#every man and his dog willing to bet their life on a random leg

[kangaracharacha]

tiktok needs to ban me from any horse content, i cannot help but check the comments even though it's bad for my health

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Best Friend Pact- Part 1: Best Friends

Calum attempts to drink the sadness away one night at a party, but his friend, Neveah, doesn’t let him completely. And in their stalled journey off sobriety, they make a secret pact. Black!OC. 

CW: Over the course of this series, death and death related trauma is mentioned. Mentions of pregnancy and birth. 

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Calum is no stranger to the crowded house party. He's no stranger to a kitchen counter lined with liquor bottles or the red solo cups stacked on one side of the counter. He's no stranger to rattle of speakers thumping out tunes. He's no stranger to the random assortment of chips, finger sandwiches, and sweets laid out too. He's no stranger to the bodies pressed into each other as they dance. He's no stranger to the people spread out on the couch and into the backyard, no stranger to the people settled onto stairs.

Calum pours himself a drink. He'd normally go just for a beer. The week's been long though. Working in the studio has drained him. The final products all sound good. They're all worth it. He feels, however, like he's poured every ounce of himself into these songs and left him without a drop of anything left in his soul. The disaster of vodka and mixer is not going to help him. It'll shut down his brain and keep him from thinking about how lonely he feels. 

He's used to being alone. He's used to sleeping with a woman here and there. Lately, his chest has been aching. He wants to come home to a full house. Someone to tell about his day. Someone to cook for even if it's just a frozen pizza. He's always been a bit of a romantic. Romance has never been favorable to him. It's always cut him down with the same hand it helped him up. He knows it's not smart to give up, but he has. There's no romantic love for him out there.

"It's not a beer in his hands," Nevaeh muses, yelling over the music. The pair of been friends for what feels like forever. She takes the cup and sniffs it. "Oof, you could kill a horse with that."

"Tell the horse to get off my chest and I won't have to kill it," he mutters back, downing a fourth of the cup.

She takes his hand, tugging him off the counter. Calum won't talk. It's why he's opted for the alcohol. She won't force him. She won't even force him to dance. He might do it-- that's always a shot in the dark. No, she's just getting him in the crowd, away from his solace. They stand off the side of the dancing crowd. "Besides the horse on your chest, how's life?"

He shrugs, hiding in the alcohol in his cup, in the burning of his chest. It's strong but he's going to finish it. That's for damn sure. "Life is long," he muses.

She sighs and nods to the dance floor. "Maybe dance life away. If it's long, make it enjoyable."

Calum gives another shrug. He finishes the cup and steps closer to the sea of bodies. He's gotta do something besides drink and mope. One song turns into two. Two turns into three. But then the buzz of the first drink isn't strong enough anymore. He knows the smart thing to do is wait, give it a couple more minutes. He's just impatient right now. He just needs to feel nothing but the floating in his veins. "Need a refill?" he asks, nodding towards her cup. She shakes her head. "Okay, I do. I'll be right back."

She watches him, all the curls on the top of his head, and shoulders filling out his button up, sliding through the crowd back towards the kitchen. Calum grabs a beer this time, cracks the can up and downs about half of it in one go. He takes a breath before going in after the rest of it. He only gets about three-fourths of the can down before someone is pulling at him. He knows it's her. He can tell by the way she squeezes at his hand. He lets himself be dragged by her smaller frame. "Couldn't even let me get one more beer?" he smirks, settling onto the back porch with her.

"Spill your guts and I'll personally get you that second beer."

"I don't have any guts left to spill," he huffs. "That's the issue. I give everything away. Every goddamn thing and for what? What do I have to show for it? And romantic love is a fucking lie. A scam," he spits.

"Maybe that's because we're all believing in lies," she counters, the slight chill of the night shocking her. "Maybe love isn't an anvil that's dropped on your head and maybe it's not sunshine and rainbows. Maybe it's work, just like everything else in life."

"You might as well just say you don't believe either," he laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He makes sure to avoid the long black coils. Her skin, normally a medium brown is now helping her fade into the night. "Join the club."

She pushes his side a little, rocking with him when he falls to the right a little. "Fucking sue me for thinking love exist, somewhere out there. Just not for me because I'm bad at it."

"You're not bad at it. You're just too good for anyone."

"That's reassuring," she huffs. "Besides love not existing, is there anything else plaguing you?"

Calum goes quiet, staring up into the black night. Neveah's always been easy to talk to. Calum hates being a downer. He's already sat around and moped. Can he go back to drowning out the sorrow? He sips at his beer this time. "Second beer still on the table?"

"It's got your fucking name on it."

He sighs. She leans into him, a small gesture that she is right there for him, ready for whatever he has to say. "I'm so lonely. I'm not alone. I have people. But I don't have that one person you know? I told myself all I needed was music, my friends and my dog. But maybe that's not true. I want a family. I want kids, ya know. I just don't think I'm capable of it sometimes. Walls too high, hurt too many times and all that jazz."

"You're capable. You've just gotta trust again. It won't be easy."

"No one's got the patience for me, not that I fault them."

"That's what you think. But someone does. You're very sweet and caring."

"I'm polite," he counters, downing the rest of his can. "I was raised to be polite. It shouldn't be a shock."

"No, besides the random stranger," she huffs. "Besides the letting animals cross the road and besides helping the elderly person in the grocery store, besides that you care deeply for the people you put in your life. Whoever cracks that wall of yours is gonna have a great man on their hands. You just have to be willing to put in the work to change. You've gotta meet them halfway."

She's right; he doesn't want to admit that. Every time he meets them halfway he gets burned. How much longer can he be expected to stick his neck on in the fire? He squeezes the can, forgetting it's empty. His jaw flexes, she notes. "I'll go get you that second beer."

"It's not you. Just a long week," he says softly, not quite facing her. He can see her fishnets tucked into ankle-high boots and the end of her skirt in his peripheral vision. She stares down at him, half her body tucked into the warmth of the house, half exposed to the biting chill of the night.

"I know," she answers softly. Then with a wistful smile, Neveah reclines into the door molding. "Maybe you should create a pact with someone. Say by 27 if you and someone else aren't in a relationship, just have a kid together. It'd be like the romcoms."

Calum laughs, staring out into the backyard. "Could I ask you?"

"Mr. I-Don't-Believe-in-Love and then me, Ms. Who-Knows-If-Love-Exists-For-Me having a kid together. That's quite the sight, but sure, why not? What the fuck would I have to lose?" she laughs, sliding into the house. "Cracking a cold one with your girl comin' up," she hums, closing the door behind her.

When she returns, two cans tucked under her arm, she hands one to Calum and then opens one for herself. "Bet money your kid is going to look so much like you, it's going to be like you spit them out. Like you and Momma Joy. She will never be able to deny you," she says to Calum's hunched figure.

He exhales another soft laugh. "Love her. Miss her too."

"When's the last time you talked?"

"Couple weeks."

"Whenever you do talk to her, tell her I said hi."

"I will," he whispers between gulps. "But my kid will be cute. Gets it from his dad." 

She softly releases her laughter. Her sip is the only sound against the silent night. Her hands tremble a little from the chill. She hates seeing him like this, hunched over, a can in his hands dangling between his legs, head tucked to his chest. She knows he'll be reaching into his left pocket for the pack and lighter. And sure enough, the hand comes up to his jacket. But instead of sliding into the jacket, they grab the front. His arms wind back and out of the sleeves. He stands, pulling his right arm free finally and hands it over to her.

"I can hear your teeth chattering," he grins. She slips into the sleeves and pats the pockets.

Her hand slip inside and grab the small cardboard pack. Pulling the box out, she taps it twice, pulling a cigarette out and dangling it between her teeth. Neveah doesn't smoke. "Got a light?"

Calum shakes his head, a grin lighting up his face. Only her. Only she would do something like this. He reaches into the right pocket and pulls out the lighter, giving it a light shake between his fingers. "Looks like you had one all along."

"Oh, would you look at that," she mumbles around the butt of the cigarette. Calum pulls on it, removing it from her lips and wraps his around the same spot hers once were.

He stands to her left, away from the door, leaning against the railing. He covers the end of the cigarette, watching the paper burn as the flames lick it. "You're killing yourself, you know," she mutters, watching the nicotine and paper burn, curling up and falling into ashes at their feet.

"I'm killing the horse," he retorts. "Remember, he's the one sitting on my chest."

"Well, just don't kill yourself in the process."

"No plans to, but I can't make any promises."

__

It's album, tour, album, tour. But finally, finally, there's a break. It's only a year at first. Then they realize, again, like most major shifts, more time is required. One year turns into almost two. Making an album in L.A. turns into taking some time off at home in Sydney. His mother smiles as he slides the plate over to her. "Cooking for me yet again?" she jokes.

"Gotta treat you right," he grins, then turns back to the stove. Joy watches her boy. He seems alright, but she knows he can hold too much onto his soul before it cracks.

"How about treating yourself right?" she probes with a hum. He's getting older, nearing 29, almost thirty, but makes no mention of a partner. She knows the pain, the betrayal. She just prays he doesn't stop him, doesn't hold him back.

"I'm alright, Mum."

She nods, humming again. "Just alright?"

"I'm okay. I'm good. I'm–alive, at the very least."

"Alive is good," she answers, grabbing a forkful of the salad in her bowl. "Alive is a start."

Calum's been thinking a long time about how to tell them. He stares at the pristine backsplash of his childhood home, trying to think of the right words. He knows the backsplash all too well. She finally got most of the grease stains out, he notes. He remembers when he was barely tall enough to see into the oven, the moment when he could see the top of the stove. He remembers running after Mali, hearing her laughter when he finally manages to catch up with her. He wants that. He wants something other than the sound of Duke's paw on hardwood floors.

"I want a kid," he says, turning around, facing his mother and father. Joy's grip on the fork slackens. His father clears his throat.

"What was that?' David asks, in his thick accent. Calum remembers how hearing that sometimes as a kid would scare him. It's not a disciplining tone to his voice now; it's shock, confusion, the lilt of 'did I hear that right?' laced in his voice.

"I said I want a kid."

"Like adopt a kid?" Joy tries. That's going to be hard for him. He'd be a single father, constantly traveling, long hours away from home at the studio.

Calum shakes his head. "No, like try with someone."

"Who?" both his parents ask. He's never mentioned anyone to them. "With a donor?"

Calum shrugs. "Of sorts. It may not work out. It's just a thought. Just one option. If it doesn't work, then I try the 'old fashion' way and whatever avenues I can go down. But I-It's just-"

"You need to try. Need something or someone else," Joy finishes, her grip tightening back again around the utensil. "I understand." 

