#it's why Summer of Blue both is and is not being working on sporadically

[aflockofravens]

@ellionwrites

I just had the MOST diabolical thought for an Itafushi AU that immediately made me cry thinking about it.

Despite everything I need to do today AND all the other unfinished fics I have, I wanna drop it all to write this.

If this post gets even 1 note I'm doing it

[ehlnofay]

19 for the worldbuilding prompts + Torr?

the profound quiet of a small settlement at night

North Eastmarch is freezing cold all over, but it wears different outside the city than within.

Torr would never call Windhelm warm – not even in summer months, no matter how used to it they are – but what little heat it has it clings to with great determination. The walls huddle together, trapping the air so that it’s either still and muggy or a howling wind, like each close-knit house is breathing in tandem. The heat of the people run up and down its streets, blood through its knotted stone veins. The city is alive, an ecosystem unto itself; its snow, dark with footprints, runs sludgy down the roads; a fireplace is always burning somewhere.

Outside of the walls, surrounded by nothing but empty air and snow-laden trees, a slow-moving stream running with barely a burble – it feels dead, in contrast. Silent. Branches reach needle-sharp across the blue-black sky, the ground is gleaming white and undisturbed by anyone else’s footprints, and the nearest fire is the barely visible gleam of the Kynesgrove mining camp, up the hill and through the sporadic spindles of the trees. The breeze ghosts past Torr’s neck and whips the mud-stained snow into a flurry.

In the city, Torr’s comfortable sleeping almost anywhere – as comfortable as they ever get, anyway. Some of the buildings have great gaps under the porch where the snow can’t reach and no-one ever finds them; there’s places in the nooks of the walls, and sheds built into the side of the house that people don’t lock, and Torr knows a few people besides who don’t mind him kipping on their floor every now and again, as long as he doesn’t ask too often. The outside isn’t like that. There’s not many places to go. He’s lurking around Kynesgrove tonight – on his way back from a quick venture out to get some things done that pay better than running errands around the markets – and there aren’t many options. The inn, which he can’t afford – the mine, which would be warm but is very guarded – the miner’s encampment or someone’s house, both of which would most likely result in being chased off. Besides, there’s a performative element to meeting people, especially adults, in strange places, and Torr’s not in the mood to play to strangers. So much of his being is caught up in Windhelm’s grimy alleys, tangled in the hair and fingers of its discarded children; he doesn’t know how to be himself away from it all.

But they don’t have to, seeing as there’s the rickety old sawmill on the edge of a stream feeding into the harbour. It’s not bad, as shelter goes; no walls, so the wind rubs its fingers wraithlike down Torr’s cheeks and tangles them in his hair, but at least there’s a roof. It looks newly thatched, too, the floorboards free of rot, the water-wheel still chugging creakily along. There’s no wood to cut here, all the nearby surrounding trees too scraggy to be worth the bother. The only big ones are part of the grove up on the hill. There’s no point in keeping the mill running, but Torr is glad it is; he watches the distant firelight flickering through the scrub, and listens to the splashing of the wheel. It’s proof that people and the things they make do still exist – if not necessarily here.

It really feels dead, out in the cold, with the leafless trees and the wind that doesn’t even whisper. It always does. It’s a bit discomfiting, which is maybe why Torr doesn’t go on out-of-city endeavours as often as perhaps he could; but really, there’s not work out here enough to make it worth it. There’s always problems with bandits on the road, but Torr’s not a good enough fighter for bounty work; there’s collecting plants and things to sell Nurelion, but that’s easy enough to do on a day trip. (And, really, it’s more for Torr’s own enjoyment, besides. They never even venture far south enough to get to the sulphur pools, which is where the more interesting things grow.)

This trip, though, is an outlier. Unusually efficient. Just a quick job for Niranye, scouting a merchant’s cart on the road – almost definitely for something shady, but that’s not Torr’s business, and it was too much money too easy to turn down. And then – just earlier today, foraging out in the wilderness as best as Torr (a distinctly urban animal) knows how – they’d come across a giant’s corpse, stiff and white as the snow it lay in. Torr’s no master alchemist but they know the value of a cadaver when it comes to brewing alloys and admixtures, so they set to with their blunt-edged dagger and now they’ve got a sack full of what may as well be gold. (Long as it doesn’t start to rot before they can get Nurelion to preserve it, anyway.)

Torr’s going to be rolling in it when they get back to Windhelm. They could use that money for nearly anything – pay off a few things they borrowed, new warm things now that winter’s coming back strong, bedrolls, waterskins. Endless options – which, strangely, is more exciting than it is burdensome.

It’s all the sort of decision that would ordinarily feel life-or-death urgent but right now feels – not small. Not insignificant, not at all, but distant. A choice to be made at another time, by another person.

(Torr’s whole being belongs to Windhelm’s back streets. They’re someone else, away from it all.)

That’s the other thing about leaving the city, spending time in the discomfiting slow-paced ghost-world outside. It’s quiet. Torr sits surrounded by the wind in the trees, the lazy murmur of the stream, the creak of the water-wheel, and nothing else.

He’s been called a worrywart (mostly by Griss in a strop) but to tell the truth he doesn’t think that’s true. Torr doesn’t fuss for the sake of fussing, he just doesn’t like to leave things undone; can’t stop until he finds a solution. Out here, alone, in the empty cold, there are no solutions to find – same old problems back home, he knows, but no steps he can take at this time to right them. That’s never true while he’s in the city, so he can never stop thinking about it, every choice and action accompanied by a buzzing background chorus of everything else he really should be doing – that really should have been done by now – that should never have been left undone this long, what was he thinking? Everything is urgent when it’s doable. But here and now, there’s nothing to do.

So Torr sits hunched on the board floor of the ramshackle watermill, huddled among their heaps of bags and blankets, and thinks of nothing at all.

Not strictly true. They think of supper – haven’t eaten since an apple this morning, except for some snowberries they found around noon, and it’s been a long day. They nabbed some turnips from the garden of the Kynesgrove inn on their way to the mill. They’re fresh, if nothing else – also covered in dirt, so Torr rises reluctantly from their pile of stuff to crouch on the banks of the stream and dip the vegetables in to clean them off. It aches like hell, the frozen water turning their joints to ice – they almost drop the turnip they’re washing, so they scrub it as best they can with the frigid pad of their thumb and whip their hands out of the water soon as they’re able. They stick their fingers in their mouth to warm them back up.

Even after all that time spent warming up their hands, arraying all their belongings back around themself to conserve body heat, the turnips are still cold enough to hurt Torr’s teeth when he bites in. He eats them anyway, relishing a little in the unearthly silence and the aching of his lips and palms. They taste delicious.

With nothing else to do after, the gnawing of his stomach sated, he wraps himself in his shawl and stares up the hill at the camp’s fire until it goes out. The stars wink into brighter being. The wind whistles through the whip-thin branches of the trees. The water-wheel creaks.

Torr sleeps, but he feels like he hears it all – a silent observer, an echo, a beginning – until morning.

[djarinbarnes]

me olvidarás - ten

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings for the chapter: 18+ smut, phone sex, longing, the L word. things........

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: an undeniable warm summer vacation in Bogotá. simply trying to get away from your nosey, boring parents and live for once, you meet a man who impresses you beyond where your imagination could ever take you.

a/n: so... this is the end. or is it? jokes aside - thank you so much to all of you who have read this, liked this, commented on it, reblogged it. It means so much to me that you’ve enjoyed reading it. 

previous chapter · series masterlist

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The night the two of you spend together is more than amazing. Javi takes you out to pick up empanadas and beer just like he promises, before the two of you drive out to the look out where you ate the same dinner last time.

He keeps the blanket from that night in his car, and you have no idea why. Maybe it’s because it makes him nostalgic the same way it does you by seeing it – or maybe it’s just something he keeps in his car for safety measures.

After you both finish your dinner and three beers each, you’re too caught up in each other to notice the sun that has been steadily descending the sky, turning the horizon into what could only be described as a Bob Ross masterpiece.

The sky was a mixture of reds, oranges, yellows, along with sporadic brush strokes of lilac and further up, turning dark blue. You pointed out the first star as it appeared on the horizon before snuggling closer to Javi’s warm chest.

It was so surreal, that he was leaving for Cali the next day, and there was only a slim chance that you would see him again before you left Colombia. The whole afternoon, Javi had promised you that it wasn’t just a vacation fling, and that he actually had meant what he said to you in the apartment earlier.

It eased your mind slightly, yet you still found yourself questioning his trustworthiness. With what you knew about Javi, you were sure that he was a womanizer, and that he indeed liked, no, loved the company of different women. How you could be the game changer, you had no idea.

With a swing of your leg, you straddle Javi on the hood of his car, looking deeply into his eyes in the search of something to help you believe him. You did see the feelings swirling in the chocolate orbs, yet it was nothing you hadn’t seen in his eyes before.

His hands find your hips and your hands his neck, drawing his lips to yours in a heartfelt kiss. You felt like you were pouring all of yourself into his lips at the contact, and it makes you moan out. His fingers are insisting as they collect your skirt in them, pulling it up and around your hips.

Your hands glide down and with nimble fingers you help him undo his pants for the second time that day, before pushing them down just enough to let you access his cock. Your lips meet again in a clash of teeth and tongue as he simply draws your panties to the side and entering you with one swift thrust.

He has easy access with the remains of himself within you, along with the wetness pooling in your panties every time you were simply around him. Your knees scrape over the fabric of the blanket, the rough metal of the hood underneath it harsh against your knees.

You whimper as his hands grab the globes of your ass, encouraging your movements to be more grinding than bouncing on him, and it makes you see stars. You realize that Javi knows exactly how to make you fall apart on top of him, and it scares you just a bit.

It scares you how much of an influence he has on you, and the pleasure he so easily can give to you, just with a touch of his hand and a slight reangling of his cock embedded in your heat. It isn’t long until his lips on your neck mixed with the feeling of him grinding against you is throwing you into the blissful abyss Javi is able to cast you into.

You bite into his neck as the feeling doesn’t cease, his hips still grinding into yours in the search of his own release, prolonging your euphoria for so long it makes you undeniably sensitive and turned on, yet again. You know he can feel how close you are, since he reangles his hips slightly, causing you to let out another whimper as you clench around him.

That throws him over the edge, and you relish in the feeling of his warmth filling you in the way only you suspected he was able to. You never wanted another man to fill you like Javi was at that moment. You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel him peppering kisses on your collarbone, and you whimper.

“Don’t wanna let go.” You breathe into his hair, feeling him halt his kisses against your skin. You breathe out into the night, feeling your eyes fill with tears. You have no idea where all these emotions are coming from, but one thing you do know, is that you don’t intend on Javi seeing you so vulnerable.

“Why does it feel like we’re never going to see each other again?” you whisper as you pull back, noting the glossy eyes on the man in front of you. You watch him for a short while before he leans forwards, catching your lips with his.

“I promise you,” he breathes against your lips before kissing you again, with more feeling than you have ever felt before, “that we will see each other again. That I will continue loving you, even though you’re far away. That I’ll visit you when I get the chance… and possibly you coming to visit me occasionally.”

You hug him in your arms, drawing him close yet again. You want to consume him whole; you want to embed him in your own body for eternity. “Maybe you can move here one day…” he breathes into your neck, and if he hadn’t been right there, you weren’t sure if you would have heard him.

“Maybe, Javi. The future has a lot of things in store for us.” You look up at the sky behind him, and over the roof of his car. You spot a star falling over the sky and you close your eyes in a deep, heartfelt wish. The darkness has almost consumed the two of you by now, the city below you being the only thing illuminating the two of you.

“Hermosa.” His voice is deep in your ear as you pick up the phone and put it to your ear.

“Hi Javi… You back at the hotel yet?” you hear him breathe his affirmation into the phone and you smile. “Are you finished for the night?” You silently hope that tonight is the night you finally get to live out your dream and have phone sex with Javi, like he’s promised you a few days earlier.

“If it’s up to me, I’m only getting started…” You immediately hear the tone in his voice, and you feel yourself flushing already. So he is in that mood.

“Are you… sure this line is secure…?” you breathe into the phone, and you hear his chuckle on the other end.

“You’re making it sound like we’re planning something illegal…” you giggle before shrugging your shoulders. “So… What are you wearing, hermosa?” You quickly shrug your thin robe off your shoulders before throwing yourself on the bed, minding the cord from the telephone.

“Well, now I’m not wearing anything…” you whisper sultrily before you giggle again. You run your hand over your exposed stomach, more than ready for what Javi has in store for you. You have a hunch that he knows what he’s doing.

You hear him mutter out a fuck under his breath along with a groan, and you don’t miss the sound of his clothes rustling on the other line. “Are you imagining me naked, honey?” you whisper, and you have no idea where the sudden boost of confidence comes from.

“Fuck yeah,” you hear him breathe again, and you just know he’s fisting his cock, his head thrown back all while the phone is tucked in between his head and his shoulder. “Fuck I’m so hard for you cariño.”

“I wish you were here baby.” You whimper, bringing a hand between your legs to rub at your clit. It still feels very different than when Javi touches you, yet with the thought of him you still feel the shocks running through you in tremors as you circle your clit.

“Rub it in, why don’t you…” You hear him breathe, and you let out a soft moan, rubbing your clit in harsher circles. “You took that very literally, huh?” you can almost hear his smirk through the phone, and you let out a moan again.

“What would you do if you were here, baby?” you breathe, tucking the phone in between your head and shoulder to free your other hand, letting it roam over your bare chest and your pebbled nipples. You whimper again and hear Javi’s deep grunt in your ear.

“I’d kneel between your legs… Kiss your soft skin. Play with your nipples like I usually do… Imagine that hermosa. Circling your nipples with my tongue… Biting your skin gently.” Javi grunts in your ear again, and you feel the coil tighten in your stomach at the thought of what Javi usually does to you.

His touch is something sacred to you, and you find yourself keeping the secret of him ever so close to you, not to spoil anything for yourself. You relish in the memory of his touch against your skin, and you feel the goosebumps rise as he keeps talking to you.

“I’m gonna kiss down your body… Nipping and sucking on the soft skin of your stomach… Over your pubic bone… Lifting your legs over my shoulders…” You remember how he usually manhandles you into whichever position he deems fit.

“Gonna lift your hips… Lowering my mouth to let myself taste your sweet, sweet essence, which makes me so damn hard just thinking about…” you whine as your fingers work faster, everything Javi is describing playing vividly behind your eyelids. “Can you feel me, hermosa?”

“God yes Javi…” you whine, letting him know the effect he has on you. You lift your hips off the mattress slightly, grinding into your hand before you dip two fingers into your core, the slight stretch taking you aback. “I can feel you, drawing me to the edge… I want you inside me.” You moan, almost desperately.

“I want to be inside you. I want to bury myself so deep within you, you see stars.” You groan at his words, knowing just how what he’s describing feels. You hear the slapping of his fist against his pelvis, letting you know just how frantic his pace is.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” you breathe, so close to an orgasm you can almost taste it. “I’m so close, Javi, make me cum, please!” you whimper before you throw your head back in a groan.

“Cum for me.” With his words you feel everything tense up and your vision blackening, you hear Javi’s breath hitch in his throat before he breathes your name, and you’re sure he’s released all over his hand and lower stomach. “Mmm.”

Just the sound of his moans makes you shudder, and you wish it was inside of you he released. Nothing compared to that feeling.

“I agree, baby.” He breathes, and you realize that you’ve said your thoughts out loud. You let out a giggle before you remove your fingers from your heat. You grab the phone with your clean hand, putting it back against your ear. A few moments pass in silence.

“I love you, Javi.” You smile into the phone, and you can almost hear his smile and little chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“I love you, hermosa.” He tells you back, and you smile wider. It feels good to hear the words coming from him. It gives you a sense of comfort with how confident he is in his words. You know by now that he means it.

“I’ll see you Monday?” you close your eyes and bite your lip, a sudden rush of tears welling up in your eyes. You have no idea if he’s going to make it home in time, but you secretly hope that God is on your side.

“I’ll make it. I promise.”

You spend the remaining days tidying up the apartment and packing your suitcase as Tuesday comes closer. You dread the day like it was the plague. You’d rather not leave Colombia at this point. You’d rather not leave Javi.

You had no idea when he’d be back. You hadn’t talked to him since you’d had sex over the phone, and it made you kind of sad. You wished he would’ve called you more than the times he already had, even though you knew he was busy.

You felt grumpier than usual, and you just knew that the absence of Javi was one of the things that played a part in your grumpiness. When your mother knocked on your apartment door, you were more than ready to rip her head off her shoulders.

You simply needed Javi back in your life once more before you left the country. You just had no idea if it was possibly by now. You grab the handle of your suitcase and hand it to your mother, watching her with crossed arms as she hands it to the cab driver, who loads it into the trunk with your parent’s suitcases.

You didn’t know if Javi had come home yet, and you couldn’t exactly visit his apartment when traveling to the airport. You did drive by though but saw no sign of life behind the windows. You felt your heart sink further into your chest as the cab parked in front of the airport.

It doesn’t feel right. You feel your stomach churn at the thought that you’re finally leaving, no matter how much you’ve dreaded this day. It feels rough – realizing that you won’t see Javi once more before you leave. You feel a lump form in your throat, and it’s still unsettling.

The airport is stuffy as you make your way through behind your parents, closed off in your own mind. You finally make it to the luggage drop in, where you hand over your suitcase to the staff. You wait impatiently behind your parents as they once more start arguing.

You feel yourself getting even more grumpy, and you turn around with your arms crossed over your chest. In the sea of people, you feel like you see him. Maybe you’re just imagining things, from the memory of him and the absence you’re feeling in your heart.

But then the person makes his way to you, and the golden aviators resting on his nose along with his mustache are things so recognizable to you by now. You let your arms fall and immediately feel all anger leave your body at the sight of him.

He extends his arms at you, and you run right into his warm, comforting embrace. You feel the tears well up in your eyes as his scent fills your nostrils, engulfing you within his arms. His hands are huge as they soothe down your back, drawing all your tension out of your body.

You know your parents have probably noticed the two of you by now, but in the moment, you don’t find yourself caring. To them you’re hugging a stranger, a man they’ve never seen before. But to you it’s something so different – something so sacred that you don’t want to let go of.

He kisses the top of your head before he holds you out in his arms, and you throw your arms around his neck and then you kiss him. You kiss him like you haven’t kissed anyone before, you pour all your love into that one kiss.

You hear your mother say your name, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you feel Javi’s lips moving against yours. You feel the tears streaming down your cheeks as you part from him, and you watch his cheeks visibly wet under the rim of the aviators.

“You made it.” You whisper, before you hug him close to you yet again. It feels so good to have him so close again. You don’t want it to end, even though you know it must.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he grins, and you know that he’s here on unofficial business. He chuckles as you pull back from him, and you take his hand, leading him over to a waiting area through the gate. You chuckle as he shows a boarding pass, and you’re both let through.

Your parents follow behind you, sitting away from the two of you even though you know your mother is more than interested in what the two of you are talking about since you didn’t include her in anything while you had been in Colombia.

“So you flew all the way here to say goodbye to me, just to fly back afterwards?” You run your fingers through his hair, playing with the brown strands as it comforts you.

“Of course I did.” He smiles that soft and inviting smile at you, and you feel your heart clench in your chest. You’re going to miss seeing that smile.

You don’t know how much time passes, but you do know your time is up when you hear your plane being called. You don’t feel the same amount of anger as you did before Javi showed up, and that calms you a bit.

You both stand up at the same time, and Javi pulls you into a warm hug which you know you’ll feel in your bones for a long time. He kisses your lips deeply, more than once, and you feel yourself melting into him.

“I love you.” He breathes, and you repeat the words right back at him. You look up at him with tears in your eyes, and you see the water collecting in his eyes as well. You kiss him one last time before you part from him, watching as your mom makes eyes at Javi.

You don’t say a word to your parents the whole flight home, just because you don’t want to remember everything right now. You’re thinking over the last three weeks and how they have changed your life. You never could have imagined that this would have happened.

A month later

It had been three weeks since you’d received the postcard from Javi. Your mother had been bothering you at every available moment, trying to get the name of the stranger you had been kissing at the airport before you left, the man you had been talking to on the phone multiple times and the man that had been sending you letters and the other way around as well.

You spend the most of your days walking around the town, though this walk takes you somewhere you don’t usually end up. You feel embarrassed as you pay for the item, and you feel the eyes of the cashier bore into you.

You quickly shove the package under your shirt, tucking it into the waistband of your sweatpants. Your feet feel heavier and heavier as you come closer to your house. You silently dread what’s waiting inside. You know your mother isn’t going to stop pestering you about Javi.

You try to sneak through the house and into the bathroom, but to no avail. Your mother catches you as you pass by the kitchen, and you know she isn’t going to say anything nice.

“We’ve thought about something with this… man… You’ve been seeing” She said the last word laced with so much venom, you were unsure if she was even talking about a person, and not a poisonous plant. Or like he was going to kill you if he got the chance. “We don’t want you in contact with him anymore.”

The words felt like a stab to your chest, and you felt betrayed. You knew she would have this reaction to it, mainly because she’d tried setting you up with one of her associates’ son for over a year. And yet you fell for a man 15 years your senior within three weeks. It hurts more than you’d like to admit.

“You know how men are. They only want one thing, and that’s to sleep with young, unsuspecting girls like you. He’s no good, and I don’t want you seeing him anymore. He’s going to leave you hanging anyways.” Your mother’s words were harsh. She’d never talked to you like that, and you were more than surprised. “It’d be better if you just forgot him.”

You huff at her words and roll your eyes. The package tucked into your sweatpants is suddenly feeling heavy – heavier than it should. You know your mother can ruin your life with nothing more than words.

“I guess that doesn’t apply to all men. Especially not the one’s you’ve tried to set me up with.” You turn on your heel and hear your mother’s exclamations as you shut the door to the bathroom behind you and lock the door.

You pull the package from the waistband of your sweats and pulls everything apart, baring your somewhat worst nightmare to you. You don’t know how to feel at this point, so you find yourself emotionless.

You reluctantly read the instructions and follow them, laying the white stick face down, before you start pacing the room. You contemplate on crying, but you know it wouldn’t make a difference.

We don’t want you in contact with him anymore. Your mother’s words resonated in your head as you waited. It’d be better if you just forgot him.

You lift the test off the counter after what feels like an eternity, and you reluctantly turn it over.

Forget him. You know you won’t be able to do just that. And the two lines on the test in your hand let you know it wouldn’t be so easy.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

[obscureamor]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

❥ sugawara koushi x fem! reader

❥ t/w  |  nsfw, dubcon, manipulative behaviors

» request  |  “imagine yandere sugawara blackmailing reader and making her go to the summer festival with her, telling all his friends that their dating and then fucking her in a secluded area during the fireworks”

» a/n  |  oh fuck yes! whoever sent this in... i love you.

You remember when you first met Sugawara. It was an honest mistake, bumping into him on your way down the hall after someone shoved you. You never thought he’d want to become friends, but you regret it. You regret agreeing to eat lunch with him in your empty classroom. Sure, the bullying stopped but was it really worth it?

Asking you out publicly in front of your whole class was the best idea he could’ve come up with. You were such a docile person, your eyes blown wide in embarrassment. He knew you wouldn't say no, not with all the spectators watching the both of you. 

Saying yes was the best option because nobody would want to mess with Sugawara Koushi’s hopeless girlfriend.

“You guys are really cute together.” Kiyoko’s voice rings through your ears over the sound of everyone bustling about to do what they wanted. You could see people moving around swiftly as they tried to find their friends, food to eat, or activities to do at booths.

“Ah! Thanks, Kiyoko! That means a lot coming from you,” Suga gushed. 

You already knew he was wearing that warm smile on his face as he thanked her. You could feel Sugawara’s hand tighten around yours as a small warning. At that, you found yourself giving Kiyoko a small smile before thanking her.

When you pictured yourself at the summer festival this year, it certainly wasn’t like this. It wasn’t with a boy who practically trapped you into being with him. It wasn’t with his group of friends cooing at the two of you, happy that Sugawara finally confessed to his crush and it all worked out.

This year you wanted to be with your friends and the boy who you really had a crush on.

Not this. 

“The fireworks should be starting soon. Don’t you have somewhere to be, Suga?” Daichi poked Suga in his side. 

Where was he going? Hopefully, this meant you could sneak away and spend some time with your friends. 

“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Come on babe... I have a surprise for you.”

He dragged you along before you could even mutter a goodbye to his friends. They all seemed to understand though, soft laughter leaving their mouths.

It felt like minutes of walking uphill before you two met a clearing. In the center, you could see a blanket laid out and a bouquet of flowers just to the side. It was simple but thoughtful nonetheless. There’s a smile on Suga’s face as he speaks, gazing at the sight before him, “Daichi and Asahi set this up. They said this was the best place to see the fireworks. No one knows about it... well except them.”

He lead you to the blanket, sitting down right beside you. Your hands are fiddling with your skirt as you stare straight ahead at the open view of the festival grounds down below. You can feel his gaze on you. He takes your hand, disregarding the way he has to uncurl your fist from the fabric as he rubs his thumb across your knuckles. 

“y/n?”

You don’t look at him and instead, you find yourself closing your eyes in thought. You can feel the breeze blowing lightly, the air not too warm but not too cold either. It’s soon thwarted by the feeling of his warm hand meeting your skin. Sugawara grabs your chin to turn you to look at him. His lips are soft as he kisses you, but it’s overridden by his desire to do the one thing he’s been dying to do. 

It’s the one thing that’ll tie you two together in his mind.

He’s kissing you feverishly, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before his tongue makes his way into your mouth. Sugawara finds his way on top of you, hands now on your waist while yours are gripping on to his chest as you fall back onto the blanket. 

Things are moving too fast. 

“Suga,” you say as you pull back breathless. 

“Hm?” 

His eyes are on you as one hand makes its way to caress your cheek. He’s marveling at you, eyes studying your face as if he hasn’t seen it a million times over. 

“You’re so beautiful. You know that, right?”

You don’t say anything, too busy wondering what’s going to happen and why you couldn’t just stay to watch the fireworks with his friends. At times you wish you got with Daichi instead. You knew he wouldn’t exploit your circumstance to guarantee you being together. You knew he wouldn’t do… this. 

“The fireworks should be starting soon,” he murmurs when you don’t respond.

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before his focus moves to your neck. You can feel his hands move from your waist, fingers occasionally dipping into your skirt's waistband. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him to stop, but the only thing that leaves you is a moan as he nips at that spot right below your ear.

You can hear the zipper on your side being opened. 

You already know what he wants. You’ve always known, but it’s at this moment where you decide to acknowledge it.

“Sugawara, I-I haven’t done this before,” you stammer out. 

Maybe if you voiced your reluctance, he’d understand. 

“It’s okay... I’ll take care of you, pretty girl.” He presses another kiss to your skin. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

5

He’s speaking into your neck. Occasionally, sucking and biting the surprisingly unmarred skin. It was always his way of marking you since you guys hadn’t had... sex yet. You can feel his hands run up your legs, only to settle on your thighs. There’s bile rising in your throat as his calloused hands massage the soft flesh. It makes you cringe when you feel your pussy getting wetter by the second from only a simple touch. His hand moves upward before he swiftly shoves it down your panties, cupping your mound. You can feel him smiling into your neck as his fingers stoke your lips, occasionally dipping into your entrance.

“I knew you’d want this,” he breathes out. 

Suga pulls back, nimble hands pulling off your panties and then working on his belt. It seems like everything is amplified as you can hear the clicking of the metal and the way he uses your slick to lube up his cock. You watch as he lines himself up, running the head of his cock along your entrance before slowly starting to push in.

4

“Suga, please… I don’t—!”

You cut yourself off as he swiftly pushes in, your head falling back against the blanket. Your hands grip onto his shoulders as he starts to move. Sugawara leans forward placing himself right on top of you as he thrusts sharply into you. You can’t help but hyper-focus on the foreign feeling of him being inside you. So you distract yourself the only way you know-how. You catch his lips in a heated kiss, giving out a pained whimper when his hand comes up to paw at your still clothed tit.

He pulls back, panting before he speaks, “Say ‘fuck me harder, Koushi.’”

“What?”

“Say ‘fuck me harder, Koushi.’” he repeats through gritted teeth.

3

Your eyes widen at the meaning behind his words. You feel as if your body is heating up, tears gathering in your eyes.

“N-No!”

“Come on just say it!”

He wanted to hear the lewd words come out of your pretty mouth. In all his time watching you and then knowing you, Sugawara doesn’t think he’s heard you say anything remotely explicit. 

“P-Please... I don’t— Suga!”

You couldn’t take it. The way Sugawara’s dick was drilling into your pussy was too overwhelming.

