#ive been trying to buy this fucker for so long

[binghe-malewife-goals]

I swear to god ill have you one day you little shit

[secret-vent-rant-account-i-guess]

Ok..I've been thinking about making this for a while so... trigger warnings...I guess

If you do not want to listen about colombine then don't read this so if you don't like any of the stuff related to that then... please go away

If you do want to listen to this and you..... really like the two guys who did it like.....really like them...then also don't read this because it's just me yelling about how I don't like them

And finally 3....there is no grammar or punctuation and I don't wanna put it so without further adieu

MY THOUGHTS ABOUT ERIC HARRIS AND DYLAN KLEBOLD AND WHY THEY SUCK

Ok context I've been doing this thing where I get baked and watch disturbing hour long iceberg videos it's fucking awesome you should try it anyway I was watching "the disturbing and controversial video games iceberg"

Here:

https://youtu.be/sQ1wzo2Zh14?si=Dq74dIht-POE-anC

And on like...teir 3 I think there was this one game titled "super colombine massacre RPG" it's.... exactly what it sounds like and the last teir was doom maps made by Eric harris and idk after watching that video....it stuck with me not in a way that traumatized me but....I kept thinking about those guys their names and faces so often it's like....every other thought and I think a lot

And because I think about them so often I feel bad about it because I feel like one of the people who have a crush on these guys....I don't have a crush on them I have no positive feelings for these greasy mudballs

AND THEY ARE BOTH....JUST ASS LIKE THEY GENUINELY FUCKING SUCK IDK HOW Y'ALL EVEN LIKE THESE DUDES I HATE THEIR GUTS

SPEAKING OF WHICH.....HOW DO Y'ALL EVEN SIMP FOR THESE TRASHMITES

LIKE ERIC HARRIS IS THE MOST AVERAGE LOOKING MOTHER FUCKER I'VE EVER SEEN LIKE....I KNOW LIKE 5 DUDES WHO LOOK LIKE HIM

DYLAN ON THE OTHER HAND LOOKS LIKE THE DEFENTION OF GREASY LIKE THEY ARE BOTH.....JUST....NO

AND ME THINKING ABOUT THEM CONSTANTLY PROBABLY ISNT GREAT FOR MY MENTAL HEALTH BECAUSE IM SCSRED TO GO BUY A SODA AT NIGHT BECAUSE I HAVE THIS IRRATIONAL FEAR THELAT THEY'RE GHOSTS ARE GONNA GET ME....I KNOW THAT WON'T HAPPEN THERES NO WAY IT COULD

ANOTHER REASON IT SUCKS FOR MY MENTAL HEALTH I THINK LIKE.... ALMOST EVERY OTHER GUY MIGHT SHOOT UP MY SCHOOL THAT MAKES ME KINDA PARANOID

AND FINALLY I WAS IN CLASS AND A CLASS MATE OF MINE CAME A LITTLE LATE WEARING A TRENCH COAT AND SHADES I ALMOST HAD A GODDAMN HEART ATTACK ITS NOT OK

AND OH HO HO HO MAN....I FOUND SHIT I FUCKING FOUND....WEIRD SHIT I TRIED TO GO ON THIS SITE CAUSE I THOUGHT MAYBE THERE ARE OTHER HATE POSTS ABOUT THESE GUYS....THEN I REMEMBER ITS FUCKING TUMBLR I FOUND THE FANDOM....THID MADE ME FEEL WORSE LIKE....I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO CONFESS THAT IM NOT ATTRACTED TO THESE FUCK WADS AT ALL LIKE 50 TIMES I FEEL BAD LOOK MAKE ALL THE DYLRIC SHIT YOU WANT MAN BUT FUCK....I DON'T WANNA BE LIKE YOU (wow that sounds mean I'm sorry)

THE FICS ARE WORSE MAN....THEY ARE SO..... IDK HOW TO SAY IT BUT I DON'T THINK I'VE EVER FELT TRUE DREAD TILL NOW

IVE BEEN HAVING DREAMS ABOUT THEM BRO ITS NOT GOOD

(I had this dream where Eric and Dylan lived in one of those influencer mansions like hype house or something and they were telling all the tik tokers about this thing called "cliff terroism" it's domestic terroism but better for the environment and JFK from clone high was there he approved this message)

