#i drew this on my old laptop which has fucked up color settings

[scarletiswailing347]

tfw you're a prince and a wandering squire from a foreign land challenges you to a hunting duel

[maybe-your-left]

BITCH I AM DEMANDING A FLUFFY PART TWO TO KYLO FORGETTING OUR DATE OKAY?!

I WANT SWEET AND NASTY MAKEUP SEX

HAHAHHA YESSSSS. here is part one of Kylo forgetting our anniversary.

“Hey.”

You sighed into the phone, slumped on the cool leather couch. The TV blaring before you, but you didn’t listen to what was on. It had been two weeks since you kicked Kylo out, the only communication shared were clipped texts and stale ‘Hi’s’ and ‘Byes’ when he needed to pick up clean clothes.

“Hi.”

Kylo took in a slow breath, you could practically feel the air hit your face. So close, yet so far, “Are you gonna be home today?”

“Yup.”

“Cool, I’ll be there at 12 during lunch. I have some shit to grab.”

You bit back sniffling, “Okay,” your voice cracked. “I’ll be here.”

———

You scrolled through your emails, waiting at the kitchen counter for him to show up. You'd applied for some jobs a few days ago if this was really the end of you two. You needed a job, there was no way you could afford living in the penthouse and at some point, Kylo would want it back.

It was in his name anyway, the only thing you really owned without his help was your laptop.

Fingers crossed you'd find something, you haven't worked in almost five years. You didn't need to with Kylo, and he urged you to not work. He wanted to take care of you, provide for you, help you in any way he could. But now, you were left high and dry, not even a single bank account in your name.

You swallowed back another round of tears, no.

No more tears, you'd get through this. You had family who would help, friends that supported you and wanted you to be happy. Even his mom, not that you'd stoop that low, was willing to help you.

It would be better to just cut all ties to him since there was a slim chance he would want to be back together.

You still weren't sure, you missed him. Terribly, barely sleeping because his presence was gone. Jumping towards your phone whenever it rang, hoping it was him on the other side calling to make it up to you.

But the man was stubborn, angry that you kicked him out.

Claiming that his accusations were valid, which wounded you further.

A light knock on the door drew you away from your wallowing, you took a shaky breath before whispering a faint, "it's open."

Kylo walked in slowly, dressed in his work clothes. A button-up, white, with his suit jacket and tight dress pants. His hair was getting longer, the harsh lighting of the kitchen showed a sheen of grease coating it.

And the bags, the bags under his eyes were darker than normal.

A part of you was smug over his appearance.

But the rest of you ached, fighting against your baser instinct to run towards him. So he could take you in his arms while you bathed him in kisses, mourning over the time spent apart.

"Hello," he nodded stiffly towards you. Not making eye contact as he shut the door. Kylo fiddled with the strap on his shoulder, his duffel bag hanging limp. Empty, ready to stuff more things inside before he ran away to whatever place he was staying.

"Hey," you croaked, eyes flitting back to your laptop. Biting your lip as you read through rejection after rejection, no one wanted you. The gaps in your resume were too long, your diploma meant nothing since you had zero experience.

Kylo's shoes scuffed the floor, sniffing loudly before he looked at you.

"I was going to grab some more things," he glanced towards the staircase, "All my stuff is at the dry cleaners right now, I've worn these pants two days in a row."

"That sucks."

He hummed, "Okay," backing away from you slowly. You watched him walk towards the stairs, back tense and straight. His hands were tucked into his pockets, something he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable.

You used to make him comfortable.

Now you just agitated him, even though it wasn't your fault you two were in this mess.

You stayed quiet as he rummaged around upstairs. Doors opening and closing, drawers slamming shut, you briefly heard swearing but you couldn't make it out. You hadn't thrown his stuff away, keeping everything organized. Right down to the hair products that he had left.

Color-coded and alphabetical by the sink.

His footsteps echoed to a stop, maybe he was considering kicking you out...

"Have you seen my black sweater?"

You stilled, his black sweater... "Nope."

A huff in annoyance, "The one that has the hole in the front, from when it got caught while we were in Niagra? It's not in the closet."

That's because I hid it, you thought. You'd been sleeping in it for the past week, it smelled like him and enveloped you like his arms used to. No way you were giving it back, call it a sacrifice of your relationship.

You listened to his slow descent to the kitchen, duffle now stuffed with clothes. He eyed you suspiciously, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Coming dangerously close to your seat, he angled himself behind you. A little to the left, but enough for him to spy on your computer screen.

"You're applying for jobs?"

You slapped your laptop shut, he didn't need to snoop.

"None of your business, Kylo."

He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling as he replied, "Might be good for you, to get out of the house."

"Mhm."

"You'll want to apply to multiple places," he stepped around you, opening the fridge for a brief glance inside. Spying one of his protein shakes that you hadn't thrown out, wasn't expired yet. Kylo cracked it open and took a small sip, "You won't be able to afford this place with entry-level salaries."

"Yes," you snapped at him, "I know that."

"Just trying to help, (Y/N)."

You climbed off your stool, moving away from him to curl on the couch. Already on the verge of tears, "You aren't helping, you're just being rude."

"Well, it's rude of you to steal my shit when we aren't together anymore."

That made the waterworks start, muffling your sniffles with your fluffy blanket. You tucked yourself away, desperate to disappear. Maybe when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, or you could wake up seven years earlier to avoid ever meeting him. Save yourself from the heartache that was tearing you apart from seam to seam.

You listened to the echo as he walked towards you. Huffing when he saw your shivering form, "I don't know why you're crying. I haven't been staying here for two weeks, we clearly aren't together."

"Whatever, Kylo," you whispered, voice breaking as you took in a wet breath, "Can you just leave?"

"Sure."

------

"I can't afford to stay there mom," you whimpered into the phone, you were stalling in your car. Parked in the garage of the apartment, you had been to an interview. Realizing the pitiful reality of your life, you had already begun to sell your designer clothes. Gucci purses, red bottoms, Tiffany earrings, Cartier bracelets, you name it. Anything that could help you create a bank account was sold off.

"Have you talked to him at all? Kylo wouldn't leave you high and dry, if anything he would pay for you to get an apartment."

"I don't want his help," you hissed.

A pause, "It would be humiliating to ask, I know he's expecting it. After the talk about jobs, he's just been waiting for me to cave and sacrifice my dignity."

"I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to talk with him, I know you both have been avoiding it after the fight. It could bring you both some closure-or better yet-get you guys back together so I can get some grandbabies."

"Goodbye, mom."

You huffed as you hung up, slamming your head back into your headrest. Maybe you could sell the car, people would pay top dollar for a gold Porsche. But the title was in Kylo's name, birthday present, any money you'd earn would belong to him.

You pulled up your text thread, the last messages sent were from three days ago. He left you on read, you texted him goodnight after a few stale messages about your day and when he could come and move some furniture out. Kylo had gotten an apartment on the upper east side, right by his office. You checked the old Zillow listing, it was huge and ridiculously expensive.

Enough room for him and a new girlfriend, you were certain he was already fucking someone else. With how cruel he was with you, not even trying to make amends. Probably his secretary, she was always a slut. Showing off her tits to him, even when you came to visit. Kylo probably bent her over his desk the day after he left, just because he could.

You swallowed your pride, it was now or never.

Kylo, I think we need to talk.

Send.

Let's see how long it... oh?

What happened, I'm at work right now.

Quick, maybe he got the notification on his laptop.

Could I swing by the office?

Right now?

Yeah.

Typing...

I have a shareholder meeting at 2, make it quick.

You sped towards his work, determined to get there before he changed his mind and banned you from coming. You were shocked he even agreed, maybe he was having a rare good day.

Or forgot that you two were broken up.

After parking, you jogged into the building. No need to say hi to anyone, it was embarrassing enough to be the ex-girlfriend visiting. At least you were dressed up, people wouldn't think you were in the poor house, yet.

You smiled coldly at his secretary, not bothering to tell her what you were here for. Despite her stuttering about him having a meeting at 2, she was totally fucking him. There's no way she wasn't, a man like him can barely go a day without sticking his dick in something.

Whipping open the door, you were met with the uncomfortable silence that blanketed his office. Curtains were drawn, lights on the dimmest setting, the only noises were the door creaking and his fingers typing.

Like he was punishing the words, Kylo was good at breaking keyboards with his aggressive emailing.

You cleared your throat, watching as his eyes briefly flickered towards you before moving back to the screen. Okay, you walked slowly towards his desk. Pulling out a chair as quietly as possible, the leather squeaking when you sat.

Kylo let out a long sigh, leaning away from his screen. "What is it you want to talk about?"

With a harsh swallow, you fiddled with the hem of your skirt. Anything to avoid his penetrating gaze, "I just wanted to talk about, you know."

He blinked, face blank, "Use your words, please. I don't have time to fuck around, I have a business to run."

"I-I-I"

"Spit.it.Out."

"How come you never apologized?"

Silence.

Kylo's jaw clenched and unclenched, leaning back in his chair slowly. Staring directly at you, "This conversation?"

"Yes, I need to know."

"What good is it doing us now?"

"I don't know I just-"

"What are you hoping to gain from this?"

"Kylo-"

He huffed loudly, "I don't have to answer you anymore, we aren't together."

You slammed a fist on his desk, rattling a few pieces he had decorating it. Standing on your wobbling legs, "Listen to me, you can be an asshole all you fucking want but I deserve answers."

Kylo narrowed his eyes, standing slowly before you. His form towering, making you feel even smaller than you already felt. Crawling to his office for closure, and instead, he wanted to argue with you about the necessity of the conversation.

You watched his palms lay flat on the polished wood, crinkling papers he had strewn about.

"If you're here for money, just fucking say it."

"I am not here for-"

Now it was his turn to slam the desk, "Bullshit! You're here to fucking grovel because you don't know how to take care of yourself. Can't even get a second-rate job!"

"You're the one who insisted on taking care of me!"

"So you think it's okay to demand money when we aren't together? Selling off all the shit I bought you to pay the power bills?"

You gaped at him, "I would never."

"Shut up," Kylo spat, leaning further across to be nose to nose, "You forget that I have your email linked to my laptop. I can see every pathetic message about pawning what I worked for. What I provided you, fucking ungrateful."

"How dare you sneak through my email!?"

"It's not sneaking if I have the passwords, darling."

"You can't fucking do that," you pushed away, arms folded while you glanced around the room. All your pictures were gone, more proof that showed he was erasing your existence, "At least I'm not already fucking someone..."

"Excuse me?"

You spoke over your shoulder, "You heard me."

"Are you seriously accusing me of that," Kylo scoffed, "When that's what got us into this mess in the first place?"

You shrugged, "How long have you been fucking her, did you march to her place after I kicked you out?"

"(Y/N)."

"I'm a big girl, I can take it. Just tell me the truth, because there's no way you'd just abandon me if there wasn't someone else."

"(Y/N)."

You spun on your heel, snarling with a finger in his face, "How many women have you replaced me with? Huh? Or is it just your slut of a secretary-"

Kylo flipped his desk, everything crashing to the floor. You screamed as he began to throw items to the walls, tear books off the shelves, kicking his chairs to the ground. Anything he could get his hands on he attempted to tear apart.

"Enough!"

Heavy breaths.

"I'm not fucking anyone else! Are you fucking serious? All I've fucking done is work! Trying to just fucking move on but nooo," he faced you now, cheeks red and puffing. A few tracks of tears streaking towards his jaw, "You-you just have to be right, and have to be the victim of all this when it's both our fucking fault!"

Kylo paced away from you, running his fingers through his hair before crouching down to the floor. Cradling his face in his hands while he took in shaky breaths, "I fucking missed you, so much. It's all I thought about, but every fucking time I came back you ignored me."

"Kylo-"

"No, you fucking iced me out. I could barely speak to you and I wasn't going to do anything over text."

You succumbed to your tears, there was no way to hold them. Choking as you wiped away the floods, "I-I didn't m-mean to, you weren't talking to me Kylo. How was I supposed to r-react?"

Now he was crying, hiccuping in an attempt to steady his breathing and push through it like he always had. But he couldn't stop the tremor in his voice, "You could've told me you loved me or forgave me. Anything would've been better than this."

"Why do I have to be the one to apologize, I'm not the one who forgot our day and manhandled me in the tub! You were drunk, rude, and horrible to me, I deserved an apology."

"I know," he sniffed, "I tried to-the first few times I came back for clothes. But you hid from me."

You nodded slowly, pacing your way towards him. Unsure of how he'd react to you touching him, but you needed to be closer. You shuffled to his side, sliding your back against the gray wall to the floor.

"We've never been good at apologizing."

Kylo sat on the floor, mirroring you against the wall, "At least before, you didn't kick me out. Force me to crash on a couch, you know I don't fit on couches."

You chuckled softly, not wanting to smile at the visual.

"That's why our couch was custom," he laughed too, dull and humorless, "Because I kept sliding off."

"Yup."

Both of you swallowed, throats clicking in unison. Kylo shuffled in a more comfortable position, looking out at the clouded sky that peeked through the shades.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry."

A breath, "I never meant to miss our day, and I thought you were finished with me. I should've just spoken to you instead of drink, but that doesn't mean much now."

You hummed, "Thank you."

"I can write you a check," he sighed, "So you can get another place and still keep whatever's left of your collections."

"You don't-"

"I know I don't."