2

“y/n please say it, baby. Make me proud. Please?” he’s speaking so softly as if he isn’t balls deep inside your poor cunny.

You can tell his patience is running thin. Tears are leaking out of your eyes as you shake your head.

“y/n,” he bites out, a smile with tones of irateness behind it on his face. “Say it!”

“Fuck me harder, Koushi!” you scream out.

1

And the fireworks go off.

The sound of squelching and papping is heard loud in your ears along with your rapidly beating heart. You’re staring straight up at the sky looking at the different variations of blues, reds, and greens as they burst into each other sporadically. When you look at Sugawara you can’t help but note that he looks different. He looks handsome for once as the mingled colors light him from above and you find yourself thinking that maybe if he went about this the right way you’d be with him willingly.

You can’t control yourself as your arms loop around his neck bringing him closer. He notices how the blues reflect off your tears giving them an ethereal glow. Your lips are parted and the reds with hints of green that catch onto them remind him of strawberries. 

He’s crying too.

No one says anything because no one needs to. He hides his face in the crook of your neck as he cums. You can hear the low groans that escape his mouth. You can hear the ‘I love you’s and the ‘I’m sorry, y/n’s that he mutters into your neck. You know he means it because before this Sugawara you knew Koushi.

But you also know that you’ll never forgive him...

[fullsuuns]

true blue | n.jm

pairing: jaemin x fem. reader

genre: angst, fluff

wordcount: 6.4k

tags: camphalfblood!au, forbiddenlove!au, demigod!jaemin, mermaid!reader, jaemin is son of poseidon in this, it’s also told in jaemin’s pov

warnings: none

synopsis: in which na jaemin finds out he’s more gifted than he initially thought and also takes the risk of falling in love with a mermaid.

song rec♫: neptune - sleeping at last (highly rec this song as it alone inspired this entire fic)

na jaemin had always been a lover of water.

growing up in busan, he always felt inexplicably drawn to the ocean. be it the way the water always felt refreshing to the touch and would instantly clear his head, or how the tadpoles would dance around his toes when he dipped his feet in, he didn’t know. all he did know was that he adored it.

maybe it had been the initial reason he’d joined his highschool’s swim team during his senior year. something about diving straight into water and moving his body in a way that almost felt like second nature to him. getting praised for doing so was just another factor in what drove him to spend more time at the school’s pool than, quite literally, anywhere else. though in his last year, jaemin quickly became a commended athlete for his extraordinary talent.

what other people didn’t know, especially his classmates and his coach, is that na jaemin could do something with water — something that he was sure other people couldn’t. at first, jaemin told himself it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; that making the water ripple beneath him without even pressing his palm to the surface wasn’t odd.

except it was — that was what he soon realized.

of course, making water move didn’t seem like a big deal; jaemin would reassure himself that it was most likely due to the pressure coming from the pool’s installed filtering jets. everything seemed fine as jaemin dove into the body of water. he hadn’t noticed the pretty bad scrape on his arm, either — and from what? he didn’t even know.

when jaemin had surfaced, his eyes caught the slight discoloration to his submerged skin almost immediately. he brought his arm up and out, water sloshing around him as his eyes inspected the scrape. the wound looked pretty gruesome under the white light, the harsh lighting of the natatorium almost making it appear worse than it probably was.

he was about to just let it be, swim a few more laps — at least that was the plan until he saw water creep its way up his arm. several streams ran over the wound, collectively healing and sealing the scrape up. now in its place was nothing but unblemished skin, as if nothing had ever happened.

jaemin was shocked. his mouth had hung wide open, eyes almost bulging out of his skull as they drank in his now seemingly perfect forearm. he was quick to dart his eyes for his surroundings, hoping no one had witnessed what exactly had just happened. there were various students, all a part of the water polo team, but they were all too busy with setting up equipment to notice jaemin’s situation. he was thankful.

he swam to the edge of the pool after that. he pushed himself up, gushes of water splashing around him as he exited. jaemin power-walked to the locker room, wishing that whatever he’d seen was just a figment of his imagination and that it never actually occurred. he didn’t spare his arm another glance for confirmation, choosing to ignore the incident for his own sanity.

nothing intense had happened since that day, and jaemin had graduated from highschool peacefully. of course, the swim team’s ace had been scouted by big universities, but jaemin had already been set on dropping swim after the pool incident, so he politely turned each one down. (each agent had looked at him incredulously, but jaemin just smiled humbly, thanking them before parting ways.)

the summer after his senior year of highschool had been pretty boring. several hours into the night for various nights in a row, jaemin played call of duty with his friends donghyuck and jongho. he was sure that he even developed eyebags, but ignored the mirror every time he stepped into the bathroom. cold showers always fueled to restore his energy almost completely, keeping him going despite donghyuck’s whines that they didn’t do anything. jaemin would tease that the brunet simply just wasn’t as cool as him.

one day, jaemin had decided to pick up the mail that arrived at his mother’s house just so that she didn’t have to. he was surprised to see a handwritten letter addressed to him, even going as far as having a wax seal on the back. jaemin had dropped the rest of the mail pile onto the kitchen table instead, focused on prying the single envelope with the hard-to-budge seal open.

the letter wasn’t anything fancy, really, but it hadn’t been written in korean. initially, it was written in a language jaemin couldn’t decipher — or at least that’s what he thought until the characters started to float and move around right before his eyes. out of shock, jaemin dropped the letter and envelope to the floor. he’d squeezed his eyes shut, spewing mantras of it’s just the redbull, it’s just the redbull.

jaemin eyed it for a while, the crinkled cream paper unmoving in all its glory. his mother still hadn’t gotten back from work, so it was just him in their house. still, jaemin refused to pick up the letter for five more minutes.

he should’ve known that that had been the start of it all; that it’d be the inevitable start of na jaemin finding out he had magical blood running through his veins.

he simply ridiculed the idea, ridiculed the letter in its entirety until his mother had gotten home that one fateful day only two weeks ago. she’d told him that it was all true — about how jaemin was a descendant of the all-mighty poseidon, god of the seas, and that he was a lot more gifted than he thought possible.

he wanted to cry, laugh, maybe even scream, because he desperately wanted to be told it was a joke. still, the memory of his mother only looking at him with serious, unplayful eyes bore itself into his mind. in that moment, fourteen days ago, jaemin knew that it was true — knew that that was the reasoning behind why he was always different.

na jaemin didn’t want to believe it. he still wanted to be in unnerving denial, even as his mother drove him to what she said was the boundary line that connected the human world to the gifted world. even when their car had stopped at a clearing and she had exited the vehicle, she still motioned jaemin’s figure out.

“i can’t go beyond here, jaemin. you have to go on your own.” she told him when he finally stepped up to her.

“but why?” he asked. jaemin didn’t want to admit it, but his heart was beating sporadically beneath his chest at the thought of having to do this alone.

“i’m not like you, jaemin. you must go on your own and figure out your destiny.”

she’d given him a hug, promising she’d call him. jaemin wanted so badly for her to tell him this wasn’t what was actually happening, that it was some planned-out prank that would land them both on television and get them thousands of dollars, but he knew it wasn’t in his mother’s nature to pull something like this.

as he stepped deeper into the forest with backpack on his shoulders, jaemin looked back to see his mother wave at him. he waved back, a wistful look crossing his features momentarily as he stared at her. with a newfound sense of bravery, and one last look at the woman who raised him for twenty years of his life, jaemin turned back around and ventured farther into the forest, leaves crunching beneath his boots as he searched for whatever it was exactly that awaited him.

jaemin was surprised, shocked, flabbergasted to see that whatever his mother had told him about actually turned out to be true. forty minutes into his walk, and with the sun threatening to set, jaemin reached a clearing.

it greets him in the form of tall, wooden trunks that are formed to create a singular entrance. above it, greek lettering rearranges itself into korean before jaemin’s eyes (just like they had on the letter), and soon, camp halfblood is sprawled over the wood.

he didn’t know exactly what to do from then on. jaemin heard a yell being shouted from inside the open territory, and someone was quick to jog up to him.

“new comer?” the person asked. he looked to be around his age: black hair, youthful brown eyes, and a similar build to jaemin.

he nodded, albeit a little cautiously.

“i’m jeno,” the raven said, grinning, “son of ares, god of war.”

“i’m jaemin.” he greeted. “son of poseidon, i think? at least that’s what i was told.”

jeno’s eyes widened, marveling at him. “no way, poseidon?”

jaemin only nodded again, more confident this time.

safe to say, it took jaemin a while to get used to his new life. word of the one and only poseidon’s son was quick to spread around the camp — or at least that’s what he assumed, because only two days had passed before he’d found out everyone knew of him.

with jeno teaching him battle techniques and all about camp life, jaemin grew grateful at the chance to be given a friend in his new life. of course, there were still times that he missed his old ones.

(he’d told donghyuck and his other closest friends that he’d be away on an internship in the united states for some time, and that his cellphone service wouldn’t allow for international calls or texts. it was a lie, but it seemed believable enough that they didn’t question him.)

jaemin was lucky to reach his mother on the phone the night he’d first arrived at the place two weeks ago. he informed her that he’d gotten to camp safely, that he’d even met a new friend, and she’d been relieved. his mother told him to stay safe and to call her more often, to which he agreed he would do.

more time passed, and jaemin had met more friends: renjun, son of athena, chenle, son of hermes, and jisung, son of demeter. they were all nice boys, despite their initial gawking at finding out that jaemin was a direct descendant from poseidon himself. although the shock was there at first, they were quick to dismiss it in favor of treating him normally — or as normally as demigods could treat eachother — and jaemin was grateful for it.

he’d even gotten his own cabin — a gift from his father — chiron, head of camp, told him. it was a grand cabin constructed close to the edge of camp, away from any and all others (jaemin was happy to learn that) as it overlooked the vast ocean it connected to. over time, jaemin grew to love visiting his dock in favor of clearing his head. the water around him felt like home, and it still served to calm him and keep him peaceful when he was conflicted.

jaemin would visit the dock several times a week just to get a sense of grounding. there were times he would play with the water beneath him, ghosting his palms over the surface to practice creating ripples. the fish that swam under the water were always spooked.

it’d been two months later that something truly happened, something that he never expected to see — or, well, hear.

jaemin thought it would be just another ordinary thursday, except that idea changed when he heard faint groans of pain from behind the giant boulder to his right.

he knew that the rock was beyond the boundary line that separated the camp from the outside world, but jaemin always pinged himself as the curious type. he was quick to round the rock, wanting to figure out what exactly had been making noise.

he didn’t know what he expected, but he certainly didn’t expect to see you laying a ways away from the ocean, tear streaks on your face as you distinctly cried out in pain.

jaemin was quick to rush over.

“oh my god, are you okay?” he asked, panic in his voice as he knelt down next to you.

your tail shimmered under the sunlight, and jaemin was sure he knew what you were. he’d read about creatures like you all his life. he thought mermaids would just be folklore, imaginary. he didn’t believe them to be real at first, but jaemin had also found out he was a demigod so he wasn’t exactly sure about what was real or not anymore.

you definitely seem to be real, at least that’s what jaemin thought to himself.

he was refocused by the time he heard a whimper escape your lips, fear evident in your eyes as you tried to shimmy away from him. with your attempts being fruitless, jaemin’s heart ached momentarily when you lifted your tail only to wail in agony.

“it’s okay,” he assured. jaemin brought his hands forward to show you that he hadn’t been holding a weapon. “i won’t hurt you. what’s wrong? i want to help you.”

you bite your lip. your voice is quiet, yet almost melodical to him when you speak. “my tail. it’s my tail. i can’t - i can’t move. it hurts too much.”

jaemin looked down to see what you were talking about. sure enough, he saw several gashes lining the ends of your tail, some chunks to your fin even ripped off.

his eyebrows knit in sorrow, worry. “who would do this to you?”

he didn’t expect a response, it’d been more of a rhetorical question that he’d wondered to himself. still, he heard your quiet answer. “fishers.”

jaemin looked back at you, smiling in hopes that it could be enough to soothe you down a bit. he didn’t miss the way your irises still held traces of caution and fear, but he was quick to reassure you.

“don’t worry, just let me do something real quick. i promise you’re safe, i won’t even touch you. just let me help. can i help you?”

he waited for you to nod, for you to give him permission to help you. hesitantly, you did so.

you were still a close enough distance to the ocean that the water came alive at jaemin’s command when he held his hand out. he looked to you for any sign of discomfort, letting his tensed shoulders go lax when he only found twinkles of surprise and curiosity in your eyes. jaemin didn’t let the water get swallowed by the sand as it trailed up to you. he directed his palm towards your tail, the water running over the broken fin of your tail.

what happened next made you gasp and jaemin grin. the water was slowly beginning to mend your tail, restoring the previously broken off ends with new, healthier ones out of thin air. by the time your tail was repaired, and you had flapped it experimentally, you cried out in happiness.

“no way! no way, my tail!” you give it another flick, just for good measure. “it’s back!”

jaemin saw the grin on your face, saw the way your eyes shone so brightly, and he had to admit that it served to bring a smile to his lips.

that had been jaemin’s first encounter with you.

two weeks had passed.

jaemin was sure he’d never see you again after that, telling himself you’d most likely never come back a second time. he didn’t tell anyone of his encounter with you; hadn’t mentioned anything about mermaids to anyone. still, two weeks passed and he couldn’t get you out of his head, because simply to him, you were the kind of ethereal beauty beyond those descended from the aphrodite herself.

he’d been seated at his cabin’s dock again. the water was calm, nothing but the faint chitter-chatter from camp the only sound that could be heard. in his silence, jaemin constantly found himself wondering if you would ever come back, if he’d ever cross paths with you again as he dug into his pocket for a stray coin. he threw it into the ocean, watching it leap for several seconds before sinking below the surface.

he let out a sigh.

“maybe something like that was too good to be true,” jaemin spoke to himself. “silly me.”

except, jaemin was quick to turn his head when he felt something hit his bicep. looking down, he saw that what he’d been hit with was a singular pebble — round and smooth and definitely hand-picked. he chose to ignore it, telling himself it could’ve just been a coincidence. then he felt another hard collision to his arm.

he turned faster this time, eyes fleeting as they scoured for location of the source. the top of a head behind a boulder caught his gaze. it disappeared almost instantly, but jaemin knew he saw it. a tiny spark of hopefulness was quick to rise within him when he realized that that had been the rock he’d previously seen you behind.

jaemin got up to his feet, grabbing the small yet striking pebble in his hand. he’d looked over his shoulder, made sure no one saw him crossing over the boundary before he made his way over to the boulder.

jaemin reached the top of the rock soon enough, sitting down as he waited for you to come out. he’d purposely tip-toed so as to not let alert you that he was approaching, and it’d worked as he heard a shriek from you once you made another appearance. the surprise of it had you falling back into the water, in turn making jaemin both laugh and clap his hands in amusement.

he grinned teasingly at you, holding up the pebble next to him. though he wasn’t happy about you throwing stones at him, he was ecstatic to learn that you came back. “is there a reason you’re throwing rocks at me?”

jaemin watched you emerge from the ocean in all of your radiance. he took note that from under the clear water, your tail was fine now, no longer needing care. he also took note that your hair was still pretty despite it being stuck to your wet body, and that you had a mesh bag tied to your wrist.

“yes, actually,” you answered, laughing. your eyelashes fluttered extra prettily against your cheeks when you brought the bag up to him, and jaemin was completely enraptured. “i want to thank you for helping me.”

“you don’t have to thank me,” jaemin said. “but i’d love to know your name.”

“y/n,” oh how beautiful your voice was to him. “and you, my savior?”

a smile prodded at jaemin’s lips. “y/n,” he echoed, testing your name on his tongue. he loved it. “i’m jaemin, na jaemin.”

“jaemin,” you had repeated with a giggle, swishing the bag around in your hands. it was so, so easy for him to be intrigued by you. “i’ve brought you seashells as a gift.”

his heart had fluttered when you placed the mesh bag of trinkets into his palms, various seashells moving around in his grip. the bag was wet. droplets poured down onto jaemin’s jeans, but he found that he didn’t mind. not when you gave him a bright, beautiful grin that had his breath hitching.

that was his second encounter with you.

it wasn’t long before jaemin really, truly started to fall for you. every friday, he’d meet you at the same rock just outside of the boundary line after duties at 3p.m — or, well, when the ocean’s current direction shifted for you (he came to figure out that mermaids simply didn’t calculate time). still, these were the days he awaited most.

he’d share stories upon stories with you about both his camp life and human life. he grew fond of how you attentively drank up every detail from every story he shared with wide, beautiful eyes. you, too, shared counts of your life at sea, though they were more dark if anything.

jaemin’s eyebrows furrowed when he heard of how your kind was hunted, sought after for your fins. you’d told him about how they were magical in the sense that they were able to heal the weak and restore them back to full health. jaemin now understood why you had been so scared the first time he saw you. though he smiled at you reassuringly, his heart broke beneath the surface.

jaemin had grabbed your hand, interlocking your fingers together with a whispered promise. “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

no one knew of jaemin sneaking out beyond campgrounds to meet you. no one even knew that he was sneaking out in the first place until two months in.

jaemin was careful enough to not let anyone see you, always hiding you away from the direct line of sight from camp just had something go wrong.

nothing ever did, at least until that one friday.

he’d been perched at his usual spot on the boulder, sitting cross-legged with you in front of him, your top half emerged enough from the water so that he could place his lips on yours. there was nothing but the ocean and the forest around you, a calm serene setting for when he would kiss you under the shade of the giant camp tree.

jaemin held your hand out, your palm facing towards the sky. you’d giggled, asking him what he was doing, to which he only shushed you with another kiss to your lips. he had to pull away when you placed your free hand on his cheek, deepening it ever so slightly.

“sneaky sneaky.” jaemin tsk’d.

you hummed, tongue darting out across your lips. “nice chapstick. is that cherry?”

“yes it is,” he answered. “now hush, i’m trying to show you something.”

he returned to drawing a figure on your skin, connecting your palm to his right after. your eyes glimmered as you watched in awe, eyes trained on the watered silhouette of a seahorse that floated between both you and jaemin.

“wow, it’s - wow, jaemin. that’s amazing.”

jaemin’s heart thumped from beneath his chest, as it always did each and every time you smiled at him. you tapped an index finger at the floating water, yelping when some of it ran down your arm and back into the ocean. you were shocked at first, but quick to let out a sweet laugh right after. jaemin was happy to see you happy. jaemin was happy that he could make you happy.

maybe he’d been too caught up in you — too caught up in the melodical beauty of your laugh to notice anything unusual. his eyebrows furrowed when he saw your eyes settle on something behind him, the deep pools of your irises growing the same fearful look they had when he first met you, and a panic arose within him. you didn’t say anything as your eyes met his, but you were quick to duck back into the water. jaemin watched you swim away below the ocean with a weak and confused heart.

that’s when he heard it.

the faint, distant call of a camper.

jaemin visibly tensed, his jaw hardening and back straightening at the intrusion. the water that he’d controlled, now fallen, served to create a damp spot on the rock. his eyes scoured the ocean, but he saw no trace of you anywhere. he’d hoped that whoever was calling for him didn’t actually see you.

with a heavy sigh, he turned around to face the random camper — someone he’d never even seen before. still, jaemin tried to muster the best fakest smile that he could account for, even when his blood simmered. the intruder only looked at him warily before turning away, scurrying back to camp.

he was now left alone with nothing but the ocean around him. the sun had almost set, glow peaking just enough from behind the mountains, and that’s when jaemin realized just how fast time would pass when he was with you. sometimes, there were fridays where he would return to camp after darkness had grown, after spending hours talking to you about nothing and everything all at once, but he never once regretted one of those days.

a few days later, jaemin thinks word got out to chiron that he’d been sneaking past the boundary line, because soon he gets summoned into the centaur’s office for what he presumes is that very reason. the place smells of smoke upon his arrival, and the cabin has a surplus of antiques from olympus that decorate the interior. it’s nowhere near as elegantly built as his own cabin; jaemin thought this as he watched the crackling fire from the fireplace. he pushed that down when his wandering thoughts were interrupted by the rough clear of a throat.

chiron is stoic with his gaze, but jaemin is unphased. if he was really here for what he thought he was here for, he didn’t care.

“i hear you’ve been sneaking out of camp.” ah, so jaemin’s assumptions were proven correct. there was a disapproving lilt in the centaur’s tone that made jaemin almost flinch. “to converse with a mermaid?”

jaemin knew he couldn’t lie to weasel himself out of this situation — it simply wouldn’t do him any good when everyone already knew anyway. he’d had the feeling that the camper he’d seen would tell someone as soon as he returned back to camp, but jaemin didn’t care in that moment. he’d been too caught up in feeling distraught over your untimely goodbye to think about the probability of his secret getting out.

he just sighed. “yes, i have.”

except chiron already knew.

“do you know the danger that outside creatures could impose on our kind?” he berated. “that boundary is put in place to keep us safe, keep us away from the danger that the outside world brings. i will not have you stepping outside of that field again - for a pesky mermaid much less.”

jaemin felt his blood boil at the words, at the way the centaur spoke of you so unnervingly. his hackles raised in defense, eyes unsparing as he spoke with a tone full of venom. “do you know who i am?”

chiron must have been taken aback, because surely he hadn’t expected jaemin to challenge him so outwardly.

jaemin continued. “i’m son of poseidon, god of the seas, and unless you want this entire place flooded by the ocean’s water, you’re going to leave me alone, and you’re going to leave her alone. i can handle things on my own.”

he didn’t spare the centaur another word nor did he allow him to respond. instead, jaemin rose from the desk he’d been leaning on, storming out of the cabin and halfway across camp towards his own.

jaemin meant it when he said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again. he loved you too much to let anything bad happen to you.

the week that followed was too tense. jaemin hadn’t spoken to his friends in a while. he told jeno he needed alone time, needed to think — to which the raven assured him to take as much time as he needed. by then, everyone knew that na jaemin was seemingly in love with a mermaid, as gossip about those descended from the most powerful of gods always spread like wildfire. he didn’t mind it though, maybe that would get aphrodite’s daughters off his back for once.

the next friday was quick to come.

that entire morning, jaemin had buzzed to see you. he’d missed your eyes, your voice, your lips, and positively everything about you that he grew to adore in so little time. he wanted to speak to you again, to make you laugh again, and to get the chance to kiss you again.

he’d arrived at your spot that evening, your favorite flower freshly picked in his hand. he even went as far as to truly making sure no one had followed him this time by coming out earlier than he usually did.

jaemin waited, and waited, and waited. there was no sign of you anywhere; no breathtaking glimmer of your tail under the translucent water as you swam around him, no teasing splash as you coaxed him into getting in with you, and certainly no familiar ripple as you got ready to emerge from under the ocean.

he waited. but you never came.

jaemin realized he’d been sat there for hours when he saw the ever fading sun begin to hide itself behind the mountains. they’re the same hours he would spend with you, but the time that passed now left him sluggish without your vibrant presence.

still, he didn’t move. he refused to until the day turned into night.

hours later, the sun got replaced by the moon — the subsequent result of time that had passed.

jaemin soon gave up. he figured you’d come another day, and it was left at that.

except with every trudging step back to his cabin, his heart ultimately cracked. the now droopy flower in his hand mirrored the sorrow he felt when he placed it on the nightstand next to his bed, a lone petal falling. he’d been ready to see you again, been ready to give it to you (jaemin remembered that vague memory of you telling him of your favorite flower weeks ago, and he wanted to see that familiar sparkle of delight light up your eyes — simply because he adored it too much).

unable to sleep, jaemin laid awake for some time that night, staring up at the wooden ceiling of his cabin. when he did manage to feel sleepy, eyes fatigued, he closed them with one thought plaguing his mind: he didn’t know where you were, but he really, really hoped you were safe.

jaemin didn’t give up.

instead, he opted to visit your same meeting spot every day after he finished daily training, hoping you’d come back to him at some point. at times, he would bring his ipod and play your favorite song — a song you’d told him stuck with you from a passing cruise ship. you sang the lyrics so prettily, and though tranced, jaemin still managed to jot them down on a piece of paper so that he would have it by the next time you two met up.

he grew to miss you more and more with every passing hour he spent by the unmoving water. he found himself missing the way your eyes would crinkle when he cupped your face to press chaste kisses to your lips, and how you would laugh into his mouth each time. jaemin was sure he hadn’t felt this way about another being before, and he told himself he’d rather walk through the gates of hell than let you go like this.

so jaemin waited. patiently.

another two weeks passed, yet he still came back each day.

it’d been two fridays since jaemin had last seen you. time felt still when he sat on the rock, but he found entertainment in watching voyagers travel from a distance. he noted that the clouds were gloomier today, a sort of overcast that almost threatened to storm against his surroundings, but jaemin didn’t pay it much mind other than that. instead, he found serenity in closing his eyes, and favored listening to the sounds of nature around him.

jaemin first felt a splash hit his left hand, but excused it as just a random ocean wave that’d gotten a little too powerful (those weren’t all too uncommon, especially when a rainstorm was near). with his eyes still closed, jaemin breathed deeply, ears twitching only when he heard the faint chirp of birds behind him.

there was another splash a few seconds later, though this time it’d been undoubtedly bigger than the last. jaemin peered one eye open when he felt both of his arms get drenched, the water now drenching his lap.

safe to say, his mouth dropped open in surprise. a soft gasp followed when he saw you floating in front of him, in all of your divine radiance. your hair was soaked, sticking to your body. droplets of accumulated water had decorated your flushed cheeks, your eyelashes wet with saltwater. still, you looked as gorgeous as you always had to jaemin — maybe even more this time.

he didn’t know how to react — didn’t know if you were actually truly in front of him. he’d waited countless hours for you to return back to him, return to your spot, yet he never expected to see you so abruptly like this.

you opened your mouth to speak, but jaemin had beaten you to it.

“y/n?” he asked almost incredulously. “is it - is it really you? are you really here right now?”

you only nodded.

a grin was quick to plaster itself across jaemin’s face, soon falling when he noticed yours didn’t mirror the same excitement. instead, he took in your sad eyes, the familiar spark that would shine beneath your irises no longer visible. he was confused; sadness was something jaemin had never seen from you.

“what’s wrong?”

“jaemin, i -” your voice sounded distressed, breaking before you could even say anything else. jaemin tried to reach out for you, to comfort you, but you pulled away from him in time so that he couldn’t touch your face. hurt panged at his heart instantly, and he was sure the confusion was evident on his face.

you gulped. “we can’t be together, jaemin.”

it took a second for your words to register, but when they had, they felt like a painful punch to his throat, and jaemin’s heart metaphorically plummeted to his feet.

he recoiled, bringing his arms back to his body. many different emotions swim through him all at once, unsure of how to feel exactly. he looked at your face for any signs of bluff, but was only met with sad, unmoving eyes.

“what? y/n, what? why?” his voice cracked, words laced with distress.

he watched your eyes well up with tears, and his heart continued to break. above the both of you, the sky grew darker, a flurry of clouds passing over the sky rapidly quicker than they ever had before.

you cleared your throat. “we can’t be together, jaem. we’re from two different worlds, and i don’t want you to end up hurt because of me. i - i don’t want that. so you have to let me go. you have to. i just want you to know that i love you and i’m so thankful for you, and i’m so, so sorry that i had to do stumble into your life.”

jaemin wanted to reassure you that you were all he ever wanted — all he ever needed as he heard you babble. he opened his mouth to speak, wanting so badly to console you, but was quick to get interrupted by a loud roar of thunder.

water came shortly after. it poured heavily around the two of you as the atmosphere thickened. jaemin felt his hair get damp, his clothes growing heavy with rain, but he was completely unphased by it when he looked at you — looked at who he fell in love with.

he watched you look up to the sky, felt his eyes begin to water.

“i have to go now. zeus knows i’m here, and he’s not happy,” your voice was distraught as another heavy clap sounded through the sky. the sound made you jolt. “i won’t forget the time i spent with you, na jaemin. thank you for - for showing me your world. and telling me your stories. and loving me as i am. i love you, i’ll truly never forget you, but i have to go.”

jaemin wanted to cry in confusion. he didn’t want to say goodbye. he’d waited too long just to see you again.

tears poured down his face rapidly as he shook his head in denial, begging you to not leave. he reached out his hand to your submerging figure, crying out when you retreated back into the water and swam away with nothing but a final glance at him.

jaemin cried for who knows how long, uncaring of the rain as it pelted his body. the usually refreshing feeling of water no longer served the same purpose at calming him. instead, his body wracked with countless sobs — crying because he missed you, crying because he waited so long just to hear your voice, and crying because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see you again.

all the other times that jaemin didn’t want to leave this spot felt incomparable to how rooted he felt to the rock in that moment. the sun was gone by then, and jaemin had cried his heart out so much in those hours that his eyes turned puffy and his mouth was parched from dehydration. he didn’t move, couldn’t move when he heard a voice call to him. he didn’t budge, even when he felt a firm hand drop to his shoulder.

jeno sat next to him, silently looking out at the ocean. he, too, ignored the pouring rain.

