#it smell a little and feels sticky？ the bad side of buying second hand stuff

[soft-for-them]

Breakfast and tea - Annie Edison x reader

Summary: Annie cooks you breakfast and you cook her tea.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: This is a female reader fic for the anon wanted it but also Annie always gives me deep in the closet lesbian vibes. Anyway, I haven't watched Community in like a year so sorry if it's a bit out of character...

You wake up to a blaring alarm that sounds like an old Nokia ringtone distorted and put to full volume, your body jolting right up to the sun already shining bright and the small bedroom’s blinds already open.

Getting up, pyjamas crinkled and ridden up, your side of the bed (the left side to be exact) a complete mess compared to your wife’s side of the bed.

Her side is neatly made, the duvet flat and without a wrinkle, the pillows precisely aligned with the decorative pillows you'd throw off the bed the night before piled up accordingly, your teddy bears (the ones you told her had to live on the bed for that’s where they’ve always lived) propped up nicely, their little legs tucked under the covers.

“Morni’ fellas.” you murmur to the bears, two of which have little graduation hats on their heads, one of them scruffy and stained with paintball paint, the Greendale community college logo on the graduation cap looking a bit odd compared to you plain fluffy brown bear with shiny black eyes and the logo of the university you went to on the robes.

“Moring (Y/n)!” you mimic the voices of the bears, the ascent you put on silly and ever changing but it always makes yourself laugh. You smile as you wipe the sleepy out your eyes, your feet taking you out the bedroom towards the kitchen of the small flat.

The sweet smell of slightly burnt waffles still linger in the air. You know right away your wife must have used the dodgy waffle machine you bought second hand the first year of university, for the thing always burns the edges of the waffles if you don’t know the exact time to open it and well, you wife hardly uses the machine so when she does she often ends up with half burnt waffles.

You get to the small kitchen, feet hitting the cold floor tiles, the kitchen shiny clean. The waffle machine has been scraped and cleaned from any char and placed back in the cupboard, the counter tops all smelling of surface cleaner and the dishes drying on the drying rack.

Humming as you shuffle around you see a neon yellow sticky note neatly stuck on the microwave door, which is ajar, neat and familiar handwriting making you walk over to the appliance.

In Annie’s handwriting so clear and with a small heart at end the sticky note says:

‘Breakfast is in here, don’t microwave the tray again – Annie <3’

Your smile widens as you take the note, folding up neatly and shoving it into your pyjama bottoms pocket.

You open up the microwave door to see a petite plastic square tray with a plate filled with waffles on it along with the smallest jug of syrup on the side. Annie must have burnt the waffles bad for yes, the waffles are shaped sweetly like hearts but are very small. If you were to go to the pedal bin near the fridge right now you would see the cut off burnt bits of waffle purposely hidden buy trash.

“Huh, sweet.” you mumble as you take the tray from under the plate and take out the syrup and microwave the waffles.

You carry on your day, little note on you throughout your work shift, the waffles filling you up until you get home.

Annie feels like a sweaty unorganised mess as she tries to jiggle the key out the front door lock as she tries to get inside. He hair is sticking out in all directions, the neat to dress code bun on her head drooping down, the many black bobby pins in her hair failing to keep the strands out her eyes. Her FBI uniform, well the nice once clean and pressed suit sticks to her skin for she was running about all day doing FBI stuff such as running to the printer, looking at pictures of a murdered woman, running back to the printer, having a ‘pepe silvia’ moment followed by running back to the printer but not to print but to photocopy.

Really all she want to do is get cleaned and to hug her wife.

“Honey-“ she opens the door but is unable to wiggle the keys out the door, the lanyard attached to the set of keys hitting the door as she tries, “-I’m. Home!”

She finally gets the key out of the door with a finale yank, her polished shoes crossing the boundary of her home.

Right away Annie smells food cooking, her favourite food.

She wipes her shoes on the welcome mat before taking them off and placing them on the shoe rack near the door followed by picking up your own shoes that you had kicked off when returning from work earlier on, the trainers flung into a corner and not on the shoe rack.

At least your coat is on the coat stand.

“Hello my love!” you smile as you lean a bit backwards, still stirring the soup on the stove top, so you can get a good look at your wife, “How was work?”

Annie stands there at the door frame to the kitchen looking tired, she doesn’t need to say anything to answer it.

“Come here.” you say, urging her over with a ‘come hither’ hand movement. She bounds over in few steps, her body banging into the side of yours, her arms wrapping around your middle, your own free arm coiling around her shoulders.

“I made your favourite meal along with some warm soup-“ she looks up to you with wide eyes as you carry on talking, hugging her and stirring the food, “- I would say something like ‘soup warms the heart’ but really the veggies where about to go bad and I panicked and cooked soup.”

“Soup can be froze.” She replies as she snuggles in your side.

“Very true.” you click off the hob and carefully move the pan to the side, your body now turning around to fully envelop you wife in a hug.

You kiss her forehead and hug her some more, for a moment you two stand quietly.

“Thanks for the breakfast... I didn’t microwave the plastic tray this time.”

She looks up to you, “Good, do you know what it’s like cleaning plastic out of a microwave.”

“I assume very unfulfilling because we had to get a new one anyway.”

You burst out in laughter as Annie playfully pushes your arm.

“I’ve warmed up the water so go have a shower, I’ll set the table and try not to break any more appliances.”

Annie pecks a kiss on your lips, “I love you.”

“Love too!” you shout as she disappears into the bathroom.

A/N: Tea as in meal tea not the drink, I'm British ok and I'm not changing the title for it lines up nicely, ok.

[sunjaesol]

♡ IT HAD TO BE YOU, WONDERFUL YOU ♡

canon compliant juke valentine’s day fic ♡ for all you sweethearts in the fandom

Before hopeless romantic Julie Molina fell in love with Luke Patterson, she always felt glum on Valentine’s Day. She tortured herself with romcoms leading up to the holiday, went into the “couples goals” tag on Pinterest, pouted when her crushes she never talked to dated other people (read: Nick) and felt all around envious of those having a lover to spend the day with. Her mother dying, she who held the biggest heart of all, also didn’t help her mood.   

But that was before Luke blasted himself into her life. Sure, their romance was a little unorthodox, but predictability was overrated anyway.

They got together last summer, when the band played an amazing gig at a tiki bar on the beach and they were drunk on the heat, pink lemonade and each other’s adoring gazes. Dancing on the beach with him and the boys, Luke had grabbed her in his embrace and whispered lyrics at her she’s never heard before. His fingers grazed her jaw when he said it was a love letter - “For you, Jules.” She didn’t have to go far to reach his lips, both eager and giddy to finally come home.

(Weeks later, the love letter was transposed to music and performed for an audience. It was full circle moment. He loved music and her and now it was all connected. Luke had been dazed, but Julie was quick to kiss the stupor away. They could do that now. It was insane.) 

All week, Julie had been working on a secret gift. She scoured her room was scraps and pictures and notes; reminders of Luke hidden in every corner without realising it. A purple pick was found under her bed, a song in her dream box they never got to finish, a seashell he plucked from the beach, a row of pictures from a photo booth, love notes. Julie would lie if she said she didn’t find it adorable how his only reference of romance were the 80s flicks, as it gave her a heartthrob of a boyfriend that didn’t back down from cute gestures like those notes. It left her heart racing and brought a blush on her cheekbones. the sun’s jealous of that smile jules

It was only natural she made him a collage. 

They had an unspoken agreement to never involve money. Though they were in a band together, all the money they made directly went to Julie. She invested it back in their life passion, obviously, but the fact remained that Luke couldn’t take her on typical dates or buy her the typical gifts. Until American Ghost Dollars got invented, they had to be creative. 

Going to the movies were movie nights in the studio with a projector and cookies they made together. A love song instead of dinner. Dancing in her bedroom with AirPods instead of partying.     

And it was enough. It was more than enough. She loved him so much that each second spend together was perfect as is. 

The collage was small enough that he could easily tuck it away. Pictures overlapped, a dozen Mini Luke’s and Mini Julie’s staring at the camera or each other, from before and after they started dating. 

A photo Flynn took of Luke peppering her temple with kisses backstage. A polaroid of when she snuck up on him and smacked a kiss on his cheek, his teeth flashing white from the beam on his face. A Snapchat of when she showed him the filters and he kissed her instead. Multiple pictures of them snuggling on the studio couch, supposed ‘blackmail’ for Alex, but Julie cherished them. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his arms wrap around her back as she’s sprawled on top of him.

The pretty shell didn’t fit on the collage, so she decided to make a bracelet as well. A thick band made from orange, red and yellow string, the shell as its penchant. 

That morning, she pulled on her most Valentine’s day inspired outfit and rushed to the studio. Her gifts were still in her room, out of sight and kept for later, now she just wanted to see her boyfriend. 

Her smile, painted in cherry lipgloss, stretched wider when she slid the doors open and saw that no one was inside. Just last night had he kissed her a little longer after rehearsal, wiggling his brows like he knew something she didn’t. Luke was terrible at keeping secrets. She wasn’t surprised to find it empty, unless…

Luke poofed in front of her with a warrior cry and hoisted her up in one fluid motion. Julie yelled in delight, gripping onto him as he spun them around. For the occasion, he swapped his regular orange beanie for a red one. (One day, her heart was going to explode from all the silly stuff he did.) Matching her expression, his hands steadied her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.    

An index finger flicked his chin playfully. “How long did it take you to plan this?”

He gasped, faux-offended. “Julie! I’m spontaneous as shit.”

“Mh-hm,” she hummed, leaning in to kiss his lips. His frown melted away, the languid kiss flickering with the hint of passion it usually held. Slowly, he set her down, her staying locked between his arms. When she pulled back, he chased after her and pecked the side of her mouth - once, twice.    

“I’m gonna smother you with so much kisses that you’re gonna get sick of me,” he declared, as if the threat of loving her was scary. 

She pressed her forehead against his with a grin. “I look forward to it.”

Instantly keeping up his promise, he nuzzled against her cheek. “What’d you wanna do?”

“Well, we’re ending the day in the hammock.”

“Duh.”

“And,” she sneakily added, “we can be really cheesy and watch ‘Valentine’s Day’.”

He made a face, both remembering their divided opinion on the movie. “If we’re seeing it again, then I’m choosing all the snacks.”

“Deal.”

“Nice,” he breathed, raising his fist between their torsos so she could bump it with her own. Her cheeks were already aching from smiling so much, giddy to spend the entire day with her boyfriend undisturbed by the boys or family or school. 

Her fingers scratched into his plaid jacket. “You know what I’m also looking forward to?” His eyes narrowed at her lilting voice. “Giving you your present.”

His jaw fell slack. “Jules, now I’m gonna be thinking about it all day.” But then she saw the devilish glint in the green of his irises as he uttered: “Guess you’ll have to wait on your present too.”

“You-” That was unexpected. “You have a present?”

Luke bit down on his lip, watching her surprise. “I was waiting for that reaction. Sweet. Okay, I’m saying we dip everything in chocolate. Fruit, popcorn-”

“I’m willing to try one of those crazy combinations you love so much,” she proposed. The excited smooch she got afterwards was worth it.

The couple claimed the kitchen for an hour as they made their snacks, most of which being the typical chocolate covered strawberries both liked a lot, and then nestled themselves in her room. Curled into his warm body, they shared earphones as they watched ‘Valentine’s Day’. Though she asked to watch it, all her attention went to his hands continuously caressing her waist and thigh. It lulled her into a blissful trance. Sometimes he would make a joke (“We’re way cooler than Taylor and Taylor!”) and she’d chuckle and hum and rub his chest. By the time Jessica Biel was smashing the piñata, she was placing soft kisses on his neck and he had to pause the movie. 

Hovering over her with a wolfish grin, he pecked her nose. “I thought you wanted to watch.”

“And I thought you were going to smother me with kisses,” she bounced back with a quirked brow. For a beat, they shared an amused look. 

Then Luke laughed, diving for her lips and doing just that. That rushing feeling coursed through her veins, a pure shot of adoration and attraction with each warm, open-mouthed kiss. He tasted like chocolate, skin sticky from fruit, and smelled in that perfectly boyish way. Julie sighed into the kiss. No cheesy movie or love song could compete with the sensation of slipping her fingers in his hair and having his arms tighten like he never wanted her to stop. Her bedroom was heaven on earth.   

(Perhaps that was silly. She was only seventeen after all. How much did she actually know about the world to accurately make that statement? But did it even matter if right now, right here, she felt like the luckiest girl in the universe? The cynics could bite her.) 

She didn’t know how long they let their lips and hands wander. It was hard to care about time when his mouth was on her ear and her nails drew shapes on his back. 

“I bet,” he whispered, “Taylor and Taylor never felt like this.”

She giggled. “You’re just jealous of the big teddy bear.”

His smile pressed on her cheek. “Maybe.”

When Luke and her first got together, they were scared to touch. Sure, they had their moment on the beach and previously, they found plenty of opportunities to be in contact. But after they made if official and there was nothing to hide behind anymore, it got scary. They yearned for affection, but what if Luke disappeared one day without meaning to and then they’d both ache for each other’s comfort? They got over it eventually and now it was only natural to feel his smile on her skin.

It was hard to imagine kissing anyone but Luke, unfathomable having a different boy hug her from behind at school and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Only Luke could write her love notes. Only she was allowed to write him ones as well, or leave cute post-it’s on his guitar to cheer him up when he had a bad day. It was just them.

Her mind going haywire over such a simple touch jolted her memory, Julie abruptly sitting up and bringing Luke with her. His brows raised in surprise. She pecked the pout away, brushing her nose against his. 

“Can I give you your present?”

A breathy smile tugged on his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m curious.”

Julie untangled herself from their embrace and reached inside her wardrobe for the gift. Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she gave him his present with barely-concealed anticipation. Hopefully he loved it as much as she loved making it! 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she sang, watching him pull the tissue paper out the small bag and unearthing the collage and bracelet. 

Speechless, he gawked at the collection of pictures. Eyes flitted past each quickly, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Crawling over to sit beside him, she placed her head on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He sniffled. Julie looked up and was shocked to note his eyes were shiny. “Aw, babe!”

His gaze caught hers, distraught. “You’re not supposed to make me horny and then emotional!”

She laughed and pressed a kiss on his cheek. His cute reaction made her heart lurch with fondness. “It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

Luke sighed, hand guiding her face to place a proper kiss on her lips. It was short, but just as electric as all the ones before. He kissed like he played guitar - always intentional and one hundred percent. 

“I love it,” he muttered. “Thank you. And I love the bracelet too.”

“I made sure it matches your others.”

He captured her lips again. “Yeah… Thanks, Jules.” His nose scrunched, arrogance dripping from his voice as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “My present is better though.”

Her arms crossed, challenged. “Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, it is. Gonna knock it out of the park.” With a snap of his finger, he conjured his songbook and stuck the collage between two fresh pages. He clicked his tongue with the typical bravado he exuded onstage. “Who knows, Jules, you might even get a crush on me.”

Just as she was about to retort with a tease of her own, her eyes caught a fluttering page with words she didn’t recognise. Pointing at it, she asked: “What’s that?”

Luke frowned, thumbing to the right side and rolling his eyes. “Some lyrics that got stuck in my head a few nights ago. It doesn’t work though.”

“Maybe not. I kind of like that part.” She tapped on the line ‘so deep, your DNA's being messed with my touch’ with a pensive wrinkle knitted in her forehead. Ideas began to brew, throwaway pieces from other discarded songs coming back to her and meshing well with what he’s already composed. “Yeah, this is good, Luke. Do you want to work on it?”

He hesitated for a beat, stare trailing from her to the half-eaten plate of snacks. “Do you want to?”

“Of course,” she smiled. They were Luke and Julie - did either of them really think they could go a day without music? Even if she hadn’t discovered this diamond in the rough, he’d inevitably spring upright to write down a riff or her fingers would tingle to try out a melody. Songwriting was perhaps the best date of all, showing that work and play could successfully be mixed together. 

He sighed in relief. “Good. Okay, so I was thinking…”

Hours went by tinkering on the song, the afternoon drifting by and them having moved to the hammock in the garden. It was a spot Luke rediscovered and she all too willingly found a place next to him. They cherished the quietude and warmth even before they were dating. The page was now littered with flowing, strung-together verses and a half-done chorus. Instrumentals were for tomorrow when they were all together. In the back of her head lingered the thought that he still hasn’t given his supposed homerun of a present, but Julie reminded herself then that it didn’t even matter. This was enough. He was enough. Who knew, maybe he was just talking smack! The doubts vanished as Luke drummed his fingers on her stomach, humming a beat.      

“And you thought it wouldn’t work!”, she teased. 

He puffed. “Cause it didn’t! It needed the Molina Touch!”

A brow quirked, amused. “The Molina Touch?”

“Yes,” he grinned and tapped her chest. “The Touch.”

“I don’t have the Force, Luke.” When his face fell flat, she decided to play along and mimicked his motion. Her fingers circled his sternum as she said: “Well, I look forward to the Patterson Energy bringing it alive onstage.”

The boy rolled on his side, she following suit. The hammock bended to the movement, pushing them closer together. The couple snickered, noses nudging and locked in the other’s arms. Above, the sky was coloured like Monet, purples and blues and pinks as the sun dropped below the trees. Julie stared at the way he craned his neck, green eyes blown wide while marvelling at the sweeping atmosphere. He was the most beautiful person she’s ever encountered. She was probably a little obsessed with him, never bored of looking at him, of finding new freckles, moles and spots. 

Her reverie snapped like a bubble as he said something. 

“What?”

He repeated himself. “Wanna get waffles?”

She blinked. “Waffles?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “V-Day waffles. I bet they have red velvet ones.” His face twisted, like he was in on an inside joke, and murmured against her lips: “Whipped cream, Jules. Can’t resist that.”

Damn. He knew her too well. “Reggie’s going to be mad we went without him.”

“Then he should get himself a ghost lover,” he joked. Slapping her hip, the exclaim was resolute. “Let’s go!”

The drive was short, an surprising amount of waffle places scattered around Los Feliz. The cityscape was painted red for the day. Heart-shaped wreaths adorned the doors of stores, bars promoted special cocktails with pink hues, boutiques displaying date night dresses on mannequins in the windows. At the end of a large strip of food joints, a waffle house joining in with a red banner hung across the frontage. RED VELVET WAFFLES! ONLY TODAY!

Julie shot him a suspicious look. “You knew?”

He shrugged, smirking. “A good guess.”

They were lucky. The parking lot was pretty much abandoned, no onlookers to see her joking around with air. He stayed in the car as she got the treats.

As she queued, her aimless thoughts found Luke as a focal point. It was hard not to. Maybe the best thing of all for a hopeless romantic like her, was that she found someone who was an even bigger dreamer than she was. If she jumped for the stars, he rocketed himself into space and hoped for the best. It made days like Valentine’s special, but it also felt like another regular Saturday. He didn’t kiss her differently, looked at her more intently - it was always like this. The red velvet waffles was just… extra. A cherry on an already perfect milkshake. Luke and Julie never needed fireworks to make the other feel remarkable. 

Dropping back in the driver’s seta with a sigh, she propped the waffles on the dashboard. “I’m not sure if it’s going to taste right, they look kind of mushy, but I’m sure the whipped cream-” The words died in her throat as she looked at Luke, a timid smile on his lips as his present laid flat in his hands. A mixtape. 

Her eyes tracked the CD for a beat (jules <3 written in sharpie with his infamous scrawl) and then flicked up to his face. That was most spectacular of all: the nervous twitch in his eye, the breathy smile. Luke was flustered.       

Gingerly, she took it from his grasp. “How did you make this?”, she whispered. 

The palpable energy didn’t waver. “Carlos. He lend me his computer and explained how to burn CD’s.” His chuckle was awkward. “Had to get you in the car somehow.”

A smile bloomed on her lips. Her heart was truly going to explode; the gesture so thoughtful and sweet. (Shit. He did knock it out of the park. How will his ego cope?!) Reaching over the middle console, she chastely kissed him. “I already love it.”

He shook his head with a grin, shoulders loosening a bit. “You haven’t listened to it yet. C’mon, play it.” He shot her a cocky nod. “You know how to use a CD-player?”

“Very funny,” she quipped. Cautiously, she took the CD out of its case and slipped it into the player. It whirred for a beat, her upping the volume, and just as she thought she’d hear some 90s rock band, something unexpected happened. 

hey jules

She froze, staring at Luke’s feverishly excited face, as his crackling voice came through the speakers.  

i finally learned about technology! you happy? anyway, you know i love you. i love everything about you, i think… i think that’s kinda why i’m here to begin with.

Tears lodged itself in her chest, ready to spill. Love was going to make her go mad one day. She loved this boy so much that it was insurmountable by anything else.

that’s not- it’s not what this cd is about. His tone brightened. what i love most about you, julie molina, is how fucking in love you are with music. so what better thing to give you, is more music? these are ten songs that remind me of you… happy valentine’s day, baby. 

It clicked off. Quietly, slowly, a melodious piano variation flowed in. Her breath hitched as she recognised it. Frank Sinatra’s ‘It Had To Be You’ reminded Luke of her? Her hands were shaking. His calloused ones grabbed them, pads of his fingers caressing the skin. A pout jutted from her lips, her eyes shimmering with emotion. It wasn’t fair. Boys weren’t supposed to be this romantic. 

His smile could light up the entire state, touch trailing across her arm up to her cheek, grazing the lone tear that she wasn’t even aware of. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “I can be the only sap.”

Shaking her head, she pushed herself over the console and placed herself on his lap. The divide of a stick shift was a plain crime. Circling her arms around his neck, Julie kissed him in the way she thought the song felt. Warm and languid and timeless and wholly, utterly loving. Depthless and infinite. The thrill of his bass voice melted them together, no space between them with his hands wrapped around her lower back. 

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

“I love you,” she sighed into his mouth. “It’s not enough. It’s not…”

He kissed the lament away. “I know. That’s why music works.” Sinatra sang a line and then he grinned. “Gotta express ourselves somehow.”

Though that was true, though they had music to shape their thoughts into the most beautiful declarations of love, all she wished to have was a word. A simple word that perfectly encapsulated what she felt. Love felt too small. Too simple. But until she found it, she’d keep saying it.

And so she did. “I love you, Luke.” 

His eyes shut in delight. “I love you too, Julie.”

They wouldn’t leave for a long time. Locked in each other’s loving embrace, they listened to every song on the mixtape. And when it ended, they looped it.

Time and space wasn’t really important to them anyway.     

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @ourstarscollided​​ @alexjulies​ @unsaid-emily​ @willexx​

[echo-of-sounds]

adhd

How Aizawa, Toshinori, and Hizashi would help and support their s/o who as ADHD.

Warnings: nothing incredibly explicit, but a couple of these talk about sex

Aizawa Shouta

Overstimulation is hard to explain to someone who’s never experienced it. The TV, that lavender candle, the taste of tomatoes, your own hair touching your shoulder overwhelms you to the point you’re crying. Every noise is too loud. Every smell makes you feel like throwing up. Anything that touches you scrapes your skin. Every sensation is just too much.

Aizawa pays attention to anything specific that may trigger you. That lavender candle that’s too strong? He’ll throw it away. Loud restaurants or sand on the beach? Eh, he doesn’t like going out that much anyway. He’ll ask what you can tolerate and will change his shampoo, detergent, or whatever else to help you, even if it needs to be odorless. He isn’t picky so the change is easy. He’ll also come up with a nonverbal signal for you to use. Like when you walk by that store that always smells like someone poured out a thousand perfume bottles. Squeeze his shoulder and he’ll lead you someplace safe.

He isn’t bothered by fidgeting, squirming, or overall restlessness. He’s been around Hizashi most of his life and now he’s a teacher. That stuff doesn’t faze him anymore. However, if you’re a pen clicker or a beat tapper, he may snap at you once or twice. Sometimes he just wants a silent room after a long day and hearing those noises could easily set him off. He’d apologize after but will also ask if you could find something else to fidget with, something that doesn’t make noise. When you keep going back to clicking and tapping because it’s mindless, he’ll buy you multiple fidget toys that are quiet. 

He likes to think he’s pretty good handling mood swings since he can control most of his emotions quite well. But the keyword is most. His anger and frustration flare up every now and then. It all depends on his stress level and how tired he is. So when you can’t pass a level on that stupid phone game or when the bread tie is on wrong and it ignites your anger so much that you lash out to a simple question he asked, he might just snap back. An argument could brew quickly even though you aren’t actually mad at each other. 

It’s in your best interest to take some time to calm down and gather your thoughts. When you’ve relaxed, you’ll have to be the one to approach him. He won’t since you snapped first and wants you to have space. He also won’t know when you’ve calmed. You’ll find him stewing on the couch with his little pouty face. After some apologies, he’s fine. He understands you have difficulty managing emotions. He just wishes you wouldn’t take your anger out on him.

He really tries not to get frustrated with your trouble focusing and poor planning/time management. He has to keep reminding himself it’s something you struggle with- everyone has things they struggle with. But you can hear his heavy sigh as he repeats himself for the fifth time this conversation. You don’t need to apologize. He knows you did nothing wrong. His sigh is more out of exhaustion than anything. More patience is something he’ll learn for you.

Hypersensitivity is somewhat daunting to Shouta when it comes to sex. He’s generally rough, fast, and quiet in the bedroom, often without realizing. It’s his go-to setting. If he ever looked up and saw you crying because his fingers and tongue hurt, he’d feel uncertain of himself next time. To help you, he'll train himself to go slower and be gentler. He’ll also start talking more during sex to be more open with you.

Yagi Toshinori

Chores and tasks can be difficult to remember. You’ll look right at the pile dishes and not notice it. Or you’ll say you’ll do them then forget for three days. Toshi won’t get frustrated. Instead, he’ll place bright sticky notes with reminders where he knows you will see them: on your laptop, bag, pillow, or shoes. 

He’ll learn other ways to work with you. Any appointments go in your phone calendar with notifications on so you can’t ignore them. Whenever you get home, keys and wallet are placed on the counter in their designated spot. Since he has to plan his meals, he’ll set a dinner schedule for you so you don’t forget to eat. If something works, he’ll have you keep doing it. Soon, it’s part of your everyday routine and you do it without thinking.

He’s the best when it comes to handling emotions. After working as a Hero for so long, he’s built up a tolerance to people lashing out. However, if he’s having a bad day, specifically one where he’s insecure, one quick snap from you would upset him deeply. He won’t reply. He doesn’t want to fight. But he will recoil, leaving you alone. Find him when you’ve gathered yourself. If he’s ready to talk, apologize and explain why you were frustrated so he knows it wasn’t about him. Also cuddle him. He could use it.

Any fidgeting or clicking he’s fine with. It’s when you start to pull strings from your clothing, bend and twist something so much it breaks, or pick at your skin, that his concern rises. He doesn’t want you ruining anything, especially yourself. When he sees you fidgeting in a way that’s not exactly good, he’ll hold your hand, either to stop you completely or to let you play with his fingers. It’ll become second nature to him- every time you mindlessly pick at yourself, he’ll mindlessly reach for your hand.