Kylo wrote you a check for half a million dollars, not looking at you when he ripped it from his checkbook. He mumbled about the bank may be needing to call him to confirm it, just have them call my office number.

Sending you off without another word.

------

Your new apartment was cute, small, perfect for you.

Light and airy, none of the fixtures were black or red. Hues of pink, coral, green, and blue danced around the rooms. Your couch was velvet, just because you wanted it to be. With an abundance of pillows and candles on every surface, you could fit them onto.

Your bed was a four-poster with a dreamy white canopy, soft and cloudlike bedding scrunched up from however you left them. No one was running around frantic to make the bed, or straighten the blinds, or draw the curtains, it was just yours.

The check was cashed with little fuss, you tried not to cry about it. You dropped off the old house keys at Kylos office, along with your car keys, there was no need to keep the Porsche. You weren't living that life anymore, you could buy your own car now! And it would be yours, it was too hard to drive the gift everywhere.

Kylo told you to keep the car when he found the keys, but you ignored his messages. He wouldn’t understand why you wouldn’t keep it, but that was his problem.

You sighed into your couch, looking at the TV nestled next to the bay window. Imagining where you could squish more houseplants… you already had an abundance but it wouldn’t hurt.

Your phone began to vibrate on the coffee table, startling you as you scrambled towards it. Oh, it was Kylo, odd.

“Hey?”

“Hey.”

“Uh,” you stood from the floor, scratching your cheek as you walked. “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat, “I saw you got a place, wanted to drop off a housewarming gift.”

Your face scrunched, balancing the phone between your face and shoulder. Popping a potato chip in your mouth, “Why would you do that?”

A sigh, “Can you just buzz me in? I brought wine…”

“Whatever.”

Kylo came in with a tight smile, dressed in some black joggers and a gray t-shirt. He looked like he just rolled out of bed, not his typical look on a weekday. He held up a brown paper bag, Whole Foods on the label.

"You went to Whole Foods?" you raised a concerned brow.

"Nope," he set the bag on your kitchen table, eying the plants and crystals that littered your living room. A few magazines were strewn around on the surface, "I had my secretary do it."

You glared at him, which he noticed before shaking his head rapidly, "New secretary-not the old one. His name is Brady, he's very nice."

Kylo stood with his hands in his pockets, glancing in every direction as you approached the bag. Humming when you began pulling out the goodies he had, as promised there was a bottle of wine. Your favorite, along with a set of glasses.

A clear purple tinge, almost vintage looking. Some of your favorite fruit, he blushed when you held them up to his eyes. Mumbling how you never had enough of them in the past, and it was their season.

Now you were blushing, finding some red velvet cupcakes. Packaged beautifully, and a small vase in the shape of a kitty. You placed it on the table, looking at it over and over. Biting your lip as you waited for something to happen.

"I like your place," Kylo croaked out, "It's very bright."

You chuckled, "You're just used to your eyes straining from all the red and black decor."

He hummed, walking down your hallway. Glancing indoors that were left open until he made it to your bedroom. You heard him groan when he saw the white sheets and canopy, Kylo whistled for you.

Obediently, you pranced towards him, taken aback when he was sprawled on your mattress. Facedown with his face in your pillow, groaning like he was trying to wake up from a good dream.

"I fucking forgot how good you smelled," he moaned out, looking over at you lazily, "What would I have to do to get you to make out with me in here?"

------

LOL, this was long, but I'll do a part three if you would enjoy the rest of their reunion.

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[amlovelies]

34 for chargestep

thank you for the prompt anon 💜 I started writing this from Ric’s point of view but then changed my mind and rewrote the whole thing

34. The feel of fingers brushing together by accident

from the sensory prompt list

presque vu

fandom: fhr

pairing: Ricardo Ortega/nb!sidestep (Vesper Bui)

rating: T reference to death and some language Vesper is a jerk. angst

words: 2.2k

read on ao3

            The coffee shop is a familiar sight. You could squint and almost pretend it was seven years ago except the awning has been bleached by the sun. You remember the trees as thin anemic things, and now they tower over your head. Large enough to conceal you as you watch Ortega pacing near the entrance.

                He hasn’t noticed you yet; you could still walk away. Stand him up, maybe then he’ll quit asking, quit trying. You shouldn’t even be here. Why was it so hard to resist him?

                You know why

.                  It’s should be easier now. It should be easier to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone. You know how this story ends. He’ll leave you behind. He’ll drag you out into the world, make you a person, make you real, and then leave you

.                 You catch a thought of a woman walking by. She’s a pretty young thing, long legs on display, hair falling in shining waves over her shoulders. She’s noticed Ortega, recognized him. Trying to working up the courage, debating with herself, should she approach him? It’s not every day you see a super hero in the flesh. It would take nothing, just the tiniest tweak, give her the confidence and make her walk over. He never could resist a pretty face. He’d forget all about meeting you for coffee. It would be the smarter thing to do.

                 You don’t do that. Instead, you make her forget, add in a little anxiety, a certainty that she is going to be late to quicken her step. Instead of doing the smart thing and walking away you let yourself be drawn to him. Inexorable.

                “There you are,” his smile is wide.

               “Did you think I stood you up?”

               A nervous chuckle, “maybe a little. It’s good to see you.” He means it. Or at least you think he does. So hard to interpret like trying to identify an object by feel alone. Familiar shapes that itch and scratch at your memory.                  A chill down your spine as you walk inside. Like stepping into your own past, but then you look closer. It’s not the same. The walls are the same color, a soft brown, and the layout remains the same, but the décor is more modern. The tables sleeker, lower backs on the chairs, more outlets for people working off laptops. So similar but not the same. You can’t go back.

                He frowns when you order a red eye, gets ready to say something, but you shoot him a glare which shuts him up. He’s the one who suggested coffee; he can’t act concerned when you order it. Probably noticed the slight tremor to your hands. So observant sometimes, and then at others so willfully obtuse. 

               Maybe he only sees what he wants to. The bags under your eyes fit the narrative he wants. The one where you are just a broken shell of the person you used to be. Just waiting for him to come along and put you back together. An insomniac with jittery hands instead of bloody ones. 

               “I thought for sure this place would have gone out of business,” you say before taking a sip of your coffee. It’s good, rich and earthy with just a hint of caramelly sweetness from the espresso. It’s a world of difference from the gas station drip and instant crap you’ve been mainlining for the last few years. “You’re really leaning into the nostalgia factor here, Ric”

                “Have to use all the weapons in my arsenal,” he says with a wink.

                “You never were any good at tactics, old man.”

                His smile is wide much more dangerous than a familiar cup of coffee. Always too contagious, that was how he drew you in. Made you believe you could have a life.

                “I don’t know from where I’m sitting it worked. I got you here, didn’t I?” Smug. Always so smug and confident, taking up too much space. Somehow feeling too close even though there’s a table between you and he’s not leaning forward. “Besides, I didn’t have to be good at them, I had you.” Now he is soft and that is worse. Trying to catch your gaze, a hand sliding out as if to grab yours.

                A twitch, an urge to reach out. To take his hand and pretend he didn’t leave you, pretend you could be a person, that you can feel. No. shut that door. Shut it down hard. “Someone had to save your reckless ass. It’s a miracle you only got me killed once.” You scoff.

                You aren’t looking at him as you say it. Maybe you should be, get to see the hit land. You want to hurt him, right? To punish him, because this is all his fault

.                 A strangled sound, and you can’t help but look up. He looks worse than he did when you visited in the hospital. “Are you ready to give up now?” you keep your voice cold. Maybe this will make him open his stupid eyes and realize you aren’t his old friend. They’re gone. Just as much as Anathema

.                 “No,” his voice is determined but you recognize that smile. You’ve seen it a dozen times. When a fight was going south, when things looked hopeless. He’d flash that smile, and somehow, you’d always made it out. Well almost. “I’ve got a thicker skin than that, Bui.”

               “Idiot,” you shake your head. It had felt so good to hurt him at the gala. Why did it feel so bad now?

               “Sure,” he agrees, “but you’re still here.”

               You are still here. It used to be so easy. You’ve felt nothing but rage for so many years. Nothing but the fire inside you, and then he walked into that stupid diner. Emotions had never been your strong suit. Even when you were trying to be a person it was still hard. Still hard to understand what you were feeling or how you were supposed to act. He was always the worst of it. At least with others you could take cues from their mind. He gave you nothing, gives you nothing. “I never said I wasn’t an idiot too,” you say with a sigh as you run a hand down your face.

                “Walk?” He’s already standing as if he knows your answer. Part of you want to be petulant to stay, to not follow his lead, but you stand up too

.                 The park across the street isn’t busy. There are a few kids on the playground, looks like it’s gotten a new corporate sponsor. For all it’s shiny new colors it still looks much like you remember it. There’s a woman on a bench reading a romance novel and sighing wistful as she thinks of her new coworker. Some teens are buying weed behind the bathrooms. Nothing dangerous and it’s easy to make the two of you pass unnoticed

.                 Walking is good. You don’t have to look at him, but you are still aware of him. Walking too close, he never had any respect for personal space

.                 His fingers brush against yours. You could call it an accident, but you can feel his eyes on you. You wait, sure he has something to say, but for once he keeps his mouth shut. Just the gentle knock of his knuckles against yours. Are there scars there from where he broke himself against your armor? It had made you smile once thinking that he’d be marked. Marked by you the same way you’ve been marked by him. Now you aren’t so sure

.                  “I don’t know how to do this,” the admission is quiet, and you hate how your voice sounds. It’s a small vulnerable thing like the pieces of yourself you left on the sidewalk seven years ago

.                 “Do what?”

                “Talk-“ a frustrated sigh- “be around you. Have friends.” You lengthen your stride, but he keeps up easily. Of course, he does. Nothing you do ever seems to really shake him, but he could always get under your skin                “Maybe you just need practice?”

               Instead of an answer you walk over to a nearby bench and take a seat. You take a sip from your coffee to avoid speaking. It’s growing cold, but you hesitate to finish it. You still need it. Need something to keep your hands busy, something to fill the awkwardness between you

.                 “Do you remember the kites-“ he begins to ask gesturing to the open field and large tree  in front of you

.                 “Yeah, I do,” You smile before adding, “I still think we should have invited Sentinel.”

               “No,” his answer is firm, just like it had been back then, but his voice is lighter than it’s been all morning. “That would have been cheating.”

               “Easy to say when you weren’t the one who had to climb the tree,” you say with a laugh. You’d been taught laughter as a technique. It was a tool, to be deployed at the right moments, to set others at ease. So different from the involuntary reaction it was around him. He was always too good at drawing it out of you. “Who knew the Marshal of Los Diablos would struggle so much with something so simple as flying a kite.”

                He bumps his shoulder against yours, “I didn’t want to rob you of part of the experience.”

                You remember he’d waxed philosophical about the importance of doing it the old-fashioned way. Of running to gather speed and watching it begin to soar behind you, that it was more fun if it took a couple tries. Empty words about childhood magic and how he hoped you could recapture it, that he could show this little piece that must have been missing from yours. He would never really understand it wasn’t just about kites, or making s’mores, or playing pirates. It wasn’t just particular experiences you were missing but the whole thing.

                You’d never had a childhood. There was nothing to recapture because you never had it in the first place. Just like you’d never had a name until he teased and cajoled you to give him one. All you had was incubation tubes and handlers and endless white walls. There was nothing magical about the chains on your wrist, the chains on your mind, the monsters that stalked the halls

.                “Bui?” you hear his voice as if from a distance. There’s a child crying somewhere and you know it’s because of you. The park has emptied. The romance novel lies forgotten on the bench, too much of a hurry to get away from you. Unable to stand even a hint of your memories. Good, they should run.

                  You’re the monster now.

                He doesn’t seem to notice the effect you have. He’s only looking at you. Eyes wide and a concerned wrinkle between his brow. This is something he could never understand. How could he? He’s untouched. Untouched with his unknowable static mind. You wish you could take it in your hands and twist it into a shape you could recognize. Something that you could interpret and begin to understand, but it always slips out. Like trying to grab mist or sunlight. You can feel it against your skin, against your shields, but you can’t affect it.

                “It’s fine.”

                You don’t need to read his mind to know he doesn’t believe you. Ortega may be a fool, but he was never stupid.

                His hand brushes against yours again. Slower this time, lingering, letting his finger drag along yours. It tingles. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was his mods acting up, but you’ve been shocked by him before and it felt nothing like this.

                It’s an itch under your skin driving you to some sort of action. To punch him in the face or pull him in and kiss him. You don’t do either, just pull your hand away.

                “You don’t have to do that.” His voice is quiet, gentle, just like the touch of his hand had been.

                “I’m not doing anything.”

               “Yes, you are. I can see you’re pretending to be fine when you aren’t. I know you better than that.” There’s something in his eyes, something begging you to give in, to let him in.

                You want to. Some small stupid part of your brain remembering how it felt. How it felt to be real, to be more than just an instrument of vengeance. To be a person. To laugh.

                You shake your head, “not anymore.”  You know how that ends. Rising form the bench, you burn away that little voice, the one that wants to stay, to take his hand, to let him care about you. All you have is your fire. You won’t let his stupid brown eyes and fond memories douse the flames. He’d be disappointed if he did anyway. Can’t he tell there’s nothing left of you but ashes?

               “Vesper,” he calls after you begin to walk away.

                “Just give up, Ric,” you don’t turn around as you say it. You just start walking, one foot in front of the other.