“i’m sorry, jaemin.” he consoled. jaemin was thankful there was some sort of apologetic tone to his words, it was nice to know someone felt sympathy for him. “maybe it was for the best.”

tears were fresh again as they brimmed behind his eyes. he let them fall.

“i loved her - god, i loved her so much.” the words were strained, tension raw in his throat, but he still managed to choke them out.

“i know she loved you too.”

weeks went by at a slow pace, and jaemin wasn’t any better. he’d still sneak out and visit the ocean sometimes, visit your rock, even when he knew you wouldn’t return a second time. he’d speak to the body of water as if you were there, as if you were in front of him once again. more often than not, jaemin would just cry.

camp isn’t any better from then on; he didn’t find joy in anything anymore. when he wasn’t at the ocean, he spent most of his time in his cabin, crying and reminiscing fond memories he experienced with you. his friends checked up on him every once in a while, but nothing seemed to mend the brokenness of his heart.

he’d heard talk around camp of ongoing sea complications in korea, especially back home in busan. everyone had been confused as to why it happened so suddenly, but jaemin knew. he knew that he was the one causing the sea levels to rise, and in turn, making water travel farther up the city beaches. jaemin couldn’t bring himself to care, though, because he had lost the one thing he cared about most.

jaemin couldn’t bring himself to care because he had lost you.

[jougogo]

young & beautiful - iwaizumi hajime

a/n: hello. this broke me when i wrote it. literally, 3am and full on sobs. also, a large part of this fic was inspired by a book called hotel on the corner of bitter and sweet by jamie ford. it provides a lot of insightful views about japanese internment camps in the united states during wold war 2, so if you’re interested i would highly recommend reading it! this is a songfic to young and beautiful by lana del rey but i would recommend listening to summertime sadness as well, also by lana del rey. CLARIFICATION; this fic is set in the ww2 time period! and i like to think that iwa is a lil younger here, so maybe like 15-16? anyways ENJOY MWAH 

warnings: mentions of war, racist ppl >:( and v angsty!! 

wc: 2.1k

I've seen the world, done it all

Had my cake now

Diamonds, brilliant, in Bel-Air now

Hot summer nights, mid July

When you and I were forever wild

The crazy days, city lights

The way you'd play with me like a child

he knew that this would be the last time he sees you.

you. 

the same one wearing those new blue jeans even though it’s mid-july and the air is sickeningly humid, sitting with bare feet dangling over the edge of the rooftop at 4am, with hair softly rustling from the occasional cool breeze that made the hot california summers more bearable. 

"hey, i guess this is the last time we’ll meet on this rooftop, huh?" you said, looking out at the sleepy city.

"don't say that! you know it’s not true," he quickly chided you, but the break in his voice told you the opposite of what he was trying to convince you. what he tried to convince himself

hajime put his arm around your shoulders and sat down next to you

the two of you looked out peacefully at the quiet streets of san francisco from the top of your shared townhouse building. 

it was almost like little stars, the way that spots of brightness from the city lights were scattered sporadically through the darkness. 

"you know, if we get caught for being out this late at night, we would probably die. if the police catches us for not respecting the curfew, we would be in so much trouble. especially with the new relocation orders that the president signed, and the war hysteria, and not to mention the curfew that the government set-" he started, but was interrupted by your dreamy voice.

"i know. but i've seen the world. i've had my cake, you know ? i'm content if this is the way it ends, even if it's not me wearing diamonds and having a mansion in bel air, " you chuckled.

"hey! those were movies. they don't count as seeing the world. and also, diamonds and bel air? pfft, as if you could ever," he rebutted playfully. ever since he was a kid, he would always make it a point to take you downtown to the movie theatre and watch whatever happened to be playing that day. to be honest, he would've never stopped if it weren't for the war.

"oh, hajime. just let me dream a little, alright?" you huffed dramatically, earning a small smile from him.

the dim streetlights from the road provided just enough light to illuminated your features. oh, how he wished he could burn this memory into his mind forever. the way your eyes reflected the moon, the corner of your lips turned upwards just so slightly, a couple wisps of your hair framing your face with the rest pulled back into a lazy braid, held together by a single red ribbon. 

red.

the color red.

it brought him back to one of his favorite childhood memories; when the every neighborhood in their little japantown would come together to celebrate new years. 

the popping firecrackers, the festive lanterns and fiery signs hanging by the doors.

a time when he would explore the different stores, hand in hand with you, and later chasing you down the sloped streets for taking a bite out of the snack he bought. giggling as adults scolded them for being reckless and wild. his mouth watering as the women of the neighborhood carry out trays upon trays of delicious food, the feeling of present a warm meat bun in his hand, chimes of “itadakimasu” ringing around him. not a care in the world, just pure joy and happiness. it was always what he looked forward to as a child. 

oh, what he wouldn't give to go back to those days

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me when I got nothin' but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

"will you still love me when i'm not young and beautiful?" you asked softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. he felt your small fingers wrap around his, clasping his hand. "what if the next time i see you, i'm old and wrinkly like a raisin?"

"well, i'd be a wrinkly old raisin too. so what? it doesn’t make a difference in how much i love you, " he replied nonchalantly

"then will you still love me when i’ve got nothing left but my soul?" 

upon hearing you ask yet another question, hajime stiffened

"stop asking silly questions," he finally managed to mumble out, hugging his knees closer to his chest.

"you know. they force you to leave behind all your belongings. they take everything away, iwa-chan." you spoke softly. "i'm leaving behind all my important stuff at the basement of the panama hotel. they're really nice people, you know? for letting us keep our stuff there. maybe, if we both come back, they'll still be there and we can look through our old pictures together." you said quietly, twiddling your hair ribbon between your fingers. your hair was wavy from being in the braid all day, and now they were finally freed.

free. how he wished he could be free from all these restrictions again.

he tried to think about happier memories, but everything became painful as the realization dawned on him that he will lose everything. it was inevitable. the little grocery store around the corner owned by that old married couple his mom always talks to? they were escorted away weeks ago. the ice cream parlor he loved because they would always give him extra whipped cream for ordering in japanese? shut down by the government's order. he remembered the harsh words he had heard from a group of protesters when he biked past the golden gate park on his way to run an errand for his mother.

"all japanese are dangerous. they are traitors to the country,"

and that’s when he noticed their pointed glares at him.

“i was raised here! i’d never be a traitor!” he so desperately wanted to yell. but his body told him to keep pedaling away, as fast as he possibly can.

seeing people with these horrible prejudice against him, a stranger, even a kid whom they’ve never met, felt like a stab to the heart

but it also angered hajime to no end

it was the biggest lie he's ever heard. dangerous? that's not true. ok, maybe there were a few pervy geezers, but he knew that this community that he loved was anything but dangerous.

so why are they the one being punished?

he knew he would lose everything eventually. he just didn't think he'd lose the love of his life so soon.

her family had gotten the notice two days ago. 

"sacramento. and maybe oregon. probably washington, even idaho" you had told him.

somewhere far, far away from him

he had heard that the concentration camps, or "relocation centers," as the news had put it,

were cold. 

the images of concrete, barbed wire and cramped spaces, the stories of families working relentlessly from day to night only to be treated like prisoners, and the thought of sleeping on the freezing floors filled his mind. just thinking about it made him shudder, but the scariest thing was that he doesn't know when his family will be next

growing up, your family and the iwaizumis had been neighbors. he lived on the first floor, and you lived above him. the two of you had bonded over your parent’s chatting, and having each other for dinner was a common occurrence. his parents treated you as their own child, and your parents did the same with hajime. heck, no one would bat an eye if you announced that you were going to sleep over at his house because you two practically lived together. 

you were his first love. his best friend. every moment of his childhood, had been spent with you.

you were the ribbon that held him together through his messy life, and now he was losing you

overwhelmed, he could feel his throat began to tighten. his breathing became heavier as he tried to blink back the tears that welled in his dark green eyes.

"hey. you can cry on me, if you want." you comforted him. it was like you could read him like a book, because he frantically sputtered out an excuse

“what are you talking about? and also, to answer your dumb question, i'll love you no matter what. i don't care how long it takes, or what we look like, or-"

you hovered your finger above his lips, gently shushing him.

"i know you will, haji, i know that you will," you said softly as you caressed his cheek. he looked away, but he couldn’t help but choke out a sob

you patted his head and pulled him into a hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck. warm tears dampened the sleeve of your shirt.

"please. please. i don’t want you to leave," he mumbled into your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his messy black hair.

Dear Lord, when I get to heaven

Please, let me bring my man

When he comes, tell me that You'll let him in

Father, tell me if You can

All that grace, all that body

All that face makes me wanna party

He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

“maybe, one day we'll see each other again.” you said when he finally lifted his head. 

you stood up and held out your hand to him, an offer to help pull him up since he was probably sore from sitting for so long

however, he didn’t let go of your hand once he stood back up. 

“dance with me?” he asked, sniffling and wiping away the last tear.

you nodded, and he began to sway to the faint sound of jazz music coming from the nightclub a few blocks away. 

“hey, this is our swing dance routine from PE in 7th grade,” you smiled fondly at the memory as he twirled you around him, only to twirl you back into his arms. nodding in confirmation, he dipped you gracefully, his strong arms wrapped around your waist. 

that’s when he noticed the tear trickling down your cheek. it faintly sparkled in the moonlight, similar to how a diamond would.

“i’m going to miss you, hajime iwaizumi from the first floor. thank you for making me happy,” you whispered, looking up at him. he pulled you back up, and held you in his warm embrace. 

“even if we don't see each other again in this life, i'm sure i'll find you again. if you’re good, maybe i’ll see you in heaven. be good, haji. be good for me. promise?” you muttered into his chest before pulling away to look him in the eyes.

“no promises. you might have to beg god to let me in.”

“ok. i’ll see you in heaven, hajime,” you whispered, cupping his cheek

and that’s when you pulled him down for a kiss. it was a light, almost featherlike, brush across his lips. your elbows were resting on his shoulders, and your forearm crossed behind his neck. hajime leaned his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses just barely touching 

“can we stay like this, for a little while longer?” he asked breathily, still reeling in shock from his first kiss

“mhm. i love you, hajime.” you answered, gazing into his pretty green eyes as they fluttered open. 

in the distance, you could see that the had sun begun rising over the horizon, enveloping the two of you in the warm light of morning. you basked in the serene orange glow, admiring every feature of the beautiful boy in front of you. 

“i love you,”

he can’t wait to find you again.

tags!! @deadontheinsidebut (ilysm mwah ty for supporting me!!) @aka-a-shii (here you go i hope you enjoy bby!!!) @toshisgarden (mwah mwah ilysm)

[the-ghost-king]

Me 0.1 seconds after reading your post about Will being Mothman simp: omg solangelo west virginia interstate dates 🖤 💛

Hey, it’s me again, the napping Nico person. Idk if you’re planning on writing 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙝 a story but if you did so, I’d love to read it, just wanted to tell you that. Hope you have a great day :)

@napping-nico I hope you have a great day as well! ;)

My apologies for the wait, as always I’ll reblog with the link to the Ao3 version!

Nico and Will go camping, something about tents and stars, Nico talks about military school and how camping was their idea of fun, in the morning they go along the river front and visit the mothman statue and maybe go on the river boat... Theme is it should be written like Ari + Dante staying in the desert overnight in the truck

Nature was something Nico loved, something he respected.

Growing up as a child hunting excursions had been a commonality in his home, they didn’t really need to go hunting; if they wanted fresh game there would have been a hundred men at their door asking for the chance to shoot for the di Angelo’s. 

His Nonno had always liked it, to Nonno hunting had never been about hunting and it had never been about the camping that came with the trips either. Hunting, as Nico had known it as a child, had always been about politics; the excursions a place, a way, and an excuse to make deals.

In Military academies, camping trips were their idea of a good fun time. 

A couple hundred boys and girls hiking out into the middle of Nowhere Forest loaded up with camping gear and taught how to cook food over open flame, and how to assemble tents in just a minute or two. The humdrum of set up, sleep, and take down with interjections and complaints sporadic throughout.

Nico had never minded camping, he found it some sort of calm. He liked the quiet, divine sort of life that nature provided. Nico had stood in front of gods and never felt power quite like that of a large old forest.

(Gods were bright and burning in their divinity, the air around them crackled and your throat was always tight and dry... Forests weren’t like that).

There was something about sleeping on the ground among all the living things, some sort of serene quality to it. He’d lay there among the sounds of his grandfathers disgruntled tossing and turning, and the annoyed complaints of other boys longing for their real beds, and Nico would breathe in the cold air of the natural world and feel something akin to home. 

His chest would expand and he’d feel some kind of emotion in his sternum, like the plants and branches themselves were growing forth from his lungs with each chilling breath in, and they were expanding in the depths of his lungs and heart in a silent agreement of mutual affection and love. 

To say the least Nico had always slept his absolute best outside.

Will on the other hand was a country boy at heart, he’d grown up in the middle of I Live 500+ Miles From Civilization Texas and backyards became camp grounds every spring and summer. 

For Nico camping had always been treated like a fun little activity and Nico had taken it upon himself to find the divinity in each excursion. As for Will, camping was just something you did sometimes. He didn’t have some complex connection to the act of setting up a tent and sleeping inside of it, the closest Will came to anything intensely memorable about camping was bonfires.. But his family was large and they all lived near one another, bonfires were a nightly thing not necessarily a camping thing within his family. 

To say the least, when Will asked him if he’d like to go camping in the middle of Fuck-All West Virginia Nico was absolutely in agreement. Sure he was a little confused as to why exactly they had to go all the way to West Virginia when they already lived in the middle of nowhere Texas, but he was sure there was a decent reason, as a demigod you learned to go with the flow sometimes.

What Nico hadn’t expected was that they would be heading to a quaint little West Virginian campground because his fiancé was a slut for Mothman.  

Nico looked over to Will as he climbed out of the drivers seat of the truck, “Cyrtids aren’t going to fuck you if you manage to find them.”

Will looks at him from outside the car, “I’d be just as happy to let them kill me slowly.”

“That’s my job!” Nico glares at him for a second and sees Will smiling at him happily.

“Well then, you’ll have to protect me won’t you, darlin’?”

“Hmph,” Nico climbed out of the passenger seat and walked around to the bed of the truck to help Will unload the truck and set up camp for later that evening.

They pulled out all their equipment so they could set up their trunk tent; listen, sleeping on the ground in a tent was one thing, sleeping in the open air of the truck bed was another, but figuring out you could combine both of them? Nico had been in heaven. 

They spend the time they work bickering, back and forth with light quips about the things each other had packed and how they packed them. They both had self-satisfied smirks on their faces the whole time, and they unapologetically threw pillows at one another while they were supposed to be readying their bed. 

Some older lady had walked by at some point and with a gasp of shock she’d looked at both of them sadly, “What are your names? I want to pray for you.”

Nico, ever the expert with old people and children looked to her kindly, “Forgive me, why are you interested in praying for us?”

The woman goes on a long spiel about how young relationships are hard work, she starts talking about how from the sound of all their fighting they sure needed a lot of work if they were ever going to love each other properly. She tells them about how she wants to pray for them so that they won’t fight anymore and they’ll be happy. 

When she finishes Nico is trying his hardest not to laugh so Will handles her, “Thank you ma’am, but I assure you we’re just happy to entertain the public.”

The lady has the most offended look on her face when Will tells her that, she picks up her woven bag from the ground and storms off to the sound of Nico’s poorly contained laughter. 

They finish setting up the inside of their tent and locking their food and valuables up in the truck all while still cracking jokes and making quips, “I just want to pray for you and your relationship” Nico says with a mock praying gesture towards Will.

The blonde laughs back at him, “at least she didn’t assume we were brothers.”

Will locks the truck to the sound of his own quiet laugh Nico’s annoyed groan that borderlines on disgust.

"You'll pay for that comment!"

"Promise?"

They end up on the Riverwalk around dinner time, they took a break from normal camping adventures like public bathrooms and trying to start a fire so they could instead go look at a statue of Will's oldest crytid-crush.

Somehow the thing was taller than 6"2 Will, almost doubling him in height with its polished glory. It had dark red ruby eyes on either side of its face, and the coloration of the creature had been handled by carving and removing parts of it until it resembled some sort of 6 packed moth.

Nico didn't really see the appeal, but Will found sharp teeth "simp worthy" so Nico supposed if he was happy that was enough.

He seemed in awe of the beast, staring up at it in wonder and awe- maybe a bit aroused too... This was Will after all, the dude was obsessed with that one demon character from the Blue Butler show? Black Butler?

Maybe Austin was right, maybe Will really did have a type.

Will gets bored after a while, and fifty or so pictures later, they decide to head back to the truck, Will blabbering the whole walk back about star gazing and maybe seeing the real Mothman fly by overhead while they do so.

They head back to the truck where there's food to be cooked over the fire, and they eat in their little bed-of-the-trunk-tent that amazes Nico everytime he sees it. The modern world has some crazy inventions sometimes, Nico spent a solid week on their living room floor obsessed with Will's Xbox and how it worked.

The tent was a light orange color with cream accents on it, inside it was gray, and they'd laid a spread of multicolored blankets and pillows out to sleep on. The top part of it opened with a little screened window piece, and up above them there were stars in the sky.

Nico crawled in to lay on his back so he could look out their little unzipped window, and he could hear Will doing something outside before he climbed in behind Nico.

"Alright?"

"Hmph."

"Good."

They lay in silence for a few minutes, both of them just lost in the sight of the stars and thoughts of the person breathing next to them. Will turns over first, just to look at Nico, so Nico gives him a taste of his own medicine and does the same.

Nico decides then to take a pillow and hit Will's shoulder with it, "Sap."

He's not angry, it's not an accusation, it's just a fact; Will's a romantic and especially so for Nico.

"Maybe so," He's smiling at Nico, "I got you something if you'd like to see it?"

"Oh?" Nico fakes coy in response and earns an exasperated look from Will.

"Here."

He hands him something small, places the little trinket in Nico's hands. Nico opens his hands to see little earrings of a dark moth with red eyes, they're silver on the backs and Mothman is painted on the front of them. This version is much cuter than the statue version.

"Thank you," Nico places a kiss to Will's lips.

"I know you don't really like Mothman as much as me," there's a slight pause where they both chuckle, "but I don't know, I thought maybe you would like them because they would remind you of this? I don't know, I sorry, it's just-"

Nico pets a hand through Will's hair, "I love you, and I love them, don't apologize for buying me things."

Will gets a little stressed sometimes to say the least, he had managed to get off his anxiety meds back when they were still at camp, but he sometimes still found himself in spirals. Nico didn't entirely understand anxiety, but he did know what it felt like to feel constantly inadequate, and he knew what depression felt like, and he'd like to think he can help a little.

It took both of them some time together to realize that they couldn't love each other's problems away. Even though they both had been told it didn't work like that, they were hopeful and in love and thought that maybe they could create something different. Eventually they both did come to realize that they just had to hold the other persons hand, and sometimes one of them stepped up when the other couldn't keep up the pace, but it was better that way.

You can't love someone through anything, love isn't a cure, but you can hold their hand through it and remind them that you love them.

Nico pulls Will closer, lets him lay his head on his shoulder, and they stare up into the night sky together. Nico whispers into his ear his own thanks for the gift, and let's his words change into sweet nothings. Talking about how much he loved Will, and when they head back down South how his Mom would be home from her latest tour, and he listens closely when Will tells him about some Mothman documentary that he watched.

And Nico falls asleep some point shortly after Will, he can fill his lovers heartbeat if he reaches out for him, he can feel his life force strong and present. Nico can feel the life ebbing out of the field that surrounds them, he can feel the life that makes the trees grow.

Nico falls asleep, warm, comfortable, and basking in the life around him.

Everything will be just fine.

[cherryyharryy]

Burning Words

Chapter Two: Lunch, Library, and Lady Liberty

WC: 7,400

Previous part

Songs for this chapter

The prickling scratch of my highlighter dragging across a strip of text reminds me of how naïve I really am. I hate the sound, hate how uneven the lime green line sits, jagged over the inked words, with a pool of color where the pen sat at the beginning of the sentence. 

It’s raining outside, and rain in New York is not like rain anywhere else. It’s purposeful, like a painting, like it belongs here. The only difference is that nothing changes—not like back home. In Georgia, people would come out afterwards, drive ten miles to the nearest pit and screw their trucks through the mud. Kids would run outside and look for worms and slugs, puddles to jump in. Dogs would dig holes in the softened earth. But here, no one stops. No one bats an eye, not even the people who forget their umbrellas. I wish rain was still life changing.

I sigh, close my notes, and cap my highlighters. “Any ideas for lunch?”

Jessie dips her head back in thought. I see her lashes flutter and her lips pinch, but then she shrugs. “We could order pizza?” She’s sat cross-legged on a patchwork armchair, laptop balanced across her thighs with a pen teetering between her teeth. I have to tip my head over the back of my chair to see her, upside down. “I’ve got a coupon for that place down the street.”

“We always order pizza.”

“We could learn how to cook.”

I click my tongue. “Bingo.” 

The far wall of the apartment has a generous sized window. The floor creaks like we’re torturing it every time we move across a room, the bathtub faucet leaks when it’s hot out, and I know more about my neighbors’ lives than I really need to. But the window....it’s like a movie. My chair sits beside it. I try to count raindrops but there are too many. 

“Chinese?” I offer. 

“You and your egg rolls.”

“They’re the only thing I want when I don’t really wanna eat. I didn’t eat breakfast. And I only had a handful of popcorn for dinner last night.” 

I can see a park from here, and in the winter when the trees are bare, a neighboring tennis court. Flowers hang limply from their stems along the sidewalk. A cat scrambles across the road, sporadic, and suddenly I envy the lack of knowledge animals have, lack of responsibilities, sense of time, unspoken contracts. At times I wish I were a depressed cat soaked to the bone, thinking if I move quick enough I’ll escape the rain. 

“What?” I miss half of what Jessie asks. 

“How’s your class been?”

“Which one?”

Jessie pauses her movements to assert me with a knowing glare. “You know what class. How’s the British babe?”

“Ugh, Harry.”

“Harry,” she tests his name before I continue. A few students have called him by his name, but he’s quick to correct them, surely enjoying his authority.

“He’s most definitely not a babe. A jackass. And he’s been as jackass-y as ever.” I join Jessie when she starts to laugh. “He calls on me every chance he gets. And I swear it’s just to humiliate me.”

“Well at least he’s nice to look at.”

“That means nothing when he’s a jerk.”

“True.” Jessie shrugs. “What about Truman’s...it’s near campus?”

I loll my head back and narrow my gaze. They don’t have egg rolls. “Yeah that’s fine.”

“My treat.”

***

In Hungarian, there are two words for the color red. Piros and vörös, with different times to use them, and should be used accordingly. When I was a kid I got them wrong; called my mom’s hat vörös, and got a slap on the wrist by my grandmother. 

I spent that evening hiding in my closet, using the sleeve of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas to soak up the cascade of tears. When my cousin found me, I begged him to explain what I’d done wrong. 

“Piros is blood inside the body. Vörös is when it comes out.”

That’s all I was left with. And I never did understand the difference. For years now that night resurfaces in my brain, and I think, I’m older now, I’ll be able to get it.

But now, as I stand on the sidewalk, peering through the window of Jessie’s lunch choice, I’m swarmed with the overbearing realization that age has nothing to do with it. 

Harry’s in a striped button down, a sea foam green that reminds me of how different candy felt when I was younger, and high-waisted navy blue pants that couldn’t decide between flaring out or forming to the shape of his legs. I watch him balance plates and glasses, stacking forks and knives, spoons and mugs, soiled napkins and empty Splenda packets. He shovels his tip into his pocket and then disappears out of view while someone else wipes down the table. 

“We can go somewhere else.”

“No.” I drag in the humid air, freshly washed, and hold it in my lungs until my head starts to spin. “This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit in the back. At Brigette’s table.”

I’m not sure if you can call Truman’s a restaurant. It isn’t fast food, fine dining, or even a bistro. It’s always dark. The chairs are pink and the tablecloths are green. There are flowers everywhere, I thought it was a flower shop and was sadly mistaken when I came in for the first time to buy Jessie a bundle of roses for her birthday. Strumming violins fill any silence between tables. It’s old but new, rooted woods, lamps from the 90’s, curtains from the 80’s, cooks from the 60’s and 70’s. 

“Brigette’s not on today, but that table is available if you want it.”

Me and Jessie both blink at the hostess, unintelligible utterances coming out until we give up, give in, and sit ourselves down at the small tea table under the back window. 

“I hope the rain doesn’t start again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

I hum, more preoccupied with trying to find a better distraction than my ripped cuticles. 

“He’s up front,” Jessie assures, “I think I saw that guy I dated the summer after freshman year...Mack something or other...busing these tables. I’m sure he’ll wait on us.”

“Whitaker.”

“What?”

“His name was Mack Whitaker.”

“Yeah, him. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. I can’t imagine being her.

The place is busy, rightfully so on a bleak Saturday afternoon. The sun pokes through the clouds occasionally, carving streams of golden light across our table, Jessie’s face, and I assume mine as well. She compliments my eyes and I thank her, then proceed to detail a hundred abstract thoughts as to why she must pity me enough to lie. Someone—who isn’t Mack Whitaker—brings us each water and apologizes for the wait. They’re swamped, understaffed, and had barreled through a visit from the health department early this morning. 

“Anthony’s pissed again,” Jessie mumbles, pursing her lips when I look up at her. I raise my brows so she’ll continue. “I missed his call the other night. But I was busy, so…” she shakes her head and scoffs a laugh. 

“It’s sweet though, that he wants to talk to you everyday.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs. 

“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “He did the last time.”

“I just hope he’s over it before he comes up here.”

“Good afternoon, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” A girl from my class ends our conversation. She wears the same outfit as Harry. When she smiles I have to blink, her teeth whiter than heat, slightly crooked, and I imagine she overdoes the stinging gel against her gums to make up for it. It works. Her lips and cheeks look as if she’d became too friendly with strawberries; a character face, full and round, structured like magazine models with skin to match. I remember her from the previous year: pretty, even at eight in the morning. Boys like her, professors like her. Head of the Spanish club but I bet she can’t count past diez. 

“Two turkey on ciabatta with tomato soup. No mayo on one. Diet Coke aaand…” Jessie raises her brows at me.

“My water is fine, thanks.” 

“No mayo,” our server draws out the syllables while jotting down our order. ”Well my name’s Danielle, if you need anything just—” She points her pencil at me and squints, as if that clears my image and her memory. “You look familiar…” She hums to herself, taps the end of the pencil against her lips before her eyes light up. I gulp. “Oh! You’re in my class aren’t you? The early one on Monday and Wednesday!” 

I nod. “Yeah, World Lit.”

“Yeah! How are you doing on your book report?”

“Um, good I guess. Haven’t gotten too far into it yet.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid right? I heard it was the TA’s idea. I mean, I haven’t done a book report since high school.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So—oh! Speak of the devil.”

My face feels as though I’m being stung by a thousand bees. Harry sidles up beside Danielle and nods to each of us. 

“Afternoon, ladies.” He’s holding a pitcher of ice water and flicks his gaze down to my glass.

I regret how much I drank when he fills it back up to the rim. I scrape my teeth against my tongue before I’m able to say anything. “Thank you.”

He nods, opens his mouth, but Danielle beats him to it. 

“We were just discussing our class.”

My veins are filled with wax, dripping at a pace so unoriginal, hardening, crystallizing. I grab my cutlery wrapped in a mauve pink napkin to occupy my hands, twisting and prodding and jabbing. 

“Yeah,” she continues when all he does is nod. “So what are we doing on Monday?”

“I have a surprise for you all, something I’ve been working on with Dr. Pierce—”

“Oh!” Danielle interrupts. “What is it?”

Harry raises his brows and laughs. “Well I can’t tell you, now can I? Won’t be a surprise.”

“Ohh, yes you can. We won’t say a word.”

Harry denies her once more. His eyes flicker down to me. “I’m sure you won’t. But you’ll have to wait for class to find out.”

“Oh my God! Your hand!”

I follow Jessie’s voice to see a small pool of blood decorating the table, my napkin having soaked up some, my skin a bit more. Red reflects in the sparkling silver of a fork and spoon, glistening on the blade of a knife I have carelessly sawed against the tip of my ring finger. I didn’t feel anything until I saw the cut, and now it stings. 

