hand were. Why he was often traveling than resting as he should. He thinks a woman can fix his mental issues, his stresses. He may be wrong but for what it’s worth, trying to beat out another gang of territory can be exhausting. Remembering that you slept in his bed, under his roof, with his name? Is rest assured enough. He doesn’t need much more than that.

“Hongjoong has a lot to offer.” Seonghwa reminds San of why he may lose in the first place. “Getting Gangwon under my power is not an easy thing for me to do, San. I have to go through many lengths to get it. And Hongjoong gets too many privelages as the city’s big man.”

“And by privelages you mean the president’s fucking cock of a son. That spoiled little—“

“Yeosang may be spoiled but he’s still wrapped around Jongho’s finger; Jongho still working for me.” He recalls having the upper hand and even if San must remind him of reality, he must remind San who’s stronger. “My main concern as of right now still stands by the woman wearing my engagement ring. And if Hongjoong got to her first I might as well have lost Gangwon all together.”

San feels defeated at the statement. Both indefinitely and so. He just wants Seonghwa to be happy. Most of the time, the things he does.. he works for Seonghwa for that reason. When San was looking for a way out, southside’s own prodigy gave him the little hope he needed. Hongjoong was a pawn in this game he was willing to toss out. San didn’t like enemies. He didn’t like losing. And he sure as hell didn’t like new roles, new things.

Not that he didn’t like you. He just didn’t like the reason why you were here.

“So you marry her. Yeah sure.” The younger of the duo shakes in pure distaste. “You marry the poor girl and that makes it easier for you or easier for the situation you have?”

Seonghwa knows of San’s concerns and he hears them loud and clear. “Y/n serves an important purpose in my success. I’m as greedy and heartless as they come but sometimes I still am a human being, San. Though I prosper at evils, I deserve some type of compensation. I deserve her.”

“Talk to Yunho about that and we’ll see if you still feel the same.”

Seonghwa leaves San that morning to ease the tension between them. He knows sharing a house with a man who cares for him too much and a woman who doesn’t is going to start domestic problems. He was still adjusting to the new set up and so was San. The black haired devil may be a little conniving but San will come around to you eventually. He just needs time.

The way you do with Seonghwa.

Speaking of time, it moves and you’ve dress fit and meet the new people of your life with not much response. In fact, you assumed that the fitting would draw you closer to amends with your circumstances. Unfortunately you fell short of that. You felt a little left out and you also felt uncertain with your place as Seonghwa’s new wife.

You were dying to meet your future husband personally. And you can tell, though you fond San’s company, he may not exactly be fond of you. In terms of: living with him and marrying his best friend at least. You give him some credit though since you’re normally a patient woman. Yunho on the other hand seemed quiet and never outspoken. Jongho too. You wonder if time will give them some respects towards you and you hope they don’t make your life a living hell. It’s already pretty bad and you don’t want it to be worse.

You wait in Seonghwa’s bedroom, the hands of the clock being the only side to drown your thoughts. Your wedding dress hangs mockingly over the closet door and you blink with every second that passes. You even count to make time go faster. San’s doing something with Yunho downstairs in the basement and Jongho’s somewhere making noise in the kitchen. It was hard to hear if Seonghwa was home. But the eerie silence that grew in the house, that weird tension that was there when you woke up this morning. It’s there again.

You don’t know why your heart bounces at the sound of footsteps.

You want to meet him.

This was going to be your husband for fucksake.

“Oh.” You only see his silhouette over the bright lights in the hall when he breaks the silence. “You’re still awake.”

You don’t say a word as he shuts the door and strips out of his suit jacket. He runs a tongue over his lips and the light in the bedroom hovers his features now. He’s just as gorgeous as San describes. Actually you think you’ve seen him before. He’s got protruding cheekbones, prominent lips, dark eyebrows and dark eyes that scream heaven in hell. You know that face. That’s Park Seonghwa of course. But you know that face because you’ve seen it many times before.

Your father used to owe him too much. Obviously, he’s the man your father sold you out to.

“You aren’t tired?” He questions breaking your condescending thoughts.

“Hardly.” Your voice is hoarse when you finally speak after countless hours of not saying anything at all. “I wouldn’t consider dress hunting to be much of a tiresome activity.”

“The boys would argue otherwise. They tell me you’re a picky woman.” His chuckle vibrates even in your chest.

You start to realize you want to like him but you can’t. He’s just so nice. He talks like he’s known you for years. He smiles like this settlement doesn’t hurt you. Like being sold and arranged to marry him isn’t heart clenching. You hate him and it’s going to be hard to change that.

The adjustment period might take longer than you initially thought.

“I-I’m y/n.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He turns to you with a soft glare and smiles. He reminds you of somebody. He reminds you of someone you used to love. “I’ve known you longer than you’ve known me.”

You highly doubt that.

“I met with Hongjoong today.” He tangents with pure consideration. “He asks if you’re still mourning.”

Not really paying attention at first, you ask for him to reiterate. “What?”

“Your father.”

You’re not sure how Seonghwa sees you out of this set up. You’d think a person might be a little peeved by your immoral senses considering you put a hit out on your own father. Although, this person was someone who killed meaningless lives on a daily. Provokes the evils in people, maybe. And you indirectly ask your future husband you’ve never met before to kill a man who worked for the enemy: your dad. You don’t want to assume he’s egging you on but you somehow think he’s just being courteous.

“Why would I be mourning my father when I asked someone to kill him for me?”

Seonghwa’s smile is as dark as hell’s deepest point. “So you’re happy.”

“I’m ecstatic.” Your tongue seethes against your tightened teeth and Seonghwa’s flustered in the attraction he has for you.

He overanalyzes the way your eyes gleam and how your lips drool through someone else’s blood shed. You were a cold hearted bitch. And damn does he live for it. He loves to see it. And he wants all of it.

Yeah, he definitely wants you.

“Well I’m glad I had the pleasure of making your wishes come true.”

He stands up again while looking at the white dress hanging from his wall. He seems a little struck, pauses to look at it a little longer. Like at you, when he walked through his bedroom door a couple minutes ago.

You want to like him, you do. But it’s already proving itself difficult and you haven’t even married him yet. His answers were to simple. His questions felt half assed and far from curious. He’s a hard devil to trust and from your pasts, you don’t like dishonesty.

“You met with Hongjoong. Which means you went into the city today.” You urge a response from the frozen man who blatantly gazes at the dress you chose to marry him with. “Are you two still fighting for the territory up north? Where my father was initially going to be transferred to.”

Seonghwa’s back tenses at what you ask and you can see it even through his thick materialed shirt. “Questions get you in trouble, y/n. Keep that in mind the next time you want to get brave enough to pry.”

“As your fiancée, I think I get the right to pry. So deal with it.”

“We leave for the venue tomorrow at 10.” He unwraps the leather of his watch and turns off the red blinking light in the corner of the room. “I know he’s your old friend so Hongjoong has been cordially invited and with the rest of his fools. So I suggest you don’t make me look bad and our partnership will start on light feet.”

“Partnership?” You scoff wanting to stand. Though you shouldn’t, you definitely want to. “Is that what you’re calling this? What you forced me into?”

“An arrangement of sorts. A partnership that leads to both our success.” He turns to you and shows you his other side. A side you have to adjust to already. “This is no longer your choice and you either are gonna stay with me or stay without me. I’m gonna give you the option to leave right now if you want.”

He’s halfassing you and you don’t need binoculuars to see past his bullshit. The devil in him is just begging to be let out.

“I wasn’t blessed with the right to choose nor was I blessed with the right to care. If it’s me you want, it’s me you’ll have. I was never happy and I’m sure that’s not gonna change even if I stay or go.”

His smirk deepens at your tenacity. He likes it. He likes it a lot.

“Good.” His tongue rubs across his already wet lips. “I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement.”

“Fucking bite me.”

You don’t plan to ever say that again. Cause you sleep in the same goddamn bed with him. And let’s just say they were right when they said Seonghwa doesn’t like when people answer back.

“Well isn’t he nice.” You hoarsely mumble to yourself while rubbing at your swollen eyes.

Your fingers play with a note left on his side’s pillow and you open it to read that you were set to prepare for the wedding. You bathe and change as if the house was already yours and meet with San who was prepping breakfast in the kitchen. You remind yourself in the halls to explore a little more when the time’s given.

“Good morning.” You greet sitting by the counter, eyes chasing his rushing figure.

“Yup. Sure.” He hums while sliding you a plate, all in the while fixing his suit and tie. “—This damn shirt. I told that asshole I wasn’t going to wear this shit.”

“What?” You chuckle before reaching over to fix his collar. “A suit?”

He absentmindedly groans while glaring at you help him. “I’m a turtle neck enthusiast. Buttons are my worst enemy and we’re clearly past formal appointments with our line of work. Since I can’t, please do me the solid favor of choking your husband in his sleep.”

“Duly noted.” You pat his shirt when you’re done and fix your his disheveled hair. “Speaking of the groom, he left this morning and didn’t say a word. He left a note though saying I was to prepare for the wedding. Care to elaborate?”

San threads his fingers back through his hair, glaring his eyes at you an a casual manner. As if his eyes were meant to stare that way.

“You’re getting married in the next 3 hours. What else is there to elaborate?”

@atinybitofau

a/n: rough edit

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finnlongman · 3 years

Note

If you don't mind me asking, as a writer, is there anything you do to motivate yourself/stay focused on one particular idea/project? Like, keeping yourself from having another idea mid-work and having an "ooo shiny" moment, and leaving the old work to be an Emer to the new idea's Fand (to make a clumsy Ulstsr Cycle joke)? I've been trying to get a bit more serious about writing recently and this is an issue I've been running into. Thank you in advance if you do answer this ask.

I always have multiple projects in my brain, but I generally have a one-track mind when I'm actually working on things. It's why I'll obsessively edit a novel in three weeks and then go back to doing academic work -- my brain won't let me do both at once, so I have to give them all my focus for a short period of time and then switch.

I'm trying to get better at juggling multiple things, but it's still my weak point. This summer, I had to split focus between two novels, a thesis, and an article, all in the space of about 2.5 months. The result? I completely abandoned my thesis, and indeed, any academic work, for the whole of August, in order to focus on fiction, because the deadline was more urgent. Sometimes you have to prioritise, and knowing you have to switch tasks at a certain time and that this one has to be finished first does wonders for making you focus.

However, if you don't have deadlines and if nobody is expecting you to hand anything in, it can be a lot harder to do the finishing part, and it's easy to go off chasing new ideas. I think we've all done it. For the first 10 years of writing fiction, I didn't have any deadlines either except those I gave myself, and I definitely abandoned projects and hopped around. Even since I signed with my agent, there's been at least one project I had to put aside unfinished and I don't know when or if I'll come back to it, though that was less a case of being distracted by something else and more a case of being too depressed to write. If it had been under contract, though, that would have been more difficult! So I'm glad that it wasn't.

Part of the way I avoid it is by writing fast. This is unhelpful advice, because either you write fast or you don't, and if you're not a speedy writer, it's probably not very useful as a tactic. But if I write fast enough, not only do I not give myself time to get bored, I also have the drive of knowing the sooner I finish something, the sooner I can move on to something else. If it's only another 3 weeks of work, there's less a sense of the new idea being impossibly distant. I always leave first drafts to stew for at least a few months before I edit them, so once they're done, hopping between projects is a good thing -- as long as I got to the end first. But not getting to the end can be a killer.

I also try not to take breaks while writing first drafts. Again, doesn't work for everyone, hasn't always worked for me. But the books where I take days/weeks off while drafting are the ones that are hardest to finish, and every time I've stopped long-term and said I'll come back to it later to finish it ... I never have. If I ever do, I'll have to rewrite the whole first half before I can continue. This is partly because I'm not an outliner, so first drafts are precariously balanced in my head and setting them down can mean losing sight of something crucial. If I had a set outline to follow, it might be easier to dip in and out.

Having said that, I do have some books that have been written far more intermittently with lots of days off... but they were definitely harder. The continuity and speed is a fairly crucial part of maintaining my train of thought. Like I said -- one-track mind. That's why it's so hard for me to balance multiple projects.

Over time, I've learned that ideas are really the easiest part of writing, but they often don't go anywhere. I keep note of them, often in my phone, but an idea is not a plot, and it takes time for them to turn into a book. I like to let them mature on their own for a while. I knew I wanted to write TRWTH from about 2015, but I didn't draft it until late 2018; I knew I wanted to write a Bisclavret retelling since about 2016, but didn't draft it until late 2019. I gave them time to figure out what shape they wanted to be in before I started actually working with those premises directly. So that can help me resist the temptation to jump on something new -- it's not necessarily ready yet. Writing it down feels like scratching the itch ("I'm not ignoring it, I'm just setting it aside") and means you won't forget it, but also means by the time you come to look at it again, you have a better sense of whether it's worth writing.

Having said that, I'm easily distracted by the temptation to *edit* something other than the book I'm currently working on; I'll reread an older project and see how to fix it and since editing doesn't require the same single-minded focus (for me) as first drafts, I can be lured away quite easily. Deadlines are usually the main thing that helps there.

If I'm honest... deadlines in general are the only things that keep me on track. Otherwise I'm always hopping between things and never focusing on anything long enough to get it "finished". It's where things like NaNoWriMo can help: setting yourself a goal of writing a certain amount of a book within a window of time can often keep you on target long enough to pass the point of no return (i.e. the point at which you're more invested in finishing the book than in starting a different one). I never finished anything until I did NaNo for the first time; it turned out what I needed was a deadline and an excuse to write quickly.

Two final things. One is that I try to only write things I really care about. If I'm ready to abandon a project and never come back, I probably wasn't invested in it in the first place. Two, if an idea is constantly popping up while writing something else, it might be related. It might explore the same themes, or develop on one of the ideas. It can be worth poking at it for a minute to check if that's the case, and if it is... it's not a new story. It's a new part of the story you were already writing, and can be woven in.

It's possible absolutely none of this is applicable to those with a different writing style to me, and it's also incredibly rambly, but quick summary:

deadlines help. knowing someone is expecting something from you helps.

writing fast enough not to get bored gives you less time to get distracted.

ideas need time. write them down and let them stew instead of rashly chasing them; they may not be able to carry a whole story on their own

they may not BE a whole story; consider whether they're part of what you're already writing

Did this make any sense at all? I have no idea. I've actually been switching between three projects (two fiction, one academic) this week, so my brain is utterly melted because, as I said, I suck at doing that.