                He doesn’t get up, but his words follow you as you exit the park, “I won’t.”

                 It’s just like him to get the last word in. 

[youllneverknowrac]

Oscar Diaz-Lockdown

(MBS)

“Anthony, mijo you are ten years old. You should know this multiplication shit by now.” You hear Oscar say as he sits in the dining room with both school age boys and Junior who had his own work to get done. Angel sitting at the table as well as he pretends to do school work by coloring,”Do the problem again and actually show your work.”

You guys have been stuck in the house for three weeks now due to the virus, the only person that was able to leave being Oscar since he still had to go to work. Thankfully it was Friday afternoon so that meant he was at home and could take over the role of teacher. It was fun being able to teach your kids at first, but after three days you wanted to pull your hair out. Carlos and Anthony, your two sweet boys, hated anything to do with school and put little to no effort. The only good thing that came out of this virus was that your oldest son was now home, his campus closing down for the time being. Even though you were glad he was back, you couldn’t wait for things to go back to normal. You were going a bit stir crazy and needed time to yourself. But alas the mommy role was a never ending one.

“I have snacks.” You smile, coming in with a tray of finger sandwiches you made and a bowl of chips. Oscar has been at it for the last hour with them and you figured they could use a break.

“Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Give me.” Angel says and drop his crayons excitedly, Carlos and Anthony sighing in relief that you came to the rescue.

“Say please.” You remind as you set the items down

“Please mommy.” He says and holds his hand out

“Good boy.” You smile and pass him one of the smaller cut sandwiches, letting the boys eat while you go check on Alexander who sat in his pack n play in the living room.

“Hi fat boy.” You coo at him, making him giggle as he wobbles to pull him self up,”Do you want to come with mommy?” You ask, picking him up and giving him a kiss,”My happy baby, yes you are.”

“I will switch right now.” Oscar says from behind you,”I’ll take the baby, you take them.”

“Hmmm let me think.” You smile as you turn around, Alexander snuggling into you chest,”No.”

“Mami please.” Oscar begs,”I love our kids, but they are going to make me jump through the fucking window.”

“How do you think I feel? I’m here 24/7.” You say,”With ALL of them. At least I offered to watch the baby while you help them with their work.”

“Fine, but if I start yelling and shit starts getting thrown you can’t blame me.” He groans

“If you yell at any of my baby’s.” You start, setting Alex down on the floor to scoot around,”You’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.” You finish, wrapping your arms around your grumpy husband,”So you better take a few deep breaths and remember that you asked for this life. You put those kids in my stomach so you can’t get frustrated with them when times are hard.”

Oscar sighs and looks up at the ceiling in thought before meeting your gaze,”I’ll try my hardest to not go crazy.”

“Good.” You smile and pucker your lips, Oscar rolling his eyes before pressing his own against them,”Love you, now get back in there.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too.” He mutters, turning around and heading back to the dining room. You can’t help but laugh as he sulks, sitting down on the floor with Alex while you pass the time by watching one of your shows.

~

“Mommy! I’m done with my work.” Angel says about half a hour later causing you to exit out of the program, no way you would be able to pay attention now.

“Oh yeah? Let me see.” You smile and take the page from him, the once white paper now filled with random color scribbles everywhere,”Good job baby, it’s so good. What color is this?” You ask him as you point to a green line that he drew.

“Um green. Like the grass.” He answers with a smile,”I’m a smart boy mommy.”

“The smartest.” You say and set the paper down on the coffee table, letting him sit across from you. Alexander sitting a few feet away while he plays with some toys.

“Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Can we go to the park?”

“No, you know we can’t Angel.” You sigh,”Why don’t we go play in the backyard?”

“Backyard is boring.” He says with a shake of his head,”I wanna go to the park. Park!” He yells his mood instantly changing as he grabs one of the toys that laid near him,”Park, park, park!” He repeats angrily as he cries, the toy flying across the room.

“Go to timeout, you don’t throw things.” You say and stand up, grabbing his arm and helping him up to his feet, Angel trying to pull away with all his might,”Now.” You say more sternly

“Let me go.” He screams,”Play at the playground!”

“Angel, stop.” You sigh before your husband swoops in and picks the toddler up, holding him at arms length.

“A quien le gritas?” He asks,”Are you screaming at mommy? You are a kid and you do what she says, no questions. So go get in timeout now.” Oscar says as he sets him back down, his little feet taking off to the corner and facing the wall,”Stop crying, o te daré algo para que llores.” He warns, all noise ceasing from Angel.

“Thanks.” You say not meeting his gaze, you knew the kids needed discipline, but that was the area you failed in when it came to parenting. Oscar was usually the punisher which is why the kids never questioned his authority,”I feel like we’re all gonna snap any day now.” You admit, running your fingers through your hair messily.

“Yeah, but he still needs to listen and he can’t be popping off like that.” Oscar shrugs,”Even before all this lockdown bullshit started he always threw a fit when he couldn’t get his way. I’m tired of it, you need to stop babying him.”

“I don’t baby him.” You lie with a shake of your head. It was true, he was probably the one you babied the most out of all of the kids. Even when his brothers were his age you didn’t have to treat them like you do Angel.

“So you don’t carry him around on your hip all the time? You don’t let him sleep in our bed still? You don’t pick up every single thing after him? You don’t...” Oscar continues before you cut him off.

“Alright so maybe I do just a little.” You say, glancing back at him,”I don’t know why I do it, maybe it’s cause he has a different personality than the boys did. He lets me baby him. He can claim big boy status all he wants but he loves being my baby. I know I need to stop but it’s just so hard.” You groan, resting your head forward on Oscar’s chest, letting him embrace you.

“I like when you baby me too mami.” He chuckles softly,”But there has to be a limit.”

“You’re right.” You sigh and pull away,”Can I start tomorrow though? I just wanna cuddle him right now.” You admit, Oscar playfully rolling his eyes and not even bothering to respond before going back to the other kids.

You walk over to the sulking boy and pick him up,”I’m sorry mommy.” He sniffles and rest his head on your shoulder as you hold him,”I hate inside.”

“I know baby, me too.” You smile sadly and press a kiss to his forehead,”Are you going to be a good boy now?”

“Yes. No more timeout pwease.” He begs, even though he wasn’t even there for more than two minutes,”I’ll be a good, good, good boy.”

“Works for me...How about we build a fort? A huge one?” You ask him excitedly,”It’ll be so much fun.”

“Yeah!” He cheers,”Come on! We need to get blankies.”

“Go get the ones from my room, I’ll stay in here with Alex.”

“You got it.” He laughs before running down the hall and disappearing. You grin happily and go over to pick up the baby, heading to the dining room to ‘let school out.’

“Enough work, come help me and Angel build a fort.” You say, Anthony and Carlos darting up and racing to the living room,”You guys too.”

“Sure, why not?” Junior shrugs as he closes his laptop and goes to join his brothers.

“Come on.” You grin and hold your free hand out for your husband.

“I’m coming.” He reply’s, nonetheless taking your hand in his. The two of you joining the rest of the household for some quarantine fun.

~

“I know they are a lot to handle, but I think we would be bored if we didn’t have all of them in here with us.” You whisper to Oscar, all five of your kids spread out around you and fast asleep in the makeshift bed. After building the fort you guys spent the rest of the inside of it watching movies and eating junk food. Each kid falling asleep one by one until it was just the two of you awake.

“Yeah, I thought about that too.” He yawns,”We’re pretty lucky. Even luckier if you finally gave me my babygirl.”

“Stop.” You whine, Oscar bringing up this conversation at least twice a week,”We don’t need another kid. Are the five we have not enough?”

“They are enough, but I wouldn’t mind one more.” He chuckles

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re not the one carrying a whole human for nine months and then pushing said human out.” You remind him,”Besides what if it’s another boy? Are you still going to want to try again after?”

“If it’s a boy then it’s a boy.” He shrugs,”I know it’s going to be a girl though.”

“You said that about Alex.” You laugh,”And he’s most definitely not a girl.”

“Oh my god, just have another baby. Who cares?” Junior groans from somewhere in the fort,”I’m trying to sleep.”

“Aye, callate la boca.” Oscar says amusingly,”Don’t be listening to our conversation fool.”

“Kind of hard to do when your two feet away from me.” Junior retorts, turning on his side as he try’s to fall back asleep.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, but the answer is still going to be no.” You say to Oscar,”Now go to sleep, you have a class tomorrow morning Mr.Diaz.”

“Nah, I’m going to play hookie. One day isn’t going to kill them.” He chuckles,”Lets go for a drive or something, we don’t have to get out of the car. We could just drive along the beach.”

“That actually sounds fun. Let’s do it.” He agrees.

“Awesome.” You grin excitedly,”I cant wait, we all need to get out for a while.”

Oscar hums in response, lightly rubbing his eyes tiredly,”Night mi amor.” He says moments later

“Good night.” You reply, kissing his cheek before letting your eyes close. Angel’s foot digging into your back, but you didn’t care. You were too tired to move him. Each day since being in lockdown making you more and more exhausted, but it was okay. Being trapped in the house with the people you love most is way better than being stuck all alone.

[dreamdropxoxo]

Lock-down Story, Part III

Part I, Part II

"How about you start your own home workout stream?" When Laurent had asked this question the day before, Damen had really asked himself why he hadn't thought about it sooner. He had all the equipment, was a trained chiropractor and fitness instructor and had enough time to just do it.

He sat down and started drafting his first set of training with alternatively easier method for people who were not as sporty, muscled or simply motivated as he was. It occupied him for half a day and that was much better than to just stare at the windows and asking himself if he should clean them once again.

When he went outside to install the camera, he saw, to his surprise, his boyfriend kneeling in the dirt in their backyard.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing there?"

"Gardening, Damianos, don't ask stupid questions." Laurent didn't even look up while he was weeding their former flowerbed which was overgrown und messy.

"And why are you doing that?"

Laurent sighed, as if he didn't have the patience to explain every miniscule detail to Damen, but contrary to what one could think, Damen knew his boyfriend had all the patience in the world for him. "Because it looks horrible and I have nothing better to do. I can't stand for our backyard to look like a battlefield."

Damen nodded, it made perfect sense. Laurent was a perfectionist and his nature didn't allow him to let this state of disorder go on like that. "Am I disturbing you, if I start my workout recording now?"

"No, as long as I am not in your video I am perfectly fine." Laurent finally looked up and then his eyebrow climbed up his forehead. "Are you sure you want to wear that while you start with whatever you intend to do?"

"A live stream, Laurent. Don't talk as if you are 100 years old and slept through the last decades of technological progress. And what is wrong with it? I always wear that while training."

"You always wear that? Not only here?" The corner of Laurent's mouth twitched. Damen was honestly confused. "Yes?"

"No wonder they offered you a discount on your gym subscription. Well, then good luck. I will be over here, keeping myself away from your video camera." Laurent turned back around and continued with his task. Damen still couldn't understand what was wrong with his outfit. He wore long pants, for God's sake.

Although he was confused, he started with his training, while he trained he explained the easier execution of the routine and what advantages the different exercises had. He realized while drafting the training plan that he could include quite a bit of his chiropractor knowledge. It was fun and very satisfying.

After two hours of grueling training, he stopped the stream and posted the video on YouTube too. Nik promised to watch it and give feedback as soon as he finished with work. Then he went to shower and finally helped Laurent with his gardening. Which meant that he could help him move the bigger stones and pots full of dirt and weed.

Laurent was a mess, his face full of smutches, his hair messy with the occasional twig and leaf stuck in it, his clothes dirty, and yet, he looked very satisfied after all the work. Damen drew him closer and kissed him. He was sweaty again and decided to join Laurent for another shower.

This continued for some days more and suddenly Damen's account on YouTube exploded, his live stream had thousands of followers and Damen didn't know what had happened. He did what every responsible boyfriend would do in that situation; he ran to Laurent, a bit hysterical and demanded an explanation.

Laurent, calm as one can be took his laptop from him and made a quick google search. Then he said, dead-pan, "well, it looks as if I am dating the next internet sensation. Some important guy found your videos and shared them, people love you and now you have a lot of followers."

Damen gaped. "What?"

"Yes, congratulation, Damen. I bet half of the followers just stare at your arms while you do all those push-ups." Laurent laughed when he gave him his laptop back. Damen sat down, absolutely shocked and did a quick google search. It was true, the singer of a very famous band, Lazar Lafeu had mentioned in a telephone interview that he killed his new found free time with Damen's training video. He had said, "If we can't go on our tour I can at least look at all these nice Akielon muscles. And even better, the guy has a fully functional brain, very sexy."

Damen seriously didn't know what to do with his new found internet fame. He decided to ignore it and just continued with his videos like before. The only difference was, that after every video he took ten minutes to answer questions of his followers. What startled him the most was that people started to notice everything about him.

They complimented the color of his façade, which was a very very pale mint, picked by Laurent. They asked where he had purchased his yoga mat. They discussed the circumference of his bicep. He even understood why Laurent had been so amused by the choice his outfit. It was because his loose fitting tank top gaped open whenever he didn't stand and provided a deep look to his chest and stomach.

His follower called it the sweetest tease ever, they begged him to keep wearing them and Damen, who never had a problem with being ogled did exactly that. The question if he would do a training without a shirt however, was firmly answered in the negative.

Laurent had finished weeding their whole backyard and even started planning new flowers. Their local gardener had started to deliver the plants directly to one's doorstep and Laurent took full advantage.

