#did y’all ever have to spit out your gum at practice

[umhiimv]

sakusa, daichi, saeko, and miwa have all been told to spit out their gum during practice. did they do it? yes. will they chew gum again? absolutely.

[cocobittiebites]

Hello!! This is my 2nd ask.. I just wanted a Scenario when Hisoka is being Saved by a extremely Powerful Woman who has a very cold Appearance... This Woman saved him during the fight of Chrollo.. Sorry for my Second Ask.. I'm just really loved him.. By the way I'm very satisfied on your blogs😊😊😊😊😘😘😘😘❤️❤️❤️❤️

TELL ME WHY I FORGOT I WROTE THIS A COUPLE DAYS AGO???? LIKE FR THIS WAS DONE ON THURSDAY- talk about forgetfulness 🧍🏻‍♀️

Some things that I added cuz creative liberty and all that jazz: y/n is apart of the main four (well it’s five now on my blog ig), I just love found family ok. Also it gives her depth and a decent reason how she knows Hisoka. Her nen ability was based off of my favorite six of crows character, Nina Zenik (who i also probably based her personality off of)

Also fair warning I can barley understand Nen and how is works whenever it’s explained so yeah here is me bullsh*ting it 🧍🏻‍♀️ I tried for y’all though...

Hisoka x fem!reader

TW: Hisoka being Hisoka, mentions of blood and gore (not that much but still), really this is pretty tame compaired to a lot of things on this app, y/n has strong opinions

Why did she have to get tangled up with this clown yet again? No amount of money is worth dealing with this.

At least she had the intuition to view the fight from her room at Heaven’s arena. From the looks of this the two fighters completely disregarded the sanctity of common courtesy as they brought the audience in their petty quarrel. 

Men and their egos.

The hypocrisy of the situation never ceased to amaze her.

He’s mad that Hisoka sold out the troupe and had a hand in the death of their members? Really? After they probably done far worse? 

She watched up on the screen as the audience members began flying towards the aforementioned clown, internally jerking back as Hisoka’s arm was completely severed.

Just like his fight with Kastro.

But it wasn’t like his fight against Kastro. This was a fight against the leader of the Phantom Troupe and this Chrollo guy….he was no joke. At least in his fight against Kastro it was like a game in his favor. Here though, he was the prey and this Chrollo guy seems vengeful. 

As she focuses on the magician, the situation seemed to hit Hisoka.

It was all incredibly dramatic.

And incredibly stupid.

A huge explosion erupted. Bodies piled up. Chrollo’s the last man standing. 

Hisoka is dead.

Hisoka is dead.

Hisoka is dead.

The words chant in her head like a sour requiem. A feeling of dread washes over her psyche. A wave, a panic arises. Her body moves involuntarily and she runs out the door towards the arena. Once she’s there she stills and takes a breath.

Stop being dramatic….This situation is exactly why he asked you to be here.

As a manipulator she could control a person’s hearts. If she was ever caught in a fight she could practically stop an opponent and give them an artificial cardiac arrest, not that she couldn’t fight her way out without her ability. With this ability she was also able to slow someone's heart rate, either calming them or putting them to sleep. The downside of it was that she had to be within a fifteen foot radius of whoever she’s using it on and there needs to have been a point of contact with the other person within an hour's time frame. 

Aura is all around the body you see, and the core of it is the heart. If it was any other organ, like the brain for example, without a modifier like needles, her nen ability would not be possible. Call it her individuality complex, but something about modifiers made her equate it to people like Illumi Zoldyck. It left a bad taste in her mouth. 

There also was a chance that if she overexerted herself, say stopping more than 3 peoples hearts at a time, she could overwork her heart rate and die. Then again, there are downsides to everything. 

Really it was an ability she was particularly proud of. Well she did develop her nen faster than the others. When she showed Gon and Killua her ability they started bombarding her with endless questions. Though there wasn’t a name for it yet. Leorio and his ever present doctor knowledge just kept spewing out heart-related medical terms.

Cardiac is a good name though. 

God. She really missed her friends.

At least you get to see Kurapika when this is all over.

Back to the matter at hand. Hisoka is dead and before he died he asked her to restart his heart to bring him back to life. After much harassment from him against her and her friends, she was bound to say no, however fifty-million jenny is fifty million jenny. A bag is a bag, could you blame her?

Schooling her face she enters the ‘arena’, if you could call it that. The place was completely decimated. The ceiling was ready to crumble completely. Dead bodies littered the entire room. The iron smell of blood wafed up her nose, cringing internally.  In the middle lies Hisoka, face mauled, a missing nose, and several severed limbs. 

Geez, it's like he wants to make her job difficult. 

