#it sucks when art block kicks in but I hope I will manage to continue to help you to get inspiration^^

[inkly-heart]

Drew him a while back, I just want to thank you for helping me with my art block. Your characters are incredibly expressive and I can't wait for this game to come out!~

❤️❤️❤️

[rymndsmth]

querencia (jang han seo)

🎤 hello and gather around fellow himbo lovers, here is a small fic about our beloved and his life after That guy kicks the bucket. also idk how i managed to turn this into a love story? anyways lmfao, hope y’all enjoy! 

Everything felt so different.

Truthfully, Han Seo never imagined what his life could be like, would be like, without the proverbial ever tightening noose around his neck. One that had been unexpectedly and disappointingly placed on him as a child by the one person that was supposed to remove such things. He was now free of that person, and the fear that stemmed from veering off the path set by them, but wasn’t entirely too certain that he was free of that feeling. 

His muscles couldn’t shake it. The sudden chill to the bone, the anticipation of retaliation from an act that hadn’t yet occurred. Such an act that could never occur anymore given that his brother was dead. He knew this, but his mind had never been good at accepting possibilities that were positive. 

This much was evident in the case of his relationship with Vincenzo. There was no reason why the stoic yet baby faced Mafia member would want to keep him around, at least not any that he could see. So, Han Seo spent the first few weeks asking the question both silently and aloud, will you kill me? Vincenzo had the motive, it’s not exactly like his hands were clean in his previous dealings with Babel, and he most certainly had the means.

It wasn’t until Han Seo was told that because he was trying to make amends, he wouldn’t end up in the Jang family crypt well before his time that he started to feel at ease. Still, for months after that conversation, he still had the nagging feeling that some invisible fist was lurking around every bend. 

Regardless of that, Han Seo decided he would not waste his liberation however short lived it might have been. He made up his mind that he was going to do all the things that he was either too scared or outright forbidden to do before. The first thing on his list was to clean up his business. Luckily for him, the Guillotine file made it easy to weed out the snakes in the grass and allow him to steer Babel in the direction that the core of the business was about. 

The hardest part was going to be restoring the public’s faith in the organization. Cha Young told him as much, and advised him not to agonize over it as there will be new corruption that will grab their attention (and hers). He intended to be the Chairman that such a company deserved, and therefore continued to study no matter how nonsensical and outdated the information seemed. 

The second order of business was moving out of the place that felt more like a prison than a home to one that he liked. The realtor immediately recommended a few luxury places, but he turned them down to their surprise. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had seen what the quest for material wealth had done to his family (or more realistically because he wanted to be closer to newfound hyung  and his girlfriend). 

Either way, the house he settled on had its luxuries, but in a more affordable and quaint neighborhood. Han Seo even went as far as to attempt painting on his own, which went as well as expected for someone that didn’t even know the difference between a brush and a roller. 

Being able to do what he wanted proved to be chaotic at times. There was no one to stop him from going on last minute trips to Jeju just for oranges and a quick dip into the ocean. Or to take away all the sweet and savory snacks that he found at these things called convenience stores. 

He would stay up all night sometimes, not to binge watch all the shows he missed out on, but just to sit in silence. He didn’t know that the quiet could be so nice. That it was a space of tranquility and relaxation rather than one filled with anxiety. Of course, Han Seo more often than not regretted the choice not to sleep and ended up at the cafe a few blocks from his place. 

While obviously no one had better coffee than the one at Babel, he found himself going to the cozy spot with increasing frequency because of her. The first time he saw her, she was deciding on which apple to choose from the basket beside the register. He then noticed that her canvas bag was filled with art supplies, and decided that it was a brilliant idea to draw a conclusion. 

I think the one to the right would make a great subject on paper, he grinned. 

She stared at him in a way that made him contemplate whether to not she was related to Vincenzo hyung before replying flatly:

I’m looking for the tartest one to go with my tea. 

He was left a bumbling mess of flustered sounds and rapidly blinks, not getting the opportunity to insert some retort that undoubtably would’ve put him deeper into the realm of idiot. 

The following morning he went again. No cup of coffee, not even the ridiculously overpriced espresso at Babel, would give him that jolt of electricity he felt under her gaze. And sure enough, she was there. This time her apple sat upon a folded napkin right beside her tea, and in front of them both was her sketchpad. On the page? A picture of the fruit. He couldn’t control the noise of exasperation that left him as he passed her table. On his way out he tossed over his shoulder with a grin so wide it hurt:

Nice drawing. 

Their interactions continued in that same vein. Short, filled with just the right amount of bite. The balance of who had the best and last say constantly shifting, becoming somewhat of a competition. 

You’re outside today, is that weed your subject?

As if there weren’t enough clowns in this neighborhood already.

You buy a lot of lattes for an artist that’s supposed to be starving.

Ironic coming from the gentrifier walking around a working class neighborhood in thousand dollar shoes.  

He had look up what that g word meant after their last exchange.

There was something else he never got to do in his past. Sure, Han Seo had the occasional date or two, but commitment? That was out of the question. It wouldn’t have served his brother well if there was anyone around that would motivate him to step out from his hold. The realization that he never had a serious relationship hadn’t hit him until he started to have inconvenient thoughts during board meetings about stuff like taking a long afternoon stroll, and holding hands with her.

Han Seo could barely focus on the stack of jargon dense reading before him. He sent Vincenzo a text saying that he was coming over with soju, not waiting for a reply before making the short journey to Geumga. Cha Young’s face fell when she answered the door, muttering that she thought he was her delivery, but lit up once she saw he brought along alcohol. After poking around the rice he begged for them to share and sighing loudly for half an hour, Vincenzo ushered him out. He implored him to get a hobby so that these late night visits wouldn’t become a habit.  

He was confused by that. Weren’t studying and running a company hobbies? On his walk back home he spotted a flyer that someone was offering private classes for beginners painting. The nightmare of a time he had trying to get the walls in his kitchen evenly colored popped up in his brain, instantly making him tear off one of the numbers. He didn’t exactly know how learning to paint homes was going to be a practical hobby, but hell, he would have something to show Vincenzo later. 

While he was on one of his impromptu trips to the seaside, Han Seo had his assistant set up the class for him to take when he returned. As a gift for the instructor, he thought it would be nice to bring them an extra bag of oranges. If the session sucked, or if he hated it, at the very least there was going to be something to brighten the mood. 

The day he got back, he even went as far as to tidy up the place on his own and put some fresh flowers around so the air was lightly scented. He practically waited at the door until the alarm sounded to let him know that his instructor arrived. 

Is this a joke? She huffed.

No, I didn’t even know you were the teacher! His protest was adamant. I was on a trip and even brought back Jeju- He paused. Han Seo knew he wasn’t the brightest, but bringing up the oranges seemed like it would upset her given their previous history. 

You brought back what? Her brow raised.

Mmm, good energy! Don’t you feel the vibes from the ocean? He spread his arms wide. 

Han Seo waved her inside hurriedly, trying desperately to get past the awkward exchange. Of all people, he never would’ve thought it would be the neighborhood’s cute sass machine. A small noise of happiness couldn’t be stopped from escaping him as she accepted the invitation. Her eyes scanned the place without restraint, nose wrinkling when she took a look at the kitchen. 

Where are your supplies? A slender finger ran across the surface of his counter. 

Supplies? He thought that was included in the price for the lessons. 

She sighed, placing a sketchbook, brushes, and small pots of paint onto the table. It was now very apparent to him that the advertisement did not mean what he thought it did. Thank goodness he also didn’t decide to open his mouth about that beforehand, it probably would’ve made her smack him with her bag. 

Here, the materials were slid over when he sat. Paint something.

His facial expression surely mirrored what he was thinking. Han Seo had no recollection of ever trying to do this, not even during the course of his way overpriced private school education. She urged him on with a nod, only relaxing into her chair when he flipped open the book and picked up a fine brush. 

There was nothing in particular he wanted to paint. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to paint at all. This was simply something random that came up when he needed it. 

To avoid being chastised, he dipped his brush into the light blue color and started swiping randomly across the blank page. He swapped the brush and added some dark green, then pink, and finished if off with small dots of white. At the end it looked like something a toddler would’ve considered a masterpiece. She eyed it with surprising interest. 

You clearly didn’t know what you wanted to achieve with this, or why you were doing it at all. 

Han Seo was about to interject with a prideful defense before she continued. 

That’s good. It’s better to work with an unbiased mind. Her eyes met his. Your technique is shit though. 

He laughed, like truly laughed. It was a full bellied, unashamedly loud, attack of sonic waves. She seemed to find it amusing, a hint of a smile dancing across her lips. 

Alright, let’s start with how to actually hold a paintbrush. 

There was no telling when their interactions had gone from less than playful banter to warm and friendly (still with a side of joking). Han Seo couldn’t put his finger on it. Did it happen during the second lesson where he mistakenly put paint on her hands, and didn’t settle for no when he said he would wash them off for her? 

Or was it the time he was running late for work, but the barista already had his order prepared because she told them that he was on the way? Perhaps it was the time she had to reschedule their Saturday morning for the evening instead, and all he could think about was trying to replicate the color of her alcohol flushed cheeks onto the page before him. 

Han Seo had never done the whole confession thing before, so he wasn’t sure about how it worked. An unfamiliar kind of anxiety crept up his spine as he poured glasses of wine and organized a fruit plate. Soft music played in the background accompanied by the crackle of the expensive candles he bought specifically for the occasion. Her mouth parted slightly as she took everything in once she arrived for what was supposed to be an ordinary session involving watercolors. 

Wow, got a hot date later or something? Her legs seemed to automatically take her to the table. 

Actually, He brought the glasses over to where she sat. It’s for you. 

Oh…She gasped. A few seconds passed that felt more like minutes before she picked one up and held it high. Cheers then!

Something about it made him feel like he made a mistake. Did he misread their change in demeanor towards one another? Was she truly just being kinder to him because she considered him to only be a friend? Han Seo tried to not let the embarrassment he felt seep into the room, keeping a smile locked and loaded for when she made a witty remark about stuff like him painting in the most inappropriate white button down. 

Don’t you have something to say to me? She quipped, neatly putting her things away after he finished. 

Me? I- no…I... He clenched his fists. Why couldn’t he come out and say it?! This was as good as a chance as he was ever going to get. If he let this opportunity slip, he wasn’t sure if there would be one again. He had to act, he had to-

What sounded like a small growl came from her as she raked her hand through her hair. She pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, her nose just shy of rubbing against his. 

Jang Han Seo, when are you gonna stop driving me insane? She murmured, labored breaths dancing across his cupid’s bow. 

If only she knew how true and reciprocated that question was to him too. From the moment he couldn’t fight against thoughts about her entering his mind, to the smile she wore when he stepped across his threshold, and the way she said his goddamned name, it was all enough to make him want to combust. To burst out of his skin, transforming into something or someone else entirely. A person that fully accepted that there were no more restraints on their lives, that they was no more fear and no more betrayal. Someone that was completely in control, and free to take what was theirs. And so he did. 

It was painful, almost, the first time he kissed her. The second time even more so. By the third time, coupled with the question of her tongue prodding at his bottom lip, Han Seo had shedded the last of his previous being. He cupped her face, thumbs toying with her curled sideburns as he consumed her. Quiet whimpers made way for desperate cries, shivers were replaced by the searing heat of skin on skin. 

The high he’d chased fruitlessly so many times throughout his life was finally achieved with his arms wrapped tightly around her, their bodies pressed together as she shuddered and sighed his name. He was in disbelief that what he had experienced was real, so he chased it again and again, receiving the same result each time his sweat slicked forehead bowed to meet hers. 

Han Seo would learn that it could be obtained outside of that space they filled with the tangible evidence of their desire. It was also in buying melon flavored ice pops to eat in the park together on sunny days. The look on Vincenzo and Cha Young’s face when he timidly made the introduction. Her expression when she took her first bite of Hee Soo’s tteokbokki. When Mr. Nam and her had an hour long debate on which shade of red made the most realistic fake blood color. The flashing Best Chairman Ever coming from her phone when Babel secured their biggest deal yet without any dirty deals behind the scenes. 

That feeling, one that outshone the other by such a long shot that it was nearly eradicated, had been there all along in the life he’d made. She just helped him see it.  

[fallingappleshurt]

Secrets to Save You

It took me forever but I did it!!

“Tommy is worried about his brother and decides to try and find out what is bothering him but he might’ve bit off more then he can chew.”

(Also little side note, the duels don’t take place in the woods) I spent very little time rereading this so I’m gonna hate it but I have had this idea, THIS CHAPTER, rolling around in my brain since early July.

And I finally get to use it! Anyways hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4. Falling Towards Fire

Tommy didn’t know a lot about Techno but he did know something was wrong.

His whole demeanor seemed nervous, restless, almost skittish, and Techno was not skittish. He was jumpy and tense, randomly whipping around as if he was afraid of someone following them. Wilbur had accidentally bumped into him and Techno almost jumped out of his skin.

Something was bothering him to say the least and Tommy decided he was going to figure it out, no matter what, which was definitely easier said than done.

Tommy had been trying so hard to formulate a plan that he started to school only to remember half way there that he forgot his homework. Turning on his heels he ran back to the apartment, backpack bouncing against his back as his feet pounded against the cracking pavement.

He came close to the apartment building, his chest ached as he sucked down air, iron coating his tongue, when he heard the familiar creak of their rusty staircase. He stepped back, pressing himself against the wall and watched as Techno tread down the stairs, sword at his side.

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek, Techno didn’t normally go out to duels during the day but he had heard Wilbur bitch about it so he must be headed there. This was perfect.

He could kill two birds with one stone, find out where Techno was going for the duels then if he knew where they were then he could go to them too and start helping out the family!

In the back of his mind he knew he should grab his homework and run back to school, he could make it before the bell, and be a good kid but the overwhelming curiosity and the familiar tendrils of guilt was too much.

He slowly slid off his backpack, watching Techno’s every move as he started down the street. He shoved his bag under a dumpster and hoped it wouldn’t be stolen then started to creep after his brother.

Tommy thought he didn’t know a lot about Techno but he did, he had picked up on some of his subtle mannerisms, how he would take different paths everyday to make it harder to follow him, how he watched his shadow and listened for other footsteps. He subconsciously was learning how to follow it.

He would creep behind by a few yards, always making sure he had something to duck behind in case Techno whipped around in a panic. Tommy knew that Techno was off his game, there were multiple times Techno shoved absolutely heard Tommy trip over his own feet but it was like he was preoccupied.

Tommy followed him through the third and fourth rings, trying to avoid the random dogs scuraging around in allies and rubble scattered across the ground.

He bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling ‘Hypocrite!’ as Techno climbed through a gap in the fence and started off into the forest, the vines around the fence swooshing in his absence.

Tommy’s hand clenched into fists, he had been told since he was little that leaving through the fence was a horrible thing done by horrible people without any regard for the safety their town tried so hard to provide. But Wilbur had claimed to do it before and now Techno had and they weren’t bad people, if he went through would he be a bad person?

Techno had said that the duels were illegal but were they out in the forest? Were multiple people breaking the law?

His nails hurt his palm as he tried to decide on what to do, Techno was getting farther by the minute but if he wasn’t able to catch up with him then he would be lost with the monsters.

He shoved his fear back in the box in the corner of his mind and raced through the gap and vines and into the unknown.

He had to know, if Techno wasn’t going to the duels then where was he going?

He spotted Techno’s threadbare white shirt through the dark foliage and rushed towards it only to find quietly navigating a forest was much harder than the familiar city streets.

Leaves and twigs crunched under toe, one rustling bush sent shockwaves throughout the whole forest, there wasn’t the familiar bustle of the town to help drown out any accidental loud noises. Randomly, Techno took a sharp turn and started towards the mountains. Stepping over roots and pushing away vines, Tommy followed. This was becoming much more than he thought it would.

Techno stopped close to the base of the mountain, looking around once more before jumping into a small cavern Tommy didn’t even notice was there. He inched closer, trying to peer in only to see Techno disappear through an inky purple veil.

In a panic he jumped into the hole and into the ink after his brother only to find himself in a world of heat.

He stumbled away from the veil, half falling, his knees and palms scraped against hot, sharp, scarlet terrain. Tommy jumped up, trying to orient himself, the whole world was warm, the sky was a dark foggy red with bright bubbling lava sploshing at the edge of a pool. The distance screams and grunts of monsters filled his ears.

He blinked against the dust, eyes watering and chest burning, as he desperately scanned the wasteland for his brother.

Tommy was barely able to spot him against the unrelenting red but once he did he raced towards him, wanting to feel comfort of being with him, he knew Techno would protect him. He didn’t know what was outside the passage or in here but Techno was here so he’d be safe with him.

Tommy couldn’t seem to catch up with him though, between dodging away from monsters and making sure he didn’t fall into lava holes he was pretty distracted.

Then he saw a massive dark structure over a lake of lava, balls of fire dancing across the sky, monsters walking along the paths, and Techno was heading right towards it.

He was half tempted to call it quits and just say Techno had absolutely lost it but they were already here so he followed anyway as they shuffled along a sharp edge before jumping onto the dark bricked structure and climbing down a staircase.

Techno continued until he was out in the open, closer to the balls of fire, he pulled out his sword and slashed at one. Tommy watched in awe, stayed back in the hallway, he had never seen Techno fight before. The teen twisted and turned, slashed and blocked, like it was an art.

His movements were calculated and strong, he managed to grab the drops of whatever he was fighting and still keep the other monsters at bay.

Tommy was so caught up in watching him he almost didn’t hear a familiar crackle of bones behind him.

Suddenly he launched himself sideways, narrowly missing the sword of a wither skeleton shambling up behind him. Tommy screamed, rushing out into the open, away from the hallway, towards Techno.

“Techno!”

Techno whipped around, face dropping when he saw Tommy.

“Tommy- what-what the hell are you doing- how are you- why are you-”

Tommy grabbed onto his sleeve, cutting him off, “Techno there is a wither skeleton!”

His eyes narrowed, pushing Tommy behind him, Techno ran towards the monster, their swords clashing, he disarmed it, sword clattering against the brick. Then sent a hard kick to it’s chest and knocked it over the edge.

Tommy relaxed only for Techno to throw his sword right past his head. He shrieked again as Techno ran in front of him, yanking his sword from the body of one of the fire monsters to ward off the others.

“We need to get out of here. Right now.” Techno said sharply. “This is no place for a child!”

“Oh shut up! You’re just a teenager-”

“Tommy!”

“Right! Right!”

Tommy nodded, ducking behind Techno as he stabbed another monster then grabbed Tommy’s wrist, dragging him back towards the stairs.

They rushed up, taking two steps at a time, Tommy trying to stay close when they reached the top Techno swore loudly. There were three more wither skeletons blocking their path.

Tommy felt like his heart was going to pound out of his throat.

“Stand back Tommy, it’ll be alright.” Techno put a hand on his chest. Tommy swallowed nervously.

“How? There are three fucks right there!”

Techno licked his lips, looking back at him with barely concealed fear. “Cause I neva die.”

And despite the situation Tommy found himself smiling.

It didn’t last as Techno stepped forwards, taking two of the mobs at once. Tommy stood there frozen, trying to figure a way to help when one started for him, he tried to back away when a fireball shot past his head.

He yelped, trying to dodge away from the fire and the withers prying claws. He heard Techno yell his name but everything was starting to blur together in a red hazy mess.

He lashed out, knocking the monster across the face, he cheered, ignoring the pain in his knuckles. The monster sloppily lunged at him again.

Tommy jumped back only for his foot to slip as he realized he was at the edge of the structure. He grabbed at the skeleton in a blind panic, desperate for anything to grab onto.

The skeleton was pushed away as Techno shoved it hard, shooting forwards he yanked Tommy against his chest.

Tommy felt an arm wrapping around his ribs, holding him tightly against his brother's chest as the ground slipped beneath their feet and they plummeted towards the lava.

[bbugyu]

in your dreams + lee seokmin

your lifetime best friend visits you in a less than pg dream.

wc.7413 | fluff, mentions of sex, potty mouths across the board, hs/friends to lovers au, fem reader

i finally am posting a fic about one of my ults haha! this is also a recycled/reworked fic from my old blog so if you've read something similar to this before no you haven't <3

Mornings were never your strong suit. You always hit snooze as many times as possible, rushed to get your uniform on and fix your hair, then ran out the door with a piece of toast. You knew you’d feel less tired if you just woke up at a decent time, had a proper meal, and got ready like a real human being, but staying in bed felt so much better for those few luxurious moments. There was no stopping your bed bug habits, especially after being accepted into university. Suddenly, getting to school on time was the last thing on your mind when you were swimming under your covers.

You always knew you would make it when you caught up to Seokmin. He lived a block up from you, and he always turned up for class exactly three minutes early. If you saw him, you knew you’d be okay.

Today, he was much further ahead of you than he normally was. So, you sprinted past his house, earbuds in and chewing on your breakfast that you hadn't even managed to toast, hoping you would see his familiar form when you turned the corner a couple blocks down.

Sure enough, as you skidded around the corner, you spotted him at the end of the street. You let out a groan, already winded, before shoving the rest of your bread in your mouth and running towards him. You flew past him and pulled out the earbuds when you were a few yards ahead, bent over with your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. He laughed as he caught up to you.

“You’re later than usual.”

You wiped your nose on the back of your hand. “Really? I hadn't noticed.” You fell into stride next to him, still breathing heavily while you straightened out your skirt. “I swear if we're running in gym today, I’m going to fake a migraine.”

He watched you pull your ponytail tighter. “Did you run the entire way?”

When you nodded, he got a plastic water bottle out of his bag and handed it to you. “Oh, god, you’re the best,” you said, drinking from it. “Water tastes so good.”

Seokmin laughed as you chugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That means you're dehydrated.”

“I’ll buy you another bottle when we get there,” you said after you drained the one he gave you. “Thanks.”

“You should’ve tried for the track team this year,” he said teasingly, nudging you with his elbow. 

You laughed. “I’d only do well if you’re at the finish line, yelling at me that I’ll be late.”

“I would have done it, but you better break some school records if I’m doing that much work.”

You liked Seokmin. Your mothers were good friends, forcing the two of you to play together while they talked when you were barely potty trained. Lucky for them, you got along well, and lucky for you, you ended up in the same class all the way through elementary school. You had been worried when you entered high school that he would grow out of having “girl friends,” as many of the guys did, but he never stopped hanging out with you. He continued to walk home with you, at least as far as his house. He still helped you with your homework, even when he was just as confused about the mathematics problem. He kept the promise he made you when you were little tots.

“Seokminnie,” you had said, tiny hands covered in markings from your colored pens. “Can we be best friends forever?”

He had given you the biggest smile his six-year-old face could manage. “Yes! Best friends forever.”

You walked into the classroom and put the bottle of water you had just purchased on Seokmin’s desk, letting out a “thanks again” as you passed. He saluted you as you walked to your seat, then went back to his conversation with his friends. You could hear them teasing him as you put your bag down.

As the two of you grew older, you gained more friends of the same sex. It didn’t stop you from calling Seokmin your best friend, but it seemed natural to have a different group to hang out with at school, one you could go to the bathroom and fawn over boys with. However, whenever the two of you interracted within eyeshot of any of them, they seemed to insinuate that the two of you should be something more than friends.

“You know who’s handsome?” Haseul said once. “Seokmin.”

Sooyoung giggled. “Watch out, somebody already has dibs.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop it. We’ve been friends since diapers.”

“How romantic,” Haseul swooned. “Childhood friends turned lovers!”

You threw your pencil at her, and she laughed as she deflected it. "Guys and girls can be friends, you know!"

From what you could tell, Seokmin’s friends did the same to him, teasing him endlessly about his girlfriend, even though you had spent plenty of time with them by proxy.

“You look like hell,” Sooyoung said as you sat down in your usual seat behind hers. “Late again?”

You laughed, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. “Thanks. Yeah, I had to run to catch up today.”

“Thank god for your oppa, huh?”

“Ugh, don’t call him that,” you said, covering a yawn.

“Ah,” Haseul exhaled to your right, straightening out her notebook. “Is ‘jagiya’ better, then?”

You hit her shoulder and she yelped, making Sooyoung laugh. They started talking about something else and you stole a peek over to Seokmin’s desk. He had his face buried in a hand, being prodded by his friends. His eyes opened and he noticed you. You sneakily pointed a finger gun under your chin and he stifled a laugh, which set off his friends again when they realized he was looking in your direction. You would have to apologize later for triggering his torment

When classes ended, you found Seokmin waiting for you by the school gate. Sooyoung cooed at the two of you from a distance, making you roll your eyes as you straightened the straps of your bookbag.

“They’re relentless,” you said.

Seokmin groaned, throwing his head back in agreement. “Has it been especially bad recently for you, too?”

“It's springtime,” you laughed. “They want to watch a pretty romance blossom with the flowers.”

“Someone should tell them to stop watching so many dramas.”

You ended up at his house, reading a webcomic on your phone while he played a computer game. Afternoons were often spent like this. You were sprawled out on his bed, mindlessly crunching on a bag of chips, when he suddenly let out an expletive and dropped the controller on his desk.

You looked up, then read out the red text that was splattered across the dark screen. “You died.”

He spun in his chair. “Yeah.” He pulled the chair towards you and stole the bag, shoving a handful of Fritos into his mouth. “Whatcha reading?”

You looked at your phone. “Slice of life romance. It’s cute, I like the art style.”

He nodded, chewing slowly. He was obviously thinking of something else, even as he was staring at you, but you didn’t blame him for having other things on his mind.

When you looked up at him again, he suddenly dropped the bag by your side and turned back to his computer, scooting his chair as he did. You tucked your hand into the bag of chips and went back to your comic. You ended up going home for dinner, messaging Seokmin when you made it back to your house.

You found yourself in his room again that night, this time the details warped. You spent so much time with Seokmin, it wasn't uncommon for him to appear in your dreams, but this context was entirely new for you.

He crowded you, filling your personal space, his fingertips tracing lace patterns on your bare shoulders. A hand found its way to the back of your neck, tipping your head to let him place delicate kisses on your lips that left you breathless. Every time his mouth found yours, a shock of electricity ran down your spine, the tingling settling in your core. He caressed you, held you, laid you out on his bed. Your understanding of the situation was blurred by the dreamscape, but you liked it. In this reality, you liked him. And you liked what he was doing to you. You even liked it when his thumbs grazed over the peaks of your bare breasts, when he sucked bruises onto your neck, when you felt the pressure of his erection filling you. 

He muttered your name into your lips. “I love you.

Your legs were wrapped around him, hands desperately pulling him close. You gasped. “God, I love you, too.”

You woke up suddenly, sitting up in bed with your heart pounding. It took you a moment to recognize the sound of your alarm clock, and you hurriedly shut it off. You were sweating. You kicked off your covers and swung your legs over the edge of your bed, staring down at your hands.

Was that a wet dream?

You felt your already hot face turn red. Not only was it a wet dream, but it was about Seokmin. An involuntary shiver ran up your body, remembering the torturous detail that your imagination had held you hostage for.

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you rushed to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face. The feeling of his hands ghosted up your torso, and you stomped your feet slightly in an attempt to ward off the strange sensation.

It was just a dream, you told yourself. But... it had felt so real.

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you got ready for school. You spent a long time staring at yourself in the mirror, fixing and re-fixing your half up-do. You couldn’t remember the last time you had this much time to get ready. The time felt empty, somehow. Your mother saw that you were awake and excitedly fried an egg to put over rice for you. The metal spoon lingered in your mouth as you stared into space. 

“I love you,” he had said. His voice had been low, gravelly, a tone you had never heard before. You shuddered.

“Are you okay?”

You snapped to attention, looking up to your mother. “What?”

She pouted. “You look feverish.”

“Ah,” you felt your cheek. It was hot. “I’m fine.”

“Be careful of hay fever,” she said, clearing her own place at the table. “Your father has bad seasonal allergies, too.”

As you left the house, you realized that you would have to walk right past Seokmin’s. Panic stricken, you wondered if you should start walking faster to make it past and avoid him, or if he had already left. You checked the time on your phone, realizing that he would probably be leaving soon. 

Your legs moved as fast as they could without running. If you made it past his house before he left, you wouldn’t have to face him until you had more time to process. But, as you were about to pass, the front door opened.

“Ah!” Seokmin waved to you. “You’re early.”

Externally, you smiled and waved. Internally, you collapsed into yourself.

“Your hair looks nice,” he said, patting your head. “Did you actually wake up properly today?”

You nodded, trying not to wince at his touch. “For the first time ever, I didn’t want to go back to sleep when my alarm went off.”

“Wow,” he laughed as you walked beside him. “I’m impressed.”

You had never seen Seokmin as anything but a brother. Your best friend. Someone you had been close with since childhood. Now, you looked over to him and couldn’t help but see his naked body hovering over yours. Your heart raced as you stared at your feet, all while he told you about the complex lore of the game he had been playing the day before.

It was unbearable.

Your friends would be no help. You knew better than to confide in them - they had already been so convinced that the two of you should hook up, if you said anything that hinted at some subconscious attraction you might have towards Seokmin, they would never let you live it down. You spent the entire day avoiding him, thinking that if you allowed yourself time to forget the dream, things would go back to normal. But when you saw him with his friends by the school gate at the end of the day, your stomach flipped in your gut and you felt your pulse quicken. You thought about walking past them, blending in with Sooyoung and Haseul, hoping he would be distracted with their conversation, but you had no such luck.

“Hey!” Seokmin waved you over. “The guys wanted to get some food, you in?”

“Uh,” you looked over to your friends for help. They stared back at you.

Mingyu spoke up. “You two are welcome, too, obviously.”

“Sure,” Sooyoung said. “It’s Friday, why not.”

Haseul nodded, and you were dragged along with them to a small restaurant a few blocks down. This had happened a few times before, where the two of your friend groups went out together. The six of you crowded around a table, everyone hungrily picking at the side dishes while you waited for the stew to boil in the center of the table. After getting a consensus from the table, Mingyu got the attention of a waitress.

“Unnie! Could we please get some ramen noodles, also?”

“And more kimchi,” Seokmin muttered, shoving a scoop of rice in his mouth.

“And more kimchi,” Mingyu repeated. “Thank you!”

Sooyoung laughed. “You guys sure like to eat well.”

“We’re growing boys,” Seokmin said. 

The dried noodles got added to the stew, and you took it upon yourself to break it up as it boiled, mixing it in with the army stew. Mingyu was the first to steal some of the cooked noodles, slurping them down and grabbing bits of meat from the stew as he chewed. 