Damen had been overjoyed to realize that Laurent truly enjoyed his new hobby. He could kneel in the dirt for hours and didn't care even one bit how messy the work could be sometimes. Right now he planted rose bushes while Damen was in the last two minutes of his live stream.

"Fuck! Damn it." Laurent's voice was muffled but still very clearly audible. Damen's head shot up, "Sweetheart?"

"I'm alright. Just ignore me." Laurent smiled pained and hurried inside. Damen didn't even look at the stream when he shut it down and ran behind his boyfriend. Laurent had his hand under the water in their kitchen. The stream tinted red. Damen felt the nausea grow, not because of the blood in general, but because it was LAURENT's blood.

"What happened?"

Laurent sighed. "My hand slipped."

"Show me." Damen took his hand carefully in his own. There was a very long gash in the palm of Laurent's left hand. It looked horrible and would need stiches. He was once again glad that as chiropractor he had studied together with the physicians for four years. He could do the stiches at home.

"Stay here. I will go get my medical kit."

The next day, Laurent lounged on his bench in the shade because he had decided to take a break from gardening for a day when Damen started his stream. He apologized for the abrupt ending of the stream but his followers were so over the moon that Damen had a boyfriend that they didn't care at all.

It was no surprise that the whole ten minutes after the training were filled with questions about his relationship and Laurent in general. He informed them that the mysterious boyfriend preferred to stay mysterious but that he was fine and only needed four stiches.

The fans were somewhat disappointed that they didn't get to know Laurent but accepted the decision with grace. However, they didn't give up completely. Over the course of the next day Damen was asked random questions concerning Laurent. They varied from, "Is he younger, older or the same age as you", over "Is he beautiful?", to "What is his job?". Damen answered them with permission from Laurent with, "younger", "yes", "He's a lawyer".

Then a day came when Damen didn't install the camera the same way as always because he did a later training and the sun would otherwise be too bright. He had told Laurent about it the day before and even on the same morning but Laurent was not very attentive to details that didn't concern him directly. Thus it came that he walked right through Damen's stream. It was not so bad because only his lower half was recorded, but it caused an uproar.

Damen could understand it, because Laurent's ass looked damn hot, even in the video and everybody was curious before. His fans asked about Laurent even more often and the blond man finally seemed to give in, at least in typical Laurent fashion. He answered some of the questions about himself from the off.

It was hilarious, because Laurent had a wicked kind of humor. When one guy asked if he could see him just once, Laurent answered, "Sorry, I think I am too much to handle for you, so no. There were people who actually crashed their car because of my face."

The fans asked Damen if it was true and he had to confirm it. He told them that he almost fell down a staircase when he saw Laurent for the first time. And in his humble opinion Laurent only grew more beautiful with the years.

[evolving-kalopsia]

Chapter one rough

“Medic 17, you’ve code 3 traffic at 2765 N Locus Ave. 37 year-old male complaining of chest pain and anxiety. No further info.”

Drew looks across the cab of the ambulance at his partner and flashes him a grin. “That’s dinner, Junk.”

“Fucking Albert!” Junk yells, putting the rig in drive as Drew hits the lights and sirens. “He’s not due to call for at least two days. Maybe he’s actually dying, for once. Don’t you still owe dinner from Margaret’s last call?”

“Nope. I got Thai for that one.” Drew says proudly.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Junk responds, slamming the shifter into drive.

The ambulance heads out of the parking lot and Junk hits the lights and sirens. Rush hour just ended, traffic is still a bit heavy. The ambulance weaves it’s way slowly through drivers that seem to have never seen an ambulance in their rear-view mirror before.

“Fucking Albert.” Junk repeats, gesturing at the Toyota in front of them. “And this fucking guy! Don’t stop, shit-head! Move the fuck over!”

The car in front slams on it’s brakes, pulling one of the three textbook panicked driver moves: brake slam, pulling to the left or staying the course, crawling at a slow crawl.

“Asian and female.” Drew says, upping the bet, “and I get dessert, too”

“Just because your Asian female can’t drive doesn’t mean they’re all like that.” Junk says as the car finally figures out that the screaming sirens behind it aren’t going around and pulls off to the right, halfway through the crowded intersection of stopped vehicles.

As the rig kicks forward again, they both look out the passenger window, “what the fuck” expressions already loaded on their faces.

The driver waves apologetically, mouthing sorry over and over as they pass.

The ambulance screams ahead, clear roads for a few more blocks. Ten per over the limit is what they’re allowed per company policy. Apparently Junk missed that page in the handbook.

“Well that was a surprise.” Drew says, looking in the side view mirror.

“Cute little white girls ain’t exempt from bad driving” Junk admonishes.

“Very cute.” Drew corrects him.

Junk looked sideways at Drew. “That’s creepy, old man.”

“It’s only creepy if I say it first.” Drew says, putting on his best creep smile.

Junk gives him a disgusted look and says “No, it’s creepy when you have that look on your face when you say it.” 

Drew feigns irritation, “It’s not a look, ok? It’s just my face, I can’t help the way I was born.”

“Exactly. Which is why everything you say is creepy.” Junk turns right onto Farley Ave.  Quicker than he should, jerking the wheel back to the left to avoid a dog in the street.

Drew barely glances up from his electronic chart, already halfway finished with it. He and Junk have been partners for seven years, Drew knows that Junk is all-pro behind the wheel. Seven years of fun and blood and guts, life and death. Buffoonery and bullshit. Seven years of betting meals at the beginning of the week, based on which frequent-flyer is going to call first.  

“Turn the fucking wheel, geezer!” Junk yells at the Buick ahead, the driver stopping halfway into the right lane.

“Shouldn’t assume they’re old. That’s profiling.” Drew says, chuckling.

“S’ a fucking Buick, man. Ain’t nobody under the age of sixty-five driving no Buick.” Junk says, waving out the window at nobody.

“Profiling.” Drew repeats

“Man, I am really not in the mood to smell Albert’s house today. Not at all.” Junk moans, thinking about what lies ahead;

Morbidly obese, 47 year-old diabetic, asthmatic, congestive heart failure, kidney failure, non-bathing rage-inducing EMS system-abusing Albert fucking Piffle.

As they pull up to Albert’s neighborhood, Junk kills the lights and sirens. The less people in this neighborhood that know an ambulance is sitting unguarded in the street, the better.

“Tonight’s the night. I can feel it” Junk says, pulling up in front of Albert’s trash-strewn lawn. “He ‘gon ride the lightning, we’re working him.”

“You keep saying it, and he keeps living. You’re jinxing us one way or another.” Drew grabs the computer off the dash as he gets out of the rig.

“Lock it, I’m not in the mood to go pawn-hopping on my day off.” Junk pushes his door lock down with his finger, the automatic locks long past working in this death-defying death trap of an ambulance.

They pull the gurney out, loaded with equipment they know they won’t need; Drug box, cardiac monitor, airway bag chock full of things they might use if this were a legitimate call. But it’s just Albert. He probably dropped his can of Spaghetti-O’s under the couch again. Or the TV remote is missing, stuck in a roll of back fat from the last time he managed to get moved from the couch and back under his own power. Or Albert’s just feeling extra bored and lonely. They bring the equipment even though they know they’ll be walking out of Albert’s shithole house, reeking of sweat and cat piss so bad they’ll change uniforms in the street before getting back in the rig.

They bring all that heavy, cumbersome equipment in because it’s got less chance of being ripped off in the house than out in the rig.

And the day they don’t lug all that shit in is the day they find Albert face-down in his own puke. Not so dead they can call it a night right there. They’ll find him just dead enough that they’ll have to actually work him. Roll his 400 lb carcass over and start compressions, cut his filthy clothes off and get him hooked up to the cardiac monitor, try to get at least one I.V. started, as well as call for assistance from another crew or two, just to get his ass on to the gurney in the event they actually get his ruined heart to start pumping blood again.

Junk leading the gurney, he doesn’t ring the bell or knock, doesn’t yell “EMS” into the house like he normally would. This is Albert. Junk just walks in, dragging the gurney with him as Drew pushes it from the rear, the wheels rolling across the stained carpet, a shade of some unnamable color distantly related to brown.

“Al!” Drew yells through his paper mask, donned by both of them automatically before reaching the porch. Not out of fear of catching anything, but from a lack of desire to smell the inside of Albert’s house. The masks barely do anything at all. Just enough to keep them from retching.

“Al!” He repeats, catching Junk’s quick glance back at him. It’s not like Albert to not answer.

Avoiding the piles of boxes and junk, they round the corner to the living room where they always find him; on the filthy couch surrounded by empty soda cans and chip bags and crusty food plates. Laptop opened on the snack tray, usually some Sci-Fi on the one large flat-screen tv, xbox or playstation on the other.  He’d always yell “Here guys!” when they’d call for him and it would make them grin, ever since Junk compared him to Sloth from the Goonies.

Junk stops as the room enters his field of view and looks back at Drew with an unamused smirk. Albert is on the couch, Xbox controller in his hands and a brand-new set of expensive-looking headphones over his ears.

Drew stares at him for a moment, a similar smirk on his face.

“Albert!” he yells. It gets Al’s attention and he jumps, risks a glance away from the screen and then he’s back in sniper mode.

“Hey guys.” Albert mutters, focusing on the screen.

Drew walks over as Junk heads back outside, pushing the gurney and cursing the whole way. He pulls the headphones off Albert’s head and sighs loudly.

“What’s the deal, Al?” Drew asks, looming over Albert.

“I kept reading online about how much better it is if you have headphones, you know? Like to hear guys’ footsteps and stuff when they sneak up? So I ordered these, they’re really good, Drew!” Albert says, grinning like a great big man-child with too few teeth and too many comorbidities.

“No, Al,” Drew exhales “why did you call for us? Dispatch said chest pain. I don’t give two shits about your headphones or electronic addiction.”

“Oh yeah sorry. Fucker! Fucking campers.” Albert yells, distracted by Call of Duty again as his character on screen dies.

Drew steps between Al and the T.V. and for a second Al looks like he’s going to object, but Drew’s eyebrow raise squashes his momentary outrage.

“I’m sorry, Drew. I had some chest pain, but I think it was just some anxiety. The internet was out for like an hour and I was starting to lose it a little. I forgot to call back. I’m good now, though.” Albert says, simultaneously giving an apologetic look and trying to see around Drew, who shifts his weight and keeps his vision blocked.

“One of these days, I’m going to come in here and take all your controllers and leave. I’ll show you some anxiety.” Drew says, making hard eye contact for a moment.

Albert’s eyes go a little wide, unsure how serious the threat is. He fidgets and reaches down next to the couch, grabbing a fresh battery off the charger and starts changing batteries on his controller.

Seriously? That’s not even funny, man. I said sorry.” Albert apologizes almost sincerely, putting his controller down on the arm of the filthy couch.

The voice in Drew’s head is telling him to let it alone, to just get on with his shift. But he can’t. No matter how burnt out he is, he has to try every time. Even just a little “Samantha still your case worker?” he asks, knowing full well that she is.

Albert’s eyes light up at the mention of the pretty girl that comes to his house once every other month to dot the I’s and cross the T’s on his paperwork so his handout money keeps coming in.

“Oh yeah, Sam was here last week. She looked hot.” Albert grins like a lovesick child.

“Sure. Right now,” Drew says “her Grandmother is dying on the kitchen floor, just three blocks away. I could be over there helping, but I’m here babysitting you. Maybe I’ll get out of here and catch that call. Have enough time to save her. Or maybe next time you see Sam, she’s a little less bubbly because she’s mourning the death of her beloved Grammy because it took the next available crew twenty minutes to get to her.”

“Her Grandmother’s dying? Right now?” Albert asks, almost panicked.

“Jesus!” Drew yells. He grabs the controller out of Albert’s hands and gets down low, points at his face.

“Stop abusing the fucking system, Albert. I’m not coming next time, I mean it.” Drew exclaims, holding eye contact before turning away and heading towards the door.

“Come on, man! Give me back that controller! Please? I won’t call again!” Albert pleads.

“If I don’t see you for a month, I’ll bring it back.” Drew yells as the door slams behind him.

“Oh C’mon!” Albert yells to the empty house.

He sits for a moment, wondering if Drew was serious about Sam’s Grandmother. He reaches down next to the couch and grabs another controller, mumbling “Whatever, sucker. You’ll be back.”

Junk’s already changed into a fresh uniform and packed the gear back up, taking a drag off his vape and says “Did you kill him? Please tell me you killed him.”

“My name’s not diabetes.” Drew mutters, still irritated  as he kicks off his boots and drops trou on the sidewalk, then pulls off his shirt and grabs his backpack from one of the outside compartments, pulls out clean clothes.

Junk takes another pull and offers it to Drew. “Want some? Helps get the smell out of your nose.”

“No” Drew refuses “ But you do look damn sexy sucking that robot dick. I see a future for you in robo-porn. You could be a pioneer.”

“You’re about to become famous, yourself.” Junk replies, motioning up the street. A group of young clowns two doors down have their phones out and are snapping pics of Drew in his skivvies.

Drew looks back at them and waves. “I’d better not see those on Ebay!” he yells, pulling his pants on.

A combination of laughs and catcalls come back, as well as “Chicken legs.”

Drew mocks surprise, turns to Junk. “Do I have chicken legs?”

Junk blows raspberry-scented vapor at him and laughs. “Yep. Chicken from neck to nuts, too. Speaking of, it’s taco time.”