If you’re ever out in public and become overstimulated, he’ll give you his jacket. It’s comfortable. It’s heavy. And it smells like him. He’ll let you wear it and direct you towards a quieter area to sit for a while. If he can’t leave with you, because he is All Might and does attract a lot of attention, he’ll drape it over your shoulders and tell you to go find someplace to rest while he talks to the people swarming you. He’ll find you after and ask what you want to do.

The ebb and flow of your sex drive isn’t a problem for him. During the times where sex has no appeal to you because it’s too many sensations at once, he takes care of himself. When you are in the mood, he’s very aware of your sensitivities. His hands remain light as they run over your skin. His fingers slip tenderly into you. His tongue is gentle with every lick. 

Reaching orgasm is another struggle that’s beyond frustrating. You’re aroused, enjoying every sensation, almost there, then your mind is somewhere else entirely and you’ve lost the build-up. Any accommodations to help you focus, such as a dim room with no noise, he’ll do it. It’ll also let him hear every small sound that comes from you, creating a more intimate moment. It also helps that he loves foreplay- cuddling, kissing, caressing, anything he can get. It relaxes your body, making you in tune with intimacy rather than just reaching your orgasm.

Yamada Hizashi

Hizashi is a physical person. He loves hugging and cuddling. He also loves to talk and sing. All are great qualities by themselves. But if you’re prone to overstimulation, the constant noise and touching can be difficult to manage. Especially since he does it without thinking or telling you- he’ll all of a sudden plop down on your lap or hold your waist or start whistling right next to your ear. If he ever set you off, even if it was an accident, he’d feel terrible. He’ll begin to ask if you’re okay for some cuddling and he’ll tune down the volume of his singing. It might take some time however since he’s always done it without thinking.

Anything that helps you, he’ll buy. Seriously, he’ll buy you so much friggin’ stuff. Blankets, fidget toys, puzzle boxes, candles you find soothing, soft towels, the list goes on. You’ll need to tell him to stop when he brings home a ninth weighted blanket. He might protest and pout a little, saying he just loves you and wants you to know that. Explain that you do, in fact, love him and everything he does but there’s only so many anxiety bracelets one can wear before their arm weighs ten pounds. At least he uses the toys and blankets as well so it isn’t a waste.

You don’t need to hide your excitement and knowledge. If you want to ramble about the differences between Homotherium, Smilodon, and Dinofelis Hizashi will listen with a giant smile on his face even though he has no idea what you’re talking about. He’ll ask questions just to keep you talking because he adores seeing you so excited about and immersed in a subject. In his free time, he’ll look up whatever you were talking about so he can follow along better. And when you’re done, expect him to start venting about a new band he found or some weird instrument he really wants to get.

Being impulsive and blurting out your thoughts before someone else gets to finish their sentence can be annoying to some. It’s not to Hizashi. He does it too and understands that sometimes your mouth starts moving before your brain can consider if it was a good idea. Your conversations are a lot of back and forth babbling while the original context gets lost.

Disorganized? Cluttered? He’s right there with you. To keep your place from getting absolutely chaotic you will need to set aside days for cleaning. It’ll go great until you get distracted by the book you haven’t seen for ten years. And he’ll join you, playing the harmonica he thought he lost.

The desire for or needs during sex can suddenly change. That sex position you loved two days ago could be overstimulating today. Be open with him about where you don’t like being touched and whenever you feel too stimulated. He’s mindful and will focus on all the places you love. And since he likes talking during sex, he’s always checking if you’re comfortable with whatever position you’re in. If he sees your focus shifting, he’ll bring you back with deep kisses and a few tickles to your sides.

You know what? When you think about it, he probably has ADHD as well. Good luck trying to keep each other on track.

[kitkat1003]

Who Are You Really?

Chapter 4: Rush Hour

Summary:

Huh.  Guess Spirit doesn’t have too much time to introspect.  That’s okay, though.  Introspection doesn’t lead to anything good, and Spirit much prefers action over thought when they start to think too far back.

They dig into their pocket, pulling out the proper token.

Ft. Almond, who belongs to @strange-lace

Spirit Masterpost

Spirit is nervous.

Macaque’s token is buzzing.  

They don’t know if they should be.  They’re nervous for clients, of course, and they’re polite to everyone they meet, but Macaque is...different.  They’ve known him longer, longer than most of their clients.

They’ve done so many favors for him, he can’t hurt them.  They know that.  They know they know that.

They still tremble a little as they reach into their pocket.

Are the favors not enough?  They have to be.  Spirit has been operating on them for as long as they can remember, likely longer than that.  Favors are dependable, favors make sense, they can tally them down and be assured, and know, and can quantify, and

And yet.

Macaque is like Red, but different.  Close, but not a friend.  Something else.  And Spirit shouldn’t be afraid.  They’ve done him favors, they’re safe.  They’ve done everything he asked, even when it wasn’t good.  Because they aren’t stupid, and they know what is and isn’t right.  They haven’t been right for a long time maybe ever, but they just want to be safe, and this is how they will be.

They know that.  This is how it has to be.

Because if it isn’t, then Spirit would have, and wouldn’t have, and

Spirit doesn’t like to think on the would haves, because they turn into should haves.  They should have this, they should have that—none of that is helpful.  Wanting more from the past doesn’t change the present.

Besides, they should have what they deserve, and

Spirit grabs the token and goes to where they are needed.

They’re not quite sure where they are, at first, but the cliffside they appear at is just a few miles from the town.  They can see the weather tower from where they are.  It’s the tallest building in the city, after all.

Macaque’s seeming lack of appearance would be worrying, but Spirit feels the itch that always happens in their eye, the big one, when Macaque is hiding in the dark.

“You test that a lot,” they say.  “I haven’t missed you yet.”

They turn around just as Macaque steps out of their shadow.  It’s kind of interesting, watching the flat object liquify into what seems like smoke, pulling from the rockface upon which Spirit’s shadow is cast.  From shadow to smoke to flesh and bone, the transition seamless.

“I’m your teacher, aren’t I?  Who else is going to test you?” He stretches his arms leaning back against the cliff face with his arms crossed over his chest.

Spirit supposes that makes sense.  Macaque is their teacher, in the sense that he’s really the only person who has bothered to teach Spirit anything, save for their mom.  But Mom isn’t a teacher, she’s Mom, so Macaque is their teacher.  It makes sense when you think about it.

“So,”  Macaque starts, a claw lazily tugging at Spirit’s sleeve to get their attention.  “Got any new information?  As a favor,” he adds the last part like he always does, and Spirit perks up like they always do.

A new favor is always so nice.

“Oh, well, the Demon Bull King was released,” they start.  “Red Son, Princess Iron Fan, and the Demon Bull King have congregated on the outskirts of Wán Qiãn Chéng, where Monkey King’s successor lives, and they battle him from time to time—”

“Monkey King has a successor?” Macaque all but shouts, loud enough that Spirit takes a step back.

They fidget, and hide their hands behind their back.

“Um, yes?” Spirit shrugs at Macaque’s incredulous look.  “He stopped the Demon Bull King when DBK first emerged, and has been protecting the city and, uh, the world since then.  He’s a little younger than me, age wise I think.

“I haven’t gotten a good look at him, but he’s friends with the youngest member of the Long family, so he might be aristocratic?  I don’t know,” They finish lamely, smiling a little.

Macaque grins.  It’s not a nice one, one of his scheming grins he gets when he wants something and is figuring out how to get it.  Spirit finds it familiar, considering Macaque always wants something from them, in one way or another.  Why he feels the need to scheme is beyond them, because Spirit does most anything if asked politely.

Then again, they were a bit obstinate when Macaque and them first met.  They made Macaque work for their favor, which is stupid.  They should’ve listened better back then, and Macaque would maybe like them more now.  

Most people don’t like them, though, so they suppose they should be used to it.

“Well then,” Macaque starts, rubbing his chin with his hand in thought.  “That is something.  Thanks kid.  I’ll use that.”

Spirit brightens at the praise.

“You’re welcome!” they beam.  “Um, anything else, sir?”

Macaque waves a hand.  “Nah.”

He turns towards the horizon, and then, for some reason, looks back almost...shy?  Spirit doesn’t really understand Macaque’s moods.  He can flip flop in terms of good or bad feelings very quickly, with no rhyme nor reason Spirit can discern in regards to why.

They jump, scrambling to catch an item as Macaque just...tosses them a bag of what they soon realize is coins.  A fair bit, if the weight is any indication.  The bag is purple, with a silver drawstring for the pouch.  They love purple and silver!  Macaque doesn’t do silver, save for the token he made for them; his cuffs are gold.

They glance up at him in confusion.

“Got tired of carrying that,” Macaque says, looking away from them.  “Figured you wouldn’t mind.  Buy yourself something with it, or whatever.”

He glances back at them again.  Spirit waves.

Macaque jumps off the cliff, and disappears.

Spirit heads back to town, after that, flitting through different shopping centers.  They don’t really have a lot of money regularly, but they also don’t spend a lot of money regularly, so they’re typically okay with spending money when they want or need to.  

The last thing that was a big purchase was getting their outfit fixed up for the third time.  They always wait until the fabric is so worn that they can’t stitch it together to do so, because they try to be frugal, but keeping their one and only outfit in fair condition is a necessity.

Macaque had mentioned the practice, saying that it was how he kept his outfit pristine after centuries.  Demons who could weave silk would restring the fabric line by line until it was simply the same but brand new, keeping the old string to be salvaged for whatever they could find within.  It wasn’t terribly expensive, but was still a purchase to be saved up for.

They don’t shift into human form, staying in the alleyways where they’re hardly seen and glancing out to the streets to see if there’s anything neat to find instead of walking in the open as a human.  Their eyes catch on a shop in the food district, a colorful storefront.

Bitter Sweets.

They can see the colorful creations set up in the window display.  Sweets, pastries.

Pastries.

They remember pastries.  It was such a rare thing to have.  Father was always in the Inn, always toward the front side they’d have to cross to get to the indoor kitchen.  They never wanted to cross Father.  They knew what would happen.

But it became a game.  Find whenever Father is gone, fixing up a room for a new customer, off to the town to find tourists, and sneak into the kitchen.  Throw together the ingredients, skipping across the floor to find each and every item needed for the recipe.  Mixing the ingredients into dough, kneading it and playing with it as Mother laughed, shaping it into its proper form, placing it in the stone oven and watching, waiting.

And then the dough would rise, and Spirit would lean in so close to watch that Mom would gently tug them back with a soft smile.  She would pull out the finished product, and Spirit would tug on her sleeve and say ‘Now?’, and she would smile and shake her head and make them wait until it cooled.

They would pull apart the warm (but not hot!) balls of sticky bread just to see the inside and finally stuff a piece into their mouth, giggling.  They’d take the lot and scamper off into safety with Mom, off into the back area where the infirmary was, where father couldn’t reach, the taste of sweetness on their tongue.

Spirit remembers pastries.

Entranced, they cross the street and enter the shop.

The inside is just as warm and bright as the outside, purples and pinks in pastel hues the general color scheme, with cool gray walls and white highlights to accent the colors. There’s a second display case by the front counter, a small table with two chairs off to the side, and a sweet smell of something baking that hits you both with nostalgia and hunger.

Spirit thinks about the last time they’ve eaten, and can’t quite remember.  Then again, that’s not too terrible, considering they don’t need to eat regularly.

“Hello, dear!” A voice calls from further inside.  

Spirit jumps at the sound, and stares as brown hair, purple skin, and red eyes greet them.  The demon is of the spider variety, a cap on her head and smudges of flour and icing on her apron and face.  

She has 3 eyes, just like them.  But they’re not supposed to have three eyes, so it’s different.  She’s allowed to like hers.

She wipes off her hands on her apron and steps up to the counter, a pleasant smile greeting them with her hands on her hips, ready to be of service. “What can I get for you today?”

Spirit stares for a moment.

Right.  They have to order something.

“I-uh-um,” They stammer, because they didn't have time to prepare for this, and just a glance at the display case proves that they don’t know what any of the pastries are, nor do they know what the names mean.

And what did they even expect?  That this random sweets shop would have the exact type of pastry they remembered making centuries ago with someone who has been gone so long it shouldn’t matter?  Those things are lost to time, lost to a world they left behind when there was nothing left but blood and memories.  The soft moments are held only by the crumbs left in their head; there’s nothing tangible here.  They’re so stupid.  So, so, so stupid.

“I can always help you pick something out, if you need help,” the shopkeep says, gentle as Spirit’s anxiety mounts.

No, they can’t ask for help, they’re not allowed to.  They can’t do this, they should just run, run and never come back because this is stupid, what are they even looking for-

“Mooncakes!” they nearly shout, clapping a hand over their mouth a moment later, face bright red as they look away.

Their tail curls around their leg tight enough to hurt.  The shopkeeper's eyes glance down at their leg, for a moment.

Spirit tries again, softer, and fidgets with their belt. “Um, if you, uh, if you have any mooncakes. I would...like those.”

They bite the inside of their cheek hard, just short of drawing blood.

Mooncakes are the only pastry they know by name.  The only pastry that Father allowed and wanted them to make, special for New Years.  That was when they could be in the kitchen for hours, baking batch after batch for customers in the Inn and to hand out to those in the infirmary.

Father never let them make anything outside of what people wanted, what could bring them in money.  He was always so worried about costs, irate by a single lost yuan.  They were only to do what could be profitable.  Providing mooncakes to the tourists brought them business.  That’s all he cared about.

Mom’s hospital business always made far more than the Inn ever did.  It’s a point of pride they carry, that their Mother’s sunny disposition, kind nature, and astute healing practices made her far more of a matriarch than their Father liked.  No one likes staying at an Inn with an owner who has such a cruel gaze, where the owner’s wife and child are too afraid to show their faces.

No one likes staying at an Inn where the owner doesn’t even have a face, but, well, Spirit wouldn’t know anything about that.  Why would they?  They’ve had claws for a long, long time, claws that are strong enough to rip and tear, but that has nothing to do with this.  Nothing happened.  

It’s none of your business.  Stop asking.

The shopkeep smiles.

“Ah, Mooncakes,” she says.  “It’s been a few months since the New Years celebration, but people are still coming around looking for them.  I make a batch every other day just in case.  Lucky for you, today’s the fresh batch!”

She turns away to the back, and Spirit lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Miss.”

“Call me Almond,” Almond calls from the back.

Spirit smiles.  “Thank you, Miss Almond.”

They only ask for a few, maybe three, but after they pay and leave they find nearly ten in the bag they’ve been given.  They idly chew on one, and almost stop in the street as the rush of nostalgia is accompanied by the taste of an expertly baked mooncake.

Watching the fireworks with Mom, bright lights up in the sky, sharing a mooncake with someone who cared, being carried home, half asleep under the stars and wanting to be nowhere else but where they were then, because the only place that was home was her arms because they were warm and safe and now they’re….

They blink back a couple tears and continue to chew.

They walk around aimlessly for a while, and eventually climb up a random building to sit on its ledge, letting the wind brush through their fur as they chew on their second mooncake.  

They wonder if Red would share one with them, if they asked.  They never stayed around long enough to share one with him on New Years.  They almost pull out their cell phone and text him, but…well.

Red hasn’t been close for a long time.  A rift was made because Spirit failed him, and they’ve always been a coward, too afraid to reach across the gap where something safe and special used to be.

They put their phone away.

A token buzzes in their pocket.

Huh.  Guess Spirit doesn’t have too much time to introspect.  That’s okay, though.  Introspection doesn’t lead to anything good, and Spirit much prefers action over thought when they start to think too far back.

They dig into their pocket, pulling out the proper token.

Oh.  It’s Spider Queen!  

Spirit hasn’t heard from her in a long while, but they’re always happy to help, so they let the token whisk them to where they need to be.

They can hear the rush of cars overhead when they appear in what they assume is the sewers.  Eerie green pods of something litter the walls and ground, and there’s a fair smattering of purple grey spider webs that lighten the dark stones.

“Spirit!”

They turn, and see the Spider Queen just a foot or so away, bathed in green light from a crater shaped pool that has a green, bubbling liquid boiling within.  She’s grinning wide at them, and Spirit will say that, for a demon lost for half a millennium (that’s most demons, to be fair.  They all disappeared when the Demon Bull King did.  After all, if Monkey King could do that to someone, what would he do to them, the weaker ones?), she looks just as much of a threat as she did the last time they saw her.

They bow.

“Hello, Miss Queen,” they greet, and, after glancing back at the bag gripped tightly in their hand, they say “Would you like a mooncake?”

Spider Queen stares, for a moment, and then laughs. “Ha!  My, aren’t you sweet?” 

The sound of Spider Queen’s mechanical spider legs sends a shiver down Spirit’s spine, but Spirit has never minded spiders all that much.  As long as bugs stay away from them, in the sense that they don’t crawl onto them, Spirit leaves them be.  Spider Queen is more than just a bug, they suppose, and therein lies the danger.

They stand up, reach into their bag, and pull out a mooncake.

“This is just the thing I needed!” Spider Queen plucks the mooncake from Spirit’s hand.  “You would not believe the day I just had!”

She takes a bite and Mmms at the taste while Spirit fidgets silently.

“You know, I had my favorite meal taken from me, but this might be the next best thing.”

Spider Queen is a lot like Macaque, in the sense that they both talk a lot and Spirit never knows what to say in reply.  There’s a lot of bragging, grandiose statements and plotting, and then eventually an expectation of a response.  Spirit is never good at responses, though.

Then again, Spider Queen likes to hear herself talk a little more than she cares for a response.  She’s easier to handle, in that sense.  Macaque is harder.

“Would you mind giving me a buff, sweetheart?  As a favor.  I’ve got a bigger task for you, and it requires a bigger explanation.  Why waste the time, right?” Spider Queen holds out one of her mechanical spider legs.

“Right,” Spirit replies with a small smile.  “Of course.”

Lucky that they keep the polish for this sort of stuff on hand.  They pull it out with a rag and start to polish the metal, working out old scratches and making them disappear until the surface glitters like new.

“This town has become a hotbed of activity since ol’ Demon Bull King jumped out from the netherworld,” She starts, talking as Spirit works.  “I thought I’d sneak in and see what the fuss was about, maybe grab a meal or two.  It has been ages since the Spider Queen has ruled, and now that we’re allowed to play, I’m planning on rebuilding my empire!  The monkey boy came in and stole my meal, but he left behind a little piece of himself that I can use.”

She chuckles darkly at that notion.

“Monkey Boy?” Spirit inquires, moving onto the second leg.

“Ugh,” Spider Queen growls under her breath.  “Monkey King’s newest pet project.  He comes tearing in, stealing my perfectly good dinner, that little—” She cuts herself off.  

Spirit hands her another mooncake. She makes a motion with it in the air, huffing indignantly before continuing.  “His hair is enough to give my venom the kick it needs, but I don’t have the minions I used to.  I need tech.”

Spirit starts on the fourth leg.  The position they have to be to buff is uncomfortable, a strain on their back, but to complain would be stupid, so they deal with the pain.

“That’s where you come in, dear,” Spider Queen turns to them.

Spirit glances up.

“You’re good at getting information, and you probably understand this modern stuff better than I do.” She waves a hand, almost dismissive.  “I need someone to build me some spider robots to transport the venom.   You don’t need to worry about the transport, I’ve got Huntsman for that, but they don’t know what to look for.”

Spirit worked on finishing the fourth leg while they respond. “Of course, Miss Queen.  Does it matter if they’re a demon or not?” They like to know specifics.

“Pfft—no self respecting demon knows anything about these new fangled devices!  We thrive off of power and magic, not tech like phones!  Those are things humans use as a crutch,” Spider Queen rolls her eyes, huffing.

“...Right,” Spirit replies, pointedly not getting offended on Red’s behalf.

It’s okay.  She doesn’t know she’s being rude. Spirit stands up, having finished with buffing Spider Queen’s armory.

“I’ll get on it right away, Miss Queen.  Anything else?”  Spirit finds that being polite does wonders, and Spider Queen likes it when she’s called a Queen.

“Nope!  I’m gonna relax.  Good luck!” Spider Queen’s legs sound with metal clicks as she leaves, waving as she does so.

Spirit waits until they’re sure Spider Queen is far enough away for them to relax.  They turn, walking toward where they can hear open rushing water.  The sewers are essentially a river, and all rivers lead to the sea eventually.  Macaque taught them that.

It takes them around an hour to walk to the end of the sewers, climbing out of the pipe and sitting atop it.  

They’re just a few hundred yards away from the city’s docks.  They dangle their feet over the edge of the pipe and watch the rushing sewer water drain out into the sea.

They pull out their phone.

Red Son would likely know how to work robotics, but they’re supposed to find a human.  Plus, they don’t want to involve Red in this sort of stuff.  They can probably ask Mei.  She doesn’t know about their favor business, so she won’t be any the wiser, and she won’t feel guilty!  It’s the perfect plan.

‘Mei.

Hello!  It’s Spirit.  I was wondering about the technology of the city.  It is very advanced.  How was it constructed?  Who keeps it running?

Let me know if you know!

Spirit’

That should be inconspicuous enough to get Mei to start discussing things.  They don’t like dancing around subjects, but they don’t think this is the sort of thing they can just tell Mei about.  Mei is the type to have more of a moral backbone than Spirit does.  Spirit has their rules, of course, their lines in the sand, but they do most anything regardless of consequence.  What is good, what is bad; they don’t have the power to deliberate on that sort of thing.

If they were powerful enough that no one could hurt them, they would choose good, of course.  They don’t enjoy most of the work they do, they don’t find satisfaction in it besides the comfort of knowing that they’re a little safer, but it’s necessary.  They don’t have the luxury of knowing powerful people to protect them.  They don’t have anyone who would.

So they protect themself, somehow.  It works.

They pocket their phone, and head back towards the city.

They take a detour to the forest, because being in the sewers did nothing to keep them clean.  There’s a stream a few miles out of town that’s perfect for washing in, though, so that’s where they end up, carefully scrubbing the scent out of their clothes and fur and sunbathing on a rock.  They sprawl across it, back curved as their head hangs off one end and their feet and tail the other.  They have to bend their legs a bit, because the rock isn’t tall enough to keep every part of them off of the ground, but it’s mostly comfortable.

Just for a few hours, they let themself rest, polishing off the last few mooncakes as their fur and outfit dry.

They end up falling asleep and wake up as stars dot the sky.  The more they stare, the more their vision becomes unfocused, so that the lights triple in number.  It’s fun, sometimes, to have lopsided eyes.  It creates an interesting view.

They stretch, grabbing their now dry clothes and putting them on.  They’ll take a leisurely walk back to the city, maybe pick up breakfast.  Maybe.  They already ate something this week, and it’s not like they need much.  Why waste the money if it’s for something unnecessary.

Then again, Comes a voice that sounds a little bit like Macaque, a little bit like Father, and mostly like a part of themself they prefer to ignore; Were the mooncakes necessary?

Spirit doesn’t have an answer to that.

An hour’s walk gives them plenty of time to introspect, but Spirit prefers to avoid that.  Their mind is a winding road paved back centuries, but while it started with lovingly placed bricks somewhere along the way the materials were left shattered.  Glass and broken stone leaves feet bloody and pained, and you can’t go around, only through.  So Spirit chooses neither, and leaves the rest of the road to be forgotten.

The road they’re on now, the present, is made with a mosaic of materials they managed to cobble together, after everything broke.  It’s bumpy, there are cracks in the pavement, and you have to be careful.  Spirit is always careful, though; they’ve had the practice.

The issue with being so, so careful is that leaving behind the earliest stretches of road means they remember little of their childhood.  Spirit would never say it aloud, but they don’t remember their mother’s face.  To find that picture would mean flipping through the bloody pages of their photo album, and Spirit is, at the end of it all, a coward.

That’s enough thought for now.  We have to move things along.

Spirit thinks they can have a leisurely morning, but yet another token buzzes in their pocket, much to their chagrin.  Spirit wouldn’t say it, but sometimes it’s exhausting to be at everyone’s beck and call.  They signed up for it, however, they’ve no room to complain.

Reaching into their pocket, they pull out Yin and Jin’s token.  They frown, if only because Yin and Jin call them the most frequently and, often, the favors they’re called for are mundane and silly.  

Though, compared to the harder, less moral favors, they find these preferable.

They consider letting the token ring.  They’ve done that before.  Yin and Jin have so many favors put down that they get a little cavalier with how they interact with the pair.  The two used Spirit a lot before they knew how the system worked and realized using them as a crutch was a bad idea.

Apparently owing Spirit something is a bad thing.  Spirit can’t imagine why.

They sigh.  As much as Yin and Jin are long-time clients, that’s no excuse for being late or lazy.  They take a deep breath, and let the token whisk them away.

They arrive within the city, at the front step of a hideout.  Spirit recognizes the alley once they swivel their head around.  It’s a fair few miles in the middle of the city, where a lot of nooks and crannies lie between the bustling streets.  Perfect for hiding.  It’s not too far from the main road that it would be invisible, though Spirit isn’t sure if that’s because Yin and Jin want to be near the main road or if they just didn’t think about it.  With their general intelligence, it’s 50/50.

They step inside, posture straight.  All business.

“Hello,” they greet.

Inside is a rather sparse dwelling.  There’s what appears to be an unused kitchen off to the right of the main room.  Said room is a large expanse, and a dirty one at that.  At the back of it is a board, covered in pins and string, tying threads together in myriad ways that Spirit can’t quite decipher.  They see Mei up there.  A picture of Pigsy.  The rest are unrecognizable.

“Hey!” Yin calls.  

Spirit’s gaze drops down to them.  They’ve been taller than the two for centuries.

“Got a favor for ya,” Jin continues.

“I assumed,” Spirit replies.  “What do you need me to do?

Red eyes squint with twin sharp-toothed grins, and they pull out a large book.

“Well you see,” Yin starts.

“We wanna go after the Monkie Kid, yeah?” Jin continues.

“So we made a plan,” Yin finishes.

They open the book, straight to the middle, and on the page are...two steps illustrated.  Pretty self explanatory, in the sense that Spirit can tell that they want to use some sort of artifact to trap the Monkey King’s successor.

“So, we figured, Calabash,” Jin points to the first picture.  “We capture him in it, keep ‘im in there, right?”

“Right,” Yin agrees.

They look to Spirit.

“Right?” Spirit says.

They both nod.

“The thing is,” Jin moves on, which Spirit appreciates because they don’t know where this conversation is going, “The calabash is uh, in a museum.”

“It’s old,” Yin supplies.

“You want me to retrieve it for you?” Spirit parses out.

Yin and Jin smile again, all teeth.  It used to be intimidating, but, well, Spirit is older, and smarter.

Spirit is scared of everyone, but there’s a certain safety that comes with knowing that when push comes to shove, they just need to kill one to incapacitate the other.  They’ve seen the two when one is absent without cause.  They can use that, if needed.  Not that they would, but they could.  That makes them safe.