“We have a first aid kit in the back.” I hear Harry say but I look to Jessie. “Here,” he pulls a handful of napkins from his apron and cups them around my finger. “Is this okay?”

I nod without looking at him. He tells me to come with him, and I oblige, weighing my evils as the entire room is now focused on our table and the girl bleeding out right before their eyes. As I walk with him, I selfishly hope I do lose enough to earn a transfusion, amputate my finger, something, anything, so I can leave. If I get to stay in the hospital, I won’t have to go to class Monday. 

“Don’t worry!” Danielle whispers as she passes by us. “He’s great with his hands.”

I see vörös everywhere. 

***

It burns. Really burns. But I’m thankful. It’s the only thing keeping me aware that I’m alive, that I can’t hide away, that I need to mark my movements as always. He rinses my finger under an ice cold water bottle he pulled from a tiny fridge below the staff’s sign-in computer. Someone yelled at him—Ralph. His name is on the bottle. 

“This is cleaner than whatever comes out of the sink.” 

He slips his foot around the leg of a metal chair and drags it over by the sink; the closet door it had held open falls shut. With a nod he tells me to sit. I say nothing, just watch him care for the small wound like my life really is dependent on it. 

“Can I have your hand—er—can I see it? Your hand?” He rolls his lips in and clears his throat when I extend my arm to him. His touch is almost nonexistent. I barely feel his fingers splaying my hand flat and wide while he rinses the blood off. He uses a towel tucked into his waistband to dry me off, and then pops open the lid of the first aid kit. 

“This is just an antiseptic...don’t think it should burn.” He smooths a small bit of opaque gel over the ridiculously tiny split in my skin. “I think the head and the hand...always an extreme amount of blood. When I was a kid, my sister’s cat scratched me, right under my left eyebrow. It felt like someone poured water down my face. Mum thought I was goin’ to die.” He folds a purple band-aid over my finger, frowning when it’s not smooth so he starts again. “There. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Okay. Um, well I guess I’d better get back.” His hand lingers on the bandage, running his thumb over it one last time, and then he finally pulls away. 

“Yeah.” I’m shaky when I stand, and curse myself when I almost trip over the chair when I turn to leave. I pause to speak over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The walk back is long, and I have to fight the urge to look and see what he’s doing. I don’t hear the chair scraping against the floor or Ralph complaining about his water. I’m thankful I threw on my good jeans this morning. 

Jessie is bouncing in her seat when I return—the table beside ours. “Is it bad? It was a lot of blood! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was really small. The cut I mean.” I look down at my bandage like it’s a secret. “Where’s my stuff?”

“They’re replacing it all,” she waves off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it throbs a little bit—”

“No, not that! I mean him. Did he say anything to you? Was he mean? Because I’ll go back there if you need me to.”

“No—no, sit down, would you.” I hold back a laugh; she doesn’t need the encouragement. “He was nice.”

“Good. I tried to follow you but the manager came out and asked me what happened. We get our meal free, by the way.”

“Well then I guess this was worth it.”

Our food comes quickly, served by the manager herself. 

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I stir my soup. I can see the reflection of my eyes in the red pool, and I watch myself blink once before rippling my image away. “M’not that hungry.”

Jessie leans over the table and lowers her voice. “What happened?”

“What?”

“With Harry, in the back.”

“No, nothing.” I sigh and slump back into my chair. “I’m just tired. And I have a lot of work to do. That stupid report. And I have a quiz in another class on Tuesday. I’m fine. And he—”

“How are we doing? Is there anything I can get you guys?” Danielle looks prettier each time I see her. I shake my head while Jessie answers, keeping my focus on my untouched food. “Did Harry take care of you?”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating or else I would have choked. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

“I knew he would. He’s a sweet one.”

“Mhm.”

How easy it would be, to tell her my name. Tell her that her teeth are too white and her shirt is too tight. I could tell her that Harry’s sister’s cat scratched him when he was a kid and that’s where that tiny little scar above his eye is from. Did you know that Danielle? Or were you too preoccupied with what his hands were doing?

“Alright, well just holler for me if you need anything!”

I ignore her but she doesn’t seem to notice, waltzing off. Harry’s counting menus when she approaches him at the front. I think I hear her call him an angel, but I know I see him smile. I tell Jessie I want to leave. If I’m going to throw up it’s going to be in my bathroom with my best friend holding my hair back. 

***

I've had the Arctic Monkeys stuck in my head all morning. Every clink of the spoon against my bowl of cheerios, every step I took rushing to school because I decided to spend my time in the shower crying, every yawn from everyone stumbling into class. 

And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky, 

Yours, until the rivers all run dry. 

It’s five past eight. Dr. Pierce stands towards the corner, pointing at paperwork another professor is showing him. Each time a student cracks the door open they smile and hurry to their desk like they’ve won something. Freshmen. He told us twice that he doesn’t care if we’re late, it’s our grade not his, which I appreciate. My pen taps across my notebook. 

And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines, 

Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme 

In other words, until the end of time

He is late, however. I try to refuse my need to look up at the door each time it opens. I want to dismiss the anxiety of waiting for him. 

I'm gonna stay right here by your side, 

Do my best to keep you satisfied 

Nothin' in the world could drive me away 

'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologizes, bustling through the door. He did his best to fix the upturned collar of his rose pink button-down, subtly, albeit he fails miserably when a smudge of maroon is revealed. “I uh,” he clears his throat, “had some things to take care of. Got carried away.” He directs his excuse towards our professor, scrambling to pull out today’s materials from his bag. 

Dr. Pierce bids the professor goodbye and welcomes Harry, offering him time to gather himself which he does rather quickly. His lips are pressed together until he’s the center of attention, scanning the room as he always does, finalizing on me and I swear his eyes glisten. 

“So, uh, today we’ll be—”

“So sorry I’m late.” Danielle hurries through the door and takes her seat at the front.

“Right, um, welcome.” Harry’s gaze is trained on the paper in his hands. His brows furrow and he clears his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, we’re doing something a tad different today. Dr. Pierce and I have been talking, and we decided to break up our usual routine And with your reports due soon, offer you all a little added support. So we’ll be heading to the library where you all can work, ask questions, get mine or Dr. Pierce’s advice—whatever you need to finish the final touches before you hand anything in.”

Most everyone appears pleased with this news, proceeding to sling their bags over their shoulders and get out of their chairs. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Dr. Pierce interjects the flow. “You must work on your report and your report only. This isn’t a free-for-all. And I don’t want to hear that you’ve finished it, because I can guarantee that there’s room for improvement from each of you.”

Danielle is the first to make it to the front. She passes Harry on her way to the door and straightens his collar. His face matches the rose colored stain she thumbs over and I think about how if I veer off and go home, no one will notice. 

And I'll be yours until two and two is three, 

Yours, until the mountains crumble to the sea 

In other words, until eternity 

Baby, I'm yours

***

Our library is something out of a medieval storybook. Rich, haunted woods and six tier windows where dust sparkles through the light pushing in. You can lose aged pennies against the floor and get lost behind dusty shelves if you want to. There are microfilms, typewriters, and a spirit machine downstairs and two velvet couches on the second floor. 

I spent the majority of my first semester here, back when Jessie brought a different boy home every Friday night. I’ve missed the smell, the quiet, the disturbed alteration of reality inside its doors. But when I look around at my class tossing their bags on tables and hollering for Dr. Pierce or Harry’s attention, I’m not sure if I’ll make plans to come back. 

Ms. Bortnick, the head librarian, is a stout woman who barely sees over the front desk, but somehow always knows when I’ve come in. When it’s raining, she knows the shake of my umbrella from everyone else’s. And when it’s spring, she knows my sneezes from everyone else’s. She is like a grandmother, only she’d never had kids, so not quite so in that you can’t get away with stuff. She has a bad eye and one good kidney, and sometimes she mixes these two things up, but I gave up on correcting her long ago. That’s how long I’ve been here. 

She is Ukrainian and her accent is thick and aged, much like her mind. “Hello nyuszi,” she says before I’m fully inside. It’s bunny in Hungarian. A nickname from my mom, who tells everyone because she thinks it’s cute. Everyone, including the tiny librarian during the campus tour we took forever and a day ago. 

“Hi Ms. Bortnick,” I say, lagging, like I’m embarrassed, because I am. 

She just waves with a big grandmother-like smile that makes you miss home. 

I take a seat at a small table, behind a section of Virginia Woolf. Most of the voices die down, the clicks of keyboards taking their place, and I  pull out the research I’ve started for my report. The Tropic of Cancer, slightly tattered and worn, lay open beside my notebook, and my laptop sits adjacent. 

“You coming along well?”

Shit. I jump, my ears ringing. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home.

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home. 

“I actually did an analysis on Henry Miller a couple years ago. If you wanna pick my brain, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh uh, thanks.”

His voice is grumbly, like rocks turning over beneath tires. Yet smooth, like washing sand off your body. I’m perplexed for a moment, at how these two things meet together so well, but that’s always the case with people. Like how Ms. Bortnick can’t remember anyone’s actual name, but sews that wound up with a pet name she picks out just for you. 

“Yeah, I think I might even have an essay on my laptop. You can look over it if you’d like,” he says. 

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine with what I have.”

“Well if you need anything, just let me know.”

I nod. My eyes blink once he steps away, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and what I am doing. I’m a bit separated from most of the class, at one of the outlying tables apart from the student section where Harry ambles around everyone. Whenever he bends over to look at someone’s work, the muscles beneath his shirt ripple and contract. I can see his shoulder blades from here, and I’m failing to recall a time when the definition of someone’s spine has ever called for my attention. 

I shake my head, naïvely expecting that to clear my mind. Google is pulled up on my laptop, but instead of searching for The Tropic of Cancer, I press the keys in Harry’s name. 

The first couple links that pop up are social media accounts. I avoid these and move on to the next option, a link going back to our school. It takes me to his name under the directory, nothing more than a profile picture and his credentials. 

Harry Styles

Received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at New York University in 2016. He completed a one year internship at the Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency Inc. in New York in 2017, and in 2018, spent a year abroad in France and Italy studying classic literature surrounding the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. He is currently working on his graduate degree, assisted professional teaching placement, and his thesis on the cultivation of the Renaissance era in regards to English literature. 

I read over everything three times. That’s how long it takes me to grasp it all. He’s accomplished more in three years of his life than I have in my entire existence. It’s weird, being in my twenties and already feeding off the desire of wanting to be young again. It’s not fair how some people are prone to achievements and winning, while the rest of us are left to scramble around, years later to piece together a life that offers a sliver of satisfaction. 

I close the window and ineptly click on one of his social media accounts, and for some reason my stomach twists. There’s a picture of him on twitter, from this weekend. He’s at Truman’s with his arm around Danielle, a smile on his face, and a caption thanking her for getting him his job. They’re both pretty; perfect for each other really. The only thing I can think of being thankful for in this moment is that I was not included in their picture. No one needs to see that comparison; I provide myself with enough pity to feed an army.

And maybe it’s stupid, but I navigate to Danielle’s account. There’s a weird fraction in the self-loathing lifestyle, like my brain needs a reminder of where I stand in this world. It keeps me in check, I believe. I cannot imagine thinking I look good, only to be reminded that I don’t in fact, look anything close to good. That’s a big fall to take, and I prefer to spend my time at the bottom. I’ve earned my place here.

I zoom in to every picture. Have you ever compared your wrist to someone? Or the space where your neck meets your shoulders? She has a big, red birthmark on her hip, but she makes it look necessary. And I’m sure Harry probably likes it. And I’m sure she’s told him how she’s no longer ashamed of it, and she’s not afraid to wear bikinis because she doesn’t care what people think. And she probably thinks that’s what makes her different and that’s the story she tells, how she overcame insecurity and loves her body now. And she would probably tell me that I just need to learn how to accept my flaws and learn to love them and then I’ll finally be happy like her. But that’s stupid, even stupider then me scrolling through her account to find some awkward picture, maybe one where her nose and lips are less perfect and I can start saving up for surgery too. Because if I looked like her, I’d have no problem being happy. I’d post pictures on the beach, and find a boyfriend, and not feel like a pathetic loser who’s done nothing with her life.

“Are you writing your report on Danielle?”

I lurch with stiff bones, and now I can’t remember if I’ve had this headache all day or if Dr. Pierce’s voice triggered it. Shamefully, I close the browser. “No, I’m sorry.” I hope that’s enough, because it’s all I can afford to give right now. Maybe if he knew I was seconds away from crying he’ll leave me alone.

“Get back to work please.”

Just make it ‘til you get home. You can cry there. Not here. Not here. Not here.

***

I tediously lower my body so that the water pulses right below my chin. My knees are covered, but only if I remain motionless, or the water will break against my skin and then my knee caps will appear suddenly. I inch my feet further across the acrylic until they are hidden once again. 

There is a window extending from the floor beside the tub all the way up, over my head so I have a view of the street below as well as the sky, and it’s always quite a contrast. If the street is busy, then the sky is not. But then if the sky has a heavy to-do list, then it’s the road below me that becomes shallow, except when rain is falling in a race to its demise against the concrete. 

I suck in a breath that’s full of my shampoo and bodywash and the rose oil I dropped in twenty minutes ago. I can taste it in my lungs, so before it becomes too much, I push against my heels, my knees forming mountains as they break the surface and my head becomes consumed a moment later. The pressure is light, just enough; I’m more aware that I’m living than I did when oxygen was flowing through my lungs. I count to ten and then release the burn as I crash upwards. It’s a bit dramatic and cinema worthy, but there’s no one watching; even the city-goers are too far below me to care that I live here. 

“Is my phone in there?”

I drag my eyes open and sure enough, Jessie’s phone sits on the counter. “Come in!”

“Oh thank God, thought I left it at that party.” She picks her clothes from last night off the floor and throws them in the hamper. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?”

I shrug, but she doesn’t see me, now straightening up the mess she made of her toiletries, her back to me while she shoves everything into her drawer.

“Just one of those nights I guess.”

She peaks over her shoulder and hums. “You have a lot of those.” She turns fully, looking at me like she is a mother. I rack my brain for an excuse but I can’t find one. If I did, I would’ve tried it out on myself years ago. “Y’know I’m here to talk. I’m your best friend...that’s part of my job.”

I smile at the water, but turn away when I see my reflection. “I’m fine. Just getting used to the semester.”

She lets the defeat show on her face, and I’m glad I know how to mask mine. “Alright then. Well just text me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” Her voice is soft and patient and I feel guilty for lying to her. “I’m late for cello practice.”

“I’ll be fine. Gonna enjoy my day off.”

“And actually enjoy it! No studying, no flash cards!” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I mean it. Go to the park, eat a pint of ice cream, masturbate, please, anything outside of those notebooks of yours!”

“I’ll add those to the list,” I laugh. “I’m probably just gonna stay home and relax. Watch Uptown Girls or something. Eat cookie dough.”

“And—”

“And masturbate I know.”

She kisses my head and grabs her phone, heading out the door, her voice fading as she leaves. “You can tell me all about it later.”

The tile is cold beneath my feet, and slick with warning as I pull the plug on the drain and take a moment to scan the world outside. The sun is in attendance today, some of its beams make their way into the bathroom and have crawled across the floor all morning. I decide to stand there, on the beams to warm my toes slightly. It’s probably more in my head, the warmth, but I’ll take it either way. The tiles are black and white, a classic checkerboard, and I gave up on choosing a color to step on not long after we moved in. 

The mirror is foggy and I work fast to wash my face and brush my teeth, keeping my towel tight around myself until the last possible second, trading it’s warmth for a sweater and jeans. I slip into my shoes. I haven’t read much for leisure, and pick up my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl from my bookshelf before I leave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it, but each time never fails to reward me with something I didn’t catch the last time. 

***

There’s a park within walking distance from my apartment. I like to go there in the rain sometimes, under my green umbrella, and read literary magazines with a thermos of coffee Jessie made me. I look like the adult that I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone ever notices, which isn’t much different then the expectations I lay out for myself the night before. 

Today, however, I am not walking to the park. I am taking a train to the park. The park—Central Park. And it’s not raining and I forgot to bring coffee, but I need today. I need to do something for myself. Something outside my comfort zone. That’s how you become a better person, right?

We don’t have subways back home. There isn’t much of anything back home other than high school football games, car washes, and stray cats that everyone feeds. The first time I rode the train I cried. Jessie told me that it was okay, and that’s why I did it the next time, and the time after that. I’m not going to cry today, though. I am not going to get overwhelmed and worry about when to get on and when to get off and who’s looking at me and how I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they get mugged or how if I trip and fall on the platform, I’ll start praying for death. 

Light flashes at a rhythm I’m unfamiliar with, but I manage to keep my focus on my book. It shakes in my hands but I keep reading. I’m not really reading, in its true form, that is. I’ve marked this book up so much I could use it as confetti, and those are the parts I’m reading. The parts that meant something to me at each stage of my life: I used a green pen at age eleven, red sharpie at fifteen, blue highlighter at twenty, and ripped sticky notes at twenty-three. It’s less of a commitment this way, but when the screeching travels up my spine and I can smell something other than people when I’m back on solid ground, I wipe my cheeks and they’re dry. 

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends on what sort of mood I am in. Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave.

I have a plan in place. One that I didn’t feel comfortable telling Jessie even though I know she’d be supportive. That’s the conundrum; having a best friend who loves you so much they want to fix you. She would have tagged along today, asked me how I’m feeling a million times and try to rationalize everything. She’d tell me all the ways I can be happy. But she can’t do that. No one should be allowed to, really. Because if you say can then there also has to be the option of can’t. And if people had the choice to pick what state their mind was in every day, I wouldn’t be strolling around parts of New York I’ve never been in, trying to scrounge up some off-handed version of self-love.

I bought a bath bomb and candles, stopped at a stationary store to pick up pens and notebooks that I don’t need, another Beatles t-shirt and chocolate. A farmer’s market was selling fresh fruit and I bought a tomato and ate the whole thing right there. I don’t care that it’s cheap retail therapy. It’s blocking out school and certain people and my age and my lack of success as an adult. And maybe it’s not working, but it’s New York—there’s distractions everywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today. 

***

Liberty Island. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is. I am stupid for thinking Staten Island, but in my defense, that’s where everyone outside of New York thinks it is. When I moved here I wanted to see it. It was going to be this defining moment that solidified me in my new home, this incredible rebirth that validated me leaving my parents. I was going to buy cheap postcards and send them to my mom and I’d say See, I’m here and I’m happy. This was the right choice. I fit in. Please stop crying. At least I didn’t think it was Ellis Island. 

I’m on the right ferry heading towards the right island. Soon, I really see her and I start crying. She’s green but she’s not green, and she’s copper but also not really. She’s this woman and that’s fucking cool, except I know had she not been a gift, she would have been a man. There is someone with a microphone talking about her but the wind burns my ears so I pull up google on my phone. 

The Babylonian Ishtar, Imperial Rome’s goddess Libertas was Papal Rome’s “Mother of the Harlots and abominations of the earth” and the template for America’s Statue of Liberty.

I paid to visit the pedestal but not the crown. I don’t trust my body to climb twenty stories. I don’t wanna know what I’ll think about that high up. I saved up and bought a reservation and now that I’m here, I wish I’d brought Jessie along. I wish I had more people to choose from to bring along because this isn’t Jessie’s thing. But that was the idea, after all, to keep this day to myself, venture out, mark something off a bucket list I haven’t started yet. Distractions, distractions, distractions.

My bags are heavy and it’s hot, but I manage to read a lot of plaques and stroll around intentionally. I do, at certain moments, feel a sort of liberation with myself. Kind of like the first time you go out driving on your own. It’s scary, and a part of you still wishes your mom was behind the wheel, but that kind of being alone is freedom. It’s not the car or the license, it’s the option to be fully by yourself at any time. 

And I can’t help but wonder, compare, really, myself to the woman who I’m wandering around below her dress. She does lonely well. She does it right. All by herself she stands, a beacon, a purified symbol. And this is where I’m at, apparently, scrutinizing my abilities at making loneliness look mature and comparing myself to a statue.

Truly, this is my day. 

I take pictures of everything around me and it must be the sea air, because I do contemplate asking this dad of four kids to take one of me. I push that out of my head rather quickly. I switch the filter to black and white and angle my phone to get a photo overlooking the harbor once I’m back outside, but stop right in my tracks, when a familiar face is in the frame. 

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! What a small world!”

Dozens of names swim around my head, and my courtesy smile eases into a real one once one of them starts flashing, matching this person’s face before I make a fool of myself. 

“Devon, hey, s’been a while.”

“I know, God,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “high school feels like a century ago.”

She looks the same, only like a new version. Not exactly older or more mature, but like she stopped experimenting with makeup and her acne finally calmed down. All of her features sit on top of her face, warm, eyes just as piercing as when we were seventeen. She was always cute and that quality has followed her over the years. 

“So what are you doing?” she asks and I squint because of the wind, imagining her words rearranging in the breeze into something easier to answer. 

“Um, just sightseeing.”

“Well I figured that,” she laughs. “I mean, your life, what’s up?”

I know my face looks resistant. Everyone pulls the same look when your stuck explaining something that is going to automatically lower the standard in which the other person sees you: nearly closed eyes, barred upper teeth while your top lip pulls up in thought, sucking in a short breath before speaking, stiff neck and chest. 

“I uh, well I’m still in school,” I nod along and loosen my volume to sound like I’m happy. “And uh, working.”

“Oh are you working on your masters?”

“No just um, maybe one day, but not right now.”

“Okay.” It is that ‘okay’. The you-are-turning-pathetic-right-before-my-eyes Okay. She smiles anyway. “I’m thinking of going back next year to get my doctorate.” She shrugs. “So do you live here, or…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a scholarship—”

“Oh well that’s good!”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re just visiting. Trying to hit all the hot spots though.”

“We?”

“Me and my fiancé. She’s—” she cranes her neck and points to somewhere behind her, “on a work call at the moment. Y’know it’s beautiful here, I wonder if we could have the wedding right here,” she laughs. 

“Yeah that would be something.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?” 

“Not at the moment.”

She gasps like she’s discovered something and points at the air between us. “Wait, weren’t you dating that guy, the uh, really smart one who graduated early? God, what was his name, Mark or Matt?”

“No that uh, that wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn it was,” she laughs. 

“Nope.”

“Aw, bless your heart, well you’ll find someone. The city’s big!”

I am done with this conversation. I force a smile and excuse myself, heading off in the opposite direction so if any tears fall she won’t see, and keep to myself until it’s really cloudy and mist pricks my skin. Not soon enough, we’re boarding the ferry again. 

I wave to Lady Liberty and imagine her waving back when we leave. If I squint, it kind of does. Whether she’s saying goodbye or good luck, I don’t know.

***

Dinner is one of those meals that either means everything or nothing. Tonight it means nothing. I walk past Truman’s, slowly. Harry isn’t in there and I stop right outside the plated glass window, now decorated with orange and yellow leaves, and try to figure out if I would’ve gone in had he been there. A band is setting up along the back wall and that’s where I see Danielle. She’s got a tray of drinks that each member takes. When she spins around she’s smiling and she smiles as she walks towards the hostess’ podium and she smiles when she squeezes the hand of some guy that comes up and she smiles when she sees me. 

I wave because what else am I supposed to do. If I flip her off, she might strangle me with her extensions, or tell Harry that I was a bitch, or spit in my food the next time I come in. I wait till she’s distracted, and then I leave. I stop at a food truck and stuff my face with a taco. Nothing. 

Back down the street, back on the train, back to my apartment. 

“I didn’t cry this time.”

Jessie glances up from sliding the bow across the strings, the last note stinging the air. She looks so small next to the instrument. 

“On the train. I didn’t cry.”

****************************************************************************************

Next Chapter

Let me know what you think!

Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @aileenacoustic and @bathrobesinparadise!!!!!!!!!

[inimitable-muse]

working at scoops ahoy with steve

[steve harrington x reader]

request: hcs on what it’d be like to work at scoops w steve !!!!

warning: none.

author’s note: had to re-upload again because of weird formatting. i kinda went overboard with this, so enjoy!

first of all, it’s an absolute miracle that you and steve get actual work done at scoops without being all over each other

okay maybe that was an overstatement

there were a few times in the past where you both would unintentionally go against the code of conduct

aka sporadic make out sessions in the storage room during the last few minutes of the shift

but besides that

robin would be the one getting both of you in line, which would end up saving your guys’ asses from getting fired on several occasions

exhibit a:

it was a tuesday afternoon and it was your turn serving the ice cream, while steve was busy getting orders at the counter

he turns around for a brief moment and notices you having trouble getting a decent scoop of hokey pokey from the container

steve smiles to himself while he watches you struggling, he begins to walk over behind you

“need some help, sailor?”

you chuckle beneath your breath, “steve, i got this under control”

“i know, i know”

steve hopes nobody sees what he was about to do next

he sneakily loops his arms around your waist, reaching for your hands and clasps them together to help scoop the ice cream out

“…but having an extra hand or two wouldn’t hurt”

the heat rises to your cheeks, you were about to say something coy in return until

“steve! [y/n]! one customer has been waiting on their hokey pokey for quite some time now” robin suddenly emerges out from the back door

both you and steve jump out of your skin and instinctively separate from each other’s grasp

“i-i’m on it!” you barely manage to get the words out

rushing to place the ice cream scoop into the cone, you finally serve it to the poor customer who witnessed the whole ordeal

steve is still trying to compose himself while robin is having a blast, finding the whole situation amusing

“have a great day!” you exclaim at the counter, promptly going back to work

as soon as the customer leaves, robin bursts out laughing which leaves both you and steve confused

“why don’t you lovebirds save that handsy action for the bedroom?”

she gives a wink and scurries back to the door

you turn even more red than before

steve huffs into the palm of his hand, “oh just shut up robin”

that’s just one of the many instances that you and steve longed to be a little more closer than usual

both of you barely got time to yourselves during this strenuous job, so who can blame you ?

however a normal day at scoops usually consists of dustin visiting you guys whenever he can

he’s your #1 customer

dustin would hang around during yours and steve’s shifts

from when you start serving ice cream in the early morning, up until when you start cleaning up the tables and closing up the store

he would entertain you with his stories from summer camp, and gushing over his girlfriend who is suspiciously hotter than phoebe cates

towards the end of the shift you would treat dustin with his very own custom banana split and shake for basically being a good friend to steve

oh and let’s not forgot your #2 customer, erica

she would come to scoops almost everyday with her group, abusing the free sample policy with no consequences

you always somehow end up falling into her persuasion

“hmm, how about you give me the rocky road?”

“a-another one? erica i don’t think it’s a part of our rules to-“

there are times where steve has to step in and be the voice of reason

“oh gee why don’t you look at that, we’re running out of samples!”

but it backfires completely

“listen up nerds, if i don’t get another sample i’m gonna start making a scene and say that i found a thick strand of brown hair in my strawberry sundae”

running a hand through his hair, steve goes dead silent at the realization

oh

shit

he forgot to wear the stupid sailor hat, again

“oh no no erica, you wouldn’t” he silently begs over the counter, trying to avoid making a commotion

“oh yes i would big head, now that wouldn’t look good on this store’s health inspection report, now would it?”

you can’t believe how a child like erica sinclair can be capable of being so cruel

“now get onto it!”

you simply give into her orders and begin scooping out the rocky road, “aye aye, captain”

during breaks you and steve would sneak out to a secluded place outside of starcourt mall and eat samples of ice cream that you guys stole

sometimes these moments would end up in you both getting into heated arguments over which ice cream flavour is superior

“vanilla?” steve stares in disbelief, “wow [y/n], i didn’t recall you being a plain jane”

“what are you taking about! this is some good stuff, it’s all about the subtly of its flavour”

“pshh subtly my ass, it’s like one of the most boring flavours in our entire menu”

if eleven’s super powers are telepathy and flipping over cars, then steve’s one would be surprisingly picking out the most outlandish, yet best ice cream flavours

“well fine, how about you let me try some of your…”

“pear with blue cheese?” he answers confidently

“i can’t believe we sell that”

“hey, don’t knock its name til’ you try it”

spoiler alert: he is proven to be right

even though steve is stuck in a boring 9-5 job, scooping ice cream for annoying kids in this hot, sweaty weather and earning minimum wage whilst doing so

just having you by his side 5 days a week makes his summer a little more enjoyable

[easyfoodnetwork]

Mushroom Hunting at the End of the World

Getty Images

While the rest of the country focused on something other than the forest floor, I started foraging for chanterelles

I’d been staring at the ground too long. That’s most of what foraging is, by the way. It’s ignoring the blue sky and the trees to focus your gaze on the dirt. I was walking through cobwebs, surveying the woodland floor for almost an hour, when I finally saw one: a tiny, pale chanterelle mushroom sticking up near the trail’s edge. It looked sickly, or at the very least elderly. Perhaps it was a sign that this section of the woods was untraveled, or maybe nobody had ever thought to pluck it from its habitat.