“Oh, it tastes really good,” he said, leaning back. “It never tastes this good when it’s just us guys.”

Haseul laughed as she took a spoonful of the broth. “It can sense your fear.”

“Hey,” Seokmin nudged you with his elbow, sticking a folded bit of meat and kimchi in your face with his chopsticks. “Eat up.”

This was a normal gesture, you tried to remind yourself. This was something he did all the time when you went out to eat. You always distracted yourself so much with cooking the food, you hardly ate anything, and Seokmin always made sure you enjoyed the meal with everyone else. But the action felt strangely intimate today, and your leg bobbed nervously as you chewed. It reminded you of the electricity you had felt when he touched you.

In your dream, you reminded yourself. When he touched you in your dream.

“The three of us will split the bill,” Minghao said when all the food had all been devoured.

“Eh?” Sooyoung looked at you, then back to the boy across from her. “We can pay for ourselves.”

“No no no,” Seokmin insisted. “We’ve already discussed it. We invited you three out, so we’re paying.”

“Wow, what gentlemen,” Haseul giggled. “Thanks for the food!”

You and Sooyoung repeated the thanks, the boys saying that it was no big deal. The three pooled their money to cover check, then met you girls outside the restaurant.

“I should study for that quiz on Monday,” you said when the conversation started to die down. 

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Mingyu groaned. “I don’t want to think about school all weekend.”

Haseul laughed. “Good luck failing, then.”

You threw up a peace sign, backing up towards the road that led to your neighborhood. “Thanks for the food, guys!”

“Seokmin-ah,” Minghao nodded to him. “You coming over?”

Seokmin shook his head and started to follow you. “I should get help studying while I can. Tomorrow?”

You waved to your friends as they headed in the direction of their own homes. Seokmin fell into step beside you as you trotted down the steep alley that was a shortcut towards your street. His hands stuffed in his pockets, as usual. You tucked your thumbs under the straps of your book bag, examining your feet as you walked.

“I love you,” he had said. For some reason, the dreamy sound of his voice wouldn’t get out of your head. The words rattled in your skull; you could almost feel a headache coming on in response to it. The two of you walked in near-silence the entire way.

“Do you wanna come in?” He asked as you approached his house. 

You distracted your fingers with the hem of your shirt. “Ah, maybe not today.”

“Eh?” He punched your shoulder. “Why not? I wanna play Mario Kart.”

You laughed shortly, hoping he wasn’t noticing your blush. “I was serious about studying, Seokmin.”

“Well, come on, then.” He tugged on your arm, pulling you towards the front door. “We can study and then play Mario Kart.”

Unable to find a worthy excuse, you let him pull you through the front door. You slipped off your shoes, greeting his mom and waving to his sister, both of whom were practically family for you, but the interaction felt stilted in your current state. The two of you escaped to Seokmin’s room, where he dropped his bag on the floor and pulled a folding table out of his closet. Trying to not act as awkward as you felt, you busied yourself by messaging your mother on kakao to let her know you would be at the Lee household for a while. You thought about sitting on his bed, but you were hit with a sudden flashback of being pushed down onto it. You picked at your nails instead.

Seokmin quickly set up the short table in the middle of the room, then situated himself at one of the sides, pulling his bag closer to get his school things out. You hesitated before you sat across from him, back to his bed, tucking your legs under you and flattening your skirt.

“You’re acting weird,” he said suddenly. 

You looked at him, wide eyed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been all day, but don’t know how to describe it,” he said, leaning back on his hands and furrowing his brow at you. “It’s weird. You’re acting… timid.”

You tried to laugh it off, but it sounded unconvincing even to yourself. “You’re crazy.”

He laughed at you. “You know it, too. You’re acting weird but you’re trying so hard not to.”

You groaned, putting your forehead on the table. “Leave me alone.”

“So... are you gonna tell me why?”

You adjusted onto your chin, eyeing him. “I said leave me alone.”

“C’mon, aren’t we supposed to be best friends?” He reached over and poked your forehead. “Tell me what’s up.”

You exhaled while you got up onto your elbows, rubbing your face. “I don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it with you.”

Seokmin’s eyebrows furrowed again. “Is it really that serious? Are you okay?”

You laughed, despite how incredibly nervous you felt. “It’s nothing serious, I promise. It’s stupid, really.”

“Now I’m worried,” he whined.

“How about that quiz, huh?” You said, pulling notebooks out of your book bag. He whined at you again, but complied and retrieved his own study supplies. He allowed an hour to pass before he brought it up again.

“Do you have a crush on someone?”

Your pencil clattered on the table when you fumbled with it. “What? No! What the hell?”

He squinted at you. “Is it Minghao?”

“Min, seriously,” you rubbed your face again. “I don’t have a crush.”

“You’re lying.”

You laughed incredulously. “I’m not!”

He studied you a moment. “You have a tell,” he said finally. “I’ve always known when you’re lying.”

You were sure the color washed from your face. Always? Surely that couldn’t be true. Besides, you really weren’t lying this time. “Seokmin. I don’t have a crush.”

“Liar,” he said after a beat. “You were being weird when we went out for food. Minghao?”

“No,” you said, suddenly nervous.

He squinted at you. “Mingyu?”

You rolled your eyes. This was insane. “No.”

He paused. “Haseul?”

You laughed. “You think I’m gay, now?”

“Well, who else?” He asked, exasperated. “Me?”

“No way.”

He stared at you a moment, clockwork moving behind his eyes. “Oh my God.”

You frowned. “What?”

“You have a crush on me.”

“You’re crazy.”

He pointed at you. “You chewed on the inside of your cheek. That’s your tell. You did it just now.”

You stared at him, your tongue running to the side of your mouth. He was right. The inside of your cheek was raw from the nervous habit. You stuttered. “Min, I swear, it’s not a crush, but I really don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“How long?” He asked, slouched over the table, watching you closely.

“Listen to what I’m saying, idiot.” You pointed at your lips for good measure as you enunciated each syllable. “It’s. Not. A. Crush.”

He exhaled and leaned back on his hands. “Then what is it? I’m not gonna stop until you tell me.”

You whined, dropping your head onto the table. “God, this is a nightmare.”

He poked at your head. “Tell me.” You whined in response. “Tell me!”

“Fine!” You said, sitting up and slapping away his hand. “I’ll tell you. But you better not tell another soul, Seokmin. Swear on your life.”

He crossed his heart. “I swear.”

You sighed deeply, leaning back, avoiding eye contact. “I had a dream last night.”

Seokmin watched you. “Wow, I got chills.”

You threw your pencil at him. “Shut up, I’m getting to it.” You exhaled again. “I had a dream about you last night, and it was… confusing.”

“Confusing how?”

You looked over at him. “Confusing… like, I don't know how I feel about it. It was… charged. Sexually.”

He stared at you blankly for a second. “Wait-”

You groaned and collapsed onto the floor, already regretting saying anything. “This is a nightmare.”

“Wait wait wait,” Seokmin’s hand hit the table. “You had-”

“This sucks!”

“-A sex dream-”

“Shut up!”

“About me?”

You groaned. “This is why I didn't want to talk about this.”

He picked up your pencil off the floor, laughing. “Wet dreams happen. Why do you feel so weird about it?”

“What,” you said, straightening out your shirt as you sat up. “You wouldn’t feel weird if you had a sex dream about me?”

“Well, I mean,” he paused, fiddling with the pencil. "I have. Had them about you, I mean."

You stared at him, cheeks burning. “What?”

He laughed, looking down. “I’m a guy,” he said, nervously folding the corner of his notebook. “And you’re pretty. I can’t control my subconscious.”

“Pretty,” you repeated.

“Yeah, I mean, obviously.” He shrugged. “That’s not a secret, or anything.”

“Right.” You nodded slowly, “So you’ve dreamt about… us.”

“Not on purpose,” he said, fussing with his notebook still. “But, yeah.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you said sheepishly. “We spend a lot of time together.”

He nodded, pointedly tapping the table with your pencil’s eraser. “Yeah, that probably has a lot to do with it. Was this the first time for you?”

“With you, yeah.” You pouted. "I know I've had them before, but I never really remember them like this."

Seokmin chuckled. “Well, I’m flattered.”

There was a pause between you two, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you expected it to be.

“So,” you swallowed. “Are yours just fucking, or…”

“More than that?”

You nodded, staring at your hands.

“It depends,” he laughed nervously. “Sometimes they freak me out a little bit, actually.”

You chewed on your lip. “This one freaked me out.”

He shifted, obviously wanting to ask about it, but not knowing how. You took the hint.

“It was really… intimate,” you said quietly. “Like,” you paused, studying the wall. You put your hands up, palms together. “Like, looking-deep-in-your-eyes intimate.”

He stared at you. You cleared your throat nervously.

“You said you loved me.”

He exhaled. “Damn.”

“And I said it back.”

“Like…” he trailed off, gesturing.

You nodded. “During.”

“Wow,” he flipped the pencil around his thumb. “That’s a lot more than just fucking.”

“No kidding.”

“So,” he started after a long pause, then cleared his throat. “That’s why you've been acting weird?”

You groaned. “Yeah, it’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.”

He stifled a laugh. “It was that good, huh?”

“Shut up,” you giggled, despite how embarrassed his implication made you feel. “I don't know. Every time I see you now, I see that dream in my head. It's awkward.”

“Does that mean…” he paused, tapping your pencil again, his eyes wandering around his room. “You’re imagining me naked?”

“Ugh!” Your hands covered your face. “Well, now I am, you asshole!”

He laughed. “For what it’s worth, I have to pretend that I’m not imagining you naked way more often than I’d like to admit.”

Your fingers slid down your face, uncovering your eyes so you could stare at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean,” he dropped the pencil on the table. “Like, yesterday. When you were reading that comic on your phone?”

You nodded slowly, flattening your skirt against your thighs.

“It reminded me of this dream I had once, where you showed me a hentai and wanted to act it out with me.”

Your jaw dropped. “What the fuck?”

He laughed. “Listen, I don’t come up with this stuff on purpose.”

“How long ago was that dream?”

Seokmin thought a moment. “A few weeks ago?”

You eyed him. “How often do these dreams happen?”

He shifted. “I… I don’t know.”

“You’re lying, but I’ll let it go,” you said, sitting back and leaning against his bed.

He laughed. “Thanks.”

You watched him a moment as he stared at his fingers, fiddling with your pencil again. You suddenly remembered the way his lips had felt against yours. You had never really paid much attention to them before, but when you examined them now, you realized how full they were. They formed a sweet heart, you thought, and you wondered if they felt as velvety as they looked. You spent too long staring at his lips, you had to stop yourself from biting your own.

Seokmin exhaled and held out your pencil. “Back to studying, I guess?”

You blinked. “Right. Yeah.”

His brow raised while you took the pencil from him. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

He laughed. “You were looking at me really weird.”

You examined your pencil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Seriously.” He cocked his head at you, a smile teasing his lips.

“Stop that,” you muttered, pouting. “I don’t like that I’m noticing you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you scoffed for a second, unable to believe yourself. “Like not my brother. Or best friend. I’ve been noticing you. As a man. All day. It’s weird and I can’t stop it.”

“As a man?” 

You looked up. Seokmin’s brows were furrowed, but his expression was still gentle. You felt your heart quicken. You screwed your eyes shut. “I’m going to do something. I want you to be totally honest about it after it happens, okay?”

“O-okay?”

Before you could change your mind, you steadied yourself as you leaned over the table, planting your lips on his.

And you stopped. And he stopped. And you felt electricity run down your spine.

Then time started again, and you pulled away slightly, your eyes opening to find him staring at you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “Was that-”

His hand reached up to you, pulling you back into him with a gentle grip on the back of your neck. This time, his lips moved against yours. You immediately settled into him, goosebumps forming on your arms when you felt his tongue brush against yours. When the pace slowed, he let out a hot breath, and you rested your forehead against his.

He laughed. “Holy shit.”

A giggle escaped your lips. “Yeah.”

“I,” he laughed again. “I’m not gonna lie to you. I have a raging boner.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from looking down, immediately noticing the tent in his pants. You sputtered out a laugh. “Oh my god, Min. You’re such a romantic.”

“Listen!” His hand moved from your nape to your jaw. “That was… A lot. I didn’t realize that kissing you would be like that.”

You smiled gently. You’d never seen his eyes this close before. “Me neither.”

“Like,” he paused. “Is it always like that? Or are we just… insanely compatible?”

You giggled. “I’ve never had a kiss that felt that good.”

“One second,” he said, adjusting himself quickly and standing. He stepped around the table and put out a hand to help you to your feet. “Can we continue?”

You giggled as you stood, straightening your skirt with your free hand. “Yeah, I think I want to.”

He placed his hands on your waist hesitantly. The touch was new. Different, but not unpleasant. You settled your arms on his shoulders, and he dipped down to kiss you again. It was exploratory, almost nervous, but you both settled into a rhythm quickly. You found your hand burying itself in the hair above his nape, and he pulled your hips into him. You gasped slightly, surprised by the unfamiliar feeling of his clothed hard on against your pelvis.

“Too much?” He asked breathlessly, pulling away.

You shook your head and pulled him back onto your lips, immediately deepening the kiss. After a few beats, your teeth tugged on his lip and he groaned, fingers gripping you desperately. His heavy eyelids opened, and you stared at him, trying to catch your breath. “We should… stop.”

He nodded. “Probably, yeah.”

“This is…” You watched his lips. “This is your first time kissing a girl, right?”

He nodded.

“And it would be, you know…” Your fingers were still buried in his hair. “The first time doing that for both of us.”

He nodded.

“So…” You bit your lip. “We should stop.”

He nodded.

But neither of you really wanted to stop. Despite all logic pointing towards it, you really had a hard time justifying it to yourself when you were here, with him, and everything felt so good.

So you didn’t stop. Not yet.

You slowed the pace, both of you aware that you were no longer participating in a sprint, but rather a marathon. He was gentle with you, his hands following the curve of your waist as he discovered your weak points - the small of your back, your lower lip, and the skin between your ear and jaw. You couldn't stop thinking about how you just couldn't believe he had never kissed a girl before, considering how easily he was making you melt in his hands.

And when a curious hand found its way to your ass, playfully pulling up your skirt to grip you better, you nearly fell apart. You desperately wanted to do something, despite knowing that you probably shouldn't, and you fought with the notion for a long moment, all while Seokmin made a very compelling case for you to strip down right that second.

You needed to think logically. Seokmin was your very best friend and you didn’t want to ruin that, but you were a bit beyond that at this point. You had only admitted attraction, not even feelings. You weren’t even close to dating, you thought. You always wanted your first time to be with someone you had been seeing for a while, someone you really cared for and really cared for you. Someone special. But the more you considered it, you realized Seokmin might be the perfect candidate; he was the person you were closest to, and you shared an emotional intimacy that you couldn’t even imagine with anyone else, so even that argument seemed null.

It didn’t take much for you to work up the courage. He pulled your hips into him again, and you let your hands drift downward, finding their way to the (impressive) bulge in the front of his pants. He made a noise - a mix between a yelp and a groan - before grabbing your shoulders and pushing you away slightly.

Your already rosy pink cheeks went bright red. “Bad?”

“I-” Seokmin stuttered. “I thought-”

“I just,” you paused, looking down. You tried not to stare at his crotch. “We don’t have to do anything major but… I want to touch you.”

He let out a strangled laugh. “What happened to ‘we should stop’?”

You bit at your lip, pushing him lightly until he sat on the edge of the bed, sinking to your knees in front of him. “Do you want to stop?”

He stared at you, seeming to consider everything for the first time, suddenly awake to what you were suggesting. “Not really, no.”

“Then,” you looked down. “Let me touch you.”

-

The next day, you were on his bed. You were laying next to each other, listening to music, when you suddenly propped yourself up on an elbow to look at him. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Can I help you?”

You laughed. “Yes.”

He smiled, placing a hand on your nape to pull you down to him, resulting in a long, slow kiss. That same electricity ran down your spine.

“Uh oh.”

He laughed lightly. “Why uh oh?”

You examined his face for a moment. “I think I might actually have a crush on you.”

“I told you you were lying yesterday.”

You laughed and hit him. The music stopped suddenly, his phone ringing from where it was plugged in across the room. Seokmin groaned.

“Can you get that?”

“You’re closer than me, asshole.”

He groaned again, rolling off his bed and onto the floor, crawling his way to his desk. He pulled it off its cord and answered. “Hey.”

You watched as he stood, making a noise of recognition. His hand hit his forehead.

“Ah, I forgot. Do you wanna come over here instead? I don’t wanna leave the house.”

As Seokmin walked back towards the bed, you could hear Minghao’s annoyed voice through the phone. “-been waiting all afternoon. Mingyu’s here already, you know? And you’re gonna make us come to you?”

“Ah, well,” he said, flopping back onto the bed and putting his phone on speaker. “Y/N’s over here, so. Are you gonna make her walk all the way to your house? Are you even allowed to have girls over?”

You laughed at Minghao’s stutter as he repeated your name. “Hey, am I on speaker? That’s rude, you know.”

“Hi, Hao,” you said, giggling. “You and Mingyu should come over, the four of us can play Mario Kart!”

“See!” Seokmin said. “Listen to your elders, Myungho.”

“We're the same age, don't call yourself my elder.”

“See you soon?”

He sighed into the phone. You stifled a snort. “Fine, we’ll come to you. Be there in twenty.”

You laughed at the dial tone that signified Minghao hung up without letting Seokmin say bye. He had a look of betrayal on his face before he dropped the phone and rolled onto his side, facing you. You raised a brow. He contorted his face to wink at you dramatically, making you laugh, and him follow suit.

“Yah,” he rolled over again, rubbing his face. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

You poked his side and he swatted at your hand. “What do you mean?”

“To be totally honest?” Seokmin inspected the ceiling. “I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

Your mouth opened involuntarily. “Really?”

He nodded. “I woke up this morning thinking for sure that I dreamt yesterday. I’ve thought about confessing to you so many times, but you never seemed interested in me that way. I didn’t want to make our friendship awkward.”

“Well,” you said, picking at your nails. “I’m interested in you now, so…”

Seokmin laughed, tucking a hand under his head. “Good thing, I was getting worried I wouldn’t be able to keep it in much longer. You keep getting prettier every day.”

You coasted on that high, laying on your stomach and smiling at your phone, for the time it took your friends to make their way to you. You heard the door opening downstairs and Seokmin’s mother’s voice as she told them to go ahead up. 

Seokmin rolled off the bed. “I should move. They might suspect something if we’re laying in bed together.”

You nodded at him, looking back at your phone and mindlessly playing a puzzle game as he settled, seated on the floor with his back against the bed. There was an unspoken agreement that the two of you should keep whatever relationship developed a secret, at least for now. The two of you didn’t even know what this was yet, it’d be stupid to let others in on it, too.

When Minghao and Mingyu practically kicked open Seokmin’s bedroom door, you jumped at the noise and stared at them wide eyed.

“Yah!” Seokmin yelled. “Be careful! The hell is wrong with you?”

Minghao looked like he was trying to be intimidating, pursing his lips to stop himself laughing while he tried to be serious. “You lazy assholes made us walk all the way over here.”

You looked from him to Mingyu, who looked back at you, his face reading like a hostage. You burst into laughter, rolling onto your side.

“Don’t laugh!” Minghao pointed at you, a smile breaking through his facade. “I’m serious. This jerk agreed to come over to my house, yet we somehow ended up here! Because you’re here! Why?”

Seokmin was staring at him, mouth open and squinting. “In my defense, I forgot.”

“I wanted to hang out,” you said sweetly, sitting up and leaning against the wall. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s always choosing you over us,” Minghao pouted, crossing his arms as Mingyu snuck around him to sit on the bed next to you. “What’s up with that?”

“Well, first of all,” Seokmin said. “She’s way cooler than both of you.”

You laughed and said “thanks,” while both Mingyu and Minghao whined in unison.

“Secondly, I’ve known her for literally a decade longer than I’ve known you guys.”

“Whatever,” Minghao said, pulling his phone out of his jeans’ pocket and sitting on the floor. “You’re weirdly confident today. Did you finally get laid?”

You almost snapped your neck with how quickly you looked up at him. Mingyu snorted, laughing at the idea, but both you and Seokmin were frozen, staring at Minghao, who’s forehead creased when he saw the looks on both of your faces. Realization dawned on him and Mingyu almost simultaneously.

“Holy fuck, you two-”

“I have to pee,” Seokmin announced loudly, standing so suddenly that he toppled slightly before walking past Minghao and exiting the room. You stared after him incredulously, ears bright red, silently cursing the scaredy-cat bitch for abandoning you.

Mingyu cleared his throat. “So.”

“Nope,” you said. “This isn’t happening. We’re not talking about this.”

Minghao pointed at you. “So it’s true!”

You shook your head and rubbed your face. “That idiot really just walked out of the room.”

Mingyu laughed his big loud laugh, making you chuckle into your hands as you continued to cover your face.

“I’m so pissed. I can’t believe he actually just walked out.”

“I can’t believe you fucked him,” Minghao said.

Your hands fell off your face. “I didn’t! We didn’t fuck!”

He pointed at the door. “Then what the hell was that?”

“That was an idiot.”

He pouted a moment. “That’s not fair. I can’t argue with that.”

When the door opened again, you threw a pillow at Seokmin. “You jerk!”

He caught the pillow and stared at you. “What?”

The other boys stifled laughter as you fumed. “You abandoned me, you asshole!”

“I had to pee!”

“Nice cover, dick.” You crossed your arms. “I’m mad at you.”

“Don’t be mad at me!” He pointed at Minghao. “Be mad at him!”

Mingyu whined. “Mommy and Daddy are fighting...”

You smacked him in the arm with the back of your hand, and he jumped, rubbing the spot you hit. 

Minghao laughed and leaned back on his hands. “You’re a real dumbass.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, hugging the pillow while he sat down across the room. “I didn’t know what to do.”

You scoffed. “Clearly.”

“So... are you guys done talking about it?”

You threw your phone at him, and he deflected it with the pillow. 

“Hey! That could have actually hurt me!”

“Yet it didn’t,” you said, trying to grab Mingyu’s phone out of his hand to throw that, too, but he held it out of your reach and pushed you away. “We didn’t talk about anything, and we’re not gonna talk about anything.” You pointed a look at Minghao. “Right?”

“Right,” he said, sighing. “Whatever. I’ll corner Seokmin later.”

You continued to fume from your curled position on the bed, pouting and glaring at Seokmin. He stared back at you, eyes wide and lips slightly curved downwards. He mouthed an I’m sorry, but you just kept glaring.

“So,” Mingyu said, scratching his head. “Mario Kart?”

Hours passed, and you slowly let out your anger one shell at a time, Seokmin crying out and begging you to stop every time you hit him. At the end of a Grand Prix, you announced that you needed to pee.

“Have fun,” you said to Seokmin, then stood up to go to the restroom. He stared at you, wishing for mercy, as you closed the bedroom door. You giggled to yourself as you walked down the stairs.

You purposefully took your time, using the restroom downstairs, washing your hands extra well, looking at photos in the hall, peeking into the kitchen and chatting with Seokmin’s mother. When you finally returned, Seokmin looked shellshocked and both Mingyu and Minghao looked up at you.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Minghao nodded. “He’s easier to crack than you are.”

That was the moment where you thought, oh, this may have been a mistake. You gulped, looking at Seokmin. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” he said, but it came out as almost a whisper. He cleared his throat. “Nothing, I swear.”

You looked at Mingyu, and he shook his head with a frown to tell you he was lying. “Seokmin, what the fuck?”

“You abandoned me!”

“That doesn’t mean you can tell them everything!”

“I didn’t tell them everything…”

“Oh,” Minghao said, “So you guys did do more than that.”

You stared at him. “Seokmin, what the fuck!”

“I’m sorry!” He put his hands together and getting on his knees to plead with you. “I’m sorry! I’m weak! You know this!”

“You’re a fucking traitor,” you said, shaking your head as you sat down. He practically put his head in your lap while he bowed to you, muttering apologies. “I’m never sucking your dick again.”

His head shot up while both of the other boys burst into laughter. Seokmin let out a weak “really?”, which made them laugh even harder.

You almost snorted at the look on his face, shoving on his shoulder while the boys were distracted laughing. “Stop digging your own grave, idiot. What did you even tell them?”

He sat up, lower lip sticking out as he stared at you, clearly searching for a sign that you weren’t absolutely pissed at him anymore. "Just that you, y'know," he muttered, aimlessly gesturing. "Taught me how to make you feel good."

"You got pretty good, too," you giggled. You leaned over, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

“Wait, no, come back,” he said, pulling at you with a hand on the back of your neck. You laughed while Mingyu made a gagging noise behind you.

“Ugh, get a room.”

“This is my room,” Seokmin snapped back, looking over your shoulder. He kissed you again, then finally let you sit back. “Hey,” he started. You looked up at him, pursing your lips. “Wanna be my girlfriend?”

You giggled.

“You two aren’t even together?” Minghao whined.

“Seriously, you have to do this right now?” Mingyu groaned.

“I’d like that,” you said.

“Me too,” Seokmin grinned.

[thorsstorms]

Abroad Pt. 19

Summary: Being the Hemsworth Kids’ Nanny, you were vowed to keep it strictly professional for their sake, but do the stolen glances go unnoticed between you both?

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: y’all know I’m a bitch for angst by now right?

A/N: @hildehuffles this ones for you. ALSO. THE YOUTUBE CHANNEL IM TALKING ABOUT IS YES THEORY. I was in Venice a couple weeks ago, and felt like adding in a little get away like I had done. I told no one I was going and literately hopped on a plane with an Airbnb secured. #SeekDiscomfort also one of the best trips to LA I had ever taken. 10/10 recommend. 

Masterlist

Your eyes were glued to the generously sized television screen mounted on the wall, holding the flimsy bottle of water tight in your hands. The conversation took a swift turn with only a sentence spoken and it was the two of you dressed at the premier that was painting the background. You knew she was only doing this to tease him, and the sly comments he made in turn settled your nerves.

“So Chris… Who? Who‘s that?” His eyes were drawn to the monitor, not startled at all by her outburst but calm, with a telltale pink tint creeping up and a squinty eyed smile trying to stay buried.

The crowd whoops in retaliation.

He stayed silent a moment more, staring at the monitor, thinking of a way to answer until the crowd calms down. The comedian looks mischievous, obviously taking pride in his suffering though she knows exactly who you are now. The crowd doesn’t need to know that detail. She only means to tease, it’s who she was!

He folds his hands, rubbing them together before simply saying, “I have never seen that woman in my life.” Obviously joking. 

“Oh come on!” she pushed, glowing eyes with a smile stretching across her cheeks.

“Yea, yea. That is my girly-friend, you could say. It’s-It’s weird to say that because I feel like she’s more than just a girlfriend, you know?” He glances again back at the large picture behind him before running a hand down the side of his face, focusing back forwards. He knows you are just watching the screen, glued to the screen at that, in the green room. He didn't know what you were thinking! It could go one of two ways in his mind. Absolutely silently losing your mind or laughing in retaliation to his discomfort of not knowing what to say. Hopefully the latter.

“Oh! I know.” She jokes, full on laughing at him while he smirks but stares daggers playfully. She knows you were more than just a girlfriend in his mind now, but how could he resist the shot of you meeting and hugging Ellen Degeneres and not stick the ring up and snap a photo of the moment while you were faced away? She was a trustworthy person, or so he hoped. Not proven wrong so far.

“Okay, Okay,” she settles herself. “So tell me, where did you find her?” She was keen to the details.

“Uhh- The internet,” he says without missing a beat. You almost choke on your own spit at his fast response, not knowing whether to laugh or crawl into a hole. But the crowd loved it, laughing. He sure got a kick out of the response, thinking he, himself, was funny. Loser.

“You are joking.” Ellen says, dead panning him.

“No, no really. My, uh, my manager found her for me.” He continues on, deceiving the crowd. Depriving them of the whole truth.

“Oh my god, Chris,” you mutter to yourself in the quiet room. Ellen got a kick out of that even more, stopping him from continuing down this road. He obviously was not going to give straight forward answers.

“Okay, okay.” She switches to a different question. “So…” She dragged out for an effect. Maybe just to make him squirm.

“Oh no,” he mumbled. She just had a look, a look that told that she had so many wrong questions under her sleeve.

“You filming something Chris?” The crowd slowly grew to giggle when he didn’t answer. Just stared her down trying not to react.

“Do you have, like, anything I can answer?!” He burst with a chuckle, wiping his palms on his thighs. “I’m just in town, and agreed to come see you and you treat me like this!” His smile was bright while she muttered apologies, laughing at his distress.

The interview eventually calmed down, them playing a rapid fire game afterwards. You finally settle into the couch to watch the interactions.

That was so not as bad as it could have been. He knew what he was doing during interviews anyway, or you had hoped.

~

You slept in the next morning, only waking to acknowledge that he was leaving for the day. This was a free day to yourself and sleeping in as long as you wanted seemed like the best way to start.

He left you with a mere kiss on the nose before he trudged out the door. The night before was yet another dismissal and it left you flustered and annoyed as all get out, so the day to yourself was the best present around.

Regardless of how much you thought you wanted a calm day, you were texting him by noon, telling him you were bored. By the time he replied, a mere 45 minutes later you were already sucked into YouTube. You found a new channel that piqued your interest and were easily four videos in.

“Sorry princess. Come with me tomorrow?”

You read the preview and sighed, ignoring it for the moment and pressed play on the video again. These guys in the videos were entertaining... inspiring, even.

By the time the fifth video started, their names were easily remembered. What sparked interest even more was the fact that they are based out of Venice Beach, a mere 45 minute drive through LA, on a good day at least.

The video of them walking the sidewalks interviewing strangers that were bold enough to go on an adventure made you want to feel the same sun they were obviously surrounded in. The couch had been your home for the last hour, a window open to let in some light, shining gold streaks through the room, but it wasn't enough.

The rules that plagued yourself were on a repeat in your head as you clicked on another video, then another, and another. You were not supposed to be spending too much time staring at a screen. You weren't supposed to drive, or go out on your own because you are still healing. You're not supposed to be in such sunny areas it could hurt your eyes still. Don't do this, don't do that.

It is suffocating. Infuriating that the list of long don'ts probably repeats through Chris’s head like a mantra, that's why he won't touch you. That's why he won't let you touch him.