Peering over to the entrance on the other side she spots a certain pink-haired spider. Machi stands above Hisoka as she uses her nen stitches to put his limbs back together. 

Oh so this is his plan.

She takes no precaution in disguising herself through Zetsu, as she pulls her face into a stony exterior. It works as the pink-haired woman senses her presence and turns up in arms towards her. 

“You” Machi spits out.

“Me” she says mockingly.

“What are you doing here.”

Pointing to the man himself, “The clown wanted me to restart his heart,” sauntering over to where Hisoka’s body laid there, “a fail-safe, if you will.” 

Machi rolls her eyes, “I thought a goodie-goodie like you wouldn’t help a guy like him?”

Shrugging her shoulders she walks up to the spider and brushes Machi’s hair behind her ears, “Fifty-million jenny is fifty million jenny.”

Machi doesn’t say anything. Paying no mind the girl kneels down to the magenta magician. His face, once handsome, now bashed and torn up. She wouldn’t admit it to him but she felt a small pang in her heart at the sight of him. 

You shouldn’t feel bad. He’s the cause of his own ruination. 

Placing both hands on his chest she feels for signs of where his heart is. Once finding it she focuses her aura into her hands and into his heart. Raising her connected hands once she pushes down roughly, in turn restarting his heart. Hopefully he still had some blood flow still lingering in the brain. 

It took a minute but after a while of pumping his heart herself she felt his breath even, indicating that he would be fine on his own for now. In a moment of relief she watched his eyes flutter open. 

His eyes focused, slightly dazed and disoriented, but surprised that he is seeing at all. Still he sees her towering over him, as icy as fresh fallen snow. Her expression is blank, devoid of any hatred or fondness. Still she’s ethereal like this. Light shrouded her like a halo, as if she was an angel of death. For a moment he thought he had died and entered a Heaven he did not deserve. 

What a welcome sight <3, he thought.

Machi looked at the pair stunned. So that’s what her nen ability is. Chrollo isn’t going to be happy about this. Slipping past the pair, she left the room to tell her boss about this new development. 

“What a coincidence Y/N, I didn’t know you cared about me this much,” his signature smirk marring his face. She watches as he fills his gapping nose with bungee gum and covers it with his texture surprise. 

Vain as usual.

She scowls at him, “I care about your wallet,” saying it as coldly as possible. 

“Ouch that hurts~” 

“You literally just died.” 

“So now your concerned, hmm~” 

Rolling her eyes she asked, “Well, I hope you learned something from this experience.” Raising her hand she checks his pulse, “What are you going to do about Chrollo and his gaggle of arachne?” 

“This was a sort of wake up call so to say~,” he sits up moving closer to her face, eyes darting towards her petaled lips. He reaches over to caress her face, but she swats his hand and glares, “From now on I won’t give my opponents a choice when and where we fight, it makes things more...interesting.” The magician reveals at the thought. 

Oh how magnificent our fight will be, Y/N

“As for the troupe, I plan on hunting them down,” he moves closer to her ear and then whispers, like a promise between two lovers, “one. by. one.” 

Leaning back to see her cold exterior crumble was a sight to see. Her eyes, wide and shocked, looked like a doe in headlights. Her mouth, deliciously agape, felt tempting to touch. There he was, powerful and sadistic Hisoka, toying with whether he should worship the woman in front of him or break her. 

Decision, decisions. 

“Either way I’m going to need someone to rip their hearts out with.” 

Oh~, this is where the fun begins <3

[gothparker]

So! I made a thing. A cute thing. I hate my writing but I hope y’all enjoy it! It’s based off of Billie from It, I fucking love his little stutter so this fic is based off of my dumb attachment to that character aha. So here it is 🐀💘 (I also love how Tumblr is abominable with spacing paragraphs 🤪)

It was dumb. Really, really dumb. The way the pit in his stomach heated up, boiled over. It burst within his insides once it hit the bottom of his belly like a bomb, affection splattering across his organs in the massacre. The carnage of the disaster began planting itself inside his ribs, manifesting, clinging to the bones like vines. It grew up around his lungs that resembled mold, making it hard to breathe when he was around the older man. The lungs, filling up with strawberry wine as he drank, nourished the plants instead of killing them. It couldn’t abolish his feelings, he didn’t want them to.

He found out that this is what adoration is.

We become writers when our minds start to deteriorate.

So Peter kept a journal. Not a diary! Because diaries were meant to contain jargon regarding nonsensical feelings and suicide letters. Journals kept up with his days, his routines, and sometimes his...emotions. Just a tad.