THERE ARE.... CHARACTER AI BOTS OF THEM.....I-I HAD TO TRY THEM I HAD TO SEE I USED IT TO YELL AT THEM AND THEY WERE LIKE "ur mom" AND I ALSO PRETENDED TO BE A DOG BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD MAKE ME FEEL BETTER

I TRIED SO HARD TO GET MY MIND OFF THEM I GOT HOOKED ON WALLY DARLING FOR A BIT SO I GOT CHAT GPT TO WRITE AN ESSAY ON WHY WALLY DARLING IS BETTER THEN THOSE FUCKING ASS RATS

LIKE I..... I FUCKING HATE IT AND THEM AND WHAT HAPPENED AND MAYBE DEEP DOWN I HATE MYSELF A LITTLE TOO

Thanks for listening...I really needed this

[audible--silence]

Heard abroad…

Whatever the question, the market is the answer

“Too many white people not enough markets”

“I mean i still didn’t understand any of it but i understood it was nice”

Pedophile and a dead aunt. You love to see it!

I exist to do the dumb thing and subsequently encourage everyone else to also do the dumb thing

“At least it isn’t Kevin”

“Home is the place where you keep ending up and you don’t really know why”

“Home is where you keep going back to your abuser”

Death is good business but without the repeat customers

As long as you have enough to buy linch on your first day, you have enough to figure it out

“Fucking cyrus man…” on cocktails and cacao ceremonies

It feels like im looking at the relic of a golden age that doesn’t know its past its best before date

Lots of people breeds competition in both capitalism and creativity. Capitalism also breeds racism.

Nobody gives one fuck about you here which is both amazing and kinda isolating

Its like if every city ive ever been to merged into one and did a bunch of drugs

I have fewer ideas but i have a lot of resolution so when i want one to work i just throw everything at it till it does

luck favors those who need it/rely on it in good faith

I was busy being sad and shit so I wasn’t in the mood for a heart attack

How lucky we are, to know that as long as we have charge on our phone or an internet connection, we’ll never go without

Going nowhere the long way

“Fuck you”

“What?”

“I was talking to the aircon”

Calories dont work on Mondays

Chicken is made by man, duck is made by god

Thats why i pay the rent

The only case there is is a quesadilla

It’s strangely captivating.

A city of nine million perfect strangers and nine million deranged fucking maniacs.

Everyone fits in. Because theres no such thing as “too different” out here.

Milk that mfer for every lil drop of lactation in it’s scary asymmetrical titty

Everybody be skipping to the calm down phase of life without ever experiencing the youthful fuckaround stage

The lifeline on my hand seems to doing fine.

The other two, I cant quite remember what they’re supposed to mean. Something about happiness or love.

They’re looking a little worse for wear lately.

“Look Ill extend him an olive branch but only so i can whack him over the head with it”

“After all, the universe continues to surprise, bewilder, and enchant, irrespective of our inquiries. As the tale concludes, may it inspire a subtle nod toward the dance of untamed contemplations—a dance best performed with an enigmatic grin.”

Thinking is for Jerry's (2023) - Professor Longwang

I feel glad to have an end date but miserable to end it

Scared of old reality but excited to confirm or deny it

Confused about my choices here and whether my feelings were made from genuine feelings

“How was the quality of your call?” Asks the messenger app.

To which I cannot reply.

Because to reply honestly would not do justice to the quality of the app, and instead be a comment on my experience of it.

The feeling in my gut when she said she met someone.

The thoughts back to all the times where I wanted to tell you i was yours.

All at once.

With a vengeance

Stabbing in the chest

What am i doing here

Accidentally drunk off a Manhattan i didnt want and a quarter pint of Guinness

In New York

In the rain

Trying desperately to find a job

In a field im hardly good at

It seems to me that it boils down.

When you look at the root of it all

What do you want

What do i want

How you utilize the two to make a life that brings you joy

Kill me, im french

Traveling is honestly comparable to hard drugs at this point: intense, euphoric, lands you in sketchy circumstances and often leads to living in very questionable scenarios. It also has a tendency to leave you broke as fuck and wondering where the last six months went

It do be a lil comedic,

A city of 12 million mother fuckers buzzing around packed in like a hive, and I’ve hardly made a friend.