Anger slowly flowed through your mind as you started to lose focus on the video playing. You closed the app and opened google maps, staring at the words ‘Venice Beach’ in correlation to where you were stuck inside, across the city. It was like torturing yourself. A silent battle of wanting to just go, go and then think about it later.

You slowly rolled your shoulders back as you sat up on the cushions of the couch that were not as comfy as you had hoped. The time on the lock screen taunted back at you. You could go and make it back in enough time to be home before Chris got back. You scoffed at the thought. He wouldn't be happy, but you were an adult. A very capable adult who can make their own choices. Staying in your bubble of Byron almost makes you forget your own sense of independence. He doesn't get to decide what you can and can't do.

The bathroom light shone a tad brighter than the natural lighting in the living room, eyes squinting quickly at the flush. You moved to the sink to wash your face, pulled a hair tie to braid your hair, and picked out some clothes.

Double checking for your wallet and phone in your purse brought on second thoughts. You never answered his text. He probably wouldn't notice for a while anyway. You pushed away the small ache of neglect that settled inside, it wasn't his fault. He was working. It’s when he wasn't working, that's when brush offs hurt the most.

Checking your makeup again in the mirror to make sure the covering was adequate over the blueing bruises, you made your way out, pulling the door behind you after ordering an Uber to Venice.

Los Angeles wasn't all the glitz and glam that movies made it out to be. You learned that pretty fast last time you all had been here, with the kids. Having a temporary place in Burbank meant crossing the city often, though a quick commute for Chris. The studios were not but a 6 minute drive away. Ideal, yes. But fun, no.

The drive seemed quick, the driver was slightly chattier than what you thought was normal but you were not complaining. You may have just had a week with more adult action than you’d had in the last few months combined but you were never one to be impolite. You didn't say much, only that you've never visited Venice before and didn't know why, so you just said ‘why not?’.

When the vehicle came to a stop and a moment of regret flushed forward, but you pushed it back quick. Going by yourself was not the worst thing in the world. How else were you going to be able to see what you wanted to see? You didn't know anybody here in L.A. other than Chris. It wasn't like you could call Miley up and ask her to stroll around town with you. Well, you could. But - not like this.

You adjusted your own sunglasses as you walked the last block towards the water. The art on the walls were bright and gave off calm vibes. A skateboard whizzed past you quickly, catching you off guard. You sidestepped to the right of the sidewalk and watched him ride past you and others, closer towards the shops. Clutching your bag closer to your body, you continued, rounding the corner to what was familiar from the videos you had been so enamoured with.

Towering palm trees. Bikes, so many bikes. So many skateboards. You looked around a moment after making sure you were out of the walk way, admiring the ease of the people around. The skatepark up on the hill and the art lining the sidewalks it was all what you hoped to see from the video.

The shops were cute, making your way through a few. So many surf shops and all you could think about was guilt that Chris didn't know you left the apartment. Everything reminds you of him. A fire fight started in your brain - consisting of respect you had for having a partner versus having a sense of independency. You didn't have to disclose every footstep, you never expected him to, at least.

The spiral of your thoughts continued as you strolled across the sidewalks, leaving behind the shops. You took a seat in the grass overlooking the busy basketball courts and pulled your phone out. Ignoring the warmth on your shoulders from the sun, you checked for any notifications and were met with none.

Did you have a right to feel the way you were feeling at the moment?

Was it selfish? Was it hormones? Forget that.

But were you chalking it up to be something more, just a spiral of thoughts when he wasn't there to discredit them? Your clouds caused a moment of zoning out as you pondered.

You both spent all day yesterday together, he even made you dinner, working in the kitchen with music playing while you watched him from the couch. Admiring and happy to see him. A glint in your eyes that stayed, unsubdued. A girl can't help but be worked up when she had gone so long without him, pregnancy hormones were no help to the cause. All you wanted was for him to acknowledge what you had been repeatedly showing off.

You were horny.

There was no other way to put it. And a healing head injury was not going to magically make the want disappear, even if it seemed to have made the want disappear from himself. The thought made your stomach clench, remembering when he turned around and caught you staring at him with lustful, shameless eyes.

He knew the look. He knew it very well. But what happened when his eyes met you made your blood run cold, your feet quickly allowing you to leave the room so the hitch in your breath wasn't caught by his ears.

He had looked away from your gaze with a sigh, turning his back to you. Another word didn't leave his mouth until he had come to find you in the bedroom to tell you that dinner was ready. He stopped himself from pushing open the door when he heard you talking. The sadness in your voice, clouded with tears as you spoke to whoever was on the other line.

“We had such a good day, I had such a good day,” you corrected. “But, but I just-” you stopped a moment, taking in a shaking breath to gather your thoughts. He looked at his feet, bowing his head when the upset nature of the phone call settled in his mind.

“I just miss him so much Bri, and I feel like he just doesn't see me. I feel -”

Your speech was cut off by yelling through the line of the phone. You sucked in a breath and it came out in a shudder, trying to calm your own emotions. He didn't know what she was saying but it silenced you. He felt heavy with guilt that he was the source of your anguish. He needed to stop being weak. He was scared to hurt you but here he was, causing you pain repeatedly until he was the source of your tears. He didn't know if you were crying or not, but he could feel the pain and confusion behind your words.

You started to wrap up the call. A sting of “I know”s and “Okay”s spilled off your tongue and he made his way back to the kitchen, hoping you wouldn't feel upset if you knew that he was listening.

He stood plating the stir fry when you made your way back into the room with a grim smile, peaking at him and muttering ‘thank you’.

You remembered how he led you to the couch and played a random movie on the TV while you ate. He pulled you close to him when you both cleared you plates. The rush that had flooded through you made you blush. You sat there snuggled to him for almost an hour before you both headed to bed and he didn't touch you again.  He said all the right things, but words were hard at having such a meaning when his actions were iffy.

“I love you.”

“I'm glad you're here with me.”

“I missed you.”

“I love you, so much,” he would say with a rub on your arm.

A small kiss to your temple and you rolled on your side away from him, closing your eyes. Unbeknownst to you, he felt a bit of his heart break away when he watched you reach for the blankets and tug them to your shoulders, seeking them out for warmth rather than himself.

The empty notification screen mocked you, clicking the phone off once again. You looked up at your surroundings to admire the feel. It was busy, but not uncomfortably so. The skatepark behind you was bustling, and so were the basketball courts in front of you. But right there, where the grass was a soft green and you leaned against the raised plateau behind you, it was serene. Fairly quiet for the crowd around, but it was as if the sound didn't carry. The seagulls above were gliding, and the faint clicks of skate wheels hitting the ground blurred into the background noise of music coming from the shops.

It was a good spot to think. Something you have alway done far too much of.

The buzz in your hand had you snaping your head towards it, a dull ache spreading down your neck at the swift movement. The message had you jumping to your feet, making your way to the corner where you were dropped off.

“Almost done here. In the mood to go out for food?”

~

He beat you home, only by a minute though it seemed. As you were stepping out of the car and thanking the driver, your phone started ringing. You declined, tossing it into the mess of a purse you had as you made your way inside to the elevators, favoring talking to him in person instead.

The ride up seemed to go by faster than any other time before, allowing your nerves to revv in the light of Chris possibly being upset. The padding of your shoes made it to the door, your hand pushing it open.

His eyes met yours when the door opened and unsurprisingly the first words out of his mouth were, “where were you?”

“I just needed to get out for a bit,” you acknowledged lightly, setting your purse on the counter tops. You didn't meet his eyes, turning your back and digging for your phone. His voice was laced with curiosity, not expecting you to not be there when he arrived, even if you were only off by a mere minute or two.

“Where did you go?” He asked, keeping his feet planted. You turn to see him. He truly had just gotten here, a bag still thrown over his shoulder and shoes still on his feet. His brows furrowed as you met his eyes and then diverted from them again, absentmindedly rubbing your temple where bruises were covered.

“I went to Venice Beach, I haven't been there before and I just want to walk aro-”

“How did you get to Venice? Did you go by yourself?” He worried on with a malice tone. Your ears were growing red as he spoke.

“Yes I went by myself, who else would I have gone with?” You hissed at him. You could already feel your hands shaking. You knew you had worked yourself up today while you were out and were just waiting for the point to start a fight. Still completely confused on whether he deserved it or not, but you were beyond frustrated.

“I don't know anybody here! I have one friend who I barely see! Yes! I went by myself. I needed to be around people. I'm lonely!” You raised your voice at him. He stepped towards you with his hands out when your defense shot up. You crossed your arms around yourself protectively, delivering a sign of needing to be comforted, even if by your own arms.

“I'm sick of being by myself!” You told him as he grew closer, watching with pained eyes as you laid it out for him. “I just - God I don’t know. I just - I needed to get out and do something.”

“Hey,” he calmed. “Im right here.”

“No, Chris!” You pushed his outstretched hands away from your own. “You're not.” You took a deep breath while he stood speechless, catching an eyeful of the hurt you were carrying on your shoulders.

“Princess,” he pleaded, waiting for you to take a look at him but your eyes were wandering to any surface but his.You couldn't get the right words out to say. It had always been like this when you grew frustrated, your own vocabulary runs from your thoughts. You grew silent as a tear finally fell from your eyes but was quickly wiped away by his own fingers. When you didn't protest his touch he took that as a good sign. He muttered your name in surrender.

“What do you want me to do?” He watched for a reaction. “Tell me what I can do.” He was at a loss. Spending more time apart than together was a strain that was eerily familiar and it pressed down on him so hard he was ready to beg for understanding. He wanted to understand what he could do to make this better but what you said next caught him off guard, rendering him silent and confused.

“Do you love me?”

His eyes burned at the yearning of your question. The watery eyes that flicked to his in search of an answer. His lips were dropped open at the turn of events this evening had taken. He thought about this evening all day. He was going to let you choose the place for dinner and shower you with dessert, with love, and affection to make up for what he had overheard. He wanted to show you the beautiful diamond that had your name written all over it and ask a very important question.

He was too quiet, mulling over how he had gotten to this point while you stood with uncertainty, continuing on your quest of finding answers.

“I know I'm starting to look different,” your head bowed at the revelation that he might not like what he sees. “And we are so far apart alot, but I'm still me.”

He spoke your name, drawing himself from his silent trance, wanting you to stop now and not speak another incredulous word.

“My face,” you whispered sadly. “It will go away in a little bit...” The whole in your chest was opening, grabbing a hold of your voice and refusing to let another word out.

“Baby, stop,” his words filled the empty void when yours ceased. He eyed a hand of yours making its way to your neck, a sign of discomfort. He stopped it in its tracks and pulled you to his chest.

His arms cocooned you, holding you far too tight to be comfortable, but you needed it. To feel he was there and there with you. He pressed you head to his chest with the revelation of disregarding his own hesitancy of somehow hurting you with his touch. His heartbeat melding with your own as you froze, slowly melting your guard until tears wet his shirt.

If his goal was to keep you from harm, he failed. It was proven when you released the tension from your shoulders against his grip. His words repeated until you showed signs of listening. Words of reassurance and love. Words filled with apologies and pleads for you to forgive him for causing you this pain. He was naive to think of you in such a way. To make up a version of yourself that was weak or fragile. He lost sight of the fire you have in your veins when happiness emits from your aura. The glow you have when your body shakes from laughter. The strong independent girl that rounded the corner of his kitchen and introduced herself without a glitch of uncertainty. But here you were asking for reassurance and he knew it was his own fault.

You cried in his arms, letting him carry your weight from the room before he sat down on the bed and let you take a moment to breathe, curled atop his knees and listening to his voice.

“Hey,” He said, lifting a hand from your shoulder to run over his face, drying the wetness that plagued his own skin. “You are so beautiful that it takes my breath away. Perfect. And I mean in every sense. You will always be perfect. Princess I never want to hear you say those words again. You are so perfect. And always will be. We have a little baby growing.” You took a deep breath, picking your head off his shoulder and reaching down to lay a hand over the swell in your tummy.

“A baby!” He said, laying a hand over your own, though waiting for you to meet his eyes again. “You will look different, princess, and I will be here and love every single minute of it. I promise. No doctor appointments with Bri, I will be here. And this,” He brushed your hair away from your face, fingers lingering against your scalp. Your head tilted up and basked in the touch.

“This I take responsibility for. It eats me up inside, but you still take my breath away. Every time, and always will.” He watched as you looked at him and listened intimately to what he was saying. “And I want to be the person you go places with. You can go alone if you like,” he added, “but I will never not want to be by your side. Do you understand me?”

You look on a second more, gauging his expression and contemplating his words before you nod. “No more tears, please.” His hands moved to cradle your face, thumbs clearing the skin and in a flash his lips met yours. Filled with promise, he kissed you like you wished he would for days. You craved his taste and was letting you have it, finally feeding into the small fire in the pit of your stomach.

“I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips.

“I have something I want to show you,” he admitted, pulling away. A deep, clarifying breath escaped your lungs and he rubbed your back in turn, reaching in his pocket for his phone with the other hand.

His fingers fumbled across the screen, having to reenter the password twice. You looked away and laid your head into the crock of his neck, closing your eyes. Whatever it was, surely it could wait while your heart mellowed to a regular pace.

The peace was cut short when he whispered your name again, drawing your eyes open. He pushed his phone from his hand and into yours.

“There’s an album right here with your name on it.” You looked on at his camera albums listed on the bright screen. “And I want you to look through it.” He was certain with his words, urging you on.

“Why?” you asked, looking back up at him.

“I love you so much princess, I just want to show you, I want for you to know it and never question it again.” His sincerity was clear, nodding back down towards the phone in your hands. You opened it without a word and clicked on a photo. It was nice, from a few months back, but neither you nor India were looking towards him. She sat in front of you on the kitchen counter, clearly way past her bedtime. Both of you sneaking a bowl of ice cream but what stood out was the smile adorning both of your faces. Crazy hair and slightly sunburned cheeks laughing at each other. You remembered the night clearly, both of you having a private running joke to see how much ice cream you both could eat before Papa notices and “makes us eat salad for dinner”.

You sneaked a look up at him after glancing at the photo, “You know we sneak ice cream all the time, right?”

“Sure do,” he laughed in return. “Keep going.”

You looked back down at the phone and swiped to see another. A photo snuck from the doorway while you rested your head in your hand, elbows on the table as you watched the boys write something out on some paper in the homeschool room, reaching out with the other hand to point at something on Tristans’ sheet.

The next one was you sitting at the foot of the couch while India stood tall above you trying to put a braid in your locks while Sasha sat on your legs with a book in his hand. It was serene, calm. You pressed down on the picture to watch the Live, a short clip of fingers tangling in your hair and Sasha's voice reading aloud. You stifle a smile at it.

The next made you suck in a breath. You were sleeping in his bed at home, the sheet barely covering you. The curve of your back disappearing into the sheets, obviously sleeping in the nude, unaware of the camera pointed at you.

“Chris!” You teased, looking at him. And smirked and shrugged his shoulders, encouraging you again to continue. You brought your attention back to the photos, swiping through more and more. There were many and you kept going at a steady pace until another caught your eye.

You brought the screen to your eyes to examine it, brows furrowing in curiosity. Sasha’s room, although slightly messy, was easily recognizable as you lounged on the bed in the background, lying next to the boy.

Fingers trapping a small ring with an identifiable glow thrusting off the jewel perched atop. The pads of your fingers zoomed in on the object, at the same time, fairly sure your lungs stopped working.

You quickly swiped to the next picture, though the same ring adorned the foreground.

This time you stood against the bathroom counter brushing out your hair.  The circle of jewelry resting around his own finger, reaching just below the first knuckle before it got stuck. You stared at the daring ring, resisting the urge to look at the man whose chest was pressed against your shoulder, whose arm rested across your back, rubbing gently, urging for you to continue.

You covered your mouth at the next one, fingers resting across your lips in astonishment. The bare skin of your shoulders were accented by the waves of your hair falling over them. Eyes closed, rested against his chest in search of sleep. He was cheeky, smiling in the photo, showing off a glowin diamond on a ring far too small for his own fingers.

The next picture was another of the same nature. Then a photo of you reaching for a glass in the kitchen. One of you sleeping on a plane. One of you naked, behind the blurred glass of the shower doors. One of you staring intently at your phone while standing at the counter. One of you standing in the mirror, examining, no - admiring the form of your growing baby.

You knew Chris was up to something, fidgeting after taking that photo, looking guilty as all get out. A brief watery laugh escaped as you reached that one.

The next was hilarious, Ellen with her face over your shoulder, with a surprised look, staring right at the camera. She knew!

You looked up at him, waiting for an answer to these photos. He just smiled and nudged you till you finished. There were more, a few more, as recent as this morning before he snuck away to go to set.

“It’s for you, love,” his voice whispers against the skin of your neck, lowering his lips to press a kiss where he knows you melt no matter the circumstance. An arm tightened around your back as he leaned forward and reached under the mattress, pulling a hidden box from the crease. You glazed at it as he switched hands and then brought it to you, flipping it open.

It was there, in person and not in a photo, demanding attention is the slyest of ways. It was beautiful, extravagant with an essence of simplicity. Words were caught in your throat as you stared at it, slowly blurring from your vision from unwelcome tears.

“Will you marry me?”

[humanemotionssuck]

Hello 2021

January 2, 2021

I should’ve put these thoughts into words on the first day of the year but then again, I felt so lazy given this bed weather we are currently having. By far, I think I experienced the coldest temperature here in my hometown (21 degrees baby) and I’m sure not liking it as I prefer warm days.

I actually do not know how to start. I feel it’s necessary to check on how I am doing lately. Write the things I experienced last year and reflect on the lessons it taught me.

I could probably kick things off by remembering how 2020 started for me. I have a bad memory but I’ll try my best to recall them.

January

Broke up with J (yes this is probably one of the major and heartbreaking events happened to me). To sum it up, I realized that the relationship does not have growth anymore, and I am slowly drifting to follow my own path, which is to focus on the plans I want. I haven’t thought deeply the lessons I learned in my past relationship yet but one thing is for sure, I changed and I want to explore more of what I can do or what I’m missing out in life. Which brings me to attend seminars on how to work/study abroad. I attended a couple (e.g Fortrust Makati) and I also realized how costly it will be and I’m probably not yet ready esp. on the financial aspect.

February – March

Highlight on these months was I got back to dating apps again. I know it was a complete dick move. I haven’t moved on yet and here I am in the pool again. I met 2 guys from this app, Coffee Meets Bagel (which btw I uninstalled few months after). The first guy was the introvert but funny type and also VERY sexual. I got along with it, tried to do the deed but failed cause the guy hasn’t moved on from the ex yet. (Sucks right). And so I met this second guy and he is decent but we really had completely different personality. I believe this guy is also rich (he came from a Chinese family and I went to his house and saw the maid and his stuff). Can you also believe he already introduced me to his mom (no dad cause broken family), uncle and grandma. Pressured si ate gurl syempre cause it was really too early to do that step since we’re just dating but March was the most difficult month because…

START OF LOCKDOWN. PH was in state of panic after the government announced a nationwide lockdown due to increased COVID-19 transmission. I immediately went on a bus to the province fearing to get stuck in Manila.

April

Nah this was just a typical month. Summer vibes all over but since we cannot go to the beach we just setup an inflatable pool in the house to get soaked. I finally posted a pic wearing a swimsuit again. My stagnant IG feed came to life lmao

May

Oh boy. This month sucks so much. I got typhoid fever. Which I thought was COVID already cause my fever just won’t stop. My mom didn’t want me to get admitted in the hospital in the fear of being infected so I was hooked in the IV here in the house. I felt I was dying. I was in huge pain both physically and mentally. Which forced me to end any communication means with the second guy. He was not there when I was sick. I didn’t feel his concern even if we’re miles apart and I felt I was begging for his attention. It just won’t work. He blocked me in his socials (which is a first for me, usually I am the one who blocks lol) but given the current state I have now, I learned to accept it and chose to move forward.

June

Explored options on work/study program abroad. We got a new car (Xpander) which my father was able to purchase after borrowing money from us. That money could’ve been used for my Japan trip on December (plot twist it was cancelled due to fucking corona) but it’s okay I guess I’ll save another again.

I also got my student permit (yes I learned how to drive months after hehe)

July

THIS WAS MY BIGGEST DOWNFALL FOR THIS YEAR. There were some modifications in the quarantine and so my employer required and FORCED us to report on site in Makati despite of high number of positive cases. All I can say is SCREW THEM and I hope karma will do its thing on their business. The management.. the bosses.. they are all inconsiderate fucks for not allowing me to work at home instead. The situation forced me to resign but they chose to terminate me instead. The unemployment took its toll on my mental health, it caused me great depression and anxiety which forced me to look for distractions.. anything that will ease my mind.

Oh and btw, I bought my first laptop from hard earned money. Oh boy, it was satisfying to give myself the things my parents couldn’t afford that time I was still in school. It’s a gaming laptop and the one I’m using to type now. I absolutely love it and I used it to find online jobs later on..

I read Looking for Alaska by John Green again after watching the TV series on Hulu. Geez, this has to be my favorite book so far. The seeking of great perhaps.. which was very timely on my mood while having nothing else to do.

Lastly, TAYLOR SWIFT RELEASED A NEW ALBUM CALLED FOLKLORE. In the middle pandemic? Awesome right and this album kept me sane during this crazy and miserable month. Oh and on December, she released folklore’s sister album.. Evermore. Miss Swift saved me again with her music. This will definitely be one of the albums I will play when I’m old and gray knitting sweaters and wearing cardigan.

August

I started and finished my driving lesson in manual. JFC, I realized driving gives me a huge anxiety. One thing is for sure, I will prefer to drive automatic. Not driving that shit again.

I was still hooked with Looking for Alaska. Also purchased Subtle Art of not Giving a F*ck on the time I bought LFA.

On the other hand, I was also actively looking for new jobs this time.

September

ON SEPT. 30 I GOT HIRED! I was super happy to start on a new job. It gave me hope once again to continue on this journey called life. After almost 3 months, we are def back to business!

I also got the chance to get this Thyroid issue checked. Unfortunately, there was no major stuff going on with my thyroid. Basically, I’m perfectly healthy. What sucks is that the doctor invalidated my previous condition and said I only have ~anxiety which is the cause of my symptoms (excessive sweating and palpitations). I will seek professional help on this anxiety stuff anytime in the future.

Lastly, I played Grand Chase again and met someone in the game. Well technically we haven’t met yet but since then, I got used to talking with this guy and he is part of my daily routine now. I won’t spoil much details but as soon as this is all over, I can’t wait to meet this person :)

*cue Grand Chase soundtrack*

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoK0bAjsHoo

October

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEE! It was a typical birthday. I don’t have much realizations. If I had one, I need to think thoroughly again lol.

Busy with training on the new job and this has been the most challenging training I ever had since I started working.

NOVEMBER

WORK WORK WORK. Super stressed and my anxiety was on the roof. I thought of giving up already but then again it was too early to quit. I haven’t seen my full potential on this job yet and so I chose to keep on fighting.

I also finally got braces. Let’s get these smiles fixed.

December

WORK WORK WORK AGAIN. My work caused me a huge anxiety cause I was given high priority cases -.-But overall, I can say the holidays went great. I finally got to spend time with the family outside. Don’t worry cause we still practiced precautions and I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go out once in a while to have some fresh air. We went to the beach and pretty much that’s the highlight of this month.

Things are getting serious with this guy I’m talking about.. Seriously, he makes me happy every single day.

I also won in Christmas raffle. Oppo phone. (I have the odds in my favor when it comes to raffles lol)

Feels weird to celebrate this holiday too thinking a lot of hardships were experienced in the last few months of quarantine. I was thinking about all the lives lost by covid and hoping they are in the peaceful place now..

JANUARY (NOW)

After everything that happened, oddly the start of the year gives me a sense of hope. Sure I am still carrying the trauma 2020 gave me but I am slowly leaving all of them behind. I want a fresh start and I want to let go of the things that gave me pain. I don’t have solid resolutions just like in my teenage years. Guess I’m too old for that. Not saying it’s okay to not have plans for the future and just go with the flow but I promise to not be too hard on myself and to not pressure myself on the goals I haven’t achieved yet. It’s really a struggle to plan things ahead given the situation but as always, I will do my best. I will stop comparing my progress to somebody else’s cause everyone has their own timeline.

I will listen to my heart and my mind to determine the things I really want. I promise to reevaluate the decisions I am making each day. I will not be afraid of making mistakes because that’s how I learn.

I am embracing my anxiety of uncertainty. It’s okay to feel afraid because I am always trying on how to overcome my fear. I strive each day because I am more than just a ball of anxiety. The palpitations.. the sweating.. they don’t define me. I have the power to control them and they won’t stop me from being the better version of myself.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole). 