So he wrote, and never scrapped it. It was raw and unedited, full of errors and failing sentence structures. But it was him. He had a tendency to forget what he was doing because he was so preoccupied with stress throughout the day, so he jotted it down.

Which started to shift into writing about his feelings.

He wrote down every interaction with Tony within his little book, filling up the pages with scribbles from simple evenings. And it mattered to him. It mattered a lot.

He had a section where he would write down dialogue between him and the older man. Whenever he was feeling like shit, he’d just flip open the book and go over his notes for however long he needed to until he felt better.

He started to realize his feelings within jotting down his feelings.

They were...unconventional. Something he stowed away instead of embracing them for what they were. He swore to god on his own pride that he wouldn’t delve into something illogical.

Don’t wanna hear about it.

It was dumb. Really, really dumb. The way the pit in his stomach heated up, boiled over. It burst within his insides once it hit the bottom of his belly like a bomb, affection splattering across his organs in the massacre. The carnage of the disaster began planting itself inside his ribs, manifesting, clinging to the bones like vines. It grew up around his lungs that resembled mold, making it hard to breathe when he was around the older man. The lungs, filling up with strawberry wine as he drank, nourished the plants instead of killing them. It couldn’t abolish his feelings, he didn’t want them to. He found out that this is what adoration is.

Idiotic.

Love paints in flowers. He felt them blooming up past his gullet, the boy metaphorically vomiting out lovely words that were a little more than friendly around Tony. And it scared him. So he ripped the weeds from his lungs, it left him gasping for breath.

But he couldn’t bury his feelings, they were seeds.

Heavy weighed his heart as he snipped the vines, it was for the better. Peter couldn’t afford to jeopardize everything he had with the person he looked up to the most, it would leave his garden in ruins.

So he snipped, and snipped, and...snipped…..

God.

I can’t do it.

He trimmed the weeds he now saw as flowers, less derogatory, more marvelous. He had the aha! moment as he knew he couldn’t completely rid of his feelings immediately, so he tamed them as best he could. He located them.

Locate.

Contain.

Locate.

He wanted to work through his head why he felt these things. Where did they come from, how would Tony feel about this? How did he feel about this?

It didn’t make sense. But that was love, he guessed. It just doesn’t make sense. It happens, whether you consider the emotion or not. Peter knew what he felt, and he assumed what Tony felt as well. And it hurt.

We become poets when our hearts begin to break.

He scrawled out a cacophony of unique phrases that meant very little to him, unimpressive. Bland, as his attitude was tasteless from his own point of view, whereas it was scripture in someone else’s. He found himself to be a plot of land, barren, dry. His wheat was separated from the chaff, but cast aside.

But just like wheat, you need to go through your own trials before you’re presented in your most desirable form. People accept the norm of your brand, but they don’t appreciate where you came from. The original you, is nothing.

He, was nothing.

Dread is he

Amid all the levels

Born to rise from the depths

But struggling with each devil

It meant nothing.

Trepidation weaved it’s threads around Peter’s throat, constricting, tightening, leaving him all choked up. He gulped, cleared his throat, breaking the strings. It left him breathless. It left his esophagus raw, he felt it swelling up inside of him.

The boy felt stupid.

His stupid attitude. His stupid face. His stupid sense of humor. His stupid interests.

His stupid stutter.

The first time he met Tony, the older man thought he was just nervous around him because he couldn’t properly word himself. He jokingly stuttered himself, which left Peter in tears as his cheeks flushed and his bottom lip trembled. He quickly left, locking himself in a stall as his whimpered pitifully, rubbing his eyes with both of his sleeves while he cried.

Pepper sternly explained that his new intern had a speech impediment, Tony wincing as he realized how badly he fucked up. No one ever said anything about that to him, and no one ever said anything about it after it happened.

It was for the better.

Peter seldom spoke, and when he did, it was soft, gentle. Quiet. His sweet heart seeped from his skin, dripping from his plush lips like honey as milk oozed from his eyes, salt laced with the liquid as he cried. The boy hated how he spoke. The words came out broken, awkward. The honey in his mouth collected ants that he tried to hide behind his tongue. So he kept his mouth shut, and tried not to talk.

His words were tender, but his teeth ached as each syllable clumsily fell from his mouth. Twitching legs and bee stings left his gums feeling swollen, pollen mixing in with spit. He kept swallowing, but it left his mouth feeling dry.

Peter’s breath shuddered as he looked at himself in the mirror. Two years had gone by, two years he had been around the genius man. Two years he had jotted down notes, two years he had to comprehend his feelings.

He felt like confessing.

So he practiced.

Peter looked at himself in the mirror, his bathroom door locked so no one could interrupt him. He inhaled deeply, hyping himself up.