“Now you got it,” Jin crosses his arms over his chest.  

“Sound good?” Yin asks.

“Do I have a time limit?” Spirit likes to know the conditions.

They’re already working on one favor, and if they have to worry about the time limit of another favor, then they have to balance things.  Not that they do much else when not working on favors, but still.  They like to be a little organized.

“We’re gonna order from the restaurant the kid works at in a week or two,” Yin explains.

Spirit nods.  That gives them time.  They have a phone now, too, and Mei taught them how to search stuff on it, so they can look up the museum once they’re out.

“Okay,” They respond.  “Anything else?”

Yin and Jin glance at each other.  They have this way of communicating without words, and Spirit finds it kind of cool.  There’s a twitch of an eyebrow on one face, a small mouth movement on the other.  Their expressions don’t really change, just shift a little.

“Nah, we’re good,” Yin waves them off.

Spirit nods and vanishes without a farewell.

All in all, they don’t dislike Yin and Jin.  Sure, the two are loud and rambunctious, but so is Red, and Spirit could never dislike Red.  In a way, they’re almost jealous of the pair.  They have each other.  They have someone who will never leave, who could never leave.  Inseparable, two against the world.

One is the loneliest number, and maybe Spirit is just a little jealous to know a Yin who isn’t always alone. 

As they head off, scaling the wall and choosing to traverse the city over rooftops, they get a text.  It’s from Mei, a response to their earlier query.  Spirit stops, tail swishing back and forth as they perch on the edge of a roof, toes curled over the edge to grip it as they squat, leaning down to read the text.

‘hey spirit!

the city is the sum of hundreds of years of advancement, with tens of hundreds of programmers and hardware engineers building it up! ive been looking up a lot of them as inspo for my work in tech. 

i like this one programmer, syntax.  hes a mystery, theres only one public picture of him, but hes responsible for most of the tech in the city!  he was the leading programmer for the weather tower and has a bunch of patents he makes money off.  total recluse lol no one knows where he could even live near!  ive always wanted to meet him.  lemme send you some articles!!!!!’

Interspersed between the sentences are a deluge of emojis.  A lot of green hearts, a couple dragons, some rain clouds when mentioning the weather tower.  Beneath the text are a few articles.  Spirit squints.  They think they press their finger on those.

Sure enough, pressing their finger on the article pulls it up in a...they think Mei called it a web browser?  They should ask her next time they’re called over.

Or...well, Mei doesn’t know it, but they’re doing Spirit a favor, giving them this information, and if there’s anything Spirit fears, it’s being in someone’s debt.  She doesn’t know, but she could find out, and if she did, she could use them, she could hurt them—

Well, Mei doesn’t seem the type, but one never knows.

‘Mei.

Thanks.  I’ll read them soon.  Hey, do you want to meet someplace? I know your mother was not thrilled at my offer to teach you swordfighting, but I am still willing to.  As long as we meet away from your house.  I wouldn’t want to get in trouble.

Let me know!

Spirit.’

That should even things out.  A good lesson or two, maybe more.  Spirit would prefer to do more than less when repaying a debt, just to be sure.

They start to peruse the different articles.  The only public image they have of this programmer is striking.  He’s got eccentric hair and a small mustache.  He frowns at the camera, clearly displeased with having his picture taken, a pristine lab coat on and a pair of bright green glasses adorning his face.  There’s a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place as the picture is taken.

The only known thing that he does is go to a specific coffee shop.  Evidently, anytime he goes, the cameras in the area including phones stop working, thus contributing to the lack of photos.  People like to chat about him, simply because of the mystery of it.

They get a text back from Mei.

‘sounds great!  i know a place.  text u the deets later! <3’

Spirit smiles.

They decide to stake out the coffee shop this Syntax goes to.  It’s toward the outskirts of the city, small, with a reputation for using specially designed and grown beans that no one else can replicate.  Supposedly.  It keeps a low profile, as well as a very high end coffee shop can, but most people are priced out of it anyway.  From what Spirit read from reviews, a lot of people would get this coffee as a treat, something to save up for as a present on a weekend.  It’s a large place, and people often go to sit and relax for a while with their drink.

Syntax, evidently, goes there up to five times a week, to the point that his drink is memorized by everyone who works there.  He pays in cash, to avoid any trace that he was there, and then disappears.  People say he avoids being followed.

People, though.  Mortals.  They can’t see souls the way Spirit can.

They catch him on day two of their stakeout, and they sit, waiting, as he orders.  Cash is exchanged, and he walks away.  No one tries to follow him, but Spirit must, so they will.

They blink, and the world bursts into different colors.  Souls of all different shades, constantly interacting with one another.  Syntax’s soul is a neon green, with lavender lines within that resemble code.  The soul takes on the whole of the person, after all.  People more powerful can have souls that show it.  Spirit likes that.  They like knowing that they can always check if people are lying.

They follow, and soon realize why Syntax is so hard to follow.  Every turn and twist he sends out a...well, he can’t make clones, but they’re digital recreations of himself that continue walking in a different direction than the real Syntax is.  They’re near perfect, able to fool anyone who just saw them as is, but they don’t have souls.  

So Spirit follows the soul.

It’s a good hour walk, not that Syntax walks all the way.  Once he’s out of the main city area, he hops into a hover car that seems like a personal project (if the paint job is anything to say about it) and blasts off.  Spirit follows the trail, far enough behind that they can’t see Syntax but close enough that they can catch his colors in their eye.

It’s a good twenty minutes before they reach Syntax’s house.  It looks like a fortress, a large mansion gated and hidden.  Spirit takes a picture, grabs Spider Queen’s token, and disappears.

They were just told to locate him, after all.  They prefer that.  As much as Spirit is good at their job, they don’t like the thought of having to kidnap anyone, because the person would likely scream, or cry, or beg, and Spirit would have to see that.  

It’s easier if they don’t see it.  They already know it isn’t right, they don’t need the painful reminder.

Spider Queen’s lair is as dark and damp as they remember, with the added addition of an expansion of the green pool of bubbling liquid.  It has spread to little pods scattered about the place, glowing ominously with newfound energy.

“Miss Queen?” They call.  

Green eyes blink from the dark, and Spirit stays very still as she comes into view.

“Back so soon?” Spider Queen leans back on her mech, grinning like...what was the phrase Spirit had heard.  Like a cat who had caught the canary?  That’s it.

Spirit doesn’t know why it has to be a canary.  Cats eat plenty of birds.  And mice!  Odd.

“I have what you want,” Spirit replies, keeping it short and to the point.  “He’s an engineer and a programmer, and a recluse, so people probably won’t notice if he goes missing.  I have a picture of his house, and I can take you to it if you want, bu_t”

“That won’t be necessary,” Spider Queen waves a hand.  She clears her throat with intention, and Spirit tilts their head to the side as another figure comes out from the shadows.

“My Queen,” Huntsman’s voice is as gravelly as ever, and he bows a little in greeting.

Spirit gives him a small wave.  He rolls his eyes at them.  

Fair enough.

“I need you to hunt down this human.  He’s important to my debut as Queen of the world!  Spirit here has the details.”

Spider Queen gestures to them, and Spirit jumps a little as the weight of seemingly eyes all fall upon them.

“O-oh!” They fumble to pull out their phone.  “I have-uh-I have a photo of his house, so you can use that, and, uh—”

They look down, and Huntsman is suddenly very, very close to them.  They take a wary step back.  

He sniffs them.

“Were you just there?” He asks.

Spirit slowly nods, holding out their phone so Huntsman can see the picture of Syntax’s house.  He glances down at it, and then after scanning it over, nods decisively.

“I’ll have him here by tomorrow,” he promises.

“He-uh-!” Spirit raises a hand, pressing their fingers to their mouth in apprehension.  “His house looks very high tech.  There’ll uh-there’ll probably be, um, defenses.”

They haven’t talked to Huntsman or Goliath much, in the centuries they’ve been around to help Spider Queen with different things, but Huntsman gave them a knife once.  Said it was because they looked pathetic without a way to defend themself.  They didn’t want to tell him that they already had a weapon, so they kept the knife.  He got them one with a purple grip, even!  It was a nice gesture, and Spirit would like Huntsman to stay alive.

Not that they ever really want anyone dead, but they know it’s often an eventuality, and saving every person, wanting to keep every person they know around is hard, and will only lead to pain.  They know from experience.  Besides, they’re pretty sure no one would do anything to keep them alive.  If a tool breaks you can always get a new one, so Spirit is expendable, and expendable means that you can’t be expected to be kept safe.  They know from experience.  But they like certain hands that wield them over others, so they’d like those ones to remain, at least.

Huntsman grins, at that.

“I love it when they fights back,” he almost purrs before skittering off.

Spirit watches him leave, head tilted to the side.  They suppose it makes sense that he likes hunting, considering his name is Huntsman.  They wonder if his name was because of his type or his profession.  Or maybe his type dictated his profession?  Then again, there isn’t such a spider type as queen, so that’s a little silly to think about.

“Thank you, dear,” Spider Queen says, jerking Spirit out of their thoughts.

Spirit bows.  “Of course, Miss Queen.”

When they stand up, there’s a bag of money—smaller than the one Macaque gave them, but hefty nonetheless—being offered to them.

“You’re too skinny,” Spider Queen says. “I can’t have a servant of mine looking half starved!  Do something about it.”

Spirit blinks.  They didn’t think they were too skinny.  Sure, they could feel their ribs easily, but that's nice, because whenever they break their ribs they can figure out which one super fast.  It’s useful.  They don’t want to disappoint Spider Queen, though, and while she didn’t say it was a favor she is giving Spirit money, so they might as well get something to eat as a job well done gift.

They ignore how that thought makes their stomach squirm.  How they feel about the jobs they are given does not matter.  It never has.

“Of course,” They repeat, taking the bag.  With another bow, they leave.

Thankfully, this trip hasn’t ruined their clothes, so they don’t need to wash them.  They leave through a manhole cover in an alley, and when they peek their head out to see where they are, Bitter Sweets stares them down from across the street.

Well, at least they know they’ll like something from the shop, right?

The bell above the door rings in their ears long after the sound leaves the room, and Almond comes in with a smile that is slowly becoming familiar.  It’s almost motherly, but Spirit wouldn’t say that, because if they did they’d have to run.  Run before the motherly figure burns to dust, disappears for the sole reason of being motherly to them, of all people. 

So for now, they say it is kind, and warm, and comforting.

“Spirit!” she grins up at them.

Spirit smiles hesitantly back.

“More mooncakes?” Almond prompts.

“Yes,” They nod, toes curling in excitement.

Nostalgia hurts a little, but it’s nice, too.  “And—” they start, because Almond is kind, and open, and soft and Spirit can be brave a little. “Maybe, um, you could recommend some stuff?  I-uh,” They rub the back of their neck sheepishly.  “I don’t know the names of most of this.”

They gesture to the display case lamely.

Almond’s smile somehow gets softer, and her eyes light up with excitement.  Spirit’s tail swishes back and forth with a calm joy from making someone happy.

“Of course,” Almond replies.

Getting the Calabash is, unsurprisingly, boring.  Stealing an item is much easier than tracking a person.  One quick search and they find it in a museum, nestled near the center of the city.  Sneaking in is easy, because while they are tall, they’re quiet, flexible, and smart.  That, and the people here are very lax in security.  Being so used to peacetime makes people complacent.  In a way, Spirit is relieved that they have known conflict most of their life.  It keeps them sharp.

They don’t know what to do in peacetime.  There’s always something to do, a job to accomplish.  A fight to help with.  What else can they do?

The only thing that gives them pause is the existence of two Calabashes.  One, older and far larger, is stated as the original.  Evidently, using a mix of demon magic and more modern technology, a new one was made, one that aimed to capture rather than kill.  

Yin and Jin never specified which one they wanted.  If Spirit was to guess, they know the pair would want the original.  The one that melts whoever is trapped within.  The one that kills.

Spirit doesn’t kill children.  And they don’t know the Monkey King’s successor, but he’s a child.  Younger than they are.

Are they a child?  Were they ever?

So they hedge their bets on the idea that Yin and Jin won’t notice the difference, and pick the newer, kinder one.

The pair does not notice.  They’re a bit scatterbrained like that.  Or maybe they don’t care.

Once the Calabash is secured and delivered, Spirit sits atop a random building, chewing on leftover pastries from their last visit to Almond’s bakery.  The sunset is looking awfully nice, but Spirit thinks that the charm is lost once you lose someone to watch them with, so they pull out their phone.

In the news section, there is a small article about Syntax abandoning his favorite coffee shop.  The article supposes that he picked another spot to get his caffeinated beverages.  There are thousands of comments speculating, wondering where he could have gone.

Spirit knows the truth.  The weight of that, the guilt, sits at the bottom of their stomach like a stone.

But there’s a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand stones sitting there, and they’ve been dragging Spirit down for a long time.  One more isn’t going to change much, isn’t going to drag them deeper down than they already are.  They’ve been drowning for centuries.  Drowning, mouth clenched shut, holding in their final breath, as if the moment they let it go they’d finally succumb to the suffocation pressing against them on all sides.  

When they were younger, they’d claw to the surface, take a breath or two, before another stone weighed them lower.  The sunlight doesn’t reach them, with how deep they are now.  Nothing does, because Spirit is alone.  That’s what happens when you hurt everyone around you, isn’t it?

One of these days, they were going to let go.  One of these days, they’d open their mouth, and finally they would be able to scream.

Sometimes all Spirit wants to do is let go, scream, and drown. 

They look at the sunset.  It’s looking awfully nice, don’t you think?

[narrators-journal]

Freebird

CW: predator/prey(?), somnophilia, dubcon.

Warning: here

previous part: here

first part: here

The day after your romp in the bath, Gogol returned again, all smiles and sugar as he brought you your breakfast.        "Good news Golubka! I've got a few days off, so you and I can play a lovely game~" he sang, letting you eat before poofing you out of your cage and into his lap.        "Uh, okay?" you said once settled with your thighs on either side of his, eyeing him suspiciously, your stomach boiling with a combination of lust and dread. Of course, all he did in response to your suspicion, was smile,        "The rules are easy, I will let you go," he tightened his grip on your hips when you tried to bolt for the door, "But, I will also be chasing after you." he finished, "You will get a day's head start, just to make it fair though~" you grimaced at that, not so thrilled to be hunted down by a magical sadist.        "What happens if I get caught?" you asked, eyeing his mischievous grin, knowing damned well this man wasn't going to just put you back into the cage if he 'won',        "Than I get to fuck you~"        "And if I don't get caught?" You asked, and his grin fell into a pout,        "I guess it makes sense you'd want a possible reward," he huffed, thinking for a moment, "If you stay away from me and I don't find you for a week, you can go free. I won't go after you again," he offered, and your (e/c) eyes lit up once more. He grinned at that, this smile much more predatory than before, "So, shall we start, Golubka?" He purred darkly, his voice growing dangerous and...sexy. It sent a shiver down your spine, but when you nodded, he let you go, letting you bounce up from his lap and bolt out of the basement, through the kitchen, and out the backdoor like a cartoon road runner. It was once again dark out when you got outside, but you didn't care, simply relishing the chill of the air and the smell of grass and trees. As you ran, you could see that your captor was living in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and fields, but you could see a road leading through the trees, so you took that and ran for all you were worth. It was slow going, you hadn't been outside in a long while, so your night vision was poor, but you did manage to put some distance between you and the, honestly impressive, house you were held in. Eventually, you ended up back in some sort of town, where you were able to plead your way onto a ride out and even got the reassuring confirmation that you were still in your home country, seemingly only a few towns over from your hometown. You were happy to hitch a few rides through the night, getting within an hours walk of your hometown before your options dwindled, though you were fine with walking in the maybe mid-morning light. Of course, you were exhausted when you finally reached a semi-familiar building, but your adrenaline was boiling and you were too hyper from being outside to think of finding a place to rest. So, instead, you dug out the crumpled twenty your last ride, a kindly old nun group, had given you and found a shop to buy an energy drink and some chips from. You were starving from hours of not daring to touch any food or drink your rides offered, but you needed to reserve as much money as possible to live as off the radar as you could to escape Gogol, so you devoured your chips and chugged your energy drink and went back to walking through the town. Your first thought was to go home, but you shook that thought away when you remembered how you were drugged and kidnapped from your own living room. Instead, when you found this slummy little motel a good distance from your home or usual stomping grounds that was cheap. Since your energy drink high was ending, you didn't complain about the nasty sheets and sticky carpet, you just laid on the bed, planning to rest only for a moment and rely on the last shreds of false energy to help you get up and properly crawl under the covers, but as soon as your body hit the lumpy mattress, you only remember darkness. It wasn't unexpected, you were let go around late evening and had been up until late afternoon on nothing but some energy drinks. Food could wait, your body first demanded sleep. So, you granted it, letting yourself slip into whatever fever dreams your subconscious cooked up. You were in a dinky motel after all, Gogol most likely wouldn't find you so far from your usual habits for a while. You were safe. Your dreams weren't half bad either, full of fantasies of Gogol and plenty of fun. One of the perks of being so tired was that your dreams would sometimes become so vivid you could practically feel Gogol's gloved hands roaming your bare (s/c) skin, squeezing your breasts while he nipped and kissed at your neck, or ground his healthy bulge against your ass. Though, eventually, you did finally wake up. Drowsily taking a moment to remember where  you were, than remember why you were there. Of course, after that, you registered that someone was really nibbling at your neck and dry humping you. You groaned, trying to squirm a bit, but the especially hard bite to your neck made you moan and still. After that, you finally got to see who exactly was littering your throat with bruises, and it shouldn't have surprised you to see Gogol's mismatched eyes glittering with glee,          "Morning Golubka, sleep well?" he hummed, moving so he could hold your wrists above your head with one hand, have the other be free, and stay between your thighs with his very obvious erection pressed against the crotch of your underwear.            "W-what are you doing?" you squeaked, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks as Gogol sat above you without a shirt or his cloak on.             "having some fun," he mumbled, stealing small kisses as he spoke. Finally, he just kept you from saying more by holding a kiss and sweeping you up in a wave of lust that easily overtook you after your dreams and earlier fantasies. So, you kissed back, wrapping your legs around him and feeling him grin against your mouth before his free hand wondered under your shirt to grope at your breast until you moaned and squirmed more. The feeling of his mouth returning to your neck to further abuse your bruising sweet spot sent bolts of pleasure through your bones, especially when coupled with his hand roaming your skin and his bulge brushing against your already sensitive crotch. Because of that, when Gogol pulled your bottoms down and released his twitching erection to tease your slick entrance with the head, you squirmed and mewled like a horny bitch as he grabbed your wrists and held them above your head. Both of you groaned when he pushed into you, filling you up with delicious warmth while tightening his hold on your wrists. Then, once he was as far in as he could go, it was like something snapped in the smiley clown. He was nowhere near gentle, holding your hip in a bruising grip with his free hand and slamming into you mercilessly despite any complaints or pained screams. He spoke in Russian, so you didn't understand anything he said while humping you, but even if you did speak the language, you would've had to translate through a haze of pained pleasure. You were thankful for the times you experimented with rougher, more sadistic sexual acts, because it meant you weren't overtaken by nothing but pain, you were instead hit with a mixture of great pain and equally great pleasure. So, while Gogol was moaning and muttering stuff that you were sure you should be glad you didn't understand, you were a moaning mess of your own, arching your back and curling your toes at the waves of hot ecstasy Gogol was sending through you until a knot in your stomach began to tighten. It took a shamefully short time for you to orgasm, but before the ripples of euphoria had even settled, the clown pulled out and let your wrists go only to roll you over and hike your ass up simply to push back into you and go right back to thrusting at a sadistic pace. You did do your best to stop him, at least get him to slow down, but he ignored your pleading and only pushed your face into the nasty mattress while his other hand kept your hips firmly in place so he could further bruise your (s/c) skin while grunting and moaning out curses. Eventually though, after you had climaxed a second time, Gogol finally stilled, keeping his cock buried in you while he emptied his load into your warmth. Only when he began to feel over-stimulation creep up for himself did he pull out, flopping beside you on the bed with a huff of breath.         "That was fun! We should do it again, Golubka~" he hummed, but you only grunted, passing back out after such a taxing, yet enjoyable romp.

[bloomyn]

phonetics ; kagami taiga

pairing: kagami taiga x f!reader

wc: 2.2k

synopsis: there’s something about three syllable sentences that worm their way into your heart.

featuring; minor unrequited love, grammar, other girls that aren’t you, bad characterization, a whole lot of being dumb, and a happy ending

-> i wrote this in two hours during my peer tutoring class please don’t murder me; i saw .5 seconds of him during the netflix trailer and busted the phattest emotional nut

This is how your story begins

You’re five and on the top of a slide, it’s sticky with sweat and electric on your skin but you can’t go down, not yet. There is no way you’re going to give the kid behind you the satisfaction, not until he says please. 

“Say. it.” you demand, your hands gripping the side of the slide tighter. the space between his eyebrows scrunch together, like an inchworm, the type you learned about in class only a few days ago. “just say it. it’s not that hard. only one syllable.”

Your mother would scold you for that sass, but she’s too far away to hear and quite frankly too far to see your current predicament. 

“No. see, that’s one syllable.”

And yes you know that violence is never the way, (that’s also what you learned about at your school, the same day as the inchworms), and that maybe there is a verbal way to resolve this agreement, but the thing is, your five year old brain is tired of using words. and so this is the part where you resort to fists, tiny fingers that gripped the side of the slide ball up slowly and then.

The sky is down. down? and no your hands aren’t on the slide they’re trying to brace your fall from down the slide and all you can see is a muddled red face before you hit the ground crying. 

→ 

Here’s the thing about parks, technically, technically, their public property. So that means, technically, technically, just about anyone can show up and play. It’s terrible. It’s especially terrible when the only person on the playground to play with is also the one that pushed down the slide (quite aggressively! you might add) only a week ago. If there was ever any violent tendencies that lay dormant in those tiny hands of yours they might as well have been awakened. 

But instead of fighting, or attempting to fight, someone who looks like they could be the kids mother ushers said kid in your direction. 

and instead of a “No.” being spit in your direction you get an, 

“I’m sorry. Three syllables, see. I said it.”

and a hesitant hug, awkward and gangly.

And so it begins. 

→ 

“If you’re going to be stupid like this I’m going to stop showing up.” you sigh, taking a seat on the bench, cringing at the scent of sweat and rubber. Beside you, a messy bundle of red hair lays splayed on the hard metal, a rough hand wiping the sweat out of his face. “Hello, is Kagami home? Or do I really have to stop showing up till you remember you need me. ”

A groan leaves his chapped lips and an arm extends across your lap. “ Did you bring it at least?”

You surrender the plastic bag, watching the steam rising from his body melt the ice. It’s disgustingly sensual and for a split second you can almost imagine what the girls interested in him think. Unfortunately they’ve never seen him like you have, bloody noses and sweat, black stains from the court staining his dirty clothes, and just going through middle school in general. It sends shivers up your arms. Gross. He pushes himself backwards, lifting his head up onto the hem of your skirt.

“You’re just so sweaty, all the time.” you sigh, wiping a handkerchief across his forehead.

The sight of the two of you is one to behold. 

It’s always been to Kagami at least, which is a surprise considering that the only things he really cares to look at anymore is game highlights and illicit magazines that he really only gets away with buying because of his height. To be fair it’s not like he really reads the magazines anyway, not without getting distracted, not without the guilt that comes with thinking of you, during, ah, certain periods of time. He’s gross, he knows, and here you are, walking a mile in the summer heat because his ankle was too dead to get ice and there’s no one to watch #2 if he leaves. (fucking Kuroko he swears)

He can see the soft outline of your jaw like this, laying down. He can see the way your tongue casually glosses over your lips and and the way it seems like you're blinking in slow motion, he can see your lashes gently brush your face when you blink. It’s a goddamn sickness. 

Now usually, when this happens, when this wave of amorous nausea fills his head he does what he’s best at, absolutely destroying the court. But in the few steam filled moments between his attempt to get up and realizing he has to get up or he might vomit hearts all over the floor, you’ve already pressed the palm of your hand into his shoulder.

“Don’t think you can get up, stupid. Your ankle looks like a purple yam for goodness sakes. Gross. ”

He’ll hold onto the spare bit of affection in your words till you give him more, which you will, because you’re like this. Stubborn and loving, and always seemingly annoyed with him. He won’t mind, he never does. 

→ 

It’s not until the end of third year that he realizes he does, he does mind. He minds all the damn time now. 

“Don’t complain now that I’m not giving you all my attention,” you had scolded, “You’re the one with a girlfriend Ka-chan.”

“You don’t even bring me ice anymore!”

A shitty retort indeed but, true nonetheless.

“Kagami,” you had warned, “It might not be a great idea for me to bring you stuff anymore. Think about your girlfriend! How is she going to feel, another woman bringing her boyfriend what he needs.”

There was no response back this time. In his defense, Lisa hated the smell of basketball, “it sticks to you!”

Which he thought she might’ve considered before confessing but, semantics. There was nothing wrong with Lisa, she might’ve been everything he looked for in a woman. Hot, decently smart, very, very good looking on his arm, and she loved the attention too. Except her lips were too sticky, and she hated the smell of the gym, and he could go on and on making up petty excuses because she wasn’t the one who demanded that he say “please” on the playground. 

(He’s just picky!) His brain argues!

It takes three more girls until he realizes they’re not you. 

→ 

There is a brief moment in time where you fall for Kagami Taiga. There is a moment so small it slivers past you in the form of iced plastic bags and steaming windows in the gym. But the moment isn’t so small that no one around you notices. It isn’t so small when your best friend goes through three different girlfriends in a moment that doesn’t even make it through a set of nails. Not one nail chips.

It’s an odd moment. Only, at the end of this moment, there is no return to normalcy, there is no getting over it, there is another one waiting for you to leave those chipped nails and iced plastic bags behind.

It starts with praise and glimmer pop of jealousy.

→

“Absolutely not.”

“ You can’t argue an opinion you can’t even have, Taiga.” It comes out nastier than you want and you kick yourself for it. He catches it, the grimace waiting on your face and the quiver in your eye. The two of you are waning, stuck to your respective places in his living room, movie paused. There is a chance you will cry, but a more realistic chance that this will end in useless fight, that the aching silence between the two of you will become your shield against a barrage of his angry glares. 

This might be the only chance you ever feel what it’s like when he’s in the zone, except you're not a five man team (with subs) , you’re a teenage girl with goddamn feelings. It’s the playground all over again, but this time you won’t be pushed.

“He’s a fucking player.” his voice raises at the end and the tense in your calf sharpens. “He’s a disgusting shitty haired player, how are you being so stupid right now?”

By the time he’s done he’s yelling. The two of you have argued sure, but never... not like this. 