#writing #answered #oddnub-eye

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another-emotional-wreck · 3 years

Text

My Only Sunshine-- chapter 2

Warnings: Language

Word count: 3k

Authors note: Sorry this one took so long yall, I'll try to have the next chapter out a little sooner. This past week was a lot and I wanted to make sure this chapter was done right. Thanks so much to everyone who's reading it and invested in the story. Yall mean so much to me <33 (If there's ever any confusion, don't be afraid to ask about it! ((and I promise you'll see Peter soon))

1 | 2 |

************************************************************************

“Jean?” Ororo rapped on the door with her knuckles while her head poked through the doorway.

A girl with hair like fire was adjusting her clothing and didn’t bother to turn from the mirror. “Yes?”

“Are you busy?

“I was actually about to go and meet up with Scott.” Jean turned to face Ororo. “Why, what’s the matter?”

In response, I was reluctantly dragged from the hallway into Jean’s room and gave an awkward wave in return. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Jean responded. Her facial expression didn’t change.

Ororo looked expectantly between the two of us before the uncomfortable silence became unbearable. “Alright since the both of you obviously can’t interact as normal human people do, I’ll help out a little.”

“Nyah,” Ororo turned to me dramatically. “Would you be alright with Jean helping you out?”

Jean interjected. “I don’t mind helping out, but I would like to know exactly what I’m helping with.” Jean turned to me. “Last time I went along with something I ended up in detention with you and Peter for a month.”

Ororo chuckled at the memory. “The Professor smelled like potatoes for a week.” while I stood there clueless, but a death glare from Jean wiped the smile from the silver-haired girl in a heartbeat.

“Right,” she cleared her throat. “Well, Nyah’s a little confused on what her mutation is, exactly. I, ever the genius, came up with the idea of doing what the Professor usually does and replicating the emotions she was feeling when her mutation arose.”

Jean stared at Ororo for a moment before sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of her nose. “And did it ever occur to you that maybe there’s a reason why only the Professor uses that method?”

“... okay, yes, but--”

“Jeez, Ororo!” Jean exclaimed.

“Please!” She pleaded, gesturing to me. “I wanna help her out. I know you know how terrifying it is not understanding who and what you are. If we have the chance to save someone from that, why not take it?”

I could see Jean fighting with herself on whether or not to agree. “Why not go and ask the Professor? I’m still not entirely sure what I can do and he has the skill and the actual authority to do it. Why not ask him?”

“You know why.” Ororo huffed.

“Um… I don’t.” I said.

The two girls seemed to forget that I was in the room as they both looked mildly surprised at the sound of my voice.

Jean smiled slightly, trying to calm her nerves. “The only time the Professor uses that method is when nothing else works.”

“Why not use it more often?” I asked.

“Well,” she sounded hesitant. “It’s mostly because it puts the mind in a fragile state and he doesn’t want anyone getting hurt--”

“Plus some kid went too far a couple of years back and the Professor is afraid of it happening again.”

“Oh,” my gaze dropped to the floor. “Alright then.”

I mean, did I really need to know what my powers were?

Ororo’s gaze softened. “Hey, look, you don’t have to go through with this if you’re not sure, I’m here to help either way.”

The gazes of both girls seemed to bore into me and after a moment of silence, I nodded slowly.

“Alright.” Jean rubbed her hands together. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m supposed to be meeting Scott in half an hour.”

*********

“So uh, what exactly do I have to do?”

Two chairs were placed directly across from each other, Jean and I sat in them while Ororo rested on her bed.

“Just uh-- just breathe.” She wiped her palms on her jeans and tried her best to keep her breath steady. After a couple of deep breaths, she closed her eyes and tried again. “I can go as far into your mind as I need to, but it would be better for the both of us if you did your best to keep that memory at the forefront of your thoughts.”

I furrowed my brow. “But why not just search for it? It feels like that would be easier, especially since I don’t remember every detail.”

“No,” Ororo shook her head frantically. “Definitely not.”

I figured she was joking, but my smile faded at Jean’s serious expression.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because,” she sighed. “I can only control my powers so well. Not even the Professor knows the extent of what I can do.” Jean glared pointedly at Ororo. “Which is exactly why it would have been a lot smarter to either wait to get help from the Professor, or just wait for your powers to manifest themselves.”

I hadn’t felt all that great about the idea of someone poking around my thoughts, but if it was risking everyone’s safety, was it really all that worth it?

It wasn’t hard for the two of them to tell that I felt guilty. Jean interjected at the exact moment I opened my mouth. “Look, I know that we’re making it sound like it’s the end of the world, but at the most, I’ll be a little tired. I swear, it’s not as bad as you’re thinking.”

“And you’re sure you’ll only be looking for one memory?” Sure I felt bad, but I also really, really didn’t like the idea of a stranger going through private thoughts and memories.

Then again, the fact that I was letting her in my head in the first place might have invalidated any desire I had for privacy.

“Just the one memory,” Jean repeated.

I could see Ororo clutching Jean’s pillow in my peripheral. “Okay,” I muttered. “Let’s get this started before I chicken out.”

Jean nodded and the door closed and my heart skipped a beat before I remembered that Jean was, in fact, telekinetic. She grabbed my hands and a small part of me wondered if that was necessary. Her eyelids grew heavy and her head dipped a little-- but I wasn’t feeling anything. How could I not feel someone going through my head?

Apparently, I had spoken too soon. A sharp pain shot right behind my eyes and I knew that she had entered, but it didn’t feel like expected it to. Had I not expecting it, I probably wouldn’t have felt the almost imperceptible change in weight-- not physically, of course. After the initial sharp pain, everything just felt dull and clouded.

There was a tug in the back of my mind-- as if someone was trying to drag something out of a corner. I resisted the urge to fight it and heard a quiet gasp from in front of me. Whatever Jean had been trying to drag out had grown into something that I couldn’t avoid.

The memories of that day played like a slideshow in my head and I could feel the emotions rising up with each frame that was presented.

Jackson going too far and my teacher following me through the hallways after I had stormed out of the classroom.

Me not knowing how I got from the hall to the bathroom when I never walked through the door, and eventually being hunched over the sink.

The teacher grabbing my arm only to end up across the room and unconscious in the blink of an eye.

Me suddenly appearing back in my classroom while the entire school sat in darkness.

I could feel every ounce of fear and anger and frustration bubbling inside of me, the strongest one being fear. How was I supposed to deal with this? I didn’t want any of it, I didn’t need any of it. Why me?

As my pain and frustration grew, the light in the room seemed to fade despite the fact that it couldn’t have been later than 4 pm. I risked peeking my eyes open to see the light in the room being pulled away-- like some sort of vacuum was sucking it all in.

“Umm...” came a voice from my right. I turned to see Ororo sitting stiffly in the corner, her eyes were wide and frantic. Her gaze landed back on me and I could have sworn she was on the verge of fainting.

I was too preoccupied with everything I was feeling to notice what was happening. Something in me screamed to get away.

“I gotta--” My head hurt and the room was swaying. I staggered to the bed and, as I fell, I could see that the pitch-black tendrils were all coming from me.

*********

“Ugh, fuck.”

Everything was bright-- too bright. My head was throbbing and the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears was unbearable and someone had moved me from the chair to a bed at some point.

The light in the room was overpowering and I covered my face with my hands, wishing that the light would go away.

Wait a minute--

I squeezed my eyes tighter and kept my hands over my face as I focused every thought into taking the light out of the room.

The space grew dimmer and I let out an audible sigh at the same time a man with an accent spoke up.

“Well, if this is how you’d prefer it, I suppose I don’t mind.”

My eyes shot open and I turned towards the voice to see none other than the Professor himself. I didn’t do much other than stare at him for a little while, which prompted him to speak once again.

“Well,” I could see him blinking harder than usual in an attempt to adjust to the unnatural darkness. “You surely caused quite the ruckus earlier.”

I was drawing a blank before my throbbing head reminded me why it was throbbing in the first place.

“Oh God,” I pinched the bridge of my nose as if that would get rid of the thundering in my head. “Are Jean and Ororo alright?”

“She’s alright. Ororo ran out of the room for help pretty quickly after you fell over.”

I turned so that I was facing the professor entirely. “Is everyone alright?”

“No one was hurt Nyah,” Charles’s voice was calm and soothing. My head grew quieter the longer he spoke.

“Did the backup generator work well?”

He looked genuinely confused. “Backup generator?”

“Well, yeah,” I muttered. “How else is the power back on in the rest of the school?”

“Ah, I see.” The Professor chuckled at my confusion. “Nyah, you don’t control electricity, you control darkness. When Jean entered your mind, whatever you felt was powerful enough to push any trace of light from the building.”

There’s a chance he was able to sense my guilt. “If it’s any consolation, once you went unconscious everything returned to normal.”

“Oh.” it was silent for a little while before I thought of something else. “What about Jean?”

“She’ll be alright,” he sighed. “What she did earlier took a little more out of her than she likely expected. Jean is powerful, but she has much to learn.”

The Professor quirked his eyebrow and rested his chin on his fist. “What I would like to know, however, is why none of you thought to come to me.”

Sitting through this conversation I felt like a little kid being reprimanded, except this time I couldn’t think of an excuse-- at least not without somehow blaming Ororo for the entire thing.

“I, uh-- well. Ororo just wanted to help--” the Professor snorted at that. “She brought me to Jean and told me about the method we used earlier. I figured it was a good enough idea because I had no clue when I’d be able to figure out what was wrong with me.”

His eyes softened. “Well, your first problem was thinking that there was something wrong with you in the first place.”

Anyone could guess where this conversation was going, but I really didn’t feel like having it right now. “Right. Sorry, I mean what my mutation was.” My brain latched onto another thing that Ororo had said. “Ororo also mentioned that part of why you never use that method is because something… happened a few years ago?”

The Professors’ change in attitude was instant. His eyes grew heavier and he looked at least a decade older than he had just moments before. The two of us bot sat quietly in the darkness, and I noticed that, although the room we were in was pitch black, the halls were perfectly lit.

“What happened with that student was a mistake-- one that I refuse to make again.” It seemed as if he was reliving the moment in his head. He was paler than usual and his eyes seemed glazed over.

It took a moment for him to continue. I don’t think he knew that I could see him as clear as day since he tried to act as if nothing had happened. “No. I refuse to make that mistake again.” His face brightened and he looked in my direction. “All I ask is that you come to me if you ever need help with your powers, Nyah. We are here to help you..”

“Of course,” I nodded.

“Now,” the Professor said. “I do believe that dinner will be served sometime soon. Would you be interested in joining the rest of the students?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Excellent. The cafeteria is--” he turned to see a kid walking past. “Emanuel, would you mind showing our newest student to the cafeteria?”

After a moment of confusion, the kid smiled, his teeth practically shining bright enough to illuminate the pitch-black room. “Of course, Professor.”

“Lovely.” The Professor turned his chair towards the door and left, but paused just before.

*********

The walk was awkwardly silent and I struggled to keep up with the kid in front of me.

“Hey,” I huffed. “Would you-- uh-- would you mind slowing, down a little bit?”

“Hmm?”

“I said: could you slow down?”

Yeah, sorry.

The hallway to the cafeteria seemed farther than it needed to be. Was this even the right way?

In yet another attempt to lighten the atmosphere, I spoke up again. “Jeez, it feels like we’ve been walking forever.”

“Not forever. About fifteen minutes, maybe.”

Oh, alright then. “How far away is the cafeteria from my room?”

“About two minutes tops.” His voice was calm and unwavering in the most condescending way possible.

“Are we going the right way?”

“Of course,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Are we taking some sort of detour?”

“The quickest way is always the best, so no.”

“So how has it taken us fifteen minutes to walk what would usually take two?” My confusion seemed to do nothing more than amuse him.

He adjusted the coil of stark-white curls atop his head with a small smirk. “Because I want it to.”

I hadn’t realized that, at that point, we had arrived at the bustling cafeteria, yet it seemed as though people were just beginning to get their food. I turned towards where I thought Emanuel was standing, only to see that he had vanished.

“Alright then,” I mumbled to myself.

I took one step and it felt like the first day of school all over again-- probably because it was. It was loud and everything was moving. I could hardly see where the lunchline began and the constant sound and movement wasn’t helping.

Everything felt smaller than it should have. I could feel each footstep and hear each conversation. I felt a threateningly familiar pit in my stomach and I was too afraid to risk what might have happened if I didn’t find something to help.

I reached towards my belt loop to feel that what should’ve been there wasn’t. I looked down and realized that I had left it in my dorm.

Shit.

Hoping I’d be able to make it there and back with enough time to get my food, I took a look at the slowly growing line, sighed, and raced back towards my dorm.

By the time I arrived all of the light had returned to normal and my duffle was squished between my bed and the wall. I reached for it and found my Walkman and headphones, securing everything before walking back towards the cafeteria.

Like Emanuel had said, the walk was only about two minutes and I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d managed to stretch it out as long as he had. Maybe he was just screwing with me?

I looked at the line, which was far too long to stand through for whatever they might have been serving, which left me with just finding a table until dinner was over.

As I scanned the room I felt a pair of eyes boring into me, which turned out to be none other than Emanuel’s. His gaze made my spine feel weird, so I looked away, eventually deciding to just spend the rest of the hour in my room.

*********

Her face brightened the moment she saw me which, to be honest, wasn’t an unwelcome reaction.

“Jesus, Nyah.” her arms were wrapped around me before I could register what was really happening. “Where were you?”

“Uhm, unconscious,” I joked, and Ororo pulled away to frown at my humor. “How’s Jean doing?”

Her face fell ever so slightly. “She’s alright, but still exhausted. Hank said not to let her out of bed for another day or two.”

The guilt was heavy in my chest as I nodded.

Ororo took note and had an idea. “Come on, you haven’t seen my room yet.”

I was half led, half dragged down a series of hallways until we reached another dorm that looked like it had been occupied for quite some time.

The walls were covered in posters of various bands and movie characters, all over walls painted and electric blue.