Chapter 10

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

tags: @bunny222

  Virgil took very long strides on the way to campus this morning. Roman was lucky he was quick, because Virgil has long-ass legs. It was a few blocks away, not really a terrible walk. Roman hated being up this early, though. He and Virgil didn’t even sign to each other. Roman was pretty sure Virgil would also give anything right now to go back to bed, just based on his glower and the way he kept seeming to lose focus.   Roman wasn’t doing any better. Roman kept yawning and accidentally tripping on uneven parts of the sidewalk. Virgil didn’t even make fun of him. Roman hadn’t known him that long, but Virgil never missed an opportunity to until now. Mondays, maybe. Or just mornings. Roman wasn’t sure it mattered. Maybe Virgil was mad at having to show Roman the way to campus early. He didn’t seem to care when Thomas asked him to, though. But Roman didn’t have the best read on him. The parts of the night he managed to sleep he had his patented nightmares again, so it just a step above complete insomnia.   When they got to campus, Virgil quickly veered off down a hall without waving bye as Roman headed to the front office. The exhausted-looking administrative personal looked up when he stepped in.   “Um, Roman Reinhart?” Roman said warily.   “On the right, first door on the left. Councilor's office,” She said, pointing behind her to the hall on the right, not looking away from her computer screen. Roman nodded and shuffled quickly down the hall, peeking through the cracked open door.   “Oh, Mr. Reinhart?” The man at the desk asked. Roman nodded and stepped in. “Alright, we’ve just put you in the core classes that we had spots left in based on the transcript from your last school. You just have to pick your electives. You can keep taking art if you like, there’s room in the class. This school doesn’t have Latin, so you can’t keep taking that one. There’s no room in Spanish II this semester year, but you can take it next year. You only need two language credits to graduate. Colleges like a balanced transcript, so trying something new wouldn’t be a bad idea. Pick two,” The councilor handed Roman a piece of paper with the remaining available electives. Roman just stared at them, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what he was interested in and he wasn’t even sure he’d be here long. Roman looked up at the counselor, looking at him expectantly and somewhat annoyed.   “Um, yeah, art, and uh, choir?” Roman said, picking the first thing that came to mind before the councilor got mad at him. The councilor took back the sheet and typed at his computer in silence while Roman sat there awkwardly. He probably thought of choir because of what Patton said. Maybe if Roman signed up for the stuff Patton wanted him to, he could… that was probably too much to hope. It was just a gut decision. But he could give it a shot. At least he could know if he liked choir or not before they kicked him out. It’s not like he was doing stellar in Latin. “Uh, I’d like to do cross-country, maybe? I’m sure I missed tryouts. How would I join?” Roman asked tentatively.   “Ask the PE teacher after class. You’ve got PE just before lunch, so you should have plenty of time to get it sorted out,” He said, continuing to work on his computer. After a few more uncomfortable moments, the ancient printer finally spewed out a class schedule.   “Here you go, kid. Maps and school calendar are on the wall in the front office. You’ve got about a couple minutes until the first warning bell goes off, so try to familiarize yourself with the map. You’ve got 8 minutes between classes to get where you need to go. Here’s your locker assignment. There’s no room in the sophomore locker hall so you’re with the junior lockers on the second floor,” He handed Roman a little slip of paper with a combination on it and the locker number.   “The teachers should already know to expect you, except for in art and choir. If you just ask them your seating assignment before the bell goes off and you should be golden,” Roman nodded and stepped back out of the office to grab the map off the wall and start trying to navigate this monster of a school. —   Roman sighed and picked at his school lunch as he sat alone at the edge of the cafeteria. He’d met some nice people in his morning English class, but they didn’t share his lunch period. Roman wouldn’t mind eating alone so much if it didn’t look like he was literally the only person doing it. He’d done this a million times before, so he knew he’d eventually find a friend group to tolerate him. But the first few weeks always sucked. And the food sucks. This breadtangle of pizza was soggy and gross, and what even was on these green beans? Why were they slimy? The texture of everything was pretty disgusting. He’ll need to ask Virgil what’s edible here before lunch tomorrow.   The PE teacher told Roman to come after school to practice to try out, and Roman kind of looked forward to that. They didn’t meet every day and the PE teacher said anyone who could run under an eight-minute mile could join. Roman had never timed himself before, but he was pretty certain he could do that. It would be nice to do something he was okay at for a change instead of always fucking up. He was still nervous about choir later this afternoon, but he knew he could run. You don’t have to try out for choir or anything, but he still didn’t want to find out he was a bad singer. It was probably a poor decision. Stupid impulsiveness.   Roman’s stomach turned as he forced down the food. It was vile, completely, and the texture was a nightmare that made his skin crawl, but he couldn’t throw it out and waste food. He still had some free time before the next bell, so he went to go sit outside. He needed some fresh air for the nausea from lunch. The cafeteria was really loud, and it was wearing on him, too. Roman sat back under a tree in some weird wood chip garden and took a deep breath of the autumn air. It was at least a good thing it wasn’t too far into the semester so he could catch up easier. But he will have an unbearable amount of homework this week. Roman leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to get a brief rest before lunch was over. —   Roman stretched out nervously. He was in kind of tight jeans and not exactly prepared for this, but he was just supposed to run with the others, keep in his lane, and clear 8 minutes, and then the PE teacher would make her decision. The regular-track kids were also here, and they were staggering start times to share the space. Roman watched football practice on the field while the track kids started off. He took a deep breath and joined the cross-country kids as the starting lines, waiting for the teacher’s whistle to take off.   Roman started running at the whistle, and some kids took off much faster than him, but Roman didn’t want to tear these pants. They were possibly just trying to show off, because they slowed down as the group turned the corner, and Roman pulled ahead with a smirk. He got a glower from one of the ones he passed, but the other held up his thumbs and looked pretty excited. As he turned the final corner, Roman ran faster to try to make sure he stayed under 8 minutes. Another two kids beat him to the finish line, but the exact middle of the pack was a good sign.   “Roman! 5:48!” The PE teacher called, walking up to him while he caught his breath at the edge of the track.   “What, really?” Roman smiled. He probably could keep going, too.   “You’re welcome to join if you’d like,” She said, sounding excited. “That’s an impressive time for a newbie,”   “I, yeah, yes,” Roman stammered.   “Well, go ahead and queue up with the same pack to run it again slower, and come to my office after practice so we can get the paperwork. You need parents’ permission to join so I’ll need you to bring back a signed form. You can drop it off during PE tomorrow or the next meet on Wednesday,” She said and Roman nodded excitedly and walked over with the pack.   “Hey, congratulations, dude!” One of them smiled. “I’m Toby,” He drank some water. Roman didn’t have the forethought to bring water out and felt like a thirsty idiot.   “Roman,” He smiled brightly.   “You’ve got pretty good form, did you run at another school?” Another boy asked. “Seth’s the name,”   “No, just a, uh, hobbyist,” Roman said as dismissively as he could manage.   “I can tell from the fact you’re wearing jeans,” Another boy scoffed.   “I didn’t expect to be able to try out as soon as I asked,” Roman rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should worry how fast I’d go with practice,” Roman smirked. Seth and Toby laughed.   “Yeah, chill out, Nolan. Roman’s new,” Toby said, patting him on the back.   “Ugh, whatever,” Nolan rolled his eyes and started stretching out again.   “That’s Augustine, call her Aggie or she’ll tackle you. The last one is Julie. She thinks she’s better than all of us so don’t bother talking to her,” Seth, Toby, and Aggie laughed and Julie scoffed.   “I am better than all of you,” Julie flipped him off quickly and went back to stretching.   “So why’d you pick cross-country over track?” Seth asked.   “Tracks get boring. I’m an urban runner if anything,” Roman shrugged.   “Same. We practice on a track pretty often and I get sick of it quick. Other than running around campus, they bus us out to a hiking trail or send us back to the obstacle course sometimes, unlike track, though,” Seth shrugged.   “An obstacle course?” Roman’s face lit up.   “Yeah, dude, it’s pretty cool. It’s splinter city, but it’s a pretty big course. Some other schools in the district even come out here to use it,” Seth smiled.   “We have a friendly competition about obstacle course times if you’re interested,” Nolan smirked mischievously.   “He’s literally never run it before, it’s not fair to him,” Toby rolled his eyes.   “No, I’m interested,” Roman said, eying Nolan suspiciously.   “It’s nothing major. Loser accepts any dare the winner chooses,” Nolan said with a small shrug.   “Shit, dude, that’s fine by me,” Roman laughed. He’d probably do any dare he was given anyway, he had shit impulse control and was very aware of that fact.   “Cool,” Toby laughed, and they walked to the track to wait for their start again. —   Roman’s mouth was dry as hell by the time he got back to Thomas and Patton’s house. He chugged some very metallic water from the fountain after practice, but he had that whole paperwork thing, and then jogging back defeated him. Lita barked excitedly as Roman came in. Roman bent down to scratch her head and made a bee-line to the kitchen to chug some water.   “Roman? Is that you?” Thomas called.   “Mm-hmm,” Roman grunted between gulps of water.   “I was surprised not to see you come in with Virgil,” Thomas said, walking into the kitchen.   “Patton told me I should try out for cross-country or something,” Roman said, pouring another cup of water.   “Oh, did you?” Thomas asked curiously.   “Yeah,” Roman breathed. “I don’t want to bother you or anything but there’s stupid stuff to sign so I can join,” Roman kicked his foot lightly into the tile.   “Oh, you passed the tryouts?” Thomas beamed. “Congratulations! I’m happy to sign a permission slip. Oh, we should probably get you some running gear. Did you really run in those jeans? I’m surprised they didn’t rip,” Thomas asked, sounding concerned.   “It was kind of a last-minute decision,” Roman huffed. “I don’t need anything,” Roman rubbed his arm awkwardly.   “Roman, half your clothes barely fit you from what I’ve seen,” Thomas said critically.   “I had a growth spurt at 14 and I probably will again soon,” Roman said dismissively, backing up a bit.   “That doesn’t mean we have to wait until your clothes don’t fit at all,” Thomas frowned. “Virgil, back me up here,” He asked Virgil as he walked past them to the fridge.   ‘About what?’ Virgil signed. ‘That Roman is an idiot?’ Roman rolled his eyes.   “I don’t think he was listening,” Roman took another drink of water.   “That Roman doesn’t need to wear clothes until he explodes out of them like the hulk,” Thomas said emphatically.   ‘That’d be cool to see, can you do that?’ Virgil signed, and Roman laughed.   “He’s not backing me up, is he?” Thomas huffed. Virgil saluted them and left the kitchen with a drink and chewing on something from the fridge.   “I think he’s on his own team,” Roman chuckled. “You just got me some clothes, it’s fine,”   “We got you two outfits worth, Roman, and if I knew most of your shirts were nearly see-through, I would have pushed for more,” Thomas frowned.   “I- I don’t…” Roman trailed off.   “You don’t what?” Thomas asked, leaning against the counter and looking at Roman in a way that just unnerved him.   “I didn’t… I don’t,” Roman stammered and drank his water nervously. He couldn’t say it. He left the kitchen. Thomas doesn’t want to hear it.   “Roman?” Thomas asked, following him. Roman headed upstairs and closed himself in his room. Thomas didn’t follow, luckily. Roman didn’t want to disappoint him again. He thought running would be free and just need to bother them one time. He didn’t realize the clothes were such a big deal. Roman leaned against the door and dropped his backpack on the floor next to him. He slightly pulled his hair as he ran his hands through it.   Roman slid down against the door and held his knees close to his chest. He didn’t have to join cross country. He could probably still back out. The sheet isn’t signed or anything. He wanted to make Patton happy, but Roman was used to being a disappointment. It was better than being a burden. Roman sighed and got up, picking up his backpack and dragging it to the desk. He had a shit-ton of homework to do and didn’t have time to mope. —   “Want to help us pick what to make for dinner?” Patton asked through the door after a quick knock. Roman rubbed his eyes, uncrossing them after looking up from his textbook.   “Too much homework. I’m fine with whatever,” Roman called back and glanced back down at his textbook. He fought the urge to just bash his head into it to try to force it into his brain physically.   “Maybe you should take a break, kiddo,” Patton replied. Roman managed to bite his tongue before he said he was fine again, but he did literally bite his tongue and it kind of hurt. He held open his mouth and felt it pulse slightly, but it didn’t taste like it was bleeding. “Roman?”   “Ah bit mah tongue,” Roman tried to reply. “Sorree,”   “Is it bleeding?” Patton asked with concern through the door.   “Nah, jus’ hur’,” Roman said and took a big drink of water. “Is good,”   “Can I get you some ice water for it?” Patton asked.   “No, is already fadin’,” Roman said and took another drink.   “Okay. I’ll come get you for dinner, then. Let us know if you need help with your homework,” Patton said.   “Kay,” Roman called back and rubbed his eyes again before getting back to catching up to the classwork. Why can’t teachers all use the same syllabus so Roman doesn’t have to do this all the time? Roman sighed. His eyes hurt from reading all this shit. Packets at least are the easiest way to do classwork and some of his teachers game him some. It’s like a scavenger hunt for answers in the textbook. What he wouldn’t give for some skittles right now, though. He was running out of steam. He was just going to finish this page and take a break. There was no way he could finish all this tonight, anyway.   Roman came down the stairs and waved awkwardly to Thomas as Roman passed his office. Thomas didn’t notice him, though. He headed into the kitchen, instead.   “Hey, are you okay if I take Lita on a quick run?” Roman said, pulling a water bottle out of the fridge.   “Go ahead, kiddo. Sounds like a nice break,” Patton said, stirring something savory smelling on the stove. Lita was wagging her tail brightly at Roman’s feet and made a very cute noise when Roman reached for the leash on the hook.   “Who’s a marvelous girl,” Roman cooed and scratched behind her ear before hooking up her leash. “See ya,” He waved to Patton before being nearly yanked out of the house by Lita.   Running in the cool evening air was much nicer than any other time of day. Lita was boisterously bolting as fast as Roman would let her go as usual. She stopped at the same stop sign and fire hydrant again. Dogs really were creatures of habit. Humans, too, probably. Roman kind of wished he had that kind of stability to get habits. He got a cute photo of her hopped up on a rock and barking at a squirrel up in the tree that threw something at her. She growled and Roman gave her leash a few gentle tugs and she jumped off and walked away from the squirrel angrily.   They settled back into a run after she was done fuming about the squirrel’s audacity. Which was very funny and lifted Roman’s mood a bit. The run helped clear his head, though not much. He probably should have thought to try running for fun instead of for work before. It was nicer than just working out in his room. Having a dog to run with was likely what made this nice, though. They turned the corner and Roman pushed himself to sprint as fast as possible to squeeze that last bit of run out of Lita. She raced excitedly up to the door, panting happily as she came inside. She trotted happily to the kitchen to get some water, and Roman followed.   “We’re back,” Roman said to Patton as he passed to the fridge for more cold water.   “Hey, there, kiddo! Did you have a nice run?” Patton smiled.   “Yeah, weather is nice outside right now,” Roman said and enjoyed some water. “Check out this photo I got of Lita yelling at a squirrel for throwing an acorn or something at her,” Roman said and pulled up the photo on his phone.   “Oh!” Patton cooed. “She’s got such an angry little face!” Patton squatted down to pet Lita. “Did that mean old squirrel assault you?” He rubbed her head and neck between both hands and Lita wagged her tail in a wide arc and licked his hand. Patton got up to wash his hands with a smile. “Send me that, wouldja?”   “Oh, sure,” Roman shrugged and sent it to Patton, then washed his hands right after him. “Do you need any help with dinner?”   “Nah, I’ve got it,” Patton shook his head and went back to cooking.   “Um, let me know if you do,” Roman mumbled and left the kitchen. He really didn’t want to go back to homework just yet. Dinner smelled good, and he was feeling lazy. Roman flopped down on the couch with the family laptop, opting for Minecraft. He probably didn’t have enough time to play the adventure game for long, but he could play creative mode for a bit.   Virgil came downstairs while Roman was working on his mansion behind a waterfall and leaned forward on the couch, watching Roman build as he laid across the couch with the laptop.   “You need the laptop or something?” Roman asked, trying to turn his head to see the answer. Virgil stuck his arm out to sign ‘no’ almost like a hand puppet. Roman shrugged and went back to placing the carpet pattern. Virgil stayed and watched, which was unexpected. Mostly because Virgil was willingly standing within three feet of Roman. He’d probably bolt if Roman made any sudden moves. Roman would, at least. Roman gave him a confused look, but he just shrugged in response. Virgil just watched quietly as Roman kept placing blocks.    Roman was putting vines on some marble pillars when Patton interrupted him.   “Dinner’s ready,” Patton called from the kitchen. Roman saved and quit while Virgil headed into the kitchen. Whatever it was, it smelled good. Roman put the laptop back on the side table and went to go eat dinner.

[thefamoustownofyeadon]

Near-Death and other Travel Experiences Walking across Albania Part 3

Summary so far

I was in day two of walking the ancient Via Egnatia route across rural Albania. A country which had been a totally isolated totalitarian society since the 1940s and then a country largely controlled by Mafia-like organised crime since the 1990s. That morning I had great difficulty crossing a river which had resulted in a fall into a tree and an unknown knee injury. Further walking in the heat of the day had left me with probable signs of sunstroke. My body felt like it was emitting heat like a 3 bar fire and I was disorientated and intensely thirsty. Despite the risks from common blood-sucking parasites I had laid down in the shade, amongst a bed of ferns to try and cool myself and to rest and regain my strength. I cared about little else but seeking out coolness and shade but did eat a high sugar mint cake before allowing myself to sleep.

What happened next? 

I am not the kind of person who would walk into the middle of a patch of tall ferns and lay down and cover myself in them. Rucksack still on my back and caked in mud from the earlier river bed crossing but the compulsion driven by the heat exhaustion and sunstroke was irresistible. I was showing signs of body chemistry imbalances including wild twitching of the muscles in my hands and thighs. I fell into sleep very quickly, and it did feel like that. The next thing I knew maybe a couple of hours had passed. I was about to roll to one side and continue sleeping when a little alarm sounded in me which said I had to move or I would be in trouble. 

I pulled myself up by grabbing hold of the trunk of a tree and then took off all my clothes and threw them away. I had brought three simple changes of clothing which I had planned to rotate but the clothes I had on as well as being plastered with mud had been torn by the thorns by the river and stained with blood. I put fresh clothes on an felt a little better. I was also thinking better now. Weighing my options I decided to tack back and head for the quarry. Maybe there were people there but if not it would surely be connected to a road where I might get a ride.

 Half a mile further on I walked past the remnants of an experimental farm (it said that in English). The fields were lined with irrigation hoses but the water had been turned off even at the standpipes I wasted energy there trying to find water. All mine was now gone.

It was a vast limestone quarry. To the left on the far rim of was a cluster of what may or may not have been simple houses or a hostel for workers  (I guessed not). Otherwise, at first sight, the place appeared deserted. The light reflected off the rock was intense and so I had to walk with my hat pulled well down over my eyes. I looked at the ground and set about walking the dynamited road which ran around the interior of the quarry and up to a steep hillside overlooking this big hole. I am abnormally scared of heights so the walk up this stony road, just wide enough for a dumper truck was a real trial. I hugged the quarry side and kept my eyes strictly on the two-yards in front of me.

 I walked on like this for an hour or so until II came to the rim of the quarry and the further climb up the hill which circled it a little like a helter-skelter. From that point, I could see a similar road in the valley below. I saw no vehicles on that road during the fifteen minutes or so I was looking. This was very disheartening. By this time limestone dust kicked up by my feet coated by clothing and skin and made my mouth feel like a sandbox. I had set off walking toward the rim and the hill because there were absolutely no signs of life in the quarry or in the huts at the far rim, but just at the point where I began walking the road that circled the hill a dumper truck filled with crushed limestone emerged from behind the huts on the far rim and descended into the quarry. I sat on a flat rock watching its progress and hoping against hope it would follow the road that came in my direction. There were options and it would have been just too much if the driver had parked up somewhere and transferred to a pushbike of something. He kept on making the right choices and coming toward me. moving no faster than ten miles an hour. 

I made a decision to stand on the left side of the road near the drop as the road was so narrow standing at the right was too dangerous if he decided to drive past me without stopping. This was a very chunky truck, a not very sophisticated one built by the Chinese who in recent years had been importing their vehicles. 

As the truck came toward me it showed no sign of stopping despite me waving my arms frantically. Getting close the driver signalled for me to get on the right side of the road so that I would be able to climb into the passenger side of the cab. It dawned on me that he was only able to get up the winding hill in low gear and if he stopped would have difficulty getting the momentum going again. My knee had been painful all the way up the climb out of the quarry. I was walking stiff-legged and did not know how I would be able to run alongside the truck and jump on. I did manage a kind of very painful trot but there was no step to launch myself into the cab. The driver saw this and took both hands off the wheel and hoisted me up. I was expecting all the time to go over the cliff edge as there was only a couple of yards of the road on the other side of the truck. I threw myself across the passenger seat with my feet still dangling out the door. You find strength when you have to and I somehow flipped around, drew my legs in and slammed the door shut. Then lay there panting for a minute or so whilst the driver laughed

It seems everyone in Albania has travelled illegally to Britain at some time and worked in the black economy. The driver was one of those and had a few words of English. He passed me an old plastic cola bottle full of murky looking water. I drank this down before really saying anything. I poured the last of the water into my hand and wiped my eyes which were caked in road dust. I had been incredibly lucky. My new friend pointed forward and said “Pub, pub”. I nodded and manically made the thumbs-up sign.

 I was even luckier than I had thought. For maybe the next five miles we saw we saw not another human being or any kind of habitations. The buildings after that were no more than a shack. Maybe ten miles on we came to a proper village where our dirt road linked up to a proper tarmac one. My driver dropped me off opposite a shack a little bit bigger than the other ones with adverts for beer and football TV posted on the walls. I have no idea what would have happened if that truck had not come by. We saw no other vehicles in the drive from the quarry. 

The building was not a pub it was a bar. I got a bit over-emotional with the driver and then staggered across the road. Some old men sat on wooden crates pointed me to the door. The barman had been watching me climb down from the truck. He had also worked illegally in London, He pointed at the sports channel on the TV. Man United was playing some other premiership team. I wanted food but there was none. Instead, I foolishly drank a great deal of the local beer which was called Korca. That was stupid but nice, and I got extremely drunk.

 After about an hour, the barman left one of the old men in charge and drove me at very high speed along the tarmacked highway. Scaring the wits out of me even in my very drunk state. He dropped me at a flashy motel and refused to accept any money off me. The guy at the reception could see I was legless drunk but still checked me in. Up in the bedroom, I went straight for the wet room shower set up. I slipped and fell heavily on my back. I could not move for a few moments for the pain and all the while the shower was directed at my face. I laughed about the possibility of drowning in the shower after all I had been through that day. I was broadly okay though and the next day I got a fraudulently expensive taxi back to a place called Pequin and continued the walk. I cheated a great deal and eventually got as far as Elbasan which is the middle of Albania. I walked a little out of the other side of that town and then called it a day and came home as planned after two weeks. A lot more things happened but that’s for another time.

Over the next six months, I continued to have a lot of pain in my left knee cap. At first, I assumed it was just some exacerbation of my arthritis but  I eventually went to the doctor and he arranged an X-Ray which showed signs of a recent fracture of the bony cap of the knee. I was admitted as a day patient and given an IV infusion of something which strengthened the bone there and assisted healing. All the women there having the same treatment were elderly and had osteoporosis. They thought it very funny that I was there with them.

I am still in touch with people in Albania. Two are friends on Facebook. A young woman who served me a spinach pie in a café where she worked and told me all about Albanian history and what it was like being a young person in Albania. She was studying to be a social worker. Recently she has married and had a first child. I get updates. A young man who wanted to be a doctor, and who has the entry qualifications and the support of an American government aid organisation is being blocked by corruption from getting his university place. 

Tomorrow. Rat bites and poisoning in the Devils House in Belgrade

.Photos.

Korca beer

Odd and scary revolutionary art

Part of the abandoned and toxic Chinese steel plant at Elbasan.

The Roman road travelled by Julius Caesar and St Paul just outside Piquin. This man wanted me to meet his family

A Roman bridge where a river used to be

My Chinese dumper truck looked like this. 

[barnes-belle]

Beauty and the Barnes (2)

A Modern Retelling Of Beauty and The Beast. 

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - Bucky X Reader

WARNINGS - Lots of Smut, Light Hints of Non/Dub-Con, Prostitution, Swearing, Dark Bucky.

When your father falls deathly ill you fall into a lifestyle you would have could have never predicted for yourself. Selling your body as a high-class escort isn’t ideal but it’s the only way to find the money you need to help your father, until your first client offers you another way.

Bucky’s mean, coarse and gets a kick out of watching you squirm but he is willing to help your father. All you have to do is sign yourself over to The Winter Soldier, body and soul.

Trapped in The Avengers compound, serving as a PA to a man who’s an absolute beast you find yourself wondering if there’s such a thing as a happy ending?

Chapter Two

You kicked the front door open with your foot as you juggled the keys and the bags of groceries.

“Dad?” You called out, looking around the open for him.

 “Oh sweetheart, there you are. Could you *cough* pass me the *cough*…” He said, peering at you from behind a canvas.

 “The cornflower blue?” You asked, smiling sadly and passing him the paint.

 He nodded happily, choosing to save his voice.

 Once upon a time your father had been an incredible painter. He never sought riches or fame, just enough to get by and make sure you had all you needed. Beyond that, he just wanted to bring a little beauty and joy into people’s lives. These days, he painted for himself. He was to weak, too shaky to give his art the same level of detail as before and it had become a private hobby.

 “Dad, why isn’t the fireplace lit? We have a top floor apartment so you can use the chimney.” You scolded, dropping the groceries onto the countertop and hurrying over to the fireplace.

 “It dries out the paint.” He wheezed.

 “It also helps your lungs. Cold air, bad!” You said for the billionth time as you stuffed newspapers under the logs.

 He devolved into a violent coughing fit behind you and you sighed, knowing there was nothing you could do to ease it.

 “I’ll put the groceries away.” You told him and he waved you off, picking up his paintbrush again.

 You slowly put all the healthy foods into the fridge, contemplating the life changing decision you’d been given last night, pretending to ponder over it. It was your father’s health, his life you were talking about here though and you knew that ultimately, you were going to sign yourself over to Bucky Barnes. You pulled out your phone and sent a text to Mrs Pamela, telling her it just wasn’t the right lifestyle for you and promptly blocked her number. That was when you noticed the new email notification.

  From: JBBTWS@Starkmail.com

Subject: I think this will satisfy your father’s needs.

 You clicked open the email and nearly dropped the phone in shock at the online brochure it led you to. The out of state clinic was one of the best in the country, specialising in lung disorders. The pictures showed a sleek, clean, homely looking facility that boasted the best doctors. It was the sort of place that you couldn’t even have dreamt of sending your father.

 “Dad?”

 “Hmm?”

 “I have a Job interview with Stark Industries today, if I get it my medical insurance will cover your treatments. Better, you’ll get really good care.” You said, fudging the truth.

 “Yes but *cough* do you want this job? Will you like working *cough* there?” You father asked in concern.

 “I would love to get this job!” You lied through your teeth.

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

 You smoothed your hands over the skirt of your dress nervously as you got out of your beat up old rickety pick-up truck and stepped inside the building, slipping the lanyard that had been given to you at the front gate over your neck. There was a reception desk, but it was unmanned and you looked around nervously.

 “Hello, is anyone there?” You called quietly.

 “Hello Miss Belle.” A woman’s voice said from nowhere and you yelped and spun round looking for the owner of the mysterious voice.

 “Hello…. Ghost?” You answered.

 “My name is Friday; I am an Artificial Intelligence system. Sergeant Barnes is expecting you, if you’ll step into the elevator, I will send you to the correct floor.” Friday said.

 “Oh, why thank you very much Friday.” You said kindly as an elevator door slid open on the other side of the room and you hurried towards it.

 As the elevator carried you up, you wondered if it would be rude of you to correct an AI about your name. You decided against it, you didn’t want to offend or embarrass her.

 “Sergeant Barnes is waiting for you in his suite. Turn left, then right and it’s the second door on the right.” Friday instructed.

 “Thankyou Friday!” You called, hurrying out of the elevator with your head down, hoping you didn’t run into anybody.

 You made your way to the correct door and raised your hand to knock but before you did it swung open and Bucky Barnes looked down at you with an unimpressed, almost bored expression.

 “You made the right choice. Sign these.” He said, tossing a pile of papers at you.

 “Can I read them?” You asked, catching them awkwardly as you crossed the threshold.

 “The point of reading a contract is to make sure you’re not signing your soul away. You are signing your soul over to me, and your body with it. Besides, those are just the standard NDA’s and privacy clauses all Stark employee’s sign.” He said, sitting down and watching you.

 “Right…” you said, looking through your bag for a pen.

 He held one up in your line of vison and you took it.

 “Does it use Ink or Blood?” You joked.

 “Why, do you have a bloodplay kink you want me to indulge?” He asked and you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.

 “Nope. My only kink is being completely owned and controlled by handsome 100-year-old assassins?” You offered and there was a flash of something in his eyes.

 You took a deep breath and screwed your eyes closed so you didn’t have to watch yourself sign your life away. As soon as you were done he snatched the papers away and handed you a single sheet of paper.

 “Now sign this.” He instructed.

 “This contract gives you uninhabited access to my body, whenever, wherever and however you chose. In return, you will pay for my father’s admission and stay at The Clinic and all treatments needed. That’s literally all it says.” You spluttered.

 “That’s all it needs to say.”

 “I…” You began but he was right. What more was there to be said?

 “Is it even legally binding?” You asked.

 “The law is the least of your worries if you break a contract with me. But yes. Friday serves as a witness.” He informed you.

 “What about if you break the contract?” You asked.

 “I won’t.” He stated.

 “But what if…”

 “I’m not going to.”

 “But how do I know that?”

 “I WONT!” He roared; patience spent.

 You had to believe him. It was your dads’ best chance. So nodded and scribbled your signature onto the paper. For such a monumental moment in your life, it was rather anti-climactic, and you pulled back to regard the paper with a puzzled frown.

 “What now?” He snapped.

 “I don’t know… I was expecting it to burst into flames or something.” You admitted.

 “How… why… never mind.” He sighed, looking at you like you were an idiot and grabbing your elbow and dragging you over to a door on the far side of the room.

 “This is your room. Mine is that one.” He said, pointing to the opposite side of the room.

 “So, you don’t live in Brooklyn? Wait. MY room?” You yelped.

 “Yes, your room. I want you fully moved in by tomorrow night at the latest. It’s in the contracts you just signed. The clinic is coming for your father, in about… 25 minutes.” He told you.

 “What? But… but I didn’t even get to say goodbye! I’ll never make it home on time!”

 “Not my problem. I promised to get him help, I have. You’re being given a tour of the compound and getting your security clearance by one of the on-site PA’s in a few minutes, so we don’t have a lot of time.” He said callously, pushing you into the living area.

 “But…” You objected.

 “Listen, you belong to me now. You agreed to it, so stop fucking being annoying about it and do as I damn well say.”

 You snapped your mouth closed and tried to brush aside the thought you’d made a terrible mistake and the worry for your father and nodded to him. Your new master.

 “Turn around.” He instructed.

 When you did, he quickly unzipped your dress and slipped the straps over your shoulders, pushing the dress to the floor.

 “We don't have a lot of time, but I don't want you walking around the building meeting all these superheroes without remembering who you belong too.” He told you.

 He spun you around so you were facing him and sat down in the chair. You stood there unsure exactly of what you're supposed to do until he unzipped himself and pulled his fully hard cock free. You stifled a gasp, somehow in your mind you'd managed to downplay how big it was but seeing again now you remembered how difficult it had been to fit that thing inside of you.

 “Well don't just stand there Belle, this is your job now.” He reprimanded.

You stepped forward and began to sink to your knees but he tutted at you and you sighed and leant over him instead, wrapping your hand around his cock. You couldn’t fit your fingers all the way around him as you tentatively and experimentally pumped your hand up and down his shaft.

 “Hmm. Put a little effort into it.” He said coldly.

 So you did. Your back started to burn from the awkward hunched over position quickly and your arm started to ache from the continues pumping. It was so… mundane. This was the man who ordered prostitutes to get off, not the cruel, sadistic and almost cheekily charming man who’d made you ride him.

 You strangely missed that man, at least he’d had a shade of life in him. So, you did something potentially stupid and leaned over to lick the bead of pre-cum leaking from his tip. He cocked his head curiously at you but didn’t reprimand you, so you slowly closed your lips over the very tip of him and almost teasingly sucked as you pumped your hand along his shaft, twisting your wrist and squeezing him.

 “There’s my Belle.” He praised.

 He stood up, forcing you to stand upright as he did, and you continued to jerk him off as he pulled your underwear down over your hips, leaving them about midway down your thigh. He leant forward so the head of his cock was jutting over the edge of your panties and you figured out was he was doing. He was going to make you carry a reminder of who you belonged to with you for the rest of the day and you swallowed thickly.

 His fingers hooked under your chin and forced you to look up at him. He gazed at your face with a look you couldn’t quite place for a few moments before you felt him twitch in your hand and you glanced down to watch as he spurted roped of white cum into your panties, some of it splashing off of your pussy. He groaned and you pumped him until he was done and he quickly pulled your panties back up, further than they needed to be until it was almost painful.

 You could feel his sticky, warm seed press against your most intimate parts and you shuddered at the sensation. Especially when it oozed out of your underwear and trickled down your leg. He zipped himself back up and tossed your dress at you and walked towards the door, sighing and stopping without turning when he didn’t hear you move.

 “What are you doing?” He asked.

 “I don’t want to move yet?” You said timidly.

 “Why?”

 “Because… It’ll…. You know? It’ll squelch.” You explained.

 His shoulders shook and for a brief second you thought he might be laughing until he turned around and glared at you.

 “You’ll suffer a lot worse than wet panties while you’re here. Trust me. Fucking move.” He snarled and you hurriedly pulled your dress back on, twisting around to pull the zipper up.

 He unceremoniously pushed you out of the door and smacked you ass before the door slammed in your face.

 “I don’t know where I’m supposed to go!” You shouted.

 No response.

 “Bucky?”

 Nothing.

 “Friday?” You said hopefully.

 “Yes Miss Belle, I’m here. If you head back towards the elevator, the common room is opposite, and your escort is waiting there for you.” Friday said helpfully.

 “Thankyouu.” You whispered, walking awkwardly towards the common room.

 There was indeed squelching and though you would never, ever admit it out loud, having Bucky’s cum soaking through your underwear and coating your pussy was actually not an entirely unpleasant feeling. You gradually straightened up, getting used to the feeling.

 You wandered into the common room, looking around for your ‘escort’.

 “Who’s that?”

 “Is that her? Are you the girl?

 “I think it is. Are you Belle?”

 You stood in the doorway, dumbstruck. The two men, the two very famous men looked over you curiously, bordering on concern when you didn’t move.

 You really hoped neither Captain America nor The Falcon was your tour guide because you were not making a good impression.

 “Yes! I’m Belle.” You said without thinking.

 It was really starting to look like you were stuck with the name.

  A/N - I'm still not 100% sure about this fic so this is the decider chapter for me. I tried to make Bucky beastly but still Bucky and I wanted Belle to be sweet and innocent but still have a sassy streak.In case you would like to know... 

Lumiere - Steve Cogsworth - Sam Mrs Potts - Tony Chip - Peter Parker

@spnqueen02 @nogardsoahk @chipilerendi @jessieray98 @nochampagnesocialist @scarlettswxtch @dropthepizza346

[emospritelet]

Yes, I know it's been two years, I suck.