“I’m allowed to be dumb sometimes!” you breathe, “ Look at you Taiga, how you are not the same as him? It takes you weeks, days, to get a new girl. How in the world are you even qualified to be talking to me about this.”

It takes half a second for his eyes to narrow, sharper than his looks and for a moment you stagger back. It takes even less time for you to grab your bag and leave. 

You’re not angry, not for the right reason. This boyfriend is going to end in heartbreak, it’s a given, even Kagami knows this. But you can’t help yourself, this might only be a blip in time, it won’t matter in a year right? It won’t matter when Kagami finds himself wrapped around another girl, too busy to even remember what day of the week it is. 

And it kills you. 

You’re killing him. 

There is never a moment where everything is clear, unless he’s playing one on one, but this isn’t him versus you. This is him versus himself, a freaky nightmare he only dreamt about in middle school; and you’re not someone he wins by dunking on. It’s the type of win where he has to lose a little bit of something too. The type of win that he’s been avoiding. 

→ 

Your house has been the same for years, flower boxes on the front porch, a few twigs on the lawn, less than a thousand steps from his own place, somewhere he could sleep walk to. It’s never bothered you, he was your best friend, how could you complain about living so close?

Well, you’re complaining now. 

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes are drilling into the ground, fingers fidgeting like a boy, like a child who’s never had to say sorry before. Even so, you love him, so you relent, allowing yourself to lean on the doorway, absolutely oozing casually (ty?) (ness?) You can’t think.

“Three syllables. Thanks.”

The visible sigh of relief warms your achy breaky heart and absolutely tears into your soul. The grip on your heart he holds falls loose, unveiling the mismatched pieces that you’ve been forcing together for years. And for a moment you feel weak to it. 

“ You should,” he starts, gnawing on his bottom lips this time, “be with who you want. So, I’m sorry.”

It’s exasperating, but even if it is, Kagami Taiga is the most stubborn man you know so these words no doubt are being pulled out like teeth and you love him all the same. 

→

To Kagami’s surprise (and disappointment), a year later you are still quite in love with the man you call your boyfriend. But to his own sick delight, the two of you are fighting (again).  

“So you’re here.”

You nod, pushing the door to his bedroom open and slipping yourself under his covers. If he was anyone but himself he might’ve looked down, seen what was going on and promptly collapsed onto his knees. But, willpower is a strong suite of his (thank god), so he takes a seat on the foot of the bed.

“ Kagami, you can say it.” you mumble from beneath his covers. At your words his eyebrows scrunch and his knuckles tighten around the blanket. You’re not provoking him, just asking for the honesty he carries on his shoulders. 

“Ah, well.”

You shift the blanket off, propping yourself against the headboard. It’s only then that he can see the old tear tracks down your face.

“ I’m glad you’re here ya know. With me. Here.”

The last part is a whisper, one you catch. 

One you can only sigh with.

“ You can’t say that Kagami.”

“It’s true.”

It feels like a lifetime has passed by the time you gather the courage to look up at him, up at those deep red eyes that give away every emotion that passes through him. You don’t think can hurt you, not anymore than he has. Not with the hands that have held you up and stuck bandages on your knees and not with the heart that cared for you so deeply. He wouldn’t dare. 

But the sun is setting between the two of you, and the radiant glow only illuminates your features. You have to remember that he is only man, only human, and humans are easily seduced into stupid things by the sun.

“ I love you.” 

The delicate words aren’t voluntary, nor are they forced. It’s the space inbetween that pushes someone in the right direction, whether they know it or not. 

“ Three syllables Taiga.”

He watches you untangle yourself from the bed and take your place beside him. Carefully, he drops his hand in your lap, palms up and clammy. Slowly, you place your hand in his, taking up the space between his fingers. 

“Four syllables. That’s what you get.” you shake, squeezing his fingers. 

It takes him about two seconds to understand what you mean.

And he does.

→ 

[penguintransporter]

Winning The Game Called Love (Hector Bellerin) Part VIII

Hello, everyone! It took me a while to post this, but fear not - I have another chapter edited and ready to update next weekend. I contemplated for the longest time if I should post continuation of the chapter VII or maybe write a flashback that is entirely in Héctor’s POV, and decided that some of his thoughts wouldn’t be bad - so consider this as a filler even if it’s an entire update. Enjoy, let me know what you think, and don’t shy away from my inbox. You can read the first seven chapters of the story - here - along with the rest of my stuff. Lots of love, and stay amazing as always!

There was rarely a moment in which the canteen of the Arsenal FC Training Centre didn’t feel like a mini circus of some sort.

Buzzing with noise at any given time of the day, the spacious and with the long tables packed room often hosted a diverse bunch of people of different backgrounds and nationalities, ages and paychecks, contracts and positions in the club – all of them taking a refuge from their daily routines. More than often, administration hermits, trying to escape their paper-stacked offices mingled with millions of pounds worth footballers who needed their fuel before or after their training sessions, and all the high-positioned officials in their suits were known to chat away their coffee breaks with the wonderful Simone behind the canteen till.

Still, on that Friday noon, as the world was waist-deep in the month of December, the entire room felt just a little bit quieter than usual. 

As he sat alone at one of the long tables, waiting for his teammates to join him for lunch, Héctor wondered if the certain quietness was caused by the miserable weather outside or just because the feeling of yet another year slipping away was weighing down on people’s minds – including his own.

With a shake of his head, Héctor scooped some of the food on his fork before setting down his knife on a plate in front of him, looking at the windows that span along the wall to his left – the abundance of greyness greeting him. One would think that after all the years since he’s moved to England and started calling London his home, he would have gotten used on the picture in front of his eyes, but he wasn’t, and he knew that he won’t ever be.

Looking away, Héctor pursed his lips as he lazily chewed on his mouthful before glancing at the time on his phone as he reached for his knife to scoop more food, but he couldn’t help but freeze in his movements – the familiar scent filling his nostrils.

Oranges?

Confused, Héctor swallowed before leaning back in his chair as he felt the air leaving his lungs.

It wasn’t as if the oranges were something he rarely had the chance to smell, but only a handful of times the particular scent could make him feel the way he did as he apprehensively breathed in – memories of his childhood breaking out on the surface of his mind.

Warm, hot late autumns. His hand firmly held by his grandmother’s as they walked along the less-known pueblos where the oranges on the trees, bent by the their own weight, were just a reach of a hand away.

Héctor let his eyes wander as discreetly as possible around the canteen, trying to find the source of the smell that brought back the picture of the little Belle and the sight of the oranges laying along the sides of the pathways – their sweetness and stickiness an invitation for a feast for all the ants and flies.

Skinny, little boy in a sailor-striped t-shirt; thin-soled tennis shoes slippery on the cobbled slope; smell of home-cooked paella in the air.

She.

The irritating girl from the reception sat at the end of one of the long tables in the corner along with some other employees whose faces Héctor vaguely recognised, but despite it, it seemed as if she didn’t belong the rowdy bunch of five men. She seemed to be in her own little headspace, quietly looking at the round fruit she held in her hands – eyebrows slightly narrowed in a thought.

The white collar of a button down played a peek-a-boo from underneath the scruffy navy-coloured jumper she was wearing, hair tucked behind her ears and away from her face, and a pair of beaten-up shoes on her feet – she looked out of the place among the sea of red tracksuits and football kits. Héctor watched her drop the orange to her lap before looking at her phone, grinning at something, and without even realising, his leg started to bounce ever so slightly. 

She’s probably dating someone equally irritating as she was.

Realising that he was staring, Héctor looked away quickly, sucking a deep breath before running both of his hands through his hair, pausing for a moment – his fingers interlacing behind his neck. He wasn’t sure what it was that has possessed him, and God knows, he didn’t want to do it in the first place, but he did it anyway. Glancing back at her again, he observed her as she dug her nails into the skin of the orange – nose scrunching a little when the aromatic juice sprayed against her face.

He could almost feel it too—

¡Joder!

Héctor’s head snapped quickly in front of him, rubbing his face in frustration before looking at the doors of the lunch-room, hoping to see someone who could distract him from looking towards the one person he didn’t want to spend his time on.

A feeling of relief washed over him as he saw Calum walk inside the canteen, giving a quick wave to Simone before picking up a plate to serve himself from the large containers that were neatly arranged along the till. Héctor’s eyes followed his teammate, waiting for the tall guy to look in his direction so he could wave him over. 

He hated how jittery he was beginning to feel, so when his teammate scanned the room for a free seat, Héctor quickly raised his hand, ignoring the feeling in the very pit of his stomach that he couldn’t comprehend.  

Jesus Christ!

“What you’ve got there?” Calum asked with a grin, and Héctor returned the smile, but for some reason, it didn’t quite feel right. His teammate slid in the chair next to him, peering at Héctor’s plate, “Beans? Really? Have you not seen all the food out there, Héc?” he grinned, pulling the sleeves of his tracksuit jacket up to his elbows, ready to dig into his food.

“What’s wrong with my beans?” Héctor asked, smiling a little as he took another forkful of his lunch, just in time to see Rob and Alexandre, walk in, quickly serving themselves with the food before walking over to where Héctor and Calum sat. Héctor looked back at Calum, waving his fork in his mate’s direction as he continued to talk, “It’s healthy, makes me run faster than you, and honestly mate,” Héctor stopped to take a sip of water, “it looks better than your chicken.”

“Chicken again, I see,” Rob commented passively without a greeting as he sat down opposite Héctor – long legs trying to find space under the table. Alexandre followed shortly, balancing more food than the plate could actually hold in one hand, while typing on his phone with other. He nodded, sitting down – his eyes never leaving the shiny screen.

“One day he’ll turn into a chicken,” Héctor joked before glancing at Calum from the corner of his eye while chasing the white bean covered in the tomato sauce around his plate.

His mate let out a small chuckle, carefully taking a bite of the grilled poultry in his mouth, “You say that now, but you’d become a carnivore again for a chicken like me, Heccy.”

“What did you just say?” Alexandre asked, looking up from his phone with a grin, “Héctor, my friend, I beg you, stay vegan. He’s not worth it…” he trailed off before the four men started laughing, earning an amused and curious smile from Simone who passed by their table, and dirty look from one of the elder officials who tried to focus on whatever he was doing on his iPad. “Anyway,” Alexandre started as they calmed down a little, setting his phone away and grabbing the fork only to stab chunks of steamed carrots and broccoli, looking up at his teammates, “do we know who’s going to be David’s date for the charity party? Rumours say he’s single again.”

“Do we care?” Rob asked, grinning to himself as he still tried to find a comfortable position for his legs.

“Why yes,” Alexandre responded, earning a lifted eyebrow from Héctor in return, “my bet is Claudia or even, what’s her name, the tall blonde that’s always running around in the physio room.”

“Eveline?” Rob curiously asked, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle with ease to take a sip, “I think she’s married, but yeah, then definitely Claudia, that’s if the boss let’s him ask her out.”

Calum shook his head swiftly before glancing towards his right for a second, “I think he’ll make a move on our pretty, little sunshine called Aida,” he commented, nudging Héctor under the table.

“Why are you nudging me?” Héctor asked with a laugh, setting his cutlery down as he decided to join in the conversation. “Am I missing the joke? Who’s Aida?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, all three of his teammates looked at him – amusing smirks on their faces, and as Héctor was the one to buy on the paranoia feeling that washed over him, he’d say that the entire room was looking his way as well. Deciding that his best bet was to ignore their questioning stares, Héctor shrugged before breaking the piece of his bread and running it along the lip of his plate – picking up the leftover sauce.

“Are you taking the piss now?” Rob asked, genuinely interested now in the course of their conversation as he smirked, leaning forward, and Héctor shook his head, sticking the piece of the soaked bread into his mouth.

“Why would I?” he asked – feeling as if he was missing on some important joke, “I don’t know if this idiot’s nudge was supposed to tell me something,” he added before grinning at Calum, and just as he was about to add something else, the sound of a chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floor interrupted him. Simultaneously, they all looked up and in the direction of the screeching sound where the receptionist girl was smiling apologetically towards no one in particular.

Héctor felt the knot in his stomach rise up to his throat, but he swallowed it quickly back as he, along with his mates, watched the petite girl with the messy hair scoop the orange peels in her palm, while balancing a dark-green water bottle under one arm and a lilac notebook between her lips.

The Arsenal’s right-back looked down at his plate – piled vegetables and grains staring back at him before clenching his jaw in annoyance. He could vaguely hear a commotion and Simone’s laugh, not caring about what Calum had yelled in her direction, and caring even less about what she had responded before laughing that loud, but nonetheless contagious sound.

“Since you’re wondering,” Alexandre grinned, sticking another carrot into his mouth when Héctor looked up at the Frenchman, “that’s Aida.”

**

“—honestly, I think she’s actually nice to have around. Quite funny,” Rob responded to whatever Calum had said as he wiped the beads of sweat off of his face before leaning forward on his stationary bike.

Next to them, Héctor wanted to groan out loud like a teenager would when being interrogated by his mother about his whereabouts.

He wasn’t sure nor could he pinpoint the exact moment when the name of the receptionist girl was dropped again in their conversation, but there it was – levitating around them as he shared the corner with the treadmills and stationary bikes with Rob, Calum and Leno – the German lad being his usual reserved self.

Héctor knew very well that there was no real need for them to talk about her, but the grins that his teammates were giving him were a proof enough for him to know that they were doing it on purpose. 

Hate was a strong word, but he couldn’t say that he enjoyed it either. Not after he was already—

Focus.

Instead of giving in on his teammate’s banter, Héctor rather focused on the sound of his trainers hitting against the treadmill’s moving belt.

“She’s also babysitting Auba’s son sometimes, no?” Bernd mumbled, smiling his tight-lipped smile.

Calum chuckled at the tall goalie next to him, “I know many lads that would love to be babysat by her.” 

Despite wanting to keep his mouth shut, Héctor couldn’t hold back the snort as he lowered the speed on the treadmill, while monitoring his heart-rate.

“I just don’t understand why—,” Héctor started, but quickly stopped himself, “never-mind.”

“What? You wouldn’t?” Calum asked, looking at him. “I am sure she’d love to babysit you if you only let her,” he added teasingly, and as much as he hated himself for doing it, he actually wanted to laugh at his bad joke.

“WHO WOULDN’T WANT WHAT?” David boomed from where he was jogging towards them – wild hair tied up in a ridiculous palm-resembling-something on top of his head. Joining them, he leaned casually against the side of Héctor’s  treadmill. 

With a curious smile, David glanced between the group of men before his eyes settled on a Calum who was still looking at Héctor with a smirk.

“Heccy doesn’t fancy Aida,” he answered matter-of-factly before wiping some of the sweat off of his face with his jersey. Next to him, Rob rolled with his eyes before reaching out his towel which Calum refused with a shake of his head.

Their Brazilian teammate had an amused yet shocked look on his face as he looked at Héctor with a silly grin. “What? Really? Everyone fancies her!”

“Exactly our point,” Rob interjected and it was Héctor’s turn to roll with his eyes, “but apparently, Héctor here doesn’t.”

“You do know that I am still here?” Héctor asked, forcing a grin which only earned him a handful of playful looks from his teammates. “Besides, I have every right in the world to not fancy someone.”

“But you do like brunettes, no?” Calum asked as he started to run again, and for once Héctor wanted to be outside, in the freezing cold, preferably running next to someone who didn’t ask such stupid questions or was usually consumed by their own thoughts – Sead maybe. “—okay, maybe she’s not all legs or whatnot, but still, sometimes the compact ones are the best…”

Hoping off of the treadmill, Héctor grabbed a towel that rested on one of the chairs in the corner, refusing to hear the rest of Calum’s statement or to give in into the banter. 

“You really need to find a hobby,” he grinned after wiping his face before leaving his teammates and making his way towards the other end of the room that was reserved for heavy-weights and strength training.

Standing there alone and tying his hair in a ponytail, he glanced through the windows to his right, and as if it was a force of something above, the receptionist girl walked past – steps quick as she wrapped her scarf around her neck, shielding the lower part of her face from the harsh wind. 

Héctor shook his head as he looked down at his trainers before glancing back up, only to catch a glimpse of her silhouette disappearing around the corner – the soft scent of oranges returning to haunt him for a split of a second.

What if...

No.

[themusicplayedherlife]

Some Sugar

Prologue: The Walls Are Caving in

pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x reader characters: reader, reader’s family: mom and sister, may parker, peter parker, steve rogers word count: 3k+ warnings: angst, family issues, money problems summary: your family money issues are only getting worse and you don’t know what to do a/n: its hereeeee and this is part of @the-canary​‘s lyrics challenge! lol let me know what you guys think!

all || next

The nurses greet you with a smile as you pass by their station. You return their smile with one of your own, ignoring the struggle it is just to lift the corners of your lips to do so. They’re chatting excitedly about something amongst themselves, but you don’t bother stopping to check in with them, you’re only here to see your mom before heading out to pick up Esmeralda from school, anyway.

The hallways are a plain white and the lights are blinding in comparison to the fluorescent yellow in the patient rooms. The smell of strong chemicals lingering in your nose, getting stronger as you approach the room your mom is occupying.

Laughter reaches your ear as you push open her door, and you’re surprised to see Esmeralda sitting by your mom’s side, looking every bit a spitting image of you and your mom, only younger.

“Esme, what are you—“

“You’re here,” a familiar voice says from your left, and you’re even more surprised to see May and her nephew Peter sitting on the uncomfortable loveseat. “Esme said you wouldn’t be out for another couple of hours. If we had known we would have picked you up on our way here.”

“May! Peter! Hi. Yeah, I—I’m sorry. What are you doing here?” You had tried to keep your attention on May and Peter to not seem rude, but seeing your sister here instead of at school where she said she’d be is throwing you off. “I thought you had cheer-leading tryouts?”

“The pipes under the football field unexpectedly burst and flooded the field and half of the school. So cheer-leading tryouts were cancelled,” she says offhandedly and Peter nods, confirming she’s not lying. But something in the way his eyes shift from his Aunt May and your sister, and finally to you has you doubting their story. 

But there’s no way that she’d come up with such a huge lie that you can easily debunk by asking May or calling the school—she’s too smart for that. There’s a reason they’re hiding something, and Esmeralda wouldn’t hide something from you unless she thought it was necessary—is she worried about the cost? Your heart drops to your stomach knowing that might be part of it. She’s always been hyper aware of what she can and can not have, even though you try your hardest to give her everything you can to the point that you took out a loan just to pay for her school’s tuition this year. But with your mom’s hospital bills added to the pile at home, she knows you’ll be working overtime to meet due dates.

“There’s always next year,” she says with a smile on her face, trying to cheer you up—when it should be you cheering her up.

“No, postponement date?” you ask, and she pauses briefly before shaking her hand. 

“It’s at the same time as the Debate Team meeting.”

Your eyes move to your mom, who is watching you and Esmeralda with warmth in her eyes, but the small downturn of her lips tells you she’s blaming herself—again.

“Okay,” you start slowly, watching as your little sister’s face lights up. “Next year, then.” She doesn’t wave you away when you ruffle her hair.

May scoots over and pats the empty space between her and Peter. “You must be tired.”

“I’m fine, May.” Not really. You really could use a nap, maybe a whole cup of coffee sans sugar and milk. But you still trudge over to them and plop between them, laughing when Peter makes a show about being squished between the armrest and you.

You spend the rest of your break laughing at the stories Peter and your sister tell your mom about school and their friends. It’s easy to fall into a carefree mentality, to forget your worries when you’re surrounded by everyone, but it’s just as easy for it to shatter.

The alarm on your phone goes off, alerting you and everyone that playtime is over for you. With a barely concealed groan, you stand. “I should start heading out.”

“What time are you off, sweetheart?” your mom asks in her tired, gravelly voice, the machines hooked up to her frail body beeping rhythmically.

“After midnight, maybe. Depends how slow it is at the bar.” Which really means, I’ll be out at two in the morning, at best.

Her furrowed eyebrows says she doesn’t like that one bit. You don’t like it either and neither does Esmeralda. It was easier when mom was home, Esme didn’t have to spend hours alone in your shit apartment waiting for you to come home before finally feeling safe to go to sleep. But what else are you supposed to do? You need the hours and the money.

“Why doesn’t Esme stay with us for the night?” May’s voice steals your attention away from your thoughts.

“Can I? It’ll give Peter and me the chance to work on our presentation!”

“It’ll be awesome! We can stay up and watch Rogue One again and—and—I—I mean totally work on our History presentation, yep.”

You snort at the sheepish smile on Peter’s face and the glare your sister sends his way. “It’s your call, ma.”

She smiles weakly. “I think it’s fine. Thank you, May.”

May walks over to her and squeezes her hand gently. “You don’t have to thank me. You know Peter and I are always here to help. We should head out too. You need your sleep.” She turns to you with a smile. “Want us to give you a ride to work?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

The bar, known as Howlies to the regulars, was packed from the moment you arrived, surprisingly enough. Every inch of it covered by bodies sitting on the booths distributed throughout or standing in groups with their friends in hopes of finding an empty booth to claim for themselves. People ordered with a speed you had not seen since working here, but you kept up—appletinis, White Russians, Bourbon on the rocks, shots—so many orders and drinks flowing.

Guess your boss’ newest advertisement method is working.

By the time you’re getting ready to close, your feet are killing you and your neck is stiff. Even bending over to pick up something or to wipe a table is a pain on your lower back. Closing up is usually easy between you and your coworkers—wiping down tables, booths, counters; washing glasses and dishes; stacking the stools and sweeping the floor; mopping and removing the sticky residue on the floors, but tonight you just want to get it over with and get home.

Cassandra Jones, your boss and owner of the bar, hands you an envelope with your tips as you’re packing up your stuff in the back room.

“Good night?” you ask her, too afraid to open it and count how much you’ve made. The last few weeks have been bad, $50 to $70 tips in total, even when having a steady flow of customers.

Her tight, chocolate curls bounce when she nods with a smile. “It’s not a lot, but it’s better than we’ve had all year.” She bumps your shoulder with hers to grab your attention. “Let me just finish up at the register and we’ll head out.”

You nod as she walks off.

Opening the envelope tentatively, you pull out fives and tens, and surprisingly enough you count $190. It’s not great, but it’s better than you’ve seen since you started working here. With what you’ve saved up from tips, maybe you’ll be able to convince Esmeralda to try out for cheer and buy her outfit? Warmth fills your chest. Maybe this is a sign that things are going to get better?

You wake up to loud knocking, a familiar squawking coming from the front door—you strain your ears to make out their voice. Aunt Maria? Fuck! You’re quick to get up and throw on some decent clothes, hopping around the apartment to get to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Careful to not get any toothpaste on your shirt, you bend down close to the sink and brush harshly as the knocking gets more and more incessant.

You quickly wash up and yell out, “Coming!” but it does nothing to calm your aunt’s rapid knocking. With a curse, you kick stray clothing under the couch and pick up dirty dishes and place them in the sink in the kitchen, where she hopefully won’t traverse into. You pick up scattered tools and place them in your tool box and then open the curtains and windows to let in some air and noise that’ll hopefully drive her away quicker.

With a deep breath, you open the door with a practiced smile to greet your aunt. “Aunt Maria! Hello! I wasn’t expecting you.”

Her cat like eyes travel up and down your body, judging your appearance like always. “Tia Magdalena,” she corrects you when she finally meets your eyes. As if her name isn’t Maria Magdalena.

“Tia, right. Sorry,” you mumble, stepping aside to let her into the apartment. “Come in, Tia Magdalena.”

She flashes you a fake smile as she saunters inside. “I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I would stop by.”

“I see.” You close the door and take another slow, deep breath before turning to her where she stands awkwardly in the middle of your small living room. “Would you like some water or juice?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Would you like to sit, then?” You offer, sitting on the ugly, green armchair your mom likes so much.

She eyes the sofa with distaste and then turns to you with another fake smile that slips from her face when you don’t smile back. “No, I’m only here for a bit.”

“Well, what can I help you with?” So you can go on your way and I won’t have to see your face again.

“With your mom in the hospital, I thought you’d be the one I should to talk to about this,” she says, reaching into her purse to pull out a thin manila folder and hands it to you. “It’s an agreement your mother and I signed during your second year at NYU.”

“An agreement?” you repeat unsure, dread starting to build up. You flip it open and your heart just about drops to the pit of your stomach as your eyes land on the bolded lettering—Loan Agreement. “Aunt—Tia Magdalena, what is this?”

She makes a displeased noise in the back of her throat. “Your mother was struggling to help you and Little Esmeralda with school supplies and clothes, so she came to me for money.”

Your eyes scan the paper and you recognize the curves of your mom’s writing—her name and signature. $8,000. 8,000 fucking dollars. She asked for 8,000 from her? How did she—She hadn’t said anything! Why would she go to your aunt of all people?!

“I gave her six years to finish paying off her debt to me, which I thought was completely doable.”

“20,300 is how much she needed to pay back?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from quivering—how could your mom have accepted that?

“I gave her what I thought was right, honey. Her credit score is just about awful and I needed some kind of reassurance for myself,” she says in a matter-of-fact, a small smirk on her face.

“She’s family, Tia. Your sister-in-law—how—how could you—“

She scoffs, dropping the pleasantries. “She chose to came to me for money. If she didn’t like it, she shouldn’t have signed.” Rolling her eyes, she takes another sweep of your apartment. “Shouldn’t you be glad I’m not charging her or sending her to court for the missing payments? I get that she’s sick, but that doesn’t mean she can skip out on payments. Seriously.” She looks at her distasteful nails, long and pointy, ready to scratch someone’s eye out. “There’s no guarantee she’s going to die, anyway.” 

She said it so spitefully, so poisonous, that you could feel it coating your own tongue, entering your bloodstream and injecting you with a searing pain and anger that you’ve never felt before. It's hot and unbearable, and you hate her! You hate her so fucking much! The paper and folder crumple at the edges from the pressure of your hands, your heart thumping loudly in your chest. “You need to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, get out!” you practically scream as you stand, no longer able to contain your anger, dropping the folder onto the floor. 

She rolls her eyes again and makes her way over to the door. “The agreement period is set to end in two months, honey. If she doesn’t pay the remaining 11,000, I’m going to sue her for everything she has.” Her lips twist into a horrible sneer as her eyes roam your apartment. “Which apparently isn’t much.” 

The door slams harshly, reverberating through the walls, the picture of your family shaking at the impact and about ready to fall.

A frustrated scream rips from between your lips, hands swiping at your hair as you desperately try to get a handle on your emotions. 

You try to keep yourself composed as you walk down the halls of the hospital, ignoring the chatter around you as you make your way over to your mom’s room. You keep a tight grip on the folder in your hand and march inside her room to find her awake, eyes on the television—until they notice you by the entrance. Her eyes widen and brighten at the sight of you, but when you don’t return her smile or greeting, the light in her eyes dim. “Baby? Everything okay?”