Junk gets in the rig and starts it up, starts to pull away as Drew jogs to catch up and hop in before he gets left in this shitty neighborhood.

[anxiety-trademark]

The week in review:

Raw 10/26 NXT 10/28 NXT UK 10/29 Smackdown 10/30

Raw:

Wonder what 19/11 means.

...Arsenic??... What in the-- WHY IS SHE SO HAPPY ABOUT THIS.

Boy y’all really nailed home how agonizing his suffering was before he died. My head hurts, this show is demented.

My god there are legitimately 2 of these psychopaths now.

wwe production should give Alexa’s voice a reverb effect whenever she says “let him in”

Girl is actually laughing hysterically while Bray ruthlessly murders Rambling Rabbit. Goodbye.

This act works so much better as a duo, Alexa was right in requesting to work with Bray.

kekekek Shayna makes a list of women she wants on her Survivor Series team; Nia snags the list and sees she’s not on it. Whose idea was this tag team? Need to know who I’m sending a fruit basket to.

Appreciate Mandy clarifying that Otis and her are still close, but I don’t understand why wwe separated them.

What is with everyone wearing black??

Lmfao this man really tried giving his rose to Shayna SIR PLZ. He had a better chance giving it to Sonya lesbireal.

Dana actually having a decent speaking segment. Half point.

“I feel like this is a joke. Is this like punk’d? Are we-- are we getting punk’d?” Nia came to entertain tonight.

Why can’t wwe just implement GMs again? Love Adam Pearce but he’s literally just playing the role of GM. Just keep them in the background with the mere purpose of cohesion. Good example: Paige. Bad example: Corbin.

This actually makes sense. You have the tag champs automatically being added, cuz duh, and the tag team who are undefeated since forming and moving to Raw. So have the 5th team member fight for the spot. I don’t hate that at all. At least there’s logic being applied.

I will never not hate Peyton’s theme. Yikes.

WHAT THE FUCK IS NIKKI CROSS’ NEW THEME LMFAO why are we throwing some bland, midwest country rock track with such a slow tempo at her??!? oof rip. Sucks for Nikki that Alexa wanted something more for her career but one could not possibly blame her, so.

ahahahaha I just noticed Nia took Byron’s seat. She’s so fucking funny.

Look if y’all are gonna do the move where someone lifts you over the top rope to set you on the apron, FUCKING JUMP FOR THEM. They’re not supposed to dead lift you.

Nice kick to Nikki by Lana; sloppy vault over the top rope. It’s kay, she isn’t even the worst one in this match lesbihonest.

Lacey gets Nikki in position for a suplex off the top rope, and Peyton - as quick as can be - jumps in to throw Lacey in a German suplex. That was smooth with very minimal set up. Points.

So Lana steals the win by pinning Nikki and the camera pans to all 4 team members looking absolutely shook. I am dying.

Interesting to see them focus on Peyton’s disappointment.

aaaaand rip Lana for the 6th time.

Such a jarring remix of Alexa’s song.

I know y’all are super weird and choose to sexualize/fetishize everything that you don’t understand, but I appreciate Alexa’s new persona. It’s like Firefly Funhouse characters meets Disney themed characters (which is core to Alexa) meets Harley Quinn. It’s a fitting cosplay with fitting demeanors. So if y’all could quit talking about ageplay like a bunch of weirdos, that’d be great.

Alexa and I are the same age and tbh I’m kind of shook on her behalf to see her share these segments and storylines with Randy Orton. Like I was a kid watching his feud with triple h. We were mere preadolescent kids lol. Good for her.

I like that she’s immune to Fiend’s name now that she’s fully embraced him become brainwashed.

Omg she’s just sitting on the turnbuckle laughing at them.

So Fiend is just a looming threat to Orton rn? Just letting Orton know that eventually he’ll have to answer for the fire he started all those years ago? I wasn’t here for Bray’s run back then so I’m kind of trying to piece this all together. Anyway fine segment. I don’t much care about Drew vs Orton but I appreciate Orton selling the intensity of the Fiend. He’s a good worker.

Highlight: Completely split between Nia being hilarious & Alexa being creepy as hell

---

NXT:

Well at least they’re keeping Ember backstage for her promos. That’s an improvement.

True, Dakota as a babyface was awful. Not sorry. Her character consisted of “scared” and “sad”... That’s it.

Big fan of the set for nxt tonight.

It’s so rare to see someone handle Rhea, what a nice dynamic.

These 2 are best friends irl, aren’t they? Enjoyable to watch them go punch for punch back and forth. If nothing else, they’re definitely selling that they’re pretty evenly built.

True though, Rhea does have her athleticism going for her. Rhea’s kicks are a beautiful thing to see. Soccer player ftw.

Really like this match. It’s cool to see the range of different matches Rhea can have. It’s not often you see her in an underdog type of role, and you wouldn’t think she could thrive as one, but it works for her just the same as being a dominant powerhouse. Shouldn’t be surprised though, her vs Charlotte at wm was a banger, and Charlotte was definitely the dominant force in that match.

Commentators said Rhea’s inverted cloverleaf has tapped out “many” superstars in nxt, and I just wanna know who? Cuz I have zero recollection of such.

Good showing for Raquel. Gave zero shits about her prior to this. She’s always just been the Diesel to Dakota’s Shawn Michaels.

GREAT counter by Rhea from the one armed powerbomb into nearly a headscissors takedown.

This match is very well paced.

Oh yes, that’s the type of match that easily could’ve gone longer and left me wanting more, which is a hell of a compliment. I underestimated how good this would be.

Wow they’re having Poppy rob us of Io’s theme song? For shame.

So how does the wheel actually work? Do they really not get a chance to plan out their stip matches? That’s weird. I love it, but it’s weird. Is it rigged? It’s gotta be rigged, right?

Love the black and orange themed ladders.

lmao Candice’s reaction to the bag of body parts. Fantastic.

Did Candice hit Io in the face with a laptop?? Honestly, points.

Lol chalk outlines on the tables. The theme is great.

Oh man, a moonsault straight onto chairs. rip Io’s midsection.

Wicked suplex onto the sitting chair, oof. Looked like Io clipped that.

Meteora into a steel ladder, which then fell on Io. She taking a beating lol.

Commentators mentioning Johnny counter: 3

Kinda cool spot twisting Candice’s ankle in a chair. Of course, it’s not like Candice sold the damaged ankle anyway, so.

Swinging neckbreaker through the tables - a spot that would’ve been great if the commentators had actually sold it and there was a real crowd.

idk who the hell is helping Candice, but I think it’s just fantastic that Shotzi came in to stop them.

“LeRae can’t reach,” as if this match wouldn’t have been over if she would’ve just climbed up one single ring.

Welp Candice is dead now. Fell off the top of the ladder through another ladder. Nasty landing. rip. 

Brutal match, but it still wasn’t better than their first match. At least Candice did work and this wasn’t boring unlike their last takeover match. Points for the damage they caused to their bodies, eesh.

Highlight: Rhea vs Raquel

---

NXT UK:

Oh nice UK added some monitors. Good for them, even if the stream quality is kinda poor.

I like this match up. Dani Luna is an athletic powerhouse, and Valkyrie is an athletic technician. This is more the type of quality match that I’d expect on the MR - minus the storytelling/performance aspect, but that’s okay.

Really appreciate Luna’s strength for how small she seems.

Valkyrie is fun to watch. Her arm drag takedowns and counters are entertaining.

Damn Valkyrie can do a springboard cross body and a pele kick as well? What an intriguing skillset she has.

Holy shit that snap German suplex by Dani was effortlessly CLEAN.

I’m not big on Dani’s look tbh. I feel like she’d be more of a standout if her hair was a different color. I don’t think blue works for her, personally.

An interesting finisher by Valkyrie... I don’t hate it. I’m all for the result, though. Good show of respect between both competitors. Wouldn’t mind watching them again in the future.

Current day has KLR still as champion (#foreverchampion) but I’m guessing they’re really gonna have Piper be the one to inevitably end it. Should be Valkyrie as far as I’m concerned. Even if she’s trash on the mic - not saying she is cuz I have no idea - she’s super entertaining to watch.

Highlight: Dani Luna vs Valkyrie

---

Smackdown:

New year, same old Nattie trying to be the Survivor Series captain.

Billie Kay is entertaining but wbk.

Bianca, ma’am, you JUST started going here. Calm down.

“Bianca nobody really cares, or knows, what EST means, it’s totally irrelevant. I’m the boat.” lmao I genuinely love Nattie, not sorry.

SHE CLAPPED AT HER goodbye. Give me a Bianca vs Nattie match, entertain me plz.

Ah a triple threat? That’s fine I suppose, what the hell.

Why does wwe keep depriving me of Bianca’s entrance? I hate this company.

Billie Kay: *jumps in the ring to catch Bianca in a random pinfall; fails; proceeds to leave the ring once more*

Billie Kay really is a special level of awful, but at least she has character work going for her.

Good cover by Bianca to set up the basement dropkick by Nattie to break up the pin.

Boy Bianca sure did take her time breaking up that sharpshooter. You got both Nattie and Billie Kay screaming and she’s in lala land lmao.

I will genuinely cry if they ever change Bianca’s music, I stg. Good for her btw. Appropriate result.

What’s the purpose of the polaroid camera?

Soo did they basically give Carmella the layout of Sasha’s gimmick while turning Sasha babyface? Is that what’s going on? What rules is Carmella making? What shots is she calling? Why does this girl have champagne? You know who would rock the “fuck y’all I’m rich, look at my Gucci and diamonds” gimmick? The Ice Queen, Charlotte Flair.

What an adorably tiny cross.

Carmella you’re not really known for winning, but alright.

Hate this music btw.

Lol this fucking chair. Okay.

“Long time rivalry renewed” didn’t Asuka and Sasha have a minor feud a mere 5 months ago? That lasted one month?? Is that considered long time now???

Sasha’s makeup is off key ngl. I hate that outfit as well.

Yes, yes she was your best friend and that was really sad, but you’re not saying anything different than you have before. And you’re STILL not likeable. But hey, I’m happy for you all the same, now be as entertaining as Bayley plz.

“The whole world knows that you can win a championship, but even you know that you can’t hang onto one. Unlike me.” pppffffttttt she’s not wrong.

Who do I gotta pay to permanently separate you 2? hiac was great, let’s end the debacle now plz.

“You made me sign that hiac contract under duress,” THANK YOU BAYLEY see someone knows their legal jargon. 

Peep that gnarly bruise on Bayley’s arm. Whew.

She’s so annoying lmao.

“Backstabbing bitches never win,” hi, Sasha? Longest reigning Raw women’s champion, first ever wm main eventer, first ever women’s dual world champion, face of the company, cover of espn and 2k20 Becky Lynch just called; said that is absolutely not true.

Highlight: Bianca, Billie Kay & Natalya backstage segment

---

*Raw shined the brightest this week, but I have to shout out NXT as well for their 2 matches, particularly Rhea vs Raquel.

[belladonnaandulriched]

the artist | chapter eleven

It was that morning I realized I was a month from turning eighteen: seventeen years on this earth and I could actually say I survived a horrific pandemic. I had washed and kept my mask stashed away in the bottom drawer of my desk since news of the virus garnered in our favor. Such a high body count and yet we all survived it.

And now after hearing about it returning with the strength it had had before the release of the vaccine, I had to bring it back out of its hiding place.

Keep it on. Wash your hands. Stay far enough away from anyone and everyone so that if we all had our arms spanned out like birds, our fingertips would not even brush each other. Which meant I knew I would have to think about how to deal with Lars, Joey, Will, Chris, Dave, and Stone later on.

But I needed to be with them: I needed to help them out.

I had the story of having made art for some friends. It was sort of the truth and yet I never mentioned any names, so I found it to be a big fat lie as well. But I had to tell my parents where I was headed to nonetheless. I had art to tend to. I had the delicate lives of six men in my hands.

My mask had a filter inside of it to keep my face cool in the face of the intense heat looming over the Northwest in the summer time, and yet I recalled sweating like crazy around my chin and my mouth on the particularly hot days. It didn't help matters it was jet black and with the outlines of little white sugar skulls embroidered on the outside, either.

I hitched my hand bag over my shoulder with the new graphites Joey had given me, my laptop, and my digital drawing tablet inside; I tucked my phone into my pocket.

My mom put her arms around me.

“Stay safe, baby,” she whispered into my ear.

“Wash my hands and don't take off my mask,” I reiterated to her as I adjusted the bottom of my mask.

“I'll call if there are reports of new cases here,” she vowed. “You know what it was like before the vaccine came to fruition.”

“Absolutely!” And without another word, I stepped out the morning mist. Mount Rainier loomed in the background with the soft gray clouds and the incoming rain.

I had called Stone and Dave before I got dressed, and the former told me they were coming to pick me up and drive me to the speakeasy. Lucky for me, they had posted up down the block before the corner and right next to a large evergreen shrub that could hide all seven of us. I walked at a brisk pace towards their car; Stone had on a bright red kerchief over his nose and mouth while Dave had on a black ski mask.

“You guys heard, too?” I asked them through the slightly open passenger window once I came within earshot.

“The hell we did!” Dave declared in a muffled voice.

“Get on in—the boys are waitin' for ya,” Stone told me with a gesture to the back seat. I climbed in and we drove up to the speakeasy. Once we reached the neighborhood, I realized Chris had forgotten to text me good morning earlier. Or maybe he did, I just didn't feel it or hear it for whatever reason.