David looks at her, eyes trying to read what exchange is happening between mother and son. They speak in a language he sometimes does not understand, not Māori, he's used to that. It's silent. It's something in their gut shared between them in nods and glances. He's never been able to decipher it. He may never be meant to understand it.

When Calum returns to L.A. after picking up Duke, he makes a pit stop. It's about noon, he knows where Neveah will be. He strides into the coffee shop. And sure enough there she is, standing about four from the counter, hair tucked up into a pineapple, the curls gelled a little in the back. He waits off to the side until she's next. He slides in next to her, sliding a ten across the counter to the man.

"Add a venti black iced coffee to that receipt too. Extra strong."

The boy nods. "Not a problem." He turns around, grabbing cups and wrapping their orders around them, scribbling her name on both cups.

"Back in town, huh?" she laughs, smiling up at him.

"It would appear so," Cal smiles. "Mum says hi and she hopes you're taking care of yourself."

Waving a hand over herself, she grins. "I think I'm holding up just well." When her name is called, Calum grabs both cups and she takes Duke's leash. They settle outside. Duke climbing into Calum's lap, sniffing at the straw.

Calum spins the cup a little, barely a sip into the drink. How does he bring up that pact? It was years ago. They weren't necessarily drunk but they definitely weren't on the path to sobriety. "Can I ask you something?" he starts, finally.

"I knew something was on your mind."

"Do you remember six years ago?" He takes a breathe, playing at the lid. Is she even going to remember? He keeps talking. "It was at one of Ashton's parties, we were making the fourth album. I told you I wanted kids. But I was on that whole love sucks kick and you joked about the romcoms that have that pact thing where neither one of them–"

"I remember," she interrupts softly. "I told said that you could ask me. Because we would make quite the pair." Her laughter falls out in tufts, soft and breathy, exhaling from her nose mostly. "What about it?"

Calum blinks. There's no beating around the bush, no softening this question. He flicks his gaze to her, she's looking at him patiently, lips wrapped around her black straw. "Would you consider having a kid with me?"

She blinks, jolting just a little. "Oh, oh, fuck. Seriously?" 

Calum nods, swallowing the thickness forming in his throat. She's going to say no, he can feel it. She's taking too long to answer.  He blabbers on, "If you don't want to, I totally understand. A baby's a huge responsibility, but I–I'm at a point where the band's finally slowing down and I know I want a family. No, it's not the traditional route. Maybe it's the route for me, ya know. If you're not comfortable, I'll figure something else out."

Her fingers wrap around his. Calum finally looks back to her, after staring down at the cup and his dog. "You'd still need me then, idiot. You'd call me late at night, and lord knows, I would move in to be there for your baby. Even if you went a different way, that baby needs a motherly figure."

"So?" he asks, pausing, unsure of what she's implying. Certain she wouldn't go for this. It's crazy, right? Insane. Asinine. Here he is, asking one of his best friends to have his baby. Certainly, she'd turn the suggestion down. He knows she'll always be there, but for this? Offering more than just her body, her time, her life for him, for his desire to have something else to love.

"I'll do it."

"You'll what? Are you sure?"

"I'll have your baby, Calum." Her grin is soft. "I'm clearly not getting any younger. My love life is down the fucking drain. You'd make a great father. And this means I get to sucker you into being into my life for at least another 18 plus years," she smiles.

Calum finds his glee bubbling in his chest. He tightens his hold around her fingers. "Something tells me even without you agreeing to this, you'd be in my life for a really long time. But thank you. So much."

"Well," she laughs, "let's make this day count because after this bye bye coffee and deli meats."

Hearing her say that makes it twice as real. Calum exhales hard, bringing the straw to his lips. They sit hand in hand for a moment or two longer before she pulls her hand away. Sure, it's crazy to agree to have your best friend's baby, but it's not like everything in her life has been perfectly sane or easy. It's not like she hasn't been thinking about a kid. Though, in addition to her own desires, she had witnessed what the loneliness does to him, sees how sometimes he becomes a shell of his former self. A kid won't fix everything wrong in his life, but he's talked about having a kid lot lately. Always points to a seat, or stroller, and gushes at how cute the baby inside is. She has to ask. Just to make sure. "Cal, you know a kid isn't going to miraculously change your life, make it all better, right?"

"I'm not looking for a kid to fix everything. I know I can still be reserved. I know a kid won't make me an open book. I know I'm going to be traveling eventually. I know my life isn't ideal. But I want a family. I want the chance to give something back. I need this for me. I've already gotten serious about quitting smoking. I know it's not a lot, but I'm trying. The guest room would be the perfect bedroom for a baby. I'm thinking yellow, maybe a soft orange. That way it's not too girlie or too boyish. I have some money set aside too to help with doctors appointments. Getting pregnant is the hardest part, or so I've read. Miscarriages are a lot more common than I ever realized. There's a great OB/GYN facility about ten minutes from my house. I went in before leaving for home. They gave me some pamphlets to read."

"Someone's done their homework. So, tell me, what's next?"

"Well, I guess step one is to make sure we're both good to go. We go get some tests and see if we get the green light from there." Calum scratches at Duke's head, watching her nod and stare out over the foot traffic. "And then," the thought catches in his throat. Do they have sex? Do they go to a doctor's office?

Her laughter is loud and sudden. "Is the Calum Hood bashful about sex?"

"Well, ya know, it's a way. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable with it. There are other ways I'm sure."

With a shrug to her shoulders, she reclines into her seat. "I know a fertility clinic, was a secretary there for a couple of months. Let's start there, make sure none of us are experiencing any issues. Though," she shrugs again, lips curling into a grin, "I'm not opposed to a more natural approach."

The heat rises quickly to his cheeks, but he leans forward, careful of Duke's body pressed close to him. "What are you saying, huh? Fantasized about me?"

The air fills with her bark of a laugh. "Once, maybe twice. After you bulked up, I'll admit to a scan here and there. You weren't the lean kid I had met in that Starbucks."

Calum rests against the cool metal of his seat. It's been a long ass time. He's nearly her for nearly a decade. It somehow feels so much shorter than that, but somehow longer too. "It's really been a decade, hasn't it?"

"Over a decade actually. I visited London about twelve years ago." She was there for a summer program before going to university and hadn't even noticed Calum. Until they collided. Thankfully, the whipped cream to her drink was the only casualty, though her jacket and his suffered wounds. The whipped cream was easy to remove and didn't stain. But there he was, voice still a little high, but somehow still low and hushed, wristband peeking out beneath his sleeves, big brown eyes terrified. He apologized profusely, the accent sitting on her brain and making her more curious as to why he sounded so Australian. She thought he was cute but never in her league.

But he had surprised her. He asked if she was free that weekend to hang out and make up another way for getting whipped cream on her jacket. They hung out at the mall, mostly near the food court, talking. He said he was in a band, was actually working on some new music. She was talked about school; Calum admitted school wasn't his thing. Though, she consistently told him he was incredibly intelligent and school wasn't for everyone. They hung out occasionally since he was becoming busier in the studio and talked mostly through messenger. The summer ended, she went back to the states. That hasn't stopped their friendship. He moved to LA for music; she was in Arizona for school. He made a trip to see her, the first time he had seen her in person in years. It was like nothing happened like they hadn't spent years of their friendship behind computer screens.

About a year after she finished graduate school, she made the move to LA, or more like back home. Her mother was having some health issues. Her dad needed some extra hands at home. Her younger brother was still at school; so she went back home. Things with her mom improved. Neveah moved into her own place with a roommate, worked some part-time gigs until she found herself now a program coordinator at the small museum in town. Their friendship had always been easy, never awkward, or sexually charged. But it didn't mean they didn't talk about it. Calum sometimes found it easier to talk to her than any of the boys, including Ashton.

Calum's not afraid to admit that over the course of their friendship, he had considered making a move on her, once at the start. But he could never truly bring himself to do it. Her friendship was much more valuable than whatever lonely horny vortex he might've fallen into. But now, somehow, the smirk on her lips felt right. It's clearly flirty, but it didn't feel like it was overstepping. "Twelve long years, I'm not gonna lie. I thought early on, especially after the band got big, you'd try something with me," she muses.

"I wanted to but never did. I valued you more as a friend."

"Such a gentleman."

"Did you ever wish I had?"

Her lips screw up and to the right. "Not really. Would've probably made things awkward."

"But not now? When I'm asking you to have my kid?"

"No, I'm near 30. I want a kid too, but everyone in this plastic town doesn't seem viable. Using a random donor scares me. I'm not aging in reverse. I know you. It's not ideal. This is doing things like all out of order. But I want to help my best friend out. When the opportunity presents itself, you take it. Even if it seems crazy."

Calum raises his cup of coffee; she mimics the action. "To crazy opportunities when they present themselves."

"To crazy opportunities when they present themselves," she echoes and gently taps her cup against his.

__

Calum's sure he's going to drown in pamphlets. There's almost too much to know, makes him feel like he's in school again. He knows he must know it. The good news is that both of them don't have any issues. Now it's a question of how. That sends both of them back down the vortex of more pamphlets, artificial insemination was one that kept coming back home. Not that he was against having sex with her. They had tried it once. It ultimately failed when she made one too many smart comments.

It's hard to get into the mood when the person you're trying to seduce keeps laughing, reminding you of all the embarrassing shit you did when you were a kid, asking if this is how you seduce all your other partners. The moment that sentence left her lips, Calum knew them having sex to get her pregnant would be a far-fetched option. He laughed, resting his forehead onto her collarbone. "I swear to God, if you don't shut up, my dick will never get hard."

"Ya know as much as I should be upset by that sentence, I find myself only amused."

"You're...Jesus, woman. We can't have sex if you want to bring up all the shit awkward seventeen-year-old me did. Like you weren't exactly all put together yourself. You managed to dump an entire bowl of cereal on yourself while sitting."

Neveah slapped his bare back lightly. "I was laughing too hard and tipped the bowl a little too far."

"Yeah, sure, blame it on laughing." That night ended with a marathon of the Great British Bake-Off since it was his turn to control the Netflix. That night also landed them here, attempting to artificially inseminate at home. The process is no less awkward, a huge game of jacking off for Calum pretending like his best friend isn't just a few rooms away. Then it's a long process for her as well, but they make it work. They talk about it, make jokes, her favorite line is, "Huh, sounded like quite the adventure for you."

To which Calum always laughs a little with a shake of his head, responding with, "Your number's up next. Get ready."

Calum's not even intending to hear the statement that filters out through the door on his walks back inside from the backyard. Duke had been itching to get out and Calum always tries to give her as much space as possible. When on his way to refill his glass of lemonade, he catches her voice from behind the door.