Your mind is yelling at you to throw the contents at her, to accuse her of ruining you and Esme. Anger fanning the flames as you wonder how she could’ve let this happen? How she could’ve put Esmeralda and you in this situation? Did she not think of the consequences? How this could lead to Esmeralda losing the only home she’s ever known? Lose everything you had both worked hard to get for Esmeralda? 

But there’s an itch in your chest too, begging you to hide the contents of the folder, to leave and keep it a secret. Your mom has always been a hard worker, fighting for your family even after losing your dad in that accident, even after your brother abandoned you. She didn’t allow herself to grieve knowing she couldn’t afford to. Instead, she pushed herself forward for you and your siblings, never complaining once. She just kept going and going, overworking herself until she put herself right back into the hospital. 

She wouldn’t have signed that contract unless she deemed it necessary, unless there was no other choice. She wouldn’t do this to you or Esme on purpose. 

She wouldn’t.

You hide the folder behind your back. “I’m okay. Just a little tired.”

Her eyes water and you instinctively take a step forward, taking her thin hands in yours. “I’m sorry, baby,” she says softly. “If I—“

“Don’t,” you stop her with a squeeze, knowing she’s blaming herself for everything that’s been happening. “None of this is your fault, okay? You just focus on getting better and I’ll do the rest.”

Her lips are set in a tight, straight line, but she nods, knowing that whatever she says next, you’re not going to listen to or will wave away. Her eyes move to the beige folder you’re trying to hide behind your back. “What is that?”

“A job application,” you lie through your teeth, but to pay a fraction of what is owed to your aunt, you’re most likely going to need a third job. Or maybe you could convince Cassandra to give you more hours at the bar, or you could always pick up more shifts at the restaurant.

 “Baby,” she tries again, but you shake your head.

“I’m just thinking about it, haven’t even filled it out, yet.”

“Please don’t,” she begs you, letting go of your hand to try and cup your cheek. “You’ve already sacrificed too much for us. Stop doing things for our benefit and start doing them for you.”

You bend down, taking her hand and holding it between your cheek and hand. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lean into her touch. “You know I can’t do that, momma.”

“I know,” her voice cracks. “I know, baby.”

She falls asleep with your hand in hers. Her breathing is steady and soft unlike the loud beeping of the machine and the television playing low in the background. She used to be such a light sleeper, any small noise waking her up at every minute, but here she is now sleeping as if the world was still (when it’s not).

You need some fresh air.

Picking up the folder, you leave her room, only looking back at her once. Would things be different if dad were still alive? If JC were still around? 

The call of your name has you pausing, Esme is watching you carefully with worried eyes. She takes in your appearance—disheveled and red, puffy eyes. “You okay?” she asks, before panic sheens over her eyes. “Is mom okay?”

You’re quick to reel her back in with a hand to her shoulder and pull her towards you. “She’s fine, Esme. Just sleeping.”

“It doesn’t get easier does it?” Her voice is low and quiet, opposite of her usual loud and cheerful self as she presses her face into the soft material of your worn out t-shirt.

“No,” you tell her truthfully, resting your cheek on the top of her head. “No, it doesn’t. But we’re here for each other, right?”

She mulls over your thoughts, eyes darkening for a moment before they brighten and she smiles.  “Always.”

You return her smile weakly. “Did you come alone?”

She takes a quick glance behind her back and nods, frowning. “No, Peter dropped me off before heading out for some outing he has with his internship. You sure you’re okay?”

You ruffle her locks and smile ruefully. “Mhmm. Stay with mom, yeah? I need to step out for a bit.”

Before she can say anything, you step around her and head towards the elevator, ignoring her call of your name. With a shaky hand, you press the button for the lobby and lean back against the metal walls of the lift, head falling back. You close your eyes and take a deep, shaky breath.

The small courtyard is strangely quiet for the early afternoon. It’s usually full of patients and their family members taking a breather, needing to smell something other than anesthetics and chemicals. But you’re glad it’s empty—you have all the space in the world to cry and be angry and sad at everything and everyone.

It’s not like you’ve thought of life as unfair—hard, maybe. But unfair? Never. You have a roof over your head, a mother and sister that love you and do what they can to help, two jobs that pay, and a best friend that although is miles away, you can call and vent to. Yes, bad things have happened—from your dad’s death, to your brother disappearing, and your mom’s cancer returning, but they were things that you got and are getting through with the people you love.

But right this moment? You feel so alone, and it’s unfair.

How is it that bad things just keep happening? Why can’t things get better before they get worse? It’s always hit after hit, never a break to just fucking breathe and live your life!

You sob into your hands, wanting nothing more than to have the whole world stop for a minute and just allow you to grieve.

“Ma’am?” A gentle male voice coaxes—deep and stern, maybe even a little worried.

You wipe away your tears harshly with the back of your hands. “Sorry. Am I being too loud? I’ll—I’ll keep it down, sir.” He doesn’t reply, instead a blue handkerchief is shoved under your eyesight by red gloves. Lifting your gaze as you take it, you’re taken aback by the man standing in front of you—Captain America?—wearing an exact replica of the one Steve Rogers used to wear in the 1940’s and the Battle of New York. “Thank you, uh, Captain?”

You had heard from a nurse that the hospital tended to hire actors to play the heroes you’ve only ever seen on TV, knowing that the kids loved seeing their favorite heroes in person, even if it’s not the actual heroes themselves. But it’s your first time seeing it since your mom has been admitted back into the hospital.

The man offers you a small smile, blue eyes softening at the sight of your blotchy face. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

You duck your head, sniffling and wiping at your tear stained cheeks with the handkerchief.

He shuffles on his feet awkwardly before sitting down next to you. “Do you mind if I sit—well, I’ve already sat down, haven't I?” 

Your surprised chuckle comes out like a strained sob. “You’re fine.”

He flashes you a warm smile, but other than that, he’s quiet. He just sits with you in companionable silence—you should think this is uncomfortable or a little weird, having a stranger sit with you as you're trying to reel yourself in. But there’s something about this man dressed as Captain America that is soothing. It’s no wonder why the hospital hired him to keep the patients company.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely, breaking the silence between you. “You didn’t have to, um, sit with me.”

He flashes you a pretty smile, blue eyes twinkling with sympathy and kindness. “It was no problem.”

Your voice falters as you hand him back the handkerchief, used only to wipe away your tears. “Here, I—ah—“

“Keep it,” he says, closing your fingers over the piece of cloth, and you frown, unsure. “I have another one at home.”

“Thank you,” you say again, sounding like a broken record, but the kind stranger doesn’t seem to mind. “I should head back inside.” He nods and stands with you. Awkwardly, you turn on your heels and walk away.

“Ma’am,” he calls out to you, and you pause, looking at him over your shoulder—he’s frowning, fiddling with the strap of his gloves, but he looks up and says, “I may not know what you’re going through, but they will get better. It might not be today, or tomorrow, but I want you to know, that I believe it eventually will.”

You stare at him, and he continues to fiddle with the strap, eyes downcast and refusing to meet yours. There’s something endearing about a flustered Captain America, actor or not. Your lips twitch with an involuntary smile. “Thanks, Cap.”

next

[ericsonclan]

That Was a Flirt Line

Summary: Prisha goes into town to help resupply when a certain person becomes a bit too friendly with Violet.

Word Count: 1995

Read on AO3:

Prisha looked out at the port town of Marblerock, the wind blowing through her hair and causing wisps of braid to fall out and curl around her face. The pirate gave an excited smile as she looked towards the marketplace further into town. She was really glad when Louis asked her to be part of the group to resupply, especially since that meant she could spend time with her love. It had only been a few weeks since she and Violet had gotten together, but Prisha swore she felt the happiest in her life that she could ever recall.

Plus while life at sea was fun, the adventures memorable and the crew priceless, being stuck week after week on Ol’ Kickass was draining. It would be a nice change of pace to walk on the land and stretch her legs. Maybe spend a few moments alone with Violet. Prisha’s eyes traveled over to the blonde pirate who was leaning against the side of the ship. Her heart felt like it could explode with how much she loved Violet but those words were far too premature to say out loud. It was silly to think like that.

“Alright. You two ready?” Louis’ voice snapped Prisha back into reality. The captain gave a friendly grin as the tailcoats on his coat blew proudly in the wind.

“Yeah. Let’s head out.” Violet glanced over at him then kicked off the side of the ship and made her way towards Prisha. The two shared a soft smile before Prisha reached over and intertwined her fingers with Violet’s. They walked down the gangplank and onto the dock with their captain leading the way. Louis began to excitedly talk about this and that, how he hoped they could get good deals on products and maybe even find a trinket or two to buy as well. Prisha kept looking over towards Violet, feeling her heat pitter patter whenever the blonde looked over and gave a shy smile. Within minutes the three pirates had made their way towards the market. Children laughed as they ran around the open town square. The different sellers of fresh produce, jewelry and instruments called out, trying to persuade the people walking by to purchase their wares.

Louis spun around and gave a dazzling smile to his friends. “Alright, ladies. You know the dealio. Split off and get the necessary ingredients and supplies we need. And remember-”

“Get the medicinal herbs for Ruby,” Violet kicked aside a pebble.

“Get pearl onions for Omar and colored thread for Brody,” Prisha smiled when she saw Louis nod in agreement.

“Alrighty, then let's head out!” Louis dramatically tipped his pirate hat then disappeared off into the first set of booths.

Prisha lifted up Violet’s hand and placed a soft kiss on it, causing the blonde pirate to turn red. Prisha smiled then slowly let her hand slip free of Violet’s. Her own heart raced at the romantic gesture she had just done. Her relationship with Violet was her first true one besides… Prisha shook her head to try and banish the past. No. That never was a real relationship or anything good. All it was was pain and lies that tainted her past. This relationship with Violet was real.

Each pirate began to work to locate their own assigned items. With three of them it made the long list of items seem more manageable. Prisha slowly made her way through the crowd and over to the stand that held the medical supplies that Ruby had requested. “Excuse me, I’d like to get these items.” Prisha pointed to the nearby needles, bandages and ointment.

The seller nodded and turned around to get the supplies. “Sure thing, give me a minute and I’ll wrap it up for you.”

Prisha began to look around the marketplace while she waited for the boothkeep to gather the supplies. She wondered how the others were faring on their list of supplies to get. Her eyes scanned the area, noticing Louis getting into a heated yet friendly bartering match with a seller over a pair of earrings that certainly weren't on the list. Prisha knew who they were for though and knew Louis had chosen well in terms of jewelry for Clementine.

Prisha looked away and her eyes instantly focused on Violet who was walking by when she spotted something at a booth that caught her eye. The blonde’s eyes brightened and a small, soft smile appeared on her lips. Prisha felt her heart skip a beat at the sight. Violet was so beautiful. The way her eyes shone when she got excited, how her hair looked like the warm early rays of sunshine that came each morning. Prisha was quickly pulled from her thoughts though when the shopkeeper slid over her purchase.

“That will be five ducats.” The shopkeeper's voice didn’t seem to hold Prisha’s attention for long though.

“Oh, do you see her? Her hair. Her eyes. I love her!” Prisha slammed her hand on the stand, her emotions overpowering herThe pirate paused for a moment, realizing what she had just declared. A bright blush covered her cheeks. “Wait, I don’t know you. Why am I telling you this?”

The shopkeep seemed unimpressed. “Five ducats.”

“Right.” Prisha slid over the money and quietly took the supplies and tucked them away. Turning around she noticed Louis had made his way to a fruit stand filled with quite a variety of options. It would be wise to go and check to see if he needed any help. Luckily she had found all the supplies Ruby had required at one stand.  

As Prisha wandered over, Louis’ attention was drawn towards her. He gave a friendly smile. “Hey, Prisha! Already done?” he asked, holding up a piece of fruit and sniffing it. Louis was most likely trying to figure out its ripeness, although Prisha wasn’t sure how useful smelling it would be.

“With my first set of supplies. I just thought I’d drop by and offer my assistance if you needed it.” Prisha looked around at the array of fruits. Different colors filled her sights: apples, oranges, peaches and more filled each and every corner of the stand.

“That would be great!” Louis beamed. “I was trying to figure out which was the freshest fruit and I thought we’d start with-” His words quickly faded out, however, as Prisha’s gaze turned once more to Violet.

The blonde pirate was just two stands down and seemed to be in the middle of her own purchase. The shopkeeper was busy talking about all the different merchandise she had while Violet nodded absentmindedly, her eyes searching the stand for the items she needed.

“You know...” The shopkeeper's voice carried over through the air and sounded overly friendly. “I could give you a special price on your purchase today. Just for you.” The girl winked which Violet didn’t seem to notice nor the playful touch the shopkeeper gave to Violet’s hand. The blonde pirate was completely focused on looking at the merchandise that she was considering purchasing.

“Oh okay. Thanks.” she replied, simply grabbing the items she needed.

“So, Prisha, are those oranges ripe?” Louis looked over at his friend who was holding an orange that Louis had put in her hand to examine.

“That was a flirt line!” Prisha hissed under her breath. Her jealous little heart filled with anger at the forwardness of that seller. Balling her hand into a fist, Prisha caused the orange inside it to explode. Bits of pulp and peel flew in the air as the orange’s lifejuice slipped down and coated Prisha’s hand.

Louis looked shocked for a second, his eyes large at what he had just witnessed. He made a quick mental note to never mess with Prisha before turning back to the stand keeper.

“We’ll take a dozen, please! Including that one.” He gestured to the pathetic remnants of the orange in Prisha’s hand.

Prisha wondered whether or not she should go over there and talk to the seller. Let her know just how grave her foolish mistake was of flirting with someone who was already happily taken. At least Prisha hoped Violet was happy with her. The pirate’s mind started to spiral for a moment before she saw Violet making her way over towards her.

“Hey, you got any more shopping to do? I was able to get everything that I need.”

Prisha nodded.  “Besides some pearl onions for Omar and perhaps checking out a stand or two for my own enjoyment, I’m pretty much done as well.”

“Well, you want to finish shopping together?” Violet gave a shy smile and scratched the back of her head.

“I’d love to,” Prisha smiled and was surprised when Violet snuck a small kiss on her cheek before holding her hand and leading the way. The blonde pirate seemed shocked by her own forwardness and turned her attention to her feet to hopefully calm down her heart.

Prisha felt her own heart grow peaceful and she glanced up at the sky. Perhaps she was overreacting a minute ago. There was no need to get in a fight over that line, especially since the Ericson pirates wanted to avoid any arrests. Although Prisha was willing to risk getting tossed in a cell if someone else tried to make a move on her love. Soon Prisha’s attention was drawn back into the simple joy of walking with Violet.

“Prisha? Why the fuck is your hand sticky?” Violet looked over at her love.

“I may have crushed an orange in it,”

Violet looked utterly lost at why Prisha would do something like that.

“It was stupid.”

“Well, let's find some water to wash your hand,” Violet looked around and spotted a fountain. She guided Prisha over to wash her hand. After that was done they continued on with their walk. The three pirates continued their shopping for another hour or so before gathering by the fountain when they had finished up.

“Well I’d say that was a pretty successful shopping trip.” Louis looked proudly at the pile of supplies.

“Yeah, we didn’t do too bad.” Violet leaned against the fountain with a faint smile.

Prisha eyed the impressive pile. “We should figure out how to carry this all back to Ol’ Kickass so that Omar can prep for dinner.”

“Hear, hear,” Louis jumped up from his spot and began to discuss with his two friends what the best course of action would be. He offered to carry most of the heavy stuff while Violet tried to take as much as she could so that Prisha wouldn’t be overwhelmed due to only having use of one arm.

Once everyone was set with their share of supplies, they began to make their way back. Violet and Prisha immediately linked hands again while Louis led the way, the baskets draped on Prisha’s arm tapping softly against her side.

“So, tell me, Louis, did you happen to buy those earrings for Clem?” Prisha’s statement threw Louis off his walking groove for a second and he nearly stumbled.

“Why yes, I did,” Louis looked proud as he held up a pair of simple yet beautiful gold earrings. “I was able to get it for a steal too.”

“Did you steal it?” Violet looked at her best friend with a smirk.

“I did not - I’m an honest pirate!” Louis huffed and continued to lead the way while Prisha and Violet shared a laugh. Soon they had returned to Ol’ Kickass and Louis scampered up to greet his love with a hug before pulling her in for a tender kiss. Mitch and Willy began to tease the couple’s affectionate display before Brody appeared beside Mitch and whacked his arm. Soon Prisha and Violet were on board as well and the pirates gathered around to help with supplies and hear any exciting tales the pirates brought back with them. They would eat their fill of fresh food tonight.

[begluketostay]

distractions // luke mini series pt 1

distractions - luke mini series | pt 2 | pt 3

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: M (this part isn’t bad but the rest of the parts will be mature)

Keywords: smut, bestfriend!luke

Summary: You’ve loved Luke for as long as you’ve known him. When he gets back from tour, it’s getting harder and harder to live with never being able to have what’s right in front of you. You know you can stay strong, you just need some distractions.

Wattpad Link

A/N: this is going to be a mini series with about 4-5 parts, super excited for you all to read it :)

You hold your drink in the air and cheer along with the crowd around you when the door opens and the four boys you’ve been missing so much walk in. There are dark bags under their eyes from the lack of sleep they’ve been getting on tour, but there are still twinkles in their eyes from the happiness of finally being home and surrounded with all their friends. You watch as they walk through the crowd, fist bumping and hugging everyone in thanks for coming. 

They’ve been on tour for the past six months and they’d finally just gotten back that morning, so naturally, everyone had to celebrate their return. You’re not sure which of their many friends had offered up their house for the party, but you’d been placed in a giant group chat with all the details yesterday and you wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

Your heart swells as you watch Luke hug his friends and thank them so much for being there, and you can’t help but notice the confidence that he exudes from him as he makes easy conversation with each person and throws his head back in laughter at all the stories they tell him. You patiently wait for your turn to talk to him, standing toward the back of the room next to all of the drinks. 

The punch is actually just a giant cooler of jack and coke mixed together, and you sip on it easily, using it as a distraction to calm the jitters that have come to you. You don’t know why you’re so nervous to see him, he’s your best friend after all and you’ve missed him so much. 

He’s been looking around for you but has been unable to find you, and he almost thinks you didn’t even come until he sees you, your back turned to him as you fill up your cup once more. 

He wraps his arms around you and picks you up, twirling you in the air and you gasp as your drink sloshes over the rim of the cup and lands on your bare legs. “Luke,” you laugh, swatting at him to put you down and half-heartedly wipe at the sticky drink that’s all over your legs now. 

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, just excited to see you,” he grins, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling you into a tight side hug. “Didn’t hear from you much while I was gone.” You can tell there’s a hint of something in his voice as he says that, almost like disappointment, but you wave him off. 

“I know, I know, just had some stuff going on with my brother, you know,” you respond, acting like it’s no big deal because you don’t want Luke to worry about your family problems. He looks at you with wide eyes, and you already know he’s going to ask about it, so you say, “it’s not a big deal, he’s fine, I just had to go back home and help get him into another rehab. Had to help my parents deal with him a bit, and well… you know how it goes with him,” you shrug, rolling your eyes.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks, a little hurt that you didn’t come to him in your times of trouble. 

You laugh, because you know the exact reason he wanted you to call him is the exact reason why you didn’t call. “You were across the world touring. I know how busy you get while you’re gone and I didn’t want you worrying about me or my brother or anything,” you explain gently. “I know you would’ve tried to get on the next flight home and come help, and I can’t have you doing that anymore.”

“I could’ve made it work,” he says, “I have enough money to buy a flight, you know that, and I could’ve just popped in for a quick weekend to help.”

“You’re in the big time now, Lu, you can’t just fly home to help me whenever I have a problem. And I don’t need your help anyways. I’m a big girl, I do take care of myself while you’re away, you know,” you chide him. 

He shakes his head. “I know you can take care of yourself... god, do I know that.” He thinks of the time when you broke the nose of the guy who tried to humiliate Luke by tripping him in middle school cafeteria and then, many years later, when you punched a guy in the face at a bar for grabbing your ass. You’ve always been able to take care of yourself, and it makes leaving you for months at a time a little easier to handle. “I just like being there and helpin’ ya.”

“Anyways, it’s really not a big deal because you’re back now and instead of texting me, you can just show up at mine like you always do,” you laugh. 

He wraps you in another tight bear hug and you feel his lips pressing lightly against the hair on the top of your head as he squeezes you closer to him. “Ahhh,” he groans. “I’m so glad I’m back. Been a little homesick,” he admits. You just let him hold you and breathe in his scent that you’ve become so familiar with over the years. You’ve been missing that smell for months now. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop being sappy now, I’m gonna go grab a drink from the kitchen. You need one?” he asks, and you hold up your two-thirds full cup in response. He pinches your arm as he walks off to hopefully find something with tequila. 

You smile and close your eyes, trying to hold onto the feeling of his lips against your head just moments ago. It’s the closest you’ll ever come to a kiss from Luke again. 

When you open your eyes, you spot a pair of dark brown eyes across the room and curse under your breath. He’s already looking at you and you know he’s going to walk over any second. Now isn’t the time to talk about what you know he wants to talk about, and you really don’t want to be seen with him here. You don’t want Luke to notice the two of you together.

As he starts taking his first steps toward you, you rush over to him instead, glancing at Luke in the kitchen, glad that he’s occupied with more hugs and handshakes and congratulations. 

“What are you doing here?” you hiss. 

“If you haven’t forgotten, I’m friends with them too,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Sorry, I just…” you trail off, trying to find the words to explain why you’re so unnerved by his presence here. “I just don’t want to be suspicious,” you finish. 

He rolls his eyes once more and laughs at you. “You’re the one making it look suspicious,” he chuckles. “I was just on my way to have a casual conversation and here you are all jumpy and paranoid that your little lover boy is gonna find out that you’ve been sucking my dick.”

“Hunter!” you slap him on the arm. “Be quiet!” 

“Ouch!” he overdramatically rubs his arm, shooting you a quick glare. “C’mon, Y/N, you’re being a little ridiculous. And even if he does find out, who cares? It’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything.”

You don’t know why those words make you feel like you’ve been stabbed. 

“Low blow,” you mumble, turning away from him. 

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be mad at me, you know I’m right. Maybe could’ve said it a bit nicer, but you have nothing to hide from anyone. We’re all adults here,” he spins you back around to face him and sees that you’re still annoyed with what he’s said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Let’s go upstairs?”

You look back toward the kitchen and see Luke talking to a pretty blonde girl who is hanging onto his every word and you breathe out a big lungful of air. A distraction would be nice right now, but you’re at this party to celebrate Luke and you haven’t seen him in months and it would be pretty scummy of you to sneak upstairs with the guy that you’ve been using in his place. 

“No, not here,” you decide. “It’d be pretty shitty of us.” 

“It’s not fair you expect me to keep my hands off of you when you’re dressed like that,” he groans, trying to convince you. 

“I’m dressed like this for Luke,” you remind him. “But thank you for the kind words.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “He has no idea what he’s missing out on.”

Luke is looking around, desperately trying to get away from this girl who’s acting like they go way back when he’s sure they’ve never even met before. He’s trying to find you in the crowd and sighs in relief when he finally spots you, but narrows his eyes when he sees who you’re talking to. 

He and Hunter used to be close, but have drifted in the years that passed since middle school. The only reason they’re still on relatively good terms is because they’re cousins and have to behave around each other at family events, but Luke was always jealous of how he got all the girls in high school and how he’s always rubbed it in Luke’s face. 

And now Luke is watching as the two of you talk and share laughs, and he tells himself that the anger that is starting to bubble up deep in his stomach is just because he doesn’t want to let you get treated the same way all the other girls have been treated by him. He doesn’t want you to get tossed to the side once Hunter gets bored with you, because you deserve so much better than that. 

Luke smiles politely at the girl who is still talking to him, and interrupts, saying, “I’m so sorry, McKayla-” 

“McKenzie,” she corrects him. 

“Right, I’m so sorry McKenzie, I really have to go say hi to someone. It was nice seeing you again!” He knows he’s never seen her before, but just wants to escape politely so he can swoop you away from Hunter.

He’s halfway to you when some guys throw their arms over his shoulder and drag him to the front of the living room. All the boys have been brought up there and they look at each other in confusion. 

A group of girls bring shots to Luke, Ashton, Michael, and Calum, and the whole crowd is cheering for them to drink. They take one, two, three, four shots as the blurry mass of bodies screams and yells. 

The host of the party steps up in front of everyone and congratulates the boys once again on a safe return from their tour. “I think it’s only fair,” the host says with a mischievous sparkle in his eye, “that since you lot have been out performing shows for everyone in the world, you can give a performance for your closest friends, eh?”

The boys are all pretty drunk at this point. Calum’s cheeks are tinted pink from the alcohol and he can’t stop giggling while he watches Michael trip over his own feet. Ashton is so drunk that he just kind of stands there with his eyes glazed over, staring into the distance. Luke is a lightweight, so even though he hasn’t had that much, it goes to his head quickly and he’s starting to feel the effects of the shots. 

Someone cranks up one of their old songs and the boys “perform” for the crowd - meaning that Ashton continues to stare into space in the back with a dopey smile on his face, but is moving his hands to match the sounds of the drums in the song perfectly while the other boys jump around and loudly sing  offkey and in the wrong octave. 

Luke is jumping around and using a pack of cigarettes as a fake microphone, whipping his hair around to the beat until his eyes land on your body that is still laughing with Hunter in the back of the crowd. He tries to keep dancing, but a frown is now on his face and he can’t remember what words come next to sing along with. He stumbles through the crowd back to the kitchen to make himself another drink, hoping to get the picture of your hand resting so delicately on Hunter’s arm out of his head, and everyone is so enthralled with Michael and Calum dancing together that they don’t fuss too much about Luke leaving.

A few more drinks and he is well and properly drunk. By this point, you’ve noticed his absence and have excused yourself from Hunter to go search for him, worried about where he’s gone off to. 

“Luke,” you say when you find him, “what are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” he smiles at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Jus’ having another cup, this is so good.” 

You take the cup out of his hands and sniff, gagging as the smell of straight tequila enters your nostrils. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter, setting it down on the counter and grabbing his wrist. “Why straight tequila, Luke?” you laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “You are so gonna regret having that in the morning.”

You expect a drunken laugh from him, but there’s only a dramatic sigh. 

“Lu?” you ask. 

“‘M tired,” he says softly. “Can you jus’ take me home?” 

You rub his back softly and look up at his face, really taking him in. The bags under his eyes look purple against his pale skin and his eyelids are starting to droop. He always comes back looking a little worse for wear after touring and it makes your heart hurt for him. 

You know he loves it, but it takes so much out of him. 

“Alright,” you sigh. “Let’s get you home.”

You half drag and half hold him up as the two of you move toward the door to wait for the uber you’ve ordered. He slurs something about calling someone for a ride, he is Luke Hemmings after all, but you shush him and pull up your app, knowing that it will be faster than waiting for anyone that works for him to get there.