If anyone still remembers this fic, here's an update.  I've written beyond this chapter, so I'm hoping it won't take too long to finish.  Last time, Belle and Gold parted so she could go off to college and he could continue selling his body.  We fast forward two years (I'd like to say that's the reason for the two year hiatus but that would be a lie.  The truth is writer's block is a bitch and I'm easily distracted).  Cover art by @evilsnowswan

[AO3 link]

Lying on her front on top of her bed, feet kicked up behind her, Belle turned the page of her book.  She had been trying to lose herself in its words for the past hour, without much success: guilt gnawing at her over reading something frivolous that wasn’t on her list for class.  It was early May, and finals were due to start the following week. She wasn’t too worried about them; she had put the study in, but she was tired after another semester of hard study and grabbing hours as a waitress whenever she could.  She had managed to find a couple of part-time jobs in local diners, and had worked more hours than she had bargained for when she first arrived in Boston. College life had many wonderful positives, but the reality of her mounting student debt left her with an ever-present anxiety that was hard to shake.  Hence the waitressing.

The sound of the apartment door opening made her look up, and she smiled as Ruby put her head around the bedroom door, dark ponytail swinging.

“Pizza tonight?” she asked, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

“Do you mind?” she asked.  “I know we said we’d start eating more healthy stuff, but I’m exhausted.”

“Cheese, bread and prosciutto have to be three of the food groups,” said Ruby.  “We can add in wine. That was fruit once, right?”

Belle giggled.

“Okay, I’m convinced.  Call it in whenever you like.”

“I’ll do it now.  Want to watch a movie later?”

“As long as it’s not something terrible, sure.”

“Come on, the terrible ones are fun!”

Ruby disappeared, and after a moment Belle heard her speaking on the phone, ordering the pizza.  She soon returned, minus her jacket, hair free of its ponytail.

“So.”  Ruby flopped onto the bed beside her and winked.  “Tomorrow you’re officially in your twenties. Does Will have anything special planned?”

“I doubt it,” said Belle, turning the page of her book.  “We broke up.”

Ruby blinked.

“What?  Since when?”

“Since I decided to stop kidding myself.  Namely last night.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Belle closed the book, tossing it aside and rolling onto her back.

“I don’t know,” she sighed.  “He’s a nice guy, and I know you like him.”

“Screw that,” said Ruby fiercely.  “You’re my best friend! Of course I’ll support you over him!  What did he do?”

“Nothing,” said Belle wearily.  “It’s not him, it’s me.”

“Is that what you told him?” Ruby winced.  “Ouch.”

“I know, I know…”  Belle ran her hands over her face.  “It’s a terrible cliché, but it was never gonna work out, I was kidding myself.  To be honest, he hasn’t gotten over his ex. I told him to follow her to Europe. I think he might.”

“Wow.”  Ruby shook her head.  “So why did you say it was you, not him?”

“Because…”  Belle screwed up her nose.  “I never really tried, you know?”

“Not much point if he’s still pining after Anastasia.”

“Yeah,” said Belle gloomily.  “Still, I think maybe we made each other feel better for awhile.  He made me laugh, at least.”

“Well, that’s important,” said Ruby sagely.

“And I could talk to him,” added Belle.  “Not about anything that mattered, not like I can with you, but at least he listened.  More than most guys do.”

Ruby sniffed.  “Tell me about it.”

“But,” Belle went on, “I should still never have dated him.  I knew it was hopeless. All we did was go and see stupid movies and talk about crap.  Like that was ever gonna help him get over her!”

“Probably better than my way of dealing with a bad break-up,” offered Ruby, and Belle grinned.

“Come on, drunken one-nighters are a rite of passage for all college students.”

“You must have missed that memo.”

“Yeah.”  Belle pulled a face.  “Not really my scene.”

Ruby sighed, settling back against the blankets and eyeing Belle thoughtfully.

“You’ve never really gotten over that first guy, have you?” she said frankly, and Belle shifted uncomfortably.

“I didn’t say that.”

Ruby threw up a hand in exasperation.

“Belle, you can’t keep thinking about him!” she protested.  “The guy was a prostitute, it’s not like you know him!  However great he was, however attentive he was, you paid him to be that way!  It was all an act! You do know that, right?”

“Of course,” lied Belle.  “I wasn’t even thinking about him, anyway.”

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I wasn’t!” she insisted.  “At least - at least not much.”

“Great sex does not make a great relationship,” Ruby reminded her sternly.  “Look at me! A whirlwind romance with what I thought was the person of my dreams, and three months later I’m single and miserable and wondering what the hell I did wrong!”

Belle reached out to grasp her hand and squeeze.

“You’ll meet someone new,” she said.  “We - we both will. Eventually.”

“I know,” sighed Ruby.  “Doesn’t stop it sucking while we wait, huh?”

“Means we concentrate in class more, though.”

“Well, that’s true.  Every cloud, and all that.”

“You ready for finals?”

“As I’ll ever be.”  Ruby pulled a face. “I think it’ll be okay.  I haven’t screwed up in the lab in weeks. I have to ace these finals, there’s no way I want to have to take summer classes.”

“Yeah, I really need to work as much as I can, get some of this debt paid down.”

“Your dad never did come up with a surprise wad of cash, huh?” said Ruby, looking aggrieved on her behalf.

“I never expected him to, not really,” sighed Belle.  “It’s cool. I’ll have paid it off by the time I’m like forty-five or something.”

They shared a grin, and Ruby pushed up on her elbows, fixing Belle with a firm stare.

“Okay,” she said resolutely.  “Since we’re young, free and single, I say we celebrate your birthday together.  That means a prosecco brunch with all the sugar you can eat, followed by mani-pedis and a trip to Wonderland to get the one thing every girl needs.”

“What’s that?” asked Belle suspiciously, and Ruby grinned.

“A decent vibrator.”

x

Gold ran a hand through his newly-cropped hair and rolled his shoulders, the interior of Wonderland a little warm for the three-piece suit he was wearing. He wasn’t sure why he had decided to don the thing for his final visit to Blue Star, but it had seemed appropriate.  He had said his goodbyes to his colleagues, shaken hands and kissed cheeks, all wrapped in the armour of blue silk and fine black wool.  Having agreed to accompany Jefferson to Wonderland for the purchase of some tools of the trade, he was looking forward to leaving the place empty-handed for a change.  Then he could go back to his hotel room, take off the suit for the last time, and turn the final page on that chapter of his life.  He couldn’t say he would be sorry to do it, however reluctant Miss Blue was to lose him as an escort.

“What do you think of these?  Pretty, huh?”

Jefferson handed him a set of butt plugs in iridescent colours, and Gold raised an eyebrow.

“Does it really matter what colour they are, considering where they’re going?”

“Wow,” remarked Jefferson.  “You really are off the clock, huh?  Come on, give me your expert opinion while you can.”

“I’d be worried about the coating coming off,” said Gold.  “Stick with the silicone ones.”

“You’re probably right.”

“What about leather cuffs?” said Gold, pointing.  “You said you needed some new ones.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

Jefferson went off to browse, and Gold fidgeted, fingertips toying with his hair again.  It was taking a little time to get used to. The short length made the silver in it more visible, and it was strange not to have it hanging around his face, but the haircut felt right, too.  Another break with the past.

“Since you’re staying in Boston, why don’t you come to dinner tonight?” said Jefferson, as he looked through the selection of cuffs and straps.  “Graham’s making tacos. They’re pretty good, if you add extra hot sauce. I can promise some decent tequila, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“Come over at seven, then.  You can meet our new cat, she’s adorable.”

Gold smiled.  He had thought about getting a cat himself, now that he would spending more time in Storybrooke.  It would be nice to have some company in the evenings. Of a different sort than he was used to.

“I’ll be there.”

Jefferson soon found what he was looking for, and paid for his choices, dropping everything into one of the recognisable turquoise bags and winking at Alice, the assistant.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” he asked, as he and Gold headed for the exit.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you never know,” said Jefferson.  “Long winter nights, up in Maine, all by yourself in that big old house...  A guy could get lonely.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Gold, and raised an eyebrow.  “What are you expecting me to get, a bloody sex doll?”

Jefferson snickered.

“No!  I just meant you should be prepared, just in case someone special wanders into your life.  You have great skills, or so it’s rumoured. Be a shame to let ‘em go stale.”

“I’ll have more than enough to keep me busy, I assure you.”

“You should start getting out a bit more,” said Jefferson.  “You know what they say, all work and no play—”

“—means I can pay the bills and get to class on time,” finished Gold, and Jefferson rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, if nothing else, when you eventually decide to let someone in enough to have an actual relationship, the sex will be awesome!”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” said Gold dryly.  “I have a feeling it takes more than a bag of tricks to make a relationship work.  You’re lucky you and Graham know all one another’s secrets.”

“You need someone you can be honest with from the start,” said Jefferson. “Given how we met, that was never an issue.”

“Well, that’s unlikely to happen in my case, hmm?”

He grasped the door handle, pulling it open, and two young women almost fell in from the street in a mass of dark hair and jumbled colours.  He took a step back, opening his mouth to apologise, and whatever he had planned to say died on his lips as the first woman swept back her hair and looked up.

“Belle!” he breathed.

She stared at him, her eyes widening, a blush rising in her cheeks.  Dear God, she was beautiful!  Perfection. Small and slender and clad in a pale blue jacket and what looked like a yellow dress over wedge-heeled sandals, a blue beret pulled down over her chestnut curls.  Her lips were full and red, parted in shock, and he remembered with painful clarity exactly how she tasted. In every way.

“Alistair,” she whispered.

He swallowed hard, taking a step back as he noticed Ruby Lucas behind her.

“I - Miss French!” he managed.  “Miss Lucas. How - how lovely to see you. How are you both?”

“Fine,” said Ruby cheerfully.  “We’re just having a girly shopping day for Belle’s birthday, hence the trip to this place.”

Two years today.  It’s two years today since we—

“Right,” he said.  “Uh - happy birthday, Miss French.”

Belle didn’t answer, and was blushing, teeth worrying her lower lip.  She had dropped her gaze, fingers dancing along the brown leather strap of the purse over her shoulder.  He pulled his eyes away.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr Gold,” added Ruby.  “With your - friend.”

“Yes, well, we were just - I was just—” he floundered.

“Regular shopping trip,” said Jefferson, holding up the bag.  “We spend a fortune in this place, but it’s worth every cent.”

Ruby smirked, and turned back to Gold, gesturing up and down.

“That’s a new look for you,” she observed.  “Like the suit. Love the hair.”

“Thank you,” said Gold numbly.  

“You girls should check out the White Rabbit range,” said Jefferson helpfully. “Hits the spot others can’t quite reach, if you take my meaning. Alice will steer you right, just tell her I sent you.”

Belle closed her eyes with an expression suggesting she was enduring physical pain, and Gold desperately tried to steer the conversation onto a more appropriate topic.

“I - ah - I had forgotten you were both headed to Boston,” he said.  “Are you enjoying college?”

“I - yes,” said Belle, still blushing.  “Yes, thank you.”

“We have a place together, a couple of blocks away,” put in Ruby.  “Studying hard, you’ll be pleased to know.”

“Good.”  His power of speech appeared to have deserted him.  “That’s - I’m very glad to hear it. Take care, both of you.”

He stepped to the right, and Belle stepped in front of him.  There was an awkward moment that seemed to last an eternity, in which they sidestepped to try to get past one another, murmuring apologies as they each stepped in the same direction.  Eventually he managed to escape with the help of Jefferson’s firm hand steering him by the shoulder. He left the store without seeing anything, and without looking back, dimly aware that Jefferson was following him.  His heart was racing, and he took a couple of deep breaths before he was able to focus on anything. The sun was very bright, and he fumbled for his sunglasses, almost sighing with relief as he slipped them on and cut the glare.

“Friends of yours?” asked Jefferson, and Gold sighed.

“Two ex-students from my high school,” he said tersely.  “I think we could have done without the vibrator recommendations, to be honest.”

“Oops,” said Jefferson, not sounding remotely contrite.

“Indeed.”  Gold ran a hand over his face.  “Of all the places to bump into those two…”

“Don’t worry, they didn’t hear us talking about anything they shouldn’t.”

“Right,” said Gold vaguely.

“You okay?” asked Jefferson.  “Sometimes it’s weird when your two lives collide, you know?”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” said Gold quietly.  “I’m fine, really.”

“Good.”

Jefferson leaned in, kissed his cheek and stepped back, the turquoise bag crackling against his leg.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he announced, waving a finger.  “Seven o’clock! Don’t forget!”

“I’ll be there,” promised Gold, and Jefferson grinned and turned on his toes, sauntering off down the street with the bag swinging from his hand.

Gold watched him go with half an eye, his mind full of Belle.  She lived nearby, with Ruby. How had he not seen her before? Admittedly he wasn’t in Boston much these days, and would be there even less now that he had given up escorting.  He sent up heartfelt thanks that he had never seen her while working his second job. God, she was as beautiful as ever. Beautiful and just as hopelessly out of reach. He blinked hard, shaking his head.

“Penny for ‘em.”

Another familiar voice made him jump, and he turned with a smile.

“Neal,” he said warmly, reaching out to pull his son into a hug.  Neal hugged him back, grinning, a small backpack looped over one shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” he asked.  “Are you staying in Boston?”

“Only a couple of nights,” said Gold.  “I was doing some shopping and finishing up a few business matters, that’s all.”

“Yeah?  Who was that?”

“What?”  Gold panicked for a moment before realising who Neal meant.  “Oh that - that was Jefferson. He’s - a friend.”

“Oh.  Okay, cool.”  Neal looked him over.  “You look great! What’s with the suit?”

“Oh.”  Gold looked down at himself.  “Yes. Well. I - uh - thought I’d try a different look.  I’m not sure it’s really me.”

“That’s a hell of a different look,” observed Neal.  “And you cut your hair!”

“I - yes.”  Gold ran his fingers through the short strands.  “Don’t you like it?”

“It looks great,” said Neal.  “Although I kinda miss the - floof.”

“Floof?” said Gold flatly.  “Whatever that is, I’m almost certain I never had any.”

“Have it your way,” said Neal, with a grin.  He put a hand on Gold’s shoulder. “You look good, but I gotta say you look tired.  Emma always says you work too hard.”

“Well…”  Gold shrugged awkwardly.  “Not been getting much sleep.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still working yourself into the ground for us,” warned Neal. “You don’t need to, I’m serious! I’m making good money now. No killing yourself with school and tutoring, okay?”

Gold smiled.

“You can tell Emma that I’m no longer working two jobs,” he said.  “Which means I’ll have a little more time on my hands to spend with you.”

“Good.  In that case, why don’t you come over tonight?” he asked.  “Emma was gonna do steak, but I’m sure we could use ‘em to rustle up something for the three of us.”

“Oh, I - I can’t, I already have an appointment,” said Gold hastily.

Neal glanced down the street.

“Okay,” he said lightly.  “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow would be great,” said Gold, with a smile.  “I’ll bring a bottle of something. What time?”

“Come over whenever you like, Emma’s in all day.  I should get back around six.” Neal glanced at his watch.  “Look, I’d better go, I only came out to grab some lunch. Couldn’t face the cafeteria mac and cheese.  See you tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

Gold hugged him again before Neal hurried off down the street, and he glanced after him with a tiny smile on his face.  It was going to be good to be able to spend more time with his family. It would all have been worth it to give them that good start in life, the start he had never had.  Time to make the most of it, and put the past behind him.

x

As the time approached seven, he knocked firmly on the door of the apartment Jefferson and Graham shared.  They had moved in together six months earlier, and he had been over a few times for dinner when he had been in town, but not since they had adopted a cat.  Jefferson answered the door with his usual enthusiasm, taking the bottle of wine Gold held out and exclaiming over it before ushering him inside. The walls had been painted a warm coffee colour, the couch dark brown leather with a paisley throw and cushions in cream, brown and olive green.  There was a savoury smell of garlic and spices coming from the kitchen, and Gold sniffed appreciatively.

“Graham’s in the kitchen,” said Jefferson.  “He thinks ten minutes until dinner, so what do you say I open the wine?”

“Sounds good.”  Gold looked around.  “The place looks great.”

“Thanks.  We nearly got into a pillow fight over the colour scheme.”

"Spare me the details," said Gold, with a grin.  “So, where’s your cat?”

“Oh!  Let me get her!”

Jefferson put down the bottle and hurried off, returning with a long-haired white cat with black and ginger patches on her head and back.  He held her up high, as though presenting her for inspection by the cat gods.

“I invite you to humbly prostrate yourself at the feet of Her Royal Highness, Princess Petunia Puffball!” he announced.  “Puff for short.”

Puff looked decidedly unimpressed at being picked up, and glowered at Gold as though it was his fault, so he elected not to pet her just yet.  Jefferson kissed her head, which she endured with a look of disdain, and then put her down on the couch. Gold held out a hand, and she sniffed at his fingers cautiously before butting her head against them and beginning to purr.  He scratched her ears, making her fluffy tail rise up and curl over.

“I knew she’d like you!” declared Jefferson, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on through to the kitchen. You want some of this wine?”

“Please.”

“Just give me a second.”

Gold gave Puff a final pet, and followed Jefferson through to the kitchen, where Graham was chopping tomatoes with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  He smiled, setting down his knife to give Gold a quick hug.

“Have a seat,” he said.  “Dinner won’t be long, I’m just making the salad.”

Gold took a chair, glancing around the kitchen.  The walls were painted a warm terracotta colour, turquoise shelves housing recipe books, brightly-coloured pottery and assorted houseplants.

“You’ve redecorated in here too,” he observed.  “It’s nice.”

“We thought we’d try for something warm and cosy,” said Jefferson.  “It’ll be nice when this place is two feet deep in snow.”

“Yes, it reminds me that I really need to repaint the porch at home.”

Jefferson set a glass of wine in front of him, and Gold nodded his thanks, taking a sip.

“So,” said Graham, returning to his chopping.  “No more Blue Star. How does it feel?”

“Not sure it’s sunk in yet,” he admitted.  “I’ll have to find something to keep myself busy with in the evenings.”

“Any thoughts?”

“Nothing specific.”  Gold took another drink.  “The house could use some work; I’ve been neglecting it for the past few years.  So there’s that.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” suggested Graham, and Gold pulled a face.

“Unless Storybrooke has new residents I’m unaware of, doubtful.”

“There’s always online dating.”

“No thanks,” said Gold, pulling a face.  “I imagine that ‘I just stopped working as a prostitute’ is something of a conversation killer with the average woman.”

“How you chose to earn a living is no one’s business,” Jefferson reminded him.

“I know,” sighed Gold.  “But it’s something fairly momentous and I wouldn’t feel right keeping it to myself.”

“No one’s saying you have to give your life story on a first date.”

“I know,” he said again.  “But I could probably do with some time to myself, anyway.”

“Well, you know you’re always welcome here,” said Graham.  “If you ever need to get away from small town life, just call.”

“Thanks,” said Gold.  “But I think I’m actually looking forward to getting back into small town life, if only because the neighbours will stop speculating about where it is I go in the evenings.  Plus it’ll be good to get a full eight hours of sleep every night, for a change.”

“Well, we support you,” announced Jefferson, raising his glass.  “And someday we’ll drive up to that small town of yours and you can take us out and show us the sights!”

“That should take all of ten minutes,” said Gold wryly.  “Nothing ever changes in Storybrooke.”

“To boredom, nosy neighbours and a regular sleep schedule!”

They clinked glasses, Gold grinning as he did it.

x

Belle locked the apartment door, grasping her case in one hand as she shoved the keys into her purse.  Finals were over, and she could feel the stress of late-night studying starting to leave her body, her muscles aching a little, heavy and tired.  She was pleased to be done with study, and to be heading home for the summer, but there was an underlying nervousness there, a low-level twinge in her gut that she was trying to ignore.  It had nothing to do with the stress of exams, of that she was well aware.

She followed Ruby downstairs to where the car was parked in the May sunshine, throwing her case into the trunk and sliding into the passenger seat.  Ruby grinned widely, large sunglasses hiding most of her face.

“Next stop, Storybrooke!” she sang, and pulled away into the steady stream of cars heading north.

They were quiet as they drove out of the city, Ruby concentrating on the road ahead, and singing snatches of a song on the radio.  Before too long, they reached I-95, and Ruby settled back in her seat, fingers tapping on the wheel as she picked up the pace. She glanced across at Belle.

“Want to hit The Rabbit Hole tonight?” she asked.  “Could be fun to see who’s still around.  I bet it’s just as crappy as when we left, but there might be some new blood in there.”

“I should probably spend some time with Dad,” said Belle.  “I’m guessing Granny will be expecting you to spend at least the first couple of nights at home.”

Ruby grumbled, but nodded reluctantly.

“Your dad gonna give you some work?” she asked, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

“What he can,” she said.  “He said the shop wasn’t too busy right now, though.  You think I could get some diner shifts?”

“Already cleared it with Granny,” said Ruby, glancing in her mirror before overtaking the car ahead.  “We probably won’t be working the same shifts, but at least it’s something.”

“Every little helps,” agreed Belle.  “Assuming we didn’t flunk the finals, of course.”

Ruby sputtered in derision.

“Come on girl, we worked our pert little asses off for those exams,” she declared.  “Think positive! No class until September! We have three months to have some fun and earn some cash before we head back there.  And I intend to make the most of it!”

“Okay.”  Belle grinned as she sat back.  “I’m in. Positive outlook, here I come.”

“That’s the spirit.”

x

Storybrooke seemed smaller.

It was the first time that she had really noticed since leaving, and Belle wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not.  It showed that she had grown as a person; it would be ludicrous to expect two years of college not to have had some effect on her, after all.  She didn’t want to lose sight of her home, though.  She didn’t want to think she could never come back.

Ruby had dropped her at her dad’s place, along with her bags, and she had spent half an hour or so putting away her things in the battered old wardrobe in her room.  The house was silent; her father would not be home until around six, which was around an hour away. She decided to make a start on dinner, and hunted through the fridge to find something to throw together.  Moe French was never the best at eating vegetables, but she found mushrooms, onions and garlic, and so she decided on pasta.

She was reading a book, leaning against the kitchen counter and keeping one eye on the bubbling sauce, when the sound of the front door made her glance up.  Moe beamed when she saw her through the open kitchen door, and she set down the book and ran to hug him.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow!” he complained, almost squeezing the breath from her.

“I told you it was today,” she chided.  “More than once!”

“My brain’s turned to shit,” he grumbled.  “How’d the exams go?”

“Ruby tells me we smashed it, so I’m following her lead,” said Belle, in a dry tone.  “They were fine, I think. How are you?”

“Oh, okay love, okay.  Shop’s - well, we’re getting by.  The Nolans had another kid, so that meant a lot of orders.  And Ashley Boyd got married, so that was a good week. Getting by, getting by.”

“Doesn’t sound as though you have much need of an extra pair of hands,” she observed, and he shook his head.

“A couple of hours a day, to make deliveries and help out with the flower orders, that’s it,” he said.  “Sorry, love.”

“It’s cool, Granny gave me some hours at the diner.”  Belle turned to the sauce, snatching up a spoon and stirring it.  “You hungry?”

“I could eat a dead bear, I’m bloody starving.”

“Go wash up then, I’ll cook the pasta.”

They ate in comfortable silence, Moe praising the creamy mushroom sauce, and Belle watched in some amusement as he cleared his plate and looked hopefully around for more.

“That’s it,” she said, taking his plate and stacking it atop her own.  “You want anything else?”

“Better not.”  He patted his belly.  “That was great, love.”

“What do you want to do tonight?” she asked, and he looked uneasy.

“Uh - you know I said I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow?”

“Don’t tell me,” said Belle.  “Poker night.”

“I can cancel,” said Moe hastily, but she shook her head.

“Don’t bother.  You go and have a good time.  I can keep myself amused for one night.”

“You sure?”

Belle smiled.

“Absolutely.”

x

Gold finished cleaning up the kitchen, a glass of wine on the table behind him as he wiped down the counters.  He rinsed the dishcloth, humming along to the music coming from the lounge. A soft, Baroque piece, soothing strings and harpsichord.  Wiping his hands on the dish towel, he turned back for his wine, taking a sip as he wandered through to the lounge. It was strange not to have to plan for two or three nights out, and he was already enjoying the extra sleep.  Though losing the extra money was less welcome. Worth it, he decided. Worth it to start getting your bloody self-respect back.

The first few days back in Storybrooke had left him feeling a little out of sorts, restless and jittery due to the extra time on his hands, pacing the kitchen over and over with a glass of wine in one hand as he tried to burn off excess energy.  After the first weekend where he had felt as though he was going quietly mad, he had embarked on a thorough clean of the house, taking the opportunity to go through old paperwork and burn it, cleaning out the attic, and scrubbing the kitchen until it shone.  He had planned to work on the garden next, although that needed little attention, as Anton came to tend it once a week. Perhaps a couple of days out at the cabin instead, reading and relaxing. At least he still had class to prepare for, so he wasn’t entirely without purpose, but he would need a serious distraction to get through the long summer break.  

A hurried knock at the door made him frown, and for a moment he stood still, eerie fingertips caressing the nape of his neck and sending shivers down his spine.  Goosebumps rippled over his skin, spreading down from his shoulders, and he told himself to get a bloody grip, surprised at his own nervousness. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and he wasn’t sure why an unexpected knock would make him anxious.  Perhaps one of the neighbours needed help with something. Setting down his glass, he went to the door, the vague side outline of a diminutive figure visible through the rippled glass panels. Gold licked his lips, his breath held tight, a ball of iron in his chest.  His heart was thudding, his pulse throbbing in his ears, and he reached out with a shaking hand, skin tingling as his fingers closed around the cool brass handle.

The evening sun was setting, the sky a pale lilac fading into peach tones at the horizon, thin knotted ropes of grey cloud outlined in coral.  Belle stood on his porch, bouncing on her toes, chest heaving a little as though she had been running, dark curls glinting with reddish highlights from the sunset.  Her pale skin was tinged apricot, warm and inviting, and she inhaled sharply, raising her chin.

“Hey,” she said abruptly.

He could feel emotion stir deep within him, a rising tide threatening to engulf him and sweep him away.  Her eyes were shining, fixed on his, soft lips open and moist, and it was as though they had parted only yesterday.  He smiled.

“Hey.”

[silly-nonny-fics-are-for-fandoms]

Drink Me

BakuKami week day four (Part three) : Argument/Fight @officialbakukamiweek   Summary:  Bakugo didn’t talk through his feelings. He never had. He punched and he kicked and he fought. Why can’t the rest of his stupid friend group understand? Read on Ao3

"Fuck off!" Bakugo yelled his mug in hand with 'have a nice day' written in black characters, though a middle finger was drawn on the bottom of it.

"No, I've got as much right to be in here as you do," Kaminari rolled his eyes, pouring the boiling water from the kettle into the cup.

"You're getting tea for Deku, fuck off."

"So?"

"If you have to fucking get him a drink, get him coffee. Tea's some fucking shit."

"Oh, that again." Kaminari sighed, grabbing a green tea bag. He'd been in a dual studying session with Midoriya--Turns out he needs desperate help in English and Language Arts, and Kaminari needed help in every subject except those--since his boyfriend had been reserved by Kirishima and Ashido for the day and 'he could only deal with tutoring two idiots per day'. So the least he could do was get him a drink.

"It's just leaves and hot water, Denki." Bakugo gave him one of those looks. The look Kaminari knew meant that something as stupid as the preference of drink in his presence would cause the silent treatment for hours.

Was it worth it?

Yeah.

"Tea has been a part of the world's culture for thousands of years, coffee has only been around for the last few hundred. Coffee is literally just beans steeped in water versus leaves."

"Kami," Bakugo glared, "It's. Fucking. Coffee."

"And tea is just as good."

Bakugo left with a middle finger in the air, and Kaminari knew that meant he wouldn't hear from him for the rest of the day.

This wasn't the first time they'd had this little skirmish, nor would it be the last. Tea or Coffee. Tea to help anxiety or coffee to energize.

Kaminari preferred hot chocolate with sprinkles.

One of the many small things in their life they could never agree on.

Hard bed or soft?

Hot or cold room?

Who would win in a fight?

Right, they were sparring tomorrow. That'd be fun. Bakugo had a tendency to pin him down and make him admit he was wrong, but he didn't particularly mind admitting it. He remembered the first big fight they'd had, shortly after they got together.

Kaminari had told him that if he wanted to be a hero, he should start acting like it. Bakugo hadn't taken to the insult well, responding by yelling. Like always.

"If you can ever quit being a pansy, maybe you could fucking be useful! Cause at the fucking moment, you're just a damn battery! If you didn't have your fucking quirk, there's no possible way you could've gotten into UA! You'd be better off going stupid and never coming back; at least then you can't talk!"

Kaminari still wanted to cry thinking about it. He'd confided in Bakugo about his anxieties, that his biggest fear was going into his drained mode without a way out. It hurt. It was scary.

He could barely control his body, everything was fuzzy, and he couldn't think. Could hardly see. The best he could manage was a thumbs up after so much electricity had gone through his head, frying not only his brain but his nerves. He'd run away from his boyfriend, locking himself in his room and crying his eyes out. Jirou had taunted him in the same way, but then he'd known she was joking as best she could.

It was so much worse, coming from someone he loved.

They didn't talk the next day, no matter how much Kirishima and the others tried. Kaminari didn't smile, either. He'd sat there with a blank face, answering in another language he knew Bakugo didn't understand if he had to talk since he had the know-how to do so. A favorite of his was eloquent English.

They'd continued on this way for two days, even to the point that Aizawa pulled him aside and asked if everything was alright. He'd told him what happened with Bakugo, and Aizawa sighed.

"Okay," He'd said with a smile, "We're gonna fix this."

At training on the fourth day of their silence, Aizawa paired the two up together for sparring. They'd been forced to fight out their emotions, no quirks allowed. Kaminari had no hope of winning, his skills paling in comparison to Bakugo's. Time after time he was thrown onto the mat, hands pinned over his head. They'd been sent off to a corner of the room, blocked by concrete dividers courtesy of Cementoss, saying they didn't want anyone to get distracted by other sparring partners.

"Fuck!" Bakugo had exclaimed, rather softly, after a particularly hard throw down.

"Why won't you fight back!?"

From where he lay on the mat, his back, shoulder, hip and head throbbing, Kaminari sighed.

"I just don't see the point. I'm going to lose anyway, what's the point in prolonging my suffering?"

"What the fuck are- Aw, hell," Bakugo sat down next to Kaminari's head, staring down the idiot blonde he was dating. "Is this about that. Fucking thing?"

"You're right, though. I'm just-" His words had been cut off by an explosion, which made him twitch.

"Every fucking time you say something negative about yourself, I'm going to get closer."

"Why? You've gotta be right, all the time. You said I'm only good for charging things, so I am."