I peeled it from the ground with my paring knife and placed it into my netted, purple sack, which once housed grocery-store red onions. This lonely mushroom wasn’t the haul, mind you, but rather an indicator. When one chanterelle appears, more will follow. A few steps off the trail and they emerged in droves. Soon, my bag was filled with corpulent, spore-bearing fungi — big chanterelles with deep-orange hues and fantastical shapes, like something a Nintendo animator might draw.

Walking back with my giant bag of wild mushrooms, I ran into a couple, the first people I’d seen that day. We all scrambled to put on our masks at the distant sight of one another. “You get some chanties?” the man said in his familiar, spectacularly unusual Pittsburgh accent. “It’s a gold mine out there,” I said, trying unconsciously to disguise any hints of that same Pennsylvanian elocution. After they disappeared back into the woods, I put my mask in my pocket, where it stayed for the rest of the hike. For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

A few years back I had tasted some wild mushroom conserva courtesy of my cousin, Andy, during a trip to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Andy is a budding locavore, a self-taught forager, and a mad scientist in the kitchen. His passion is infectious. Eighty percent of the meat he consumes, he hunts himself. He cures venison and butchers whole pigs in his garage.

That first spoonful of Andy’s mushrooms, meaty chanterelles salted in a strainer, then simmered in white vinegar with gothic-looking thyme and peppercorns, is preserved in my mind, so much so that I can access that memory whenever I want. The dim lighting in my parents’ dining room, Andy standing in the kitchen with his arms confidently folded, the sound of the Mason jar lid spinning loose, and the immense joy of my first bite — stocky chanterelle mushrooms, piquant vinegar, gentle aromatics, and then the brilliant opulence of olive oil, used to preserve the mixture.

I asked Andy if I could take a jar of them back home to Los Angeles, and he obliged. Every so often, I unscrewed the lid for a small bite. I would close my eyes and feel the cold air in my hometown. If I listened carefully, I could hear the train whistles in the distance. Those mushrooms became a portal to my hometown, a culinary object so emotionally resonant, so distinct from the food I bought at my grocery store in California, that I always longed to forage and conserve a jar of my own.

I began to miss rural Pennsylvania as the pandemic encroached into summer. Like a lot of people, I felt trapped in the big city, and so in June, I went home. In Pennsylvania, everybody’s houses are set at a distance, but everyone barters home provisions, ranging from venison pastrami to crooked cucumbers to gargantuan zucchini. The summer is when the Amish sell sweet corn, and when the berry farms open their orchards. The old-timey ice cream shops end their winter break, and people start roasting whole pigs and marinated legs of lamb. It was also not lost on me that a hot, wet climate is the ideal condition for chanterelles, and that this would be the perfect time to chase that dragon: the jar of preserved mushrooms.

Once I began mushroom hunting, the calm followed. I embraced foraging, an oft-maligned word after the chef-bro boom of the 2010s. If your reaction is to recoil, you’re not alone. Before my mushroom-hunting days, I usually laughed when I saw the word “foraged” on a menu or in a magazine. Oh, did you really go out foraging, m’Lord?

The first time I went, I rode in the passenger seat of Andy’s car, down the winding rural roads of Amish country. To be honest, I didn’t immediately connect with foraging; the experience felt educational. Of course, when you’re dealing with something that can be either good in a stir-fry, consciousness-expanding, or deadly, education is important. Poisonous mushrooms actually look evil, though, an offer of good faith from Mother Nature. They often have a sinister gray or red color, with warts and scales reminiscent of the toxic fungi in fairy-tale illustrations. Andy made sure to teach me enough that I didn’t end up hallucinating through the woods — or, worse yet, dead.

People in my hometown definitely don’t fall into the stereotype of knuckle-tatted, beanie-wearing “foragers,” but they’re pretty keen on the good mushroom spots. There’s an old Polish woman, for instance, whose stiff, territorial energy I can feel whenever I show up to Gaston Park the day after a rain. Because I didn’t want to move in on another gang’s turf, I had Andy show me a few of his favorite areas. Still, it didn’t feel right: These were his discoveries, not mine. I wanted to make my own way. I wanted that excitement of stumbling across a rare mushroom, of encountering a field of freshly sprouted chanterelles. I wanted to find my own mushroom haven, and so I went to Hell’s Hollow.

daveynin/Flickr

A view from the Hell’s Hollow Trail in McConnells Mill State Park, Pennsylvania

Hell’s Hollow is a national park and trail in New Castle, Pennsylvania, about a mile down the road from my childhood home. Apparently, it’s called Hell’s Hollow because some time ago a man fell asleep in those woods, and when he woke up, he was convinced that the place he was in was actually Hell. Are the woods deep and dark? Sure. Spooky at night? Yeah, of course. But, Hell? As in the place where sinners go and are tormented for eternity? Like, Satan-owned and -operated Hell? I scoff at the idea whenever I pass the old wooden sign for the trail. What kind of idiot would think that the woods is Hell? It’s beautiful out here. I mean look, there’s a flowing river. Why would the Devil keep a freshwater source in an eternity of suffering? Rule No. 1 of Hell must be to stay hydrated. Rule No. 2? No running.

Hell’s Hollow has been a constant throughout my life. When I was a kid, my mom and dad let me splash around the creek trying to catch minnows and small crabs. When I was 10, I gleefully collected rocks and declared that I was going to be a geologist (my family would be disappointed). As teens, my friends and I smoked shag weed and smashed cans of Mountain Dew together like Stone Cold Steve Austin there. The point is, I’ve been wandering around Hell’s Hollow my whole life, and it never dawned on me that I would ever find myself foraging there. But sure enough, it was my spot.

I did not expect hunting for mushrooms to clear my head the way it did. People say that about prep work, by the way. They say that peeling potatoes and kneading dough lets the mind wander and alleviates stress. But, to me, prep work is just that: work. Dicing onions pierces the eyes, lemon juice stings, and I will always associate chopping parsley with the incoming threat of a dinner rush at one of my restaurant jobs. When people say that cooking soothes the mind, they’re not taking into account all the people who do this shit for a living. What are those people supposed to do to get away from themselves? For me, I found that wandering in the woods alone with a sense of purpose was exactly the thing I needed to weather the fire tornado of anxiety the pandemic had produced.

The act of foraging, a completely unchanged activity in a pandemic, possesses the acute ability to make me forget about the state of things entirely. Specifically, it was easy to forget about a global virus. Hunting for mushrooms in the woods alone is already distanced; there are no guidelines to follow. Walk down the street in Los Angeles and you’re immediately reminded that restaurants are shut down and live performance spaces are shuttered. But in the woods? Go ahead — sneeze full force in any direction you please. Let off some steam, pal. You’ve earned it. Sure, I had a mask, but it stayed in my pocket on the off chance that I ran into another human being, though I was more likely to spot a deer.

When I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible.

This wasn’t just a way to pass time, mind you. These weren’t nature walks I was taking. There’s a sense of ambition at the core of mushroom hunting. Purpose, the thing so many of us have felt without this year, I suddenly possessed. When there’s purpose, there’s a sense of reward, and when I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible. All my energy is focused, my aim clear. Instead of staring at the ceiling in my studio apartment, I found myself scanning the ground for edible treasure. The dopamine you receive from finding a cluster of chanterelle mushrooms in the damp woods is immense, somehow both frivolous and survivalist. There’s a real sense of childlike treasure-hunting tied to foraging.

Take the elusive cauliflower mushroom, Sparassis, which is as rare as mushrooms come. They grow sporadically; their appearance is psychedelic and aquatic. It looks coral in a way, like a living, breathing self-sustaining organism that belongs at the bottom of the ocean. Jarring, then, to find one surrounded by leaves and mossy logs. The mushroom itself is wavy and ethereal, with petals like a flower. It’s so rare that when Andy and I found one, he jumped in the air with excitement. For seven years he had been hunting for a cauliflower mushroom, and he finally got it. His triumph felt like my triumph, and in a way, it was. Later, I fried the petals of the cauliflower mushroom in oil and ate them salted. The texture was outstanding and the flavor delicate, like a homemade noodle but with the specific earthiness of a fungus. “How many people are eating a cauliflower mushroom right now?” I thought.

I felt like jumping in the air like Andy when I spotted that lone, feeble chanterelle in Hell’s Hollow. To reach that first chantie was a hero’s journey, past a path that leads to a dazzling waterfall, down a steep hill, across a stream, and through a tunnel of decaying trees. The air starts to cool down and a trained nose can begin to smell the faint notes of mushrooms in the air. Clusters of chanterelles appear like small towns; they are golden trumpets that politely announce their presence with colorful glee. Oyster mushrooms grow shelf-like on the sides of trees, and chicken of the woods, these endlessly useful and tasty orange half-moons, light up your eyes like a gorgeous sunset. That’s the thing about wild mushrooms — once you see them, you can’t unsee them. After an education in foraging, you’ll be forever scanning your surroundings, trying to manifest treasure.

As I carried back my sack of mushrooms that first time, I thought about that man who woke up in Hell’s Hollow in the night. How must he have felt? Aimless, one would assume. Probably searching for a way out of the darkness. Disoriented, without a clue where he might be in relation to the outside world. Maybe that’s what Hell is. Maybe it’s quite simply feeling lost and alone. The pandemic can feel like that, as though you’re traversing an endless dark wilderness hoping to catch a light in the distance that’ll guide you back to society. But is that a new feeling? Hasn’t it always been that way? Maybe all of life has just been wandering in the dark.

Anyway, I’m glad to be walking through the woods with a purpose.

Danny Palumbo is a comedian and writer living in Los Angeles.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2JUbLZq https://ift.tt/3korg8w

Getty Images

While the rest of the country focused on something other than the forest floor, I started foraging for chanterelles

I’d been staring at the ground too long. That’s most of what foraging is, by the way. It’s ignoring the blue sky and the trees to focus your gaze on the dirt. I was walking through cobwebs, surveying the woodland floor for almost an hour, when I finally saw one: a tiny, pale chanterelle mushroom sticking up near the trail’s edge. It looked sickly, or at the very least elderly. Perhaps it was a sign that this section of the woods was untraveled, or maybe nobody had ever thought to pluck it from its habitat.

I peeled it from the ground with my paring knife and placed it into my netted, purple sack, which once housed grocery-store red onions. This lonely mushroom wasn’t the haul, mind you, but rather an indicator. When one chanterelle appears, more will follow. A few steps off the trail and they emerged in droves. Soon, my bag was filled with corpulent, spore-bearing fungi — big chanterelles with deep-orange hues and fantastical shapes, like something a Nintendo animator might draw.

Walking back with my giant bag of wild mushrooms, I ran into a couple, the first people I’d seen that day. We all scrambled to put on our masks at the distant sight of one another. “You get some chanties?” the man said in his familiar, spectacularly unusual Pittsburgh accent. “It’s a gold mine out there,” I said, trying unconsciously to disguise any hints of that same Pennsylvanian elocution. After they disappeared back into the woods, I put my mask in my pocket, where it stayed for the rest of the hike. For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

A few years back I had tasted some wild mushroom conserva courtesy of my cousin, Andy, during a trip to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Andy is a budding locavore, a self-taught forager, and a mad scientist in the kitchen. His passion is infectious. Eighty percent of the meat he consumes, he hunts himself. He cures venison and butchers whole pigs in his garage.

That first spoonful of Andy’s mushrooms, meaty chanterelles salted in a strainer, then simmered in white vinegar with gothic-looking thyme and peppercorns, is preserved in my mind, so much so that I can access that memory whenever I want. The dim lighting in my parents’ dining room, Andy standing in the kitchen with his arms confidently folded, the sound of the Mason jar lid spinning loose, and the immense joy of my first bite — stocky chanterelle mushrooms, piquant vinegar, gentle aromatics, and then the brilliant opulence of olive oil, used to preserve the mixture.

I asked Andy if I could take a jar of them back home to Los Angeles, and he obliged. Every so often, I unscrewed the lid for a small bite. I would close my eyes and feel the cold air in my hometown. If I listened carefully, I could hear the train whistles in the distance. Those mushrooms became a portal to my hometown, a culinary object so emotionally resonant, so distinct from the food I bought at my grocery store in California, that I always longed to forage and conserve a jar of my own.

I began to miss rural Pennsylvania as the pandemic encroached into summer. Like a lot of people, I felt trapped in the big city, and so in June, I went home. In Pennsylvania, everybody’s houses are set at a distance, but everyone barters home provisions, ranging from venison pastrami to crooked cucumbers to gargantuan zucchini. The summer is when the Amish sell sweet corn, and when the berry farms open their orchards. The old-timey ice cream shops end their winter break, and people start roasting whole pigs and marinated legs of lamb. It was also not lost on me that a hot, wet climate is the ideal condition for chanterelles, and that this would be the perfect time to chase that dragon: the jar of preserved mushrooms.

Once I began mushroom hunting, the calm followed. I embraced foraging, an oft-maligned word after the chef-bro boom of the 2010s. If your reaction is to recoil, you’re not alone. Before my mushroom-hunting days, I usually laughed when I saw the word “foraged” on a menu or in a magazine. Oh, did you really go out foraging, m’Lord?

The first time I went, I rode in the passenger seat of Andy’s car, down the winding rural roads of Amish country. To be honest, I didn’t immediately connect with foraging; the experience felt educational. Of course, when you’re dealing with something that can be either good in a stir-fry, consciousness-expanding, or deadly, education is important. Poisonous mushrooms actually look evil, though, an offer of good faith from Mother Nature. They often have a sinister gray or red color, with warts and scales reminiscent of the toxic fungi in fairy-tale illustrations. Andy made sure to teach me enough that I didn’t end up hallucinating through the woods — or, worse yet, dead.

People in my hometown definitely don’t fall into the stereotype of knuckle-tatted, beanie-wearing “foragers,” but they’re pretty keen on the good mushroom spots. There’s an old Polish woman, for instance, whose stiff, territorial energy I can feel whenever I show up to Gaston Park the day after a rain. Because I didn’t want to move in on another gang’s turf, I had Andy show me a few of his favorite areas. Still, it didn’t feel right: These were his discoveries, not mine. I wanted to make my own way. I wanted that excitement of stumbling across a rare mushroom, of encountering a field of freshly sprouted chanterelles. I wanted to find my own mushroom haven, and so I went to Hell’s Hollow.

daveynin/Flickr

A view from the Hell’s Hollow Trail in McConnells Mill State Park, Pennsylvania

Hell’s Hollow is a national park and trail in New Castle, Pennsylvania, about a mile down the road from my childhood home. Apparently, it’s called Hell’s Hollow because some time ago a man fell asleep in those woods, and when he woke up, he was convinced that the place he was in was actually Hell. Are the woods deep and dark? Sure. Spooky at night? Yeah, of course. But, Hell? As in the place where sinners go and are tormented for eternity? Like, Satan-owned and -operated Hell? I scoff at the idea whenever I pass the old wooden sign for the trail. What kind of idiot would think that the woods is Hell? It’s beautiful out here. I mean look, there’s a flowing river. Why would the Devil keep a freshwater source in an eternity of suffering? Rule No. 1 of Hell must be to stay hydrated. Rule No. 2? No running.

Hell’s Hollow has been a constant throughout my life. When I was a kid, my mom and dad let me splash around the creek trying to catch minnows and small crabs. When I was 10, I gleefully collected rocks and declared that I was going to be a geologist (my family would be disappointed). As teens, my friends and I smoked shag weed and smashed cans of Mountain Dew together like Stone Cold Steve Austin there. The point is, I’ve been wandering around Hell’s Hollow my whole life, and it never dawned on me that I would ever find myself foraging there. But sure enough, it was my spot.

I did not expect hunting for mushrooms to clear my head the way it did. People say that about prep work, by the way. They say that peeling potatoes and kneading dough lets the mind wander and alleviates stress. But, to me, prep work is just that: work. Dicing onions pierces the eyes, lemon juice stings, and I will always associate chopping parsley with the incoming threat of a dinner rush at one of my restaurant jobs. When people say that cooking soothes the mind, they’re not taking into account all the people who do this shit for a living. What are those people supposed to do to get away from themselves? For me, I found that wandering in the woods alone with a sense of purpose was exactly the thing I needed to weather the fire tornado of anxiety the pandemic had produced.

The act of foraging, a completely unchanged activity in a pandemic, possesses the acute ability to make me forget about the state of things entirely. Specifically, it was easy to forget about a global virus. Hunting for mushrooms in the woods alone is already distanced; there are no guidelines to follow. Walk down the street in Los Angeles and you’re immediately reminded that restaurants are shut down and live performance spaces are shuttered. But in the woods? Go ahead — sneeze full force in any direction you please. Let off some steam, pal. You’ve earned it. Sure, I had a mask, but it stayed in my pocket on the off chance that I ran into another human being, though I was more likely to spot a deer.

When I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible.

This wasn’t just a way to pass time, mind you. These weren’t nature walks I was taking. There’s a sense of ambition at the core of mushroom hunting. Purpose, the thing so many of us have felt without this year, I suddenly possessed. When there’s purpose, there’s a sense of reward, and when I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible. All my energy is focused, my aim clear. Instead of staring at the ceiling in my studio apartment, I found myself scanning the ground for edible treasure. The dopamine you receive from finding a cluster of chanterelle mushrooms in the damp woods is immense, somehow both frivolous and survivalist. There’s a real sense of childlike treasure-hunting tied to foraging.

Take the elusive cauliflower mushroom, Sparassis, which is as rare as mushrooms come. They grow sporadically; their appearance is psychedelic and aquatic. It looks coral in a way, like a living, breathing self-sustaining organism that belongs at the bottom of the ocean. Jarring, then, to find one surrounded by leaves and mossy logs. The mushroom itself is wavy and ethereal, with petals like a flower. It’s so rare that when Andy and I found one, he jumped in the air with excitement. For seven years he had been hunting for a cauliflower mushroom, and he finally got it. His triumph felt like my triumph, and in a way, it was. Later, I fried the petals of the cauliflower mushroom in oil and ate them salted. The texture was outstanding and the flavor delicate, like a homemade noodle but with the specific earthiness of a fungus. “How many people are eating a cauliflower mushroom right now?” I thought.

I felt like jumping in the air like Andy when I spotted that lone, feeble chanterelle in Hell’s Hollow. To reach that first chantie was a hero’s journey, past a path that leads to a dazzling waterfall, down a steep hill, across a stream, and through a tunnel of decaying trees. The air starts to cool down and a trained nose can begin to smell the faint notes of mushrooms in the air. Clusters of chanterelles appear like small towns; they are golden trumpets that politely announce their presence with colorful glee. Oyster mushrooms grow shelf-like on the sides of trees, and chicken of the woods, these endlessly useful and tasty orange half-moons, light up your eyes like a gorgeous sunset. That’s the thing about wild mushrooms — once you see them, you can’t unsee them. After an education in foraging, you’ll be forever scanning your surroundings, trying to manifest treasure.

As I carried back my sack of mushrooms that first time, I thought about that man who woke up in Hell’s Hollow in the night. How must he have felt? Aimless, one would assume. Probably searching for a way out of the darkness. Disoriented, without a clue where he might be in relation to the outside world. Maybe that’s what Hell is. Maybe it’s quite simply feeling lost and alone. The pandemic can feel like that, as though you’re traversing an endless dark wilderness hoping to catch a light in the distance that’ll guide you back to society. But is that a new feeling? Hasn’t it always been that way? Maybe all of life has just been wandering in the dark.

Anyway, I’m glad to be walking through the woods with a purpose.

Danny Palumbo is a comedian and writer living in Los Angeles.

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[snowdog49]

Backseat Riders

For a good friend: @tomoehawkeye and you request for some good ol’ Havolina. Enjoy! 

“Hey, this is where they told us to meet them.” 

“And they are not here.” 

The blond man frowned as he blew tobacco smoke out the thin slot of the window. His dark blue eyes scanned the dark road. The only light was the redbud of his cigarette. The cool summer night kept the inside of the car at least tolerable. If it’d been four hours earlier, the hot air would have them sweating uncomfortably. The dark-haired beauty next to him leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. They had been sitting there for over an hour, waiting for a patrol of the Military Police to stroll by. He looked at his watch. “The patrol is almost forty minutes late,” he grumbled. 

“That’s because we are in the wrong spot,” she sneered. “For God’s sake, Jean, can you put out the cigarette?” 

He shot a look towards his companion before flicking it out the window. “Colonel is going to ream me a new one if this goes south. The least I can do is smoke.” 

“I’m going to ring you a new one if you light another.” Her gaze turned to Jean. “Who do you fear more? Me right here right now, or your Colonel Mustang later?”

Jean rolled his eyes, tapping his finger on the steering wheel to a tune in his head. He wasn’t going to ruin his dignity by admitting his fear of Rebecca. She pulled her hair back, tying it off before leaning her head on her elbow to look out the window. Silence filled the car as the darkness seeped down the street. The time on his watch said fifteen till one in the morning, or zero-forty-five if you were to ask them. She reached into the backseat to grab a water bottle, sipping it lightly before handing it to Jean who gulped it in an undignified manner. “Do you have a civilized bone in your body,” she asked as he handed the bottle back to her. 

“I don’t know.” He grinned towards her. “I thought you liked it rough.” 

Rebecca laughed loudly. “Rough is different from uncivilized.” 

“What we did last week was definitely uncivilized.” 

“Jean,” she snapped quietly. 

He snickered, reaching for his smokes from his pocket. He went to pull one out before grumping and tossing them onto the dash. She was growing to be a pain in his ass. It was a wonder how they both got assigned to the same car. Lieutenant Hawkeye generally made a point to ride with Rebecca if she had the chance. A sneaking thought filtered into Jean’s brain, making him smile. “Funny thing,” he turned his head to Rebecca who continued to look out the window. “I sure wonder why Colonel and Hawkeye were so adamant about being together.” 

“Oh, come on,” Rebecca snorted. “You know why.” She turned with a mischievous smile. 

“Normally they don’t,” Jean rolled his shoulders. “They are so insistent on being apart that it becomes obvious they want to avoid any insinuations.” He chuckled lowly, the crack of his grin never faltering. “What do you want to be that this whole idea of sending us to the wrong street was to give them the same privacy.” 

Rebecca hummed, biting the corner of her lip. She pulled up the window, turning the dials to ensure they were on the right channel and the volume was up. “We shouldn’t be out of range. Maybe they called it off and didn’t tell us.” 

“You’re being nieve. They are in that hotel room, overlooking the correct street, fucking like rabbits.” 

Rebecca laughed, covering her mouth. “I’d like to argue it, but I can’t.” Her brown eyes looked fondly to her partner. “I’ve seen the way she looks at him.” 

“You should see how he pouts when she’s not in the office,” Jean quickly added. His side grin returned as he looked towards her. “Don’t you think about me the same way?” Rebecca didn’t respond right away, giving Jean exactly the insulation that he needed. His chest puffed out just a little and his fingers tapped the steering wheel again. “I think about you like that.” 

Rebecca refused to look at him. He was certain that if he could see her reflection in the window, he would see her blush. 

“Except we’re not so illegal,” he whispered. “I’m surprised you haven’t called me more often.”

“Call you?” She laughed. “Ha! You’re the one that comes begging to my office.” 

“I don’t beg,” he huffed. “I just come by to see how you are.” 

She turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “Leaning against my table telling me that you have an awesome night planned for us, with pizza at the end isn’t begging?” 

He pouted. “You didn’t say no.” He waved his hand between the two of them, dismissing the accusation. “I’m the best thing that is happening to you.” 

“We’re on a mission, Jean.” 

Jean reached for his cigarettes, pulling one out. He lit it with his lighter, taking a deep breath in, blowing it out through the slot on the window. “I don’t think that this is happening,” he grumped. “We should just head back to the office.” 

Rebecca hummed as she looked around, seeing two gentlemen cross the street ahead of her. 

“Oh, come on,” he laughed, turning towards her. “You have to say that I’m at least the best kisser that you’ve ever had.” 

She dropped her head into her hand with a laugh. “I’d put you in the upper-middle bracket,” she said, pulling her head up from her hands. 

Jean’s mouth dropped open from shock, his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “Not on the top? What am I doing wrong?” 

“It’s not what you’re doing wrong, it’s what the others are doing right.” 

Jean shut his mouth and blinked out the window. His hand held his chest as he whined in a pout. 

“Don’t blame yourself.” Rebecca giggled. “Some are just … better kissers.” 

He leaned towards her but didn’t look at her. “Do you have a scale of kisses?” 

She didn’t answer with words, only a giggle. 

“I don’t believe you,” he called her out. “I think you’re just teasing me.” 

She tilted her head towards his. “To be fair,” she whispered. “The list isn’t that long.” 

His head turned towards her. With a foot firmly on the floor, he shot towards her, his lips conquering hers. Rebecca should have been surprised, but she wasn’t. Her hands shot out to grasp his head, holding him by the jawline. His body moved quickly as it rolled from his seat and on top of her. Jean’s hand reaching for the seat to hoist himself out of his own. Her hands slipped to grasp the collar of his uniform. She pulled him against her, biting his bottom lip as he pulled back. 

“That’s not the best that you’ve ever had?” His chest rose and fell heavily, his body raging as he hovered half over her. “Every kiss with you is the best I’ve ever imagined.” 

In the next moment, her hands flattened on his collarbone and pressed upward. Jean sat up and off her, tilting his weight towards the back of the car. Rebecca whipped her body around pressing him between the two seats and into the back. He let her. He was quick to maneuver his body under hers and they slid into the back of the car. Their lips reaching out towards each other as Jean fell back and his hands desperately reached for the seat to steady on. Rebecca followed suit, more steady with her positioning. He shuffled his way under her as their lips pressed madly against one another. It was rough, clashing of teeth and tongue. He tried to fight back, tried to assert his own dominance, however, Rebecca wouldn’t have any of it. Jean would have liked to say that was fighting hard, but instead, a grin appeared beneath her lips. 

“How’s this for liking you,” she grumbled. She sat up as she grabbed his belt. 

“Needy,” he said as he raised an eyebrow. He kept his hands from hers, watching her steady hands undo his belt. “It’s only been one week. All that coming to your office and saying ‘hi’ really did a number on ya, huh Catalina?”

She laughed, opening his belt and flipping his button open. “More like I’ve been wanting this since they said we’d be in the same car.” 

“I would not have complained.” He lifted his hips so she could slide his pants down. 

“There’s something called professionalism.” She giggled. “Going bare today?” 

“Didn’t do laundry yesterday,” he snickered, flexing his dick. 

Her fingers trailed from his base to his tip. “Lucky me.” 

She sat up as far as she could, pulling her own pants off and wiggling out of her underwear. As clumsy and sporadic as it looked, Jean thought it was amazingly sexy. She slid her pants off, taking her panties off after. He raised his eyebrows, growling lowly. Her fingers trailing in slow motion as they descended her hip and stripped her bare. With one leg off the back seat, he lifted his hips up, hoping to entice her to mount him. Rebecca laughed, throwing her purple panties at his face. It was worth a try. Rebecca was running her own game, Jean was merely there to ride which he was more than eager to get on. It was a roller coaster of a lifetime.

They laid down on the seat with the limited room, Rebecca awkwardly maneuvered around so that his mouth could envelop her sweet pussy. His hands grabbed her hips, pulling her closer to him so that lip tongue could lap her delicious juices. In the next second, he groaned, feeling her lips tighten around the base of his cock and sucked tightly. It felt amazing as her tongue massaged his tip and massaged him with pressure. It didn’t go without saying that Rebecca wasn’t relishing in Jean’s own work as she took him deep and moaned heavily against him His fingers tightened on her hips, gripping her ass as she reached up to tug his balls from him. 

They both had mapped out a list of pleasure for each other. He knew that sticking his tongue into her, swirling it as his lips sealed against her, sent her legs quivering. In all the while, Rebecca knew the exact leverage he needed, leaning him back and sucking in forward, teetered him on the edge. She knew that it’d only take a few times till he’d be begging for her to stop or she’d ruin the fun. He sucked on her labia, slurping as his head dropped back. “Yes,” he groaned deep within. 

“Don’t stop,” she ordered with a tug of his scrotum. 

“Yes, ma’am!” 