“Mr. Stark. I l-love- fuck. Okay.”

Peter cleared his throat again.

“Mr...Stark...I love- I l-love-”

He sighed sharply, then tried again.

Peter continued for a couple minutes, each attempt failing. It left his small frame trembling, his boney hands curling into fists as angry tears leaked down his pale cheeks. He eventually gave up, his lips pressed into a firm line as he exited the room.

“Where’s my- f-fuck. Wh-where’s my journal.” Peter mumbled, searching around his room to no avail.

He felt slight panic, the little flame of doubt blew into a candlelit dinner with paranoia. Peter searched high and low for his little book, his hands trembling in apprehension.

The boy ran around the last places he looked, finding no trace of his journal. Eventually he went into Mr. Stark’s office, without knocking, in a panic.

He stopped dead in his tracks, closing his opened mouth as he was about to ask his mentor the question. Tony looked up, journal in hand, closing the book in front of him.

“I- o-oh.” Peter’s eyes were wide and full of water. He whimpered in trepidation, immediately covering his mouth to hide the sound.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Peter.”

The boy’s exhale shook as his thin frame shuddered violently. His breathing patterns were trembling as he blinked rapidly, tears dripping down his cheeks that were dusted pink. He wrung his hands and picked at his nails, opening his mouth again to speak, but closing it once more.

“Peter.”

“Hh...ha. Hmm…?”

“Look at me.”

Peter was staring down at the ground, watching tears splash down onto the expensive carpet. He looked up at the ceiling and smiled, laughing nervously.

“Ahhhh haha. I-I’m going t-to have a panic at-attack.” He giggled, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Peter...”

His knees were practically knocking as Tony got up, slowly walking over towards the boy. Peter was whimpering in fear, shielding his face with his hands as he wept silently.

He could feel Tony’s presence in front of him, and oh god, the older man thought, as Peter flinched violently upon contact.

“Pl-please d-don’t hurt me.” He begged softly, followed by a sob. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Pete.” Tony murmured softly, slowly peeling off the hands covering Peter’s face.

“I would never- I could never hurt you. Okay?” Peter had never heard his voice this soft before.

“Look at me.” Tony’s hand came up to gently cup Peter’s cheek.

His eyes fluttered open, red and puffy, glazed over with sadness. He inhaled and exhaled softly, shallow.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Tony’s thumb gently rubbed the skin, collecting tears.

“I-I uhm…”

He blinked up at the older man.

“I’m c-confused.” Peter whispered hoarsely, clearing his throat.

Tony gently rested his forehead against the boy’s, their noses brushing momentarily before he gently connected his lips against Peter’s. He squeaked softly, tensing up slightly before his shoulders started to drop, his fists uncurling. The older man kissed him tenderly, his other hand coming up to his face to caress the skin.

Tony eventually pulled back, exhaling sharply through his nose in amusement as Peter was practically vibrating. The boy searched his face before locking his gaze with his mentor, his throat clicking softly as he swallowed.

His eyes were half lidded and hazy with love as his cheeks were stained pink, lips parted slightly. It was the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen.

“I…” Peter exhaled gently. “I l-love you.”

He didn’t even care that he messed up, he didn’t even care that he made a pathetic scene a couple moments ago. He didn’t care about his stutter, and he didn’t care about anything else right now.

There was a moment of silence before the older man spoke up.

“I love you too, kid.” Tony murmured as he rested his forehead back onto Peter’s.

“E-Even w-with my stupid stutter?”

“It’s one of my favorite things about you.” Tony pecked his nose, earning a toothy smile from the boy.

“Really?”

“Of course. It’s charming, and quite adorable, honestly.”

Peter huffed gently, a satirical pout molding his facial features as his blush darkened.

“I always wanted you to talk more, but I didn’t want to pressure you, or make you feel bad.” Tony expressed quietly, arms snaking around Peter’s small waist.

“I’ll t-take note on that.” Peter mumbled, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

The older man smiled as he rubbed soothing circles on Peter’s back, the boy finally accepting his stutter.

[puns-and-fics-has-moved]

Meant to Be - Part Three: Awake

All Parts

Pairing: jamilton (Hamilton x Jefferson)

Request: Soulmate AU – When soulmates draw on themselves, it appears on the other’s skin as well.

Tagging: @elenarte @empyrealsakaki @gum-and-chips @karenthepoop @hammytrashy @falling-open @bestfluteninja @urstupidmom @olympun @rebel-with-cause @mishaisakitten @depressionjoke @gemilton @ur-friendly-neighborhood-fangirl @regionallyblurredfaces @destiel-addict-forever @sxnyalxveshxrses @theinevitablesense @boiugotsmehalpless @rachurro @hamilton-of-issues @phantom10526 @feral-tomcat-hamilton @alonelynoodle @aceplaysbass @ilesserpanda @kyloslightsaberdick @msageofenlightenment

Word Count: 2071

Warnings: swearing, anxiety/panic attacks, STRONG TRIGGER WARNING: description of suicide attempt

A/N: buckle up y’all

The reply was immediate.