“Dude,” my jaw was close to the floor. “Your room’s amazing.”

“I know.” She winked as she grabbed a snowglobe from her shelf and shook it.

“Hey,” I said to Ororo. “Do you know anything about Emanuel?”

She plopped herself onto her bed. “Who?”

“Emanuel Nelson,” I repeated. “Pretty tall, white hair, kind of an asshole.”

Ororo snorted. “Yeah. Everyone knows him.”

“What’s his deal?”

“I’ll tell you later tonight.”

“And what’s tonight?” I sighed, already having a pretty good idea.

“You’ll see.”

Although it was meant to be a secret, her grin told me everything I needed to know.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x oc #oc nyah walker #oc emanuel nelson #xmen #xmen fanfiction #peter maximoff fanfiction #ororo munroe #jean grey #charles xavier #hank mccoy

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probably-writing-x · 4 years

Text

Out of love (Part 1)

Guzmán x Reader

Not my gif

Let me know if you’d want to see Part 2

Summary - Guzmán has faced a lot over the past year, and you’d always been by his side through it all. It was a given. But there’s only so far that will stretch when he doesn’t reciprocate. How far will you go before you drain yourself of energy and give up on the one boy you’ve ever truly loved?

- - - - - -

Falling in love with someone was a much easier process than falling out of love with them. Nobody spoke about that part of it enough. You’d see people cry, pick themselves up and just somehow manage to be okay. But there was never enough about the struggle to release that tug on your heart, to pull it back to your chest instead of yearning to be with theirs. That’s exactly how it would be with you and Guzmán.

- - - - - -

“Do you have the homework from Chemistry?” You ask Guzmán as you wait beside his locker, watching him take out the book he’d need for first period.

“Yeah, here,” He sifts through the rest of his locker and hands a sheet to you absently, “How come you didn’t do it?”

“I-“ You pause, “Just couldn’t really focus.”

He eyes you suspiciously but shrugs anyway, “I think everyone’s feeling a bit like that at the minute.”

You nod but part of you had hoped for a little sympathy from your boyfriend at that. He knew what you were going through at home, and watching your brother deal with chemo was one of the worst experiences of your life, second to losing your best friend when Marina died. Ander was a best friend to you too, you were the sort of siblings that never argued and made everyone else think you were crazy for doing so - but you always knew you had each other and that made any argument generally seem pretty futile. Especially now.

“Are you listening?” Guzmán snaps you from your daze, now standing in front of you as he talks.

“Sorry, just thinking about-“

“Guzmán, I need to talk to you,” It’s Samuel that interrupts, a look of fear on his face as he tries to give you a half-sympathetic smile.

Your boyfriend doesn’t even question it, he goes instantly. And you’re stood alone in the corridor, the concept of priorities dawning over you. You were never going to be his.

“Ready to go to class, (Y/n)?” Nadia suggests, coming up beside you, “How are you doing?”

You start walking with her, “I’m okay, it’s not easy but we just need to be there for Ander.”

“Of course, and if my brother starts being a nuisance - I apologise.”

Just like that, it all falls into normality and the comfort of having someone eradicates the upset of missing Guzmán. Although it doesn’t last long.

- - - - - -

In the afternoon, you make your way to the hospital to meet Ander and Omar for his next round of chemo. All you’d had was a short text from Guzmán saying he’d meet you there, nothing else all day.

“Omar, I’m sure you pick the worst music every single time it’s your turn,” You roll your eyes as he plays another song in the earphones that him and Ander shared, “I can tell by Ander’s face!”

Normally, you didn’t feel awkward when the two of them were together because you normally had Guzmán with you and the four of you just relaxed into your respective couples. Today, Guzmán was late.

“Okay, okay, what about this one?” Omar suggests, flicking onto the next song hopefully.

Ander eyes you, “You okay (Y/N)?”

You glance at your brother and see so much of how he has changed. His hair was still curly on his head but you knew that wouldn’t last. He looked paler and his eyes always more tired, he looked weaker and his smile didn’t seem to spread as far anymore.

You clear your throat, “Yeah, I’m just going to grab some drinks - does anybody want anything?”

They both say no and you make your exit quickly, trying to stop yourself from crying at the sight of your brother and his boyfriend. You never cried.

“Hey,” Guzmán stops when he sees you, “Still down there?”

“Yeah, normal place,” You gesture in the direction you had come from, “How come you’re late?”

“I just had some...” He pauses, “Stuff to sort out with Samu.”

It’s instinct when you nod like you understand, “Is it okay if you stay over tonight?”

“I always stay over.”

He says it bluntly but you hope he means well. And it’s true. Every night after you’d been to chemo with Ander, Guzmán slept round yours as a way of comforting you. It’s the one pocket of him you still felt like you held.

- - - - - -

It’s too late to be awake when you find yourself still staring at the ceiling above you. Your arm is tucked underneath your head and youre trying your best to think of anything other than... this.

Guzmán is sleeping soundly beside you, soft snores coming from his direction every few minutes. It should be a sound that would make you cuddle up next to him and do the same. But you didn’t want to disturb him.

With that boy laying next to you, you’d never felt lonelier. It might be selfish to say but you didn’t lie. You still had your brother and your family but there were complications there that were beyond what you could help. And Guzmán - had you become boring to him?

Before you can spiral any further, Guzmán groans beside you as his eyes flutter open slowly.

“You’re still awake?” He frowns, “What time is it?”

His voice is groggy and you can tell he doesn’t want to open his eyes too far at fear of losing the comfort of his slumber.

“I don’t know,” You reply quietly, glancing up at the darkness that spilled through the skylight window above you, “Late.”

“It’s cold,” He mumbles, reaching out an arm and tugging you toward him.

Just like that, he’s holding you like you’re still a normal couple and you wish you could’ve just asked him and felt like he’d have laughed and pulled you to his chest without question. But part of you thought that would be a helpless way of covering these wounds. So, you inevitably force yourself to sleep just as he had. It doesn’t take long for his arms to loosen their grip around you.

- - - - - -

When you wake the next morning, it’s after a very disturbed and broken sleep. Ander is sat at the table in the kitchen and you join him with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Sleep well?” He glances up, “I don’t think I need an answer.”

You hit at his arm and roll your eyes, “Well, thanks.”

He chuckles a little and winces at the hot liquid of his drink.

“Ander, can I ask you something?” You ask him cautiously but you know you don’t need a response to continue, “Have you noticed anything different between me and Guzmán recently?”

He frowns, “I don’t know, I guess you’ve both been dealing with a lot. But I don’t know, why?”

You take in a deep breath, “I don’t think he loves me anymore.”

Ander scoffs and shakes his head, “You’re serious?”

“I don’t know,” You respond, “It’s like I’m never really sure what to say to him anymore because I don’t want to burden him. Like there’s nothing I can say to make anything that he’s going through become any easier.”

“(Y/n),” Ander squeezes your hand, “You do realise you’re going through things too. This,” He gestures to himself, “You lost your best friend, you’re trying to keep up with school on top of that... it’s hard for you!”

“I sound so self involved.”

“You sound like you care about yourself and that’s not a bad thing, ever,” Ander encourages, “Talk to him, it’s Guzmán!”

“And tell him that I want him to love me again?”

“He never stopped.”

You want to believe your brother, of course you do. But it felt like there was nothing you could say that would change how Guzmán was acting.

“Hey,” His voice is familiar but you don’t want to hear it as Guzmán pokes his head around the door of the kitchen.

“Hey man,” Ander begins, “What do you fancy for breakfast?”

“I’m not staying,” Guzmán shakes his head, “I have somewhere to be.”

He’s not addressed you once. You could shrink into the ground and there was no way of changing his mind that you weren’t a priority - not now.

When he leaves is when Ander turns to you like the other half of the puzzle has clicked into place, “(Y/n)...”

“I’m going to get ready.”

You fight back the tears that threaten to spill as you’re walking toward the stairs, though there’s nobody to watch them fall. You could easily break down right here, cry until Ander comforted you enough to stop it or until Guzmán came back through that door and realised he’d forgot to kiss you before he left, forgot to tell you he loved you. But that wouldn’t happen and so, as always, you convince yourself that tears are futile and you pull them back in. As always.

- - - - - -

It’s another week that passes until you’ve practically given up on Guzmán. Not completely. Just figuratively. He’d been dipping in and out of school all week, he missed Ander’s appointment, he’d not even mentioned the party tonight and, for once, you didn’t care. You’d go anyway. You’d keep a drink in your hand, stay with your friends, let the lights go dim and forget that you weren’t loved by the one you loved.

It’s the typical story of a break up isn’t it? The girl realises her worth and the boy realises what he’s missing. Maybe that’s not what you wanted. You wanted him to see what he had. You wanted him to see the girl in front of him that was breaking at the prospect of her life and she needed him to be there to hold her waist and force those pieces of her to stay together.

And, just as you’d hoped, the club gives you that exact escape from it all. Everybody is there, nobody really caring about anyone other than free flowing champagne from overpriced bottles.

“(Y/n)!” Omar grins from behind the bar as you go up to order a drink, it always makes you slightly more comfortable when you see him working here, “The usual?”

“I’ll have a double please,” You call over the music.

His prominent brows raise as he laughs a little, “Dont tell your brother.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

That’s how you’d plan on getting through the night. You’d convince yourself that drink was a valued coping mechanism just for this one night. You were never much of a drinker. Although, it doesn’t seem that way when Guzmán turns up later.

“(Y/n)?!” He calls as he sees you.

You’re dancing in the middle of the floor with a half drunken champagne bottle in hand, somehow still managing to stay on your feet.

“What are you doing?” Guzmán exclaims when he walks over, checking you for any signs of damage.

“Enjoying myself, more than I have done in a while!” You laugh in his face and swirl around to the music.

“Come on babe, you never drink like this!”

“No, but you do,” You hiccup, stumbling as you face him, “Dance with me.”

“I’m not dancing with you, I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Come on, you’d dance with me if you loved me,” You tap at the lapel of the suit jacket he’s wearing, “Oh, shit, I forgot you didn’t love me anymore.”

His face drops. Had you really just accused him of that?

“(Y/n), you don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re going home,” Guzmán encourages, trying to grab hold of your arm.

“So now you fucking care about me?” You snap, “No, fuck this, Guzmán. I put up with enough of your shit.”

With that, you’re walking away from him and he’s hurrying through the crowd after you. It’s Ander that stops him.

“I’ll go, she doesn’t need to see you right now,” Your brother defends you, holding Guzmán back firmly.

“Are you kidding? I’m her boyfriend!” Guzmán retorts, trying to keep his eyes focused on you.

“Really?” Ander scoffs, “That’s not what it seems like.”

- - - - - -

Guzmán is pacing the floor of his own house as he waits to hear from you. The view outside is practically mocking him. He should be out there going to find you, wrap his arms around you and tell you he’d never stopped loving you. But the thirty missed calls and texts told him that wouldn’t be a good idea. His sleepless night meant that it was still early and he hoped you’d still be sleeping - even if he wanted to be beside you.

He near enough throws his phone when it starts to ring and it makes him jump away from his daze. And he has to blink a million times when he sees your face on the screen, accompanied by your name and a small crown emoji. Don’t fuck it up Guzmán.

“Hi Guzmán,” Your voice sounds so weak on the other end of the phone that it makes him stop dead in his tracks, “Are you okay?”

He’s surprised at himself when he smiles, “You want to ask about me?” He lets put a gentle, weak laugh, “Dont worry about me. Are you?”

“I’m fine, Ander made sure I got home safe, and got me through a lot of drunken emotions,” You explain, “I’ve realised I’m right to not drink much - I don’t like being drunk.”

He smiles but doesn’t respond, he’d rather hold onto every single word you were saying - let you carry the conversation.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you last night, that’s not how I wanted to have that kind of conversation,” You’re so calculated in your response that it kills him - it felt like you’d been drained of all emotion.

“No, come on, you were drunk- I just didn’t want you thinking that...”

“I meant what I said.”

His heart, his hope, his life, all feel like they crash harshly around him. They break down every piece of anything he’d built up. They take away every reason he has to get out of bed, every reason to feel loved. Just like that.

“I just need to know one thing, Guz,” You start but your voice is cracking now and he starts to realise that it’s the worst sound he could imagine, “When did you fall out of love with me?”

That was it. The words that would break him. The words that ripped away any opportunity he felt like he had at happiness. Losing you. That would be what would break it all.

“Was there something I could have done? More of, less of, anything?” You’re rambling a little but he wouldn’t dare interrupt, he wants to keep every piece of you he can, “I know it might not be worth knowing but I think I need to. Just that one question.”

His chest clenches and his head starts to throb and, just like that, there are tears pulling at his eyes and falling helplessly onto his freckles cheeks. You should be there to wipe them away. You should be there to tell him it was okay. No. He should be there to tell that to you.

“(Y/n),” He croaks out, an unwelcome sob following the word as he grips the phone with a weaker hold now, “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry Guzmán, I should go.”

His heart is screaming at him to say the right words.

“No, (Y/n), please!”

But the beep that comes through his phone screen tells him you’ve already gone. He keeps it pressed to his ear like you’ll be back in a split second. But it’s hopeless to think that you will be. Instead, he’s left with a thousand thoughts of everything he should’ve said to you, every time he should’ve told you how much he appreciated you. He thinks back to how many times he’s kissed you and how much more he should’ve been doing it, how he should’ve remembered every single detail of your body in bed and proven to you just how much he worshipped you. It was all of those feelings that he kept so internalised whilst he focused on everything else. Because you were always just there. And now you weren’t, the cliche of knowing what you’ve lost hits him like a ton of bricks.

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

Text

A Place to Belong Chapter 32: The Mind of a Child

Chapter 31

Read on AO3

August 1750

“Ma petit lapin a bien du chagrin, il ne saute plus dans son p’tit jardin.”

Claire was holding little Janet under her arms, dipping her feet into the stream, causing intermittent squeals. Jenny was sitting with her feet dipped in, Michael in her lap, occasionally slapping at the surface of the water. Claire looked up from the little toddler in her arms, hearing a sweet song over the cacophony of the rest of the Murray children in the water.

Across the stream, Fergus was sitting in the shade with Brianna in his lap, teaching her a song about a little rabbit.