Their legs and arms struggled to remain on the seat as they drowned themselves in the act of getting the other on the cliff’s edge of euphoria. It was a game they played, a dangerous game which left at least one of them helpless to the other. Jean was starting to feel it. It’d been one week too long and the visits did a number on him. There was nothing like seeing her and not being able to touch. He always liked what he could see but not touch. Jean’s body raged inside, a growing fire in his groin as his head fell back with a deep gasp. Rebecca giggled as she took him in deeper. It felt as if she was sucking it out of him. He raised his head, licking her from her entrance to her hardened clit before his head fell back again. 

“Damn it, Becca,” he grunted. 

She pushed herself up and off him, letting him pull her onto his face again, lapping up her as if he was dying of thirst. Her hands reached up, pressing aggressively into the roof of the car to steady herself. She shook as she fought the urge to grind against him. It was overwhelming with her heart pounding out of her chest and her mouth-watering. But she needed him inside her. He was the key to her locket and it was begging to be opened. More shuffling included an outstretched hand to get a condom and with Jean laughing too loud and the car swaying too easily. Jean found himself on top. Both of them wished there was more room to maneuver, but after a grunt and a grumble, Becca’s legs wrapped firmly around his waist. One hand by her head, the other on the door, Jean pressed himself off the car’s floorboard. 

Rebecca’s hands slapped his shoulder and she muffled a scream into his neck. Jean didn’t have anything to muffle his groans. He slid as far as he could into her, slowly feeling her tightly around his length. He didn’t want to rush it, he wanted to savor each moment that was given. “Quit teasing me,” she moaned. Her legs tightened around him in hopes of getting him to stay deeper in her, but he only pulled her up with him instead. 

“You think that I’m just getting my kicks out for fun?” He grinned, leaned down to kiss her. She received him fully, sealing with a violent sucking. Her hips lifted to greet him as he slid smoothly back into her. She stretched as he slid deep, pressing nearly to her cervix, igniting every nerve. With the hands migrated to his sides, her nails bit into him. “That’s right,” he moaned. “That’s it!” 

Rebecca never understood how Jean ever had problems dating. He’d always been a gentleman with a great smile, who opened doors and bought flowers. He may not always make great conversation and smoked, but God damn he was a generous person! And when they had retreated to a secluded and dark spot, he never let her down. Her eyes squeezed shut and she whined his name, keeping in mind they weren’t in a place she could scream out. But, oh, how she wanted to! Her body tensed and relaxed at the same time, an electrical shock fizzing throughout. It wasn’t until her hands tightened at their peak into his ribs, reaching for his back, did he release himself. The tightness of her was unbearable. His abs tightened, his body contracting to achieve the deepest penetration. Her fingers slipped against the sweat on his back and his lips kissed up the salty droplets on her neck. As he continued to thrust deeper into her, his body ached for a break. 

“That was definitely on the upper part of the scale,” Rebecca breathed as her pulled out and sat up in the crunched space. 

“Are you fucking serious,” Jean let his jaw fall open. 

“On the upper part of the upper segment.” She raised her hand and waved it as if she was showing a level. 

“You’re killing me inside Becca.” 

“What?” She reached back, using the door to pull herself up. “Scoring a nine for car sex is not appropriate for you?”

He snickered, reaching for his pants. Tossing her underwear back to her, Jean took the condom off and tied it off. “Chief is going to lose his shit that we weren’t at the right spot.” 

“I’m starting to believe that you got lost on purpose.” She raised her eyebrow, watching Jean slide into the front and slip his pants on. 

As she fixed herself up, he sat relaxed in the seat. He needed a moment to recover. He had to wonder if she needed the same. He reached up for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out. “You need one of these too?”

“No,” she laughed. “I need someone to get this kink out of my back.” 

“I will help you later,” he promised as he lit his smoke, taking in a deep breath. He looked around the surrounding area, still seeing it empty before looking behind himself to see he doing exactly the same as him. “Heh,” he smirked. 

“We’re going on three hours,” she gasped as she tried to calm her heart. “We probably can go back to base and wait for them.” She felt too relaxed to move as if she had melted back into the seat. 

Jean nodded, taking in another breath of his tobacco. They both needed just a moment. “I wish there was room to do a proper cuddle,” he pouted. 

Rebecca only giggled, finally prying herself from the seat and wiggling back into the front. “I suppose if you bring a dessert to my place, we can discuss this cuddling business.” 

He turned his head to smile at her before flicking his cigarette out the window. The radio had been silent the whole time, even as they tried to call out, it was quiet. 

“Let’s go,” she nodded, trying to rub the redness from her cheeks. “We can wait for them.” 

He started the car and pulled from the curb. It was hard not to reach out to graze her hand with his as they drove back to Eastern Headquarters. Silent they sat, content in the warm atmosphere of their actions. Neither one of them could admit guilt, it was too good to wish it didn’t happen. However, both of them were disappointed that it was all that it was. They needed more. And thus the problem they fought with. 

He held the door for her as they entered to halls, walking slowly down to the office. It wasn’t as if they had anything to hurry about. Chances were that they’d missed the whole event and the team would be out for another hour or so cleaning up the scene. They’d wait innocently in the office, maybe playing a card game to pass the time. It was easy to say that they’d gotten lost and went to the wrong district or some other excuse than, “we were busy fucking to try to find you.” Jean opened the door to the office for her, looking in to see the whole group seated and glaring at them. 

“Where have you been,” the Colonel asked as he squinted. 

Becca instantly hoped that she didn’t look like sex like she felt like it. “We sat where you told us. Where were you?” She squinted back. 

“The guy never showed,” Lieutenant Hawkeye leaned over her desk. 

“We tried to call you guys on the radio.” 

She held up the radio. “We tried calling you! We looked all over for you!” It was a blatant lie but they’d go with it.” 

Sergeant Fury walked over and inspected it. He flipped it upside down before showing it to them. There was a little strip of blue tape. “You picked up the broken one,” he verified. 

“You picked up the broken one?” Lieutenant Breda snorted. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Colonel waved his hand. “The guy didn’t show up.” 

“Might as well just go home and try again later,” Hawkeye said firmly as she stood up. 

Jean looked at Becca, raising his eyebrow. Never office history was Riza Hawkeye one to go home first like that. Colonel Mustang was next to stand, rolling his next. “Breda, get more intel and we will reorganize this tomorrow,” he ordered. 

“Sir,” the red-headed officer acknowledged. 

“You said something about dessert,” Jean asked quietly. 

“Give me a fifteen-minute headstart.” 

[iliketowrite1996]

As a Friend

Part 7/10 of Steve Rogers x Reader series Part 1:https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/614617294578089984/his-best-girlPart 2: https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/614969499334197248/meet-the-music-teacherPart 3: https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/616114724817584128/lunch-buddies

4:https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/616328582794493952/why-not

Part 5: https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/616965238563192832/blind-dates-part-1-sneak-peek

Part 6: https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/617069920649412608/blind-dates-part-2

TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- Break ups, angst, heartache, scared to fall in love again, Steve is crying, Sharon has had enough,

As the year closed and a new year began,  Steve continued to date both you and Sharon. This was at the advice of Natasha, Sam, Bucky and even Tony. It’s February now, and deciding to do this hasn’t made it any easier for him. It’s hard, because there’s no comparing the two of you.

   With you, you understand having a kid, so you’re pretty flexible with the schedule. Sometimes, you’ll bring your kids along. Most of the time, you can spend at least a few hours together before he takes you back home. And though he can tell that you are still a bit hesitant to open up to him entirely.

   ‘’It’s not that I don’t trust you,’’ you’d stated just last night as you sat in the car, staring out of the windshield as he held your hands, ‘’Because you are a great guy. Really, Steve. You treat me well, you include my daughter. There are just so many factors stacked up against us.’’    

   ‘’Such as,’’ Steve questioned, truly trying to see things from your point of view.

   ‘’The fact that, since the original teacher isn't coming back this year, we are going to be coworkers for who knows how long. The fact that I just moved here, just got settled... ‘’

   Deep down inside, you knew that none of these things are the reasons. They’re  merely filters, things to get you through the fact that you just don’t want to have another situation like the one with Darryl.

   ‘’But what about in the summer, when we’re not co-workers and you’re looking for a new job?,’’ Steve inquired earnestly, ‘’Or are you really that afraid that I would do something to hurt you?’’

   This is one thing that you somehow simultaneously love and abhor about your… whatever this is with Steve. He sees through you, and could break down your walls so easily if you’d let him.

   And that is the part that you’re having trouble with.

   ‘’What are you afraid of,’’ Steve had sighed, ‘’I’m not judging you. You know I;m afraid, too. But I’m here with you. And I’m trying to see if we could have something here.’’

   ‘’You’re also trying with Sharon, aren’t you,’’ you finally look at him, ‘’Is this easier with her?’’

   ‘’It’s different,’’ Steve spoke quickly, ‘’Not better, not worse.’’

   ‘’But probably easier than trying to be with someone who keeps flip flopping,’’ you shook your head yet again, looking out the window, ‘’And I’m sorry about that.’’

   ‘’I’m not asking you to be sorry. I just want to know what I can do to make you know that you’re safe with me.’’

   ‘’I think that you want to be the good guy, but you’re concerned about getting hurt again, too. That’s why you’re holding on to both me and Sharon at the same,’’ you’d shrugged, not dating to look at him.

   ‘’So you want me to commit to you when you’re afraid of committing to me,’’ Steve raised an eyebrow.

   ‘’Stop putting words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying.’’

   ‘’It sure sounded like it. Listen, we’re two adults here. We’ve been dating for about two months, I haven’t tried to make you date me or anything. But if you want… we don’t have to continue this. We can stop.’’

   ‘’That’s not what I want either,’’ you could hear him let out a breath, ‘’I don’t know what I want.’

‘

   ‘’I think you’re trying to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But you’re hurting yourself in the process. Can you please look at me,’’ he’d pleaded.

   You’d turn to him, rears already filling your eyes.

   ‘’I care about you. But I have to think of myself, and Jazzy, too. So… I need you to tell me, if you’re interested in pursuing this, in me pursuing you or not.’’

   ‘’I don’t know what I'm Trying to tell you. I Feel horrible about that, but I don’t… I know you’re not Darryl, Steve. I just…’’

   ‘’Hey,’’ Steve awkwardly grabs your face with his hands in the cramped confinement of his car, ‘’I’m not going to hurt you.’’

   ‘’How can you promise that?’’

   ‘’I can promise you that it’ll never be intentional,’’ Steve responds, ‘’I care about you. So much. IN a few months, you won’t be Jasmine’s teacher anymore. We can try then if you want. Just give me, this, us a chance.’’

   You’re staring into bright blue eyes, suddenly aware that, yes, this might be what you want.

   ‘’Steve…’’

   There’s a question in his eyes, and your slow nod lets him know that he can close the gap, missing you for the first time since you’ve met.

   And, for once, you’re not overthinking the situation, deciding to delay the decision for yet another day.

   That was three weeks ago. In that time, the two of you danced around each other. You talk at work, but never about this. And Steve's come to accept the fact that you’re just not ready to be in a relationship, so he begins to focus on his relationship with Sharon.

   ‘’What are you thinking about,’’ Sharon asks, pulling Steve from his deep thoughts.

   They’re sitting on her couch, her back against his side as he wraps an arm around her.

   Tonight, Jasmine is spending the night at Bucky and Nat’s place, so it's date night for Steve and Sharon. You’re taking  Livvy to a kid’s concert, and he’ll be seeing you tomorrow.

   ‘’Steve,’’ Sharon pipes up again, ‘’What’s going on?’’

   ‘’Oh,nothing.I was just thinking?’’

   ‘’About what,’’ Sharon presses, ‘’You looked tense.’’

   Sharon is wonderful. She’s spontaneous but she respects that Steve can’t be, not with Jasmine in tow. She’s so sweet to his daughter, so caring. She respects his faith,she doesn’t push him into commitment, she doesn’t make him feel bad for not having made a decision.

   ‘’You’re thinking about her again.’’

   It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

   Sharon Carter knows that Steve is seeing his co-worker at the same time that that's been seeing her. In fact, she’s been encouraging it. In a way, she guesses she thought that if Steve pursued you and decided that you two were better off friends, it’d open the door for her.    

   ‘’I… I am. I’m sorry, Sharon,’’ Steve grumbles, as Sharon sighs and turns off the television.

   ‘’We need to talk about this. Steve, you’ve been thinking about her since you got her. In fact… I would even go as far as to say that you’ve been thinking about her since we started dating.’’

   ‘’That’s not true.’’

   ‘’It is. Because, the truth is, you asked me out because you knew that she was guarded or busy or whatever it is,’’ Sharon looks at the television, avoiding eye contact with Steve, ‘’So you asked me out. I’my our safety net.’’

   ‘’Sharon,’’ Steve begins, ‘’It’s not like that.’’

   ‘’Yes, it is. You enjoy spending time with me, you’re attracted to me. But you’re not interested in me. Because… you’re in love with ehr, aren’t you?’’

   Again, she’s telling him. Sharon is able to see right through Steve the way that he can see through you, and it’s a bit disconcerting that he didn’t realize this before now.

   ‘’I think I'm falling in love with you, Steve. But it’s clear that you can’t feel the same, because you’re hung up on her,’’ Sharon stand, still not looking directly at Steve, ‘’I think you should go.’’

   ‘’Sharon,’’ Steve stands as well, ‘’Please. It’s not like that.’’

   ‘’I’m telling you this as someone who is your friend,’’ Sharon shakes her head, tears beginning to spill over, ‘’I’m serious. We can be friends. I need you to, though, Steve. Because I’ not gonna play second best.’’

   Steve, being who he is, respects her wishes and leaves.

   And as soon as he does, Sharon releases a flow of tears that she hadn’t even known where building up so quickly.

   Okay, so she’s a bit hurt. You evidently mean more to him, and she’s trying to push through the hurt to admit that to herself and move on.

   Even if it’s going to be a little harder to do.

   Sharon Carter is a woman of her word. So, three weeks later, she checks in on Steve. Valentine’s Day has come and went, and she saw him leaving with a bouquet of flowers that evening.

   She’s seen you a few times, aware that you don’t know who she is, when you’d visit Steve, your daughter with you. It’s been sporadic and she doesn’t dislike you or anything, but she’s not ready for the awareness of Steve seeing you and her and knowing that she wanted something to come of those dates with him, so she hurries into her apartment or the elevator.

   Last night, though, she heard the slam. She’d looked over from where she was taking her key to unlock her door, and saw you storm awat, furiously wiping at your tears.

   There must have been an argument or something, because Steve has not said two words to her since they’ve been in this elevator.

   ‘’So are you going to act like you don’t know me, or just tell me if you're okay or not,’’ she’s finally decided to address the tension.

   ‘’I’m fine. I’m assuming you heard the argument last night.’’

   ‘’Bits and pieces before she left. What happened?’’

   ‘’Nothing, Sharon,’’ Steve shrugs, willing the floors to go faster or the elevator to speed up or anything.

   ‘’Steve, you suck at lying. You don’t make eye contact when you do. What happened?’’

   ‘’After you ended things,’’ Steve groans, aware that Sharon won’t drop this, ‘’I talked to her. She said she’s giving me a chance, that we must have to go slow, I just… I don’t know. She’s got excuse after excuse, and then something happened on Friday, and now we’re fighting. And maybe she's right. Maybe we shouldn’t be together.’’

   Shron can tell by Steve’s tone that he doesn't believe that-not even a little bit, not at all.

   ‘’You told her you love her. Didn’t you.’’

   And there she goes again,staring right through him.

   ‘’Did you hear that, too?’’

   ‘’You wear your heart on your sleeve. You said you love her and she’s afraid,’’ Sharon realizes.

   ‘’You hit the nail on the head.But maybe it’s for the best,’’ Steve glances at his watch, ‘’I’m going to pick Jasmine up from this sleepover and take her to the game day at church.  I’ll see you later, alright?’’

   ‘’Alright,’’ Sharon nods, grateful that they’re finally in the lobby.

   And that she doesn’t have to see the way Steve begins to wipe tears away as they separate.

   About  half an hour later, Sharon is back, having run her errands and ready to enjoy a lazy Saturday off at home…

   Until she sees you, ready to knock on Steve’s door.

   ‘’Steve’s not here. He said he was picking Jasmine up and going to the game day at church.’’

   You turn to look at her, shocked at her information, ‘’Oh, thank you. I forgot he was taking Jasmine.’’

   ‘’She’s been talking about it all week,’’ Sharon shrugs, hesitating before walking over to you, ‘’You don’t know me, but I’m Sharon.’’

   Your eyes widen, blinking a few times before you stick out your hand, ‘’Hi, I’m-’’

   ‘’The woman he’d rather be with. Sorry, that came out harsher than I meant for it to,’’ Sharon shakes your hand, ‘’Listen… I know you don’t know me, but can I talk to you? We can sit out here in the hallway if you’d like.’’

   ‘’,,,Sure,’’you agree, not exactly knowing why.

   That’s how Sharon finds herself leaning with her back against the wall outside of her apartment as you do the same, legs stretched out in front of you as Sharon sits criss cross to look at you.

   ‘’I know Steve is a great guy. He’s sweet, he loves his daughter, he treats Olivia well, he’s faithful, he loves God, he makes me feel great. But when he said he loved me,I…’’

   ‘’Are you afraid of being hurt again?’’    

   ‘’I thought that was it,’’ you confess, not sure why you’re telling all of this to your boyfriend’s(?) ex. ,’’I don’t know anymore.’’

   ‘’Can I speak frankly? Well, I’m going to do it anyway. It may not be my place to say, and you might be mad at me. I don’t care. Steve is a great guy, and you seem pretty nice yourself. I think you’re in love with him, and you know it,and you know this is different, and that’s what scares you. Because you know that Steve is ready to commit, and you want to, as well.’’

   ‘’You don’t know me,’’ you shake your head, narrowing your eyes at her, ‘’At all.’’

   ‘’I might as well. Because all he ever talked about as you. He’s been in love with you for a while. ‘’

   ‘’I know, I know,’’ you shake your head, running a hand over your fresh twists, ‘’I know. I lo-... I’m …’’

   ‘’Whoever hurt you before,’’ Sharon takes a chance, putting a hand on your arm ,’’Is not Steve. And Steve isn’t him. I gave him up, but you are going to lose him if you keep going on like this. Is that really what you want?’’

   Here this woman is, begging you not to close yourself off to Steve any longer.

   ‘’I have no ill intentions. I mean, at first I thought if he dated you and it didn’t work out, he wouldn't be left wondering. And if it did work out, then i wouldn’t be left wondering. But now I just see two people who are fighting for and against each other at the same time. Steve is stubborn but he’s loyal, and I don’t know you well enough to say. Just don’t lose him. Because if you care about him, if it’s meant to be… you’ll work out, I guess. But, if you push him away, i can guarantee you that it won’t be long until someone else comes along who’s willing to give a relationship with him a try.’’

   Her words hurt, as she expects them to, but it’s the truth. Steve is kind, sensitive, and attractive. He’s smart, he’s faithful. Why wouldn’t someone want to be with him?

   ‘’He should be back in a half hour, an hour at the most, I guess. He doesn’t stay at things long. Besides, I think that Jasmine has a tutoring session tonight. You’re welcome to, like, chill here if you want. Because I think it’d be weird if I like… invited you in.’’

   ‘’It would be,’’ you laugh for the first time all day, ‘’Thank you, Sharon.’’

   ‘’You can thank me by teaching Steve the proper way to eat Oreos. He doesn’t do it right. I’ll see you around,’’ Sharon stands then, taking her keys and unlocking her apartment.

   As she enters, she lets out a deep breath, finally feeling like she’s actually let go of Steve.

   And she knows why… deep, deep down inside. But that’s something that she’s not quite ready to tell Steve. All that matters is that you take this leap.

   Because that’s what it is- a leap of faith.

   And Sharon just hopes that she’s provided you with enough of a springboard to finally have the courage to take it.

Disclaimer- I own no Marvel characters, countries, planets, galaxies, cities, etc.

 @ashanti-notthesinger @destinio1 @afraiddreamingandloving @airis-paris14 @syreanne @chaneajoyyy @90sinspiredgirl @shemiahsmelanin @zillmonger @skysynclair19 @marvelpotterlove @constantlycravingtheunknown @imaginewhoever @wakanda-inspired @pocmarvelworks @theunsweetenedtruth @dreampovx @adrioola21 @supremethunda @thisiskayesworld @mcusocialimagines @priya212  @kumkaniudaku  @airis-paris14 @alexundefined @fonville-designs  @dramaqueenamby  @mellowjellow6 @oceanscorazon @nerd-lovely @fonville-designs @akimi-youngblood @yoyolovesbucky @fd-writes @areubeingserved-too @areubeingserved @thisbrokencapulet

[icecoldflames]

The Pinnae Flower Chapter 2, Pt. 1

Masterlist

Updates, A Small Headcanon, and a Top Secret Mission

Hallelujah! Raz Keeran, the deity themself, has finally tweeted more about PS! My crops are watered, there’s money in the bank, and the long-awaited summer is here! It’s time to lean back, relax, theorize and post on this blog more often.

On Raz’s Twitter (all authors seem to have Twitter’s, don’t they?), they posted this tweet:

“A little excerpt from PS:

“He had a ball clutched in his right paw. ‘You can’t be serious,’ Kaida grimaced. But then she saw the stone dragon blink ever so slowly. Right before her eyes, the stone fell away to reveal a shimmering red dragon.”

Can I say we called it? Dragons. Kaida. OMG. I am pumped for this final instalment.

Now that we know this is canon (it seems almost surreal), Logan and I have come up with a headcanon. Not a totally big one—but one all the same.

What if the azure flower that grew in PTNE was grown by the dragons and Kaida? I know that most people believe that it was the sprite king (rightly so, since sprites in this universe work with plants).

But then Logan brought my attention to one little part from the ending of PTNE:

“Funny how a war—a war which left many dead and hurt in many more ways than physically—could bring two old friends back together again. Arel looked at Parisa and Parisa looked at Arel. It was odd how such a terrible occurrence could bring back old friendships.

Arel almost didn’t notice the sudden wind, seemingly there one second and gone the next. The only way he knew it was there was that Parisa’s shorn hair blew up in her face.

The silence was just about unbearable and Arel felt words in his mouth, wanting to spill out and be heard. Parisa tucked some hair behind her ear and began fiddling with her grandmother’s ring. Arel immediately relaxed at the sight of such a familiar action.

The words bubbled up and this time Arel let them out. It was in that same moment that Parisa lifted her head and began speaking too.

“I’m so so sorry.”

Arel could feel the air around them thinning. As if the magic words had finally been spoken and the blanket was finally being lifted. He began to take the first steps to cross the short distance between him and his best friend.

It was in that moment that something moved in the grass. It couldn’t have been the wind—the wind had come and gone like that and the clearing was back to it’s motionless self. Arel stopped dead in his tracks and Parisa’s eyes shot down to look as well. She finally looked at ease too.

Arel watched as the grass shifted again. A green stem was breaking through the soil. It was like someone had filmed the growth of a flower and then sped it up to take mere seconds. The stem rose up and up and a bud seemed to materialize from nowhere.

Both Arel and Parisa watched in stunned silence as an azure flower bloomed right before their eyes.

Now, a lot of Pinnies think this is symbolism to Arel and Parisa’s regrowth of friendship, per say—the Pinnae flower being cut symbolizing their fall out and the azure flower their regrowth.

But Logan and I think that that azure flower was not meant for Arel and Parisa. In fact, we think the flower was aimed at King Oberon and Queen Titania. After all, the azure flower was the flower King Oberon used to propose to Queen Titania.

Perhaps this flower wasn’t meant to symbolize Arel and Parisa’s rebirth as friends but to the King and Queen’s reconciliation with each other.

Now, you might ask: why did the flower sprout in between Arel and Parisa if it was meant for the Fairy King and the Sprite Queen?

Well, back in that excerpt, Arel notices a sudden wind. Could that have knocked the magical seed off course? Could the wind have come from a dragon’s wings?

In any case, I cannot wait to read Raz’s next book.

Also, just a note: Logan and I are going on a top secret mission over summer so my posts might be even more sporadic than usual. I hope that we’ll have some tea to spill when we get back.