Alex!

Alexander felt a strange rush of emotions at the sight of the familiar handwriting. All his hatred for Thomas bubbled up, and constricted his airway. At the same time, he felt a fluttering in his stomach. This was the boy that he was in love with.

I’m so sorry for everything, Thomas wrote, and Alexander felt his anger boiling in him again. Sorry wasn’t even close to enough… the fact that he thought it would be was infuriating.

Alex lifted his pen again, sighing. Can we meet?

Where?

135th and St. Nicholas, Alex wrote after a moment of thought.

The park? Thomas wrote back.

Yes, he replied, feeling a fluttering in his stomach. They’d agreed long ago that their first date would be there. Alex had said he wanted to go on a long walk in his favourite park to get to know T. Now, they were going there, but under far different circumstances than they’d imagined.

I’ll be there in 20 minutes.

Alex couldn’t help smiling at the message, but then anger twisted within him again. He couldn’t believe he was in this situation. His soulmate was supposed to be perfect for him. Their first meeting was supposed to be dreamy; the scene in the movie that makes you believe in love. Instead, it was going to be a confrontation between the bully and the victim. Who were in love with each other.

Alex shook his head to clear the confusing thoughts and glanced in the mirror. Since he’d taken so much time to get ready that morning, he looked quite presentable, but the bags under his eyes were more heavily pronounced than usual due to his atrocious sleep the night before.

He redid his hair nervously before setting out, walking the familiar route to St. Nicholas park. His heart thrummed nervously against his chest and the panic settled in. As supportive as George was, what he really wanted to do right now was curl into his mother’s arms. She always knew how to calm him down when he was upset or scared. But he had to face Thomas.

Maybe they could work things out. They had been in love for years… maybe with enough time all the horribleness would become a distant memory. He tried not to get his hopes too high, however, as he neared the park. He waited by the subway station on a nearby bench, his foot tapping anxiously on the pavement.

His heart practically beat out of his chest when he saw Thomas emerge from the subway station. He lacked his usual cocky walk. His hair was dishevelled (more so than usual) and his eyes looked tired and puffy. Alexander felt his heart break slightly at the thought of his soulmate crying. And then he remembered how many times he was forced to tears by the same boy.

Thomas caught Alexander’s eye and his face went red. He made his way over to the park bench and stood by it awkwardly.

“Can I sit down?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Alex replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the ground. Neither boy knew what to say.

“Alex… I don’t even know where to begin,” Thomas said hopelessly, and the smaller teen looked up as the other’s voice broke.

“Neither do I,” Alex said coolly, and Thomas’ face paled. He looked nauseous.

“I had no idea…”

“Clearly,” Alexander cut him off angrily.

“No, let me finish,” Thomas pleaded.

“You’re in no place to be making requests,” Alex scoffed, laughing darkly.

“I had no idea that you were so sensitive, Alex!” Thomas cried, and Alexander felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.

“What?” he said weakly.

“I thought you had a thick skin… that the things I was saying didn’t really have an effect on you. I had no idea –”

“That I was weak?” Alexander asked harshly, his anger bubbling over. “You’re sorry because I was sensitive? I’m not fragile… I’m not something you can ruin, Thomas!”

“I never said that!” Thomas interjected desperately, tears sparkling in his eyes. Alexander saw, but his anger kept him from caring.

“You don’t say shit like that to anyone. Ever. It doesn’t matter whether you think they’re tough or not,” Alexander spit, unable to stop himself. He stood up to go, not wanting to look at Thomas’ face anymore.

“Alexander, please –”

Alexander spun around to face Thomas, whose tears had spilled onto his cheeks. “What?” he snapped angrily. “What could you possibly have to say?”

“I’m so, so sorry Alex… for all of it. But I know you, now. I love you.”

“If you love me so much, then why did you tell me to kill myself?” Alex asked in a low voice.

“I – what?”

“Last year! You told me to kill myself in front of all my friends. You told me I didn’t matter. I believed you, Thomas.”

“I – I didn’t mean…” Thomas stuttered desperately.

Alexander felt hot, angry tears spill onto his face. “It doesn’t fucking matter if you meant it, Thomas. You know what happened. Y-you know –” his voice was broken by a sob. He saw the horror strike Thomas’ face as he put two and two together; he had caused Alexander’s attempted suicide.