“Viens, Brianna, saute comme un lapin!”

Brianna giggled and scrambled off his lap to her feet.

“Saute, saute, saute, ma petit lapin!” They both sang, Brianna giving a little hop with each “saute.”

“Danse, danse, danse, danse ton p’tit jardin.” Fergus took her hand and twirled her by her finger.

“Saute, saute, saute, ma petit lapin, et dépêche-toi d’embrasser quelqu’un!”

Fergus pointed at his cheek, and Brianna obliged with a sweet kiss in accordance with the lyrics of the nursery rhyme.

“Très bien, ma petit lapin!” Fergus exclaimed, ruffling her wild curls.

“What the Devil is he teaching her to say?” Jenny said, pulling Claire out of the sweet scene and back to the baby in front of her.

“He’s calling her his little rabbit,” Claire said, her heart bursting with love. “It’s a song he’s been working on with her.”

“She’ll be talking circles around us all wi’ three tongues,” Jenny said, dodging a wild splash from one of her children — likely Katherine.

“Indeed,” Claire confirmed, giving Janet another swing, crying wee! as she did. “She can keep secrets from me in Gaelic and from you in French.”

“I ken some French, mind, but no’ as much as Ian or you. Or wee Brianna will I suppose.”

A loud splash suddenly cracked through the air, smacking both Claire and Jenny — and subsequently the twins — right in the face. The wee ones immediately began wailing from the surprise, and Claire sat back and held Janet in her arms to soothe her.

“See that, Mummy?” Brianna’s head poked out from the stream, a glint of fiendish pride in her cat eyes.

“Indeed…felt it, too,” Claire said wryly.

“I hopped!” she said. “Je suis un lapin!”

“Un très grosse lapin,” Claire said, bouncing Janet. “Quite inconsiderate to the little ones, Brianna.”

“Sorry, Mummy!” she cried before toddling over to her cousins. The stream was deep enough for her to jump into but still be able to brush the bottom with her toes if she didn’t go too far.

Fergus waded in and sloshed his way across to Claire.

“She is braw with French, is she not?” Fergus said proudly.

“She is. She has a wonderful teacher,” Claire said, beaming proudly at him, mussing his wet hair.

He gave Claire a deliberately wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek before diving after the little ones like a raging sea monster sending squeals and shrieks into the atmosphere. Janet and Michael finally stopped wailing, both of them actually growing rather sleepy, much to mother and auntie’s relief.

As time went by, Claire could not help but notice that a particular squeal was no longer among the throng, and she looked up to see Brianna draped on Fergus’s back, arms around his neck, cheek squished between his shoulder blades.

“Fergus,” Claire called. He trudged through the water again, still carrying Brianna. “What’s the matter, love?” Claire felt her forehead and cheek.

“Tired, Mummy,” Brianna mumbled, sighing heavily into Fergus’s back.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Does your head hurt? Do you feel feverish?”

“Tired, Mummy,” she said again, sounding more irritable.

“Alright, alright. It’s alright. Fergus.” Claire carefully shifted Janet into his arms, and he held her up, making sure to not submerge her in the water. Claire lifted Brianna off his back and pulled her into her lap.

Brianna hadn’t gotten sleepy in the middle of the day since she was still two years old, and she was going to be four come November. Claire waited until Brianna was dry before feeling her head again to be sure that the water hadn’t cooled off any fever she may have had, but she still felt just fine. She did a lot of squirming and whining in Claire’s arms, muttering over and over that she was tired, Mummy, and that she did not want to play anymore.

This seemed extremely out of character for her daughter, and Claire was starting to worry. Her wild little thing had never voluntarily asked to nap or stop playing.

“I’m going to take her back to the house,” Claire said to Jenny, who now had two little toddlers on her outstretched legs. “She may just need to get out of the sun.”

“Aye, that sounds best.”

“Come on, little love, it’s alright.” Claire stood up and sighed heavily as Brianna settled on her hip, and they began the short trek back to the house. All the while, Brianna made heartbreaking little moaning sounds against Claire’s neck and her right arm slipped off of Claire’s neck.

“Can’t hold on, Mummy…” she whined.

“What do you mean, darling?”

“Can’t hold on!” she wailed, starting to cry.

Claire’s heart leapt into her throat with panic, and she began racing back to the house double-time.

“Mummy’s got you, sweetheart. It’s alright. I’ve got you…”

Her cries were soft and small, and that was what frightened Claire more. Brianna was not quiet when she was upset.

Claire crossed the threshold into the house, calling for Mrs. Crook to retrieve her medical kit from the barn.

“Brianna?” Claire sat her down on the sofa in the parlor, trying as hard as she could to keep her voice even and calm. “Can you pick up your arm for me, darling?”

Brianna cried harder at this, her fingers wiggling.

“Can’t, Mummy!”

“Do you feel this?” Claire pinched her upper arm, and she shook her head, her chin trembling. “Alright, it’s alright. Mummy’s here.”

Numbness and tingling in her arm, irritability and exhaustion.

Brianna was going to have a seizure, and this was her first time being able to vocalize what was wrong.

Mrs. Crook entered the parlor with the medical kit and Claire demanded that the furniture be cleared so that Brianna could sit in the center of the room and not worry about hitting her head. This was the first time they hadn’t been caught completely off guard by a seizure, and Claire was going to take advantage of it.

“What’s happening here?” Ian’s voice had Claire looking up from the floor with Brianna. He’d been at his desk taking care of the ledgers, which is precisely the reason the children needed to be out of the house, so that he could count without pawing hands and shrieking voices.

“I think she’s going to have a seizure,” Claire said.

Mrs. Crook was out of the room brewing chamomile, and Ian nodded. Suddenly, a sharp yapping filled the room, Jehu and Bran having apparently followed Ian from his desk to the parlor.

“Oi! Hold yer wheesht, ye wee fool,” Ian commanded, but the little thing kept carrying on.

He bounded from Ian’s side and right up to Brianna, and Claire instinctively wrapped her arms around her protectively.

“Jehu! Enough, ye mangy mutt!”

But on he went, barking viciously in Brianna’s face.

“Wait,” Claire said, releasing Brianna. “I think he’s trying to tell us something.”

“How d’ye mean?”

“Dogs have a nose for things. I’ve seen it myself, in Paris.” Claire thought back to Bouton at L’Hopital, how he could sniff certain illnesses and inform his mistress what ailed certain patients. “I think he can somehow tell that Brianna is about to seize.”

“A dog that kens what ails a person?” Ian exclaimed in disbelief.

“It’s alright, Jehu,” Claire said, reaching a hesitant hand to stroke his head. “Good boy, Jehu. Very helpful. Good boy.”

He continued barking intermittently, soothed only somewhat by Claire’s ministrations.

“Do you have a…a reward for him?” Claire said. “We should encourage this behavior, no?”

“Aye, I suppose.”

Mrs. Crook flitted back into the parlor with freshly brewed chamomile, only to be sent back out again to retrieve a small bit of raw meat for the dog.

“This is a good thing, Ian,” Claire said, her concern for her daughter briefly overshadowed by the excitement at the prospect of a medical discovery. “She can’t sleep in my bed forever, and even if she did, there’s no guarantee I won’t sleep through a seizure. He could stay in the room with us, wake me up with that barking if he can sense it.”

“Aye, and he’s loud enough to rouse the whole of our tenants from a dead slumber.”

“She could sleep in her own room, Ian, with the other children. A sense of normalcy,” Claire’s heart and head felt light as she scratched behind Jehu’s ears, feeding him the bit of meat that Mrs. Crook gave her.

“Good boy, Jehu. Very good boy.”

It was not long after that Brianna fell over, stiff as a board, and Claire tended to her. Jehu finally calmed down and Ian scooped the little rat terrier up, holding him securely in his large hands. For all the build up, it was a small seizure, only just under twenty-five seconds, but it was, of course, enough to wear out her poor girl.

She vomited as she always did, onto the blanket that Mrs. Crook had lain out atop the rug in the parlor for an easier clean-up.

Claire pulled Brianna into her lap and soothed her as she wept quietly, whining on and on about being tired, that her bones hurt, that her teeth hurt.

Claire put her to bed after giving her as much chamomile as she would tolerate, and Ian stood by, still holding onto Jehu.

“She’s alright?” Ian said, worry written into his every feature.

“Yes, she’ll be fine.” Claire sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing some curls out of Brianna’s sleepy eyes. “And I think with that little one’s help,” she looked up at Jehu. “It’s going to get a lot easier.”

——

December 31, 1750

Brianna was sat securely on Fergus’s shoulders as the whole of Lallybroch was gathered around the clock at five minutes to midnight. Claire had her arms draped around Fergus’s shoulders, stroking Brianna’s little feet, giggling in her tipsy haze. The hand on the clock crept closer to the twelve, and Brianna drummed mercilessly on Fergus’s head in anticipation. The buzzing chatter of the room escalated to whooping cries as it finally turned midnight, and the fiddler started in again as everyone tossed back more whisky.

Claire laughed joyously and gave Fergus a sloppy kiss on the cheek, clasping his face in her hands far too tightly. Fergus laughed and dramatically wiped his cheek like a snotty little boy, and then he tossed Brianna off his shoulders and caught her securely in his arms. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck.

“Bonne Année, ma petit lapin!”

“Bonne Année, mon frère!” She kissed his cheek as messily as her mother had, and then shifted over to kiss Claire. “Happy New Year, Mummy.”

“Happy New Year, my darling girl.”

The dancing picked up again, and Fergus swung Brianna around a bit too recklessly for Claire’s liking, but she was laughing too hard to be able to stop it. Her baby was four years old now, and her little boy was fifteen. It was inconceivable, impossible to wrap her head around.

And Caitlin’s first birthday had passed as well.

It had been a quiet, sad day. Jenny and Ian spent a long time at her grave. Claire had admired that Jenny had even gotten out of bed. It was more than Claire could say she’d done on Faith’s first birthday.

It had been a long, hard year, 1750. Strangely enough, perhaps the most difficult of all. Claire had gone through lower moments than any others in her life, Caitlin’s loss having dug up the deepest pain she’d ever carried, forcing it to claw its way to the surface. Even after all she’d survived, she wasn’t sure she could.

But she had, they had. She and her family, together.

She would be shattered, a hollow, empty shell without their love.

But with it, perhaps someday she would feel something akin to true happiness again.

——

February 1751

Claire and Jenny were trying valiantly to teach Kitty and Brianna how to milk the goats without much success. They kept getting distracted petting their soft coats, giggling with each other over little whispers that Claire couldn't decipher for the life of her, and chasing the goats that weren’t being milked, effectively disrupting the current milking. They very nearly even spilt the milk that had been collected, and Jenny had howled until she was red in the face.

“D’ye ken how valuable even a single drop is? D’ye want tae starve?”

They’d sat still as stone after that outburst.

Now, Claire was holding Brianna in place between her knees, both pairs of hands on the udders, teaching her how to squeeze, and Kitty was doing much the same, though she seemed much less pleased about it than her cousin.

“Mummy?” Brianna piped up.

“Yes, darling?”

“Are you English?”

Claire’s brow furrowed slightly in amused confusion. “Well, yes. Of course I am.”

“But you’re not,” Brianna said, her voice pitching higher curiously.

“Whatever do you mean?” Claire chuckled softly.

“You’re kind, Mummy,” Brianna said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Oh.

“Kitty said you’re English,” Brianna continued, and the cousin in question shot her head up, gaping at Claire with wide eyes as if she’d been found out in some way. “But I said you’re not. Because you’re kind.”

It was Jenny’s turn to look up, exchanging a slightly flustered look with Claire.

A week ago, the Redcoats had dropped by again unannounced, and Jenny had launched into her usual protective scheming, declaring that Brianna and Kitty were to pretend they were sisters.

“That means ye’re my bairn, Brianna. D’ye hear me?”

Claire had listened with baited breath from the priest hole, grateful to have time to hide this time and not have to come up with more excuses to not talk.

“And ye’ll call me Mam, no’ Mummy. Understood?”

Claire listened to the usual droning of the Captain and his men, and to her horror, he actually addressed Brianna directly.

“Why does she not talk like a Scot?”

“Whatever d’ye mean? ’Course she talks like a Scot.”

“The speech seems…tainted.”

Jenny was always a quick thinker.

“Och, she’s just mockin’ ye, Captain. She parrots the voices she hears, ye ken. Cheeky wee thing.”

Claire heard Brianna give a small pained cry, and she supposed Jenny had given her a small swat upside the head.

“Ye’ll stop mocking an agent of His Majesty at once, Brianna Murray. Understood?”

“Aye, Mam.”

Good girl.

Claire had made note in that moment to speak to Brianna about the difference between English speech and Scots speech. Apparently such knowledge would come in handy.

It would appear the girls had picked up on more danger in that situation than they’d originally let on.

And now her niece and her daughter thought she was an evil Redcoat.

“Brianna…sweetheart…” Claire sighed in defeat, releasing their shared grip on the udders and drawing her daughter into her lap.

“I am English. And so are you, well half of you, at least.”

“I am?”

Claire’s heart nearly broke at how horrified she sounded.

“Yes. But, Brianna, just because we share…speech and…background with the Redcoats doesn’t mean we are Redcoats. Do you understand?”

Brianna just blinked up at her, and Claire looked sheepishly at Jenny, then down at Kitty, who was blinking at her just as wide-eyed as Brianna.

“The soldiers that come to Lallybroch are…are not kind. You’re right about that,” Claire said, rubbing Brianna’s quickly chilling upper arms. “I chose to become a Scot when I married your Da. I have English blood, and I talk like an English lady, but I love Scotland very much. Don’t you?”

“Aye, Mummy.”

“See? I may be English, but I’m no Redcoat.” Claire gave Brianna’s neck a little tickle, eliciting a few giggles.

“D’ye hear, Kitty?” Jenny said, and the little blonde head nodded. “No more talk of yer Auntie being a nasty Redcoat now. Understood?”

“Aye, Mam.”

“Inside wi’ ye now, both of ye,” Jenny said. “Yer wee bones have been in the cold far too long. We’ll finish here.”