Thanks for reading my loyal plebeians,

Prince Roman Falco

~~~

Logan felt sick to the stomach. And it wasn’t because the plane was making its descent down. This is wrong, Logan thought to himself. So wrong. But Logan’s pride was stronger than his logic.

Roman, on the other hand, looked absolutely ecstatic. He couldn’t stop moving; fooling with the air conditioner, making repetitive sounds with his hands and feet, and constantly getting up to use the bathroom (it didn’t help that Roman had the window seat and Logan was in the isle).

Logan wished that he could just turn the plane back around and go straight home.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He refused to let Roman get the better of him.

Logan would find Raz to show Roman he could. He’d figure out how to stop Roman from leaking such classified information after the fact.

He gripped the armrest tightly and he wished that his pride and ego weren’t so big. Then he wouldn’t be in this mess.

He supposed, though, that if Raz were to live anywhere, Mayflower Town was an okay place to spend summer vacation along with finding out who Raz actually was.

In the airport, Logan felt a bit better with himself. Roman and him bought some doughnuts in the airport along with coffee before getting in a taxi to pick up their rental car: a red, clunky, Byrne Road.

And then they were off down the highway towards Raz’s maybe, probably, hopefully, hometown.

“And you’re sure this is where Raz lives?” Roman asked from the driver’s seat. He took a sip of his coffee.

Logan turned down the blaring pop song coming out of the radio without looking up from his computer. “Almost positive.”

“And what facts point to here? That Raz actually lives here?” Roman questioned once again.

Logan sighed and clicked a single button on his computer before looking up at his best friend. His stare burned the side of Roman’s head.

“Listen, I’m almost sure Raz lives here. What more do you want?” Logan said, grimacing. He didn’t want to tell Roman about theazureflower. It felt almost too personal to tell.

While they had been at the airport, waiting to board the plane, Logan and Roman had put together another post of “The Prince’s Crown”.

He and Roman had multiple headcanons they put in a shared document online whenever they thought of something. It was just shorthand and had no real sources, but it made thinking of post ideas much easier than thinking of headcannons out of thin air.

Then, all they had to do to make a post was to find some sources from the books and type it up.

Roman huffed. “Do you not have any facts? Honestly, I would have thought you, Logan—“

Logan clenched his jaw and he could feel his blood begin to boil. “This is where Raz lives, Roman.” He snapped. “Why are you suddenly now just questioning everything I say and do?”

“Because you were the one who was so against this whole thing—trying to find Raz and all that.” Roman argued. His knuckles holding the steering wheel were almost white.

“I said I’d help you find him!” Logan exclaimed, his voice loud and brash.

Roman went silent.

Logan dipped his head back to his computer and continued to type, trying to ignore the deafening stillness that had fallen over the vehicle.

They stayed quiet for the entirety of the ride until they passed the sign, welcoming them to Mayflower Town.

It seemed more like grim proof that Logan was doing something terrible than a welcome sign with bright colours and stickers.

“Turn right to go to our hotel,” Logan forced himself to say. But he didn’t look up from his screen. He wasn’t ready for that yet.

Roman followed Logan’s emotionless instructions and kept on following them as Logan kept reading out the directions like a human GPS.

The hotel was three stars. Roman wouldn’t settle for anything less. And even then, he had not wanted to even step foot in less than a four star but Logan had insisted on the three star—saying that the three star was much cheaper and better for a prolonged stay somewhere other than buying an apartment.

It was only a couple floors high and was between a barber shop and a bar. Across, was a cafe titled “Patton-ly Perfect”. Logan almost groaned out loud at the pun.

Roman and Logan signed into the hotel, still an icy barrier between the two. They unpacked in a similar manner.

“Let’s go to the coffee shop across the road.” Logan said suddenly, creating a crack in the ice.

Roman nodded eagerly. “I could go for some caffeine and some pastries right now.”

The ice seemed temporarily thawed and they both walked across the street with tentative conversation—as if they were first meeting and unsure what exactly to say.

Logan walked in, a bell tinkling above, and was hit with two things: the colour blue and the smell of fresh bread and pastries.

The place was quaint and small and reminded Logan of a garden with all kinds of flowers and wood. There was a fish tank in the corner too with goldfish.

“Woah,” Roman breathed next to Logan. “This place is awesome.” He did a 360 and tentatively touched a lily in a flower pot next to him. “This reminds me so much of ‘Fairy Tales and Fantasy Books’.”

A man popped up from behind the counter on the far wall. He had on a smile that seemed to illuminate the whole room. “Welcome!” He exclaimed.

“Uh, hello.” Logan nodded and walked closer to the man.

The man cocked his head to the side before seemingly smiling even brighter—if that was possible. “You two are new.”

“Yeah! We’re here on a vacation!” Roman exclaimed. Then, “this place is super cool.”

“Thanks!” The man said. He took off his apron that said ‘I loaf you dough much’ before going around his counter and holding out his hand to Roman.

They shook hands. “I’m Patton.” The man said. He was still smiling.

“Roman.” Roman nodded. “Nice to meet you.

Patton then went over to Logan and extended his hand. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Logan said. “Logan.”

“Great to see some new faces!” Patton exclaimed. “We don’t often get newcomers, to be honest. What brings you here to our little corner of the USA?”

Logan wanted to say that Mayflower Town was not in the corner of anywhere, but bit his tongue.

Roman glanced over to Logan before looking back at Patton. He shrugged. “Just wanted a change of scenery that wouldn’t be too crowded with buildings and people.”

Patton nodded, genuinely listening. “Ah. Well, you’ve definitely got the right town. This place is absolutely great—“

The bell rang again and another man comes through the door. He was tall, taller than Logan. His hair was mussed and he had on a massive hoodie that seemed a couple sizes too large. He went around Logan, Roman, and Patton and gruffly hopped over the counter.

Logan stared at Patton then back at the strange man who was...breaking and entering in the middle of the day while the owner was inside?

But Patton just smiled even wider and turned around to look at the man. He doesn’t even seem to be bothered. “That’s Virgil. One of the regulars. I make him his coffee and put it separately away in the corner.” He turned around to look at Virgil. “Hi Virgil! Look we’ve got two new visitors!”

“Hey Pat,” Virgil mumbled and he grabbed a black coffee cup and began pouring his coffee into it.

“This is Roman and Logan,” Patton explained, pointing to each one of them.

“Hi.” Is all Virgil said before walking around the counter and settling himself at a corner table with just one chair and a flower pot in the center of the table. In the pot, the flower was obviously fake with clear, mesh-like petals with white veins running through it.

Patton turned back to Logan and Roman. His eyes were dancing and his mouth was upwards into a smile still. “Would you like anything? Pastries? Drinks?”

“What kind of stuff do you have?” Roman asked, walking over to the counter where, to the left, the pastries were behind glass.

Logan saw Berliners, croissants, all kinds of pies, cakes, and even some churros.

He expected Roman to ask for churros—like back home. But Logan is surprised when Roman says, “how ‘bout a piece of lemon meringue pie?”

Patton grins and opens the glass to take out a slice. “I have another regular who comes, Penny, and this is her favourite pie. She comes here to write.” He added in absentmindedly.

It was as if an electric shock went through Roman and Logan because, instantly, they glanced over at each other with wide eyes.

Patton didn’t seem to notice the exchange as he was jabbering on about botanists and his flowers in his cafe. He took a slice of pie and put it on a plate that seems to be made of pottery. “Here you go. What about you Logan? There’s plenty to go around.”

Logan glanced inside the glass before looking up at the menus which were hanging from the ceiling. “I think I’ll have...the blueberry muffin please.”

He then began thinking of ways he could possibly bring up Penny as Patton walked over to the muffin stand. Could she possibly be Raz Keeran?

Roman, on the other hand was not so discreet. As Patton was beginning to walk back to Logan, he blurted out. “So what does Penny write? Stories?”

Logan actually made a sound out loud. Somewhere between a dying whale and an overexcited chimpanzee.

Patton was too preoccupied putting the muffin on a plate and Roman wasn’t paying attention at all. But Virgil, all the way on the other side of the cafe, swivelled his head and glanced over at Logan with a weird expression on his face that he couldn’t read.

Logan’s face immediately went red.

Patton slid over the plate across the counter to Logan while looking at Roman. “Dunno. She comes in here everyday with a computer. She tells me she’s writing something but never tells me what.” He shrugged before smiling once again. “Enjoy your food!”

Roman and Logan found a table for two, in the other corner across from Virgil. They made sure to be as secluded as humanly possible before discussing about Keeran’s identity.

It still made Logan shiver—the thought of finding Keeran when they obviously didn’t want to be found—but the whole mystery was beginning to get to him. It was like he was a real life Sherlock Holmes, solving a mystery.

He hated himself for it yet, he realized with a sinking sense of despair, he wanted to solve this mystery.

Logan had always said he hated hypocrites. And he tried his darned hardest to not be one. But was he a hypocrite now? After all those years telling Roman that finding Keeran was wrong and now he suddenly wanted to do so?

Logan bit a large bite out of his muffin and tried to chew as slow as humanly possible.

What had changed? Why was he so suddenly feeling different about finding Keeran? Was it actually being out in the field instead of being home, Keeran feeling so far out of reach? Or was it that somewhere, deep inside, Logan had always wanted to figure out Keeran’s identity?

Logan swallowed hard. He suddenly felt cold but sweaty and congested in an almost empty cafe.

“It’s Penny.” Roman said before shoving some pie into his mouth. “I didn’t think it would be this obvious. Would’ve thought it would be a tougher case to crack”

Logan didn’t say a word and let Roman babble on and on.

“I mean, this Penny person comes into this cafe and writes something but Patton doesn’t know? Pretty obvious if you ask me.

“I think our best bet is to have a stake out here to figure out who Penny is.” Roman continued. “And then, we’ll need some cold hard proof to show. So maybe a picture of her computer with some unseen scenes from the fifth book or maybe some stuff from the previous books or—“ he paused and looked at Logan as if he only just now realized he was sitting across from him. “What do you think about Penny?”

It took a moment for Logan to snap back into reality—to snap out of the spiral downwards his thoughts were taking. But, soon he processed Roman’s question. “I don’t know. But, you’re right about one thing: I don’t think it’s supposed to be this obvious. Or, this whole thing is going to be a lot harder than we thought.”

“But it totally is Penny,” Roman concluded with his air of importance. “It’s gotta be.”

It doesn’t have to be, Logan thought to himself but didn’t say out loud. He decided that he’d work on this mystery alone. He’d figure out who Raz Keeran really was and not tell Roman. Therefore, the secret wouldn’t be out. Only he’d know. Only Logan. The whole idea kind of excited him.

Logan could trust himself and his self-control to not leak information about Keeran. Roman, on the other hand, was not so reliable.

“Yeah...sure…” Logan nodded, not really paying attention.

Roman took another bite of his pie and when he spoke again crumbs spewed everywhere. “Should we just stay here or explore this town a bit?”

Logan had no intention of finding Raz Keeran on the first day—whether it was Penny or not—so he said “let’s head out.” He grabbed the rest of his muffin and Roman quickly inhaled the rest of his pie.

They quickly paid for their desserts, Virgil eyeing them wearily, before heading out to explore their new surroundings.

~~~

What Roman noticed first was that everyone was so nice.

The florist through the window smiled and waved as they passed. The librarian suggested they come in and borrow some books (Roman had to physically restrain Logan from going inside). The man selling fresh eggs and milk on the side of the road offered them a sample of the milk. The busker at the corner nodded his head in acknowledgement. Every passerby smiled a full toothed smile. Not one of those “I accidentally looked into your eyes so I’m going to give you a closed lipped smile” smile.

“It’s kind of off-putting, to be honest.” Logan muttered when Roman said this to him. “No one can be that nice.”

“Actually, they can.” Roman said. “Why are you always so negative?” He sighed.

“I’m not negative.” Logan said. “I’m a realist.”

“Negative, realist.” Roman said, putting one hand up then the other. “Tomato, tomato.”

Logan’s face scrunched up almost cartoon-like. “What? No. They aren’t the same thing. Being negative is always seeing the negative. Being a realist is using facts. If something is 100% good, then it’s good. Fact. No one can be this happy, though. Another fact.”

Roman sighed over-dramatically. “Whatever. But I love this town. It’s great.”

Logan nodded curtly. “No doubt about that. It’s very quaint and small.”

The words were out of Roman’s mouth before he could stop himself. “I wouldn’t mind living here.”

Logan didn’t make a vocal reaction but Roman noticed how his shoulders stiffened and his hands found his jean pockets.

“I mean,” Roman amended quickly. “It would be fun living here if I had to choose somewhere else other than where we live now.”

Logan didn’t seem to relax much.

Roman was planning on continuing his babbling but a building in the distance caught his eye. “Woah, is that a mansion?” He eagerly pointing in the near distance like a toddler pointing at a brightly coloured candy at the store.

Logan put his hand up to block the sun in his eyes to look to where Roman had pointed.

In the distance a gleaming white building stood tall and proud—like royalty in the midst of peasants. The windows were two-way and Roman could see a part of a parking lot-esque style space peeking out from behind the building.

“Do you think that’s Raz’s place?” Roman breathed in awe.

“That’s not a mansion.” Logan stated, bringing his arm down. He then pointed to the opposite side of the building. “It’s a hospital.”

Roman squinted to where Logan was gesturing and saw a couple of ambulances parked and ready to go if help was needed.

He deflated just slightly. Slightly. “Let’s go!” Roman grabbed at Logan’s wrist and began speed walking towards the hospital.

“Why are we going to a hospital?” Logan asked, wrinkling his nose. “No one’s hurt. We have no need to visit.”

“It’s not just any hospital, Logan.” Roman exclaimed excitedly. “It’s the hospital. It literally looks like a celebrity would live there.”

Logan just looked even more confused than before. “In a hospital?”

Roman opened his mouth to respond but then thought better of it and snapped his jaw shut. “I just wanna see what it’s like.”

They speed-walked down a couple more streets until they were face to face with the gleaming building with so many windows. Roman craned his neck back so his vision could see the top of the hospital. “This place is so epic.”

“It truly is, isn’t it?” A woman’s voice piped up. Roman jumped at the sudden voice that definitely wasn’t Logan’s.

He glanced over to where a woman was seated on a bench a couple of feet away. How come I didn’t notice her before? Had Logan noticed her as soon as she was in his field of vision? Or was Logan just as surprised as he was?

“Oh. Hello.” Roman said, smiling at the woman before looking back up at the hospital. “Yeah, it is gorgeous.”

The woman looked maybe a couple years older than Roman but not by much. Her hair was dyed an ice blonde and her eyes were a bright green. She was wearing a stylish pair of red cat-eye glasses and dangly earrings.

“I was talking to some of the staff inside and apparently every so often they get an anonymous donation with a very ...significant sum.” Her eyebrows raised as she said this and her eyes widened along with them.

“A mysterious donation?” Logan repeated. He had the same facial expression as the woman—completely in rapture. He then seemed to realize something and straightened his spine, schooling his features and extending his arm. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Logan Holmes.”

The woman shook his hand and nodded. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Josephine Keller. But you can call me Jo.”

Logan’s eyes lit up. “Ah! Like Louisa May Alcott’s Josephine March!”

Jo’s eyes lit up and nodded, a smile playing at her lips. “Exactly.”

Roman decided then to introduce himself as well and did a slight bow. “And I’m Roman Falco.”

Jo nodded in Roman’s direction. “Great to meet you to.”

“Do they have any idea who sends the donations? A company? A single person?” Logan then asked Jo, leaning his body in just slightly.

What does this have to do with finding Raz Keeran? Roman asked himself, scrunching up his nose. They were supposed to be on a mission to find Raz, not some weird hospital donor.

Jo shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “No idea. They say the donation comes in cash in an unmarked envelope.”

“Which means the donation must be brought to the hospital personally, not mailed.” Logan stated, rubbing his chin.

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Jo exclaimed. “I asked the security there if they ever managed to see who brought the envelope through their cameras but they said that every time was a different person in dark clothes and a hood or hat.”

“And no doubt all of them are not the actual donor.” Logan concluded almost seamlessly with Jo’s previous words. “Could they describe what the latest donor was wearing?”

Jo shook her head once again. “No. Security said they couldn’t disclose that information.”

“Have they ever tried finding the donor?” Logan asked once again.

Roman was starting to get impatient. What was happening? He could barely follow along with the conversation. The two of them seemed to be bouncing off each other and talking at the speed of light.

“No. But they did do an investigation to make sure the money that was being donated to them was legit and not stolen or something along those lines.

“And? What did they find?”

“All the money is good. Not stolen.” Jo concluded.

Logan hmmmed. “Interesting. And are they’re sure the envelope is unmarked?”

“That’s what they said. They didn’t show me the envelope.” Jo replied. She glanced at her red watch and stood up. “Well, it’s been great talking to you, gentlemen. But I have to go. I’m meeting a friend soon.”

Logan shook Jo’s hand once again and as soon as she was out of view, Roman began talking.

“What was that?” Roman exclaimed. “I thought we were trying to find Raz’s identity! Not take on some side mystery about a mysterious donor.” Then, he added in. “And that woman gives me bad vibes.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Jo seems very nice. You probably don’t like her because she’s not like you. Anyway, that’s not the point. Jo gave us some very valuable information.”

“Valuable information?” Roman sputtered incredulously. “From her?”

“Yes.” Logan nodded. “Just think, Roman. If this donor is getting people to bring the envelope here, that means it’s a very likely chance that this donor lives in this town. Besides, the next closest town is an hour away. And if the donor lives here and is able to give away that much money away, they must be very wealthy indeed. And, wouldn’t you think an incredibly famous author of four books, who’s coming out with a fifth, might earn some good money? Especially if they might have written other works under their own name or even another pseudonym.”

Roman’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped on his own accord. “You think Raz Keeran is the mysterious donor?”

Logan nodded curtly. “Yes. But it’s just a thought. It does make sense, however. But we don’t have enough information to be 100% about it.”

“Oh my gosh. Logan, you are brilliant.” Roman breathed.

The tips of Logan’s mouth quirked up. “Thank you. You are also, intelligent too.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Roman asked excitedly.

Logan slid his hands inside his pockets. “We’re going inside the hospital to see if we can get a glimpse of the envelope or someone who can describe it to us. Or, even better, someone who managed to get a glimpse of a face of someone who brought in the envelope.”

The hospital, as much as it looked like a mansion on the outside, was not a mansion on the inside.

However, it was a hospital and a hospital outfitted like a mansion just wasn’t a good idea in the first place.

The walls and ceilings and floors were blindingly bright and white. It had that hospital smell and all the doctors and nurses seemed to be going somewhere.

There was a man behind the front desk, tapping out something on his computer.

“So….how’re we going to find someone who has seen or taken a picture of the envelope or has actually seen the donor?” Roman asked as he followed Logan through the hallways, a couple floors up.

“I’ll figure it out…” Logan muttered under his breath.

Roman’s head shot up. “Wait. You don’t know how? I thought—“

“Um, are you two lost?” A woman poked her head of a doorway.

“No.” Logan replied curtly.

“Unless you have pictures of the envelope that the mysterious donor’s money comes in or have actually seen one of the people who brought it in.” Roman said bluntly. Asking straight up was the better option for this kind of stuff.

Logan’s head swivelled around and it reminded Roman of an owl that could spin its head all the way around. And, if looks could kill, Roman would be dead right now on the floor.

The woman narrowed her eyes at the two of them and looked between Roman and Logan curiously. “And why would you want to know?”

Logan was the first to speak. He schooled his death glare pointed towards Roman and took a couple steps towards the woman. “The same as you. To solve a mystery.”

If jaw’s could hit the floor, the woman’s jaw would have hit the floor and smashed right through the floor down to the other floors and right to the dirt. “Wha—“ she sputtered. “How?”

“If you didn’t know anything you would have probably said straight up that you had no clue about the mysterious donor.” Logan stated pointedly. “Of course, if you wish for us to leave right now, we will acquest.”

“But we would rather you tell us what you know.” Roman added in then shrunk as Logan glared at him.

The woman turned her head side to side down the halls, as if to make sure the coast was clear before ushering them inside.

Inside the small room was an office like space that was probably meant for four more people.

“I’m an intern here.” The woman said as she noticed Logan and Roman glancing around. “I’m Penny.”

Roman’s back immediately straightened and he could see Logan’s eyes quickly light up with recognition.

Penny. Could it be the Penny? The Penny who Patton had told them about who was always writing in his cafe? The Penny who could possibly be Raz Keeran?

Logan was the first to say something. “I’m Logan Holmes.”

“Roman Falco.” Roman added in.

“So, what do you know about the mysterious donor?” Logan asked curiously, walking around the space which wasn’t small but he could definitely see it as small with five people inside.

Penny made her way to a desk which Roman assumed was hers. She bent down to drag a cardboard box out which could have been mistaken as a banker’s box filled with files. “I don’t have much as I haven’t been interning for all that long. However, I have been here long enough to be here when three donations have been delivered.” Penny explained, putting the box on a table and opening the flaps.

She pulled out a piece of paper first and passed it to Logan. “I marked down what day the donation was brought and exactly how much was donated. All the way back to the first one three years years ago.”

Logan skimmed through the calendar. “The donor looks pretty consistent—about one donation every three or four months.” He paused. “Except for this one: it has five months.”

Penny nodded. “Yeah, last year in May. It was also the largest donation to date.”

Logan passed the paper to Roman. The printing was incredibly small and it was almost impossible to read. And he had 20/20 vision. After glancing at all the numbers that seemed to swim before his vision, he placed it next to the box.

The next thing Penny pulled out were three envelopes. And, while they were blank they had a specific bluish hue to them that weren’t like your average envelope.

“These are the envelopes the past three donations came in. According to some of my friends here who have been at the hospital longer, the donation always comes in these blank envelopes.” Penny explained.

“Do you know where they came from?” Roman asked. He had watched enough mystery movies to know that you should always know where clues came from and then ask the shop owner who had bought such things.

“Yeah. From Patton-ly Perfect.” Penny replied. “The owner there sells these specific envelopes.”

Roman could see Logan’s head snap up in surprise. “Really?” He paused. “You don’t think…?” Logan trailed off.

Penny just shook her head. “No. Patton can’t be the donor. I’ve been going to his cafe regularly for a couple of months and he’s no longer a suspect.”

Roman deflated. So Penny couldn’t be Raz Keeran. She couldn’t be looking for the donor if she was the donor herself. How would that make sense?

Logan seemed to come to the same conclusion and glanced over at Roman before speaking to Penny once again. “Do you have any other suspects?”

“Only one.” Penny replied. “This girl who lives down the block from me. She’s a couple years older than me and inherited this large sum of money from her grandmother. Her name is Cherry and I sometimes see her chatting with Patton and a couple of other people there at the cafe. Other than that, that’s all I got.”

Logan nodded. “Well, thank you for your help and time. We really should get going.”

But Roman piped up before Penny could respond. “What does this Cherry look like?” He wanted to know what the newest suspect looked like. Whereas with Patton, they only got Penny’s name and nothing else, he wanted to know this person’s appearance.

Penny began putting her stuff back in the banker’s box. “Well, she’s tall.” She raised her hand above her own head to demonstrate. “And she’s got a messy bob kind of hairstyle. Brunette. And Harry Potter glasses.”

“Harry Potter!” Roman exclaimed. Finally. He understood something. “You’ve read the books?”

“About a million times.” Penny said, her eyes lighting up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roman could see Logan roll his eyes. But he decided to ignore it for the time being. “What house are you in? I’m a Gryffindor.”

[ladyoutlier]

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

In which Crowley and Aziraphale inherit the Earth.

[Read on AO3] | [Chapter 2]

Chapter 3: The Moon and I Love You’s

Aziraphale and Crowley’s after-lunch relaxation on the outdoor patio was interrupted before it even began by a sapling which had sprouted right outside the front door. The tree didn’t fit at all in with the surrounding ones. Instead it looked rather demented, taking on a more black tinge than green. Crowley snapped his fingers, and the plant was sucked down into the earth.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked, following Crowley outside.

“An apple tree sapling.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s getting less and less subtle with each try. It’s actually really funny to watch him struggle.”

“I almost feel bad for him. If, of course, it wasn’t such a despicable thing he’s trying to do.”

“Exactly. If you want to be despicable, you better at least be good at it. It’s just sad otherwise.”

They took a seat at the nice metal table in their front garden. Really it was all one big garden and the need to specify whether it was the front one or the back one was unneeded, but for simplicity’s sake, the table was located in front of the cottage.

“So what’s Plan B on this human making scheme?” Crowley asked, stretching out in the sun.

“Actually, I’m not sure that making a human is what God intended for us.” Aziraphale fiddled with his hands.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just that it is impossible for us to create a living being. Our experiment at the riverbank proved that much.”

“Yeah, but we already knew that before we tried. You still wanted to give it a go anyway. Why the change of heart?”

“I might of had a small conversation with the Almighty when you left.”

“Rather one sided I’d imagine.”

“Less so than usual actually.”

“Oh?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“There was some specific signs in the surroundings that suggested that I, uh, was being heard.”

“Uh, huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“Then, what’s God say? What are we supposed to do?”

“She, well, showed a bit of interest when I discussed our, um, desire to return to our lives.” Aziraphale looked to Crowley to read his reaction, but the demon’s face was stoic. “She lightened up when I expressed interest in spending it with you.”

“So what? God’s playing matchmaker?” Crowley’s face flicked through a series of emotions from embarrassment to spite.

“I, um, don’t know if it’s that far. Rather, I think She just wants us to enjoy each other’s company while here.”

“So just bloody well do what we have been doing?”

“That’s our purpose anyway. Everyone else I’m sure has their own.”

God bit Her lip and looked away. Yeah, everyone else had a purpose too… This wasn’t at all just a drunken impulse that was going rather well considering.

“Well, fine. If we’re just supposed to have a good time, let’s do that. Treat it like an extended holiday.” Crowley stood up. “Let’s go anywhere. World’s our oyster. See the sights. Where you want to go?”

“That’s a very open ended question. We’re already at the nicest place on Earth.”

“Debatable.”

“This might be a bit sooner than I expected, but I’d like to follow up that to the moon and back comment you made last night.”

Crowley smiled. “Coming right out with the big guns, eh? To the moon then.”

*

While the empty expanses of space would most definitely bring a swift end to any unfortunate humans that found themselves within it, the same can not be said about ethereal and occult beings. As such, Aziraphale and Crowley could find themselves stargazing within the craters of the moon with absolutely no repercussions. It was only mid-evening, but in the universe beyond the planet, it looked as late as midnight.

“In all my time on Earth,” Aziraphale began, staring at the grand blue orb in front of them. “I never took the time to see what the planet looked like from a larger perspective. There is, of course, the miniature in Heaven, but it hardly looks as fantastical as this.”

Of course, to mere mortals, there is no sound in space. If one was able to attempt a conversation on the moon, the other participating party would not be able to hear any of it. However, the rules of reality bend around the will of immortals.

“Haven’t seen it in a while myself.” Crowley stretched an arm out to the stars. “Spent enough time out there in the pre-Earth days.”

“Pre-Earth days?”

“What? Never told you, did I? Helped make some of those. Was a long time ago though.”

Aziraphale took his eyes off the constellations to look at Crowley. “Back when—”

“Yeah, back then. Like I said, long time ago.”

The angel looked back out to the stars. They shone with a bit more of a mischievous glow now that he knew Crowley had played a part in their creation. He had always appreciated the celestial bodies of the universe just as he appreciated every plant, animal, and human on Earth, but now, with this added information, the stars suddenly gained quite a bit of value.

“They’re stunning, dear,” Aziraphale said. “There is a reason after all why humanity has spent the ages staring at them. Do you remember which ones you did?”

“Eh, so so. That blob of ‘em over there. Those speckled ones up there. Just the sporadic oddballs.”

Aziraphale suspected that the demon most definitely knew which ones he had made as well as every name humans had given them. If he didn’t want to go into the specifics, that was fine. Perhaps, it was just that company is what he valued more than conversation right at this moment. Just the two of them off in the stars. Exactly as he had wanted to do during Armageddon. 

This was a strange realization for Aziraphale to come to in this happy moment. It disrupted the mood greatly, but he had thought it and now he couldn’t forget it. When Crowley had wanted him to run away to Alpha Centauri together, he had invited Aziraphale to the one thing he still had left from his angel days. All that he had left in regards to faith. Well, it hadn’t worked out then, but now, here they were.

“I’m really glad you took me here, Crowley.”

“Yeah, well the fly up here is Hell in itself, but other than that, it’s no big deal.”

A shooting star darted across the sky and off to somewhere behind the Earth. Instead of a wish, Aziraphale decided on an action. He slid closer to Crowley, and laid his head down on the demon’s shoulder.

“Maybe not to you, but it’s a big deal to me.”

Crowley stiffened as he looked back to Aziraphale. As far as skin on skin was concerned, the angel’s hands were the only thing he was familiar with in the slightest. Their body swap of a couple days ago hardly counted. When they traded bodies, their physical forms merely resembled the other but without the familiar characteristics. That was completely controlled by their ability to act as one another.

Aziraphale putting his head on his shoulder was completely different entirely. With the context and the words he was saying and— It left Crowley more than a bit flustered. He tried to relax. Let his muscles loosen. Allow a smile to fall on his face. He carefully draped his arm around the angel.

“You’re right. I guess it is kind of a big deal.”

Outer space is a frozen wasteland. Without an atmosphere, the sun doesn’t heat anything up. If one was to find themselves cast out of the airlock of a rocket and somehow had the ability to no longer require oxygen, one would quickly freeze to death. However, in this one particular spot on the moon’s surface, the temperature matched that of a glorious summer day. By all known laws of physics, this didn’t make any sense, but God was fine with making an exception just this once.

Elsewhere, an agreement between two parties that very much didn’t agree on anything had been reached. 3,444,684 angels would be returned to Heaven upon the release of 3,713,598 demons back to Hell. It was a messy deal that had caused quite a bit of strain to both sides, and more than a handful of fist fights had spawned from it, but it had been completed and both Above and Below were back on track for normalcy. Although, there was a lot of paperwork that still needed to be done to account for everyone’s new jobs. 

It used to be rather simple. Those that worked for Heaven stayed in Heaven and those for Hell in Hell. Now, an angel couldn’t know whether their cubicle neighbor was on the same side as them or not. Still, as strange as times were, loyalties were hard to kill. A demon working for Heaven still had Hell’s goals at heart. It was very hard for everyone to understand, but that was the thing with God. She was rather impossible to understand. Ineffable even.

Not that any of this currently affected the angel and demon stargazing on the moon. No, as far as they were concerned, everything was going perfectly fine.

*

When Aziraphale and Crowley returned to their cottage in Eden, the sun was just beginning to rise although it still couldn’t be seen above the Wall. They had been out all night, and although they were thousands of years old, they rather felt like giddy teenagers returning home. To tie this whole comparison together, when they opened their front door, Hastur was sat in their living room much like a strict parent would when their child missed curfew. The Duke of Hell rolled an apple about in his hands.

“This is the last time I’m going to tell you to eat this,” he said, standing.

“C’mon Hastur! This is really pathetic. Giving up this easily,” Crowley replied, striding in.

“Hardly giving up. This is just the last chance I’ll have before I’m given my old job back.”

“What do you mean by that?” Aziraphale asked, joining them inside.

“Deal went through. Heaven and Hell is all sorted, and everyone’s taking their old jobs back. I will be too. Everyone has stopped caring what God intended with these reassignments. Everyone in Hell anyway.”

“Wait. So who’s taking up my job then?” Crowley asked.

“No one. Without humans here, Earth has been designated as a waste of time. I wouldn’t expect to see much of Upstairs down here either.”

“So Above and Below are just leaving us here?”

“Consider it your exile. Have fun, Crowley.” With that, Hastur tossed Crowley the apple and proceeded to sink into the ground back to Hell.

Silence filled the cottage as Hastur’s black smoke dissipated. The sounds of Eden leaked through the walls. The wind hadn’t died down from yesterday, and the rustling flora could easily be heard inside. Crowley threw the apple into the kitchen’s trash bin. He missed, and seeing the demon had no plans to go pick it up, Aziraphale went to properly dispose of the fruit.

“I guess we really got the whole world to ourselves then, angel,” Crowley said as Aziraphale returned.

“You would think they would see more value for the Earth than just the potential to persuade humans to either side.”

“No, I wouldn’t think that at all. It’s all a competition. Remember both Heaven and Hell were dead set on destroying this place for their war.”

“Fair point. It really is a shame. Earth has many grand marvels besides humans.”

“Well, we’ve got all the time in the world to see them.”

The day went on, and many conversations filled the hours. Talks about the past, reminiscing on memories. The first World’s Fair in 1851. Oh, that was a magical day. The many evenings of setting up camp on the Silk Road. It was a tiresome trip even for celestial beings like themselves. The fall of the Roman Empire. A rather sad day for the both of them. Just story upon story upon story. 

Somewhere in the mix of things, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves up on the Wall. The Eastern Gate was privy to the company of an angel and a demon yet again, and this time, it was the correct ones. The intimacy of the night before had not disappeared.

“I am going to miss having humans down here with us,” Aziraphale said, swinging his legs over the edge. “Most of our stories involve them in one way or another. The joy or the sadness at what they’ve done.”