"Fingering myself is easier than this, and that's some work," Neveah mutters to herself. Calum freezes outside the door, trying desperately to hold back his laughter. But a snicker or two falls past his lips. "Shut up! I'm doing this for you!" she shouts from behind the closed door.

Calum rests his head against the closed door, shoulders shaking with laughter. This is her second attempt for at-home insemination. Calum's offered to pay to do this at a doctor's office, even their doctor from the fertility clinic said that it would be a difficult process to do on oneself. They went on to explain that there was a risk for infection and that doing it at their office would be the safest way. But Cal could see the way her smile only turned up her lips to a polite degree and knew immediately she was going to disregard that.

"I could help you know," he says between his breathes of his laughter. Her grumbles are intangible. "I don't speak mumble," he retorts.

"Fine, I need your help."

Calum opens the door to see her lying on her back, hips pushed up by a couple of towels, one draped over her lap. "Quite the sight."

"It's about to get a whole lot prettier because you're going to get acquainted with my vagina and cervix."

More laughter shakes his shoulders as he eases into the room, placing his empty glass on the bedside table. "Hmm, I love it when you talk medical to me." He sits next to her bent knees, gently resting a hand on her towel covered thigh. "Now, what do I need to do?"

Neveah explains the process, he has to make sure the syringe goes in as far as it can, to be careful. She shows him how to empty it and to leave it for about fifteen seconds before removing it slowly. "I just have trouble with the angle because I'm nervous."

"No need to be nervous. It takes a few tries as the doctor said." Calum washes his hands in the adjacent bathroom. "Want me to put on gloves?"

"At this point, I'd just like for this to work. But, nah, unless you're concerned." He grabs one, sliding it over his hand and takes the crazy shaped syringe from her. They don't have too much more time before they miss the hour window, but Calum takes a moment, putting a hand on her lower stomach, lowering his voice a little.

"I know this is crazy, but it's okay. Things will happen when they need to."

"You guys are almost done with this album, before long you'll be gone, touring. There will be a huge gap in time."

He nods. "There will be but right now we've got a shot and I'm going to be there the entire way."

"You kind of have to be," she laughs. "I need you in order to have your kid."

"Details, details, details," he grins, moving his hand to her hand, giving it a squeeze. She gives a short-lived smile, before inhaling deeply. Music, Calum finally notices, plays faintly in the background. It's her instrumental playlist, soft sounds of piano hitting the air. He lifts the towel just a tiny bit to see. Normally this is a view that turns out differently. This is a view starts with an NDA and ends with him naked and breathless. Right now, it feels different. It's intimate as he gets her to relax. However, instead of a hunger to feed his own desire, he is filled with a surge of uncertainty. He feels her nerves too.

She squeezes at his forearm. "This feels weird. Like strangely intimate, but still oddly medical."

Calum nods, clearing his throat and meets her gaze again. The eye contact helps a little bit. Less strange, still oddly medical. "Yeah, it is a little strange."

She squirms just a little before releasing her hold. "Okay, let's do this. We've got like ten minutes left."

"That's still 600 seconds. Take another deep breath."

Her chest rises, lungs filling with air before she pushes it out slowly. Calum brings the syringe closer to her body, hovering just outside of her. "It's okay, I'm good," Neveah states softly. Her voice sounds kind of far away. Almost without thinking as he slides the contraption into her, he finds himself gently rubbing at her calf and thigh with his non-gloved hand. Her skin is mostly smooth. He plunges his seed into her, a slow and steady press. "Has anyone told you, you have really pretty eyes?" she asks suddenly.

Calum's too focused on making sure he doesn't pull it out too soon. There's a small lull. As he pulls the syringe out, he finds himself responding. "Not really, not that I could remember."

"Well, you do. They look like melted toffee in bright sunlight. Then they can be this rich dark brown. When you talk about your mom or family they lighten a little. I'm not sure if it's like actually happening, but they look lighter."

She stares directly at him as she speaks, unphased by what's happening. Like it was just a normal conversation at the dining room table or something. Calum's thankful, that made it a little easier. He brings the towel back down to cover her. "Thanks, I-uh, no one's paid that much attention."

"I've practically moved in at this point. You've got yourself your own personal observer."

He can't understand why the statement makes him bashful. He looks down to the bedspread, the smile softly resting on his face. "Thanks, again." After removing the glove, he stands, going to clean the syringe but pauses at his bedroom door. "Do you need anything? Snack? Water?"

She shakes her head no. "I'm good. Thanks though."

"I know this might be strange to admit, but you've got a more prominent dimple on your right cheek than your left when you smile and it's really cute when you laugh really hard. Mostly because you can really see it."

Her eyes widen, a small gasp leaving her. Neveah is silent for a moment before she whispers, "The only other people to mention that are my parents. I didn't think others noticed it."

Calum reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck, a smile briefly crossing his lips. "I just really noticed it yesterday when you were watching that stand up routine."

"Wonder what else we notice about each other." 

Calum nods and finally exits the room to clean everything. He's noticed a thing or two, like how she almost always closes the lower cabinets and drawers with her hip and how she always taste test something with her pinkie, how she has a dimples in her butt too, and how after a day at work heels and the skirt are usually the first things to go, her bra is quick to follow. She does most of her cleaning in the evenings too, almost like she's gotten her second wind of the day. He's noticed a lot, he thinks, shocked at how long the list is in his head.

__

Duke climbs off her lap at the sound of keys in the door. She pushes up from the sofa, her limbs heavy with sleep still. The TV's still a soft blue hue washing over the grays and blues of the sofa and dark brown coffee table. Calum kneels, petting and scratching Duke. He notices the TV first and then her sleepy figure. "I'm sorry," he whispers. He hadn't realized she has stayed up again waiting for him.

Neveah hums, waving it off. "I shouldn't have. I hadn't planned to still be up here. But then some crazy movie came on and I got intrigued," she shuffles into the kitchen, covering up a yawn. "I made pork chops if you're hungry."

Calum follows in behind her, pulling the jacket off his shoulders and unzipping his boots. "I've got it. Don't worry. Thanks."

"Welcome, sugar." The nickname falls all too easily from her lips. She doesn't even think twice about it; she can't. Until it's already off her lips. "Shit, sorry."

Calum finds himself wrapping her into a hug, a chaste kiss to her forehead. "It's alright. Get some rest. Thanks for fixing dinner."

"I should mention it was a scary movie," she pouts. She always does this, knows damn well horror movies freak her out but still watches them by herself.

"My bed always has an open invitation. I'll be there soon."

"Thanks, Cal. You're the best. One of these days, I'll stop watching them all alone."

"That's a damn lie. But I promise nothing's going to get ya. Not with me here now. Also, you had Duke. He's big and scary."

"Duke is just a grandpa," Neveah laughs.

She walks down the hallway. Calum eats, going in for seconds because the meat is so tender it falls off the bone and melts just at the thought of it touching your tongue. After showering and brushing his teeth, he slides into his bed. She's curled onto her side.

Sensing his presence, she turns to face him, gently holding to his bicep. "I probably shouldn't bore you with today."

Calum turns to his side, tracing her cheek. "Bore me. What happened?"

"Know how I was supposed to take those two tests today?"

"Yeah."

"I couldn't. I couldn't bear seeing not pregnant again."

"It's alright. Tomorrow, I'll be here. We can do it together tomorrow. There's still time. Come here," he breathes, pulling her into his chest, wrapping an arm around her. "I've got you. It's not easy, I know. But you've always got me."

They've been trying with the at-home kits for months now. This is their fourth attempt if he's keeping track right. Calum's frustrated but not nearly as her. He can't fathom the kind of guilt she feels. She has nothing to feel guilty about. It takes time to get pregnant. That's a fact neither of them truly understood the weight until now. He isn't going to give up on her, even if she wanted to give up on herself. He would always be right there for her.

[cheetahsprints]

Beyond the Surface

Words: 2822 Summary: Cisco couldn’t stand Harrison Wells. Crossing his path in an unexpected place would change that view permanently. Rating: Gen A/N: Title inspired by Fly Down - Stephen

Cisco tapped his pen on his mouth. He checked over his grocery list to be sure he got everything. It was just general foodstuff. He added some extra items.

- That new conditioner I heard about - All the bath bombs - Try the candle Caitlin suggested that smells like my kinda man called “Mechanical grease and Angst” - A recorder to piss off my grumpy neighbor. Tell him it's for a hipster band. - Dog food. - One of those big fake owls. It might freak out neighbors cats

Cisco always left without dog food. He underlined it three times. He chuckled at the recorder addition, picturing the constipated expression his neighbor would make. It wasn’t a challenge to antagonize him. Cisco was constantly finding new and creative ways to accomplish his mission.

His neighbor was also his professor. He was the unrelenting Harrison Wells. He cursed the day he incidentally moved to his floor, beside him to boot. The man was intelligent, handsome, and mysterious. Under most circumstances, Cisco would have a crush the size of Alaska. Unfortunately, Harrison Wells needed a personality transplant. He was an infuriating jackass. He gave not an inch, and he enjoyed pushing people over the edge.

Every day he passed the man’s giant door poster. It was a picture of the Grinch (cartoon version) that said: Don't bother me after 8 p.m. or I'll steal YOUR Christmas. The building supervisor had referred to him as only Mr. Grinch, due to this decor.

Cisco was willing to bet it was custom-made. Rumor had it that Professor Wells was a man of many talents. Cisco’s complaints also fell on deaf ears. Because no one else lived on this floor to corroborate his stories. Cisco didn't blame people for moving. On the bright side, he had to pay lower rent for this shit apartment location. The apartment itself was nice, with a big bathtub, walk-in closet, and balcony. It was worth Wells knocking on his door to tell him his party was too loud. Wells threatened to call the cops, but he never did. He knew Cisco would have it cleaned and shut down before they got halfway there.

His cats meowed all hours of the night. Cisco didn't know how he could hear them running around at night. Especially since one was a stick. One had also snuck into his apartment and shredded his stuffed Rocky the flying squirrel. It had been a present from his ex, Lisa. On one hand, technically kind of a good thing. On the other, he had liked that squirrel.

Cisco perked when he heard his six month old brown-and-white shih tzu mix yapping. He strolled out to the balcony. Sure enough, there they were. Wells’ stringy black and white oriental shorthair and tabby maine coon. The maine coon was the chillest animal on the planet, asleep to the tune of barking dog. That was the one that murdered his squirrel. Everytime Cisco left his apartment, the oriental starting yowling from behind Wells’ door. Then his puppy barked her head off.