“Stay bundled up in front of the fire until Mrs. Crook says you can move,” Claire added as the two little girls starting shuffling out of the pen. They took each other’s hands and walked gaily back to the house, Kitty emitting an ungodly shriek before they disappeared.

“Christ,” Claire muttered, burying her face in her frozen hands. “I didn’t expect anything like that.”

“Ye never know what’ll come out of a bairn’s mouth,” Jenny said, giving her a knowing look as they returned their attention to the goats.

“Do you think they understand, truly?” Claire asked, a lingering sense of guilt and doubt still churning in her gut.

“Dinna ken. Hope so at least. They know better than to think ye mean us any harm. They’re just…”

“Confused.”

“Aye.”

Jenny sighed, frustrated. “She’s dry already. Yers?”

“About done as well.”

They both attempted to squeeze the last bits of milk they could, and then shooed the goats off.

“Well, it’s a bit more than last time. Isn’t it?”

“Hard to tell,” Jenny said, standing up with her bucket, and Claire followed suit.

Claire opened the goat pen and stepped through waiting for Jenny to close the gate behind them. Hearing the clunk of the wooden latch, Claire began walking, and then was surprised to feel an arm drape around her shoulders.

“Dinna fash, sister,” Jenny said. “Ye ken Kitty loves ye. Ye ken they all do.”

Claire smiled softly, returning the embrace, pressing their bodies together as they strolled toward the house. “I know.”

“Ye heard the way she asked, didn’t ye? She didna believe that ye could possibly be like them.”

“I know,” Claire said wistfully. “Just the fact that she even had to ask…that it was even something they talked about.”

“I ken.” Jenny gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Do you ever wonder…how much…how much longer we can keep it up…?” Claire asked, the slightest tinge of panic stinging her heart.

“They’ll grow tired of sniffing out Jacobites eventually,” Jenny said, seemingly not at all fussed about the entire situation. “And besides, I’m quite the…oh, what was it ye said?”

Claire broke into a grin. “Quite the actress.”

Jenny tossed her head back in a hearty laugh. “Aye, that’s it! Tell me again about those moving portraits ye’d like to see me in.”

“Dear me,” Claire teased. “I do believe I’ve given you quite a big head.”

Jenny gave her a small shove, careful not to spill a drop of either pail of milk, and yet they held each other all the more tightly, stumbling up the porch steps and giggling like schoolgirls.

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sortasirius · 4 years

Note

Prompt: Dean drives Sam to the library routinely & pretends he hates it (but Sam knows he has a library card). Dean's started seeing a new face in the library, always reading books about spiders, but he doesnt how to break the ice. Until one day, he finally sits down and invites Cas over to his place to see his pet tarantula. When they get there, the tarantula is missing. Both are afraid of spiders: Cas was only researching for an assignment & Dean only got a tarantula to impress Cas.

This is literally the funniest prompt I have ever received, I literally laughed for a minute straight when I read it. Thank you so much, this was such a fun one to write, I hope you like it!

Words: 2063 (what can I say, the spider sparked my creativity)

Dean pretends to hate the library. Someone had to put up the front of being the cool intimidating brother, and they both knew that wasn’t going to be Sam, even though he was about a foot taller than Dean now. No, that didn’t make Dean self-conscious.

He takes Sam to the library at least once a week, Sam insists he studies better when he was there, Dean rolling his eyes and relenting, sprawling out in one of the hard wooden chairs and pretending to be bored on his phone until he could sneak off to peruse the stacks himself, where he was sure Sam wouldn’t see him. He reads Tolstoy and Vonnegut and Dostoyevsky and Salinger, even dipping into those Hunger Games books that everyone was so unto a few years before (his review? They’re pretty good, make him feel like he’s a fast reader).

It’s an easy routine, something that Dean will never in a million years admit how much he enjoys. The quiet shelves that all smell like dust, pencil shavings, and old books are peaceful, something that makes him feel like he can breathe a little easier, that life is a simple as sinking down onto the worn, stained carpet, his back being poked by a metal divider between the S’s and the T’s and losing himself in the inky words printed on the page.

One Sunday in the dead of winter, Dean’s in his usual hiding place in the back corner of the library. It’s a little darker here, but when your eyes get used to the lower light, it’s easy to read. He’s lost in the world of Jack Kerouac’s On The Road today, and is so immersed that he doesn’t even notice someone looking at the shelves next to him, right up until they trip over his feet in the aisle and crash onto the floor with a thud loud enough to shake the books stacked towards the ceiling.

“Shit!” Dean cries in a stage whisper, surprised, but not surprised enough to use a regular speaking voice, he isn’t an animal, this is a library after all. He scrambles to help the person up in the semi-darkness and then is face to face with a pair of wide blue eyes.

“Sorry,” the stranger whispers, trying to arrange his clothes, which Dean notices fit the attire of a college professor more than a student, and this guy looked like a student.

“S’no problem, my fault, I probably shouldn’t sit in the middle of the aisle.”

The guy nods, smiling a little shyly, and then hurries off before Dean can even catch his name. Damn. He was good looking too.

Dean sheepishly moves out of the aisle and to a small table which, though more in the light, is also open enough that Sam could see him if he walks by, and Dean still wasn’t sure he wants to deal with the smug look that would take up residence on his brother’s face if he saw him reading. But man, this book was just a little too good to put down.

Surprise surprise, he does get caught. Sam taps him on the shoulder with a wide grin, his bag hooked over his shoulder, clearly ready to go.

“So much for hating the library huh?”

“Ok, whatever, I just come here for the pictures.”

“Kerouac isn’t exactly kid’s stuff.”

Dean rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, looking anywhere but at Sam. He tucks the book under his arm. He had to check it out and finish it tonight, it’s just that good.

They walk by the guy that had tripped over Dean earlier. He’s hunched over his table, his hands flying across a notepad he has next to him, several books about spiders spread out around him. Dean makes a mental note of it. He was going to talk to that guy if he saw him again, he’s always up for a good challenge, and spider-boy looked like the perfect one.

He does see spider-boy again the next week, when Sam simply has to study for a midterm he has coming up. He’s wearing thick glasses with dark frames this time, his nose an inch from the diagram of a garden spider he’s copying. Dean tries to work up the courage to go talk to him, but there’s something so taboo about interrupting someone when they’re so clearly in a groove, so Dean watches him from the non-fiction section, observing the way his hair brushes the edge of the book he’s staring at, and the way he cracks his knuckles every so often when his hand starts cramping.

Dean decides he’s being a freak. He goes back to his little table and picks up Tortilla Flat by Steinbeck.

It goes on like this for nearly two months. Dean sees spider-boy every week, who’s name, he learns, is Cas, always at the same table, always working on something to do with spiders. And every week, Dean swears he’s going to go talk to him, but he has no idea how. He’s never been this nervous to talk to someone, but there’s a little nagging voice in the back of his head, what if this guy thought he was an idiot? What if they had nothing to talk about?

So, he does what he does best: he hatches a master plan at his little table in the back of the library.

He’s a genius.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam sighs, staring out the window of the Impala at the looming brick building of the library grew closer. Dean had put his plan into action the day before, and was eager to get to the library and ask Cas to come home with him, see his prize. He had insisted that Sam get a ride home with his girlfriend, and Sam had been only too happy to oblige.

“This’ll make a great story for Eileen I guess.”

“This is going to work.”

Sam laughs again.

“Like I said, you’re an idiot.”

Dean doesn’t waste time. The second he steps inside, and smells the familiar old-book smell, he heads straight for Cas’ table. Cas is wearing his glasses today, and is reading a book called The History of the Arachnid, he’s leaning back on his chair so two legs were off the ground. A rebel. Dean’s kinda guy.

Dean plops down across from him, and Cas lowers his book in surprise.

“Hi, you probably don’t remember me-”

“I see you every week.”

This catches Dean off guard. Cas arches an eyebrow, and then laughs a little.

“I’m Cas.”

Dean knows this, the librarian, Mrs. Covere, is a total gossip who loves Dean, and he had wheedled it out of her three weeks prior to hatching his plan.

“Hi Cas, I’m Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Cas smiles at him, clearly intrigued, and Dean isn’t going to disappoint.

“Listen,” Dean starts, leaning across the table with his hands clasped in front of him, “I see you reading a lot about spiders. And, though there are other books out there, I was wondering if you wanted to stope reading about them and come meet a real one.”

Cas pales by a few degrees, and Dean rushes to explain so he doesn’t come across like a total freak.

“It’s just. Uh, well, I just got this guy, and he seems pretty cool, and you, uh, seem into spiders and I was just wondering if you, like you totally don’t have to, I don’t want to make it seem like, anyway, uh, the offer’s there? I guess…”

He trails off, kicking himself for rambling so much. That was not part of the master plan. But Cas, though still pale, smiles at him again.

“Sure, as long as you promise not to murder me.”

Dean grins back.

“Scout’s honor,” he raises his hand in salute, “You can ask Mrs. Covere, she’ll vouch for me.”

The ride over to Sam and Dean’s shared apartment with Cas is quiet. He doesn’t seem to feel every silence with words, and Dean’s the same, he likes that. He wasn’t sure he could talk much anyway, he would probably say something that would ruin the surprise.

Dean jumps out of the car and hustles to his door the second he parks, and Cas follows, still with those wide, interested eyes, his reading glasses tucked carefully into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Dean had never seen anyone dress so formally all the time, he would have to ask him about it, after his amazing ice-breaker.

Dean heads straight for the enclosure the man at the pet store had suggested to him, looks in the tank…and his stomach falls into his shoes.

There is supposed to be a tarantula that Dean had purchased in that tank. There is not a tarantula in that tank.

“Ha ha,” Cas is standing next to him, also looking into the clearly empty tank, “Good one. Where did you hide it?”

Dean’s throat is very dry. His eyes flick from floor, to wall, to ceiling. Can they even get on the ceiling?

“Um. This isn’t a joke. He, uh, got out I guess.”

Cas eyes widen with palpable fear, he takes an automatic step toward the door.

“Oh hell no, nope no, I gotta go.”

“Wait! You’re the only one here with any idea at all what to do!”

Cas gapes at him, Dean feels like he’s hyperventilating, suddenly feeling like there was maybe something on his back.

“What do you mean? I don’t know anything about-”

“You’ve read nothing but spider books for the last two months!”

“It was for my term paper! I hate spiders!”

“Well I do too!”

“Then why do you have one in your house?!”

“Because it was my master plan! I thought it would impress you!”

Cas splutters, half laughing.

“Wait,” Dean continues, “Why did you come with me if you hate spiders?”

“Because I wanted to impress you,” Cas cries, still looking all around the room for their missing spider friend. Dean follow his eyes, searching for the traitor. He was supposed to get him laid, not be a cock block.

You’re gonna have such a cool home after this too, he thinks bitterly, you do this to me, and I’m going to give you to Charlie. She loves all kinds of weird pets, you’ll be living the dream, I don’t deserve this man.

Yes, he’s talking to a tarantula in his head, these are desperate times.

He looks up at Cas, half desperate, half terrified that Cas was going to walk out the door and start going to the library across town.

“Listen, please help me find him, and I swear I’ll take you on a normal date after.”

Cas just nods.

It takes them the better part of an hour to track down the spider, who is hiding in the corner of the living room by Dean’s guitar, and then ten minutes of rock, paper, scissors to decide who picks him up. Dean loses, damn paper, and doesn’t immediately yell when it crawls on his hand because this is a delicate operation and, even though he hates spiders, he actually didn’t want to freak the little dude out.

Dean calls Charlie immediately after he’s back in his enclosure, and tells her she needs to come grab her new pet ASAP. He and Cas sit on the couch, staring at the lighted enclosure, trying to make sure the tarantula stayed in place this time.

Charlie shows up ten minutes later, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and happily scoops the spider into a “travel carrier” as she calls it. Dean carries all the spider supplies out to her car, and as she straps him carefully into the passenger seat she calls,

“Say bye to Aragog!”

Dean and Cas wave as she drives away, Charlie eyeing Dean from her rearview mirror. He knows he’s going to have to give a full report later.

“I have to say,” Cas says quietly after a minute, “That was the most fun I’ve ever had on a first date.”

Dean’s heart skips a beat.

“Just how I drew it up. You hungry? Let’s go get something to eat.”

Cas slides his hand into Dean’s as they walk towards his car, and Dean can’t help but think he owes Aragog a drink or two.

#my writing #anonymous #lilly answers #yall i am ALWAYS down for prompts #destiel #spn

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alias-b · 4 years

Text

sins of my youth. 020

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello everyone. Thanks for clicking in to read. Billy and Evie continue to explore their new relationship together. Max's fourteenth birthday party marks a change for the teens, reminding them that danger isn't too far off. TW: Neil being Neil. Mentions of abuse. Something close to an almost assault/abduction off screen near the end. Light mentions of Pica & fatphobia. Sexual themes

***My tag list is wide open, just shoot me a msg to join it! Chat with me about the chapter if you have the time! Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter 20: Rose Tint My World

“Hold still, I’ll poke your eye again.”

“I can’t breathe, you’re killing me.” Came a sniffled whine.

“Such a baby. You asked.”

“I said I was curious after you put the gunk on my nails!”

“That gunk was a great color on you. You whine just like your big brother.” Carol had Max’s face clamped in her grip as she applied mascara. “Don’t blink, you'll smear it.”

“Evie, she’s killing me,” Max lamented aloud. “This is not worth it.” Evie just laughed, setting a bowl of pretzels aside. Carol flicked a mirror up to let Max see her handiwork. “Whoa...It’s not terrible.” She gruffed in a mumble, tilting her head to see each angle. "Kinda like Madonna."

“I’ll take it.” Carol stole some M&Ms from another dish as they shared a spot on Heather’s fuzzy carpet. A movie rolled on in the corner TV.

Max about howled when Heather came in from the bathroom, face covered in green.

“Monster!”

“It’s a face-mask!” Heather planted her hands on her hips, prompting more laughter. “You’ll be more into them once your body really changes.”

“Girls are way scarier than boys.” Max poked at her blushed cheek which had Carol smacking her hand away. Evie was draped across the bottom of the bed in her robe and nightie, half-watching the TV. “Can you do a zombie make-up?”

Carol gave a snort.

“I can do anything. kid.”

“Eves, you want another piece of pizza?” Heather crossed with the box.