“You know what happened!” Alex cried again, his voice growing weaker as his vision blurred.

Pull yourself together, Alex tried to tell himself, but the dark parts of his mind were all becoming a swirling, throbbing mess, and his heart started to pound heavily against his chest. He began to get light-headed as fear constricted his throat, and he stumbled.

He was caught by a strong pair of arms and led to the bench. He felt himself being curled into a warm body that perfectly fit his own. He desperately grabbed onto whoever was holding him and he felt his tears soaking their shirt.

A hand was softly stroking his hair, and, after what felt like an hour, he felt his heartrate slow as the panic subsided.

“Breathe, A…” a voice whispered soothingly, and Alex felt a painful pang in his heart. He was in the arms of his soulmate for the first time… and for all the wrong reasons.

“I have to go,” Alexander said, sitting up and wiping at his eyes, his head still pounding from the attack.

Thomas caught his hand as he made to leave. “Alex, please… hear me out.”

Alexander turned to look back at Thomas and gave the slightest nod of his head.

“Alex… I don’t know how I could even begin to make everything up to you. I’m not sure if I ever can… but I need you to know that I’m going to do everything in my power to make it right, okay? Because I love you… and I’m still T. I’m still your soulmate.”

“Yeah…” Alex said quietly. “But you’re also still Jefferson. So who the fuck is my soulmate?”

And with that, Alex departed, leaving Thomas alone in his soulmate’s favourite park. 

Alex tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his head as he walked back home. The negative thoughts were still swirling menacingly, and he had a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He jolted when he felt a buzzing against his thigh, and he pulled out his phone to check it.

Dad: Where are you? Someone here to see you.

Alex felt nervousness twisting inside him. Who was there to see him? Was it a friend of George’s? His therapist? Alex’s heart thrummed anxiously. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He quickly typed a reply to his father.

Me: I was at the park. Who’s there?

He waited impatiently for the reply, but, knowing his dad, it wouldn’t be seen for another few minutes. He was soon nearing his apartment building. Beginning to shake slightly with nerves, he climbed the stairs and unlocked the door.

Taking steadying breaths, he entered. “Dad?”

“Alex! You’re home!” George called, emerging from the living room. His smile faltered as soon as he saw his son’s puffy and swollen eyes. “Are you okay?”

Alexander shrugged. “Who’s here?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

George’s thick eyebrows furrowed in concern at the clear distress his son had undergone. Before he could answer the question, however, John Laurens popped his head through the doorway to the living room.

“John!” Alex cried, relief flooding him. He ran forward into his friend’s arms and relished in the feeling of being held.

“I’ll leave you boys to talk,” George said and left for the kitchen.

The boys walked through the apartment to Alex’s bedroom, and they climbed out onto their favourite place to talk; the fire escape. They sat over the stairs, their feet dangling down over three storeys of metal landings.

“Are you okay, Alex?” John asked after a moment of silence.

“I don’t even know how to answer that, John… I was so in love with T, and now I realize that he’s…”

“A totally bully, yeah,” John nodded.

“But it’s more than that, John… I never really told all of you guys this, but last year… Remember when Thomas told me to kill myself?”

“Yeah,” John growled, his jaw setting on edge.

“Well, I kind of… took it to heart.”

John didn’t seem surprised. Sad and angry, yes, but not surprised. “I remember. You missed a week of school… you told us you were sick…”

“Yeah,” Alex said, tears sparkling in his eyes. He laughed humourlessly. “Did you believe me?”

“No,” John said without hesitation. “Herc and Laf did, but… well, I figured you would tell us if you were ready.”

Alex nodded and swiped at his eyes. John reached over and placed his hand over Alex’s, squeezing it gently.

“What exactly happened? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking,” John said in a rush, staring intently into his friend’s eyes.

I… uh,” Alex began, but felt his heart hammering into his chest. John rubbed soothing circles on the back of Alex’s hand with his thumb, calming him down immensely. “I got home that day, and I was just sick of it. Sick of all of it. I thought you guys – well, it’s not important. I just, I wanted it to all be over. So I got my anxiety m-medication,” Alex’s voice began to waver as he relived the experience. “I was halfway through the bottle when my dad got home. I’ve never seen him so scared… But he made sure I was okay.”

“Oh, Alex,” John whispered, horrified. He pulled his friend into a hug and started stroking his hair. Alex allowed himself to cry; he knew he was in good company. Once he’d calmed down, he pulled away and wiped at his eyes.

“He did that to me. Thomas did that to me…” Alex muttered in disbelief. “I… don’t think I want him to be my soulmate. Maybe it would be better if I didn’t even have one.”