Stevie, his brindle greyhound, appeared to investigate. He nudged Cisco curiously. He patted his service dog on the head absently. Cisco was prone to seizures. They were mostly random, but could sometimes be caused by distress. He grabbed a squeaky toy to distract Buttercup. He closed the balcony doors. He packed up and got Stevie in his work outfit. He expected to run into the Professor’s dumb face when he opened the door. He always complained about Buttercup’s barking even though he could just bring in his cats. Cisco had nothing against cats as a whole. He had everything against Wells’ disregard for the effects his cats had on others. Cisco was relieved when he was miraculously not there. He either decided to keep to himself or went out. Cisco saw enough of him in class, it just figured he would end up living beside him.

On a positive note, pissing him off was the most entertaining thing. He even drove him crazy in class. On the first day, Professor Wells had began by saying, “Science fact: The world around you is made up of protons, neutrons, morons, and electrons.”

When he said “morons” he had looked directly at Cisco. He wasn’t sure if Wells was presumptuous, if it was an accident, or if the man was prejudiced. Wells hadn’t eased up on him. He had called on Cisco to answer the toughest questions, contradicted all of his answers. Cisco wasn’t a special case, Wells was mean to other students, but they were slackers or whatever. He did have the potential for kindness, immediately helping anyone who seriously required it.

Either way, Cisco went out of his way to make his teaching aspect of life a bit of a nightmare. He pretended to be incredibly dumb in class, forcing Wells to cater to him. He would ace his tests and grin like a little shit.

He would ask the stupidest most basic questions, eyelashes fluttering like an infatuated schoolgirl. Wells was that “hot silver fox professor” as the women, and even some men, all of whom had no self respect, referred to him. They fawned over him. It was revolting. Cisco made them upset too by imitating their behavior. Wells always apparently lost his train of thought. He would sort of freeze on the spot, mouth open. He stuttered over his next words. It took everything Cisco had to hold in his laughter.

He kept the irritation to the minimum at home. Needless to say, but the airheads in his class didn’t believe Wells played the most obnoxious music at four in the morning. They didn’t believe he had a psychic connection to his cats and bid them to drive Cisco up the wall. They didn’t believe Wells pounded on the wall when Cisco played Christmas music. They didn’t believe he would sit on his balcony and throw things onto Cisco’s. Those objects had included: a wrench, a stupid singing toy from a dollar-per-item store, and even a rather large dildo. He had the supernatural ability to know when Cisco was studying. His hobby of throwing random shit would always scare the daylights out of Cisco.

For some reason, they did believe when he told them about the time Cisco had returned to his apartment shirtless. Some wiseass at he dog park had knocked him into a puddle of mud. At least, he hoped it was mud. He had thrown his shirt away and stormed home in a huff. Wells had seemed to choke on his own saliva when he saw Cisco. His blushing and stuttering was adorable. It was like he had never seen another man shirtless. 

Cisco figured he might’ve been offended by the tattoo, curling around his nipple and over his shoulder. Cisco had experienced a bit of a phase in his first semester of college. He lost a bet which required him to get the tats. They were pretty, and he luckily didn’t end up regretting his decision. He went through a bit of a ‘only get away with being young and dumb once’ phase. He cleared his less that stellar ideas and urges from his system, to pave the way for responsible adulting. He would have a lot of stories for his kids, if he ever felt like having any. Maybe he would tell the stories to Barry’s or Caitlin’s.

Stevie walked easily beside him in the Starling-Central City Shopping Center. He whistled a jaunty tune. He was having a pretty good day. He had satisfied with his level of studying for the upcoming exams and wasn’t exhausted. His new puppy hadn’t peed on the carpet this week. He hadn’t seen Wells’ annoying face yet.

He spoke too soon. He saw Wells, browsing in the assorted candles and incense. He glared at his turned back. He couldn’t believe the man chose this day to enter society and be shopping for something Cisco was looking to purchase. He tentatively stepped into the section, footsteps light. He hoped Wells wouldn’t see him.

He heard someone scoff and stage-whisper, “Do you see that rat he has in his cart? Like anyone believes that’s a real service dog.”

His girlfriend cackled. “What an asshole.”

Cisco’s gaze riveted on Wells’ little dog. She was a chihuahua-corgi mix named Rocket. Wells was secretive as hell. The only things Cisco knew was that he had a daughter and pets. That was due to the photos on his desk of a young girl in braces, a calm Chorgi with its tongue hanging out, next to the 85 % legs oriental shorthair (same pic) and one of the fluffy Maine coon. And there was a final faded, worn one of a German Shepherd/Dalmation in a doggie wheelchair next to an urn simply engraved Sam - Never Forget. Cisco had asked the little dog’s name, and gotten such a gruff reply that he didn’t inquire further.

It was simple to assume his professor was not much beyond a grumpy old jerk. His humanity seemed to be buried deep. He was robotic, functional enough to take care of pets and teach a class, that was all. Cisco would have to rethink that. Rocket was even cuter in person. Wells had obviously heard and he winced. He picked up Rocket, cradling her close. He marched up to the couple.

“Hey what is your deal? His dog is well-behaved, and he did nothing to you!” Cisco crossed his arms, raising his chin. The boyfriend attempted to tower over him, but he was no match for Cisco’s sheer force of will.

“Back off asshole,” The girlfriend butted in. “No one asked you.”

“I’m the asshole? It’s pretty rude to go around assuming things about someone’s life. For all you know, he nearly lost his life fighting in a war.”

“For all I know, you’re a phony too. Look at that - that thing you have. Is it imported from Africa or something?” The Dude narrowed his eyes at Stevie. And that was the end for Cisco.

“Listen here,” he said dangerously, voice flat. “Judgey tools like you is why we can’t have nice things. You can get that stick out of your ass and -”

Dude started making offended noises. The Girlfriend looked ready to jump on Cisco and tear his hair out. He braced himself. Let them try. A distinct high-pitched bark interrupted his tirade. His mouth shut with an audible click, and he whirled around. Rocket was back in the cart, whining, trying to get to Harrison Wells. He was crouched on the floor, all six feet of him. His hand was covering his eyes. The other hand was braced on the shelves. He was rocking back and forth, making breathy noises.

Cisco rushed over, argument forgotten. He wasn’t sure if he’d go to hell for it, but he gently picked up Rocket and placed her on the floor. He certainly lost his mind whenever someone tried to touch his well-trained greyhound on duty. But this seemed like an emergency. Rocket whined again and snuffled on Wells cheek. He sighed and pulled her close, taking deep breaths. Cisco shifted. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the couple had wandered off. Confrontation wasn’t always the best idea. Sometimes, his anger got the better of him. Stevie watched calmly. He looked a bit twitchy. He was always wary whenever Cisco got himself into tense situations.

Wells gained control of himself. His eyes were glazed for a moment, then it faded. His hands were shaking. Rocket was pressed close, licking at his face. He picked her up and stood, clutching her to his chest. He stared at Cisco with wide, bleary eyes. He had never seen Wells looking so spooked.

“Hey buddy. You good or do you need to call someone?”

“Did - did I hurt anyone? When episodes strike, I black out,” Wells explained at Cisco’s confused look. “I can be prone to violence because I think I’m. Back there.”

His voice was at such a low pitch. Cisco was stiff as a board. He shook out his hands, trying to loosen his muscles. He wasn’t afraid. He just wasn’t sure how to tread here.

“No it’s fine. You were kinda on the floor. Was that my fault?”

“They started it, you were only trying to defend me, thank you,” Wells replied.

He was surprisingly relaxed, for all that they didn’t get along. Cisco felt like a veil had been torn from in front of his eyes. He saw everything in front of him anew. He should really take some of his own advice.

“Well, it got a little out of hand ‘cause I don’t know when to shut my mouth and walk away sometimes. Can I - can I buy you some ice cream or something, Professor Wells?”

Wells blinked. Then he laughed, heartily. “You can call me Harry, Mr. Ramon.”

“Cisco!” He continued, mostly to himself, “Big Belly Burger sounds damn good right now.”

Harry nodded in agreement. Cisco indicated his cart. Harry began to pile his stuff inside. It was more efficient to take one cart. His eyes widened at the Star Wars paraphernalia. So, he was a fellow nerd too. There was probably so much Cisco didn’t know about him. These recent discoveries only scratched the surface. He suddenly had an overwhelmingly urgent desire to know everything that Harry would give him.

On the way to the in-store restaurant, Cisco said casually, “I have seizures. Stevie here, he’ll sit and howl when he senses one coming, so I can find a safe place. He stays by my side and helps me out. Completely necessary just like yours.”

“Some people think they’re smart. The reality being they know nothing at all,” Harry replied.

“I know that all I know is that I do not know anything,” Cisco said and snorted. “That guy didn’t even know how to remove the stick in his ass.”

“There’s no proof of that phrase, but the spirit of it is true.”

They finished their meals, bought separately, and Harry paid for their ice cream. Cisco opened his mouth to protest. He was silenced by Harry’s glare.

“I’m sorry I act empty-headed in your class,” Cisco confessed.

Harry nodded and lapped at his ice cream. He smiled as he scooped some with two fingers and fed it to Rocket. Absurdly, Cisco’s stomach started doing acrobatics. He couldn’t pinpoint the cause. He scratched Stevie’s ears, who made a dog-sigh of content.

“I’m sorry for being a difficult neighbor,” Harry offered. “Let’s promise to be at least civil to one another for now on?”

“Agreed. Life will be much easier. And we’re totally having a Star Wars marathon.”

Harry grinned. He rubbed at his lips with a finger. Cisco gnawed on his cone and watched him for a moment. He felt a stab of guilt. He had despised Harry for his behavior. He was a hypocrite. He saw now he had acted the exact same way and judged him. He knew next to nothing about his private life, because he presumed that he did not have one. What did he think? That Harry went home and hooked himself up to a charger?

The man probably had dreams, hobbies, as many likes as dislikes. Hell, Cisco had known he had a family he must care about, from the picture of his daughter on his desk. Cisco distantly noticed Harry had no wedding ring. Somewhere, under all that brain and bluster, Cisco was beginning to see his heart.

The best restart would be to address the root of the problem. Then they could clear the air. He licked his lips nervously. He locked his fingers in his lap and leaned forward. Harry folded his arms on the table, chin lifting in preparation.

Cisco kept his voice soft and not accusing. “Why did you single me out the first day of class?”

“Are you kidding? I heard you were practically wunderkind,” Harry answered in an incredulous tone. “I was very impressed with your records.”

“Seriously? I grew up in the most obscure town.”