“I’m so full.” Evie shook her head.

“You had like one piece.”

“I ate a big lunch. And lots of pretzels.” Evie snatched the pretzel bowl again for good measure. Truthfully, her appetite had been up and down lately. Mostly down. What with the pangs in her stomach that always passed and… “You sound like my mother.”

“She was...extra peppy at the salon today. My mom and I got our monthly trim.”

“Probably some guy she’s seeing, it’ll pass and another will come. Men are like Kleenex to her. Soft, strong, and disposable.” Evie shrugged to pluck up a magazine.

“Hey,” Max began as Carol fussed over her, “so I didn’t want to make a thing of it, but my mom keeps insisting. My birthday party is coming. She and Neil saved so I could have it just at the roller rink and...they said I could invite whoever I wanted. But, I can’t ask the guys to come. So I figured I’d ask El. She’s really cool. But, maybe if you guys wanted to come? You can bring boys and pretend you’re not even at my party if it’s not your thing. I just-”

“Max, we’d love to come.” Heather piped up first. “Evie and I rule the rink too.”

“I look very cute in skates,” Carol agreed with a twitching smirk. “I'm in. I’ll bring Tommy, he sucks and he’ll fall down a bunch. We'll pretend we ran into each other so your stepdad can get the stick out of his ass.”

“Billy has to go too cause Neil says it’s a family event.” Max turned to Evie. “I think he’d be happier with you there.”

“I think Billy and I both are fine being there for you. I had my fourteenth at the rink too. It’ll be fun.” Evie beamed, legs up to sway idly. “Plus we haven’t met the Chief’s kid. She’s home-schooled, right?”

“Yeah, she might be joining us in school next year.” Max stayed still for Carol’s brush. “Depends. She was uh...adopted under weird circumstances. You’ll like her. I taught her how to do that felting thing because of you and she made this funny one of her dad.”

“I’ll bet Hopper loved that.” Evie winked.

“He’s kind of a babe in like a scruffy, rugged way,” Carol remarked. "Strong mountain man type."

“Ew. He’s so old.” Max reeled back to laugh.

“I’m just saying! I like a man in uniform. He rocks the khaki.”

“The moms in town do eat him up.” Heather shrugged, joining Evie on the bed with a handful of candy. “We all have our strange crushes. I like high cheek-bones. Guys with a little Bowie. Evie? You got one?”

“Gia Carangi even if she isn’t modeling any more, I love her face.” Evie was flicking pages without looking. Howls from the TV went ignored through the chatter.

“I called that. Fenny being into ladies. Try Iman.” Carol winked which earned her a look as if she hadn’t planted a kiss on Evie in a fit of rage.

“People say Billy’s pretty like a girl.” Max had added which got the other girls giggling.

“I like this one, we’re so keeping her.” Carol got up to root for a bag of chips, popping them open. “Like the zombie face better?”

“I still look too pretty.” Max appeared more goth than zombie.

“You are pretty. Deal with it. We redheads stick together.” Carol stole Evie’s magazine. “Let us know when the party is, we’ll be there.”

Max looked at the three older girls squished together on Heather’s bed. Chattering and supporting. Happy to have her around.

A bright smile touched her face for the first time since Neil Hargrove walked into her home.

** ** **

Most days, all it felt like was floating. Floating through her house. Through Hawkins. Up and down streets. Through school. A stunning illusion she pulled like wool over her dark eyes.

A woman in rippling silks walking endless halls toward a great, cherry red door at the end, but the door gets farther away and she's thrilled to continue on even still. Feather wings glittering to unfold from her back because heaven's light is beyond the door. Crystalline eyes with their hold. Waiting for her. The sky awaits her with caressing clouds. Opulent gold sun rays and twinkling stars when the world lies down.

Evie knew she was too big for her wings most days. Too heavy to leave the Earth.

Knew in her beating heart of hearts that was the first thing people think when they see her. This magnificent soul with drive and neon and talent reduced to a single shrewd glance. And they don't think twice until she's something vaguely sexual. Something marketable you can package and process and sell to the last drop.

Easier to stomach something uncomely if you can slide into it ruthlessly to rut. They always come like animals, wailing as a banshee would to get off better than they ever will in their small lives. They eat it up. Cover it in sweat and regret and blame.

These things that hang as little weights on her heartstrings swinging back and forth. They make her not want to attempt extending those wings to fly. Fear of heads shaking in judgement. Fear of looking uglier. More foolish for even trying. Poor thing.

All because of one glance that couldn't be bothered to see worth in another human life. Sometimes Evie wanted to be skinny not because of beauty, but because she'd get a privilege pass to exist in this world.

They think she shouldn't dress the way she does. She's probably lazy and self loathing because of added pounds. She has no real aspirations or means to achieve them. Those eyes that watch her eat. That shift away before they decide on another seat because the one open next to her just isn't right. They glare because of the extra room she might take up. Even sharing a few cordial words with fat girls seemed to be a task.

Evie always notices and does the polite thing pretending she doesn't. She knows what her body looks like, no need to point out the obvious.

Strange, how these snap judgements, these eyes that don't look twice; can villainize a body utterly. A body. Flesh, bone, and muscle. We're all made in heaven's image. All destined for paths we seek to control. Superiority should have been an illusion. But no, too much or too little, your worth dips low. Fetishes and internalized hatred for things that were shaped and colored differently. Blame.

But, some days, when the wind soars just right...just strong enough...Evie can spread and illuminate. See the births and deaths of a million stars. Drop the little weights to feel the winds between her fingers. In her curls. In her wings. Feel her feet leave the floor for just a few fleeting seconds.

The fleeting seconds of soaring always seem so worth it against a world of unsightly aches. Against snap judgements she can toss back to live in a flower petal haze.

Evie tried hard to live in those moments when they flashed into her. Spotlights. Butterflies delicately landing on her flesh to open and close their stained glass wings for kisses. Evie felt crushed utterly in the most decadent way.

Billy's soft lips on her neck to get lost in the pulse. Deft fingers that would push up her clothing as he moved in her. Eyes that wanted to see her. All of her. The prayers he could whisper against heating skin.

A lot could be said about him. But, Billy was always happy to see her and that alone was air spinning into gold. His eyes would light up. Lips twitching. She could hear the single beat that his heart skipped. Even if they didn't speak, they felt this awareness for each other in the vicinity. Truly magic.

Those eyes. That love of a face. Always staring pointedly to read her up and down. Always plucking the weights from her heart by listening. Always unafraid to touch her. Evie hoped she returned that. She really did.

Fleeting seconds began to linger between them. Seeping slow and saccharine as fresh pouring honey.

Sneaking away on walks while he let her hold his hand. Flirtation against school lockers that ended in several 'just one more' kisses. Double dates to the movies with Tommy and Carol. Sitting separately to make out.

Driving up near Lover’s Lake to kiss in a parked Camaro while the sun laid itself down to sleep. Fumbling playfully to undress and explore. Watching the construction of a coming mall with Slurpees from the gas station. Tongues and lips colored all artificial cherry and strawberry.

Evie would stretch her wings completely. Let Billy admire them until the world was all satin rose-tinted. She could forget her urges and worries and insecurities. All together. This was fine.

She was fine. More then fine.

He so liked to admire her wings. Pleasure crushed in as she moaned. Let his fingers explore contours and notches untouched before. Billy would take those prayers on his lips and drape them over her body. Spell them between fleshy thighs. Pulling more fleeting seconds for himself too.

They could roll around under sheets and not worry about anything else. Have conversations that always felt silly and wonderful and weighted because they both mattered to someone so ardently. That alone was an ocean both could sink into.

Something beautiful to behold. The real vision behind the great red door. Your soul mattering.

Evie was in a bubble with Billy Hargrove. A stupid, dopey look on her face when Mona settled dinner down one evening. Steam rising from a huge pot.

“Going out later?” Evie began to create sound or she'd be lost. "You colored your hair brown again."

“Needed another change. Ah, I'm going out just with Karen and Claudia. Dessert and wine night. I asked Susan but that poor thing keeps standing me up. Did you finish Max’s gift for her party?” Mona scooped up huge portions in a bowl that Evie would only be prodding at.

“Yeah, it’s set. Turned out perfect. She’s not much for jewelry but I think a personalized tie dye shirt will be fun. Might look cool while skateboarding. I also have that goody bag of sweets for her to fill up on we made.” Evie reminded herself to pick up her spoon. Took a few bites.

“You’re not scarfing it down like usual, you love my crawfish soup.”

“It’s delicious, I just had a big lunch.” A lie. Evie pressed herself to eat quicker, tearing a piece of fresh bread to chew. Thing was, she wanted to eat. She wanted to eat so badly despite the sickness welling inside her. The heavy ache made it a task. Mona eyed her daughter there. “My stomach's in knots a lot, just school stuff.”

“Well, you are a senior.” Mona pushed her own soup around. “I haven’t been around as much as I’d like to be. Just the salon and I met-”

“I get it.” Evie’s lips spread in a flash, not wanting her mother to finish that sentence. “I’m with friends a lot and I keep busy with my music and the cat. I even wrote a new song.”

“That’s two this week, you. Strumming along blissfully.” Mona gushed. “Whatever has you all creative and dewy, chase it.” Silverware clicked around and Evie stared at her dish. A broader smile crossed.

"I will."

“What’s it called?”

“Ocean Eyes.”

Evie could be pretty transparent in the early stages of a relationship.

These short weeks in with Billy. Lyrics flooded free. Sometimes he liked to watch her write and strum when they hung out. Trips to the lounge where she worked other nights got him a full show, but not of her original stuff. Songs marched forth.

“Ocean Eyes.”

“Cupid and Psyche.”

“Honey Stardust.”

“Neon-Tinted Hearts.”

Rock. Pop. Lush and obscene with her glowing heartstrings. She wrote them for Fredrick too when they got together.

“Doll Joints.”

“Lollipop Lolita.”

“Prince Charming.”

After dinner, Evie stole a notebook filled with her every sinful lyrical confession of her time with Fredrick Bowers. Burnt it in an empty pot out back until Billy wandered out the back steps of his place. Asking her if she was trying to set the neighborhood on fire.

“How can I help?” He’d snarked while the sky went all pretty peach fuzz. Evie just laughed and never explained what she’d burnt or why it felt this cathartic to watch the smoke rise toward a falling sun. She figured maybe this was the day she'd stop eating foreign and sharp objects. She could do it. She was happier. Lighter. It had to stop.

It had to. She couldn't think about this haze shattering, it hurt too deep.

Billy used the flame to light his cigarette comically and kissed her before inhaling the smoke.

“Can we take a drive? Or walk if you’re low on gas?”

“Let’s walk, I got some cash doing my odd jobs for the damn neighbors, but I need it to last a bit longer with Max’s birthday. Got her this new board she was too chickenshit to beg our parents for.”

“Aren’t you a darling big brother?” Evie crossed her arms to follow him when the flame dwindled low. They went around the house to the front, started down the street. “Iris has some hours for me that next Saturday night.”

“You going to tell your mom about the secret job thing?” Billy inhaled and let smoke billow up into the afternoon light. They walked along Cherry Lane. Not touching. Counting steps while their shadows cast and the streetlights came up. A brisk night loomed, spring begging to creep through the month of March.

“I figured I could this summer. Around graduation. Just say I got something bigger since I’m eighteen and Iris can get me steadier hours. Gigs day or night. Maybe I’ll get to host a couple more drag shows. I miss those damn girls, the funniest performers know. I'll just let my mom down easy about the receptionist thing, hopefully she’s fine with it. Make it sound like I took initiative cause I'm a big girl.”

“And your grand singer plans?” He liked to ask about her and hang upon the syllables.

“Still up in the air. I’m taking the year off to work and write. Try for a talent agent or manager. I can record maybe...try to get airtime. There’s this contest thing, they do it every year and the winners always do well. But, I’m honestly too afraid to ask my mom about it just yet. I’m saving though here and there.” Evie beamed. “You? Summer and on.”

She was clearly asking if he was sticking around for summer.

“Odd lawn, house, and car jobs are getting me by. This whole street is a mess and the moms in town like to watch me work."

"Yikes."

"It means better pay and tips. I’m taking Heather up on her lifeguard offer this summer. I'll save up, Dad's already going to be asking for rent when I graduate."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Don’t wanna bank on that mall they’re opening with all the other little shits trying to get jobs first.” Billy leaned back to let the cooler air kiss his face, sighing before he tossed his smoke out.

Evie came to the end of the street near the forest, swayed around a streetlamp like she was in an old Hollywood flick. Dreaming long and endless. Sometimes she worried so often that she wasn't living. Just dreaming it all away. Maybe a center line was possible.

Maybe she'd be able to soar over it all.

Billy waited for her to swing back around it before he pressed into her for a slow, lingering kiss. Even better, maybe they both were sharing a dream. Making it of something stronger.

“So, how am I doing?” He joked lighter. Evie gripped the lamp to stay level, head tilting. “Two weeks in, almost three. This whole situation.”

“Situation.” Evie mused, slyly hiding half her face behind the lamp to hum. The shadowy starlet of a femme fatale she loved to watch on television with her mother. Glinting. Dangerous. "This whole situation?" She lingered to sigh it even slower.

"You and me." He'd sounded out, drawing nearer. "Us..." Evangeline, always the playful nymph, flitted off playfully. Spinning the other way to walk along so Billy came to her side easily.

“I think you’re doing fine." She tapped her chin. "What about me? Evaluate my performance.”

“Ah. In a sea of slithery tadpoles, you’re a goddamn firecracker.” He’d laughed and Evie followed, covering her lips with one hand.

“I don’t know how any of that correlates or makes sense, but I’ll take it.”

“Neither do I. Just made it up to see you do that. The scrunchy thing you do when you’re too happy or upset with me.” Billy’s nose crinkled as he grinned there. Evie came up to peck his freckles.

“You’re a total sap, Hargrove.” Evie continued, hands clasped behind her back before she inhaled the air. “Let’s hit that mini mart nearby. I’m craving a Dr. Pepper. Buy you a soda. It’s my turn.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re just being too nice again,” Billy remarked, feet shifting slower as they crossed the street. “I can’t take you fancy places.”