But I took out my phone from my pocket. The screen was blank. He forgot to text me.

But we reached the outside of the speakeasy before I could do anything more. I climbed out and thanked Stone and Dave for driving me there.

“I should tell you,” Dave started in a muffled voice, “I just sent some roses to Tom—Tom Araya, you know about him?”

“Yes,” I said.

“—I sent him roses this morning and he told me the pathogen has come back in full swing back East. He might come up here from L.A. to see what's going on with the speakeasy here, but that's about it. Rock n' roll and metal is like a family, so—we're looking out for all of you guys as well as any of our friends, too.”

“So give us a ring if things go sideways,” Stone advised me.

“Gladly!” I said; there was a part of me that wanted to give them both kisses but I knew I couldn't. Not now. Not with the virus raging again.

I headed into the building with my bag still slung over my shoulder: I opened the door with the sole of my shoe as I didn't want to risk it.

Lars and Will were congregated on the side of the room with what looked like my drawings of them. Lars looked as though he had just taken a shower while Will's eyes drooped a bit with exhaustion. The latter held a big old paint brush, one with a thick handle and a head of bristles the size of a quarter.

“Hey, there she is!” Will declared with a tired smile, and then his smile faded when he realized I was wearing a mask.

“Do you guys have masks or anything to cover your faces with?” I asked them as I came within earshot.

“No,” Lars replied with a knitting of his eyebrows. And then he gaped at me. “Oh, fucking hell. Don't tell me.”

“It is,” I said with a nod of my head. “Unfortunately. I saw it on the news earlier—it's not up here, but I'm wearing this no matter what happens.”

“Don't blame ya,” said Will with a shake of his head.

“Where's Joey?” I asked them.

“He's still sleeping,” Lars replied.

“He had kind of a rough night last night,” Will added. “He was awake a lot. He kept kicking me in the face, too—he and I were sleeping head to toe—so I hardly slept last night myself.”

“Tour life seems a bit redundant now, doesn't it?” Lars joked.

“For real. Even when I was with Comes With the Fall, I slept better on a single stint of a tour than I did last night.”

“Also, I just got off the phone with Chris,” Lars told me. “He's on his way here right now.”

“I was just going to ask, have either of you guys talked to Chris?”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and checked the screen, and I swallowed down the upwell of a fluttery feeling in my stomach at the sight in my hand.

“Shit, I might have to spend the night here,” I confessed to them.

“Probably,” Will replied with a shrug of the shoulders. “You probably can't leave anyway.”

The sound of yawning caught my ear. I raised my gaze to Joey shuffling into the room from the far end. Some of his black curls spread over his face while others had been pushed back from the side of his neck and his shoulder; his brown eyes just looked tired.

“Hey, he's awake!” Lars declared.

“I'm awake,” he echoed in a broken voice. “—and I feel like the cat just dragged me inta th' place, too.” His face lit up at the sight of me. “Hey, Hahlly. I was hopin' you'd show up, I wanna ask you—” And then his face washed out to the color of old wallpaper. “—oh, fuck, you gotta be kiddin' me.”

“It's spreading like crazy back East,” I told him. “I'm not risking it here.” He breathed hard and heavy.

“Oh, shit—” He sank down in the chair at the counter and ran a hand through his black curls. I stayed away from them even though I knew we were far away from it.

I looked at Joey's little body and I grimaced at the thought of him contracting the virus. I also grimaced at the thought of Chris contracting it, too.

To envision both men having the absolute worst time breathing and blanketed in a thick wave of cold sweat. Eating only things that are incredibly spicy to otherwise taste it. To hear their hacking coughs and to see their beautiful bodies wither and waste away to nothing, especially with Joey given he was thinner than Chris.

The door behind me swung open; I turned to find Chris himself striding inside, complete with a black mask upon his face, too. He had little crescent moons embroidered on the front of his mask.

“Hey,” I greeted him in a soft voice.

“Hey,” he echoed; the corners of his eyes crinkled with a beckoning smile. “Sorry I didn't text you earlier.”

“Oh, it's okay. I figured you would at some point anyway.”

I returned to Joey behind me.

“What'd you want to ask me?” I recalled. He pointed at the big paint brush in Will's hand.

“I wanna watch ya paint,” Joey told me.

“You want to watch me paint,” I reiterated with a snicker.

“Yeah. I watched ya draw—I wanna see what'cha do with bristles. I know Chris does, too.”

“But Joey being Mr. Sassy drew the straw first,” Chris filled in.

“Okay. Where do you wanna do it?”

“There's a room in the back here that's the quintessential place to paint. Lars found ya paints an' everythin'.”

“I really did,” said Lars as he ran his fingers through his wet hair. “I even set up a little easel for you.”

“Aw, that's so sweet,” I remarked.

“Just—y'know—don't breathe on me,” he said. “Well, of course,” I chuckled at him. Joey gave his curls and ringlets a light toss back with a flick of his head and then he stood to his feet. He gestured for me to follow him. I didn't even walk three steps when someone behind me cleared their throat.

“Holly,” Chris called after me. I turned around to find he had stripped off his mask and tucked it underneath his chin.

“Yeah?”

He swallowed. He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“You forgot this.”

He held out the paint brush that Will had found. I gasped and strode on over to him. Even though he kept his mask underneath his chin, I walked on closer to him with my eyes locked onto his.

“Thank you,” I said to him in a soft voice, to which he winked at me with his left eye so Will and Lars wouldn't notice.

[madmaddy-life]

that bunch of questions answered.

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you? Nah. I usually doubt my OWN existence... I know I imagined some people into reality, but what if someone imagined me?

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you? 0. It’s the dark that have to be afraid of me.

3. The person you would never want to meet? Most of my old school enemies. I’d just kill them, so it’s better to never see them again.

4. What is your favorite word? Fuck.

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be? Oak. I like Oaks. (or maple... Cool tree too)

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought? I don’t look in the mirror unless I just have to. And I don’t have to. Usually I think “Hello, Ugly piece of shit.”

7. What shirt are you wearing? I wear teal green nightshirt, wtih two crowns and stars.

8. What do you label yourself as? Hate labels. They’re stupid. 

9. Bright room or dark room? Depends. If it’s the room is bright because of the sun, and not lamps - then yes, bright room. If it’s dark because the lights is off, and I can turn it on - then okay too...

10. What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping. 

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far? It all sucks, if I can remember. So - 5 years. I can’t remember what was then.

12. Who told you they loved you last? My mom. No one else does.

13. Your worst enemy? Me, myself. (also those assholes who make fun of me, my friends, and\or who’s unfair to everyone.)

14. What is your current desktop picture? Some autumn leafs and a fence.

15. Do you like someone? Yes, I do. But they’re taken. Yay me for being unlucky..

16. The last song you listened to? “I hate everyone” by Get Set Go. Heh.

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up? If I could press that button - all humanity would be dead by now. Cuz, why play favourites, when everyone deserves a nice blow... Kekeke.

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face? All those school morons. And all those college assholes. And all of the dipshits who annoy me...

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do? Hahah. I’d either have one of my friends as a slave, and then just have them to be nice to me, and\or fuck... OR I’d have someone I don’t like as a slave, and just make them clean everything in my flat.

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional) Hands. And maybe eyes... (that’s all I like about myself really.)

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do? The same. I look pretty gender neutral. So, nothing would’ve changed.

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it? I don’t have any secret talents. All of my talents are out, and dangling about...

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of? It’s not unique - I’m afraind of asphyxia.

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal. Peanut butter sandwich. I like peanut butter, and it’s too expensive here.

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it? MARKERS. I WILL BUY MARKERS. Or some other art supplies. (Or maybe snacks.)

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go? England. I wanna see it all.

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be? Jack Daniels whiskey. Give it to me.

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place? “No one is allowed on my island, exept ME.” That’s gonna be the single rule. I don’t need no stinking society on MY ISLAND.

29. What is your favorite expletive? FUCK }: D

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno? Probably my laptop (or hard drive). All of my work in there. And I value it too much.

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? Myself. I am a horrible experience.

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world! Let’s see. If I really do have time-traveling powers (and super-powers) I won’t give a shit about someone trying to get me kicked out of the country. No one has the power to do so. So, no problem. If that’s all a lie - then I’ll just move anywhere...

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back? My grand dad.

34. What was your last dream about? I and a group of people were searching for an underground buker, to get to safety. When we get there, and open all doors - turns out that the bunker is flooded, and we can’t stay there. And the only thing I can do to keep my group safe - is to climb on the roof of nearby abandoned building and cover their retreat with a shiper rifle...

35. Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]? ... at anything at all? Yes. Yes I am.

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital? HA. HAHAH. Let’s COUNT. Not less than five times.

37. Have you ever built a snowman? Sure. It was a year ago. Or maybe two. I can’t remember.

38. What is the color of your socks? Usually - gray. Or black. Or brown-ish.

39. What type of music do you like? It’s hard to explain. I like some specific tunes.

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets? Sunsets. I’m always alseep at sunrises.

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor? I don’t drink milkshakes. Like, at all.

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer) Don’t watch sports. It’s boring for me...

43. Do you have any scars? A lot. I have a lot of tiny scars on my hands, from paper knife (and cats). One on my right elbow, from a nail - I fell on it. One on my left leg - I dropped a metal pipe from vacuum cleaner. And four scars on my belly from a surgery - got my gallbladder removed.

44. What do you want to be when you graduate? I already did that. And I don’t have any wishes... I was thinking about vandalising the walls of my institute. Maybe later I’ll do that. It was a shitty place.

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I’d remove lasyness.

46. Are you reliable? Not really. I do things if I want to. If I don’t - I won’t.

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be? what the fuck happened to you?

48. Do you hold grudges? YES. Yes I do. I freaking hate people for the shit they’ve done to me... And I’d make them pay, if I saw them again.

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create? An owldog. A flying dog-like birb, who’s very faithfull.

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had? Hmm, I’m not sure I’ve had one. Like, I’m okay with pretty much everything. I’ve been talking about a lot of stuff many concider unusual, weird of wicked.

51. Are you a good liar? Yes. I lie a lot...

52. How long could you go without talking? I barely talk. So I can be silent for many days.

53. What has been you worst haircut/style? Short bang on the front (ridiculously short. My hair would stand up), with long hair on the back.

54. Have you ever baked your own cake? Not yet. But I baked cupcakes.

55. Can you do any accents other than your own? I think so. I never really tried.

56. What do you like on your toast? MEAT. I like meat on anything.

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of? Two guys fucking. }X D That’s USUALLY what I draw.

58. What would be you dream car? Flying DeLorean that can go back in ti~iiime! }X )

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain. I don’t sing. I just sit and listen to the water running down. The sound is soothing.

60. Do you believe in aliens? Sure. Why not. The universe is fucking big, who the heck knows what else is in there.

61. Do you often read your horoscope? Nah. I don’t believe in THAT. (But in aliens - I do. Lol)

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet? Hmmm. M.

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons? Dinosaurs. They EXISTED.

64. What do you think about babies? UGH. BLEUGH. WWWeeeeh! }X P

65. Freebie! Ask anything interesting you can think of. DICKS. DICKS-DICKS-dicks. < u >

[quentinsquill]

The Magicians Fic: “Just This Side of Heaven.”

Author: Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70) 

Fandom: The Magicians

Rating: Teen

Characters: Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater

Summary: Eliot thought he’d understood grief. But this was different, and what he needed most was closure.

Warnings: Pet death, angst, grief

Notes: A lot of fans have wondered how Eliot knew about Rainbow Bridge, and the answer smacked me dead in the face, so I wrote this. I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic! The Rainbow Bridge piece isn’t mine; the author has always been unknown. You can see it on the Rainbow Bridge main website. Enjoy! Or cry. Whichever. 

You can also read it on AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/11185458

Just This Side of Heaven

By Lexalicious70 (aka The ChampagneKing70)

 It’s been five days but the pain is just as fresh as it had been on the day it happened.

 Eliot drained his wine glass for the fourth time that night as he sat in the near-darkness of his room. He could hear talking and laughter from downstairs, including Margo, who had declared him “an emo bummer” and had exiled him to his room to “figure out his shit.”

 Eliot set his wine glass aside and crossed the room to open his closet door. He moved aside some shirts and a few pairs of good shoes, and then drew out a small brown wicker crate. Tears pricked his eyes and he set it on the bed.

 “This is so stupid.” He murmured, putting a hand on the crate. “It’s not like you were even my dog.”

 But in way, Cancer Puppy had been his. Eliot had named the enchanted dog Gerald during his first year, and when Dean Fogg had questioned him about it, Eliot had simply held the ancient puppy to his chest and said, “Because any dog that’s 149 years old—and that’s people years, not dog—deserves his own name.”

 And so Gerald he was—at least it had been until five days ago, when Quentin had accidentally killed the puppy with a spell that had been too powerful for him to control.

 But it wasn’t just Quentin . . . I helped him create that spell. I helped him kill Gerald. Eliot thought to himself, and that silent declaration caused more tears to drip from his eyes.