“Yeah, hard to cause michieve when you’re the only one here with me. Can glue all the coins I want to the ground. You’ll hardly fall for it more than once.”

“Well, now that you’ve told me, I’m inclined to believe that I’ll never fall for it.”

“I have my ways,” the demon smirked.

The sun was setting behind them. They swapped sides of the gate to watch it. Eden below glowed under the warm orange light. Their cottage was little more than a speck in the sea of green. It was much more quiet up on the Wall than it had been in Eden. Peaceful in its own way.

“As lonely as the world may be with just the two of us in it,” Aziraphale began. “I’m rather glad you’re the one accompanying me here. As much as I love the Earth, I don’t think I would last long on my own. It would become a dreadfully miserable experience fast.”

“Have to agree with you on that one. Painfully boring. And you’re not bad company yourself.”

Aziraphale smiled and laid down. Crowley joined him. It was beginning to get dark and a few shimmering stars began to make their presence known. It wasn’t the same as seeing them from space, but it was still special in its own right. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand. The demon pretended not to notice.

“Crowley?”

“Mmhmm?”

“We’re kind of on our own now, aren’t we?”

“Figured it was that way for a while.” Crowley looked at the moon which was only a thin sliver. “But really became that way for good with the whole End of the World thing.”

“Yes, that’s true I suppose. However, now we’re alone alone. There’s not even mankind to ally ourselves with.”

“Guess so. Thing with humanity was more a figmental alliance anyway though.”

“It was still a comforting thought. That we were a more powerful number than two.”

“You wanted an army, angel?”

“No! Of course not. I—” Aziraphale caught Crowley’s eyes and instantly rolled his. “If you keep kidding me like this, I might stop loving you.”

God about spat out the water She had been drinking to fight Her hangover. Crowley had a very similar reaction, minus the drink.

“Sorry? Wha—what was that?”

“I love you.” Aziraphale smiled. He lifted up their joined hands. “What did you think this was about?”

“I dunno. I guess— I mean—just that, well, I thought—I dunno.” Crowley rather frantically ran his free hand through his hair.

“I’m taking the fact that you haven’t removed your hand from mine to mean that the feeling is reciprocated?”

“Yes! Lord—Hell—whatever, yes! Course I love you! Have been since we were here on the first go around.”

“Very glad to hear it.” Aziraphale moved in closer to Crowley, removing all empty space between them. “Would make it difficult to go on for 6000 years without knowing that.”

“Yeah, would be difficult, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t imagine that.”

“Sorry, dear. Hope I can make it up to you.”

“You already have, angel. You really already have.”

The angel and the demon began to feel drowsy although such a thing was not possible. God had gotten Her wish. There was no tap-dancing their way out of this one. Ineffable Husbands was most definitely canon. They had exchanged I-love-you’s. There was no undoing that. As big of a mess as this whole plan had been, somehow it had worked out. And of course it had, She was God after all. Even Her drunk decisions were the right ones. At least that’s how She justified it.

As Aziraphale and Crowley fell asleep in one another’s arms at the very spot the two of them had met, God decided that it was time to restore the world to the way it was. And with that, She flipped the world reset lever back up, and the morning two days after the Apocalypse finally came.

Humans returned to the planet along with the 6 millennia worth of history they had created. A certain Adam Young was fast asleep in bed with his canine friend at his side. A Madame Tracy and a Sergeant Shadwell slept, leaned against one another on a couch with the tele still playing in the background. An Anathema Device and a Newton Pulsifer clung to one another in the bed of a certain Jasmine Cottage. Heaven and Hell, having already sorted out their problems, didn’t notice the restoration of the world. Eventually they would, but for now, they had stacks of paperwork left to attend to.

And Aziraphale and Crowley, had they also not been asleep, would’ve found themselves in a certain Soho bookshop’s back room with a series of empty liquor bottles around them. 

When they would wake the next morning, the first thing Crowley would do, after celebrating the return of the world, was miracle a crisp, red apple and take a massive munch out of it, and Aziraphale would be quick to tell him off for letting all that juice run down his face onto his nice carpet. Of course, he wouldn’t actually be mad. In fact, quite the opposite, but they had a banter to keep up.

They would spend the rest of the day wandering. Re-experiencing everything they had grown to take for granted. And their journey would take them to a nice piece of property for sale in South Downs that looked quite similar to the place they had spent the past few days that no longer existed. Of course they would buy it, and it would only be after they did, that they noticed a rather familiar looking statue in the back garden. Now, however, its eyes would be open, and instead of them taking on the grey/brown color the rest of it had, they would be two different colors: one blue and one gold.

[Read My Other Fics]

[beca-mitchell]

show me where my armor ends, chapter 1/7

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7

Summary + a/n: Here is my Bechloe week submission! It will be a seven-chaptered fic, detailing Beca and Chloe’s relationship in this famous!au I’ve constructed for them.

Beca and Chloe are both famous in their own right: Beca is an up and coming musician. Chloe is an adored movie and television actress. They meet one day, by chance, and find themselves very attracted to each other.

Also on AO3

Day 1: Accidental Kiss

Word count: 3,202

Chapter 1: high hopes

Beca Mitchell enjoys a love-hate relationship with the press.

On one hand, she knows it’s necessary for her career. On the other, she never quite knows exactly how to interact with interviewers - or at least, how to be particularly charming.

Despite her general lack of propensity for the charm and interview etiquette, she somehow manages to make it through her day-to-day responsibilities without too many hiccups. She enjoys that her publicist leaves her alone for the most part. She has a few rules here and there, which really, aren’t too bad because Beca kind of just wants to keep her head down anyway.

Something that Beca can say she loves about her career, however, is the sheer amount of attractive people that she meets on a day-to-day basis.

She’s had her fair share of celebrity crushes, but more importantly, they’ve been reciprocated more often than not.

Unfortunately, it would appear, to her publicist, that it is in her own best interest to keep her relationships underwraps, so Beca chooses to just enjoy the fact that she’s single, as far as anybody’s concerned.

Beca can’t believe how many people equally want to keep their dating history and/or sexualities under wraps, but she’s not really complaining. It gets her through the day.

It’s something that isn’t a necessarily a problem for Beca, that is, until she meets Chloe Beale.

Beca has never been quite so attracted to somebody before and the fact is, they just click. They meet at an afterparty for the Golden Globes for the first time and Beca thinks that Chloe might be flirting with her, but under the haze and dim lights, she’s not quite sure.

They share one dance, alcohol and adrenaline making their bodies move a bit more sensually than what Beca might deem appropriate for public appearances, but at that moment, with Chloe, she doesn’t necessarily care. She feels like she can breathe for the first time in years, since entering the hellhole that is Hollywood and the entertainment industry.

When it comes time for Beca to leave, lest she does something she knows she’ll regret like...kiss Chloe or something, she does so with a squeeze to Chloe’s forearm and an apology on her lips.

To her surprise, Chloe pulls her into a hug.

“Nice to meet you,” Chloe murmurs, tightening her grasp. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m happy to meet the face behind the name, finally.”

Beca almost wants to ask what Chloe has heard exactly, maybe something along the lines of whether Chloe has heard only good things, but-

“Oh,” she replies articulately, when she pulls back. “I, uh, same,” she manages to say. She has never noticed quite how blue Chloe’s eyes are, and all she can do is stare for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. Chloe’s bone structure is crazy. Beca kind of wants to touch Chloe’s face or something. She chalks it up to the alcohol.

Chloe kisses her on the cheek, letting her lips linger - or maybe Beca’s mind is working in slow motion.

She does find Chloe’s number tucked into her clutch, written on a piece of paper with a smudged lipstick kiss at the corner.

Understandably, it all spirals into a fast friendship from then on.

Chloe Why are you so talented?! I’m just casually texting my radio station to request your song again. Just once more should do it.

Beca I swear you single-handedly sent me to #1 lmaooo

Chloe What can I say? I have good taste.

It makes sense in some respects - Chloe is an actress, starring in some popular Netflix series - one that just picked up a couple Emmy nods and Golden Globes over the award season. Even though she’s just part of another prong in the industry, Beca supposes they would have worked professionally together in some aspect sooner or later since she heard that Chloe has dabbled in singing from time to time.

Prior to the Golden Globes, Beca had heard of Chloe, vaguely, but never had the chance to interact with her. At least, not in a professional sense. That is, until the director for her upcoming music video informs her that they’ve decided to cast Chloe.

Beca approves in a heartbeat because she has been dying to see Chloe in person again, but their respective schedules just mean that they haven’t had time to hang out. Chloe is so pleasant and fun to talk to via text message and sporadic phonecalls, but Beca craves something a little more physical. Besides, Chloe is pleasant, talented, and, well, Beca has eyes.

Chloe is attractive as hell.

She’s kind of excited to see her again in the daylight.

“Hi,” Beca greets, shaking Chloe’s hand once she arrives on set. The California sun bears down on them unforgivingly, but Beca thinks Chloe looks beautiful, a little flushed, but dressed casually in jean shorts and a red and blue t-shirt. Her eyes light up when she takes in Beca, unabashedly giving her a quick once-over.

Chloe laughs, light and pleasant. “Come on, Bec. I don’t do handshakes. Hug?” she asks. Beca only laughs and meets Chloe halfway, allowing her to pull their bodies together in a warm embrace.

“How have you been?” Beca asks, quickly stuffing her hands in her pockets when she finds that she doesn’t want to let go of Chloe’s waist.

“Good, just working here and there. I had my agent put my name down for this shoot when I first heard about it. I hoped name-dropping you would bump me to the front of the list.”

“That eager to see me again, huh?” Beca replies quickly, finding her tongue suddenly unstuck.

“Well, I mean, you weren’t going to ask me to hang out, so…”

It makes Beca take pause, because Chloe’s tone is flirtatious if she has to describe it. “We’ve both been busy!” Beca exclaims, letting out a laugh.

“Yeah, sure, tell yourself that.” Chloe smiles, however, to let Beca know she means it all in jest. “I’m actually really excited we’re going to work together, finally. You’ll have to let me know if the acting bug ever comes to find you.”

Beca shudders at the thought. “I absolutely don’t think that’ll happen in this lifetime, but how about you keep me in mind if you want to work on a song together one day? I heard that one musical movie you were in. I like your voice.” Beca forces back her own blush at how absolutely nerdy that sounded.

Chloe’s smile is warmer. “One day. I like the sound of that.” She stares at Beca for a moment longer. “Well, I’m going to go finish my make-up, but I’ll see you in a bit!” Chloe giggles. “Also, I’ve never been to Disneyland before, so this is a treat.”

Chloe’s laugh still rings in Beca’s ear that it takes her a while to respond. “You’ve never been to Disneyland?”

Chloe’s voice echoes back to her as she walks backwards, still grinning radiantly at Beca. “There’s a first time for everything!”

Beca can only laugh disbelievingly. She’s still not quite sure what she did to be blessed with Chloe’s presence in her life.

PEOPLE Magazine

Chloe Beale and Beca Mitchell are FRIENDLY on the set of a new Music Video!

Shooting Mitchell’s new video last Friday, the two were seen hanging out during a lunch break at Disneyland to a lot of fanfare. They took photos with a few groups of fans before grabbing food to go. Eyewitness accounts say that the two were friendly, immersed in their own conversation.

Beale is known for her starring role in Netflix’s The Boss, which recently picked up five Emmy Award nominations and two Golden Globe wins. Mitchell is working on her second album, working off the success of her first album. Her single “FRIENDS” is her latest release.

The two were first seen together about six months ago during a Golden Globes after party.

See photos from Mitchell’s Disney-inspired music video set here!

Chloe So, we’re gonna do that again, right?

Beca Do what? Disneyland?

Chloe Yes, but this time, without the cameras. I want the full experience!

Beca It’s a d-

Beca bites her lip, quickly slamming the backspace key.

Beca you’re on, beale.

They do end up hanging out again, now that their schedules are a little less hectic. Chloe primarily films during the summer and beginning of fall more rigorously than she does the rest of the year. Beca isn’t really focused on much except the finishing the touches to her album.

They’re not...dates, per se, but they’re verging just beyond friendship. Beca enjoys spending time with Chloe, but she’s conscious of her publicist’s instructions that she keep everything tigh=tlipped and outside of the public eye, particularly since she’s still working on her own blossoming career.

All Beca hears is “stay in the closet” and it makes her hackles rise.

Still, she enjoys hanging out with Chloe - Chloe who has always lived a very public, carefree life, under the media microscope.

Chloe has become one of Beca’s closest friends, and with the speed at which Hollywood moves, Beca’s sure that Chloe is her best friend at this point. She finds herself texting her nonsensical things about fame, being a celebrity, and bounces song ideas off her. Similarly, Chloe texts her the latest updates about drama on set, her arguments with her director, and crazy fan encounters.

Above all, Beca thinks that it’s nice to share her life with somebody, even if it is in a friendship capacity. She tries not to let her mind wander too far.

Now, they’re sitting in a quiet corner at a cafe near Beca’s house. It’s a quiet Thursday afternoon, therefore there is less foot traffic.

Beca grumbles at small blind item on a gossip rag website that seems to be directed at her-slash-is about her.

She thinks that her sexuality isn’t too much of a secret, but she is careful to ensure that nothing ever really gets out because she’s still concerned with her own image as much as the next person.

It oddly feels like she’s in high school again, or even university. Where she was so concerned with what her own father thought about her choices and how she presented herself to her peers and community.

Becoming a famous musician was never really in her books, especially not with all the discouragement she received growing up, but she supposes stranger things have happened.

“You shouldn’t care so much about what people think,” Chloe murmurs, stirring her tea slowly. She watches Beca carefully.

“Not everybody can live like you,” Beca says before she can help herself. Chloe’s long history of dating flashes through her mind.

Chloe scoffs. “It’s just part of the job, sometimes. You know how it is. I just try to be as transparent as I can.” She looks concerned, then. “I’m just worried about you,” she says quietly. “You seem really...sad, sometimes and I don’t know how to help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Beca says quietly. “I don’t need help. I’m fine, like this. I can leave a perfectly fulfilling life.”

Chloe pauses, like she’s afraid to spook Beca if she speaks too quickly. “Then...why haven’t you asked me out?”

“What makes you think...I would...ask you out?” she asks, stiltedly.

Chloe blinks, like she’s surprised at Beca’s reaction. Like she’s surprised that Beca would have had any other reaction than passive acquiescence.

Beca hates simultaneously how calm Chloe is and how right she is in assessing Beca’s attraction to her. She bristles under how easily Chloe can read her, even after such a short period of time. Some of her own friends and family still struggle to break down her walls.

“Do you want me to ask you out?” Chloe asks, after a long silence.

“No! I don’t...I can’t,” Beca mutters. She pushes her mug away, not feeling like drinking coffee anymore - not when her entire body is thrumming. “You know I can’t date you publicly,” she mumbles.

Chloe looks down, a brief sadness passing over her face as she contemplates Beca’s words. “I don’t mind keeping it a secret,” she says quietly. “For you, if that’s what you need.”

It occurs to her then that Chloe legitimately likes her for some reason that Beca can’t fathom.

Another thing that flashes through Beca’s mind is how terrible it would be to keep somebody as beautiful and precious as Chloe a secret.

Still, her mind flashes to all her work, down the drain, because she believes the world isn’t ready to see that on some level.

“I don’t date, you know I don’t,” Beca says, defenses rising.

“I don’t care about your history, Bec,” Chloe says patiently. “You know that.”

“Who said anything about my history?”

Chloe glances away. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Beca’s not exactly sure that she can believe it was an accident, but she’s a master of leaving everything as buried under the surface as possible, whenever she can.

It’s how she’s always lived; it’s how she has always been told to live.

Chloe I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m really sorry.

Beca Yeah. I’m sorry for freaking out. That’s just how I am.

Chloe I’m not going to force you into something you’re not comfortable with. That would be wrong of me. I hope we can still be open with each other, though.

Chloe ...still friends?

Beca blinks. She can’t imagine not having Chloe in her life, after everything.

Beca yeah. Friends, Chlo. Always.

They don’t talk as frequently after that particular day, and they definitely don’t see each other in person again until the People’s Choice Awards in November.

Beca is attempting to follow her interviewer’s line of thought - some question about her album release date and potential tour - when she’s distracted by Chloe’s presence. Immediately, she hears the fans screaming for Chloe’s name and she wills herself not to turn, but she smells her, which only makes her groan at how big her stupid crush is.

“Hi!” Chloe says from behind her. “Beca,” she greets. Beca smiles at her interviewer before turning to greet Chloe with a kiss on the cheek or some other formal red-carpet greeting when she meets Chloe’s lips...with her own.

Her entire brain short circuits.

She is aware of two things.

First, that Chloe’s lips are impossibly soft and gentle and slightly parted, like she was going to live a slightly open-mouthed kiss on Beca’s cheek.

Second, that she responds almost instinctively and Chloe equally seems like she isn’t keen to immediately pull back.

Beca does, however. She jolts back and lets out a short laugh to cover up her shock.

Her publicist looks like she’s torn between looking shocked and furious.

There are cameras clicking all around them.

“Oh my God,” Chloe says immediately. She looks stricken and apologetic, before her face morphs and she’s immediately laughing it off, and tugging at Beca’s hand like they’ve been friends for years. “I can’t believe that happened!” she exclaims, turning towards the interviewer and camera to play it off. “I - I’ll see you inside, Bec.” She squeezes Beca’s hands once, in reassurance.

Beca exhales, trying to force a semi-believable smile on her face.

“So,” the interviewer begins. “You and Chloe are friends, huh?”

God, where does she even begin.

Beca finds Chloe in the washroom during a commercial break. She had been keeping an eye out, meticulously (and as surreptitiously as possible) scanning the crowd and rows of audience members. She ignores the persistent buzzing of her phone, likely texts from Jennifer, pushing into the bathroom with shaking hands.

“Hey Beca,” Chloe says, catching sight of Beca through the mirror. Her casualness and friendliness throws Beca off. “Congrats on the nomination. I didn’t get to say so earlier.”

“You too,” Beca says distractedly. “Okay, we’re not going to talk about how you kissed me, then?” Beca asks, trying to keep her tone light.

Chloe laughs, drying her hands. “You mean how you kissed me? In public of all things.” She grins, a little wryly. “I thought you weren’t about airing your personal life in public?”

“Okay, first, you definitely kissed me,” Beca says, unsure why she’s making such a huge deal about all of this.

She feels odd, like something in her is clawing, trying desperately to get out.

Chloe sighs, turning softer eyes towards Beca. “It was an accident, Bec,” Chloe says gently, tilting her head. “I didn’t mean to startle you and you just happened to turn your head when I was going for your cheek. I’ll settle for a hand on your shoulder next time, I promise.” She puts her hand on the door, intent on pushing it open. “For the record though, you definitely kissed me back, but I’m willing to forget about it if you want.”

“Chloe, wait,” Beca starts, immediately feeling regret rush through her. “I’m sorry, I-”

She’s not sure where that sentence was intended to go. She’s not sure what’s going to happen in the next few moments.

She’s sure that she wants to kiss Chloe again.

Maybe it’s something in her eyes, but Chloe beats her to it - or maybe she read Beca’s mind. She cups Beca’s cheeks and presses their lips firmly together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for them. Like it’s the culmination of this little dance they’ve been doing around each other for the past year.

Chloe smells vaguely of strawberries and her lips taste sweet, like peaches. Beca tilts her head, hands moving to Chloe’s waist, touching soft silk and bare skin. She feels like she’s kind of memorizing these little parts of Chloe, even if she’d like to deny herself the opportunity in the future.

Still, this is now and now, Beca’s focusing on the soft touch of Chloe’s lips against her and the gentle pressure Chloe exerts.

Beca isn’t sure when her eyes fell closed, but she’s just hoping that this isn’t some kind of fever dream because kissing Chloe is everything she imagined and more.

“Oops,” Chloe says softly, just as Beca’s eyes flutter open.

“Was that another accident?” Beca asks quietly, reaching her hands up to hold Chloe’s hands in place against her cheeks. She likes how secure she feels in Chloe’s presence.

“If you want it to be.”

Beca figures that accidents can happen in threes, as she leans up again.

Entertainment Tonight

Exclusive: See this video of Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale kissing on the red carpet! The two stars accidentally lock lips at the People’s Choice Awards. They laughed it off as friends do, afterwards.

tbc / happy bechloe week! @bechloe-week

[kawaiikatanabushi]

Belated

I know I'm late. I am so belatedly late, I am ashamed. I have been bombarded with struggles, migraines and other reality issues. I know it's no excuse, but I thought Saito-san would allow me a belated birthday story! Set in a modern day AU where touken ranbu swords are sons to their masters. Please enjoy this incredibly late piece! I love you, Hajime-kun! Happy (very late) birthday you tofu loving beauty!

"Happy Birthday, Cousin Hajime!" Two small voices chorused upon opening his apartment door.

Blue met green as Saito Hajime quirked a brow to Okita Souji, who was smiling all-too-innocently. The quiet swordsman sighed, and refrained from rolling his eyes.

"My birthday is February, Souji. March has just begun,"

"Daddy didn't remind us, or else we woulda made you this tofu cake a whole lot sooner," squeaked out the voice of Yamatonokami, whose younger brother Kashuu cut him a glare.

"Yami! That's a surprise!" Kashuu corrected with a hiss.

Saito smiled down goodnaturedley to the two Okita boys. Oftentimes, he was at a loss around children. They were irrational and difficult to maneuver, yet the sons of his cohorts, even the bodacious Izuminokami who was recently four and had a mouth rivaling the speed of a bullet train, always managed to put a smile on his face. Perhaps, it was the reflection of their fathers within them that endeared him to them. Yamatonokami certainly had Souji's playfulness and Kashuu was just as shrewd as his father at the tender age of five.

"Why don't you all come in?" Saito offered politely, stepping aside in the doorway, "It's rather chilly today,"

"Thank you for your hospitality," the two young boys chirped in tandum, bowing slowly before giddily hopping into the tidy apartment.

Souji cast his friend an indulgent smirk, his arms laden down with assorted boxes and bags.

"You spotted the saké, nee, Hajime-kun?" He questioned his friend, a brow arched playfully.

"I suppose you intend to stay the night?" Saito replied with an inquiry of his own, a smirk pulling at the corner of his own lips.

"Their futons are in the car," Souji responded, wriggling his eyebrows with a devious smile, "Once their asleep, the real fun begins,"

His friend brushed past him, handing Saito half the load upon entry. It was atypical, but that gave it a sense of familiarity. If anything, the familial atmosphere warmed his heart and gave him a fond feeling of belonging. It was enough of a gift to him, knowing that he was unconditionally adopted as cousin Hajime. Though a second cousin by blood to Yamatonokami only, he firmly adhered to the title. It held a powerful persuasion should the Okita brothers start a tussle. If cousin Hajime was displeased, everyone was.

His tidy apartment was soon decorated in a bombardment of homespun decorations. Crooked origami animals, paper lanterns and children's drawings were taped about sporadically, giving disorderly joys. Hajime found himself smiling continuously. He even allowed Kashuu to place a paper hat upon his head. The group of four made a humble and enjoyable party. The boys shared funny stories from school, they played charades and Souji feigned ineptitude with nearly every game. It was a refreshing sight, seeing Souji so at ease with his sons. Recently, he had been more snide and stiff at the dojo. Hajime wondered if the presence of Yukimura Chizuru had created the guarded behavior within his friend. He, himself, had been uncertain as to having a secretary to Hijikata-san. His reservations were slowly being eased, as she was such a hard worker. There again, with Souji's recent tragedy, he could hardly blame his cold demeanor. He knew his friend would be hesitant to let outsiders into his pain, he had known Souji since grade school. Still, if she could see Souji's tenderness with his sons, perhaps she would stop flinching around him. There again, she was developing a crush on their Fukucho, so that certainly would exacerbate his mood. It wasn't that Saito was match-making. It was simply more efficient if everyone remained civil.

Hajime shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the present. Though incredibly late, the Okita family was delivering an appreciated birthday party. These issues would straighten themselves out. Besides, worrying over it changed nothing. He would keep Souji's teasing to a minimum and Yukimura would adapt. If anything, she was quick to learn and that was an admirable trait.

After the games had finished, he was kindly forced to open all their gifts, prodded by tiny hands and pleading wide eyes. The presents were few in number, but he remained grateful. Even if white tabi were commonplace, Yamatonokami had been thoughtful and surprisingly practical. The scarf Kashuu had chosen was of a deep blue and though the gold pattern was a little extravagant, it was certainly from the heart. Even if it was intended to goad him, he did want his cat calendar. It was adorable, even if he did not wish to express it. The assorted teas and fruit he was able to thank Souji for more graciously. He could only imagine the expenditures on a household with one parent and two growing sons. Still, it was the friendship he appreciated most.

As dark drew near, Kashuu began to nod from his perch upon Hajime's lap. Without a word exchanged, the adults settled the boys upon the living room floor and Souji bid both goodnight with a kiss to the forehead. Before the two men could slip away with the alcohol, Yami demanded a goodnight kiss from Saito, which Kashuu begged for in turn. It caused him to blush, but he acquiesced as best he could. It was still a new experience, being regarded as family. The two wished him a cheery goodnight and were soon snoozing away.

"Thanks, Hajime," Souji sighed as he settled onto his bedroom floor, "You mean the world to them,"

"I do not understand what I did to achieve their admiration, but I regard them as important as well," he gave a light smile, allowing a cup to be poured for him, "I wish them every happiness,"

Souji swirled the saké in his cup, a small frown growing as he stared at the clear liquid.

"You don't have to do anything for them to love you, you know. You're you, and they think that's beyond cool,"

Hajime glanced up to observe his friend a moment before sighing himself. He could almost read those thoughts.

"Have you heard from her yet?" He asked softly, hoping that Souji wouldn't mind his asking.

"You mean from Akatsuya?" Souji scoffed, shaking his head dismally, "No, Hajime. Almost five years of marriage, gone just like that. No phone calls. No email. Not even a note. I was stupid to think she'd stay. She became mother to Yami and Kashuu was the best mistake we ever made. Literally. It's been eight months now. I thought she'd attempt to do something for Kashuu's birthday, but nothing,"

Hajime knew the answer to the question he had to ask. Perhaps, it was more for Souji's benefit than his own.

"Do you still love her, Souji?" He asked gently, concern etching his features.

He watched tears mist at the corner of his emerald eyes. The heartbreak was evident as shoulders sagged and alcohol was unexpectedly downed in one shot. Okita Akatsuya was the mother of Kashuu and once Souji's wife. She had left unexpectedly last Summer, never to return. Souji had given no one any particular details, but blamed the departure entirely on himself. If anything, Hajime assumed the bullying Yukimura endured was tied to her departure. Souji wasn't particularly fond of women and Yukimura's presence served as an unwitting reminder.

"Would you care to get drunk, Souji?" Hajime offered, unable to offer any verbal solace.

"Just a little," Souji smiled up bashfully, a rare sight, "I know Hijikata-san would have my head, but will you keep it a secret? I won't make a habit of this,"

"Certainly," he smiled back, his features growing wryly, "You enjoy your control far too much to be a continuing drunk,"

"Screw off," Souji huffed playfully, shoving at his knee with a foot, "You're a hypocrite, Hajime!"

He smiled passively, enjoying the victory for a fleeting moment. He had always felt more accepted and at ease with Souji. Even after his first cousin had married her high school sweetheart, he had been grateful to call Souji family. He was, admittedly, his near opposite in almost every regard. Still, he had qualities that made Hajime ever grateful. Though his temper was volatile and his habits slovenly at times, there was a loyalty and protectiveness that never dimmed within him. He wished he could learn to laugh and relax as easily as Souji did. Even after fighting cancer with his first wife and the loss of that battle, his friend still managed to report to work and raise his unruly sons. Hajime wasn't sure he could possess such a strength as to continue on in laughter. If he had lost a first wife only for his second to leave, there would be more lonely nights at the bar. There again, Souji was more drunk on the love of his sons and their well-being than anything. His family made him strong, and Hajime nearly envied him.

Conversations took a more pleasant turn once Souji had enough alcohol to tint his cheeks pink and nostalgia took hold. There was plenty to reminisce and they did so to the fullest. Just for the night, worries were cast aside. Just for the moment, they would laugh as high schoolers. It was a temporary reprieve from reality. They suspended their woes and let friendship remain. Their hangover, especially Souji's, was imminent and yet glanced over. It was true that this was in honor of his birthday, but Hajime knew Souji needed his commaradery. If he could ease the burden of raising children alone, he gladly accepted the responsibility. Souji was as a brother to him and no matter how much he antagonized others or chose to be overly playful, he would remain in that esteem. After all, even a belated birthday was best spent with family.