The hand currently crackling with explosions got closer to his face.

"What the heck are you doing?" Kaminari glanced at Bakugo's amused face.

"I don't have a fucking dart gun on me, this'll have to fucking do."

"Are you trying to make me feel better by forcefully making me say good things about myself to keep my face from being blown off?"

"It's working, dunce face. You're learning."

Kaminari couldn't help but crack a smile, chuckling which soon turned into a proper laugh.

"Where the heck did you figure out how to do this?"

"Hound Dog will growl at you if you say self-demeaning things," Bakugo didn't move his hand away from Kaminari's face, the heat radiating off of it in low amounts mostly comfortable, "Figured it was worth a damn shot."

"So if I say good things about myself, you'll move your hand away?"

Bakugo's silence was all he needed, smiling as his chest shook slightly in laughter.

"Fine. I'm going to be a great hero, one who's going to help people. I'll get through school just fine."

Bakugo pulled his hand away, the firecrackers stopping and Kaminari sat up with a wince.

"I'm sorry for what I said, babe. I was mad and I know your heart is in the right place, even if your attitude can suck sometimes." He shakily smiled, his boyfriend reaching over and pulling him in for a kiss, rough and fast which left his head reeling.

"That enough of an apology for ya?" He grumbled, Kaminari nodding. They both stood, Bakugo stretching lightly. "Now, let's get back to sparring. I'm looking forward to kicking your ass."

Now, tea in hand, Kaminari couldn't help but chuckle. Bakugo wasn't good at having normal arguments, ever, but they always made up, and made out, in the end. Even if it was something small like having other preferences, or something as big as their first fight. He preferred to throw down, beat the living crap out of it if he could. If he couldn't fight it, he yelled and screamed.

The best way to combat it, as he'd learned, was to ignore him. He never took that well. It's how his mom dealt with temper tantrums when he was a kid.

So, he ignored the insults about the drinks, walking out and heading back up to his dorm room where Midoriya was waiting. No way he could study with all those All Might's staring him down, so everyone studied in rooms other than the green haired boy's.

Toeing the door open, he smiled and set the drinks down on his little table.

"What took so long?" Midoriya asked, glancing at the clock by his laptop.

"Oh, just an argument with Kacchan." Kaminari shrugged, sitting down and reopening the textbook.

"What about this time?"

"Tea or Coffee." He searched through for where they'd left off, vocabulary words Midoriya was having issues reading and pronouncing.

"How do you manage to have small arguments with him, without Kacchan getting really mad at you?" Midoriya had already translated the sentence that Kaminari had given him, a simple paragraph about All Might.

"He's kinda like a little kid on the verge of an angry temper tantrum, think of it like that; You ignore him and he just deflates." Kaminari grinned, "How've you not noticed?"

"I was a bit busy trying not to get bullied." Midoriya chuckled,

"Next time he starts yelling, just don't respond. He'll get mad for a bit, but he'll eventually leave it be. If he wants to talk to you, he can do it calmly."

"That's... Devious?"

"He conditioned me not to say self deprecating things, I'm conditioning him to not get as angry." Ah, there it was. "Here, translate these into English, and write a short paragraph with them."

"Okay, but you have to get your math homework done! Let me know if you need any help!"

Kaminari took a sip of his drink, and grinned. Bakugo could scream and rant all he pleased, they were equally devious to one another.

[diinofayce]

Personal Training

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader | Word Count: 3,080 (cause I’m a wordy bitch) | Warnings: SMUT! 18+ DO NOT READ IF NOT 18+!! , Wrist tying, Choking, Metal Hand Fetishizing, Language, A little bit of Bucky thigh action, um. yeah.

“Come on, doll, I know you’re better than this,” Bucky taunted as he lunged at you, leading with a knee aimed at your abdomen and reaching out for your shoulders to pull you in. You push his knee down with both your hands and spin to catch his flesh arm in a lock, flipping him over with a soft grunt. Releasing him and aiming a stomp to his ribs, he rolled out of the way getting his feet under him and bouncing back up into a standing position.

You jump back on the balls of your feet, hands raised by your cheek bones, elbows protecting your ribcage as you wait for his next move. Bucky has had you on the defensive for the last ten minutes and while all of your years of mixed martial arts training has given a good boost to your endurance it was nothing compared to super soldier serum. Sweat was running in rivulets down your neck and soaking the back of your tank top while Bucky was barely breathing heavy.

“You’re the one that can’t land a hit, Barnes,” you taunt back, quickly swiping a bead of sweat from your forehead before it found it’s way into your eye. Bucky took that moment of distraction to sweep low, going for your ankles. You manage to lift one, kicking out at his face, but he blocks your foot and hooks one foot behind your knee while pushing at your ankle with the other foot - dropping you to your stomach. Keeping your leg wrapped up in his feet he rolls on top of you, wrapping his metal arm around your throat while pushing down on the back of your head with his flesh hand. Releasing your leg he pushes his toes into the mat on either side of your body and pushes his chest forward into your back.

The cold metal of Bucky’s arm against your throat and his body pressed against yours causes you to flush, you feel heat rake through your body and a small moan unwillingly escapes your lips. A sound that Bucky could hear even if he didn’t have super soldier hearing. You bite your lip and tap on his arm in surrender and he rolls off you. You take a breath to get yourself under control and force yourself to your feet. You turn to face Bucky in a fighting stance again but he’s just staring at you with a smirk and his hands on his hips.

“What was that?” Bucky asked mischievously.

“The sound of you squashing me and forcing all the air out of my lungs?” You quip back, the lie coming out too desperate.

“Uh-huh. Okay,” Bucky accepted, taking his fighting position.

You wasted no time in moving forward. A jab, punch, left hook combo that was all easily blocked, but you let the force of your blocked hook spin you into a turn back side kick to Bucky’s ribs that landed with a solid thump. Bucky grunted slightly and grabbed your foot, hooking his other hand under your upper thigh - a little too close to personal areas, causing you to tense - and lifted you into the air, spinning you so you landed on your back forcing the wind from your lungs. Bucky followed your descent, landing with his knee pressed against your core and his flesh hand wrapped around your throat. You couldn’t help the loud moan that fell from your lips or your hip bucking against his thick thigh. The blush that rose to your cheeks was furious and the smirk that graced his face was world ending. You planted a knee against his chest and threw him off you.

“Okay, good training session. See you later,” you barked quickly and full out sprinted from the gym.

As soon as you were in your apartment you immediately slammed into your bathroom and turned on the hot water, hoping to soak your sore muscles and steam out your over imaginative mind. Stripping of your clothes and hopping into the hot water you sighed as it washed over your skin and soothed the tension from your body. However it did nothing to relieve you of the thoughts of Bucky and his metal arm pinning you down and his wonderfully muscled thighs pressed against your core. You found your fingers trailing down your stomach and down to your cunt, rubbing a steady rhythm against your clit. You leaned back against the cool tile of your shower and brought your other hand to your chest, twisting your left nipple harshly as you slide one finger inside your heat.

“Fuck,” you moan loudly, feeling secure in your apartment. “God, Bucky, just like that,” you continue, imagining Bucky’s metal fingers inside you, stroking you to climax. Sliding another finger into your cunt you pick up the speed on your clit and you can feel the coil that was already strung so tight from training with Bucky fit to snap. A curl of fingers against your g-spot had you screaming Bucky’s name at your orgasm and sliding down the wall to let the water wash away the evidence of your activity. Sighing in content you stand on slightly shaking legs and proceed to wash yourself off before stepping out of the shower and wrapping yourself in a large, fluffy blue towel. Securing it around your breasts you grab a small towel to wring out your hair.

Stepping out of the bathroom you stop dead in your tracks at a the sight of James Buchanan Barnes sitting on the foot of your bed, a shit eating grin on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You shriek, your voice going up at least two octaves.

Bucky licked his lips, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth, as he stood and stalked over to you looking at you like he was hunting you to devour you. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to do some more private training,” he answered coyly, backing you up until you were pressed against your wall. “From the sounds of it, though, you might have taken care of it all on your own.”

He pinned you to the wall, both his arms on either side of your head, the afternoon sun reflecting off the gold in his vibranium arm. Your heart was beating a hundred beats a minute and from the way his eyes kept flicking from your lips to your chest to your eyes, you knew he could hear it. The spice of Bucky’s cologne mixed with the musk from the workout in the gym filling your senses causing moisture to pool between your legs.

“But I wouldn’t argue to actually being present when you scream my name,” Bucky continued, leaning in and barely grazing his lips up the side of your neck. You shuddered underneath him and could feel his lips twist up into a smirk. His lips came to rest on the outer shell of your ear. “Do you want this?” he whispered huskily, pressing his thigh against your core. You bit your lip and whimpered before nodding, rocking your hips against him involuntarily.

Bucky’s metal hand came down on your hip to still your movement. “I need words, doll. Do you want this?” He asked forcefully. You knew you probably shouldn’t be doing this, it was probably in the code of ethics somewhere for the Avengers and you knew that if you said no that Bucky would walk away and that would be the end of it. But you wanted it, you wanted him so bad and you couldn’t find yourself caring if there was fallout from your team.

“Yes. Yes, Bucky, I want this. I want you,” you responded breathlessly and he rocked your hips against him in response.

“What’s the safe word?” Bucky asked, teeth lightly grazing from your ear to the muscle on the side of your neck.

“Pineapple,” you moaned and you felt him pull away to look at you. Opening your eyes, not even realizing you had closed them, and looking into his confused you blue eyes you felt yourself flush. “I’m allergic to pineapple,” you explained sheepishly. He chuckled softly before taking your thighs in his hands and lifting you up. You squeak in surprise and wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Bucky turns and tosses you on the bed, staring hungrily at your legs and where your towel has ridden up your thighs barely covering your decency.

Bucky tugs at the thick drawstring of his sweat pants until it comes out of the waistband entirely. “Hands up doll,” he commands and you comply without question. He carefully threads the drawstring around the rungs of your bed frame and wrist with a slip knot. Bucky slid a finger in between the string and your wrists to make sure it wasn’t too tight - he wouldn’t normally use something like yarn, but in a pinch it would do fine.

Bucky slid both hands down the length of your arms and body, settling on your hips. His fingers dug into the material of the towel that was barely wrapped around you and leaned down his lips were millimeters from yours. His blue eyes were dark with lust as they bore into yours before he pressed his lips to yours. They were soft in comparison to the scratch of his beard on his cheeks and he kissed you with a hunger of a man who hadn’t eaten in days. Cold air suddenly enveloped your body as Bucky pulled the towel off of you, throwing it to the other side of the bed. The sudden exposure made your nipples twist and harden and burst of warmth to coat your inner thighs.

Bucky pulled away from you and raked his fingers over your body. You blushed at the vulnerable position you were in, him fully dressed and you tied up naked under him. “What should I do with you?” Bucky hummed, more to himself than you as he brushed both his calloused and metal fingers over your pert nipples causing you to gasp at the difference in temperature between his hands, back arching off the bed to increase contact. “You want it that bad, doll?” Bucky asked and dipped his head, sucking your left nipple into his mouth. He rolled it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth before switching to the right side with a pop.

He trailed hard and sloppy kisses down your stomach, taking time to bite gently at your belly button. He placed a soft kiss on your pubic mound and then skipping your cunt entirely to kiss the inside of your thighs. You moaned in want and bucked your hips, causing him to place a firm hand on your hip bone and push you back down into the mattress. “You’re so slick for me already, baby girl, I can feel the heat coming off of you.”

Bucky ran his metal hand up your thigh and cupped your core causing you to shiver and clench. “Tell me what you want, baby girl,” Bucky demanded giving the inside of your thigh and firm bite, knowing it would bruise.

You gasped and strained against the hand on your hip, your fingers wrapping around the draw string desperately. “I want you to fuck me,” you reply. “With your metal fingers.” You feel Bucky smirk against your thigh.

“Such a kinky little thing, my baby girl is, gettin’ turned on by my arm. Is that all you want?” He asked as he coated his fingers in your slick and slid one between your folds to press at your opening. He rubbed you in tight, teasing circles as he waited for your response.

“I want you to suck on my clit,” you moaned. You were begging at this point, you were so close to cumming again and he hadn’t even really done anything to you yet.

Bucky hummed in affirmation and pressed his finger inside of you as his tongue flicked out over your clit. You moaned in pleasure, trying to keep your hips still like he wanted. You threw your head back in ecstasy as he used his hand on your hip to grind you against his mouth. He slid another finger in as he sucked your bundle of nerves between his plush lips. He took his mouth from you and you whimpered at the loss of contact, the fire in your belly growing to an intense flame.

“Look at me, baby doll. I want you to look at me when you come apart,” Bucky demanded and you forced your eyes open to look down at him. He lowered his mouth back to you and gave you a hard suck as he curled his fingers against your g-spot expertly. It only took a few strokes and him raking his teeth gently over your clit to have you cumming, his name falling like a prayer from your lips, Bucky removed his fingers to replace them with his tongue. He drank all you had to offer and licked you clean before moving up and capturing your lips with his again. The taste of you on his tongue made you moan in his mouth.

“You’re such a good girl,” Bucky praised reaching up and pulling the string free from your wrists. You let your arms fall to his waist and pull on the hem of his shirt.

“You’re such an over dressed boy,” you respond cheekily.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you before reaching behind him, grabbing his shirt and pulling it off. You let your hands rove over the planes of muscle on his chest and hummed in appreciation. He chuckled and flipped you over at the waist. You hear him removing his sweat pants and taking position behind you.

“Did you like it when I choked you, doll?” Bucky asked as he ran his metal hand up your spine.

“Yes.” You shivered and raised your ass a little in the air. A sharp smack and quick smart of pain flared from your left buttock before he kneaded the pain away. You gasped and felt moisture pool between your legs again, rubbing your thighs together slightly to gain some friction.

“None of that,” Bucky said shoving your legs apart with his knee. “You get punished for doing things like that without permission.” Another smack came to your ass and you moaned, burying your face in your pillow. He wrapped his hand in your hair and pulled you up. “I want to hear you moan, baby girl.” He spanked you again, kneading the pain away as your moans filled the room.

A tearing sound came from behind you and you peeked over your shoulder to see Bucky tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. He winked at you as he rolled it on, you couldn’t see his length from this angle and were anxious to feel him inside you. He placed his flesh hand firmly at your waist and let go of your hair so he could guide himself to you. Rubbing his head up and down your folds to add your slick to the lube of the condom, you moaned and tried to push against him, but his hand held you firm. He entered you slowly, he was so thick that you didn’t know if you could stretch any wider and you kept waiting for him to bottom out. Bucky took his time, letting you adjust as he went and by the time he did bottom out, his pubic hair brushing your ass, you were panting.

“Oh, fuck, baby. I need you to relax a little, you’re so god damn tight,” Bucky moaned his fingers clamping down on your hips so tight you knew they’d leave bruises. You took a breath and flexed yourself around him causing him to hiss in pleasure. His metal hand pulled you up by your hair again to get you onto your forearms before he snaked his hand around to clamp over your throat.

Bucky pulled out to his tip before pushing into you hard to the hilt. The hard thrusts paired with his vibranium hand around your throat had you seeing stars. “You’re so fucking wet, baby girl. So hot and wet for me,” Bucky groaned. You would expect him talking dirty about you like he was to embarrass you, but it just made you more turned on.

“Fuck, Bucky, Jesus fuck,” you screamed as he slammed into you over and over. He moaned your name in response as his hand on your hip clamped down ever harder, his thrusting rhythm becoming erratic.

“I need you to come with me, baby girl,” Bucky moaned leaning down and biting a mark into your shoulder.

“I’m so close, Bucky,” you answered, your walls already fluttering against his cock. He pulled you up and against his chest as the hand on your hip moved around you to your clit, rubbing hard and fast circles as he thrust up into you. One of your hands reached back to tangle and pull at his long locks while you laced your fingers with his metal ones at your throat - coaxing him to squeeze just a little tighter.

The coil in you snapped once again, your cunt clamping down on Bucky’s cock as your orgasm ripped through you. You dug your nails into Bucky’s scalp and ground down against him and with a strangled cry Bucky emptied himself into the condom. He released his hold on your throat slowly and carefully as he peppered soft kisses across your shoulder. You hummed happily and curled a lock of his hair around your fingers lazily. Bucky removed himself from you with a grunt and pulled the condom off, tying it up and disposing it in the waste bin by your bed.

Bucky laid down on his side and pulled your back against his chest, brushing your hair off your shoulder so he could press his face against your bare neck making you giggle as he tickled you with his scruffy cheeks. “That was good training,” he muttered against your sweat slicked skin.

“I learned a lot,” you muttered back, playing with the fingers he splayed across your belly. He hummed in agreement and nuzzled into your hair.

“Wanna get dinner in a few hours? Somewhere out of the tower?” Bucky asked.

“After a nap…and maybe round two,” you agreed, looking back and capturing Bucky’s lips tenderly.

[destroyyourbinder]

looking at instagram

There are hazy pictures of children having fun in spring-green new grass, the sun or maybe the filter sparkling. A photo of a man laughing, relaxed, he's wearing a soft cotton shirt, and it's not wrinkled. Dynamic black and white photos of people my acquaintance knows, a coworker, herself, their skin texture looks like granite, like muslin, like acrylic sculpting medium, like something under lights that's very "Interesting," to men in glasses holding wine and pontificating like bowerbirds strutting over little pebbles and bits of fur.

I'm angry. I look like dough, like a laundry pile at the end of a week, maybe two. I'm custard piled on itself, dingy men's shorts pulled up way too high over the bottom dollop. Nobody's captivated by my pock marks or my uneven peach fuzz. I look like who my mom was afraid I was going to be, except I'm not even that exciting, I'm a monster made of felt cut out by shaky kindergarten hands and unraveling tape. Dandruff gets under my fingers when I scratch my head. There's no social media where I can post the sensation of my stomach gurgling after I eat fistfuls of mozzarella from the fridge, and nobody would Like it anyway. When I shave my head there is no confident, bold, sharp picture I can take, tattooed and muscular arm curved up over my new haircut to casually hold the phone. There's just tiny bits of hair in the bathroom rug and yellow light that makes my face look puffier than I thought it was.

I feel the bile rise in my throat. So-and-so bought a house, my sister bought a house, friend after friend after friend is having a dinner party, moving to California, getting married at a place with "Estate" in the name. There's pictures, lots of pictures, of breezy nights and big smiles, a colorful world of delight and ease, everything I wanted from life incarnated in the bodies of straight people and lesbians prettier and happier than me. I pull a piece of cat hair out of my teeth and listen to the neighbors shouting at each other on the street, and I imagine what it would be like if my body didn't ache, didn't feel like a jumble of nonsense the consistency of dogshit and balsa wood. My apartment smells like mold. I make nine-sixty-something an hour after taxes. I don't know how to use Instagram because at twenty-whatever I've managed to become both old and out of touch, but I do know how to let Instagram make me feel bad.

In the photo, a guy I know looks rugged, cheeky, like a man with a story to tell but who might pull a quarter out from behind your ear instead. In reality, he's an old gay guy who both lurches and flops about at the same time, his too-large T-shirts hanging off his hunched shoulders. When he's feeling sprightly, he does a little ungainly but joyful Charleston, a grin on his face goofier than his little kicks, which show off the dirty bottoms of his fluorescent Converse shoes. I see him a lot in the back office at work or the break room, which are dim and yellow, making his ruddy face and greying stubble an undifferentiated jowly mass. But this guy also has lots of pictures of his own, that he shows me sometimes, of himself when young, with friends all dressed up in alternative 80s gear, all eyeliner and teased white hair. He smiles when he flips through the pictures. I don't know what he is remembering. I see a lot of cool people I've never met; he tells me this picture was even used in an ad for a local fashion hotspot back in the day. Then, swiping up and down with his fingers, still smiling but using a tone of voice that's a particularly terrifying variety of cheerful sarcasm, he tells me most of the people in these pictures are dead.

He knows I know why.

When I scroll through that woman's Instagram I am angry, maybe, because there's nobody to see me, nobody to remember what I did. The endless dullness that characterizes my days is not something I myself remember; I have the barest sense at all, even, that it is too dull for memory. There is something particularly disgusting to me that this is how most women have lived their lives, a parade of dishes and diapers, the inside of their heads taken up by minutiae about the state of the carpet and lists of birthdays. I've fallen headfirst into it, softly, like a particularly cushy pie on a grandmother's windowsill or the pillowy bosom of a schoolmarm. As a child I was particularly offended I was not noticed for who I was, or who I thought myself to be, at least, and what my mom did manage to notice was a nitpicking ritual of continual impropriety; what was on the floor but shouldn't be, what spot I missed on the counter with a sponge, which hairs were out of place and what crumbs were in the corners of my lips, what smile wasn't on my face and when. In retrospect I don't know if I was more offended on my behalf or hers, and if I was a selfish little shit about it whether I was more enraged by the idea that I was lost under her omnipresent fussing or that my proper development into a woman involved filling my head with such an eye.

I used to scream at her that I would not become like her, and I guess I didn't. I'm gay, for one, and live in a city, full of the types of people she imagines when she neurotically checks and rechecks the locks on her doors. I don't have children, a husband, a credit card, a mortgage, but I do have what I never wanted from the legacy of women, which is enormous spans of time where I fiddle with a sponge, a spoon, tiny meaningless papers, buttons on a cash register. As a child-- and embarrassingly, as an adult ill-prepared for reality-- I screamed because I insisted by the declaration of my lungs that my life would be different, it would be about intensity, perceptiveness, truth, integrity, adventures, journeys, big huge concepts that would bowl me over and spill out of me like a living mystic channeling forces of the universe. I used to read for hours and hours as a child, usually epic fantasy or science fiction I probably shouldn't have been allowed to put into my prepubescent brain; sometimes I used to hang upside down off the couch and read upside down just for the hell of it, to shake my world up a bit. I moved onto philosophy and hours of mopey music through headphones in the dark when I got older. I was delusional about what my life would be like, about what life would make me into. The big huge concept that would end up bowling me over was mediocrity, mundaneness, the stuff men on Reddit call women "vapid" for.

Hannah Arendt was a really smart woman, the kind of woman I thought I might be someday. She said a whole lot of shit that was really deep, and when I was still chasing the highs of thinking that there were neat-o discoveries to be made in this world that made you Somebody to see them, I thought that "the banality of evil" was the most profound thing I ever heard. When I encountered it for real it wasn't profound, just banal indeed. Evil is soul-sucking in a special fucking way, it sucks the life out of you in the way that alcohol shuts off first the part of your brain that lets you know you're drunk. Something's gone and you're all screwed up about it but you're gone in a way that won't let you know what left, there's just rage disguised as irritability and crud on the counter and a bus that doesn't show up. Sometimes you get to look right into the sucking hole, a yawning abyss of multi-generational societal depravity and institutional apathy, when you're sitting next to a homeless woman on a bench downtown with legs so swollen she couldn't go anywhere even if she had someplace to go. I gave her five dollars on most days of my commute because I hoped at least she could eat something, and she deserved the dignity of being seen by somebody, but honestly she needed somewhere to sleep and a bunch of somebodies to do something about her health. A lot of fucking evil had to happen to a lot of people for buildings full of suits to exist on the same block as this lady. A lot of fucking evil had to happen for people to accept this as normal.

What evil has to happen for women to accept their lot, whether it's accepting that the cumulative buzz of your life-inspiration be directed towards holding up a glass in a particularly enrapturing photo on Instagram, or whether it's accepting that you're gonna have to spend another night on the bench? I cry sometimes knowing that no one will remember my mother; all she will leave behind is a gravestone next to a man's and a legacy of psychological scars on her daughters, who nobody will bother to remember either. My mother's life is worth a book or two, but I couldn't get it out of her even if I tried. I don't think my mom even knows she has a story, just petty dramas she tries to escalate into a validation that she hasn't disappeared yet because she can hurt somebody. I don't know the homeless lady's story or how she ended up begging on a bench downtown each day. I hope with all my heart she finds a place to live out her life, a little home where she can use a scooter and have enough to eat, where five dollars isn't the difference between confirmation of the world's cruelty and God's presence. She showed me a video once on her phone of a preacher that she followed, a woman who she said she saw at a big church event in the South; she could go places once, and I don't know how she ended up so she couldn't go anywhere anymore. Maybe she doesn't know-- maybe when you can't go anywhere anymore the point is that you don't think you got there and you don't think you're getting out, you're just there right now, but also always were and somehow forever will be. Maybe you're watching buses go by all damn day and feeling your tongue go numb from saying "spare a dollar", or maybe your finger's getting red from wiping the snot under your kid's nose, time passing only when the tissues are gone. They don't take shots of this shit. There's no filter for "life's over, but not yet."

I wish what I felt could become great art, maybe even just shitty art, that it could mean something, that I was something; dudes have generations of scholarship-worship trailing behind them because they wrote paeans to being existentially bored, because they discovered what it's like to look at a damn soup can and slapped it in a museum. Maybe I'm just jealous, but, you know, I used to stock groceries, and I spent a lot of my time looking at damn soup cans. I think I now know why Val shot him.

[alphacrone]

Hmmm zimmbits camping would be cute!! Also good luck with your gastric situation :)

thank you! and i apologize, this started as a camping fic and quickly turned into a Summer Camp AU – i hope it’s close enough to what you prompted! :)

(on ao3)

Bitty watched fondly from his perch on the dock as Jack blew his whistle. Again.

“Only two people on the Blob!” He barked, pointing at the four B-Compound boys who had turned the yellow, inflatable monstrosity that was the Blob into their own WWE arena. “All of you — ten minutes on the dock. Blob privileges revoked for the day.”

The four boys chorused their protests, but this late into term no one bothered to argue with Jack when he was in lifeguard mode. The first few weeks spent down at Lake Faber, Bitty had thought Jack was an unnecessarily grouchy and strict lifeguard. But after he’d been assigned the ropes course for a few rotations, Bitty realized something incredibly important: children were kind of dumb and excelled at endangering themselves and others.

Now Bitty found Jack’s lakeside tyranny endearing. Technically this was Bitty’s free period, when he should have been enjoying the meager A/C of the offices or using the ancient staff computer to check Twitter, but lately Bitty had found himself drifting down to the lake after finishing his morning Arts and Crafts shifts. He told himself it was because Lardo often joined him for sunbathing and gossiping, but he and Lardo both knew it was because a certain lifeguard tended not to wear a shirt while on duty.

(Shitty didn’t either, and Bitty was beginning to suspect that was the reason Lardo joined him in the first place.)

“Did you hear about Holster and Esther?” Lardo asked, doodling on Bitty’s back with sunscreen.

“No,” Bitty said, not bothering to look back at her. Jack was currently leaning over to say something to a group of girls in the water and Bitty’s view was fantastic. “What happened? Did they finally hate bang?”

Lardo snorted. “You can say fuck, dude, none of the campers can hear us.”

Bitty made a noncommittal noise. A small part of him still felt that his mama would know if he dropped the f-bomb, even from hundreds of miles away.

“Anyway,” Lardo continued, her doodling turning into soft little scratches at the back of Bitty’s neck, just the way he loved it. He sighed in contentment as she continued, “Not only did they hate-fuck in the mess hall-” Bitty gasped, appalled. “-yeah, I know, gross. But they also were holding hands at flagpole this morning.”

Bitty abandoned his view of Jack to turn around to look at Lardo. “Seriously? They can’t even stand to be in the same room together, and now they’re- what, dating?”

Lardo shrugged, her grin half glee, half incredulity. “Ransom’s been pissy all morning.”

“But he’s been hooking up with March,” Bitty said, sitting up. “Lord, straight boys are so confusing.”

“Speak of the Devil,” Lardo muttered, and suddenly something large and dripping with water was blocking Bitty’s sunlight.

“Bits! Lards!” Shitty shouted, plopping down next to them. Technically he was also on lifeguard duty, but Shitty took a more…hands on approach than Jack, and usually ended his shifts soaking wet and carrying at least three giggling children. “The kids wanna see a chicken fight.”

Lardo raised an eyebrow, looking cool and impassive in her large, dark sunglasses. “Good for them?”

“Nah, brahs,” Shitty — or Shaggy, as the campers called him — said. “The kids wanna see a counselor chicken fight.”

Lardo folded her arms across her chest. “It’s my free period. Make Ollie and Wicks do it, they’re on canoe duty.”

“But Lards,” Shitty pleaded. “We would totally kick Bits’ and Jack’s asses.”

“Is that a challenge?”

All three of them looked up to see Jack standing a few feet away, eyes still trained on the kids in the water.

“Zimmermann, you beaut!” Shitty shouted. “C’mon Lardo, Bits, please?”

And that was how Bitty found himself balanced on Jack Zimmermann’s shoulders, standing in the shallow edge of the lake as all the kids cheered from the dock. He couldn’t be sure, but Bitty was almost certain he saw a few of them taking bets.

Being on Jack’s team for chicken was…distracting to say the least. Bitty was all too aware that his groin was pressed right up against the back of Jack’s head, thighs gripping tightly at his neck. It was the bastardization of a position he’d imagined himself in countless times, but somehow fewer clothes were involved now than they had been in his fantasies. The universe — or possible Shitty — was trying to kill him.

At least Lardo was in the same boat, though she was clearly handling it with more poise than Bitty. Shitty, on the other hand, could barely contain his glee and the fact that he’d probably dreamt of dying with Lardo’s thighs wrapped around his head.

“Hang on tight, Bittle,” Jack murmured, patting Bitty’s knee. “Lardo fights dirty.”

Against his own will, Bitty’s thighs tightened around Jack’s neck. “Try not to drown me,” Bitty said. “I’ve got a Wilderness Skills shift after this.”

“I’ve got your back, Bittle,” Jack said, squeezing his ankle. It made Bitty feel marginally better.

It was then that Shitty and Lardo charged forward, Shitty hollering out some approximation of the Xena, Warrior Princess battle cry. Lardo immediately went for Jack’s ears, tugging on them sharply. Bitty gasped and splashed water in her eyes, but missed and got Shitty instead.

Lardo laughed and shouted, “You’ve blinded my steed! You’ll pay for that, Bittle!”

Bitty laughed and caught her arms as she lunged at him. “You tried to maim mine! Fair’s fair, Lards.”

She scowled at him, then grinned, pulling from his grasp and jabbing him in the ribs. Bitty lurched sideways, falling off Jack’s shoulders and crashing face-first into the water.