“I don’t need to go to fancy places, I just like hanging out with you wherever.” Evie turned her head to see him. “We’re both poor, we make due. Summer will be better. We can just work and...figure this out. I like it right now though, so don’t worry because I know how you shiver in those boots.”

She pondered it.

“Do you like it?” Evie offered quieter, earning Billy’s eyes searching her expression. Lip twitching, he tossed his arm around her. Brought Evie taut into his frame with an easier grin so they could keep walking toward the whirling, illuminated sign in the distance.

“Yeah, I like it.” He decided. “I like you plenty. What's not to like, Evangeline?” His free hand gestured out and Evie beamed to point at that darling face. Her Eros. Encouraging her wings to unfold without pressure.

"Wow, you're getting better and better at that." A beat. "Making me blush without rolling my eyes."

"Please, Angel, your knees quiver every time I hit you with this smile. You might as well toss off the panties for me." For good measure, he flashed it and Evie hid from his absolute burning charm. Cheeks felt that fire bloom and billow.

A car hurried past them. Sweeping budding flowers and loose leaves about. Delicate, they danced. Trees wobbled back and forth to the wind picking up. Evie stayed looking away to smile that time. Knew this wind would carry her easily.

"Did you have a best friend back in California?" She moved her arm around his back as they went.

"I don't know. Guess I had a few in orbit."

"Am I your best friend here?" She piped back up and Billy slowed to glance, chuckling.

"I thought you and I were avoiding labels."

"It's different." Came the protest.

"No, it isn't." He paused. "Heather's your best friend."

"Yeah, but I figured I could have more than one. Perfectly carved places for each." Evie shifted in front of him, hands smoothing up Billy's shoulders to clasp fingers round his neck. Blue eyes glittered to search.

"You trying to push some admission outta me, Fenny?"

Lashes batted with all the innocence they could hold.

"Just admit it, Hargrove," she pulled him down for a lip lock, pecking his jaw and cheeks until he broke to laugh and hold her at bay. One brow lifted. "It'll be our dirty little secret."

"Fine. Only cause you twisted my arm about it and it gets you hot. You are my very," he palmed her bottom to make her gasp in one motion, "very best friend. Happy?" Billy stole a kiss when she was still dumbfounded, molding their frames together.

"Maybe I am." Evie sighed, sounding too raw and honest about it. She came out to see his eyes there. Tried to read them. Billy blinked to say something else.

“So, you're already thinking about graduation and summer, huh? Moving quick.”

“I’m optimistic is all. It’s a rare thing with me so I'm just enjoying it. I’m not used to happy and good.” Evie got cheeky to hide anything else, winking over her shoulder before she went inside the tiny store.

Fluorescent lights washed out too many colorful packages. They picked cold cans of soda and bright yellow packs of Jujyfruit candies to curb a sweet craving. Billy gripped the paper bag in one fist and Evie snatched his free hand when they got outside.

“C’mon!” She picked up the pace. “Let’s catch the bus to the other side of town.”

“Billy Hargrove doesn’t take the bus. It’s all full.” He’d complained, still rushing after her to the stop.

“Try something new.” Evie was giggling, tugging at him to get on.

With the bus full of residents leaving work, they took some standing room with a group up front. Fingers curled into the handles above, swaying closer together due to the rocking and crowding. A hard turn sent Evie into Billy’s chest, her hand sprang out over his shoulder to catch the bar just above his head.

“Trying to jump my bones in public, little Miss Fenny?” He feigned a look of awe, brows lifting playfully. His free arm slipped around the small of Evie’s back, bracing her there into his marble frame. “You know how much easier it is if you just ask, Angel?”

Evie wanted to scoff. Wanted to scrunch that annoyed look she was known for. Wanted to send him to the floor and kiss him for miles and miles. But, she just stood there in the dim, flickering bus lights. Watched his expression relax. Not really breathing until she reminded herself.

Billy seemed to remember as well. At the back and forth shifting of the vehicle, they squished together. Forcing looks away to see the path again. Billy pushed his thigh further between her legs. Both of them idly rubbing together now. Evie felt the heat crawl up her cheeks, lungs tremoring. Billy’s fist holding the bag shifting a little lower on her back, firm and scalding hot.

She peered up at his jawline. Looked away. Felt Billy’s eyes wander back after before he flickered elsewhere. Denim pushed against denim. Billy hitched this breath as if he might whimper. Swallowed it down. Hips swaying back and forth and back again. A thumb pushed deftly into her back. Evie shifting in, lips parting. Trembling as Billy turned his head to see her centimeters from him.

“This is our stop.” She’d said in his ear. Leaning flush into him to pull the cord down. Billy inhaled the amber. Brushed his nose into her own while she came back out.

“Don’t wanna stop.” His freckles looked especially glowy outlined in a rare blush. The bus skidded and Evie veered back with some amusement. Brown eyes casting Billy up and down before she skipped off in a hurry, leaving him to chase her because he’d always chase her. Bag still wrinkled around Billy’s fist, he caught up with her. Under the streetlamps surrounded by dancing moths.

“We near Lover’s Lake?”

“Yeah, the park nearby. Figured some loitering would do us good.” Evie stepped across the grass and sand. Listened to the dark structures creak. “C’mon. I love the swings.”

She plopped back into one, legs kicking some before Billy joined her. He cracked one can of soda to offer it, feet shifting over the sand to sway closer together. Chains creaking.

They clicked drinks and guzzled fizz before Evie snagged the candy out. Stealing a few chewy pieces. The bright box got passed back and forth during a comfortable silence. Billy watched Evie as she observed the moon there.

“Do you know any constellations?” She’d asked quieter, forcing him out of the daze. Curls caught the illumination with stars dotting her dark eyes.

“Not really.” He took the candy back as she swallowed a piece.

“You see that crooked line? Those four little guys, they call that...Salem’s Lot. And...” Evie touched her lips, pointing again. “Those two bright boys there. Called Shawshank. Oh, and that one-”

“These are Stephen King references.” He pushed her.

“No, I’m very smart and they’re real-life constellations. Listen and learn, Billy boy.”

“So, are you gonna call that grouping, The Shining or The Overlook?” He pointed to a cluster and Evie snickered.

“Obviously that’s Carrietta White’s Constellation. Duh. Cause it looks like a rain of blood.” Evie snorted and Billy joined her, heads pressing together as they giggled like school children.

“You know she wears a crushed red velvet dress in the book? Not pink as seen in the movie.” Billy stretched out, finishing his soda.

“You know she’s fat in the book, too?” Evie winked at him, eyed the trash, and tried to toss her can at it. Missing badly, it smacked the rim and fell in the sand with a clatter. “Damn it!” Billy laughed at her louder.

“Don’t try for a career on the court, Evie.” He watched her pout as she plucked it up to throw it away properly. “Now, watch the master work.” He aimed as she sat down. One deft hand reeled back and launched it only to have Evie’s palm smack it easily the other direction. Almost falling out of her seat cackling, she got the candy pushed into her arm before he gawked and went to get it.

“Oh,” she kept up without air, “I thought you were the master? You should have seen your face!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, dunking it in the can with an echoing clank. For some cheery consolation, she offered the rest of the box to him. Tiny candy pieces fell into his palm before he pushed them all into his mouth at once, eyes lifting to the sky again. Billy made a face and turned to go to push her swing. “Gimme another constellation.”

“Hmm.” Evie held the chains, began to swing properly at his coaxing. Felt like they were in a secret garden together. Water rippling against the air distantly. Cold chill not bothering either of them. “Those two stars. The little one and the big guy. See?”

Billy gripped the chains, keeping her swing up against him to follow the gaze

“That’s Neverland. Second star to the right and straight on till morning.” She snickered again as Billy pushed her forward. “Bet I can beat you there. I’ll jump from the swing.”

“You’re on.” Billy stole the seat next to her, both of them pumping higher. Curls fluttering. Laughing. Happy because they were together and that mattered.

“I’m going to overthrow Pan and Hook. Become the most fantastic Lost Girl with a siren song to command the island and you’ll write your stories.”

“Think so?” Billy pushed himself higher. Actually thought he might fly with Evie there.

“Yes! You’ll tell the greatest stories ever heard through the land and they’ll echo back down here to be loved too.” She proclaimed that. Not having heard Billy’s stories, but believing what was in his heart.

Time slowed. Wild laughter crackled toward the sky. Utter sparks as they jumped together and collided to roll around the sand. Evie was still alight with joy under him, hair splayed everywhere as Billy snapped up to check her over, hovering. Evie’s giggling tapered off against the night air. She stared up at him. Framed in twinkling stars. He said something she didn’t catch.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Evie sounded out slower, lost in the endless crystalline blue. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean, what?”

“What you said when we were lying in bed together. You said I was the best thing about this place. People never say things like that. Not to girls like me. I believed it when you said it though and it was easy too.” Evie skimmed her fingers over his jacket. Watched Billy’s eyes flicker to recall that moment and the clouds he floated upon like lily-pads in a pond.

Billy swept down. Planted a hot kiss that was all lips. Swelled her mouth when he pulled out. He left Evie fluttered and came to her ear.

“That was a yes.” He pushed up, eyes too sly. “By the way.” Evie took a hand when he offered one and got pulled to her feet, bodies stumbling together. They tried to brush the sand off fabric.

“Do you think about that night? The dance, I mean. Not...the sex. Well, I guess it’s okay to think about the sex actually.” She blushed there when Billy’s lip quirked. His fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “Before all that went down with Brock. It was-”

“Not terrible.” He finished.

“Not at all. The first part of the night, sometimes I wish we could go back and-”

“Rewrite it.” Billy looked around, giving Evie a tug. He pulled her up on the metal roundabout, painted red and blue that was chipping away. “Hold on.” Another smile had curled as he braced to get it spinning.

“Billy!” Evie jerked to hold tight to the bars. Hair flying up. Curls coiled out. Fire billowing gracefully. “What are you doing!”

“Turning back the clock,” he charged and jumped on with her, wobbling to hold something, "to redo it.” Evie grabbed for his coat. Fisting the fabric when they locked eyes. Wind rushed in a thrill with memories tumbling together and apart.

Her wings sprang forth.

Billy made Evie the still point to his turning world. For just a moment. Knew, if anything, that meeting her was something truly important. An unseen force that would twist his heart forever.

Spinning round and round. He recalled the metallic confetti dancing and the way the music pulsed. The carousel began to slow, both teens holding the bars and each other to say level.

Slower, Evie pecked a kiss upon his lips to mirror the first. Unable to come out far, Billy was already closing the distance for the second. Trying to pay her back with a thousand sweet kisses.

Cheers rang and fireworks burst. She remembered it all too. How dizzy and still the world seemed to be. How it hushed for her too sweetly. Billy’s hands on her face, cradling delicately to angle the second kiss a little deeper. They felt the metal clink to stillness under them and inched back out.

“I want to go home with you,” Evie said the words she wished she had that night. Huge dark eyes glittering. She found his lips again. Not worried about air or what the future held for them. Lost on a rosy haze and perfectly fine for these stolen fleeting seconds. “Can we go?” Billy searched her, thumb sweeping a circle into her jaw. He smiled fully.

“Only if we can take the bus again.”

** ** ** **

“Happy Birthday!” Evie gushed, offering a gift to a small pile. Max had her arms around her before she’d gotten a chance to turn. One hand shifted to the shorter girl’s back. Music whirled with a campy light show, made the horribly patterned carpets glow. “Carol and Heather are on their way in. Tommy’s around but he won’t hang near the table.”

“Neil’s going to be late. Work stuff.” This explained why Max’s smile was so bright. Evie nudged her chin, head cocking. “You brought your own skates.”

“I know it’s dorky, but they’re my babies.” Evie gestured to the red skates swung over one shoulder. “Evie Fenny doesn’t rent her skates.”

“That’s El, come meet her,” Max pulled Evie off after she got one wave at Susan behind the table setting up. “Billy’s grabbing stuff from the car. He drove us.”

El Hopper was a tiny thing. Almost like a little bird compared to Hopper’s hulking frame behind her. She peered around and seemed at instant ease upon seeing Max.

“El, this is my neighbor, Evie," Max introduced them, "she’s cool.”

El made this gesture like she had a needle and poked at her hand.

“Yes!” Max got it, tugging Evie’s arm. “She taught me the felting thing.”

“Hope the sharp objects weren’t a bother in your house, Chief Hopper.” Evie perked up at Jim with a sheepish expression. “I should have asked you, I know it might seem a little dangerous.”

He actually laughed at that. If only she knew the danger these kids had gotten into prior.

“Believe me, crafts are a welcomed change.”

“El, nice to meet you. I’m Evie. Max talks about you all the time.” Evie held out her hand and the young girl looked shocked. “Good things.”

A slower smile crossed. She took Evie’s hand to shake it. Awkward about her navigation but trying to take everything in. Clearly never been to a party like this one. Kids of various ages circled the floor on skates. Laughing. Holding hands.

“Max...talks about you too. I like your hair.” El mirrored. Peered to Hopper with a pleased expression he matched. She offered Max a wrapped gift. Evie grinned and touched her curls, pulled up into two high, rounded buns.

“C’mon, let me show you the table they’re setting up.” Max took El’s wrist to usher her off.

“Are you...staying to skate?” Evie turned to the Chief.

“El’s, ah, not used to crowds. She came from some unfortunate circumstances. I’d like to stay close. First party. Maybe I’m hovering.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. Not in uniform. Evie beamed a little.

“She’s young, you’re worried. It’s sweet, actually. You’re just being a good dad.” The smile seemed to dither in her eyes. Even when Jack was married to Mona, he wasn't always around. Work and trips kept him busy, but he stayed to close to Evie the moment he arrived home with his little gifts and endless stories. “Don’t come running over if she falls, we got her.”

“Yeah, uh, if you could keep an eye on El when you see her around. That would mean a lot to me. I know you babysat the Henderson kid. El doesn’t need a babysitter, she’s just… This is new for her.” Jim gestured. Digging for a smoke he couldn’t have in the immediate area.

“Heather, Carol, and I will keep an eye out.”

“Carol?” He chuckled. “Perkins?”

“Oh, yeah, we made up. Funny thing.”

“Almost as funny as you hanging out with the Hargrove boy through winter.” He quirked his brow.