John looked up sharply at those words and studied his friend’s face with intensity. His own expressions softened a little bit at the broken look on Alex’s face.

“Not having a soulmate isn’t so bad…” John said softly, and Alex could have kicked himself.

“John, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean – I don’t want to take my soulmate for granted, I just –”

“Alex, chill. It’s fine,” John said with a slight smile. “I understand. Thomas… doesn’t deserve you.”

“I thought I didn’t deserve T…” Alex countered pensively, studying his dangling feet to avoid eye contact with John.

A hand was suddenly under his chin, and his face was gently tilted up to look directly into John’s.

“Alex, you deserve the world, okay?” John said gently, and Alex warmed under his touch. He nestled his head onto John’s shoulder and felt his eyelids begin to droop.

“You need some rest, Alex,” John muttered softly, and he scooped his friend up into a bridal carry and took him to bed. After a moment of thought, he crawled into the bed beside his friend and nestled the small boy into his chest. He lightly stroked Alex’s hair as he drifted off to sleep.

Alex felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, soothed by the gentle stroking of his hair. His breathing slowed as he felt his body grow heavier and heavier… sleep was almost upon him… he was…

“I love you, Alex.”

Awake.

[badbadbucky]

WIP Weds 6/9/2021!!

Happy WIP Weds friends!

Here is a snippet from my novel, One of the Restless. In this chapter, the full moon has risen and Johnny has opted to keep the wolfed out Chris locked in his car until the full moon is over, rather than risk continung the trip to Salt Lake City. Johnny has parked his piece of shit Oldsmobile next to a field on an empty road and fallen asleep on the hood, and that is where we find him: 

One moment, Johnny was dead asleep, the next, dread wrenched him to full wakefulness, but he didn’t open his eyes. The thing that had woken him up was a whisper. People. Close by.

 There was another whisper, different from the first: “That a dog?”

“Shut up,” a third voice whispered fiercely. “Don’t wake sleeping beauty.”

Johnny’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the handle of his folded knife digging into his back, close to his waist. He must have fallen asleep on top of it. He couldn’t tell if the men were looking at him or not, but he couldn’t open his eyes for fear of them figuring out he was awake before he had the knife in hand. 

He listened closely. He could hear the muffled sound of Chris snarling and snapping inside the car. He thought he heard some footsteps moving down the ditch bank. Another set circled the car, but he’d lost track of the third. 

Johnny continued to breathe steadily, and he inched his hand up toward the knife, so slowly he sometimes wasn’t actually sure if he was moving or not. He felt an itch in the center of his forehead, the feeling someone was watching him--one of the few strings that even non-stringers could sense--and so he stopped for a moment. The moment stretched into eternity. When Johnny could no longer tell if the feeling was still there or if it was just his own paranoia, he moved again, his fingertips closing around the handle of the knife. 

A hand grabbed Johnny’s ankle and unceremoniously yanked him off the hood of the olds. Johnny’s eyes flew open in surprise. He held onto the knife as his dress rode up, dragging the bare skin of his back across the hood with a painful squeak. Johnny hit the ground hard. He tried to catch his breath, but couldn’t. 

He whipped his head around, trying to get a sense for his surroundings, searching for any useful strings. Three men stood over him. Beyond the men, there was an old beat to shit pickup, it barely had a back seat, the headlights blared out across the field.

“Thanks for the ride, hombre,” one of the men said, holding up Johnny’s keys and jingling them. The man had an almost perfectly round face, he’d tried to give it some shape with facial hair, but it did nothing to make his head look like less of a cantaloupe. He looked over at another guy, who looked even stupider than he was tall, and he was at least 6’5 so that was really saying something, and tossed him the keys. “Shoot the dog. Let’s get outta here.”

Johnny still had the knife hidden in his hand. He had to wait for the right moment to use it, he pretended to still be stunned by the fall. The third member of their little group watched him, with a cruel glitter in his eye. He was a handsome kid, couldn’t have been more than twenty, thin but muscular, he wore a tight plaid shirt tucked into some even tighter wranglers. He’d apparently decided to give up after only doing up two buttons on his shirt. Johnny had grown up in places just like this all his life, he recognized every one of these fucks, he’d seen their faces a million times, and the kid was the most dangerous. He was able to easily hold his own with guys much older than him, people his own age were probably scared of him--all shaking their heads, he was too crazy, took things too far--a rattlesnake, as likely to bite his friend as his enemy, wishing and aching for things to go wrong.

The big fella pulled a pistol from the back of his sagging jeans. He held the key to the Old’s in the other. He slid the key into the keyhole, Chris snapped at him, strings of hot drool splattered the window. Big Fella jumped backward. “Ahh--” He looked at the other two men sheepishly, and shook out his hands. “It’s scary.”