“I’m in the habit of keeping an eye on talent. Finding out you were in my class made my entire week, which isn’t saying much, but still. You are the most brilliant and creative person I’ve met, aside from my daughter.”

Cisco internally preened, a flush of pleasure coming over him. He had a weakness for direct compliments of his talents. He realized that also meant Harry had believed in exactly none of his bullshit. Harry pointed at his own face and raised his eyebrows. Cisco squinted at him. Harry spread his hand and made circles. Cisco scrambled in embarrassment to wipe his face off. He found it wasn’t as bad as Harry indicated. He scowled.

“You say such sweet things. But you’re still a dick.”

“Did you really expect anything else?”

[supersoldierslover]

A New Beginning Part 1

Summary:  After moving a lot, you found yourself in a small town in the middle of Europe ready for a new start. You see yourself falling in love for the city and developing a crush for the cute stranger that you never had the courage to talk to until you’re forced to. (Modern Au)

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Words: 1586

Warnings: Fluffy like so much fluffy. And Steve with a beard because that should be a warning.

Thanks to @drinkfantasy , to beta this for me you rock.

Credits to the gifs owners

You have a routine, every day you wake at 5:50 a.m. and stays 10 minutes in bed just enjoying the warmth and the comfort of your sheets. Then you drink a hot cup of coffee or tea looking outside your window, you love to see the people passing by and how the city comes to life with the morning.

But by far your favorite part of your morning lately has been the time you spend walking with your dog. You look at the small puppy in the end of your bed “Come here, babe.” You say tapping the bed, she was so adorable and so small. You were so glad that your mom gave you a puppy as congratulations for living alone gift “Do you want to go for a walk, Blueberry?”

The dog barks making you get off of bed “Come on, girl let’s find your leash.” You change your pajamas into a pair of black leggings and a pink sweater and your favorite sneakers. Even though is summer the morning is cold, you put the leash on your dog going outside.

The streets are almost empty with a few exceptions, the small coffee shop on the other side of the street is already open and there are a few people inside mostly business man that work long hours and they need their caffeine.

A few people are running, while others are walking with their pets like you. It is so odd how you recognize so many faces but don’t know any of their names, like the teenage girl who is always reading a book by her window, or the old lady knitting on her balcony but for sure your favorite is the handsome stranger.

You see him every morning, the blonde man with a magnificent beard. Usually, he is sitting on a bench drinking some coffee and reading a book. As usual, you pass through him and he nods when he sees you, you don’t think too much about it, he was just being polite. You wish that you had the guts to talk to him, but you don’t even know what you can say to a man like that.

You and Blueberry walk for a few more minutes enjoying the cold wind and the sun that rises until you stop at the small coffee cart there is nothing that you wish more than a hot cappuccino with cinnamon and caramel. You are so distracted trying to find the right change to pay for your coffee that you don’t notice that, Blueberry‘s leash getting lose, you only notice when she was already asking for the handsome stranger to pet her.

“For fuck’s sake, Blueberry. It had to be him?” You pay for your coffee and go to the stranger'a direction, pretty sure of the fact you gave the guy the wrong bill. You wanted to talk to him for so long maybe you should thank your dog after all "I am so sorry about her, she usually is very well behaved.” He stops petting her looking at you “Please, don’t apologize, I love dogs and she is the sweetest thing ever. What is her name?”

You sit by his side on the bench, taking a sip of your drink “Blueberry.” He nods “Interesting  name.” He says taking a sip of his own coffee, smiling at you “Well, she does have these big eyes that look like blueberries and she is adorable.” You shrug, you don’t want to justify the name of your dog for a stranger no matter how hot he is “I like it. I am Steve, by the way.”

You smile and introduce yourself to him “It is nice to meet you, you know… I always wondered why you always here every morning reading.” You don’t know why you said that maybe is something about how his blue eyes don’t let you think before speak or is just because you don't want this conversation to fall into an uncomfortable silence.

“It is a beautiful neighborhood, especially in the morning where the streets are almost empty and the sun hasn’t completely risen yet. I can’t get this view from my apartment.” You nod, not realizing that he is looking at you. You always liked how quiet this city was especially in the morning. “Yes, I like to watch people too. I feel like I know all these people even if I don’t know anything about them.”

“I always wondered what was your name and your story, colorful sweater girl.” You smile at him “This is what you used to call me before knowing my name?” He nods “Why colorful sweater girl?” You are usually wearing black in the morning, you think that today is a rare exception.

“The first time I saw you were wearing a baby blue sweater, then on the very next day was a purple one and if I recall correctly you were wearing this exact pink one in the third consecutive day I saw you, so it was the appropriate nickname.”

“You have a good memory, Steve.” He blushes as you say these words, you can’t help but find him adorable and intimidating at the same time “You were too pretty to forget.” This time you are the one blushing “Now, you are just being cheesy.”

“I am dead serious, you bring color to this place.” You don’t know what to say, you don’t think he is just flirting with you to pass the time he is really being honest with you.  When you look into his eyes, they don’t seem deceitful, you hate that you already trust this man that you don’t know anything about it.

Luckily for you, you don’t have to answer him your alarm clock starts to ring letting you know that you should get home and shower to go to work “I should get going, I can’t be late for work again.” He seems disappointed but he nods “Do you want to walk me home? It’s a 10-minute walk.” You say without realizing that you are doing, you are actually showing a stranger where you live.

“Of course, you realize how dangerous it is to show a stranger where you live, right?” He asks getting up, throwing his coffee cup in the trash “Yeah, but I trust you. Don’t ask me why I just do and you can tell me more about yourself so this way we can be friends, Steve.”

“What do you want to know?”  You shrug “Everything that you are willing to tell me, but you can’t start telling me, where are you from?” Great now I am the one flirting with him. He arches his eyebrows at you “Come on, Steve this accent is not from someone from a small town in the middle of Europe.”

“Brooklyn, but it’s being a while since there was my home and what about you?” This is a long story with a lot of insignificant details “Well, everywhere, I grew up in town very much like this one but not in this country. I always wanted more so I moved a lot and explored a lot.. But nothing ever felt like home. I actually I lived in New York for a while.”

“Really and what did you think about the city?” This was not supposed to be about you, you are supposed to get to know him better but you have the feeling that he rather listen than talk “It was a nice city, a lot of busy people during the day but at night the city it was almost magical.”

“So you weren’t a fan of the central park in the morning or to spend the day on Corney Island? “ You can tell that these places meant a lot to him, just by the way he is speaking but what can you say when you lived in New York you were fascinated by the night life of the place “Not really, but I bet you would show me I great time in there.”

You curse yourself, why you keep flirting with him? And more important it is working? “Maybe someday, I can take you there.” He voice is so sad, you want to ask what happened but you also want to make him smile and forget about the sad things.

You two fall into silence, it is not uncomfortable but you wish that you hadn’t upset him. It’s being four months since you move into this place and your only friend is Blueberry “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so sad, just a lot of memories. I am going to make two random questions that can make everything go back to normal, ready?” You nod waiting for him to continue.

“How do you like your coffee and blueberry muffin is your favorite type of muffin?” You stop noticing that you two arrived in your building “With sugar and cream and about the muffin, chocolate.” He smiles “Great, I will see you two tomorrow?”  He asks hopeful, you have to control yourself to not say anything too fast.

“Of course, if you want.” You try to sound casual, but the smile on your face says it all “I will be waiting on the bench, goodbye, doll, and goodbye blueberry.” He kisses your hand and pets your dog before he goes.

You can’t help but smile, Steve was something else “You are a little match maker, aren’t you? “You ask your dog and she barks in response before you two get in the building.

Part 2

Please Leave feedback, I really like this series and i believe this can be a really good one. So share your opinions with me. And of course, if you want to be tagged let know.

[huxsharem-blog]

Synergy

Chapter 2 - Visions Warning: none

Walking through the maze they call hallways, you reluctantly follow Kylo Ren and the ginger that has yet to introduce himself. Maybe you’re supposed to already know who they are since they’re the big, bad, and scary. Heck, even you, someone who has actively stayed as far away from politics as possible has heard whispers about the infamous Kylo Ren; and more specifically, the shit he’s pulled. Or rather, allegedly pulled. You’re sure what you’ve heard is true – the deep fear in the eyes of those who whisper is enough to make you believe – but you thought you’d give the poor guy the benefit of the doubt. I mean, he’s taken your family, possibly killed them, and now he has you in an unknown location, he deserved the benefit of the doubt, right?

Hell no!

As you walk through the hangar bay to what seem like living quarters, you made a mental note of your footsteps. Each hallway lacks something that makes it unique; it lacks an identification sign. Well, it has the room numbers, but that’s hardly a map to the nearest exit.

The passing soldiers in white armour – you’re still unsure of their species – have the common courtesy to salute. That’s how you know you’re in the presence of the top dogs. That, and they obviously know their place, and their respect towards their superiors never wavers. They’re clearly well trained, unlike your very gothic hosts.

At that, your helmeted host’s head turns so fast you wonder if he has whiplash. Standing in front of you, he stares you down. The uncomfortable silence feels; well, uncomfortable; that, along with his large form towering over you makes him very intimidating. “Ren.” The ginger barked.

Kylo’s stare lingers a few seconds longer. You can feel his eyes burning holes in your skin. Without a word, Kylo turns and walk away, his black drapes whooshing around him.

The ginger points in Kylo’s direction, a silent order for you to walk ahead of him. You hesitantly follow orders, giving him a wicked side eye as you pass him. Is he above Ren?

Stopping in front of a room – room number 2501 – you watch as Kylo Ren opens the door and walks into the room. Clearly the ‘ladies first’ rule, or any gentlemanly behaviour isn’t enforced here.

Walking inside after Kylo, you take in the room. You were right, they are living quarters; and very minimal ones at that. There’s a bed, a bathroom, a wardrobe, and a set of drawers. The room itself isn’t very spacious. It does, however, match the colour scheme of the hallways; black and silver. You taking in the black tiled floor, they must be cold to walk on in bare feet. In fact, that’s the general vibe that the entire place gives you; cold. It’s not a happy environment, very military. Coming from a very happy and loving home, you’re not sure you could really thrive here.

“Stay here until I collect you for training.” Kylo says, his metallically altered voice sending a chill down your spine. Well, it was either that, or the glacial temperature of this room.

Your eyes follow Kylo as he promptly leaves the room leaving behind an awkward silence between you and a stranger. Well, he’s a man of few words, isn’t he? In fact, they both are.

There’s a knock on the door causing you to jump. The ginger answers, grabbing the pile of clothes off the officer and closing the door. “A meal will be brought to you shortly,” he says, handing you the pile of clothes, “in the meantime, I suggest you shower and change.” You nod, unsure of how to respond. He turns towards the door, you watch as the door slides open. “It would be wise to follow orders, Ren has quite the temper.” He says before fully leaving.