Getting him into the car is an ordeal, but after several apologies to the driver and lots of pushing, you finally get his long limbs shoved into the backseat. He doesn’t live too far away from the party, and you’re glad because you want him to still be awake when you get home because there’s no way you’ll be able to carry him in. 

You get him out of his leather jacket and pull his boots off his feet as soon as you get in the door, trying not to laugh as he stumbles around trying to wriggle his way out of his tight pants. 

“Y/N,” he mumbles from where he lays on his bed, clothed in just the t-shirt he was already wearing and his boxers. 

“Yeah, Lu?” you laugh. His face is smushed against the mattress, his cheeks pressed so far up that it’s hard for him to fully open his eyes. You want to kiss those cheeks so badly. 

“I’m happy I’m home.”

“I’m happy you’re home too, Luke.”

He opens his arms and reaches for you, and even though the two of you don’t often cuddle, it feels familiar and safe when you crawl into his arms and let yourself fall asleep there.

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

You open your eyes, smiling as you breathe in the scent that is one hundred percent Luke Hemmings. You scoot further against him and savor the feeling of being in his arms, closing your eyes and picturing him waking up and kissing you on the lips and confessing the things you want to hear from him most. 

You’re caught up in your little secret fantasy when several loud dings snap you out of it. You groan as you roll over, blindly reaching for the phone that’s making so much noise, just wanting to turn the sound off and drift back off to sleep in Luke’s arms, but the texts on the screen of the phone you’ve grabbed put a dent in those plans. 

The phone in your hand is lit up with several unread texts, and you read them at first, thinking it’s your own phone, but it’s not yours, because you definitely would not be receiving half naked pictures from a girl on your phone. 

If the pictures don’t make you sick, then the captions that accompany them definitely do. 

wearing the thong you liked so much and wishing you were here ;)))

ugh i can’t stop thinking about your tongue

also can’t stop thinking about your massive dick and how you -

You can’t finish that one, shutting the phone off before your eyes get ahead of you and practically fling yourself out of his bed. You look at the boy sleeping so peacefully and want to throw up. I mean, you know he sleeps with girls while he’s gone on tour, you can’t expect him not to and there’s nothing stopping him from it - it’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything. 

But you can’t help but feel a little betrayed by him. 

It’s one thing to know in your head that he’s sleeping around, but it’s another to see a full frontal nude of a girl he slept with just last week. 

You gather your things up as quickly as possible before giving him one last longing look and slipping out the door, trying not to let any tears leak out of your eyes before the door is shut.

part 2 here

[kristenbeeapples]

Fic idea: Kristen Applebees trying to be a good big sister after leaving her family

Allison you absolutely READ my MIND. Thank you for giving me an excuse to finally put all my (many, many) thoughts about Kristen and her siblings onto paper. Under a read more because this spun wildly out of my control!

***

“Ready?” Fig asks.

Kristen blows a loose strand of her out of her face, pockets her crystal, and nods. “Ready.”

Fig takes her hand and squeezes it, and then they appear with a burst of fire in her younger brothers’ bedroom. Adaine steps out of nothingness next to them a moment later.

“Kristen!” Cork yells, and leaps off the bed into her arms.

“Hey, buddy,” Kristen says, smiling. He smells like he hasn’t had a bath yet, he’s spilt something sticky down his t-shirt and he’s drooling a little, but she does not care one bit. She squeezes him tightly. A second later there’s another thump as Bricker runs up and hugs her from behind. With difficulty, she extracts an arm from underneath Cork so she can hug him too.

They start chattering excitedly, I missed you and Guess what I did at school today and Mom and Dad said – but Kristen interrupts, putting her finger to her lips. “We have to be quiet, okay? We don’t want Mom and Dad to hear.”

They both nod, their faces determined. It’s very, very cute.

Helio – no, not Helio, Yes – she’s missed them.

“Alright, Cork, you go with Adaine, Bricker go with Fig,” Kristen says, lifting Cork down off her hip next to Adaine. “I’m going to go get Bucky.”

“Okay,” Bricker says, and darts over to Fig.

“Hey, kid,” Fig says. “Let’s do this!”

“Yeah!” he says.

Fig holds her hand up, and Bricker jumps to give her a high-five. They both vanish.

Cork has suddenly gone shy, and hides behind Kristen’s legs. He’s met Adaine before – all her brothers have met the Bad Kids, after a weekend towing them along on investigations when she was meant to be babysitting – but it’s been a while, and it dawns on her that the last time was probably the night of prom when the house was attacked. She crouches down and gives him another hug.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Adaine’s cool. She won’t hurt you, promise.”

Adaine, who’s been hovering to the side a little awkwardly, kneels down beside them too. “Here,” she says, and hands over Boggy to Cork. “This is Boggy the Froggy. He helps me when I’m scared. Can you look after him for me?”

Cork takes Boggy, his eyes wide. “Coooooool,” he breathes.

Kristen presses a kiss onto the top of his head. “Go with Adaine and Boggy, I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”

Cork nods, focused on Boggy’s big eyes, and takes Adaine’s hand. Kristen mouths a thank you to Adaine as she misty-steps away, and then stands and sneaks out into the hallway.

Bucky’s room lies at the end of the hallway beyond the stairs, and as she creeps past, she can hear her parent’s voices from the floor below. Kristen freezes, heart rate picking up. She thought she would be okay coming here, but now all she can think about is angry voices, axes thrust in her face, get that out of our house -

A door creaks open, and Bucky pokes his head out. “Kristen?” he whispers.

Kristen steadies her breathing, using one of the tricks Adaine taught her. “Hey,” she whispers back. “Ready to go?”

He nods, shutting the door quietly, and gives her a hug. He’s so tall now, she thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud because she knows it will annoy him. Instead she takes out the Sword of Shadows, on loan from Riz, and misty-steps outside after the others.

Cork and Bricker are happily playing with Boggy on the street, but both stop and rush back over to her when she appears, so that all her brothers are gathered in her arms for the first time in months. The Applebees siblings, she thinks, and grins over the top of their heads at Adaine and Fig.

“Alright,” she says, as they break apart. “Who wants ice-cream?”

***

It’s early evening on a Saturday, so Basrar’s is fairly busy, but since he owes Adaine a favour they manage to get them two booths next to each other. She and Fig take one, and Kristen sits with her brothers in the other. She buys them as much ice-cream as she can with the last of the money she’s been saving from her old allowance, and tells them all about how the Bad Kids slayed a dragon and saved the day (the PG version, of course, and she neglects to tell them she died again.) They listen in awe as she tells the story, oooh-ing and aah-ing in the appropriate places, and then ask her lots of questions about what it was like being inside a dragon, delighting in the grossness she describes.

In return, she asks them about their lives, school and church and home, all the mundanity she’s missed, and listens contentedly as they all start talking at once. Possibly, this much sugar was a mistake, but Kristen doesn’t care. They’re here, they’re together, and that’s what matters.

As Bucky regales a story about his class trip to Bastion City, Kristen begins anxiously checking her crystal. She ignores the frantic calls from her parents (she’s sent them a text, it’s fine), and scrolls through her messages with Tracker. She said she’d be here at half seven, and it’s nearly eight – where is she? Did she bail? Does she not want to be Kristen’s girlfriend anymore?

Just as she’s about to ask her brothers to wait a sec and call her, Tracker appears at their booth. “Hi,” she says, with a nervous smile.

“Hey!” Kristen shuffles over awkwardly – Cork decided halfway through his ice cream that he wanted to sit on her lap and hasn’t moved since – so she can sit down. “Guys, this is my… friend, Tracker. Tracker, this is Bucky, Bricker and Cork.” She looks at each of her brothers, pointedly. “Say hi, and be nice, okay?”

“Hi!” they all say in unison. 

There’s a pause for a moment, all of them a bit unsure in front of a new person. Tracker, too, doesn’t seem to know what to do; when Kristen asked her to come, she admitted she hadn’t been around a lot of kids.

“Tracker’s a werewolf,” Kristen blurts out to break the silence before she can stop herself.

Tracker raises her eyebrows, and Kristen mouths sorry, but the boys all light up at once.

“How loudly can you howl?” Bricker asks.

“Can you transform right now?” Bucky says, excited.

“Do you bite people?” Cork asks, worriedly.

Tracker laughs at that last one. “Okay so – pretty loud, I could but I won’t because I don’t want to scare anybody, and no, I don’t bite, I promise.”

Cork sighs, relieved, and leans back into Kristen, whilst Bucky and Bricker look like they’re gearing up to ask more questions.

“Guys, don’t be rude,” Kristen says, vainly.

Tracker smiles at them in a way that makes Kristen melt. “No, it’s okay. Come on, what do you want to know?”

Her brothers spend the next ten minutes grilling Tracker about lycanthropy before Tracker starts telling them funny stories about her and Jawbone. Kristen can’t keep a dopey grin off her face as she watches all her brothers fall as in love with Tracker as she’s found herself falling in the past couple of weeks, and she thinks: this is what family should feel like.

When there’s a lull in the conversation, Tracker says, “I’ll be back in a bit, I’m going to go say hi to Adaine and Fig.” She stands, giving Kristen a thumbs up like they’d rehearsed, and goes to sit with the others in the booth behind them.

“So, do you guys like Tracker?” she asks, pulling Cork closer to disguise the shaking of her hands.

There’s a chorus of enthusiastic yeahs. “She’s awesome,” Bricker says fervently.

“She is.” Kristen takes a deep breath. “How would you feel,” she says, “If I told you Tracker is my girlfriend?”

Cork doesn’t seem to be listening, licking the remainder of his ice cream from his bowl, but the older two both look solemn as they process the information.

“Like, how cousin Nick has a girlfriend?” Bricker says.

Kristen nods. “Yeah, just like that.”

“But you’re a girl,” Bucky says, slowly. “And so is Tracker.”

“Yeah, we’re both girls.” Kristen says. 

“Does that mean you’re gay?” Bricker asks.

Saying it still feels a little like a confession, an admission of guilt, but she’s trying not to think of it like that. She’s trying to be proud.

She lifts her chin up, looks them directly in the eyes, and says, “Yeah, I am.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Mom and Dad and Pastor Amelia say that’s bad.”

Kristen’s heart sinks, though she keeps her expression neutral. She had known this was coming, had practised with Tracker to prepare, but it still aches.  “Yeah, they do,” she says. “A lot of people think that. But a lot of people, like me, and Tracker, and my friends, think it’s actually a good thing. What do you think?”

Both of them consider this. “Well,” Bucky says, eventually. “Tracker’s cool. And you’re, like, fine. So I guess it’s okay.”

“Rude,” Kristen says, but she’s smiling. They don’t hate her. They don’t hate her. There’s still hope for the Applebees. “But, thank you. And you know, if you guys have any questions about this stuff, about me being gay, or religion, or literally anything at all, you can always, always, come and ask me, okay?”

Bucky and Bricker both nod. Cork, who’s wriggled off her lap to play with the sugar packets on the counter, looks up and says, “Does that mean you guys kiss and stuff?”

Kristen grins mischievously. “We do. A lot.”

“Ewww!”

“Gross!”

“Bleugh.”

***

On the way home, Fig and Tracker race ahead with Cork and Bricker on their backs, Adaine misty-stepping ahead of them to judge the winner. It’s a warm summer evening, the setting sun bathing the neighbourhood in honey-coloured light, and a cool breeze carries her friends’ and brothers’ laughter down the street towards her. Kristen walks slowly with Bucky, swinging his hand up and down like she used to when they were younger, and thinks about how lucky she is. Her family is not broken: she is building it up again, better and stronger this time. Things are going to be okay.

As they round the corner onto the Applebees’ road, Bucky says, “You’re not coming home this time, are you?”

Kristen looks down at him, surprised. He’s a smart kid, but she forgets, sometimes. In her head he’s still just her little brother, running around causing chaos and annoying her when she’s supposed to be praying. “No,” she says. “I don’t think so.”

He nods. “I thought so. Mom and Dad wouldn’t say, but I could tell.”

“How are –” She bites her lip. “Are things okay, at home?”

Bucky shrugs. “They were better when you were here.”

“I know,” Kristen says, pushing down the guilt that overwhelms her. “I’m sorry, Buck. If I could stay, I would, but Mom and Dad are… they don’t want me around, anymore.”

“Because you have a girlfriend?” Bucky says.

“A bit because of that. A bit because of some other stuff.” Kristen says. “But even though I’m not at home anymore, I’m still your big sister, okay? If Mom and Dad ever say or do anything that upsets you or Bricker or Cork, you call me on your crystal, and no matter where I am I promise I’ll come get you.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, and squeezes her hand. She squeezes it back, and they carry on walking.

Outside the Applebees’ house, Kristen gathers her brothers to say goodbye, taking a sleepy Cork from Tracker’s arms.

“Did you guys have fun?” Kristen says, as they walk up the driveway.

Bricker nods energetically, still hopped up on sugar. “Yeah! Can we do this again?”

“Absolutely,” Kristen says, smiling. “Just don’t tell Mom and Dad where we went, okay? It’ll be our secret.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, “We pinky-promise.”

The four of them put their little fingers together, and Kristen laughs. “I love you,” she says, hugging them one by one. “I’ll see you soon.”

There’s a chorus of goodbyes as Kristen lets them go and bolts back down the driveway before her parents answer the door.

“Don’t go!” she hears Cork say from behind her as the door opens, and though her heart breaks she doesn’t look back.

She runs back to the others. “We gotta go,” she says, panicked, her parent’s yells echoing behind her.

Fig nods, grabs Kristen and dashes away on her skateboard, Adaine and Tracker chasing after them. She manages to keep the tears from falling for a bit, but by the time they’re safely back at Strongtower Luxury Apartments, she’s fully sobbing down Fig’s back. Tracker pulls her off the skateboard into a tight-armed hug, and Fig and Adaine pile on too, until they’re all in a wet, sweaty pile of limbs. She cries and cries and cries, feeling joyful and sad and terribly old all at once.

“Kristen,” Fig says, breaking away as she starts to catch her breath. “I gotta say, your little brothers are awesome. I’m gonna to teach Bricker to play bass the next time we do this.”

“You’d do this again?” Kristen says, blowing her nose on a tissue Adaine silently produces from her jacket.

“Yeah, of course, dude!” Fig slings an arm around Kristen’s shoulders. “I don’t have siblings, this is my one chance to spread anarchy to the next generation.”

Kristen laughs, wiping away her tears. “Oh, god.”

Adaine hands her another tissue. “As someone with an absolutely terrible big sister,” she says quietly, “I think you’re doing great. They love you so much.”

“Fuck, Adaine,” Kristen whines, sniffling. “I just stopped crying.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to – ” Adaine starts, hands flapping anxiously.

“No, I didn’t mean it, you don’t have to apologise,” Kristen says, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Thank you. Really.”

Adaine and Fig hug her again, and then head upstairs with a knowing glance, leaving Kristen alone with her girlfriend. The word still feels new and lovely, and she gets a little burst of happiness every time she says it. My girlfriend. My girlfriend.

Tracker loops her arms around Kristen and pulls her in close. “I really like your family,” she says softly.

Kristen gives her a watery smile. “I think they really like you, too.”

Tracker kisses her, and the sadness doesn’t go away, but it feels a little lighter. “You’ll see them again soon,” she says.

“Yeah,” Kristen says, and it’s a vow. “I will.”

[spellbound-banshee]

Chemistry - Peter Parker

Request: can you do a one shot where peter hates the reader and they’re in the same chemistry class and the reader is struggling and failing the class cause she has a bad family situation and the teacher tells her that she won’t be graduating because she’s failing and peter over hears the conversation so he decides to help her and finds out about her family situation and they become friends? it’s okay if you don’t wanna write it but i love your writing!! ❤️❤️❤️

heck yeah! this sounds soooo cute! and thank you sm :)

Summary: explained above!

Warnings: fluff, swearing, angst, mentions of death, TERRIBLE WRITING

Pairing: Peter Parker (TH) x reader

“I’m sorry Ms. (L/n), but I can’t let you graduate if you’re failing my class, you’re going to have to retake this year if you can’t get your grade up in the next few months.” Your teacher handed you yet another graded “F” on a test, making you cringe a bit and stuff it into your book bag. “I know what you’re going through is hard-”

“You don’t know anything about what I’m going through. I’m trying my best here, can’t you see that?” You spat, heaving your book bag up with a loud sigh. 

“Death in the family or not, you have to pass to get out of here. And I’m not going to let you slide by.” She sat in her chair with a sigh of agitation, picking up another test and slamming it down in front of her. You scoffed and stormed out of the classroom, the students beginning to get their money for lunch and going to the cafeteria.

A couple of weeks ago, your Mom and Dad got into a car crash while you were out with your friends. You weren’t made aware until your Dad came to and called you, making you stop in your tracks and immediately drive to the hospital. Your mother was in a coma due to severe brain injury, as she had been on the passenger side where the car hit. After a few days of worried pacing and waiting, she had flatlined and the doctors could do nothing to revive her. Your father is clearly trying his hardest to get through this, but he can’t even look after himself, so you’ve been on your own throughout this process. You started skipping school and failing your classes to cry in the courtyard; everyone in the school new about this, and though they tried to help, nothing could make your pain go away. 

“E-excuse me?” You heard a soft voice mumble behind you. Turning around, you saw the face of a familiar Peter Parker; you hadn’t known him too well, but he sat behind you in your chemistry class. He was super smart, and seemed to keep to himself mostly.

“Hey, Peter.” You smiled gently at him, and he seemed surprised that you even knew his name. Despite what some people thought, you weren’t a bitch, you were grieving, which caused you to isolate yourself from your friends and the rest of your family. Even though you tried, you couldn’t find the strength to keep relationships.

“Y-yeah... I’m P-Peter. I-I sit behind you in chemistry, but I guess you already know that...” He seemed to trail off, a light pink tint blooming on his cheeks. “I’m sorry... a-about your family it must be really hard...” You nodded your head; Peter knew about grief, when Peter’s uncle had died the whole school knew about it, but nobody really had the courage to say anything to him.

“Thank you...” You gave him a tight-lipped smile, wondering where this conversation was going, or why he was talking to you in the first place.

“A-anyway... I overheard that you were having some trouble in chemistry... a-and I like chemistry so... if you want I-I can help you... with that.” He seemed to end the sentence in a question, and he definitely seemed like he was scared to talk to you, but that was more of an awkwardness thing. “I mean if you want... you totally don’t have to-”

“I could really use the help.” You admitted sheepishly, fiddling with the skin on your fingers for a bit. You were a bit nervous in the first place, why was someone you barely knew being so nice to you? But, then again, he was a nice kid from what you heard and saw, and nobody - not even the teachers - had offered to help you. “Are you busy tonight?”

“T-tonight? As in like after school...” Peter mentally hit himself. He couldn’t believe he was stumbling over his words and being so... weird in front of you. Sure, he liked you and everything but acting cool was definitely not one of his specialties. 

“Yeah... like after school.” You answered curiously, tilting your head with a small endearing smile stretching your lips.

“Of course, I-I knew what you meant.” He took a small breath in, attempting to calm his racing thoughts. “Yes, yes I should be free tonight. If you want you could come over to my apartment, my aunt is making a casserole, shouldn’t be too bad of a disaster.”

You smiled gently at that, he was funny, cute, smart and he was willing to help you. Sounds like the whole package.

“Sounds good, I can drive if you want, just tell me the way.”

“O-okay, thank you...” He trailed off as you nodded, beginning to walk to your locker. 

“Thanks for offering to help, I really appreciate it.” 

Peter smiled and let out a tiny noise of glee when he was sure he was out of sight; sure, it was something as simple as helping you not fail chemistry, but it was a start.

-

“There are so many stupid equations to remember!” You yelled in frustration, rubbing your temples, wanting to rip out your hair in anger. You were a smart kid, but not paying attention and missing a lot - especially in chemistry - is a hard thing to come back from.

“Okay, okay. Why don’t we take a break?” Peter said calmly, timidly moving the textbook away from you with a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have shouted.” You whispered, your head still in your hands, already feeling tears stinging the back of your eyes. You couldn’t believe you were crying in front of someone you barely knew.

“Hey, it’s okay... I get it. Just take some deep breaths.” Peter absolutely knew grief, he’d lost his parents and his uncle; even though it happened a long time ago, he would still get nightmares and get flashbacks. Though he wasn’t the best comforter at first, he knew your pain.

“I-I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have... I knew this would happen.” You began to stand up, desperately trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes, but Peter could see them, and his little heart broke at the sight of them. “I-I should go... thank you again for-”

As you turned around, you felt a light pressure on your forearm, not enough to pull you but enough to catch your attention. You couldn’t look back at him, you knew if you did, you would want to cry on his shoulder, and you didn’t want to open up, you didn’t want to put that burden onto someone as sweet as him.

“(Y/n)...” That was the first time he’d said your name, and so softly. It already felt like home, it felt so warm and comfortable, desperate to comfort you. “Don’t go... please. You’re not a burden. I promise you, you’re not a burden.” It was like he was reading your mind, and in that second you knew why. He had probably been in this exact situation before. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but I’m here... I know you don’t know me well... but I’m here.”

That voice. So soft, so tender and loving. No bad intention behind it, just the need to make you feel safe and comfortable, the need to take your pain from you. By this point, tears were flowing freely down your face, and you slowly, slowly turned to meet his eyes. That face. That puppy-dog face just wanting, itching to pull you into a tight hug and never let you go. He barely even knew you, but all he wanted to do was tell you that everything will eventually be alright.

Neither of you moved. He didn’t want to make you flinch, he just held your arm  gently, his thumb twitching back and forth carefully as to try to soothe you in some way. When his eyebrows creased, you took a shuddering breath in and moved towards him. With some hesitation, he reached out his arms and pulled you into his chest. You weren’t heavily sobbing, you were barely even crying anymore, but the comfort and vulnerability you felt made you smile. You hadn’t felt loved in a long time, and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him as well. As soon as that happened, he pulled you a bit closer and put one hand on the back of your head, stroking your hair soothingly.

Neither of you wanted to let go, being this close to each other created a strong bond wordlessly. He started to rock back and forth gently, his other arm going to wrap around the small of your back as he bent slightly forward to be your height. You breathed in the scent of his hoodie, the smell of school still lingering on him with a hint of whatever cheap cologne he buys. 

Eventually, you both pulled away, Peter’s hands immediately coming up to gently wipe your sticky cheeks of tears you forgot were even there. “I’m s-”

“Don’t apologize.” Peter shook his head, leaving a lingering touch on your cheek before pulling away. “Thanks for opening up to me, really. It means a lot.” You gave Peter a small smile and a nod, rubbing the back of your neck shyly and putting your bag down. “Hey, we should take a break. Maybe we could help Aunt May not burn the complex down.” Again, you smiled.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude...”

Peter shook his head, taking your hands in his and actually making eye contact with you to show he means it. “You’re not intruding at all, I’m sure May would love to meet you.” 

“Okay.” You nodded softly, and he smiled in response, that pink tint coming back to paint his cheeks. Oh sure, now he was getting all blushy again.

With another shy smile, he opened the door for you and gestured for you to lead the way. You were met with the bright smile of - presumably - Aunt May, who seemed just as happy to see you as Peter was.

As you and Peter helped May with the food, you all got to know each other better. You talked about your life and what’s been going on, and for the first time in a while, you smile genuinely. You laugh with them over embarrassing and funny stories, even finding the courage to put some of your own in there. 

Peter swears your an angel. He’s never heard you laugh before, genuinely. I mean a giggle here and there when you were talking with your friends at the lunch table in front of him, but this was you. You were finally happy for the first time in what felt like an eternity. 

“Hey...” Just before you were going to walk out the door to drive home, Aunt May tapped you gently on the shoulder. “Peter really likes you.” She gave another one of her bright smiles, and you could see Peter blush from across the room. “You’re really special, (Y/n). Never forget that, okay?” You almost felt moved to tears once more, where were the Parkers a couple of weeks ago?

“Thank you, Ms. Parker...” You gave her a smile and a nod, hoisting your bag up once more.

“Oh please, you’re family now. Call me May.” She gave your hair a small ruffle and smiled opening the door a little wider so you had a comfortable space to get out.

“Thank you, again. And Peter?” His head perked up from around the corner as he was putting dishes in the sink. He was still blushing madly, but doing his best to hide it. “Call me. Maybe we could try again?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah that’d be awesome.” With a final smile and a nod, you walked out the door and shut it gently behind you, shaking your head as you felt dizzy off the happiness.

“Peter.” Aunt May sighed heavily, shaking her head and smiling.

“Yeah, May?” 

“Do you have her phone number?” May knew her saying that was a sign, telling him to give her his number. 

When Peter’s eyes went wide, you could hear Aunt May’s laugh from the stairwell above you just as you heard your name being echoed throughout the stone walls.