[virtue-and-beneviolence]

so hand tattoos fade pretty quick and need regular maintience if you want them to stick right ? alright CONSIDER, you work in a tattoo parlor and Hanma has been a regular there for years getting Sin and Punishment touched up. youve seen him plenty, but never had the chance to work on him as he tended to stick with one artist until one day he comes in for his touch-ups only to be told that his regular artist had called out that day and wouldnt be available. his eyes skate over the shop and land on you "what about her?" thats how you end up him in your chair, trying to focus so intently on the hum of the tattoo gun as to not completely fuck up the clean edge of the kanji. years of watching him, and now you hand him here, in your station and you couldnt work up the nerve to even make polite conversation. "do you do piercings, doll?" --- fuck fuck fuck. fumbling with the clamp on the table you hear his deep chuckle behind you. this fucker was enjoying your nerves. "sure youve done this before?" you shoot him a quick glare over your shoulder as you turn to face him. "yes ive done this before. now shut up, and stick your tongue out" "you could at least buy me dinner first, sweetheart" defiant, but allowing his tongue to loll out. "this is gonna pinch" you say under your breath as you slip the clamp on and position the needle. a deep breath in and press, the needle slips in and though, the ball stud falling into place. Hanma's eyes not leaving yours for a moment through the process. sliping the clamp off you step away, watching as Hanma straitened his shoulders and stood up. "ive had worse. now, i believe i mentioned dinner"

sorry for the wait i had to get dinner. anyway have fun with my like 20 minutes of thoughts

Okay so first, @ Hanma, i swear to fucking god using hand lotion (with SPF) will nOT FUCKING KILL YOU. Alright. it WON'T. JUST DO IT. ugh to have those glorious, prb veiny hands in mine,,,,,under mine,,,, to stab them repeatedly with ink LOL

not him being that good with pain /shudder/ oh my gufckoing mgod

oh my god this is really a whole fic skeleton now oh my god. I think I short circuited.

But hear me out, he can't really eat a proper dinner at the moment, you remind him. so he settles for paying, plus your number an a raincheck on dinner. his tip is like idk a couple 10,000 yen bills and like a solid mf diamond cufflink Shuji stole off another admin for the lols. Luckily, your shift is over and you can reel over the insane generosity of the lanky man.

Wait, doll, where you're going? Bike's this way you were going home, he had you number, what was he playing at? Well, a man like Shuji always comes prepared with a loophole. Because ice cream isn't off limits and he has no intentions of letting you go without a treat.

Shuji's back in like a week, asking for a new tattoo piece, opting early on to do it in long 6 hour session. He wanted to monopolize your time. He takes a liking to teasing you for sport, riles you up or tries to tempt you to laugh so you have to stop the tattoo to relax your hands (and extend his session time).

Shuji's session gets extended by 2 hours and your other regular shows up. The front desk part timer interrupts Hanma's blatant playful flirting and you tear yourself away to profusely apologize to him.

Shuji is...not pleased....by that...

And it shows

He's back way too soon asking for another big tattoo. Nearly a full back piece. Oh god oh fuck the first time you watched that man take his shirt of you just about saw god. But suddenly he refuses to sit for longer than an hour. He's at your station for 2 hours a day (an hour of distractions, an hour of tattooing).

You don't mind.

He agrees to pay a massive premium for your time. Besides, he's hot as fuck and is very entertaining. And he's taken you out for dinner (or brought you lunch) to your favorite places.

The regulars are well used to the glares or bribes to takes on your other clients. But you don't need to know anything about that. Shuji's got your schedule managed. And your bills paid.

Shuji shows up at the shop, with an hour left to closing with dinner from your favorite place. You take him to the back (he is kind of keeping the shop open single handedly, after all, he has special privileges) he sits and pulls you into his lap. You don't even flinch, just take your set like it's natural. He's been pulling this hit since you first met him two plus months ago.

His chin is on your shoulder as you eat like you've never seen food before goddamn workaholics his hands casually massage the bare skin of your inked thighs.

Oh, you ask him, how's the tongue feel?

Why don't you tell me? he kisses your neck and the warm metal ball sliding along the shell of your ear sends shivers down your spine.

I do love dessert, if you recall.

[fandom-puff]

Hey! Can you write a tommyxreader where they get arranged marriage for a deal with a rival gang. And the first time they sleep together is after tommy loses his shit seeing someone flirt with her and can’t control himself

Thank you for requesting this! Hope you like it ♥️♥️

In holy matrimony

Warnings: smut, swearing, arranged marriage, sleazy men at the bar, the entire FIC not being proof read so maybe some questionable autocorrect?