As the door closed behind him, you felt the walls closing in. You’ve never been claustrophobic, but then again, you’ve never been held against your will. Feeling yourself starting to hyperventilate, you take a series of deep breaths; in through your nose, out through your mouth. In. Out. In. Out. Trying to make yourself relax, you lie on the bed, closing your eyes. It’s times like these that you think taking up meditation would be useful. If only you had time for that.

Lying back, you think of your family. Thinking about never seeing them again sends a sharp pain through your chest, and fills you with the determination to seek revenge. You’ve got yourself in quite the mess. Thinking about it, the entire situation seems very... planned. That wrinkly looking guy has a plan for you, Kylo knew exactly where to find you, and that ginger guy knows about you too. It seems a little too specific to be a spontaneous kidnapping. Did he come for you on purpose or are you just over thinking things? You can’t shake this bad feeling. It’s not the kind of bad feeling that leaves you feeling anxious or uneasy. The negative energy in this place surrounds you, it almost consumes you. You need to leave.

Assuming the door has a motion sensor, you walk towards it, exaggerating your movements a little – by a little, you mean flapping your arms around and doing straight up jumping jacks whilst moving towards the door.

Nada.

You don’t understand, how are you supposed to leave? You’re not naive enough to believe that they don’t have some type of security to keep you on lockdown, but generally speaking, how would you leave? You don’t see a keypad on this side of the door. Even if the door was locked, it should still open from the inside, that’s generally how things worked, right?

Giving up on that idea, you rub the balls of your hands into your eyes; there has to be another way out. Looking around the tiny room, you don’t see anything useful. You do, however, spot a window. You could always climb out of it. Looking out of the small, circular window, your jaw drops, scrapping that escape plan.

You’re in space.

Your heart drops. Every escape route that almost formed in your mind disintegrates. To escape you’d have to fly; to do that you need a pilot. You’re willing to bet that no pilot on this ship would help you out purely from the goodness in their hearts.

As much as you’re aware you can’t really go anywhere, you have to at least try.

You figure that, because you’re floating around in space, there must be an oxygen tank or something on the base somewhere – you know, because it’s essential to keeping everyone onboard alive. On your mini tour, you didn’t notice any random oxygen tanks lying around anywhere; therefore, it must be travelling around the base somehow. Then it hit you.

The vents.

Looking around the bedroom walls – even under the bed – you don’t notice any vents. You quickly check the bathroom. You don’t notice any in there either.

Your mind goes blank. Surely they wouldn’t leave you in a room without proper ventilation?

Sighing, you drop on the bed like a sad sack of potatoes. Staring at the ceiling, you mentally curse those dick bags for locking you in the room. Seriously, you’re floating around in space, how are you supposed to escape? The door won’t open, you can’t find any vents, there is actually nothing you can do.

There’s nothing you can do.

Letting that sink in, you think about your parents, they certainly wouldn’t be happy with you giving in so easily. If they were watching you right now they’d probably be shouting at you, telling you that the solution is right in front of your face and –

Holy shit.

The answer is right in front of you.

Your eyes widen at your discovery. The vents are in the ceiling. You’re not sure how you didn’t notice before, what, with it being the only textured surface in the room.

You stand on the bed, stretching your arms up in a futile attempt to reach the ceiling. In hind sight, you should have known you wouldn’t be able to reach given your height. You needed something bigger to stand on. Looking around the room, your eyes lock onto a chest of drawers.

Wobbling as you stand on the drawers, you jump and grab onto the steel crate grille. Taking a deep breath, you muster all of your energy and lift your legs up, attempting to kick one of the grilles out of place. It takes a couple of tries, but you get there eventually. What can you say? You haven’t worked out in a hot minute.

You slowly climb across the ceiling as if it were a set of monkey bars. Eventually reaching the hole, you climb up into the vent. Oh, sweet victory. Lying flat on your back – as uncomfortable as it is – you relax. Take a beat. Catch your breath. Who are you kidding, you’re exhausted. You’re trying not to judge yourself, after all, that is the most exercise you’ve done in a while.

Once you’re out of danger of going into cardiac arrest, you turn over onto your stomach. Crawling through the vent, you almost wish you put on some extra layers, it’s fucking freezing. Not only that, but it’s a tight squeeze, but you commando crawl your way through nonetheless.

On your venture, you waste time by spying on people through the little holes. Luckily for you, you were able to avoid the crate grilles by taking a different route. You have no idea where you are, but based on the Stormtroopers you can see marching past, you’re crawling around above a hallway. Since the hallway’s now empty, it begs the question: should you stay in the vent, or risk it in the hallway?

You’re easily concealed in the vent, but it’s a lot harder to navigate where you’re going.

You’re out in the open in the hallways, but it’ll be easier to navigate where you’re going.

You’re caught at a crossroad.

Removing the grille, you jump down into the hallway. You may as well live life a little dangerously. Besides, wouldn’t it be easier to get down whilst no one else is around, as opposed to in a room full of people? You’d easily get caught.

You land with a louder thump than you thought you would, hopefully no one was around to hear it. Looking in both directions, you decide it would be best to go right since the ‘troopers came from that direction. Judging by the distant sound of drilling and engines, you’ll be heading in the right direction.

You try to walk as casually as you can whilst also making your footsteps as quiet as possible. As it turns out, being quiet whilst walking on a metal floor is a lot harder than it looks. Just as you were beginning to look like a goofy cartoon character with an exaggerated tip-toed walk, you decided to throw caution to the wind and leg it down the hallway. This is fun. There’s a nice adrenaline rush that comes with trying to escape, and honestly, you love it. That was until you fell on your arse for running into a human sized wall.

Looking up from your cold spot on the floor, you make awkward eye contact with the ginger, human shaped wall that knocked you down. Standing up, you smile, ignoring the literal pain in your arse. It’s a wonder how you didn’t knock him over too, he’s not that big. Yes, he’s taller than you, but he looks to be on the slimmer side. Panicking, you give the grumpy ginger a harsh push backwards before absolutely belting it down the hallway.

Rounding a corner, you hear the ginger ordering the Stormtroopers to retrieve you. The sound of multiple fast paced footsteps banging on the metal panels does nothing for your sense of hope. If they catch you – and they will – you’re outnumbered; you don’t stand a chance in a fight against them. You have to be smart, don’t do that dumb shit people always do and look behind you.

But now that you’ve thought about it, you really want to look. Just because it happens in movies doesn’t mean it will happen to you.

Risking a glance behind you, they’re not that far away; you can easily outrun them.

Making it into the hangar, you feel the stars align. Sweet mother of all that is holy, something is on your side for once. Running inside, you try and dodge the Stormtroopers behind various metal boxes. Seeing as though the hangar is full of people, you think it would be pretty hard to see you. Still, you keep behind the larger objects, trying not to draw too much attention to yourself.

Making it to the opposite end of the hangar, you stare at the TIE fighters; you’re not sure how you’re supposed to fly one of those. Heck, you’re not even sure how to get into one of those. Maybe there’s a button you’re supposed to press somewhere? Walking underneath the fighter, you inspect the underside; surely there are some instructions or something somewhere.

Two set of hands grab you on either side, pushing you back against the cold, metal wall. Struggling against the ‘troopers, you thrash your arms, kicking them; you can’t seem to get away. That is until a certain ginger stands in front of you. He looks disappointed. You can’t say you blame him; you managed to beat hit lock, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“Inability to follow orders, Ren won’t like that.” He says, staring you down.

“Kidnaps me and holds me captive in the middle of space, I don’t like that.” You mock. Pushing your torso out, challenging him.

He steps closer to you; he’s so close you could kick him. In fact... you extend your leg, attempting to kick him between his legs. You realise it’s a dick move, but he deserves it.

Unfortunately, before your knee made contact with his junk, he caught your leg, pushing it back down. Pushing you back against the wall, his hand rests around your neck. “Lacks respect,” he notes.

“Lacks common decency.” You spit. “Besides, why would I respect you?”

“Whether you like it or not, you are to remain here indefinitely. I am your superior, you will show me some respect.”

You don’t know this ginger fellow, but you get the feeling that he wants power.

“Respect is earned.” You say; your words filled with venom, “all you and your little helmeted buddy have done is hurt me and keep me captive. That is not the right way to get my respect.”

“You’re on my ship, you’re under my command, you’re-”

“Aren’t I technically under Kylo Ren’s command? I mean, he is the more powerful of the two of you, it would make sense.” You’re very aware that playing this game could get you in trouble, but that won’t stop you from pouring salt in the wound.

He stands back, assessing you. You have to admit, that’s not the response you were expecting, you wanted him to lose his cool. He sighs before telling the Stormtroopers to take you to the cell. You gulp, not liking this ominous sounding cell.

Kicking your legs and violently moving your legs, you do everything you possibly can to try and get out of their hold. Maybe you could kick them too? Going along with your thoughts, you try and angle your legs in a way where you could effectively kick the soldiers in their private parts.

Raising your legs with gusto, your knee makes contact with the plate covering this guy’s delicate area. You grunt, the sharp pain spreading through your knee. The armour mustn’t be that good because the poor guy legs go of you, cupping his manhood. You repeat this on the other soldier before running away.

Your second attempt at running away was short-lived. You were just about to run into the corridor when a set of arms grabbed you from behind, holding you still as they shoved something sharp into your neck, rending you unconscious.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Jolting awake, you take in your surroundings. Sitting up, you look around the room, taking in the two Stormtroopers standing inside the room. Rubbing your sore neck – something you’ve never experienced with other injections before, you take in the room. You’re not sure what this room would be used for. It’s literally a giant cage inside a room. You assumed that when you were ordered into the cell, you’d be in a jail cell with multiple other people that have annoyed the moody ginger in some way, but that’s not the case.

“Inform the General, she’s awake.” one of the Stormtroopers said.

Is it possible that the moody ginger is the General? Makes sense, all that nonsense about being in command and having some authority over you. Oh jeez, that stuff about Kylo Ren having more power than him must have really pissed him off.

Lying back down on your hard, cold, metal bed, you stare at the ceiling through the metal bars. You’re not sure how long you were staring in silence, but at some point the ging- the General made his way into the room. He stood his sourpuss almost against a wall outside the cage. The way he was looking at you, you felt like a caged animal in a zoo, almost like he was waiting for you to do something entertaining.

“You’ve yet to formally introduce yourself, you know.” You say, facing him on your side.