 “Christ, this is all so fucking maudlin.” He sighed, lifting a hand to wipe his face. “But exactly where does one go to find closure that doesn’t come in a bottle?” He glanced around the room and his gaze fell on his old battered laptop, almost buried under a discarded sweater—Quentin’s—in the corner. He went over to kick the sweater aside before picking up the laptop and shoving into an old leather messenger bag. After opening a portal that allowed him to travel short distances, Eliot found himself stepping into an abandoned room in the basement of Brakebill’s main building. It was one of the few places electronics worked and the only place magic didn’t fuck up the building’s already weak Wi-Fi connection. Eliot pulled a stool over to an old scarred table and sat down with his laptop. After a moment, he was signed in and Googling “pet loss.” The screen cycled for almost thirty seconds And Eliot lit a cigarette, glaring at the swirling circle through a haze of smoke. When the results finally popped up, Eliot peered at the one at the top of the page.

 “The Rainbow Bridge. Pet grief for gays, by gays?” He asked himself, clicking the link. Something that looked like a poem appeared, along with a color drawing of what looked like the pearly gates, only on a smaller scale. He took a drag of his smoke before reading it aloud softly. “Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.” Eliot felt his throat close and he took another long drag on his cigarette.

 “All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.” Eliot’s voice quivered and he wiped the back of his left hand across his mouth, feeling his lips twist with emotion. “Shit.” He blinked until the words came back into focus, but his throat felt like he’d swallowed the world’s spiniest cactus.

 “They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.” Eliot’s voice broke completely and his narrow chest began to hitch as more tears filled his eyes and then rapidly overflowed. He crammed a fist against his mouth and read the rest silently, his chest and throat so thick with grief that he felt like he was choking on it.

 You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

 Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

 As Eliot finished the final sentence, a helpless sob tore from his throat and he pushed the laptop away to let his head fall forward, onto his right forearm. The first sob seemed to break open a huge fissure in the thickness in his chest and throat, letting out molten streams of grief that burned like strong liquor. They rendered Eliot helpless and he sat there, sobbing, releasing everything he’d held in since the night he and Quentin had buried Gerald behind the Physical Kids cottage. He cried for the death itself, for Quentin, who had turned his back to Eliot when they’d finished and sobbed, the tears more for his father than for the puppy. He cried for the stupid finality of death, impervious to his grief, and most of all, at the knowledge that for all his abilities and magic, people he cared about could die, and there would be no way to undo it.

 After ten minutes the emotional storm lessened, then passed. Eliot raised his head and fumbled a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his blazer to wipe his face. He glanced around furtively to see if anyone had seen or heard him, but the basement was quiet. Eliot snapped the laptop shut, feeling spent and hollowed out. He bowed his head a moment, sniffling, and then shoved the laptop into the case before opening a portal to the rear of the cottage. He stepped through it and walked about 50 yards until he reached the small depression in the ground that marked the spot where they’d buried Gerald. Eliot cleared his throat.

 “Hello, Gerald.” He said almost formally. “You know, I’m not sure if I believe what I just read, but it’s like Quentin always said about his Fillory books . . .the best parts have to be true. So I hope that’s where you went. And—and I’m sorry. Quentin is sorry too. I know that you’re only a dog and you had a limited understanding of your world, but I feel like it’s important for you to know that what happened was an accident.” Eliot put a hand to his chest. “We didn’t mean to hurt you. And you may not have been my dog, at least not just mine, but you should be remembered. For as long as students come to Brakebills.” Eliot raised his hands and began to cast a spell that was tied to the grounds itself and would last for as long as they did. The grey pre-dawn light flickered and changed, and then Eliot smiled at his handiwork.

 “See you, Gerald.” He said, and then turned to slip through the back door of the cottage before anyone could spot him.

 ______________________________________________________________

 “Hey, Margo?”

 Margo turned from the fridge, a little hung over and irritated that Eliot wasn’t awake to make them breakfast. She yanked a tub of cream cheese from the top shelf.

  “What?”

 “Did you—uhm—can you come look at this?”

 “For Christ’s Sake, what is it?” Margo asked crossly, going to the window, which looked out over the back of the cottage. Her expression changed from irritation to mild wonder as she saw what Quentin was staring at.

 “Is that—?”

 “It is.” Quentin nodded, and then both of them were bolting out the back door at once. They approached the phenomenon carefully, and Margo frowned.

 “What the hell do you think it means?”

 “This is where we buried Gerald.” Quentin said, and Margo frowned.

 “What—you mean cancer dog?”

 “Cancer Puppy. Eliot named him Gerald.” He glanced up to the second floor, toward Eliot’s window, and then put a hand on Margo’s shoulder.

 “C’mon. Let’s leave it.”

 “Leave it?”

 “Yeah. It’s pretty! And it makes a better marker than that shitty wooden thing I was going make.”

 Margo stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes, but a smile quirked her lips upward.

 “All right, Q. Let’s go have a sinful amount of mimosa before we wake Eliot and force him to make us pecan waffles.”

 Quentin smiled as she and Margo walked away from Gerald’s resting place, which now lay quiet and peaceful under an iridescent rainbow that arced over it, the sun throwing long fingers of color along the ground.

 FIN

In memory of Inky, Lucky Lady, Lickety Split and Foxy Lady, who I hope are all waiting for me at Rainbow Bridge.

[ellipsesarefun]

But my heart longs for you

Otayuri Week 2017 Day 4: Reunion

A/N: Sorry if this is late.. I’m emotionally spent. UGH. Tried to look for something and I ended up reading angst, tried to get past the angst that I felt and came up with this. viola. This is the conclusion to “now i gotta wash my mouth out with soap”. I’ll put this up on Ao3.. Enjoy.

He was supposed to have an immense amount of positive feelings.. but he can’t bring himself to have them.

Because he’s up on the podium, a gold medal hooked on his neck. On the outside, people can expect that he’s elated. This was the metal that figure skaters fought for; of course he’s happy, of course he’s proud of himself. Truth be told, his thoughts are elsewhere. His eyes were straying from the crowd to a certain figure skater below him, the one who took second place. His mouth was taut straight yet his dark brooding eyes speak for themselves.

They barely had a proper conversation, mostly consumed with extra practice hours, discussions with their coaches (with disgusting PDA and outings on Yuri’s part) and laying next to each other in either hotel room. Nothing has changed, merely a few comments on his growth spurt and his long braided hair and new remixes from Otabek’s laptop.

However, there were also some additional adjustments from Beka’s part... The lingering gazes, the frequent light touches on the arms and shoulders (once on the face, when he tucked a strand of gold behind his ear; his fingers hovered for a moment before pulling away), and the sudden compliments were just part of the package.

And the smiles. Otabek was known for his stoic face and private personality, only displaying a glimpse of emotion to a certain amount of people who mattered. Yuri is a part of that group, and, he begrudgingly admits, even Mila as well. Months ago, they’d been engaged in playful flirting, possibly secret makeouts and dates. But that was then. To Yuri, however, there was something there (and how far his lexicon stretches, he’ll keep referring this ambiguity between them as something). It seemed that these body languages underlie an intent, an implied romantic intent. He supposes his deductions stemmed from his romantic feelings for his best friend... Because why else would he think there was this something in his actions?

But that wasn’t the reason his mind was wandering from his golden victory.

His performance spoke volumes of his wanton emotions that he was harboring these months. Similar to his music project, both his short program and his free skate were outlets of his unified theme: unyielding yearning. Initially he decided against it, with the excuse of the theme being too sappy and extra and so.. Viktor and Katsudon. However, he gave in, with the help of his annoying friend.

“It’s your feelings. It’s your own soul on the ice.” She reasoned, “What’s wrong with it?”

She turned to him, chocolate irises shining with wisdom, “The ice is your canvas. Paint however you want it to be.”

So he did. He poured every single drop of paint of every color on his canvas until the whole rink was filled with the brush strokes of his blades. Every second he was on that ice, from beginning to end, each step sequence and jump, were centered on his unbridled love; all from his first reunion with him in Barcelon to this Grand Prix Final, all those late night talks in the dark gloom at three in the morning, all his quirks and physique, all his mixtapes, all his flaws, everything else that branded as Otabek Altin was displayed on ice.

His friend wasn’t the only one who knew. Both Katsuki and Viktor caught on once they reviewed his choreography and music.

“Ehhh whose this for, Yurio?”

“A message for your beloved?”

Fucking extras.

People started speculating. Most of them were his fans. Initially, they drew hypotheses on the so-called unresolved sexual tension between him and a certain Canadian skater, JJ. While it did follow the hate-you-but-like-you trope, it was as false as his leopard prints and everyone is aware of his happy and successful marriage with Isabella Yang. It’s simply a fucking catastrophe to imply such lies when the wife can see it all over international media. Others had their speculations on Mila, but that simmered down when she recently had her eyes on one Sara Crispino (they were caught making out several times, reporters noted).

His friendship with the Kazakhstan Hero wasn’t out of the formula either. Through the years, his fans butchered into every detail of their social media affairs. Their “factual evidences” stemmed from tagged photos and posts (mostly Otabek’s latest remixes and recently, Yuri’s music project), always speculating that there was something brewing between them. His program theme and music choices made it worse. They now have an official fucking ship name (Otayuri, Yuribek or--ugh whatever). Never had they brought this up and they mostly ignored what others were whispering behind their backs whenever they saw each other during competitions. Not a word of opinion (negative or otherwise) could be heard from Otabek and Yuri did not wish to push anything further.

And thus, it was to be expected that the said best friend, whom he harbors romantic affections for and has now absolute acceptance of them, is completely and utterly oblivious to the message of his program theme. He never once mentioned his theme (out of cowardice and embarrassment) and Otabek never questioned it. It wasn’t entirely part of their conversation, most of their skating topics were about step sequences, jump dynamics and music performances, because he was his best friend and best friends are supposed to have some semblance of a psychic connection.

Somehow, that wasn’t the case for them. Even until now, Yuri has some difficulty deciphering his many stoic expressions and it seems that maybe he in turn was not blatant enough at times when he needed Otabek to know. He still isn’t completely certain on Otabek’s say on the matter, or if he does have an answer for him. Tine said to paint a canvas. But what was the whole point of presenting the whole canvas when the buyer doesn’t understand the intricate stories behind it, or doesn’t even want it anyway?

The thoughts continued to linger within the front of his mind until he realized that the exhibition gala has come to an end the after party is only hours away. He suddenly found himself being cajoled by none other than his “feelings assistant” and sole adviser.

“Yuri!!!” She crashed into his arms, crushing his lungs in the process. Now having had his growth spurt, he looked down at the crown of her black tresses and placed a hand on top. For a twenty year old woman, she was quite petite. 

“Hey.” His voice croaked a greeting, cracking from the lack of use. Immediately, the said girl looked up, crumpled eyebrows of her perceptive chocolate irises and blatant frown on her face. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, voice so small and fragile yet carried the weight of her words. He palmed her head repeatedly and gave a tired smile.

“Yeah. Not in the mood for a party I guess.” He said, to which she responded with a smile.

“Hey guys!!!!” a familiar voice hollered from the side. The two let go and turned their heads to see his rinkmate waving at them with a bright grin on her face. Beside her was Otabek, the usual soldier face as his expression. The second he saw them, his heart jumped, missing a beat. He knew they weren’t together anymore, but just the thought of them...

No.

He blinked and gave his head a little shake, hopefully warding off any assumptions that permit to linger in his mind. He managed a smile, noting the way Beka paused in his steps and the flicker in his eyes. He knows something.

“Hey guys.” He forced a cheerful greeting. Now is not the time for irrational jealousy to take place. However, it only grew worse now that her arm circled the entire span of his shoulders.

“Beka,” he momentarily flinched at her use of his nickname (his nickname for Beka; not that it was only his but still), “and I are gonna grab some food with Sara. Wanna come?”

“Sure!” Tine replied without any qualms of hesitation, as food is now at the center of her mind, “I’m hungry! Yuri’s coming, so there!” Great. There was no way for him to protest otherwise since her friend already decided his fate. The four made their way out of the stadium. Yuri was carefully pacing his steps, expecting Otabek to walk beside Mila and he with Tine. Instead, his red-haired friend grabbed his only saviour by the arm and dragged her a few feet away from them, already gushing which delectable desserts to eat. 

That, in turn, left him trailing after them right beside Otabek.

Great. Just what he needed.

He measured his breaths with his footsteps as he urged his friend with his stunning emerald eyes, hoping that she had some ounce of intuition that she’d turn around and bring him away from this rut he made. She caught on, chocolate to emerald, but merely stuck her tongue out before resuming to their conversation. 

Bitch.

Pushing down his growl into a small grumbled sigh, Yuri supposes this wasn’t such a bad idea. He can be cool. He can be chill. He can set aside his brewing emotions with unflappable poise. He’s done it before. But just as his walls start to build up, they only crumble at the brush of a group of fingers. Beka’s fingers. Somehow his callous fingers found their way in his. They pulled him forward, as he was too stunned to walk. He stumbled before retrieving his spot beside Otabek, the latter still linking his hand with his while avoiding his gaze.

“We should catch up.”

And just from that minuscule, casual gesture, Yuri is not convinced that Otabek is oblivious as he once believed.

***

He did not imagine he would have an opportunity with Otabek by losing the other two along the way.

It had only been just a second--maybe a couple of minutes, or an hour, maybe-- that he was window shopping around the area for leopard prints and cat merchandise (there was this sale going around and they have quite an abundance of good quality) when suddenly he couldn’t find Mila or Tine anywhere. He turned around, eyes scanning for a familiar mop of red or black hair but nothing except a crowd of strangers. He took out his phone from his pocket to check for any messages from the both of them.