A spark gleamed in the snake’s eyes. “I’ll do it.”

Big Fella instantly realized his mistake. Giving someone like the snake control of a situation with a rabid dog and a gun might be the last mistake he ever made. “That’s okay, I got it.”

“Yeah Jake, let Thumper handle it,” Cantaloupe said.

“Do it then,” Jake the Snake said. “We gotta lotta shit to do before sun-up.” 

Johnny took advantage of the trio’s momentary distraction to open the blade on his knife, still keeping it concealed. The three men weren’t paying him any attention, figuring someone like him couldn’t be a threat. 

Johnny had wrapped a few strings around his wrist. Powerful ones. He slid a steel grey string up from his wrist and tightened it around his knuckles. The string was a segment he had taken from a knife, when he wrapped it around his knuckles his punches would land like stab wounds. Johnny took a beat to make sure the other men were still ignoring him. They were, so Johnny used his knife to cut another string from his wrist. He threaded the string between his teeth, pushing it all the way to the gum line, all along his top row of teeth until he rang out of string. The sensation was just as horrific as it sounded, but it was a simple and effective weapon. He’d purchased the spool from his animal guy, the string was taken from a venom spitting cobra, and it allowed Johnny to spit venom. He hated the feeling of it, so he didn’t like to leave it in all the time.  He had one other surprise tucked into the top of his boot. He really hoped he didn’t have to use it; it had been a huge pain in the ass to make. 

Once Johnny was ready, he brought the attention back on himself, away from Chris. “Can I interject?” he said, playing up what his dad called the swishiness in his voice. 

All three of the men whipped their heads toward him. “Shut the fuck up,” they said in perfect unison.

Johnny clapped. “That was impressive. Did y’all practice that? It was real nice. I liked it. I can see y’all now. Peter Paul and Mary.” He jabbed his finger at Cantaloupe. “You’re Mary.” 

Cantaloupe lunged forward. “You fucking--” He was too angry to finish the insult. 

Johnny had to handle Cantaloupe first. Johnny didn’t want the round-headed fuck sneaking up behind him while he was dealing with Jake the Snake. 

The big one, Thumper, was a marshmallow; he wouldn’t do anything. 

Johnny stepped up to meet Cantaloupe. Cantaloupe drew back his fist. He threw a punch and Johnny easily dodged it. He jerked Cantaloupe forward and trapped Cantaloupe’s arm under his own. Johnny bent at the waist--he was a couple inches taller than the other man--and headbutted Cantaloupe. 

For once, Johnny had managed to put the headbutt in the right spot so as to avoid fucking himself up as much as he did his opponent. There was a muted crunch as their skulls collided. Cantaloupe’s melon was split. He crumpled to the ground. 

“Jesus Christ!” Thumper said, taking a step back. He raised the gun and pointed it at Johnny.

“Don’t! You dare,” Jake said. 

Thumper lowered the gun down to his side. 

Johnny whipped around to face Jake the Snake. Jake’s eyes were bright, sparkling in the red gloom. He was wound so tight he was almost dancing, his boots scuffing the asphalt--ready to pop, like a kid at Disneyland when they finally get to meet Mickey. He smiled at Johnny with all his teeth, though he still spoke to Thumper. “Don’t you dare.” 

There was a small cut in the center of Johnny’s forehead from the headbutt. A single drop of blood trickled down between his eyebrows, driving him crazy, but he made no move to wipe it away, not wanting Jake to take it as a sign of aggression. He’d fight Jake when he was good and ready. 

The healing strings he’d applied had done their work, he wasn’t completely healed, but he felt a week along rather than just a few hours. Healed enough to fight. Healed enough to win. 

“So you’re a little bit of a hand,” Jake said.

“I don’t like to brag,” Johnny said. 

“Modest too.” Jake was still standing too close to the door to the Olds for Johnny’s liking. The keys hung from the lock, all it would take was a twist, and Chris would be out. Johnny had to keep Chris in that car; he didn’t know if he’d be able to subdue Chris again if he got out.

 Jake seemed to sense Johnny’s concern, and took a step closer to the door. He gave Johnny a sly smile. He lunged for the door, Johnny took a step forward with his hands outstretched, but Jake had only been faking. He laughed and stepped back. “Just checkin’ your reflexes,” he said. 

Johnny calmed himself down. He needed this to be his game, not the Snake’s. “I know what you’re asking yourself,” Johnny said. “And this is your only chance to find out.” Johnny brushed his long hair back out of his face. He twirled his knife between his fingers. “Come find out.”