-

[androgynousblackbox]

Crafts I have done during quarantine

I was bored so decided to rate and review all the crafts I have done while I had nothing else to do. Working in felt Pros: -It’s fairly easy to do, even kids could try it, given that someone checks on them to be careful with the pointy stuff like scissors and needle. -You end up with something cute and soft that is going to be your very own plush, like wow, don’t you feel accomplished for making your own plush. And you can make it however you want, adding as many details as you could ever want. Or not, whatever, it’s your own choice. -There is a lot of free patterns for a lot of things online available. Do you want to make a beetle? Have a pattern for it. Do you want to make a bear? Have a pattern. And in case you don’t happen to find the pattern for the thing you want, you can always just make it yourself or adapt a prexisting one for the thing you need. -You can add details in embroidery if you want, to give something extra. Cons: -To work with felt you will either need a lot of glue or develop a second skill, that is sewing so it will take some practice before you are making the lines straight or as close as they need to be. Or else risk getting all untangled and have the fucking thing have it’s filling picking on a corner. -Time consuming. Between making/printing the pattern and cutting the parts there is no much trouble, that will feel like a breeze. Depending on the size and the level of detail, It’s the fucking sewing that will take you forever and, again, if you are not used to it, I hope you enjoy getting pinched, having the thread tangled up it’s own ass, having to redo a stitch because it came out way too fucking ugly and thread that motherfucker through the needle’s eye again and again, because you are going to do a lot of that with each single piece. Don’t try to make it perfect or your eyes will get tired. Which is a shit advice if you WANT to get it perfect and cute and exactly as the pictures show, but you won’t because you are just starting so, fuck, embracing the potential ugly it is. Take solace in the fact you made that ugly and that ugly wouldn’t exist without you. -3D images objects like balls for heads or body will take even more time and maybe especial patterns if you can’t just do them from your own imagination. -The plush will never end up exactly as you imagined after you put the filling the first times. Just deal with it. Rating: 6/10 because fuck sewing. Cold porcelain Pros: -It’s easy to make and if not, cheap to buy, infinitely cheaper than polymer clay and, on my case, so much easier to find. -Some cold porcelain can come in certain colors, but if you don’t have access to those that it’s okay, you can grab the cheapest paint you have on hand and kneed it together with just the tiniest amount. Your hands will end up a mess, but at least you can have all the color you could need to do anything with one single package. -Speaking of packages, cold porcelain is usually sold in bigger quantities than polymer clay so you could do a lot with just one. -You don’t like how it turned out in the end because the thing dried way darker than you expect? You can paint it over with acrylic paints no problem. -Did I mention that is cheap? The ideal glue for cold porcelain is white glue, the same shit kids use for school. Just a tiny amount will be more than enough to join any pieces together as long they aren’t too heavy, so with buying a big bottle you will served for a pretty long time. This only work as long the piece hasn’t dried completely, though. -If for whatever reason you want to save on glue, use water. In general you can use water to make more intricate details, join two pieces so they appear as one or smooth something out. -I have used three different brands of cold porcelain and I had never had a problem in which my fingerprints got stuck all over it. -Are you a terrible cooker that gets bored waiting for the food to cook, gets distracted with something else and come back to find you overcooked? Or rather, get so nervous about that happening that take out the food before it’s completely done and had to stand eating something undercooked because put it again on the oven sounds like too much of a hassle? Don’t worry, because cold porcelain doesn’t need an oven. Just make sure the thing can dry on the position you want and let the air do it’s job.  -It’s completely non toxic so literally anyone can work with it. -It usually smells like nothing or like glue, so if smell is something important to you on your craft, this is not bad. Cons: -Cold porcelain can be sticky as fuck, especially when you add water or just kneed it with paint, so you will have to use some kind of moisturizer on your hands to handle it easier. Oh, and for this too you will need to cut your nails and clean your work station because once a little hair or unwanted particles get stucked there, good luck taking it out if you don’t want to paint over afterward. So, hey, this could be a pro actually, because if you are someone that doesn’t remember to clean your hands as much you should, cold porcelain will force you to do it and maybe help develop the habit. -Depending on your environment, it could take one, two or even three days for it to dry completely, so you will need to develop some patience for this. The more intricate your piece is, the more you will have to wait for each of them to dry some before putting the details or join together so it doesn’t become too heavy. This could also be a pro for some because you can take all the time you want to modify or add whatever you want. -You must be careful about cracking because what looked like a tiny line during the modeling could turn into an abyss once it’s dried. You will usually be able to fix it easily putting more cold porcelain on top or covering with something else. -Everything you do will be reduce in a 30% in volume, so the figure might never be as big or the size your expected it to, unless you can actually calculate that kind of stuff before time and, like, who has time for that. -Depending on the shape of the figure, you may have to keep turning it from one side to another while drying so it doesn’t warp. You can avoid this by putting the figure on top of a bunch of paper tissues. Rating: 10/10, fucking love it. Punch needle Pros: -Once you understand the basic principles (don’t pull the thread, don’t make punches too far apart, hold the needle right), then it’s very easy to do. -You can make your own pins, plush, pillows, handbag and, truly, anything you can imagine with the fabric. -You have a double effect in which one side looks all smooth and the other one it’s all fluffy and soft, so you can combine both to make something really cool. -There are different size of needles so you can work with embroidery thread or yarn. -It’s very satisfactory to “punch” on the fabric, going with the needle just up and down and up and down during the whole process. You don’t need to be extra careful with it for fear of hurting yourself by accident so you could get your hand busy with that while watching a show or seeing a video. -If embroidery seems like too much work for you, this is the easier version of it even though, as said, the effect and the way of handled it is not going to be the same. Cons: -You will need especial made needle for this, so if you don’t have easy access to them you are kind screwed. There are some needles that come with different options for different threads, but the cheaper one is going to be a single one of one size with which you are only going to work with one type of thread. -You will spend A LOT of thread in one single piece so you better have a lot in hand to complete it. -You will need a especial type of fabric in order to punch it without completely destroying it. -There is not a lot of people who do this kind of craft, so you might struggle to find people interested on it or that publish their work so you can get some inspiration from. -It is, after all, time consuming because you are going to spend a good while just filling up one single are. If you are doing an entire area, that is going to take even longer. Raiting: 8/10 because impatience. Wet felting Pros: -If you are still a terrible cooker, but somehow find the action of kneeding relaxing, then this is the craft for you. It’s so easy that it’s a good activity for kids too. -Low level concentration required because once you get to work the thing with your hands, you can be doing anything else with your eyes and it won’t matter because you are just working with wool, soap and warm water so you can’t hurt yourself even if you do get distracted. -You can do practically anything with this, from clothing for dolls, dolls themselves, accesories and more. It’s up to your imagination and the ways you find to make it. You can even use it to wrap a bar of soap and then not only will help rid of dead particles easier when you use it, but it will last longer. -You can use embroidery for details once it’s dried and ready, or also needle felting.

-Any type of clothing made with this will be the warmest shit you ever had when it’s cold, will last the longest and will keep you drier than other fabrics. Wool is fucking awesome. -Two pieces done the exact same way are never going to look the exact same way. There will always be something unexpected that will give it a unique touch. -Because all you are doing is working with soap and water, your hands will be all clean and nice by the end. -This is an old as fuck technique so you know it must mean that works. -You can dry it around any shape you want, like a vase, and it will permanently take that shape no matter what you do with it after. Cons: -You must be able to get access to natural sheep wool. Synthetics might have pretty colors, but they won’t stick to each other like natural wool does. This can get expensive the more colors you want to add, if you happened to be a lazy fuck like me who can’t be bothered to learn how to dye it. But, you know, there is that option at least. -Making this is an entire process: you need an area where you don’t mind if some water gets spilled onto the floor, space big enough that you can kneed it all you need, put plastic or a towell underneat, don’t mind that your own clothing can end up a little wet and have access to warm water. If the dyed of your wool starts coming out, your towell will end up tainted with it. -If you are doing something 3D, once it start drying, your piece will reduce it’s size and become tighter the more you kneed it so don’t expect it to look the same as it was when wet. And it will take a long while to dry completely until it’s able to be used, like two or three days depending on how big it is. -If you like a smooth kind of look, this is not the thing for you. It doesn’t matter how much you work the wool or how well it’s made, there will always be some hairs sticking out so you will have to learn to live with that and take it as part of it’s charm. But unless you are extremely sensitive about your skin, it won’t be itchy to use either. It just feels warm and comfy. -You try to find people who dedicate to this on the regular. Just try. Rating:7/10 because it’s a lot of work. Crocheting (amigurumi) -Very forgiving type of craft unless your warn suddenly decides it doesn’t want to untangle and end up with an unexpected knot or breaking something trying to pull it appart. -There is A LOT of information, resources, groups, channels and more for you if you are a begginer. Plenty of patterns are also available for free and there is a lot of inspiration to take from that you can easily customize to your own needs. -It’s extremely satisfactory see a shape slowly being formed through your work and in the end you can something soft and cute all for yourself, or whoever you wanted to give it to. -You can do your own dolls, doll’s clothing, figures and creatures adding or taking whatever detail you want, no one is stopping you. -Yarn as a source material is easy to get for most people. A crochet hook are not that expensive either. -Since the warn and the needle are bigger than what a needle for sewing and thread would be, sewing parts together or for adding details it’s not that diffcult. -If you don’t like sewing not even then, or you want something to look a very particular way, you can needle felt it. Cons: -High level concentration required, especially if you are a begginer, because you must count a lot and if you miss even just a single step, the entire thing will look forever weird to you, but aren’t willing to go back all the other steps to find out what went wrong either. -It will take a while getting used to hold the hook and the warn in a way in which the work doesn’t end up too tight or too loose. -Patterns can and will confuse the fuck out of you in the start because you first need to learn an entire vocabulary in order to interpretate them. It’s like reading music, it’s just a bunch of meaningless symbols without that aknowledge. -If you have any kind of cronic pain in your hand, you will need to take a lot of breaks because a lot of crocheting will only make it worse. -The limit of what you can do is always going to be how you descipher the right way to crochet it. You can’t just do the thing, escupt it like on the cold porcelain and then it’s done, there is what you wanted, but you must work it row to row with a lot of care so you don’t miss anything or overdo it. -There is a lot of ways to hold your hook, your work, to do this or that, but all amigurumis are always going to have the same samey texture and look, so you must really be sure you are all about it before getting into this. -Also, if you want to create a new pattern or modify a prexisting one, you will need math. Fuck that noise. Rating: 5/10 because numbers suck. Needle felting Pros: -Excelent stress reliever since you are literally stabbing the wool to do your betting. -Because you are working with a needle, you can be as precise as you could ever want, making sure your work looks exactly as you wanted it to be. -You can sculpt the wool into any shape you want, but unlike cold porcelain or wet felting, there is no drying time required. The work is done and ready when you say is done and ready. -You can do great dolls with this technique since the wool is so flexible and maleable. -You can work with the wool and a needle, or combine this with other techniques to make something more unique, like on the case of amigurumis, welt felting or punch needle. It doesn’t need a especiall fabric either, you can use it on any to add fun details to your liking. -You don’t even actually need wool if you don’t have it close. If you lack any specific color, you can get it’s equivalent on yarn, make fluff out of it with a steel brush and use that for felting just the same, or use the yarn directly. Although if you do that last one you will need to work it a little more to get rid of the original texture and make it smooth. Cons: -The more you work on your wool with the needle, the more firm and less hairy will be, unlike wet felting in which you have to live with it. Problem is, this could take a lot of time and even more so if you don’t have any especial holder and are working with just a single needle in your hand. We are talking about hours and hours of stabbing and stabbing, so make sure to take breaks and let yourself breath before keep going. -High level of concentration required because the moment you get distracted, you will end up stabbing yourself. There are accesories you can put to cover your fingers, but if you don’t have access to those, be careful because those needles can get pretty deep. For this reason I wouldn’t recommend it for a child. -Compared with other type of crafts, there is not a terribly lot of resources for people interested on this and a lot of it is tutorial videos in japanese for some reaosn. If you speak any other language but that one or english, even less than that so a lot of your journey is going to be experimentation. -The needles might have no trouble piercing your fingers, but they are still very fragile, some more than others, so you can’t just grab whichever and go ham to town with it because it will end up broken. If a needle seems like it bends too easily it can be used, but carefully and once the piece it’s too firm for it to penetrate you will need to change for a sturdier one. You will probably need multiple needles of varyin sizes to finish one single work. Rating: 9/10 because I saw a neede literally piercing my finger and that wasn’t fun. String dolls

Pros -I love them?? There are so easy and so cute, omg??? And you are telling me that I can add embroidery, felt, wool or anything I want into it but all I need for the base is yarn? And no math or couting stitches required? Fuck yeah. -Anyone could do any of this, with or without an armature, and as long you have the glue to make sure nothing comes out of place even after some handling, then you have something a keychain, a figurine or doll exactly to your liking. -There is not a lot of resources for people to make these, but those that do exist are fairly easy to customize. Most of them were done by kids so, yeah, definitely they can do it too if they want. -Theorically you could make them as big as you want, but there is nothing wrong with just having something small and adorable. -You can recycle little balls of paper or scrapped yarn in order to make the filling for the head. Cons: -Unless you construct them very well and use a lot of glue, and depending the level of details integrated, they might not be the most durable thing on the Earth. They are relatively easy to repair at least. -Because they are usually small, like small as the palm of your hand small, you might not have space to make it extremely detailed. You can try, though, I guess. -Medium level of concentration required because you have to make sure that the yarn is tense enough that will keep it’s shape and not unravel the moment you let go. -If it’s too firm but you still need to add something with a needle, good luck forcing it’s way through it. Raiting: 10/10 would string again.

[evanstanhoney]

Priorities//Badboy!Shawn

a/n: this is a new concept i’m playing around with. let me know if you want more of this universe? i kinda like it, it’s right up my peaky blinders alley lol. also sorry for the title. 

summary: you're having a mini emergency, and shawn lets you know that no matter how crazy his life is, you will always be his number one. 

⚠️warnings: fluff, mentions of illegal activity

word count: 1.3k

You and Shawn were pretty independent in your relationship. You each had your own separate lives (Shawn's far more exciting than yours) and you respected that. There was no checking up on each other, or checking the other phone when one of you got home late. Your relationship was built on nothing but trust and respect for one other. That's not to say you didn’t worry, because of course, you did, but you never let that get the best of you or get in between your relationship. As long as he came back to you at the end of the day, you were fine.

But you had a shitty day. A really shitty day, and for the first time in the entire time you’ve been together you were blowing up his phone waiting for him to call. You were a little needy and wanted your big bad boyfriend to make it all better. After call number three, on the second ring, he finally picked up.

“Honey is everything okay, I’m working?”

You instantly felt guilty. Shawn working and another person's idea of working were two different things entirely. When Shawn was ‘working’ that meant he needed to focus,  and whatever it was he was doing needed his undivided attention or someone could get hurt.  

“I’m fine. I’m sorry -” you ramble, ready to hang up the phone. You can hear him excuse himself before he’s back on the phone with you.

“No, you’re not. You never call me like this.”

“It’s nothing, you’re working Brian probably -”

“Honey.” he’s got that tone in his voice. The one that makes you weak in the knees and has your heart pounding out of your chest.

God everything about him screamed danger, but fuck did you love him for it.

“I just had a shitty day and I hadn’t seen you and...just - I want to see you.”

“Did someone do something?” He nearly growls into the phone.  

Even if someone did do something, you wouldn’t tell him. You’d made that excuse once and you swore you’d never do it again. Although part of you enjoyed knowing he’d do anything to protect you, even if it wasn’t necessarily socially acceptable.

“What, no! Everything is fine, it��s just stupid school stuff.”

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll wrap things up here and then I’m all yours for the rest of the day.”

“Are you sure? I can wait until you’re done.”

“I’ll be home in about twenty minutes, okay?” you nod your head forgetting that he can’t see you “Honey?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you.”

The moment you hang up the phone you instantly feel a weight lifted off of your chest. You feel so silly for it and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out just why you were feeling particularly needy today but knowing that Shawn was on his way to you calmed you down.

Having him home always calms you down. So often you didn’t know where he was, all you knew was that it was dangerous if you ever knew which only meant it was dangerous for him.

You’re at the refrigerator, looking at the contents as if you’d be able to get inspiration and make a meal out of eggs and a few cups of greek yogurt. You felt two strong arms around your waist and you jumped, but instantly relaxed when you smelled the familiar scent of cologne and leather.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” he lets out a little chuckle but behind his eyes, it’s all business. When it came to you and your happiness, he was always business. “What’s going on?”

You open up the freezer and opt for a pint of ice cream, taking a spoon from the drawer and hopping onto the kitchen counter. “You’re going to laugh when I tell you.”

He moves towards you on the other side of the kitchen, standing between your legs, hands resting on your thighs, “No I won’t. I promise.”

“I went to register for classes today and uh...the one class I need to graduate is full. I went to my advisor but she said there's nothing she can do.” You go on to explain the rest of the fiasco that was your time spent in the advising office, and how everything would be pushed back. You were working yourself up into a huge frenzy and when you finally stopped to look away from your ice cream at Shawn you see the exact opposite of what you expected splashed across his face.

“Why are you smiling, Shawn this isn’t good.” You ask around another spoonful of ice cream, and he only lets out another chuckle “this isn’t funny. My life is falling apart here.”

“Your life's not falling apart.” he shakes his head. He looks down at the pint of ice cream in your hands, opening his mouth and you feed him a scoop of his own.

“I just love hearing you talk about school. You're so smart you know that? Makes me wonder what you’re doing with the likes of me.”

“I’m going through a phase.” you quote, your mother rolling your eyes. It’s meant to be light-hearted but you see his shoulders slouch a little. “Hey, I’m kidding. I love you. You know that.”

And he does, its just that it's hard for him to believe it sometimes when he’s reminded that he’s nowhere near where you are in life. He’s never gotten a formal education past high school, he has no other real talents, aside from guitar and singing (which, how far can that really get anyone), all he knows how to do is outlaw. But at least he’s damn good at it.

“What is it that I pulled you away from anyway?” you quip genuinely curious.

“How much do you want to know this time?” He asks with a sigh, signaling for another scoop of ice cream and you spoon it to him.

“Ummm….20%.”

“It was mainly just a fight. We were discussing how we’re going to clean some of the money from the last job. We’ve got a shit ton of jewelry that we’ve got to get rid of, but none of our connections are buying. Too ‘risky’ they said.” He rolls his eyes, gritting his teeth “I told them we should find another job in the first place.”

The last job he and the boys pulled was pretty public. You never heard about the jobs, if anything there would be a small segment on the news, but it would be for one night and then it would be over. The last one though was a media circus, for nearly a week. Nothing was ever able to come back to them and everything turned out to be okay. The police got an anonymous tip and a generous donation and they looked the other way.

That was the first time you were ever really scared for Shawn.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I didn’t realize things were that bad, you have bigger things to worry about then my schedule.”

“No. Of course, I’m here. You're always going to be my number one.”

“Even when things are going to shit?”

“Especially when things are going to shit.” he smiles, cradling your face in his large hands, “if I didn’t have you I’d be going absolutely mental.” he stops for a moment, really taking in every inch of your face, “You’re my everything babe.”

“My badass outlaw boyfriend really got it bad for me. The guys know you’re this soft?”

“Shut up.” he giggles bringing you in for a sticky kiss that tastes like caramel and chocolate.

masterlist // tell me what you think? // requests? // wattpad // ao3

[sapphic-suchoripterus]

Material Spirit

Posting this here cause why the heck not :P

Summary: Inspiration can come from unexpected places, especially when you're as depressed as Adagio. Fandom: Equestria Girls Genre: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort (and maybe a teeny hint at Sundagio but who’s keeping track) Rating: Teen Content Warnings: profanity, slight suicidal thoughts, depressive habits, self-deprecating talk.

Adagio woke to the sound of her stomach rumbling. With a shaky hand she reached for her phone next to her pillow and tapped the screen, smudged by her own fingerprints.

4:09 PM. She sighed, realizing she had slept through the majority of the day again. Her stomach growled a second time.

Pushing the sheets off of her head, Adagio cringed as the cool air hit her sweaty face. Turning toward her night stand, she picked up her glass of lukewarm water and took a few gulps. Water dribbled out onto her shirt. She made no attempt to wipe it.

Her stomach turned with a gurgle, perhaps roused by the water, or recoiling from it not being food.

Eat something, dummy. You won’t be able to get anything else done if you don’t eat.

Adagio then mustered up her strength and reached for the box of oyster crackers standing on the floor by her bed. She popped open and ate a couple handfuls of the contents, which she decided would make up for missing both breakfast and lunch.

After tossing the box back onto the floor, she took another gulp of water and sighed as she felt her eyes begin to droop, and the bones in her neck make a small popping noise. She lay back down on her pillow and tried to forget about the fact that her hair desperately needed to be brushed.

You’re filthy. You’re so pathetic.

Shutting her eyes, she tried to remember if today was Wednesday or Thursday.

Outside of her door, she could hear her sisters chattering and thumping up and down the hallway of their apartment.

Adagio didn't bother to try following the conversation, but from the tone being thrown back and forth, she guessed it was Sonata bugging Aria to do something. Not unusual.

Nearly every day started this way for Adagio. Wake up, eat something stashed in her room, look at the ceiling, hear her sisters outside, and inevitably be reminded that she was...

Stuck.

Sure, she knew she could wake up earlier, go outside and do something, but not one muscle in her body would agree. Her eyes would refuse to open up all the way. The sweat on her face felt like a dirty sheet of plastic that kept her trapped in her bed.

This was all normal now.

This was her life after losing her amulet. The woman she truly was without her siren magic. A hollow, useless weakling long drained of dazzle.

This is the real you. Without the smoke and mirrors.

She envied and respected her younger sisters for moving on, for finding purpose and motivation. For retaining an identity without dark magic to command their every decision.

Adagio let the tears roll down her face and cursed her futility.

Her inability to get up and see the sun. Her naivety for not realizing how much of herself was intertwined with the powers she once had. The pathetic haze of simply existing.

It’s all downhill from here. This is your life as a human.

All Adagio could do was sleep. She didn't even dream anymore. Even if she had something to dream about, her brain would never have the energy.

A knock came at her door, and a tentative Sonata spoke.

"Dagi? You up?"

Adagio took a deep breath. "Yeah," she sighed.

"Uh, do you um, want to come with us to the mall?"

Adagio furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Cause Aria like, got paid today and she has a lot of extra money this time!" chirped the youngest Dazzling.

Hmm. Maybe being somewhere besides her bed would help her feel a little refreshed. Oh please, you’ll tire out halfway through and come home with nothing.

"Maybe..."

"Oh..." Sonata replied softly. She sounded disheartened.

Great, you made your little sister sad.

"I'd have to shower first." "We're gonna go in an hour, you can do it that fast, right?"

"I doubt it, Sonata."

You’re such an asshole. She looks up to you, wants to spend time with you, and you say no.

"Okay..." Sonata breathed. She left Adagio's door.

Adagio stared at the ceiling, thoughts tumbling. You’re a terrible sister. You failed them. They pity you. You’re not worthy of their love anymore.

Light suddenly filled the room and a pillow was rudely slammed into Adagio's face.

"Okay, get up!" Aria snapped.

Adagio, not taking kindly to the intrusion, threw the pillow to the side and sat up. "What the hell was that for!?"

Aria was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and scowling. "Go shower and get dressed, you're coming to the mall with us!" Aria said with a snarl in her voice.

"Just go with Sonata," Adagio grumbled as she pulled her covers back over her head.

"Nuh-uh. You're coming too." Aria yanked the covers off Adagio.

Adagio winced. "I'm tired."

"You've been in bed the whole day!"

"My hair is too gross."

"Wash it then! You are not skipping out on me."

"I have nothing to wear."

"Then come with us and buy some new shit to wear!" Aria shouted, before reaching over and turning on Adagio's desk light. More light hit Adagio's face and seeped through her eyelids.

"I'm sick of you moping around like this. It's not good for you, it's not good for me, and it's not good for Sonata. You're making her all worried and shit. She doesn't need that."

Adagio opened her eyes.

It’s not like you can fix years of being a shitty sister to her.

"We all gotta be doing stuff, Adagio. We still gotta live, we gotta be humans, our only other option is to die like a goldfish in a toilet. I honestly don't care what you do with your life, but just lying there day after day is sad."

She’s right. You’ll never get better.

"If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Sonata an' me. Give us some impression that you still have a life."

You at least owe them that. They’ve seen the real you.

"Alright, fine. Just get out of my room and I'll be ready in a bit," said Adagio as she sat up again. She felt a tendon in her neck throb.

"Okay," said Aria, turning to leave. She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. "Thank you, Adagio," Aria said under her breath.

"You're welcome," Adagio mumbled before Aria shut the door.

You don't deserve their patience, you know. Be grateful they haven't given up on you yet. They should, though. Think about how much happier they would be if-

Adagio huffed, and stood up out of bed. “Shower… think about showering… where’s my bath sponge…” She whispered to no one.

***

She stepped out into the living room to find Sonata and Aria dressed as if they were headed to a concert. Sonata wore bright blues and pinks, her arms covered in bracelets and her nails painted. Aria had opted for black and dark purples with contrasting greens and flashy silver chains.

Sonata looked like she was about to speak, but she kept her mouth closed.

Adagio felt a bit modest in her jeans and baseball tee. She hadn't even worn her signature headband, instead putting her hair up in a ponytail to hide the fact that it was still wet. That had been to save time, for simply blow-drying and fluffing it up would have taken half the hour.

Nuh-uh, It’s really because you’re a lazy-

"Alright let's head out," said Aria. She whispered something to Sonata before unlocking the door, and Sonata glanced back at Adagio a second time before following her sister outside.

***

The mall was, as usual, an overload to the senses. The scents of floor polish, cinnamon rolls, perfume, sports equipment, and many others collided and formed what Sonata fondly referred to as "mall smell".

It didn't bother Adagio quite as much as the sounds of the mall. People chatting, children goofing around, music blasting from store to store, and all of it amplified by the enormous hollow building. Hearing herself think wasn’t easy.

Then again, the last thing she needed was to be alone with her thoughts.

Her hand was suddenly grabbed by an excited Sonata. “Hey, hey Aria! Can we get one of those giant cinnamon buns? I’ll share it this time!”

Aria raised an eyebrow. “You promise not to wolf it all down in thirty seconds?”

Sonata pouted and pulled Adagio closer to her side. “Yeeeeeees, I promise!”

“Okay. We’ll get one then.” Aria, being the one with the money, took the lead. Adagio didn’t want to bother with trying to wrestle away the control today.

As usual, Sonata hadn’t reached for any of the napkins Adagio had set on the table for the three of them, instead opting to lick her fingers clean of the sticky sugary glaze and cinnamon filling. It didn’t disgust Adagio as much as when her little sister would unwittingly get it on her face and neglect to wipe it off.

Adagio put the plastic fork that she used to eat her third of the cinnamon bun in her mouth and chewed on one of the prongs. Now that she had something other than oyster crackers in her stomach, she felt herself perk up a bit.

Aria set her phone down and looked across the table at where Adagio was sitting.

"So, where do ya want to go?"

"Hmm?" Adagio pulled the fork out of her mouth and looked at Aria.

"I said, 'Where did you want to go?' I know you hate that place that sells overpriced hats, but honestly I don't think a blue snapback would look too bad on y-"

"Aria, what are you talking about?" Adagio asked, setting her fork down.

"You need new clothes, right?"

"I…” Adagio remembered Aria mentioning new clothes earlier, but she hadn’t thought her sister was serious.

Aria groaned and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Ugh… I’m offering to buy you some new clothes, Daj. Do you want them or not?”

“I… yes. Yes I want some new clothes.”

“Alright then,” Aria picked her phone back up.

New clothes, huh? You don’t deserve them. She pities you so much. But you won’t be turning them down, now will you?

“Where did you want to go, then?” said Aria. “That way I’ll get an idea of how much I’m spending.”

Adagio said the first thing that popped into her head.

"Bushel's."

Aria smiled a little bit, and then pocketed her phone. "Bushel's it is then."

***

Bushel's was one of the larger clothing department stores in this mall. Nothing fancy, but it had some solid variety and thankfully for Adagio, it was easy to get lost in.

Aria had taken Sonata with her to browse around the place while Adagio looked around. If she were in a better mood, they would all be looking around together. They would be building each other's ensembles bit by bit, praising certain articles of clothing and mocking the ones that were ugly. They would be having little dare contests to try on tacky jewelry or oversized sunglasses. They would be stumbling around in the most ridiculous boots they could find, laughing at each other and picking each other up off of the floor.

Adagio twiddled a shoelace between her fingers. She felt hollow.

When was the last time you even shared a laugh with your sisters? They’re probably wondering where that version of you disappeared to.

She shook the thought from her head and began to leave the shoe aisle-

Then she saw it.

It was only the backs of their heads, but Adagio knew. She recognized the hair, the voices…

Sunset Shimmer.