Nothing.

He typed a message, sent it, and wait for a couple of minutes.

Nothing.

What the fuck? 

His eyes stray towards Otabek, who looked apathetic despite their situation. The latter felt his stare and turned to him, dark brown irises twinkling with a question.

“Aren’t you worried?” He asked, “They could be anywhere by now.”

He shook his head. “They’ll be fine. They probably decided to look for other stores that sell ice cream cakes.”

“Did they at least message you?” He shook his head again, not bothering to pick his phone up.

“Weird...” He muttered to himself, but before he could deduce the situation further, Otabek laced his hand with his once more and dragged him through the crowd of people.

“Come on,” he goaded, dark brown eyes burning bright under the night lights, “They’ll be fine. Let’s just.. enjoy ourselves.” That put the conversation to rest and the two found themselves walking the streets along the Passeig de Gracia. It was the Christmas season, so the brilliant display of lights and enthusiastic tourists come to life. 

The rest of their evening fared to be one of the best nights he’d ever been to in Barcelona. They aimlessly wandered off for awhile, whether in silence, long brooding conversations or just nonsensical topics. This was monumental bliss, Yuri mused. He’d never had Otabek like this before. Sure, they did go out after competitions, but this was new... with added bonuses. Aside from Beka’s wonderful smiles, hand holding is apparently now added to the list. 

But now there’s the flirting. Strangers flirt (in bars, or clubs, or wherever or however the usual romantic plot lines go). Friends flirt (which is pretty harmless and just playful banter here and there). Of course, everyone is aware that couples flirt. 

Exhibit A: Katsupiggy with bald old man PDAing anywhere and everywhere at anytime and all the time.

Exhibit B: Otabek and Mila. They had their... secret whatever. (Pure fucking torture to watch them)

He’s pretty sure Beka has his fair share of girlfriends and boyfriends. Because who could not? He’s fucking hot, with those chiseled jaw, manly stoic eyebrows and (may the fangirls add) “brooding eyes” with a those define abs. There was no way in hell he was single forever (and yes, they’ve talked about this in passing and yes, he’s had his fair share on... things). Yuri also has his affairs, some make outs here and there outside the watchful eyes of his territorial fangirls and some casual dates outside his life on ice. 

He could have anyone, he could fall for anyone, really. This is a human-infested planet, of different walks of life. Anyone can fall for anyone

But no, because there’s him. He’s Otabek Altin, who skates with fire and power of the god of victory, who rides motorbikes around the cities for the thrill of the wind, who has stacks of heavy reading that Yuri sometimes has difficulty in (he tried to finish a Jane Austen novel; weird English), who DJ’s for fun at clubs (and even gifts Yuri with unreleased track songs; original ones in fact) and who has manners of an English duke. 

He’s Beka, his best friend, who saw through his brash facade and saw the vulnerable soldier raging his internal battles, who called him a Legolas when people visioned him a Tinkerbell, who stole his heart and added a rainbow after every storm that clouded his life (and past) so far. They’ve been through countless of trials together and here they are.

The tug on his hand silenced his thoughts. They had stopped somewhere.. He checked his surroundings and paused. The two stood at the edge, a beautiful landscape painted in front of them.They were at the top of Park Guell where the starless canvas loomed before the dazzling Christmas scenery of Barcelona.

“Otabek this is--” he paused, a memory playing in his head.

“Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier.” Those were the famous words he once told him in this very spot, the day they became friends.

“Yuri. We need to talk.” He swore he heard quad flips in his stomach. Yuri took one glance and he knew what was coming. (stupid brooding eyes, stupid fucking jaw, stupid soldier) 

“What about?” He tried his best not to stutter his words. He clenched his fists to pace his breaths and his palpitating heart. 

“About that kiss..” Oh my fucking fuck fuck fuck, “Did you.. mean it...?” He swallowed, as if an attempt to push down any ideas of running away from the situation. He took three intakes of air before mustering his answer.

“Yea..” His voice came out small, but he couldn’t stop there, “It wasn’t supposed to be like that, but I wanted to.. Just...” His mind came to blank, as he tried to find the right words to say.

“Just...?” He urged him on.

“You don’t like me that way.. You were with Mila at that time, all flirting and going on lunch dates and it fucking sucked and it was the last day with you there and I just couldn’t fucking resist but.. fuck!” He threw his arms in exasperation before falling them to his sides, “Fuck it sucked because I love you and you’re with her and I just wanted.. to try something before you left.. but I don’t know, I didn’t think it meant anything to you, which is expected and that’s okay, because we were okay for the past months right?” He just broke the dam to let the river flow. There was nothing that can hold it in anymore.

“Yuri...”

“And Tine was just so fucking helpful with her fucking music project, saying we should go share our feelings and all that shit and why not put all your feelings in your programs. Because that’ll give him an answer, right?”

“Yuri..”

“But I don’t know, you didn’t say anything, so I didn’t say anything cause I’m a fucking coward, and that’s okay because still talking to each other but it’s also not okay because it’s killing me and I just-”

“Yuri!-”

“It fucking sucks.. I know got a fucking gold medal after all this shit, but it just fucking sucks because you don’t get it and I don’t know how to make you get it without.. without-”

“YURI.”

“WHAT?” He screamed. He looked down, realizing he was now in front of Otabek, with his hands held tightly on his shoulders. His eyebrows furrowed over his dark chocolate pools that melted with concern. His lips puckered down slightly (it’s fucking distracting) that Yuri had to avert his eyes away.

“..You’re crying.” His eyes widened with surprise and he lifted a finger to trail the wet trails on his face.

“Wha? No.” He know he was denying, but it was a habit already, “I’m not crying.” He wiped his face with his palms tiredly, “This is just salt.. from the air.. and it came to my eyes...”

“Yuri..” This time, Otabek took the liberty to wrap his hands around his cheeks, thumbs soothingly preening his still wet skin.

“I’m okay, Otabek. Really.” Lies. 

“No.. It’s not.. I hurt you..” He whispered and somehow Yuri wondered how the hell his face was an inch from his.

“Yea you did, asshole.” He laughed; a weary laugh, “It’s not your fault.. You didn’t know.. You were in a relationship..”

“That was only casual..” He reasoned but Yuri shook his head.

“Still..” These were the moments he wanted to run, to escape, to hide away but his body drooped from all the pent up exhaustion that prolonged the months of silence. He parted his lips again to say something, anything, because the awkwardness is just stabbing him but stopped because-

Fuck. His lips are on his lips. His lips are on his lips. His lips are on his fucking lips and he doesn’t know how to respond. This was out of his expectations. 

And then suddenly, his mouth was left hanging, and his face was shot with woodpecker kisses; they were too many to count.

“What?” He was still dazed, his conscience was still too foggy as if he were drunk by Beka’s affections, “What did you-” He was cut off by another kiss. He let go and curled his fingers around his face with firm intent.

“Yuri. I know. And I love you too.” He confessed, earning a skip of a beat in his own heartstrings and flush of pink filling cheeks. He pressed their foreheads together, dark brown to emerald full of adoration. They both shared loving smiles, both spent from the emotional confessions and-

Damn.

He felt loved, cherished and that was the best fucking feeling he’d ever felt all day, all year, because this was the moment he was waiting for, the moment that he never thought would come but it happened and it’s real and Beka’s real and their love is real..

And no gold medal can elate his heart like this.

[markyishanthonymartinez]

4/17/17

i rushed home to hopefully do this before you check.

today was alright i guess.

no. no no no. 

today was great. like sometimes i think about my days and I'm like, “eh yeah it was pretty normal, decent day, whatevs,” but like that’s so dumb. like most days are so great. today was average, but there’s so many great awesome wonderful things that happen every day that i dont think about or appreciate cause i’ve become desensitized to them as being good things and that’s no bueno. 

okay gonna talk about even the lil tings.

i woke up a bit late if i’m being honest, but that’s okay. i sprung straight out of bed and made a quick breakfast (quietly of course, cause logan was slep). ate, got dressed. okay tbh i looked cute af today. i wore one of my fav shirts, which is my pink state champs shirt and like i just really think soft colors really work well with me cause they kinda play well with how dark and defined my hair and facial features are and stuff (honestly that’s probably why like 60% of my closet is white shirts). but yeah and not to mention that pink is kinda polarizing and makes people double take and idk fam, i paired that with my favorite khakis (cuffed up once of course), my normal black vans that i’ve probably worn for like 100000 days straight, and my black bomber jacket that i wear sempiternally. idk i thought the fit was fly af and i felt dank and looking good=feeling good and feeling good is always worth noting. 

went to class. instrumentation is half pointless at this point, cause like we already had our last midterm and the final isn't a written final, the only final for the class is a lab practical. and we’ve learned all the things that the practical could be on. so like in a very loose use of the word, class is kinda pointless the rest of the way. obviously there’s homework and learning and stuff so it’s not completely pointless, but having that in the back of my head just makes it a bit difficult to give my undivided attention in class. even poles was doing other stuff and he’s alwayyyyyyys the attention-payer. bags and jeff are always on their phones and I'm kinda in the middle 4ever. wait also, we got our test scores posted online like a week ago, but he hasn't even mentioned passing the test back to us and like, “fam... if the tests are graded and the scores are entered into canvas then why can't i have it?????????? @ ME” 

after class, as we do every monday, wednesday, friday, we went to the ecc and put in two hours of homework time. i almost finished the mech design due thursday and that’s good cause i need to turn my attention to the heat transfer test on thursday as soon as i can. OH DANG ALSO i finally listened to the new kendrick record. that probably sounds ridiculous considering how hyped i was for kendrick last night and i hadn't even listened to his record, but lemme essssplain. i, mark anthony martinez, love love love listening to records in full and will hold off listening to singular songs until i find the time to run through a record. i just love following the story and letting it all hit me in one fell swoop. but yeah DAMN. is DAMN. absolutely wonderful. kendrick has really outdone himself, and that’s saying something considering his last two releases have been instant classics. i just identify so much with the record and i can't say enough great things. but yeah gr8 times, did hella homework and listened to gr9 record, happy merk. 

then we all walk together to systems. okay this one asshole has been kinda trying to take our seats for the past two weeks and i’m gonna kick his teeth in next time he does it.... okay not really i’ve never been in a fight. but forreal, WE’VE SAT THERE ALL SEMESTER, 1-2-3-4-5. JT ON THE END, THEN ME, THEN POLESIES, FOLLOWED BY JEFF, AND FINALLY BAGS. EVERYONE ELSE RESPECTS SEATS. WHY CANT YOU, YOU DISRESPECTFUL UNGRATEFUL TURD BASKET. no, but really, fam has sat in the row behind us allllll semester and like just last week he decided to try us? nahhhhh, aint gonna fly. 

anyways, jt didn't get a seat with us because of that, and like he just walks up and loudly proclaims, “DAMN MAN, WHY DO PEOPLE GOTTA FUCK UP THE STATUS QUO?” same jt, same. 

systems was dope. it’s probably my most fun class considering how dynamic and interesting and just all things it is. v hard, but i love to dip my mind into the material. 

wow okay i just peeked at the clock and whoops.

ummm okay then i came home with poles and bags and logan was on the couch watching the arsenal game on his phone cause i guess the nbc sports xbox app wasn't working. so i came to the rescue and put the game on my laptop and connected it to our projector, yay haps logan. 

then we all hung out for a bit and did guy stuff.

talk shit about each other and talk about memes and make fun of bags for breaking poles’ garbage disposal

arsenal won, logan was haps, i wasn't lol. 

then poles left to go try to fix his garbage disposal lol. and logan bags and i kinda just hung out and continued the previous activities and yeah. bags left for work and logan left for the airport and i did homework while listening to más kendrick. 

then i had a game tonight. tyler didn't show up... which is weird cause like he’s the one that organized this and like is one of our better players and prettttty sure he took and nap and just slept through everything lol. but anyways, we played tke. FUCK TKE. (in case bags reads dis). but yeah uh they weren’t very good. like they weren't garb, and had a few solid players, but in the grand scheme of things they did a lot of nothing lol. we had soooooo many chances that we didn't put away. we got the first goal through nathan early on. then they tied it up and kinda celebrated all over the place, which sorta kinda maybe pissed me off. so, naturally, i scored a beautiful little heel flick that drew cheers form the tke crowd lol. and then nathan set me up beautifully for a second that i got really clean connected on and drilled passed the keeper from outside the box. it ended like that 3-1. oh oh oh also one of the refs was a rad friend that lived on my floor in the dorms that i hadn't seen in 15k years so that was nice to see her. oh wait at the end, okay hold on, why am i always a dickhead? like the the crowd kinda got on my nerves a few times cause they were just being overly rambunctious. so what does lil ole mark decide to do? i go into sarcastic mark mode, but not verbally (well okay a lil verbally), mainly physically. like one time they kicked the ball out and said they were all like WTFFFF FAM THAT WENT OUT OFF HIS BACK. and like it defs didn't and the refs knew it didn't and i’m kinda just chuckling and then one of them is like, “see, he’s laughing, he knows it went off his back” so of course, what do i do. i literally point at my back and just lay down in the middle of the court. then there were other things here or there, but yeah i was nice most of the time. 

came home, eating pizza, gonna shower and slep now. 

april seventeenth is a beautiful day.

happy birthday lil ms orange

ilylots

hope you did fun things//and even if you’re old and grody, stay beautiful

- mark anthony martinez