“I’m General Hux, you are aboard the Finalizer, a Resurgent-class Battlecruiser.” He looked as if he was about to say something else but then decided against it.

You nod, sitting up, placing your elbows on your knees. “Why am I here?” you ask after a minute of silence.

“I believe it would be more appropriate to ask Commander Ren, he’s the one you are to train under.” His tone suggests authority.

You audibly gasp, “so you’re not the boss of me?” you say cheekily, cocking your head to the side, “guess I don’t have to listen to you.”

“For someone who claims to be upset about the disappearance of their family, you’re surprisingly calm. Not even 2 hours ago you were dreaming of killing Ren because he took them away from you, yet here you are acting as if nothing happened, almost as if you don’t care.” He says, slowly walking closer to you.

As soon as the words left his mouth you were ready to punch him. He cannot dictate what you do and don’t feel. Sure, you should be a lot angrier about your family’s situation, but you know they’re probably not dead. “They’re alive. They’re being used as bargaining chips so I’ll do what you want. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re going to use them against me. I see no point in worrying over them now.” It feels awful to say out loud. You suppose it would be different if they were being held in front of you, but they’re not.

“What if they are? Ever thought the reason as to why you’re being held in here is because your family are being held in the other cells? You would have escaped and left them behind.” His demeaning tone irks you. You want a civilised conversation with him and he’s talking down to you.

Your heart does flips. Your family are here?

Beyond the metal bars, the General smirks, no doubt a reaction to your hopeful expression. You feel awful. You could have stayed and found out where they were, instead you tried to leave. Covering your face with your hands, you try to calm your rising emotions.

“I would have left and then found another way to get them. You could be lying.” You feel the need to defend yourself against him. You feel like you need to show some kind of emotion to prove him wrong.

“In any case, this is your last chance, there will be no more escape attempts after this.” He warns, standing right in front of the cage now.

Wanting to show defiance in some way, you walk – more like a brisk jog – up to Hux, grabbing his hand, you pull his glove of before retreating deeper into the cage. “Nice glove,” you comment, holding it up in front of you.

“Hand it to me, (L/N), I won’t ask twice.” His voice is deeper this time, almost dangerous. You’re not scared though, you know he can’t really do anything to you.

Holding the item in both hands, you play with the fingers. “If I do, will you let me see my family?”

He looks at you, considering. “You’ll have to do a lot more than return my glove.”

You frown; of course you’ll have to do more. It wouldn’t surprise you if it wasn’t cheap. “Dude,” you say, holding your hand up, “if you want that kind of payment you’ll have to go to a brothel or something, I’m not your girl when it comes to that kind of thing, man.” You joke. It’s not the time to joke, but you wanted to lighten the mood a little.

Hux looks off to the side, most likely thinking of how to respond. You eyes latch onto his cheeks, you’re not sure whether you’re imagining the slight pink hue that has risen there. Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, he turns to you, “That... that is not the payment I was referring to. You are to work hard, that is how you’ll see your family.” He tone shifted into a very... ‘General tone’ almost as if he was talking to one of the ‘troopers. You take this as a victory, you’ve possibly made the man slightly blush; at least you know what to do now.

Taking his words to heart, you give him back his glove. When his naked hand skimmed yours, a whirlwind unwanted images attack your mind.

Looking past the main stage, between the series of TIE fighters, hundreds, maybe even thousands of Stormtroopers stand at attention.

Hux, standing there, above the low ranks, he delivers a speech. The words aren’t clear but the fire in his eyes can’t be good.

Turning back to the ‘troopers, something red shoots out of the ground so forceful it knocks the leaves of the trees. The entire planet started swirling around you; people disappeared until all that was left was darkness.

The overhead lights came on, you’re in someone’s quarters, judging by the size, it’s not yours. Turning around to inspect the room some more, you see yourself. It’s not like a reflection or anything; you’re literally seeing yourself in third person. You watch as Hux taps the other you on your shoulder. Without so much as a how-do-you-do, he kisses you.

Gasping, you stumble back. You observe Hux with wide eyes. What the Hell was that?! Why were you seeing yourself locking lips with him? How did that even happen?

“Force vision,” a metallic voice interjects, effectively bringing you out of your inner confusion. Looking towards the sound, you see none other than Kylo Ren standing in the doorway. “A Force vision shows you what could potentially happen in the future.” Your eyes dart between Kylo and the General. There’s a possibility that at some point in the future you’ll be making out with him?! You think not.

“Possibility... that means it might not happen, right?” you ask.

“Yes.” Kylo replies.

Thank fuck for that.

You eye Hux suspiciously. What has he got planned? That red beam certainly didn’t look innocent. At least now you know of its existence you could try and stop it. Come to think of it, that’s most likely why your vision might not happen, you can control what happens in the future. Well, some things are bigger than you, but you’re more aware of them now.

“Come, we must train.” Kylo says, using the Force to open the cage.

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #84: Freedom.

Written: 4/2/2017

Frank had a problem that he didn’t know how to deal with: he was an unbearable asshole. It didn’t help that he wasn’t very attractive, either, because, to him, that seemed like the easiest way to solve the problem, people would be more willing to deal with or reason away his shitty behavior, and that would be that. However, he would often complain to people about this, saying, “Its not fair that I have to be treated worse because I’m not attractive, girls should be lining up to hook up with us ugly guys, its just not fair” or “I bet those pretty boys couldn’t, they couldn’t beat me in a fight, I would show them what for, they couldn’t handle me”, and these would often turn into rants that would piss off whoever he was talking about, whether they were close friends, family members, local bar flies, homeless people, cashiers, delivery men, or girls that he had somehow been trying to hit on. When these people would inevitably walk away or tell him to fuck off, he would just accuse them of only hating him because he was ugly, then he would saunter off somewhere, thinking that he was better than all of the people who thought he was an asshole.

The confidence only appeared in public. In private, he hated himself for always seeming to say the wrong thing, for driving people away, a self loathing that would lead to him looking in the mirror and berating his reflection until it had become late enough for him to drink without any guilt about it. He always drank alone, because he was terrified that people would really hate him if they had to deal with a drunk Frank, who he thought was the biggest asshole on the planet.

One night, when Frank was drunkenly dicking around on the internet, he stumbled upon a news story about a celebrity who had recently gotten cancer, and he was surprised by all of the sympathy the man was receiving. The man had been notorious for being a gigantic asshole, the drunken kind that would get into fights, tell fans to fuck off, drive his car into gas stations, etc, and was almost like a soap opera villain, since it seemed like everybody had loved to hate the guy, hating him so much that he would always be relevant, because people  had to hear more stories about him being the worst kind of person, just so they could hate him, pat themselves on the back, and think that they were superior to the man whose bad actions they had rewarded, due to their addiction to toxic emotions. And all of the sudden people loved the now-bald-bastard for dying (even if everyone is dying, and can die at any time, it is somehow a sad thing to know a rough estimate of when you’re going to die, instead of having to wander from day to day, not knowing which will be your last), it was like they wanted to hoist him up on their shoulders, parade him through the streets, there was comment article after article, comment after comment, trying to explain why the guy was misunderstood, why he was actually misunderstood and should be treated sympathetically, why society was wrong for trying to shame a man who had been trying to get his life together. The kicker, to Frank, was that the man wasn’t attractive in any way, his face looked like somebody had stepped on it when he was an infant, it was sort of squashed inward, but people still loved him even as he still beat strippers, yelled at random dogs on the streets, pissed on the floors of public restrooms, and was a general dick to waiters, who he also didn’t tip, and Frank took it as a sign, a message from the big man in cloud city.

Frank knew that he should try to get cancer.

Before he decided to do research on his new goal, the thing that would make him likable, he decided to leave a comment one of the articles, which was: “Bald bitch”.

His first attempt at becoming terminally ill was to place his microwave on the floor, remove his pants and underwear, straddle the microwave with his legs, making sure that his scrotum was hugging the glass door that allowed you to watch your meal move around in circles, and he just kind of let it run for a while, hoping the radiation would do its job. The attempt ended with him polishing off a bottle of bum wine, and then falling asleep as he hugged the machine and cried, his tears pooling on the top, because he had to resort to such desperate measures, because the world was such a cold and unloving place for people like him. Not once did he consider changing his personality, trying to become a better and more likable person, because his parents always told him to be himself, and to never change that for nobody.

When he woke up in the morning, he saw that the microwave had become unplugged at some point, possibly during his pity party, and he figured that the plan would never work anyways, it wasn’t worth bothering with. So, after lying, pantsless, on his living room floor, watching the morning news until it was time to show up for work, he saw a very annoying ant-smoking commercial, and suddenly got his next idea, which was to smoke his way to cancer. It made him feel like a bigger asshole, just because he hadn’t thought of it before. All he had to do was spend most of his extra money on cigarettes, and try to smoke as much as he could, until one day he would cough up blood, have to lose all of his hair, and could finally find his place in society, so he could finally be loved and accepted, something that he desperately needed. ———————————————————————————————————

In his adolescence, Frank was often thought of as the golden child in his family. His parents spent most of their time doting over him, praising him for every little thing, always telling him that he was perfect, that if anyone didn’t like him it wasn’t his fault, that they were just probably jealous or it was societies fault, that he should always be true to who he was. Sure, when he got halfway through college he realized that there was something fundamentally wrong with who he was, especially after an incident where he had claimed that a rape victim was “asking for it”, right to her face, during a women’s studies class, and he was almost expelled from the school, and instead just transferred, claiming that they begged him to stay, even though the feeling of exile had stuck with him for some time. When he came home for Thanksgiving, and had to explain the situation to his loving parents, they just told him that he had done nothing wrong, and it was the way the system had been rigged against him. He was just a free spirit, society was just against that, and he shouldn’t change because he was living in a backwards country, because he might as well have been a Jew in Nazi Germany (their words). Even though he still felt like he might have been a problem, no matter what he said, he knew that he would always be loved by his parents, that they would do everything they could to keep loving him, and as long as he had that support, it was easy to keep going through life, because, to him,  the only people who mattered were the ones that loved you.

Around the time he had graduated from college, Frank had received the news that his parents had both killed themselves, and were found in their garage, spooning in the back seat of their car, with the engine running and a rubber hose had one end attached to the exhaust, and the other end had been placed in the crack of a car window, filling the inside with deadly gasses. The only note that they had left had been for Frank, and it never served any explanation to why they had chosen to end their lives, which had remained a mystery (until there was nobody to remember them, or wonder why they had done so, causing them to have become forgotten and uncared about, one of time’s favorite jokes), and their note had read:

Dear Franklyn,

This doesn’t mean that we have stopped loving you.