The cold of the lake hit Bitty harder than he’d expected, and the wind was knocked from his lungs. He somersaulted downwards, disoriented, unable to determine where the surface of the water was. Everything was dark and cold and distorted by bubbles and lake weeds for a moment, then Bitty was hauled to the surface by two large, warm arms.

“Bittle, are you okay?” Jack asked, hoisting him onto the dock. “Can you breathe?”

Bitty sucked in air, then coughed raggedly as water rushed down the wrong pipe. “M’fine,” he choked out. “Hit- hit the water- hard- totally fine.”

“Is he okay?” Shitty asked. Jack nodded, hand resting on Bitty’s knee. “Cool!” Shitty shouted. “We win!”

As Shitty and Lardo began a victory lap around the shallow part of the lake, Bitty managed to stop coughing long enough to whisper to Jack, “They’ll never see you coming.”

Jack laughed and winked at Bitty, then dove to tackle Shitty into the water, sending Lardo flying. The kids on the dock cheered, screaming in delight as Jack surfaced with Shitty hoisted across his shoulders. Lardo popped up a second later, grinning at the boys, and swam over to pull herself up next to Bitty.

“Have you ever seen anything more attractive?” She asked him, shaking the water from her hair. “Like. Holy fuck, dude.”

“I hear ya,” Bitty sighed. “It’s like the good Lord himself is tryin’ to murder me.”

“Completely unfair,” Lardo said. “At least you’re pining for the hot one. My brain has to go and lust after the weirdo with the porn ‘stache.”

Bitty laughed and knocked his shoulder against hers. “I do worry about your tastes, Lardo. But you know Shits is gone on you, right?”

“Maybe,” Lardo said, slipping on her sunglasses again. “But he acts like that with everyone.”

Bitty snorted; they’d had this conversation a thousand times. “Sure, but he only looks at you like you hung the moon.” Lardo sighed and looked away. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it. But I’m telling you, if you went up to him right now and kissed him, I guarantee Shitty would either kiss you back or pass out from excitement.”

“I heard they’re having chicken tenders in the mess hall tonight,” Lardo said loudly. Bitty was taken aback for a moment, then realized that Jack — with Shitty still on his shoulders — was fast approaching.

“Really?” Jack asked, grinning. “‘Swawesome.”

“Again?” Shitty groaned. “Is that all they bought for this term? I swear we have them every other meal.”

Bitty laughed as Shitty was unceremoniously dumped onto the dock. “Maybe Jack bribed Work Crew to keep serving them.”

Jack grinned at him. “Maybe I did.”

The bell to signify the end of the period rang over the ancient loudspeakers, and Bitty and Lardo stood reluctantly.

“Bye, y’all,” Bitty said. “Come sit with our cabins at campfire tonight.”

“Duh,” Shitty said. “My boys love your boys. If we join forces with Lardo’s girls, we could probably set fire to half of Samwell.”

“Or,” Jack said, going back into counselor mode as the kids dutifully lined up to get their ear drops. “We could just roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories like everyone else.”

Shitty shook his head in disgust. “Only you, Jacques Laurent, could make roasting marshmallows into some buzzkill-y.”

“Bye, losers,” Lardo said, looping her arm through Bitty’s. “We’ve gotta teach some small humans how to make friendship bracelets. If you’re lucky, we’ll bring you our rejects.”

Shitty grinned at her with hearts in his eyes. “I will gladly accept your ugliest and most deformed friendship bracelets, Lards, as long as they’re made with love.”

The very tips of Lardo’s ears went pink — the only signifier that she was shaken by Shitty’s flirting. “Maybe. No promises.”

Jack waved to Bitty with his elbow, hurriedly trying to get eardrops distributed to all the campers. “Make me something red, Bittle,” he said, and Bitty knew he was absolutely, truly fucked.

“Sure, Jack,” he said. “Anything you want.”

At campfire that night, Jack and Shitty’s campers came over to sit with Bitty and Chowder’s campers and the girls of Lardo and Camilla’s cabin. Shitty was wearing about twelve friendship bracelets on both arms, each uglier than the last, and Jack was very proudly sporting a thin, red thing that Bitty had spent far too much time on.

At the fire next to them, Bitty could see Ransom glaring daggers at Holster and Esther, and Nursey and Dex bickering about burnt marshmallows, and Caitlin Farmer desperately trying to catch Chowder’s attention.

Bitty smiled softly, knowing he could help at least one person in that group. He nudged Chowder gently and whispered, “Caitlin’s checking you out.”

“What?!” Chowder all but shouted. “She is?!”

Bitty grinned at Chowder fondly. “Go say hi. I’ll be fine with the boys.”

“Thanks, Bitty,” Chowder said almost shyly. “Was she really checking me out? I really like Farmer, Bitty, she’s so cool! She’s studying marine biology and knows about hockey and I really like her and I don’t want to ruin our friendship but I really really like her-”

“Sugar, breathe,” Bitty said, holding up a hand. “That poor girl had been trying to get your attention since we got here. Go put her out of her misery. I’m thinking she really really likes you, too.”

The smile Chowder gave him was blinding, and then he was off to the next fire pit, almost knocking Caitlin off her log in his excitement to say hi. Bitty laughed to himself, grinning when Caitlin gave him a grateful nod.

“Oooooooh!”

The boys had gathered around Bitty, also watching Chowder and Farmer. There were only eight of them and they were all in their tweens, but Bitty’s campers were exhausting. “Chowder’s got a girlfriend! Chowder’s got a girlfriend!” They sang.

“Shh, let him have this,” Bitty said, shooing the boys away. “Chirp him in the morning.”

Unfortunately — and this was something Bitty should’ve learned long ago — derailing the campers from one topic only led to him becoming the new target.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Bitty?”

“Is Lardo your girlfriend?”

“What about Camilla? She’s super hot.”

Bitty couldn’t help but laugh. He busied himself with putting a new marshmallow on his stick, then said, “No, I don’t have a girlfriend. Lardo’s just a friend. Yes, Camilla is very beautiful, I agree.” He glanced over to where both Lardo and Camilla were double-teaming a ghost story for their campers, sound effects and all. He didn’t think they could hear him.

One of his campers, Caleb, narrowed his eyes at this. “But Lardo was, like, all over you at Faber today. You should ask her out if she’s not already your girlfriend.”

A few feet away, Shitty had an amused look on his face that told Bitty there would be no lectures on heteronormativity to save him tonight.

Well, two could play at that game.

“Oh, I don’t think Lardo’s interested in me,” Bitty said casually. “She has her sights set on someone a little…taller.”

The boys laughed at this, and Shitty visibly perked up.

“Does Lardo have a crush on someone?”

“Bitty, you gotta fight him! Or grow more.”

“Guys, who put poison ivy in my s’more? Jackholes.”

Bitty sighed. “Eating poison ivy isn’t funny, boys, you could kill someone like that. And don’t say jackholes.”

“But you just said it-”

They fell silent when Bitty gave them his sternest glare, the one he’d learned from watching Moomaw run Sunday School back home. There was an awkward chorus of apologies, another (brief) silence, and then Xiaosong asked, “So who does Lardo like like?”

There was a muffled screech of laughter as Camilla slapped both hands over her mouth. The girls had finished their ghost story, and now everyone around the fire seemed invested in Bitty’s conversation.

“Yeah, Lardo,” one of the girls — Ceci — said. “Who do you like like? Is it Bitty?”

“No way, did you see her and Ransom at the stables yesterday-?”

“-Lardo and Chowder, sittin’ in a tree-”

“Alright, alright,” Lardo said, standing. There was something mischievous in her eyes, and Bitty couldn’t help but grin. “I do like someone. And he’s sitting at this campfire.”

The kids shrieked. Shitty looked like he might pass out.

Slowly, dramatically, Lardo walked around the fire, until she stood in front of Jack and Shitty. Jack looked like he wanted to give them space, but then Lardo was in his lap, sprawled out theatrically in a swoon.

“I’m afraid I’ve been pining for Jack this entire time,” she declared, waving an arm to the heavens. Jack was smirking now, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her from falling off his lap. Shitty looked utterly lost.

The kids giggled nervously until Jack said, in his dullest monotone, “You know my heart belongs only to you, Lards.”

And then he kissed her on the cheek, loud and wet.

The kids screamed like a masked man had just jumped out of the woods. Bitty knew how they felt.

“Alright, nuggets,” Lardo said, clapping her hands together and sliding off of Jack’s lap without preamble. “Lights out is in ten minutes, let’s get a move on.”

Low enough that only Shitty and Bitty could hear, Jack murmured, “But how can we be parted so soon?”

Lardo snorted loudly and punched Jack’s shoulder. “I think you’ll manage.”

“Night, y’all,” Bitty said, waving at the others. He couldn’t help but notice how quiet Shitty was being, or the intense look he was sharing with Lardo. Jack caught his eye and shrugged, waving goodnight. Bitty grinned, very much looking forward to the deets he’d be demanding from Lardo in the morning.

When Bitty got back to the cabin, eight sugar-crashed campers in tow, he felt like he could pass out as soon as he hit his pillow. But then Chowder came in as the boys were crawling into their bunks and Bitty was brushing his teeth, bouncing and grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Bitty, Caitlin’s my girlfriend!” Chowder exclaimed as he joined Bitty at the small, nasty sink. “I’m so happy! I asked and she said yes!”

Bitty paused in his brushing to pat Chowder on the shoulder. “Congrats, sugar,” he said, spitting the toothpaste down the drain. “She’s a very lucky girl.”

“Please,” Chowder scoffed. “I’m the lucky one! Cait’s the coolest. Did you know she plays Volleyball for her school? Varsity team.”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” Bitty said, rinsing off his toothbrush. “I’m really happy for y’all.”

Chowder grinned at him. “This is the best feeling in the world, Bitty. Liking Cait and knowing she likes me back and finally getting to kiss her! It’s so great! I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been!”

Given Chowder’s sunshiny disposition, that last statement was probably debatable, but Bitty pulled him into a tight hug regardless. “That’s great, Chowder. Cait’s great. Y’all are very cute together.”

“Thanks, Bits,” Chowder saying, pulling back. “Gosh, I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep, I’m so excited!”

Bitty laughed and went back to his nighttime routine as Chowder wandered back into the cabin to check on the campers. When Bitty joined him a few minutes later, Chowder was already passed out in his bunk, right on top of the covers. Bitty shook his head fondly and turned off the lights, one minute until the 11 PM curfew. Then, he slipped out the door, hoping none of the boys wondered where he was going.

As he stood outside, breathing in the muggy, summer air, Bitty caught sight of a figure perched on the steps of Jack and Shitty’s cabin. Drawing closer, Bitty saw it was Jack, who was leaned back to watch the stars. He noticed when Bitty approached and waved.

“What’re you doing up?” Bitty whispered, sitting down on the step next to Jack.

“Couldn’t sleep. You?”

Bitty shrugged. “Just thinking about something Chowder said.”

The stars above them were thick and bright, in a way that Bitty had never seen. Light pollution hadn’t been too big a problem in Madison, but Camp Samwell was the most isolated place Bitty had ever been and the night sky never failed to take his breath away. Sometimes, in moments like this, he wished he could live at Samwell forever.

“Yeah?” Jack was giving him a strange look, curiosity mixed with something unreadable. Bitty felt his face burn on its own accord. “What was that?”

“Oh, um.” Bitty chewed on his bottom lip, feeling a bit shy. “He said- well, I don’t know if you saw, but Caitlin kissed him at campfire tonight. And when we were getting ready for bed, he said that there was no feeling in the world that could beat the happiness of knowing someone likes you as much as you like them.”

Jack nodded, making an understanding noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, I…that sounds nice.”

“Yeah,” Bitty sighed, training his gaze on the stars again. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Really?” Jack sounded genuinely surprised, which made Bitty’s heart flutter with nerves. “You…back home?”

“I’m not really out to anyone but my college friends,” Bitty admitted with a small shrug. “And…no. No one’s ever been interested in me before.”

Jack’s reply was immediate. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, trust me,” Bitty said, a bit bitterly. “I’m not the most desirable person, I know. No one’s ever wanted to date me.”

Jack frowned at him. “That’s not true,” he repeated. “Trust me.”

And- oh. Bitty felt the air hiss from his lungs, blood drain from his fingertips and rush to his wildly beating heart. “Um…wait. Really?”

Jack ducked his head and even in the dark Bitty could see the flush on his cheeks. It was adorable. “Yeah, really,” he admitted, sounding embarrassed and resigned, like he’d just been forced to spill his deepest secret. And in a way…

Bitty stopped thinking after that. Instead, he grabbed Jack by the front of his sleep-shirt and pulled him in for a kiss, chaste but forceful, as if he could convey everything he’d ever felt for Jack with just his lips.

Then Jack opened his mouth and Bitty found himself pushed back against the top step, one large hand at his ribs, the other gently cupping his cheek. Jack nipped at his lips, teeth clacking, then pulled back, resting his forehead against Bitty’s.

Chowder had been right. Bitty tingled head to toe with the knowledge that Jack liked him, Jack kissed him back and wanted to date him. It was like fireworks were going off overhead and every cheesy love song he’d ever heard on 94.9 was playing on max volume. He could die happy in this moment, with Jack gazing adoringly at him with soft, blue eyes.

“This is a pretty nice feeling,” Jack said, grinning goofily. He traced Bitty’s cheekbone with a calloused finger, trailing down to Bitty’s mouth. “I can think of a few things that would feel nicer.”

Bitty swatted at Jack’s chest, squawking a little in surprise. “Mr. Zimmermann, we are not hooking up right outside where our campers are sleeping.”

Jack’s blush darkened, but his grin didn’t falter. “I didn’t mean that, though I have it on good authority the mess hall is a great place-” He cut himself off laughing at the look of horror on Bitty’s face. “I just meant…being with you. Kissing you more. Holding your hand at flagpole.”

Bitty pulled Jack back in for another kiss, hands snaking up Jack’s deliciously muscled chest. Then he was hoisted into Jack’s lap, elevated just enough to adjust the kiss into something more comfortable. Bitty followed Jack’s lead, nibbling at his lips and sucking the tip of his tongue. Things were quickly getting hotter, wetter, and a familiar heat was building low in Bitty’s abdomen.

“Wait,” he breathed, pushing back a little. The dismayed noises Jack made was so utterly endearing that Bitty almost forgot why he stopped. “Jack, if you don’t plan on ravaging me in the Arts ‘n Crafts shed, you better stop kissin’ me like that.”

Jack’s eyes darkened and his smile widened. “You know, no one goes down to Faber this time of night…”

Bitty scowled at him. “If you think you can get me in that water after dark, you got another thing coming, mister.”

Jack laughed, soft and low, and ducked his head to press his lips to Bitty’s pulsepoint. Then Bitty felt tongue on his skin, then teeth, then a sweet, wet tug as Jack sucked on his neck. It sent a trembling warmth down his spine, and Bitty all but moaned on the steps of the cabin.

Spurred on by Bitty’s quiet whimpering, Jack’s bites quickly grew harder, his sucking longer and more intense. Bitty knew there would be marks — embarrassing, obvious marks — on his neck in the morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was half-hard in his favorite blue shorts and the boy he like was giving his the first — and best — hickey of his life, hands firmly planted on his ass.

“Jack,” Bitty said sharply. “If you don’t take me to the Arts n’ Crafts shed right now-”

He didn’t even have a chance to finish his threat as he was slung over Jack’s shoulder. His shriek probably woke up half of E-Compound, but the realization that he was now eye-level with the greatest ass at Samwell kept him from caring too much.

Jack yelped in a slightly less embarrassing way when Bitty reached out to pat his ass. “Bittle,” he hissed, laugh evident in his voice. “What are you-?”

“Act like a caveman, get groped like a caveman,” Bitty retorted, making Jack laugh loud and deep.

“C’mon, I believe you and I have a date with a shed that reeks of Elmer’s Glue and bugspray.”

Bitty huffed. “Better than sunscreen and pondscum.”

“Changed my mind,” Jack said. “I’m throwing you in Faber instead.”

“Hey, I nearly drowned this morning,” Bitty said dramatically. “I deserve to have my way with you in the crafts shed.”

“Well, if you insist,” Jack said.

“I do,” Bitty said primly.

As it turned out, the Arts ‘n Crafts shed was already occupied by Shitty and Lardo, a sight which would haunt Bitty until his dying day. But, in the end, the docks turned out to be very romantic.

When Bitty came to flagpole the next morning with hickies on his neck and a sleepy Jack Zimmermann draped against his shoulders, Bitty was forced to endure the screaming and chirping of not only his entire cabin, but of half the counselors as well. Shitty cried a little, and Lardo told Jack — in her best impression of his monotone — that she would never recover from his betrayal.

“You’re coming down to the lake on your off period today, right?” Jack asked as their cabins walked to the mess hall for breakfast.

Bitty shrugged, biting back a smile. “I don’t know, I was thinking of ogling boys at the archery range — did you know Holster wears sleeveless shirts when he teaches archery? He says it’s because the sleeves get in the way, but we all know it’s so he can show off his guns. Which, really, are very impre-”

Jack cut him off with a kiss and a knowing look. “So, Faber?”

Bitty melted against Jack’s side, too giddy to keep teasing his boyfriend. “You know you’re the only one I want to objectify. Are you wearing the blue swim trunks?”

Jack flushed a little, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “I am now. You like those?”

Bitty nodded. “They’re tighter. And they bring out your eyes.”

Jack kissed him once more as they parted to join their own cabins for breakfast. “See you later, Bits,” he said softly.

“Later,” Bitty said, watching fondly as Jack walked away.

On his wrist, a small, red friendship bracelet hung proudly. Bitty grinned and turned to join his own cabin, who all looked fit to burst with chirps for both him and Chowder. Chowder cast him a gleeful look, and together they faced down their horde of campers and the terrible, hilarious chirps that they’d spent all morning devising.

[greenhearts16]

Chapter Five: Richmond Park

Don't make your mother cry

Fifteen Years Earlier: The Return of Michonne

Winnie Westbrook stood in front of the large window in the downstairs tea room in Winfield house. In the months since her daughter's disappearance, her family found themselves at the epicenter of a whirlwind of press. The world wanted to know what happened to the U.S. Ambassador's daughter and conspiracies were abundant.

A dominant faction of those interested in their peculiar story, believed it was an international political affair that the family as well and the U.S. and U.K. government were aware of, but there were international secrets at stake. Some were suspicious of Winnie herself and vehemently claimed that she was the one behind it. She was painted as the strange, cold and calculating wife of a man who, along with her was involved in various shady dealings that led to their family being in shambles. Some believed Michonne was a runaway. There were frequent 'sightings' of the Ambassador's daughter.

Other's speculated that Michonne was in fact dead and this was the theory that hurt Winnie the most. They convinced themselves that there was a murder or some kind of political sacrifice she was helping to cover it up.

She wasn't one to wear her heart on her sleeve and for most people it would seem that she was completely unbothered by the nasty speculation. Her frustration was building though, and she feared that she may explode at any time. In any case, she tried to keep her head high and maintained that her sole focus was finding her daughter. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, sucking in a shaky breath. "What did I ever do to deserve any of this?"

She supposed that her luck had just run out. She started out as a young mother who managed to get herself and Michonne out of a difficult situation and change their life for the better. Now, it felt like everything was wrong again.

A small figure in the distance caught Winnie's eye, breaking her out of her reverie. She took a step to the window, trying to make out the figure in the distance. It didn't look like the landscaper. Plus, he wasn't in on Wednesday's.

Winnie's knees buckled as the figure came into view. "It can't be," she gasped. Michonne appeared to be slowly strolling up to the house with one of the gatekeepers following after her with an expression of pure shock.

"James!" she shouted, turning away from the window and all but sprinting out of the tea room.

"What is it?" the man asked, exiting his office on the other side of the hallway. She could hear the surprise and worry in his voice. They hardly spoke each other's name anymore.

"It's her," she gasped. "My baby's back! Come."

"Winnie," James began, with an apprehensive look.

"No really," she said grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the front door. "Come see. It's really her."

"Now darling I –"

She flung the front door open, sprinting out onto the front steps. "My baby," she cried, as she took in the young woman standing less than twenty feet away from her. Michonne had gotten noticeably thinner, but not to the point where she looked unhealthy. She carried a small sack-like brown bag and wore a loose fitting brown dress that fell well below her knees with a light sweater around her shoulders. "Chou-chou."

The young woman stopped walking and stared blankly back at her mother. Winnie noticed the swelling around the girl's eyes a tell-tale sign that she had been crying recently. Winnie cautiously took a step forward, approaching her daughter, like she would a wounded animal. She felt James's presence closely behind her, but he knew to keep his distance until they figured out exactly what they were dealing with. They had gone over scenarios like this with the detectives, counselors, and the intelligence agents countless of times.

"Chou-chou," she whispered, as she got closer to her daughter who now wore her hair in short dreadlocks. She reminded Winnie of the nineties singer, Lauryn Hill.

The girl remained frozen in her spot and Winnie wondered if she may have gone into shock. Winnie exchanged a look with Eugene the gatekeeper and he nodded before slowly backing away to return to his post. She took a few more steps until she stood directly in front of her daughter, who now refused to meet her eyes.

She reached forward, encircling her stiff daughter with her arms. "I'm so glad you're back." As soon as her arms were around Michonne, the girl physically loosened and burst into tears. Deep sobs escaped her as her body shook.

"You're alright baby," she cooed as tears spilled from her own eyes. "I've got you. I'm here."

Fifteen Years Ago: Before the Disappearance

Click

Michonne looked up from her sketchbook to find Rick grinning down at her, with his usual mischievous eyes as he pointed his camera at her again. "You're still at it?"

"What can I say," he shrugged. "You're an interesting subject for a first-time photographer. I'm developing my skill and style here. Stop cramping my style."

"Cramping your style?" she laughed. "Seriously?"

"Hey!" he said, holding up a hand. "No sassing the photographer. Now get back to your drawing."

"I hope you realize that you're crazy. Completely mental, as the Londoners would say."

"Admit it," he said, as he sat down on the ground across from her. "You kind of like my crazy. At least a little bit."

"When did you even get that camera?" It looked like the same one from the day they were antique store. He either got it that day after she left or he went back for it. Although she didn't understand why he would, considering that camera must have cost an arm and a leg.

He shrugged, averting his eyes. "It just looks cool. Gives me a mysterious edge too, don't you think?"

She snorted. "If you think so."

"Why are you such a hater?"

"A hater? How?" she laughed, hugging her knees along with the book, to her chest.

He put the camera up to his eye snapping another picture. "It would be funny if I go to develop these and all the pictures have my finger blocking the lens," he laughed.

"Maybe it'll give your pictures a mysterious look," she teased.

"Hater."

"You're right. I should stop." Her laughter continued. "You never know. Maybe you'll become the next Ansel Adams."

"Who?"

"Famous photographer."

"Never heard of him," he said. "And what about you? You gonna be the next Picasso or somethin'?"

She grinned at him. "Look at you."

"Call me Mr. Cultured." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "But seriously, is art your thing or are you going off to college in a few months to be a Brainiac scientist? I can see that one happenin'. You're one of the smartest people I know."

"I want to take a gap year, but my Mom would never go for that," she sighed, closing the book. "So I'll go to Brown and then law school. I'll probably end up studying international law in the future like my Dad, James."

Rick let out a loud exaggerated snore. "I'm sorry, did you say something? That kind of planned out lifestyle sends me straight to sleep. You almost put me in a coma."

"Shut up." She playfully kicked him with the tip of her shoe and fought the urge to laugh at his antics.

"It's okay, I don't know what I'm doing with my life and I'm completely fine. We're young. We're not supposed to know that stuff yet. At eighteen, you need to be screwin' up and havin' fun, not planning out your future down to the last fucking detail."

She looked at him incredulously. "So you have no idea where your life is headed? Well I'm graduating in a couple of months, so I need to know and I need to have a plan for my future. I'm lucky to have the opportunities I have and I'm not going to waste them. I don't have that luxury. I need to have my shit together so I'll make time to have fun while achieving my goals."

"Well I just graduated and here I am, enjoying being young before I have to work for the rest of my life. I couldn't have made better choices."

"No offense, but that's really doing nothing to alleviate my fears Rick."

"Why not?" he asked, nudging her foot with his. "I'm living the life. Once you get out in the real world, it's just work, work, work until you die. That's how it was for my Dad. The poor bastard. I'm not ready for that shit yet. What's the point of me going to college now and putting myself in debt so I could do something I will probably hate? Fuck that."

"Yeah," she sighed. "You kind of have a point."

"Well, what do you want to do Tipsy? Not what anybody else wants. What you want."

She shrugged. "No idea. I thought you just said we're not supposed to know."

He held up a finger to his temple. "Exactly."

"Are we getting chips again?"

"I'll never understand why they call something that's obviously a French Fry, chips. Why do the British do crap like that? Just to be difficult?"

Michonne shook her head fighting back a laugh. "Maybe we should start making healthier food choices. Get some fresh food instead. That way, we're healthier and you can't complain about food names."

"I get enough fresh food at the farm. This is my chance to pig out."

"Will I ever get to see this mysterious farm of yours?" she asked as she linked her arm with his. "You're always talking about that place and the nice people you live with. And what's the owner's name? Nathan? Negan?"

Rick stiffened noticeably. "I don't live with Negan," he said, as he pretended to be distracted by something in the distance. It was clear to Michonne that he was trying to change the subject. "Hershel Greene owns the farm. Negan's just a friend I met here. We're barely friends actually. More like acquaintances. I don't even know how I brought his name up. We barely talk or see each other."

"Acquaintances," she hummed, watching him carefully. In the past month she and Rick had spent a lot of time together. They would meet up at the park once or twice a week and had little food dates while trying their hands at art. They never planned it ahead of time or even spoke about their meetings. They simply showed up every Wednesday at noon. He was great company and a friendship grew. He opened up more to her and she had learned to read him quite well despite his sometimes secretive behavior. She knew when he was lying or trying to hide something.

"It's okay. I was just joking around. It sounds like a cool place is all. I understand if that was weird for you. We're practically acquaintances ourselves."

"It's not that it's weird," he said without elaborating.

They quietly strolled to their favorite fish-and-chips place at the edge of the park. As they passed a group of people on Rollerblades, he took her hand, twirling her in a circle as if they were on a dance floor. "What are you doing?" she giggled.

"Do they have dances at that Academy of yours?"

"None so far."

"All girl's school right?"

"That's right. Is there–"

Her sentence was cut short as a little black floppy eared dog dashed across in front of her, its yellow leash trailing behind as calls for "Sammy!" followed.

"My little brother really wants a dog. He'd be so jealous if he were here." She smiled as she watched a little girl cross their path chasing the black puppy, her mother hot on her heels. "My mother's not having it though. She hates animals."

Rick gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. "What kind of monster hates innocent little puppies."

"Oh be quiet," she laughed, playfully shoving his arm. "She doesn't hate puppies, she's just not very fond of them. They're messy and they tear things up and all of that. Plus, I think she might be allergic."

"I'm just playing with you Tipsy," he said, most likely afraid that he may have offended her.

"I know you are."

On days like this, they typically parted ways after eating, and she wished there was a way to extend the time. He had an easy presence. It was evident that they were quickly developing a friendship. A friendship that she knew almost certainly wouldn't last. Like her, Rick was simply temporarily in this country and after some time they would both move on to somewhere else and it was unlikely that this somewhere would be close.

Perhaps she should be used to it by now. As a child of an ambassador, she never stayed in one country for more than three years, so lasting friendships were rare. Especially with people as flighty as Rick Grimes.

"What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?" Rick asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Nothing."

He carefully watched her expression. "Doesn't look like it."

"It's personal." She shot him a mischievous grin. "Why do you need to know what I'm thinking? It's not like I ever know what's going on in your head."

"Chaos."

"Just as I suspected," she tsked as they entered the small shop. "You plan out your delinquent behavior. I knew that spontaneity was all for show."

They ordered their food and sat in a familiar spot as they shared their meal. Rick started sharing stories of growing up on a farm while Michonne listened in awe as he recounted the time he tried to destroy his neighbor's car with his father's tractor. Apparently thirteen-year old Rick had a very bitter rivalry with his fifty-year-old neighbor.

Soon the food disappeared and they slipped into comfortable silence. Michonne was the first to stand, ready to bid her friend goodbye until their next meeting. "See you Rick."

"Bye Michonne."

"There you are chou-chou!" Winnie called as Michonne walked through the front door of Winfield House. She looked elegant in a blue cocktail dress paired with a pearl necklace and earrings. "I was looking for earlier for you to mind your brother. I didn't know you were out. Why didn't you say something?"

"I was at the park with a friend." She didn't bother telling her that it was Richmond Park and she rode the bus for an hour to get there. They currently had visitors at Winfield House. There were journalists doing a story on a day in the life of an American Ambassador. There was also a foreign dignitary and his family spending the weekend so it was nice to get away from the busy mansion before the dinner party they would be having the next day. "I told James I was leaving."

"Amare would have loved that instead of having lunch with me and the ladies," she mused. Amare had the tendency to get restless when he was home from boarding school on the weekends. "You should take him with you the next time you go. He doesn't like being cooped up and he will be able to run some of that extra energy off."

"Sure mom," she said as she headed towards the stairs. "Where is the little booger by the way?"

"I think he's having dessert." Winnie tilted her head to the side as she took in Michonne's appearance. "Your hair looks nice like that chou-chou. Very feminine."

"Thanks." She turned to face her mother as she touched the edge of her floral scarf that held her twist-out up in a curly up do.

"Before you head up, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Talk.

Lately, there was a noticeable distance between the inhabitants of Winfield House. They were a picture of modern perfection, but that's as far as it went. It was all appearances. Nobody spoke anymore. At least, not really. There were smiles, exaggerated laughter and political discussions, but there was an underlying coldness that wasn't quite there before. Michonne was often left wondering if her mother and James were having marital problems.

"What's up?"

"I was talking to the Deanna Monroe earlier and I mentioned your birthday coming up which gave me a wonderful idea," she said. "We should have a party. Eighteen is a big one. You can invite your Marymount friends and even Michael." Winnie gave her a knowing smile. She met Michael when he came to collect her for their first date and she took an instant liking to the young man. She was even more pleased when she learned of his family connections. "I'll have to talk to your father about it, but I'm sure he'll love the idea. Why wouldn't he?"

Michonne really wasn't interested in seeing Michael or pretending to like or be interested in any of the people she knew her mother would invite. "I…I don't know Mom."