“What can I say, Chief...” Evie shrugged. “I’m...branching out.”

As if on cue, Billy paced in a side door. Bag clutched under one arm. He caught Evie’s glance instantly. Both of them locked in and back out on cue. Blue eyes shifted up and down because she was wearing his denim jacket over a little lacy, floral top tucked into her jeans.

Neil would arrive and they had an act to keep up. Ignoring each other.

“I’ll sit far." Jim offered. "Pretend I’m not here.”

She about cackled, lost in thought still.

“I’ll just pretend you’re my real dad,” Evie winced at herself, saw him pause with some subtle awe, “oof, I’m not sure where that came from. Ouch. Okay. Walking away now. Sorry, Chief.”

“Evie.” He eased a gentle hand toward her. “What I said. If there’s...anything going on. You can talk to me. On or off the record.”

“Yeap. Right. I’m okay. I’m...I’m gonna...skate. Yeah. Sorry. Oh, my…” Evie whirled to hurry off, cringing all the way to the table. “I think I just had a mental break.”

“What?” Heather had chuckled.

“Nothing. Time to skate?” Came Evie’s begging. Agreement followed.

Hopper made himself scarce with a cigarette and plate of cheese fries in the corner. Billy plopped himself into a chair behind the decorated table, looking disinterested. Not catching Evie’s eyes while she sat with the girls to put her skates on. Just watched Susan set out plates for pizza and cake.

Evie went out with Heather first for a lap, both of them giggling and pulling little stunts to show off for Tommy who was on the ground as Carol pulled at him. Max jumped over his leg, cackling before she tried to get El to come out with them.

“Kinda reminds me of us. They’re too cute.” Heather quipped, whirling to skate backward. They joined the younger girls, hoping to get El relaxed and away from the wall she seemed to cling to. Every turn, Evie shot Billy a look. Got his lips quirking before he ruefully was peering away.

“Do you want to skate, Billy?” Susan had asked after a beat, weary of the music already. Bit of a glittery disco mess. That same dreamy rose haze in the air.

“About as much as I want to give my old man a sponge bath, Susan.” Billy frowned for effect and dropped it when she actually laughed at him. It was an easier thing for them to talk without Neil’s shadow.

“Well, the offer is open if you want to.” Susan thought to tell him Evie looked beautiful today when she caught him staring at her for the third time but decided not to be obvious. Not yet.

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m being inappropriate and I’m going to send your only daughter down with me.” He recited easily.

“I was your age once, Billy, I know how to laugh still.” Susan seemed surprised at the revelation herself. Slowly, she took a seat next to him. Not leaving another chair as a buffer like she usually did. “It might not be so bad. Her following you, you know, after this. When she’s older. She still looks up to you.”

It became clear what Susan was asking him. Max would resent her one day down the line. For the choices she made. The things she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried. Maybe Billy and Max didn’t always get along, but he’d be a safer place for her than whatever was leftover in that house. Susan would always be under Neil Hargrove, but she could ensure her daughter would not be. One day.

Billy leaned forward on his elbows, palms rubbing. He felt for his ring and remembered it was hidden under Evie’s dipping sweetheart neckline. He didn’t say anything, but met Susan’s eyes.

“Evie’s been a good friend to her.” Susan crossed her legs and sat back to watch the girls laugh. Slowly easing into the conversation. El wobbled, holding hands with Max and Evie to gain some speed. Heather was trying to help Carol steady poor Tommy. “Don’t you think so?”

“I haven’t noticed.” Billy turned his head aside.

“She’s very pretty. Kind. That’s all I’m saying. She and her mother, they’re nice neighbors to have on Cherry.”

“Jesus, Susan, why don’t you date them both?” Billy shot up to go to the snack counter. Susan ghosted this smile after him, hands clasping. “Cheese fries. Jalapenos...Extra jalapenos.” He got his plate and turned to see Chief Hopper’s cigarette glow red. “You got any more of those? My pack is out and they don't have a machine in this joint.”

Jim just eyed him.

“I’m legal.” Billy puffed before a stick flicked across the table. “Camels. Unfiltered. Disgusting. Are you a flannel hobo of some kind with those?”

The Chief gawked at him.

“Don’t you smoke Reds? Baby’s first cigarette.”

Billy matched him. Offended.

“I’m smoking with the big boys, Hop. You should try it.”

“You in a place to complain, kid?” Jim reached to take it back before Billy swiped, lighting up to puff.

“No, sir.” His lighter snapped shut. “You unable to cut the cord or is dressing like a lumberjack to hang out at a 70s roller disco a hobby?”

“Haven’t seen you down at the station in a while. Few months, in fact. Turning over a new leaf this year?” Jim remarked instead, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Aw. You miss me or something? Your boys finally get tired of chasing me down? Or trying to.” Billy gave this comedic pout, head turning to eye Evie again. Graceful swan that she was out there. His jacket hanging off her shoulders, exposing that neck. Little wisps of curls swayed about from her space buns decorated with matching glittery star barrettes, loose hair framing her face. Brown eyes flicked up and he snatched his gaze away. “Guess I found something else to get into that isn’t trouble. You guys bore me down there, I like to be amused.”

“The real crime-stopper, boredom. Color me impressed and shocked.” Jim seemed to like that, eyes rolling. Billy puffed and swept a piece of tobacco from his mouth. “I guess whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” He watched Billy crunch on some salty jalapenos, plucking five gooey fries at once to swallow them down. Almost starved.

“I intend to.” Billy flicked his greasy fingers to his brow. “Chief.”

“William.”

Billy mumbled as he went off, finishing the smoke to flick it out a back door. Eyes shifting to watch the girls plus poor Tommy. El was already better than him.

“Man, I’m dying out here. Help me. I’ll tag you in.” Tommy scrambled up the sidewall and clung, out of breath. Freckles all dewy.

“You wanted to be a good boyfriend,” Billy cackled for good measure, "that'll teach you."

“Feed me a fry,” Tommy begged over the barrier.

“Fuck out of here, they’re mine. My dad will show soon so you can disappear to a corner and get your own damn fries.” To make it a point, Billy stood there and fed himself.

Behind Tommy, Max skidded and fell with Evie barely catching her. Both girls had gone down in a fit of giggling.

“We’re fine, go on!” Max waved to Heather and El ahead of them. Carol came to steal Tommy back as Billy craned to see his step-sister.

“You alright?” Evie was picking her up when Max’s shirt slipped closer to her pale shoulder, flashing a burst of purple there the size of a softball. “Oh, my god.” It slipped out before she could stop it.

“That’s-!” Max cut herself off and fixed her shirt. Spring was creeping and all she donned was long-sleeved and frumpy. Dressing almost like Susan. “I fell, you know, on my board.” Evie tried to give her the dignity of a look that said she believed it. Must have cracked. “Evie, it’s nothing. Don’t worry. Please.”

Dressing like Susan. Sounding like Billy.

“Max, my house is-”

“I know, but don’t… Don’t say anything. Not to Billy or my mom, ah… Neil’s here.” Max put her head down and skated around Evie to go away.

There was something particularly helpless about watching a young girl flee obediently to her monster. Evie wondered if this was what she looked like to Billy headed to Fredrick's place.

Small. Scared. Lost.

Neil Hargrove started with words. Lots of horrible words that whittled Max down to a hard pit. Then pushing. Then some grabbing. Then shoving. Into walls mostly.

The hit didn’t bruise Max. It was more of a swipe to make her go to her room for talking back. Whatever that meant to Neil. But, he was drunk and he caught her jaw with an open palm. That stayed red for the day until she snuck a pack of frozen peas, not wanting Susan or Billy to know.

But, the swipe sent her into the dining room table. Left the violet petals bursting under her skin. Evie lost the urge to skate and came out. Saw Billy’s eyes again and paused to help Heather usher El out for food.

“You’re a natural.” Evie complimented which earned a full smile. El opened her mouth to speak before Billy appeared in front of them.

“They’re making us sing.” He cocked his head, peering at El. “You’re the one with the funny name, aren’t you?”

“Jane. But,” she seemed to have trouble staring at him for more than three extended seconds and pointed to her chest, “El.” Red crept across her cheeks. Billy towered over her, cocking a wider grin to play up the fact that she was all blushy for a pretty older boy.

“El?” He raised one brow. “What’s the L stand for?”

“Ignore him.” Heather pulled the younger girl around Billy as he chuckled, pausing to see Evie. Her colorless expression.

“You okay?” He said it hard with a furrowed brow.

“Fine.” She tried to make it sound cold but it came out near silent. Head turned down as she flitted around him to join the party.

Neil, stiff and stoic, pressing his lips like he was at the damn DMV. Susan plastered a broader grin to dote on him after his long day, lingering close to his side as they set out pizza and readied the cake.

It was all so routine. Like getting your shots.

Pizza. Sing. Candles. Wish. Cake. Gifts. Thank you.

Billy and Evie took the farthest seats from each other. Played a game of glance and ignore that they’d made up on the spot. They both were either losing or winning.

“Strange,” Neil remarked as he pulled Max aside for another slice. “You and the high school girls.”

�� “Oh, I invited El too, she’s my age. I didn’t want to leave Evie out and the girls...they’re nice to me.”

“They don’t dress like nice girls.”

Heather and Carol both donned perfectly normal tees and jeans. Nothing would suffice for Neil Hargrove. Max shifted her cake around. No longer hungry for it.

“Maybe we’ll talk about the type of girl you should hang around at a later time. The Fenny girl is nice enough, even if her shirt is a little too...low. Dresses kinda tight. Bit of an odd one. She’s different. Her friends, well...I’m just not sure, Maxine.”

“Yes, sir.” She looked at her birthday cake like it was infested with worms. Carefully forced a bite and set it aside.

Max hung around. Smiled and thanked everyone after each birthday present. Even hugged Neil only cause he opened his arms at her. She said bye to El then Heather. Carol seemed to be turning in as well so Tommy went out back to get the car.

As the party went on and dwindled, Evie caught Billy’s eyes gesturing to the rental counter. He slipped around the corner into the many shelves and Evie turned back to see Max and Susan at the table. Neil seated in a chair not helping them clean up, eyes elsewhere. Casually, she skated around and got her arm snatched. A gasp snuffed against a pair of lips. Kisses hidden away from the world.

“Paid the kid a few coins and a threat to leave for ten minutes."

Music vibrated the shelves. Evie put her arms around Billy.

“I still have skates on.”

“Even better. I might have a thing for girls in red skates.” Billy was all hands, holding Evie steady. Pulling one leg around his hip. Pushing denim into denim. Hot friction might have done her in any other day.

“We are not hooking up with all the smelly rental skates.” Evie laughed into his lips, still pecking back and peering over her shoulder. She paused to see his eyes. Wanted to blurt what she’d seen on Max’s body. Even to Billy now, it felt wrong. So, she said something else.

“Hey, we should…keep an eye on your sister, you know. It’s her birthday. She’s...She needs her big brother.”

Billy huffed into her neck.

“Fine, fine, but you’ll regret not taking the adventure on here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Evie shifted. “My feet hurt and we can make-out in my bed later.” She kissed his neck. “I’ll do that thing you like if you promise you went easy on the product down there.”

“Only dotted the gold crown. Scout’s honor.” Billy winked and she rolled her eyes. He peered out first. “Give it a second then follow.”

“Wait.” Evie thumbed her red lipstick from his mouth. “Now, shoo.” Billy licked his lips and snuck out. She waited a moment. Let the happy butterflies land in her stomach then followed. Pausing, her skates came off for more comfortable tennis shoes.

“Evangeline, do you need a ride home with us later?” Neil had asked.

“No, thank you, I was getting a ride with Carol now.” She smiled and looked for red hair to say her goodbyes. “Where’d Max go?” Evie collected her coat and Susan paused to peer around.

“She was here a second ago. Neil?” Hands dropped a stack of plates into the trash.

“Probably went to the bathroom.” He shrugged, squinting at all the moving lights that were making his head pound. “Billy, go find your sister.”

Billy seemed to notice the look on Evie’s face and feel the same chill before he hurried off without fighting. Susan looked through the sea of kids and teens meandering as Evie passed her to check the ajar side door.

"Max!" The one flickering light at the exit made her skin crawl. A cry echoed distantly followed by a dull crash in the dark. Like a bag of trash hitting the dumpster.

Evie dropped her skates to follow the hollowed-out sound. Exhaust swept up her nose and tires gave a harsh wail, horns sounding while a faraway car disappeared around a row of trees to get to the main street with the rest.

“Max!” Evie charged out. Heart painfully thudding within her ribs.

“Evie?” Carol heard her and footsteps echoed around the building.

“Max!” Evie was near tears now. A shift in some fallen trash bags made her pause when two sneakers appeared around the side of the dumpster. This odd scratching sound left her lips. Evie threw herself over the tiny body there, turned Max’s limp frame over.

Her shirt collar was ripped open where someone grabbed her. Or tried to. Dragging then dropping her when she put up a fight. Bleeding scrapes and dirt scuffed all over her pale freckled skin from the rough tumble. Carol got to them first and pulled off her sweater to cover Max’s torso while Evie gathered her up.

“Help!” Carol called because Evie couldn’t. More bodies arrived. Tommy. Susan. Billy. Neil.

“Neil, she won’t wake up.” Susan pulled her daughter out of Evie’s arms, shaking her. Moans filtered out, but nothing else. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I saw...a car. It was too dark. I just found her here on the ground. Someone tried to...” Evie wheezed out and never finished, gesturing aimlessly.

“Susan, give Maxine to Billy. She needs a hospital.” Neil swept down as Billy urged his sister’s tiny body away. This hard. flamed expression on his face as if he wasn't really here.

Max looked broken. Not real. A doll left under the bed for too long without love or cherished stories to comfort it. Evie felt the knees of her jeans soak through from the wet pavement. Too many words hit the air and Evie’s eyes dropped to where that harsh car had gone to.

Evangeline wondered what kind of monster would grab up a little girl and throw her out into the trash.

And why the world bore so many of that same design.

~~~~~

Mad Max :( Her story line is gonna start to push toward the front here and there with Evie's in pieces. Thanks again for following the fic, I really appreciate it! Please please leave some words if you enjoy the fic. XOXO Taglist open

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