Love, Your Loving Parents

Frank had kept the letter in his wallet, folding it up until it was just a tiny square, and kept it as a reminder that somebody out there loved him, although after a year it started to become a reminder that the only people who could have loved him were dead, had abandoned him, and he was all alone in the world, with no chance for anyone to care about him. He made several attempts to join religions, just so that he could believe that his parents were living on in some sort of way, but every attempt would just make him angry, causing him to leaved, flustered, yelling, “This is just fucking nonsense. You fuckers wasted my time, this is a scam! I hope you become brain dead, and have to live life eating through some tube, I hope rats eat you you fuckers.” That was also his response to his first AA meeting, and the same response he had whenever he was asked to donate to charity.

His loneliness and desperation to be loved could have caused him to change his ways, but he wanted to honor his parents death, so he stuck with some of their teachings, and didn’t change for nobody. ———————————————————————————————————

After getting off of work, Frank went straight to the smoke shop, bought as many cartons as cigarettes as he could carry, brought them to his car, put them in the trunk, and then, being too exited to waste any time, he sat in the trunk, and began to chain smoke. At first he decided to only do one at a time, mainly because the smoke didn’t go down very smooth and it left him coughing, drooling, and generally uncomfortable, but after his third one he had started to get used to the feeling and decided to smoke two at once, one cigarette in each hand, taking a puff of the left one and then a puff of the right, as if he were lifting weights. As this went on, he saw people giving him dirty looks, and he started to believe that he had looked cool as he smoked in the parking lot, he wanted to believe that he had looked like the classic bad boy, so he started to believe that as he tried to fill his lungs with enough smoke to  mark him for death, out of desperation to be loved. In that moment, he wished that he had sunglasses, he considered buying a denim jacket.

As he transformed that section of the parking lot into a cloud of smoke and littered it with cigarette butts, a large man had angrily approached him, holding up a rag to his face, and started yelling, muffled, “What the hell are you doing over here?”

After trying to respond cooly, and then coughing for twenty-three seconds, Frank replied, hoarsely, “Smoking dick-head, what does it look like I’m doing? There aint’ no laws against smoking.”

“That shit will give you cancer, it will rot out your lungs, why would you do that to yourself? Don’t you know the risks you’re taking with that, are you fucking insane.”

“If being hip is insane,” tearing up from smoke in his eyes, “then you better lock me up buddy, because I’m 51/50.”

“Yeah, no shit you are, that shit is going to kill you, and any person who walks within a miles radius of this area. You’re worse than a fucking coal factory with those things, with all of the air pollution you’re giving off.” Frank tried to flick his finished cigarette away from him, to show that he didn’t give a shit about anything, but he dropped it on himself and freaked out to make sure he didn’t light on fire, leaving him with a burn hole in his button up shirt. “What if a child walks by, how about that buddy, what if you gave some child second hand smoke.”

Patting himself out, Frank thought about that, “That would be a shitty thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“No fucking shit.”

“So what you’re saying, is, it wouldn’t be okay if I gave other people cancer? People would hate me if I did that?”

“I’m saying that you shouldn’t give anyone cancer, you fucking lunatic.”

“Fuck off, don’t tell me what to do! You don’t know what I’ve been through,” tapping his chest with the filter end of a cigarette, dropping ash onto his lap, “You don’t know the struggles I’ve been through, you fucking, who the hell are you to talk to me? You know how much trouble I have to deal with, with people like you, always calling me an asshole? I can’t get my fucking views across, because everyone thinks its alright to reject me, to not want to have a discussion with me, to not say my fill. Societies going in the toilet buddy, and you’ve got your hand right on the, what’s it called, the part where you press down and it flushes the toilet.”

“What are you talking-”

“LET ME FINISH. I have a thing that backs me up, its called the FIRST AMENDMENT. Ever heard of it, pal? You fucking swamp creature, you fucking look like if two bigfoots committed incest, had a baby, and then you came out, you fucking shit man.” This confused the large man, who was generally hairless, but for some reason the insult crossed a line, even if it didn’t apply to him. So, he let the asshole have his speech, he waited to show the guy what was what. “God damned, you look like a possum was put in a sock and then bashed against a tree. First amendment buddy. Lots of people can’t understand what that is, so they think its alright to call me an asshole, they think its alright to get at the words I say, or walk away from a discussion, when really the constitution protects everything I have to say.”

“You know how many people call me a piece of shit, just for thinking that some women should be entitled to sleep with me? And what’s wrong with thinking that? They never give me an answer, they just refuse to talk to me, and its because they can’t think of anything good to say, I just know that. They know that I have it hard, and I should be comforted, but they don’t want to accept it, because society has to be politically correct or whatever, its all a bunch of bullshit, they’re all a bunch of stuck up bitches.” He tried not to show it, but he was just happy that the stranger was still listening to him, “And with you, you see me taking advantage of my rights, trying to smoke my way to cancer, but you’re to dumb shit stupid to realize that I have a point, I have a right, and if I want to smoke my way to terminal illness, I should, and you’re whats wrong with America because you’re unhappy that I choose to live my life this way. So what,” blowing smoke into the man’s face, “So what if I get some kid cancer, why should people hate me if I did that, huh? The kid could have just walked around my smoke or whatever, its not like I’m doing it on purpose,” a family, nearby, was trying to load in their groceries, coughing from the smoke cloud, “they could just not come to this parking lot if they don’t want to risk cancer. Fucking retards.”

“So tell me, why is it so bad that I want to smoke myself to becoming terminally ill, what is it about me that makes people like you hate me? Because I know you’re going to talk about how I’m doing harm to others, or whatever, but you’re trying to take my rights away in the process. You just claim that its about the dangers of smoking, but I know that first its the cigarettes, and then they take away our right to free press, and then next thing you know we’re basically in Nazi Germany, because you fuckers want to control everything, that’s what this is all about. You can’t stand to see that people like me, real Americans, have the rights to live our lives in the bad ass and free way that we do, because you want to control everything.” Closing his eyes, trying to smile while holding back a nasty cough, “So tell me, why shouldn’t I smoke, why am I wrong? Why is it okay for you to steal my rights and give them to others? Why do you hate America?”

Hands shaking, seemingly calm, the large man asked, “Are you done?”

“Yeah”, nodding slowly, pausing to cough, “And I would love to hear whatever propaganda you have to spew, just so that I could point out how wrong you are.”

The patient man replied by punching Frank in the mouth with enough force to cause him to swallow his cigarette, and then the man walked away, without a word. After trying to make himself throw the cancer stick up, since it felt hot in his stomach, Frank had wanted to pat himself on the back for having one upped that guy, for proving how right he was and how other people can’t handle the truth. Yet, when he got home, he cried to himself and considered calling the police about the man who had assaulted him, he just couldn’t understand why somebody would be so mean to him, how society had become so barbaric. First, he considered looking up the guy online, but then he realized that he had no information on the man, and hadn’t even seen his face.

Eventually, Frank slumped around in his couch, and thought about killing himself, just like his parents did. This world just wasn’t made for him, it couldn’t handle people like him, the system was rigged against him. Yet, when he got bored and flipped through the news channels, and he finally found a speech that had caught his eye, he realized something that he had never realized before: politics could make any asshole likable. He had been looking at the situation all wrong, he wasn’t an asshole at all, society wasn’t completely rigged against him, he was just dealing with the wrong people. He thought of this as he watched the presidential debates, as he watched one opponent childishly yell over the other as they tried to talk, and then, when he had the chance, accuse his opponent of being childish, and Frank had found his hero, this was the type of person he had aspired to be. Then, while surfing around the internet, it was easy to find people who were just as like minded as him, people whose entire careers were built around being shitty people, around saying things just to make people angry, people who yelled and yelled and refused to listen to what others had to say, people who believed that when other’s were given equal rights, it was somehow unfair to them, people who believed that they could say as many racial slurs as they wanted, and it was the other people who were the real racists, and Frank saw all of this and cried for the second time that day.

Wasting no time, Frank decided to film himself with his cell phone camera, he had to do what he must have been born to do, he must follow his destiny. “Today,” looking into the camera, “I had been minding my own rights, smoking a cigarette in my car after a hard days of work, and some asshole came up to me and punched me for smoking. I tried to tell him that I was smoking peacefully, but he wouldn’t listen to me, he just kept screaming over me and told me that I shouldn’t have any freedom, that I was what’s wrong with America, but I want to say something, I’m what’s right with America. There’s this little thing called freedom, and that allows me to chose to smoke myself to death if I want to, and nobody has a say about it. I should be able to say what I have to say without people shitting down my throat every time I challenge their fragile little views. Those fucktards shouldn’t be able to call me an asshole whenever I state a fact, like how 99% of women are entitled bitches, and shouldn’t vote, or how” it just went on and one, becoming more confused and hateful, until he decided that he had said enough, and posted it on several political forums, where he would probably become an over night celebrity.

When he tried to sleep that night, he could only think about how he was finally going to have the love and adoration that had been missing for so long, how he was going to also get cancer, and would mix the two together, making himself a god damned hero, how he would go down as a legend. When he woke up in the morning, he ignored his morning piss and danced around as he tried to get his laptop up and running, desperate to see what the reactions to his video had been. As it booted up, he could only think about all of the comments that would inspire him to go tell the truth, he considered going into non-smoking areas and exercising his rights by blowing smoke into people’s faces, he thought about all of the girls that would probably want to bang him, he thought about the nods he would probably get from some of the biggest members of the movement, becoming a front page story, a cause that like minded people would rally around, a new force in the political climate, but when he finally saw the reaction, he was shattered.

Apparently nobody had even bothered to watch it, they just saw the thumbnail and talked about how ugly and fat he looked, and how he should have been punched a second time. Once again, he felt that if he was attractive, the situation wouldn’t have been different, people wouldn’t say things like “You’re the reason I believe in eugenics” or “Why didn’t your mother leave you in the woods, or is that where you crawled out from” or “Look at this whale cry about ‘muh politics’, go eat a gallon of bleach”. He had felt trapped, had felt that no matter what he would do, people would hate him no matter what, that he just couldn’t get by in this world of his. He couldn’t survive with normal people, because he wasn’t one of their kind, and he couldn’t survive with the assholes, because he was too low down on the food chain to be able to survive. For a second he considered trying to make himself more liked with the assholes on the other side of the issue, but the video of his was already out there, it was clear that he was a different kind than them, and he could never live it down.

In the end, he wasn’t upset, he was just tired of all of it. He realized that he didn’t have the right to be loved, there was nobody in the world who would ever give him that privilege, and why would they? Pulling the note out of his wallet, unfolding it, he felt that he should just be with the only people who could love him.