With her was another of the other Rainboom pals, the one with the shiny purple hair who played the keytar and wore too much mascara. The other girl with her looked a bit like the Princess from Equestria, but Adagio didn't remember her wearing glasses or having such twiggy arms. She had to have been the Princesses' human double.

Adagio felt her chest tighten, and a familiar feeling of dread creeped up her spine. She backpedaled and ducked behind a shoe shelf, only peeking around the corner at the girls.

Sunset Shimmer. To say Adagio felt conflicted about the girl now would be an understatement. It had been years since they'd seen each other, the day Adagio and her sisters lost their last connection to Equestria in their amulets.

If she hadn't stood up and sang her verse, Adagio would still have her magic. Her sisters would still have theirs. She would have fulfilled her promise to them for power and adoration. She had every reason to dance on the grave of this human brat, for causing all the color and beauty of the world to vanish in an instant.

That’s not the only reason you despise her, you jealous little asshole. You admire her too. She succeeded where you failed. She found magic. She’s living her best life. And she’s not even a siren. If she were, you’d be her bitch.

Adagio watched, as Sunset picked out a purple jacket from a clothes hanger. It had a tall and fancy collar with gold buttons and spikes along the shoulder. Sunset turned around, facing her two companions and slipping the garment on.

It was a good look for her. Sunset’s bright smile and vibrant eyes combined with the warm, dark colors and sharp angles on the jacket were stunning. It was a look that said “I have arrived, and I’ve brought a good time with me. If you want a piece, you’ll keep your attention on me!”

As far as Adagio thought, sharing a good time and a positive energy seemed to be something humans did exceedingly well.

Sunset’s companions said something to her that Adagio hadn’t caught. Sunset responded, and then she removed the garment and put it back on the rack. She was still smiling, and Adagio thought she’d even seen a little giggle.

Look how happy she is. You’ll never be as happy as that again.

Adagio scowled.

Sunset and her friends then left the store.

They didn’t need new clothes to have fun or to forget how shitty a person they are, not like you.

Adagio felt her throat tighten.

It’s so funny, just how angry you get when someone is doing better than you-

Adagio took a quick breath, then stepped out from behind the shoe shelf. “Keep busy, look through some clothes… breathe...” She mumbled.

She busied herself, looking at different jackets. She read tags. She held up sleeves and observed their lengths. She put her hand inside a few of them and felt out their interiors. A lot of them were either too scratchy or too fleece-y. Adagio wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but not those.

Her eyes kept going back to the purple jacket that Sunset had tried on. It was almost like there was a halo on it, pulling her attention back in its direction.

“Maybe…”

She strode up to the rack the jacket hung from, finally looking at it head-on. It truly was a magnificent garment. She wondered just what had compelled Sunset to try it on in the first place. Could have been anything really.

Adagio stroked it with her fingertips. It felt like suede, soft and unmoving at once. She made a little line in the warm fabric with her fingernail. She slid her way down to one of the sharp gold spikes on the shoulder. They weren’t sharp enough to draw blood, but with a little pressure, perhaps it could tear some skin. The spikes stood proud and bright, as if displaying a warning to those who would encroach on the wearer’s personal space.

It felt a little heavy as Adagio held it in her hands.

She lifted it up to her face, and inhaled.

“Hmm...:” It had a teeny tiny trace of Sunset Shimmer’s perfume on it.

It smelled good.

Really good.

Adagio slipped the jacket on.

She fixed the collar so that it stood proud, the golden buttons shimmering brightly. Adagio felt herself smile a little bit.

Adagio looked around the store for a mirror. Spotting one, she walked over to it, feeling her smile getting bigger and bigger as her reflection got closer and closer.

For the first time since losing her amulet, that blank space in front of her neck where the jewel had rested didn’t look so bare. The jacket drew attention to her shoulders and made her look stronger, sturdier. The gold adornments stood beautifully against the dark, brooding purple and made the golden highlights of her hair lustrous once more.

Oh wow, a fancy jacket is really the only thing that can boost your mood? You really are a shallow, little- “Hmph!” Adagio huffed, as she tossed her hair and smirked her sexy smirk into the mirror.

Happiness flickered in her stomach.

It’s probably just endorph-

Adagio spun around, smiling harder and walking toward the sales counter with her new favorite jacket.

***

“So if I touched those spikes, would I start bleeding?” Sonata piped up.

“You could try, but I’d rather not stain it the same day I get it,” said Adagio. “And you would be the one to clean it.”

“Heh, alrighty then,” Sonata said as she sat back in her seat. “Ooh, you wanna see the stuff I got at Clear Sky’s?” She reached into the pink plastic bag on the floor of the van.

“Sonata I swear if you turn on that light while I’m driving…” came Aria’s voice from the front.

“Oh fine…” Sonata pouted. She turned back toward Adagio and held up a little blue dragon plushie. “Touch it! It’s super soft!”

Adagio smiled, then reached out to pat the stuffed animal on the head. She was right, the glittery fabric was silky under her fingertips. “It’s very cute, Sonata.”

“Also when I squeeze her claw, her eyes light up!”

“Sonata, I mean it!” Aria growled.

Sonata stuck out her tongue in Aria’s direction, then turned back to Adagio and said in a whisper, “I’ll show you when we get home!”

“Thank you, Sonata,” Adagio replied.

***

The silence of a house relaxing was much different than the bustling mall. Adagio felt strangely serene, curled up on the couch in the living room rather than her bed. She hoped she’d still feel this way in the morning.

“Hey… Adagio?”

“Hmm?” Adagio looked up from her phone.

Aria had quietly sat down opposite to her on the couch. She looked like she was having a hard time relaxing where she sat. Her eyes darted around.

“You uh… you gonna be okay?” Aria asked, looking Adagio in the eye. “You know, like… okay okay?

Adagio set her phone down on her lap. “What do you mean?”

Aria wrung her hands together. “I mean like, do you need… help? Or something?”

“Help? What are you talking about?” Adagio spoke softly and cocked her head to the side.

Aria crossed her legs and continued. “Cause, I know a few guys. They can get you some good stuff. Not to get high or anything, I mean like legit meds. Antidepressants and stuff that actually works.”

This took Adagio by surprise. She wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well... Aria, I don’t know exactly what kind I would need,” said Adagio. “I don’t even know if I am depressed.”

Aria looked at her sister head-on. “Adagio, I know you. But I also know that healthy humans don’t lie in bed the whole day and eat nothing but crackers.”

Adagio looked off to the side, clutching the sleeves of her jacket. She couldn’t argue with that.

“I just… want you to be happy, ya know? Me and Sonata care about you. And we know you aren’t happy.”

Aria gave her sister a half-smile. For her, that was truly sincere. “We wanna help you live happier, even if we’re all stuck as humans.”

Adagio sighed. “Human....” She was tired of hearing that word, but she knew Aria was right.

“I mean you don’t have to decide right now, but maybe think about it? I know it helps a lot of other humans.”

Adagio nodded. “Yeah. I understand.” She smiled at Aria.

Aria shrugged. “I know losing your magic sucked. But I also know going round and round the same things everyday isn’t gonna help.”

“Every day is the same…” Adagio echoed to herself.

Aria rested her head on her elbow. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Every day’s the same…”

“Uh, yeah…” said Aria as Adagio repeated herself.

Adagio suddenly blinked her eyes wide open. Something in her head was lighting up.

“I’ll get back to you thanks Ari!” Adagio said in a rush before jumping up and rushing toward her room.

“Uh, okay?” Aria furrowed her brow in confusion.

***

Adagio stood on the tips of her toes and swept dust off of her top drawer with her hand in haste. She opened the heavy wooden container and reached inside, feeling around for her long neglected notebook and glitter pen. Grabbing them, she jumped back onto her bed and flipped on her lamp.

Her hands were shaking as she cracked open the old notebook. She scribbled a few lines of the pen on the sides of the next blank page, getting the old writing instrument working after laying dormant for so long.

She began to write, her penmanship messy.

Round and round.

Going Round and round.

No. Scratch out the ‘ing’.

Going Round and round.

Same things every day.

Every day is the same.

Wait, too many syllables.

Every day is the same.

Every day’s the same.

I lost my magic.

I lost my magic.

We lost our magic.

Wait no, keep it in present-tense for now.

Lose our magic.

Come back to that one later…

Which way do I go?

Which way do we go?

Where do we go?

Hmm…

Adagio looked down at her new jacket, smiling as the proud golden spikes twinkled.

There’s beauty in everything.

I see beauty.

I find beauty in everything.

I can find beauty in little things.

Can I find beauty in little things?

Put a star by this one. Come back to it later...

Adagio continued writing long into the night.

***

[galfridus1]

Melban Weekend Day 1: BROTP

I’m super excited to publish this for @meliodas-and-ban’s Melban Weekend. Thank you so much @jacklynnfrost for writing this with me. You are amazing to collaborate with. Partly inspired by my drinking pal and a song with the same title by Gene.

Fill Her Up

A collaboration between Galfridus and Jacklynnfrost

As soon as the door opens the muffled music expands forth to pound the bass line in his chest, and he feels the sounds reverberate inside his ribcage. He frowns softly, stepping in and looking around the place. Booths line the left wall, a bar is to the right with half the stools empty and a female bartender reaching for a top-shelf bottle of amber liquid. It smells like stale barley and a little like cigarette smoke, but mostly disappointment.

He recognizes none of the faces, looking over the group by the window and giving a second glance to the full table beside the restrooms. With a sigh, he walks to the bar while pulling out his phone to double-check that this is the right establishment. It is, but while double-checking a text comes in from one of the colleagues of the many included in this plan, ‘Bar meetup is canceled, we’ll try again next week.’

Since he’s already here and thirsty for something warm and bitter, he finds a seat at the far end away from the couple cozied up together. The shiny table-top is sticky and he frowns before moving over a seat, eyeing the community bowl of nuts before him. It isn’t as if he is particularly interested in getting to know any of the people he works with, but he made the effort today where no one else seemed to take the plans seriously.

“Yo!” a deep voice calls out, one he recognizes and he turns to see that one of his colleagues has also shown up. The man looks almost too young to be in a place that serves alcohol, his green eyes sparking with an almost indecent enthusiasm and his small face alight with a wide, beaming grin. “Hey Ban, sorry I’m late. Where’re the others?”

“Meet up’s canceled~” Ban drawled as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“Aww, really?” Meliodas flops into the seat opposite him, shaking out his messy head of blonde hair. “That’s a shame. I could really do with a drink.”

Ban grins, a sharp canine poking out from the side of his mouth. “We’re here aren’t we?” he says leaning forward. “I’ve got nothing else going on this evening.”

“You’re on!” Meliodas sits up a little straighter. “What’s your poison?”

Now, this is more like it. Ban grins. “Aberdeen Ale,” he says with a bit of a leer.

Meliodas cocks his head to one side. “Hey! Me too! Okay, coming right up!” Meliodas hops down from the chair and Ban quirks an eyebrow to see just how small the man is. He can’t be more than five feet at most. As Ban checked his phone, listlessly scrolling through Facebook, he found himself wondering more about the man who was busy buying him a drink. Meliodas has a reputation for being an extremely effective operative, someone who can sell rocks to a troll. Ban is not bad at it himself, well he hits all his targets each month, though his rivals would say that’s because he scares all the clients.

“Here you go!” Meliodas is suddenly back at the table, plonking two frothing pints of dark brown liquid down before him. Ban cackles, wrapping his fingers round the cool glass. “Cheers!” the other declares as he retakes his seat, and both men take deep, grateful drafts of the ale.

“So, how did you get into sales?” asks Meliodas. He swipes his sleeve across his face to make sure he does not have any foam on his mouth while speaking.

“The usual way,” Ban replies, “I needed a job so I found one.” He grins, raising his glass as his companion snickers, “I’ll drink to that.”

Their mugs rest on the bar top, silence between them but the noises of the bar are loud. Meliodas taps his fingers on the wood, barely hearing the sounds he’s making while Ban vaguely turns to the television currently showing a commercial. “Is it what you want to do?” he finally asks, not out of real interest but more for something to say.

“Nah, of course not,” Ban says with a laugh, taking another long drink and Meliodas stares. The man certainly is putting it away. Not to be outdone, he too takes a draft, clearing just a little more of the ale than his companion has done. “This is just a temp thing, you know.”

“Same.” Meliodas’s gaze flicks to the table and back again. “So um… what’s the plan, long term I mean?” Ban says nothing so he presses on, “I want to open my own bar, actually. Do a better job than this,” he adds with a smirk as his eyes rove around the room taking in the faded decor, the peeling paint and the obvious shine of something sticky on the bar itself. “Have you seen the toilets?”

“Not had that pleasure,” says Ban with a grimace, “and it’s my round. Same again?”

Meliodas gives a cheerful nod then drains his glass ostentatiously as Ban does the same. With a grin, Ban gets up from the table, his long legs elongating before him like a spider’s. Eyebrows raised, Meliodas watches as Ban makes his way to the bar, the slight smile on his countenance broadening to a huge grin as his colleague returns with not two pints, but four.

“It’s happy hour,” Ban explains. “Drink up, we should get another round in before these go back to full price.” Meliodas gladly obeys, sinking half a pint in one go. “Not bad,” Ban observes as he sets down his own glass, now more empty than full.

“Not bad yourself!” Meliodas drains his pint then raises the next. “Bet I can finish this before you.”

“You are so on!”

Together Ban and Meliodas raise their glasses, clicking the vessels together. “Three...” Meliodas begins.

“Two…” Ban follows.

“One...” teases Meliodas as he pulls the pint close to his face, the tang of ale on the air making his mouth water.

“Go!” The two immediately place their drinks to their lips, chugging down the alcohol as quickly as they can. They are both fast - very fast - and Meliodas makes himself hold his breath as he downs the drink more quickly than even he is used to, feeling a little lightheaded as he swallows the last of the ale. When he bangs the glass down on the table, he is gratified to see that he is a second before Ban, whose face is now a little pink round the cheekbones.

Meliodas stands, swaying slightly as the room reorientates itself. “S’my round,” he declares, grinning to Ban over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bar. Feeling the thrill of a challenge, he decides to buy six of the ales, the bartender giving him a sideways look and a tray.

“There!” Meliodas sets the tray on the table, joining in Ban’s chuckle as his colleague rubs his hands together. “Alright!” Ban declares as he takes one of the glasses.

“You know, that’s my plan too,” Ban slurs.

Meliodas’s brows furrow. “What is?”

Ban barks out a laugh. “You wanna set up a bar. Me too. That’s what I’m saving up for.”

“You do?” Meliodas’s jaw hangs a little slack, and he closes it quickly, covering his confusion with a draft from his own pint.

“Yeah. I figure there’s not a lot better than being surrounded by alcohol all day. Plus I can cook. I’m damn good. I want to have this traditional pub, cobbled stone floor, oak tables with stools, the lot. You know, like a tavern they’d have in the old days.” Ban’s face is dreamy, his eyes set into the middle distance as he leans forward to rest his arms on the table. “I’m gonna get someone to do front of house while I cook pies and roasts. It’ll be heaven.”

Meliodas is breathing heavily, and he swallows hard. “What’s eating you?” Ban asks with a cackle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mind made up, Meliodas reaches for his bag, pulling out a worn, leather-bound sketchbook. “I… you mean something like this?” he asks tentatively as he opens the book. He watches Ban carefully, heart pounding in his chest as the other looks down at the page, his expression morphing from curious to amazed. He looks down himself at the scene he has so carefully drawn: cobbled stone floor, neat little stools set by round tables, patterned diamond windows, and a well-stocked bar. This is his dream, and he looks into Ban’s wide-eyed stare, excitement flowing through his veins.

“I call it, The Boar Hat,” he says diffidently.

“Oh. My. God.” Ban glances at him, then picks up the book, gazing with intent at Meliodas’s sketch. “This is perfect. It’s exactly what I imagined. How did you… what… how?”

Meliodas gives an awkward laugh. “I’ve wanted to set up my own bar as long as I can remember. It was, um, a distraction from… stuff.” He picks up another pint, knocking it back to cover his embarrassment, rolling the liquid around in his mouth.

With the book in one hand, Ban reaches for his glass as well while staring at the page and takes long drags from the beer. The pages fan out without his hand there to hold it in place and sketch after sketch flashes, too fast to make out more than a few. “You must have needed a lot of distractions,” Ban notes, trying not to pry as he rights his new friend's book and slides it across the clean side of the table.

Meliodas shrugs, having just finished a deep swallow of his beer to dive back into it before fully breathing, finishing off the glass. “Same, honestly,” Ban notes, looking down into the amber liquid as if it had the answers, if not those he knows it has some relief. To keep up, and with memories trickling in, Ban finishes off his glass as well.

They both reach for another, in tandem and when their gazes meet their expressions are mirrored as well. The two are physically different but it's like one wounded soul recognizes the other, seeing that deep dark pinch of something that had been left to burn inside. Seeing it sparks a true connection. “Huh,” they both exhale and then snicker as they lean away with their cups and take another healthy swig.

“You too, huh?” Meliodas asks, shaking his head in a mix between exasperation that the world is so fucked and companionable wry acceptance. Ban shrugs, taking a second deep inhale of his drink following his first. He gives a start, his glass slowly lowering from his lips as he realizes that had been Meliodas’s non-answer moments ago. A heavy laugh bursts forth, a bit too loud until Ban slaps his hand over the table. “We’re the same!” he declares, edging into inebriation.

Meliodas laughs with him, downing his glass before smirking with foam on his lip, uncaring about his appearance at this point. “Fifty bucks says I had it worse.” He’s joking but Ban’s shoulders square up to their table, “Buck-fifty, and you’re on.” He accepts, both look to their next glass on the table, their last one, and say together, “We’re gonna need another round for this.”

To keep with the pattern, eight glasses are ordered and he’s all snickering grins as he wobbles the tray to their table not spilling a drop of the golden comfort. “You go first,” Meliodas demands.

“Nah, mine’s way more disturbing. I don’t wanna ruin yours.” Ban leans back in his seat, his crimson eyes a challenge as he takes yet another long drink of the ale.

“Confident huh?” Meliodas downs his pint. “Okay, but you’ll regret it.” He picks up another of the glistening glasses, condensation beading around the outside. “Life was alright when I was young. My old man has always been… well, he’s always been him but my mum did her best to shield me from it. He was never violent, you see, just… horrible.”

He gulps, wincing a little as Ban stares at him intently, a bit of heat burning the back of his neck. “I didn’t really know how bad it was at the time but I’ve pieced things together since, you know? He wouldn’t let her go out on her own, except to buy groceries, and if she spent too much or didn’t get the right things he’d yell at her for hours. And I mean really yell, at the top of his lungs. He’d call her all sorts of names.” Meliodas pauses, taking another draft of ale as his throat starts to burn. “He chose what she wore, wouldn’t let her have friends, wouldn’t let her talk to her family… I didn’t know that was weird until much later.”

Ban is leaning forwards now, his eyes slightly misty. “Go on,” he murmurs softly as Meliodas sucks in a deep breath.

He nods, then continues, “She… died when I was ten, giving birth to my brother. I didn’t even get to see her…” He takes another breath, willing himself to keep it together. “So there I was with my father and this baby and I had no idea what to do. I had to learn pretty quick,” he says with a laugh. “And Zeldris was tough work. He’s great and all but…” Without thinking, Meliodas tugs at a lock of his hair. “Anyway, with my mum gone, my father turned his attention to me. My grades weren’t perfect, Zeldris made too much noise, the house wasn’t clean enough.” He breaks off at this, contemplating his glass before drawing the remaining liquid into his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Ban says, all trace of slurring gone from his tone. “That sounds shit.”

“I really did think it was my fault,” Meliodas says with a laugh. “It wasn’t till I met Elizabeth, then I realised that it’s... not normal. She took me to see her family and, well, they are. Normal, I mean. They’re nice to each other. I… I wasn’t nice to Zeldris,” Meliodas says with a rush. “I was pretty nasty to him actually. He won’t talk to me anymore…” He zones out, looking over Ban’s shoulders seeing nothing as he mutters, “I left him there, he was a kid and I, I knew.”

Ban sets down his pint with a thunk. “You should make it up him,” he admonishes, his voice cold as frost. “Brothers and sisters are… you look after them.”

“Yeah.” Meliodas takes another drink. “I know. I’ve tried to apologise,” he pleads as he looks into Ban’s face to see a stern line to his companion’s jaw. “I really have. He doesn’t forgive easily.”

“Then keep trying.” Ban glares, then his eyes soften, his own emotions spiking. “Aw, I know you are. And don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll come round. Who’s Elizabeth?” he asks, a smile creeping back onto his face to help his friend focus on the good part of his life he just shared.

Meliodas grins in return. “My girlfriend. We’ve been going out for a few years now. If I get a bonus this month, I’m gonna buy a ring.”

Ban slaps the table harder than the first time, his laugh so loud it reverberates over the thumping bass of the music and other patrons turn to gaze at the pair. Behind the bar, the staff glance at each other with worried looks. Then the hubbub of conversation resumes and the staff relaxes, returning to the serving of drinks and wiping down surfaces in a desultory way. “That’s why you’ve been working like crazy! It all makes sense now! Rings are damn expensive,” Ban says rather glumly.

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience.” Meliodas peers at Ban, whose face has turned slightly red. “You are talking from experience,” he declares. “Go on! Tell me more.”

“Her name’s Elaine, and that’s all you’re getting tonight.” Ban grins then drinks. “I’m gonna ask her this weekend.” Meliodas does the same at the news, tilting his mug in Ban’s direction in a mini salute to his new friend's future happiness. Their glasses hit the table and Meliodas arches a brow. “All I’m gettin’, huh? I spill my metaphorical guts and you only give me your girl’s name. I think this is the easiest one-fifty I’ve ever made.” After a breath and a smirk, he continues, “Maybe Elizabeth will get her ring first with all this easy money coming in.”

Ban snorts, takes a drink of his beer, finishing it with long gulps before pushing it to the side with the other waiting empty mugs. They clang together and with a flushed face he announces, “If this were our bar, these would be taken care of already.” Ban sighs when his declaration goes unacknowledged before turning to Meliodas with a small wince. “My old man was the opposite, never said much but communicated through violence. Ma wasn’t much better, sending me out to steal for them. Her requests were always impossible and when I’d return with less than asked for, I’d get punished. But all that shit, that’s fine.” Ban laughs humorlessly, fingers stretching across the sticky table for another of their waiting beers.

“See, I learned my lesson too late too, the one about protecting your younger siblings.” Ban grinds his teeth, hissing in a breath between them. “I hate that my life got better after. That I benefited from her death. I was put in a nice home, got a father figure worth his salt, food every night and even a brother my age… all at the cost of my sister’s life.” He can take no more, the memories sparking and leaving his chest tensing, his actual heart aching. Ban tips his drink back in a clear sign he is done revisiting the dark, but never forgotten, corners of his life.

“Fuck.” Meliodas grimaces, finishing his mug so Ban isn’t drowning himself alone. “I think this is a wash, then.” They both eye the other, then take another drink. The two gather up their next beers and Mel starts drinking but Ban halts, bringing the mug to eye level. He spots that this cup still has red smears of lipstick stains on it, he’s drunk enough to holler again. “Wash!” He yells, not gripping what Meliodas is talking about as he focuses on the dirty glass. “This place wouldn’t know clean if Mr. Clean himself squeaked in here with a soapy rag.” He holds up his glass, showing no one and everyone in the same go. “Look at this! I’m basically making out with a stranger with these lip marks!”

Finally the bartender glares over to him, and in an exaggerated move Ban points to his current cup before sliding the full mug across the table to clang into all the empty cups waiting for pick up. Meliodas snickers, finishing off his beer with a sloppy wipe of his face on the back of his sleeve. “We’ll have pretty girls serving and picking up the dishes,” Ban determines.

Meliodas’s eyes grow wide, his hand slaps at the table top making the glasses jiggle together in a chiming chorus perfectly timed between songs and the bartender gives an exasperated, audible grunt from behind. “Elizabeth in a cut off shirt with a short, short shirt. Mm-hm, It’d be the uniform, she can’t refuse.”

Meliodas finds this idea brilliant, he’s practically beaming as his mind races with all the things he can ask her to do dressed like that. He’s mumbling, drunk enough to not realize he’s speaking out loud. “Obviously she’ll have to reach for the top shelf stuff, being short has its perks, and bend to pick up the fallen cups…” He’s practically licking his lips about it when Ban laughs.

“If you put Elaine in that ‘uniform’ I’ll knock your block off. C’mon let’s get some more. In, like, clean - CLEAN - glasses’s time.”

Ban’s slurring just about makes sense and Meliodas grins. “I’ll drink to that,” he cries, using the table as support to stand making the pile of glasses clink together from the unstable wobbling. “Alright. I’ll come with ya. We'll carry more with… um… one, two, three, four! Four hands. Right? Right!” He counted it out on his fingers and holds them up with a snorting laugh from his perceived success.

When they reach the bar, however, the staff stand in front of the vast array of multicoloured concoctions forming a firm, supportive line, their shoulders pressed back and some with arms folded across their chest. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, sirs?” the bartender asks, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

Meliodas’s head is swimming like a fish in a tank, but even he can make out the insolent tone and his fists are curled by his side in an instant. He’s about to swing when Ban leans over him, nearly knocking him to the floor. “Who you callin’ sirs?” He growls, the effect somewhat undone by the way he leans his hands on Meliodas’s shoulders so hard the blonde loses an inch off his height as he fails to keep his knees straight.

“I will have to ask you to leave.” The bartender’s face is thunder. “Don’t make me call security,” he threatens as Ban leers and cracks his knuckles audibly.

Meliodas has a brief moment of clarity - they ought to leave, they could go back to his and continue their session, Elizabeth is staying at her sister’s tonight - but instead, he shakes his head and yells, “You and who’s army!” He picks up the nearest thing to hand - a dull metal fork, bits of food adhering to the prongs - and starts waving it about in, what he imagines to be, a rather menacing way. The bartender rolls his eyes, and a moment later Meliodas feels himself being picked up by the scruff of the neck and carried towards the exit. He attempts to swing round and to use the cutlery he is carrying but it is pulled from his grasp.

Ban is yelling as they are marched from the premises. “This’s a shithole anyway!” he proclaims, his words all blurring into one another. “You should’ll come t’our bar, it’s got, like, a pig, and a hat and like… it looks good okay, and it’s CLEAN.” Meliodas snickers, “Yeah!” he calls. “And we don’t have any mice either.” At this, the other patrons look around the bar with sharp glances, some pulling their feet up from the floor. A few leave money on the table and make a hasty exit as the bartender slaps his face down into his palm.

“Don’t come back,” the security guard warns as he deposits Meliodas and Ban out on the street before dusting off his hands and stepping back inside.

The pair stand on the sidewalk, swaying slightly as they break into spontaneous giggles. Meliodas claps Ban on the back, the latter nearly careening into the road under the force of his blow. The two look at each other and, in silent agreement, shuffle along, their sides bumping together as they make their way to a rival establishment a few paces along the street.