"Don't worry. You'll love it." While her voice was light and cheerful there was finality in her words. "Did you get a chance to try the dress on again? It's so beautiful."

Michonne did not usually frequent the diplomatic banquets and parties, but her mother insisted that she attend this one. Even though she was required to go, she was actually looking forward to this particular reception. They would be hosting an American culture night and some of her favorite singers and actors would be in attendance.

"Yeah and it looks great," she grinned. "I'm still mad that we didn't get Beyoncé though. She's the pinnacle of American culture."

Winnie threw her head back in laughter. "You and me both sweetheart." Something or someone across the hallway caught her eye and she lifted her hand in a dainty wave. "See you at dinner, okay chou-chou? I have to show Deanna the new additions to the gardens."

Michonne trudged up the staircase that led to the bedrooms. She almost collided with a small body as she entered her own bedroom. "Amare, what are you even doing in here?" she exclaimed. "What did I tell you about hanging out in here when I'm not here?" The boy smiled sheepishly at her. "You better not be playing in my makeup again. You spilled my eyeliner everywhere the last time. I still have stains on my favorite shirt."

"I was trying to be batman," he said, defending himself. "I needed whiskers, Michie!"

"Do bats even have whiskers?"

"Yeah they do."

"Well either way, Batman doesn't have whiskers, so stay out of my eyeliner." She playfully flicked him on his forehead as she went to plop down on the edge of her bed.

"Is mascara eyeliner?" he asked innocently.

"Amare."

He followed after her, taking a seat beside her. "Mom says the guy that plays Batman is coming here tomorrow. That's so cool."

"That is cool," she agreed.

"She won't let me dress up as Batman to meet him," he pouted crossing his arms. "She's so unfair sometimes. I don't want to wear that stupid suit."

"You'll live kid." She playfully ruffled his curly dark hair. "Why are you in here by the way? Aren't you supposed to be having dessert or something."

His brow furrowed. "That was like…" He stuck his tongue out, tilting his head to the side as he thought about it. "An hour ago. And it was gross!" He shuddered at the memory. "Chef Gordon says our family is eating healthier from now on. That's just not fair. Desserts need to be sweet."

"What did he give you to eat?"

"Wheatgrass yogurt."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"It was horrible!" he declared. "I blame that Deanna lady."

"Tell you what," she said, turning to face him. "I'll help make up it up for Gordon torturing you with wheatgrass. I want something in return though."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I'll help you become Batman for the party tomorrow. Whisker's and all."

Her easily pleased brother seemed to think about it for a moment and then a wide smile spread across his face as he nodded enthusiastically. "That'll be so cool! What do I have to do?"

"Exactly as I say."

[artdjgblog]

Innerview: Amber Willis / Art Institute of Sacramento

June 2010

Photo: Jim Henson / Date, Photographer NA

Note: Questions for an art history essay.

01) Why did you choose this career?

“Career” can have a strange ring to it, but people like to tend the garden variety comfort of obituary. Certainly, there are aspects to be itemized in “career”, like security and stability and pay check and retirement, as well as other big game Gatorade dumps, but I’ve never received any of this or that in standard. I don’t have a career and as an artist will never be retiring. More like, I have the security and stability of knowing that I’m doing what I feel I’m put here to do and if I have to do something else along the way in the day to day, then I’ll do it. If I make it to an older age and look back at the block that is my time line here, I hope to feel fine with what I’ve managed to piece together and I am so far. But, to call that a career wouldn’t make much sense to me and to definitely call it that at 31 is very strange to me. Anyway, I don’t aim to sound stubbly here. Pay check doesn’t really apply to the work I’m doing currently and if it ever does I won’t dismiss it and who wouldn’t want to get paid for what they enjoy doing and feel somewhat OK at? However, in full I’m paid several times over on a personal level and if others get something out of what I’m doing, then that is a great bonus pizza party all-around. It’s perplexing, or even sad, when people spend their whole lives not finding their voice, identity, the how-to in which to share their view through the one thing that they know they’re supposed to be doing. Still, there is the argument if we really even have to find something in terms of a vocation or a “what do you do”? Why can’t we just go day to day and do what we need to do to get it done? Regardless, it can also be sad when people do find their calling, but don’t fully use it, or use it to manipulate others, or don’t even try to use it if they have to work around it. I don’t know much other than I’ve always enjoyed living, making art and being left alone to do my own thing. Cool if people want to hop along my trolley and it truly means a lot that you want to ask me questions…be warned, if you find me all at once the tire, untier and retired to the tracks.

02) What were the first steps you took to get started in this field? I walked blindly up and then opened my eyes and stumbled down the steps. As a rural Missouri farm boy, I actually grew up in fields. It was easy to run from that life at 18, to taste something new, because I thought I knew all I had to know from which I started. Don’t we all? Well, I butchered. We all get butchered. Sometimes I think I should have just been a farmer or butcher. I could have been both and would have been happy and I still made art on the side. I do wish I would have paid more attention as a child to farm stuff. However, it wasn’t until I realized I wasn’t that great at art when I was 18 to 20 and then reached back into the reservoir pits of youth and everyday life, that I began to find the way(s) I needed to show and tell and feel again…and I’m still growing…and I’m still not that great. But, just feeling alright about doing my own thing and wanting to give something back to the earth. Bob Dylan said it best while in his early 20s, “…it’s took me a long time to get young…” There’s a lot to learn from such complex-simplicity.

03) Any advice for a new grad?

I’m a college drop-out so I may not be the best source in the eyes of some, but maybe there could be something of benefit found in that fact? I’m also a bit of a simpleton. Then again, advice can come from anything, even a house plant. Everybody’s on a path. Just a lot of elbows on some. Some are out just to mow down paths. So, make your own. Stand your ground and follow the place where the heart makes it with the gut. Blow out your own holes in your own jeans, is what I like to say. If you aren’t fully convinced of actual jobs pertaining to your studies, then forfeit those directions and continue to do what you want to do. Re-invent yourself if you must and/or tap into the reason you started and wanted this in the first place. Hit the pillow as satisfied as you can, wake up ready to start over. If you have to work a crap job in the interim, then work it. In the end, it’s all perspective as the correct treasure can be found anywhere. If something isn’t working, change it. Heck, change the diaper if it isn’t dirty. If you’re making art and you feel comfortable, change it. Great baseball pitchers don’t have one throw, ya know? Be real too. Every day is different so every day you should be different. I feel that anyone with the right lens can learn a great deal from working/walking in real life than with what he or she may have studied at school and applying it to a job that makes Mom or Dad or teacher or piece of paper proud…doing something that can be done with a 30 day trial of a software program or by changing the skin on a social network do-whop. No, I’m not saying art/design “jobs” are a no-no. If it works for you, then make it work. It just wasn’t what applied to me and certainly not now. No matter what, soak in whatever fuel is available and pour that into the work you do in the before and during and after hours. Still, you will be human, no matter how hard you work. The older you get, energy levels and valuable resources deplete, it’s fact. But, find ways to work around that and to do what you can. If you really want it, you will do it. If you aren’t making art outside of your day job(s), then there is something wrong. I don’t understand at all a designer who goes to work a design day job but doesn’t make art outside of that. So odd to me. And if it’s because the day job prohibits you (per the rules or rules of exhaustion/life), make art anyway, or kick that day job. Please, if you went to school to study art, that means you must have enjoyed art at some point before, so that means you should at least enjoy making art no matter what for the rest of your life, right? I know so many supposedly creative people who don’t really make art, rather shuffle things around at a job, make a meager pile of things in a year or milk the same jug if they are making art at home…or worse, they simply come home and complain per exhaustion or burnout. Something’s either died in them or they picked the wrong nose entirely. If that’s the case, then change it up. Be honest to yourself. If you don’t find yourself craving, then find dessert in the desert and/or give your free time to something or someone else. I have a wild idea that at the end of life, I hope to get a charge card with a little extra time on it to make a couple more things to share and leave behind my interpretation of this life down here. Even though at the same time, I’m currently already eligible for that card (we all are) and need to use it wisely, and I do the best I can. A little slice of heaven sounds nice, and to have a bit of time to maybe help others get to the party too, or at least help dish out free smiles while waiting in line, well, that sounds pretty alright. In short, pocket all you can and puke it back out. Get quenched, get drenched.

04) Is there anything I should know first when starting my career? Hmmmm, there is that word again. Do want you want to do. Life is short. Don’t let other people suck the life from you and/or take advantage of you or your work. Protect your babies. If you ever feel stuck, find wiggle room or get out completely. Have something to say and have something to play. Stay optimistic but don’t be glossy-eyed. It’s OK to say NO. Let yourself be a human being. Enjoy the little things. Document. Tell stories through the work. Jot down ideas and accomplish them. Make goals and change them. Be a good listener with all senses, on your own accord. Disappear for a bit. Try to tune out when you can or turn off all the things that keep you plugged in. Look up and look down and look sideways. Don’t drive yourself into debt or mess up your credit. Don’t mess up your sleep. Everybody needs to re-charge and sleep is important. Don’t stop making art. If you feel at at loss, then step back and come back soon with a fresh perspective. Step away from your work if and when you must. Prepare to fail. Feed off of failure. Don’t be discouraged if your thing doesn’t get as many “hits” as another person’s thing. It is an odd game, this art and design world. Nobody really has defining answers. Travel as much as you can. Be a human being. I don’t know if these are the first ingredients to know, and everybody learns and behaves and reacts differently, but these are things (among many others) I’ve learned along the way that have become valuable to me. If they help another, then cool, but don’t look at me for answers on life support.

05) Is there anything you have learned in the professional world that may not have been taught in school? My schooling was incredible, opened me up and knocked me down to where I could find myself again. I found a place in myself that didn’t make it feel like “work”. If it ever does feel too much like work, then scrap it or throw a change-up. Step away if you must and then come back fresh. I think there should be more general life stuff taught in school too and maybe some more personal development and self-promotion things. But, it’s hard stuff to pin point. Self-help and tips can be a bit weird. Anyway, I’m fine with getting knocked down in the real world too. It’s healthy to simply head on in. I learned (still learning) a lot by working jobs that aren’t necessarily connected to the art and design world. Though, I do find that art and design can be found in every job, if applying yourself correctly and you may be surprised as who you meet along the way.

06) How did you develop your own style? I don’t believe I have my own style, but I do believe I have my own way of visiting the world and sharing it with others. We all do. But, I think I know what you’re talking about as many people bring this up to me and it’s very odd, yet very kind. I’m nothing special, I just wake up with a different head every day and make art. And I see people who make the same thing over and over all their life (well, with the exception of a few choice individuals) and I don’t see how they can live with that. But, it’s theirs to do, I suppose? First thing, realize that everything under the sun has been done. Second thing, the first thing is only partly true because we’ve all individuals with our own interpretation. Every voic​​e, soul and fingerprint is unique and insert that into the work. Third thing, just make art and at times just don’t think about it. The reach and grab method, more like it. Make don’t think. And always prepare to fail and be fine with that and learn and grow from that. Even if people are real bad apple jerks about it too. Learn from them if you can and learn how not to be, as people who suck can be great leaders in such regard. Help them too if you can and if they are willing. Show the real you. Show growth and process and thinking and spirit in your work. Show me that a human being made the work. I’m more interested with a body of work that has try-hard-fails in it than a Miss American pageant of trophy work. I like a human body of work. I want to appreciate the thing behind it, tap into that. I don’t trust any artist who only shows a small, selective portion, whether they are 6 months or 60 years into it. I prefer what the accumulated stains on a mechanic’s onesie look like than a fixed auto in place. Some of the best work speaks outside of the frame to where it’s occupying more than just a block of prime time programming or cut-throat real estate.

07) What was your first job in this field? Oh gosh. I’ve been a farmhand, groundskeeper, janitor, mental health servant…among others. I’m currently in a cubicle doing data entry and file management and fortunate to have buffer time to answer your questions. It is nice on the extreme hot and cold days. Art and design field?: In the 5th grade I won a county-wide logo contest compromised of ages 6 to 18. Not really a job, but first actual taste of the field. It left me with an odd taste. I got my logo in the papers but the final product was butchered. I recall a sadness when my parents drove me by the finished logo signage. Current field? My 3rd year of college I befriended some bands/musicians and started making poster and package designs on the side of my classes and day jobs. So, I guess that is where it sparked towards the right now. I then dropped-out 4 and a half years into my studies and moved to Kansas City with a band. Shortly after I became a janitor while making art on the side. I even made some art while at work. I miss being a janitor, but it didn’t pay enough and health and time off benefits weren’t provided. When I first moved to Kansas City, I started immediately making band posters for free, for guest list appearances, for cheeseburgers, or if I was fortunate, for five bucks. I did hunt around a bit in the graphic arts section of the paper, even though I had no desire or ambition to work a “real” design job, but I was broke and desperate. I went for an interview at a print shop but it didn’t materialize more than a strange story that I need to spend more time on and release at another date. And just to please a few people (parents, I believe), I sent a packet of work to Hallmark’s headquarters here in town and never heard back. After a few weeks of calls going nowhere, I showed up at Hallmark’s door with my portfolio asking the gruff security lady if there was any way to physically talk to anybody or at least be pointed in the right direction. She ripped me a new one as I left the building crying, vowing to never apply or inquire of an actual graphic design position again. I haven’t…

08) How do you create a good work and life balance? Best question so far (and it applies to anyone), though it has me thinking too much. It’s dangerous, this self-analysis. It can be a struggle and especially if you don’t have your head screwed on right. I like to do my best with making life and work one thing and I’m not talking about making myself the work of art. The last thing I want to do is play God with art or myself, I find many people doing this. There are times when I try hard at the self-promotion coin of it and it can be soul sucking. It can be a beast. It can be a beast just to find balance of it all too. I have seasons, we all do. But, I’m learning and growing more and more with how to read my senses. But, I’m also always changing. I’m a human being and I have to be a human being before any of this art stuff. I can’t do it all, even if I want to. And I realize that if I could do it all, it would never be enough. It’s “whole pizza” syndrome. It can be the poison and it can be the antidote. I just have to chip away whenever I can and however I can. I’d lie if I said I wasn’t a hard worker, but there are so many days in a month where I don’t work hard enough when I do work, even with a day job, marriage, life stuff. I just have to know when to work and when to re-charge my batteries and in what ways to re-charge and also know how to be disciplined. Just chip away. Again, every day is so different even though I’m perpetually glass-half-empty in mindset, but I just am very thirsty. I learned to balance a bit better when I knocked back my client work in-take a great deal in 2007. The year before I felt I could easily teeter to burn out as I was taking more bites than I could possibly chew reasonably and also feeling like I wasn’t as close with who and what I was working for. I decided to take a step back while I was still ahead. Hard to do, but had to be done. It was a great learning year and maybe my best on a whole in terms of output. I’m certain some eyes/minds thought I did the wrong thing by stepping back, but I followed my heart and gut with that decision and am completely fine with that. You have to do what you have to do. I’m still making just as much work now, but am pickier with who I work for and the kinds of work I’m doing. I’m also doing far more work for myself and that is the most rewarding. I can never do enough work for myself. Time is the only thing that tends to beat me. I’m at a good point with feeling more like a visual artist than a graphic designer. I guess I’ve always sort of approached it that way though. It is OK to rock one’s boat or to just paddle all over. What’s really odd to me is when people who haven’t seen me for a while ask, “Are you still making art?”

09) If you could do it all over again would you? Questions like this are so weird and obtuse. Hypothetically speaking, I might be more in-depth on some personal things if I were to go back, especially with the mind I have now. But, things would essentially be so different to the current. The official start date on my own odyssey was in early January of 2002. Things were so much different then, inside and out. I dip into nostalgia’s fly specks often, but I never wish to really insert myself into those points, times and destinations for very long as they served the slice of the time they possessed. I’m sure I’d come away quite horrified most of the time if I did. I know I do when I read my saved writings from early years. But, it’s all about the process. It’s gotten me to right here, so it must have been worth my while. Then again, there are times I am confused by the mirroring of the present. You’ve got me thinking too much. Moving on…

10) How do you feel about a degree from an institute compared to a regular degree? The only degree I got was deodorant. Educationally speaking, it depends. All I know is what I know. I dropped out of college and my Dad said that I should have just gone to an art school like the Kansas City Art Institute instead so that I would have gotten a degree. But, I don’t think so at all (not to mention art schools are way more costly from what I’ve seen). I feel I received one heck of an education where I went and who I was around and it got me to where I am today and I wouldn’t change that. Even though I went to a state school, and a fine one at that, I think I was part of a special art institute. Degree or no degree, from here or there, I’d still be making the art that I wanted, and the way I wanted, in my basement today. I feel I’m using what I’ve learned all the way in life. I don’t feel a large percentage of people truly use what they’ve learned, they just find a comfortable place to plant and then go through motions. I guess there isn’t really anything bad in that, if you’re fine with being a bump on a log. Sometimes I do think it would be easier to be a bump on a log.

11) How much do you make? Money or Art? I don’t make much money at all. I haven’t in 9 years. I knew that going in though. If I do make money, it’s usually spent on junk or cheap supplies. Most of it has gone to regional design competitions and magazines. Which, is getting quite out of hand now on fees and the little guys like me are getting pushed out. I’ve sorta stopped submitting to all that and I had a good run for a while anyway. I suppose I do make a lot of art. I’m in a unique position where I can do whatever the heck I want, usually when I want, and that’s worth more than money. Of course, if working for a client, I do have a responsibility there to tap into what they and I are representing. But, it all works out. In the past there have been times where a client says, “Make whatever you want! I love everything you do!” And then I make it and even keep it in bounds to what we’re doing (I don’t got whole hog on them) and they come back to me very disappointed. Some have even been down right bad apple weirdo about it. It is kind of funny in the long haul and I still got some art out of it. But, I’ve had some incredible clients and the really good ones make up for any bad things that may have come along. And in all business, there are good and bad working relationships. Now a-days though, it is nice to be pickier and choosier with what work I take on and do the majority of the work for me. True, I’d love to make art full-time for money, anybody who has any loving thing on the side would rather do that than work another man’s dream. But, I’m happy with how things are going. I’m actually looking into ways in which to go about presenting myself a bit differently, changing up the gears some. But, am in no hurry and definitely in a good place where anxiety is low and I’m just taking things day to day. Anyway, I try to do my best with making a year’s worth of art in six months. Less is not more. More is way more. More can also be never enough. I don’t know, I am just doing this thing.

12) How much experience counts when producing good design? I don’t know? In our tangible get-to-know-me, warm fuzzy world, sometimes a bunch of experience, sometimes zero. Depends on the product. Some of the worst art and design I’ve seen has come from trained people and/or is in museums. Again, I guess it’s perspective and we all see differently. Some of the best art and design can come from every day working people like my Grandma or some homeless 80-year-old man who one day up and marks the results of his life on cardboard of cereal boxes behind a grocery store (Bill Traylor). My favorite art and design comes from folk art. Feels pure to me. Feels “good”. But, I appreciate formally trained art and design too. I just know what I like, I guess? And I have no idea how to even go about this question of “producing good design” when comparing my world to a man whose spent his entire life in a jungle or what we call a third world. It’s not far off the mark of trying to truly ponder why the billions of dollars the movie “Avatar” made couldn’t be better put to solving world hunger? Had James Cameron been born in the jungle, he might not be making movies and/or movies about artificial jungles. I guess it’s all about location and who you know and how you know and how you want to show and tell to your team of make-shift receivers?

13) Recently with design trends in advertising, TV, etc what do people demand from graphic designers and why? Oh boy. Graphic design, in it’s conventional glory, has kind of died some, at least to me. Though, I still recognize it. It is such a weird world right now, at least with technology moving so fast. Exciting and overwhelming. I’ve never been crazy about it, but I respect it yet don’t really keep up with it. People demand to have their attention held these days, otherwise they are on to the next “new and improved” thing in a few seconds or they will just make their own amusement and find their own fifteen seconds. It means a lot to me when somebody can stop for a few seconds and take something in these days. That is probably more of a big challenge on the viewer than the presenter. I’m trying hard to let in all the little things that seem to be depleting. I’m glad I grew up in a time where I can remember not having the internet or phones in pockets. I’m glad I grew up on a farm. I was never bored. I am never bored now and I don’t need external hickies. Attention spans will only suffer more in generations to come. Maybe we should try to do something about this. Maybe we designed it that way? Somebody did. If somebody really demanded a graphic something of me (sounds very much at gun point), then I’m not sure how I’d handle that. I might tell them to chill out.

14) Looking back ten years within your field do you think it has changed or progressed? It has done a bit of both. Actually, I feel that every ten years, no matter what field or profession, there is a noticeable difference in both. It is inspiring, but overwhelming how everybody is a designer these days, at least that’s what they are telling me. I also feel that so many designers want to jump out of the woom cutting teeth. Slow down and find your soul.

15. How do you feel about almost becoming a celebrity for your creativity? Really?! I wasn’t informed of this. Neat, I guess? I think anybody who either puts themselves, or something of their self, out there for others (most definitely this happens in the arts) and there becomes somewhat of a trickle down from that as a result of it saying something or carrying an identity, this can easily trigger a part of the brain to spark a notion that they are a bullet of special. And today this can be dangerous as children are born into the idea of narcissism with constant craving for technology and the “hey, lookie-me’s”. Sure, we’re all special, looking down the grand scope, but we’re all in this mix together. I don’t know. It is so strange. I guess in a little dish I’ve built this odd little club of people who like my work and that is really neat and rewarding. Magazines in Turkey and Taiwan feature me, publishing houses in Spain and America too. It is interesting to me. An artist told me last year that I was pretty “elusive” and I didn’t known what this meant for a guy like me, but found it alright in a Bigfoot kind of way. Should I be more out in the open? I’ve just always did my thing the way I’ve done it. The other day I met a man at a wedding who has been a big fan of my work since 2002. I wouldn’t call that celebrity, but it was a nice compliment and I hope to have coffee with him soon. He always thought me to be very plugged into the scene or whatever it is, but I feel very much on the outside of all that. Every Spring semester I have a lot of offers for interns. Flattering, but I always have to decline. Celebrity is so strange to me and doesn’t even apply to what I am. Most people’s idea of truly “making it” seems skewed as well. I wouldn’t want to be a celebrity, though art and design world celebrity is much different than other kinds. I’d love to just be at a point where I could live on a few acres in private, make art in my making things barn and for just enough money and support to make it comfortably and to not have my wife and animals work too. For now, I will just continue to make art the way I am making it, even if I don’t truly “make it” in real world terms.

16) Where do you draw the line of what work you make public and what you keep for your personal life? It appears I have a lot of my work and even personal life out on the world wide web, but really I don’t think it’s that much. I am in the process of working on a new personal web site. My site is my personal filing cabinet to share with others. I may widdle down some of the selections upon initial visit for people as the speed of site visiting is so much more rapid now as people are passing and receiving information at such a high rate. I might knock back some of my personal Flickr photo sets to private in the coming months, but I’m also alright with showing my photography as it is another interpretation of how I’m seeing and experiencing the world. I wouldn’t mind exhibiting photography in the years to come. In all, I have over 22,000 images on Flickr: art, design, sculptures, collections and photography. I also have a ton of stuff on my site that includes all of my documentation of my art whereabouts, writings and home videos. I didn’t realize it was all getting so massive out there until recently. I’ve always been documenting and sharing, it’s something I learned from my upbringing and even in college I learned the importance of this. I find it important to show a body of work, but one must not make himself or his things the shrine. I just want to share things. There are some things that I’ve yet to document for others. I don’t keep a ton of private work to myself, but there is some stacking up in my basement, and even some of it will end up for others to see someday.

17) Any regrets? Looking back I don’t really have any regrets. Shouldn’t this question come when I’m 95? I do retain a lot of the past within the present, in a way that a company might file their time line of business. I’m looking at this now and nothing really rings a big bell. I’m a fan of the time line of a life, a body of work or reaction to what is pounding on the outside. My brain just works that way. I do wish I would have taken a year or two to live in another city or more. Maybe gone to Europe? But, at the same time, you never know what you’d gain or lose in such a thing, so hard telling. Also, I feel I was just equipped to take on what I did, mentally and financially (barely financially). I just stepped out on a ledge and did it because it was what I had to do and I like how it’s all lined up so far and if things go right, I will have many more years to do other things. There are some things, like wishing I’d written more and documented more and painted more and learned a few new techniqueds. Though, I have done a great deal of that already and there is always room for development. I do wish I’d kept in touch better with some people or saved up more money along the way. It’s hard though with a lot of life things. It’s sad when people have lots of regrets.

18) Do you think designers have made the world a little better? I don’t necessarily subscribe to this notion, or the plot about design or Coke changing the world. I think many people get caught up in this, picket for it, and not to rain on the parade, but it’s just not my thing. I do know that design can make people smile or think a bit, perhaps become aware of certain things. It can be a powerful tool. It can also be a dangerous one. Personally, I don’t really push for politics in my work, but sometimes they happen and I’m fine with it. All of this doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart, it’s just not where I’m supposed to be speaking and I’ll pass the mic to people who should be and are in such a position. When speaking of making “the world a little better” with every day design of peoples interaction with things, I guess it just depends on the user. Most users probably don’t care and as long as they get by, then that is great. I’m fine with that. Of course, I do find trouble reading most restaurant menus and billboards, things of this typographical vomit nature don’t make sense to me. I get confused easily too. I also have trouble initiating intuitive interactivity with technology (which I won’t even get into right now), but I think that has far more to do with faulty wiring in my brain than somebody trying to make my life simpler in mash button ideology. I’m a simple man. But, the people who probably haven’t been diseased by my brain or $40,000 in academic training, can probably read and function more fluently in this world than me. Most of the time I just don’t feel qualified enough to discuss this topic. An interesting topic it is though.

19) Where do you see design going? Other than what I see in front of me at random, or casually perusing a couple of sites or magazines here and there, I usually don’t seek out the current state of design or ponder where it’s headed. Though, I have seen a lot of things getting pretty samey-so-so. Sort of all bleeding together. But, that happens all the time and my stuff isn’t anything new. In truth, I don’t really care that much and living a real life the best I can, is more important to me. I’ve never really felt like an evaluated voice for such discussion as well. I don’t even feel like a voice for graphic design or art. I’ve been turning down speaking engagements because of this. I just can only do my thing and if others want to tag along, then that is great. Though, this is a good question and in general it must be going?

20) How important do you think formal design education is? Also what are the benefits? If only speaking of design made by trained designers, I’m a fan of all types of education that apply; academic, day jobs or trade(s), life experiences. A bit of everything keeps the toes where they goes. Formal design education is important because you have a collective of shared experiences in the trench together, whether it’s instructors or peers. All walks of life too, especially from the perspective of a rural Missouri farm boy. You also learn to develop what you’ve always carried up to that point, add more to it, or completely fine-tune, re-define. For some, realize how they’re built or better suited elsewhere. Formal training can help you learn control, addition/subtraction and to process and feel, to take critique, to multitask. To find the diamond. To learn how to mine it. Sometimes it can be like learning how to see, walk or tie your shoes again. I was fortunate to turn blindly into a system (Southwest Missouri State University, now just Missouri State University) that was/is one of the best kept design school secrets. It just sort of all unfolded right and I wouldn’t change it, but I do wish I would have worked harder. You can always work harder. But, I am what I am. I was under the instruction of well-oiled Eastern European and Russian influence. I didn’t really know what I had until it was about time for me to leave, but once I re-learned how to tap into my spirit, it just felt so right to me. It also helped that I could relate a little bit with my teachers coming from other countries and cultures because a farm boy studying art and design at a high level can be fairly similar

21) Who were your earliest influences that made you choose design as a career? Jim Henson and the world he immersed himself and the public into, was a big influence on me. Also, early on in if I recognized an apple on a vinyl record, then I knew it was going to be for my ears. That iconic Beatles identity, along with movie titles, comic books, Saturday morning cartoons (way before today’s sorry excuses), sports team mascots, farming logos, and handmade countrified things (in particular stuff made by my Grandma’s hands and the way farmers and rural people make or “rig” things), were huge influences on me in knowing how to choose and identify items of interest as well as how-to in creating my own visual language whether it was in my bedroom, sand box or elsewhere. I sorta call them culture trappings and we’ve all got a set of them and these early blue prints never leave you. My parents also never had a cap on what cultural things I and my siblings could in-take. We lived in the country, but our imaginations soared with the help of externals and it would trickle down from there (and this was well before internet and fancy phones). Later on in high school I plunged really into things like architecture (particularly sports stadiums and skyscrapers) and the graphic art of graffiti. This time was an important crossroads as for a while I wanted to be a sports architect, but a lack of math skills turned me off of that and onto graphic arts and there I went. It also helped that I was highly influenced from a three week session at the first annual Missouri Fine Arts Academy. Anyway, it’s all in there in the work I’m doing now, all the life debris that passes every day, along with a whole slew of influences from the past dozen years or more. I don’t ever aim for my formative years to stop. If I make it to 95, I plan to work harder than I do now. Switching gears from grade school-high school to college, I struggled a bit at the first half of this transition. I was trying to take my rural “best artist” roots and apply them to the big dogs of academics. I was so naive (probably still am), but it wasn’t a bad thing. But, it wasn’t easy. One time in hands-on foundation class I overheard classmates grumbling about how they couldn’t wait until they could start working on a computer. I had no idea what they were talking about and exclaimed with great enthusiasm, “I plan to take the route that doesn’t involve computers!” They laughed this off and told me square that there was no way I was going to work around that. I also thought that typography meant I’d be making maps, which if you really think about it, it kind of is. Post foundations, when the screen barrier was finally put in front of me, I felt at a loss in connection for my work and I fell behind fast. It wasn’t until a long bout with struggling back and forth if I even wanted to do graphic art, as well as visiting design firms and coming away very empty, that I found myself and the way in which I wanted and needed to speak. All it took was simply tapping back into the early reservoirs of why I honestly loved making art and creative purity in the first place. I found myself and a connection to something bigger. It also helped that my instructors encouraged hands-on work, process, identity, ideas, experimentation and opened my eyes a little wider to how I could use my insides as well as studies from the entire scope of the arts and life. Everything applies. All of these factors also coincided and collided with a library visit in which a book by designer Lester Beall literally fell to my feet from atop the shelf. I opened it up and found immediate kinship with his approach to design and visual art as well as the fact that he lived and worked out of a barn with the sheep. I grew up with sheep myself. -djg