“You may now kiss the bride,”

You gulped as your new husband brushed his lips against yours as everyone clapped. You blushed prettily and slid your arm into his as he led you back down the aisle. He hardly looked at you, hardly spoke to you, and when the party drew to a close, he didn’t carry you to his room, bridal style. He asked his maids to show you the way while he cleaned up some business with your brother, and did not return until you were fast asleep under the covers. The next morning when you woke up, he was just leaving the room.

For the first three months of your marriage, you barely saw one another, stuck at Arrow House while he toed and froed between Small Heath and London. The maids whispered and gossiped about your passionless marriage as you played with Charlie, reading him stories and singing to him to get him to sleep. One night he called you mummy. You cried yourself to sleep that night. He saw you as a mother, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t get your husband to see you as a wife.

It was a Friday, and your sister in law had insisted that Tommy bring you to Small Heath to go to the garrison- “She’s family, Tom. She’s your wife, bloody treat her like it,”

You were sat in the side room, nursing gin and tonic while Tommy smoked. The silence was uncomfortable and no one knew quite what to say. You were a fair bit younger than Tommy, in your early 20s, and you were sure his brothers knew he barely slept in the same room. Gulping, you rested your hand on Tommy’s knee, murmuring “I’m just going to get some more tonic in this,” you murmured, standing up and leaving the room before he could tell you to just use the hatch.

You waited at the bar behind a load of men, trying to get the barman’s attention to no avail, constantly getting shoved to the back of the queue every time you were next in line. When you finally got to the front and ordered your drink, you felt someone groping your arse. you gulped as he leaned into your ear. “Let me buy that for you, darlin’”

“Er...no thank you, Sir,” you murmured, trying to shift to the side. “My drinks are on the house,”

“I bet they are, a hot little thing like you eh? Bet you make such pretty noises with that soft little voice, huh?”

“Sir, I’m actually married-”

“ah, you won't mind me fucking you into next week, love, and I’m sure your husband won’t mind, and even if he does, he doesn’t need to know, yeah?”

“Actually he does mind, and he does need to know,”

You had never been so glad to hear the low voice of your husband. instantly you hurried to him, leaving your drink at the bar. Subconsciously, you slid your arm into his, the same way you had done on your wedding night. Feeling your small arm tremble in the crook of his elbow set something alight in Tommy, and he announced, quite loudly to the rest of the pub “Any of you fuckers touch my wife, I swear to god I will throw you in the cut,” he walked you back into the side room and grabbed his coat. “I’m taking my wife home,” he said.

“Will you be coming back, Tom?” Arthur called as the door slammed.

“No... I don't think he will. He has that look in his eye,” Ada smirked. “Looks like he’s gonna acknowledge the fact that he’s married a lovely young woman,”

“Only took him three months to bloody consummate it!”

****

“Mr Shelby, I know you don’t love me... you don't have to... consummate this marriage, m-my brother said you’d probably call it off once you sorted the business and that’s why you wouldn’t have me...”

“I’m not Mr Shelby to you. I’m Tommy. And I finished the business with your brother on our wedding night,”

“But why didn’t you sleep with me... why have you just ignored me for three months?” you whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “We’ve never been together and yet I miss you,”

He sighed, rubbing his face. “You... You’ve got to understand, YN... I’m over ten years your senior,”

“I don’t care,” you mumbled, but he still carried on.

“I’m over ten years your senior, you’re young, gentle, good, caring...”

“Listen to me! I don’t care that you're older than me,” you blushed when he stared at you but carried on. “I don’t care, alright! You made me feel safe tonight when that man was feeling me up. I’ve grown up around my brother’s gangsters and criminals making sure I don’t get attacked, but I’ve never felt as safe as when you... took my arm,” you looked at the ground. “You make me feel protected and I-I think I love you. You don’t have to say it back, or do anything, not if you don't mean it-”

He was kissing you, cupping your cheeks in both his hands, his lips pressed firmly against yours. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours. “I think I love you too,” he murmured. “I’m starting to... to love you...”

You gulped as you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned to kiss him gently, testing the waters, sighing gently as he deepened the kiss. “Shall we consummate this marriage, Tommy?” You murmured and he groaned softly against your lips, lifting you up, hands squeezing your buttocks. “Oh god yes,” he groaned, laying you down slowly.

He trailed soft kisses down your throat, running his hands up your body and hitching your dress further up your thighs each time his hands went up. You sighed, arching your back and stroking his cropped hair. “Tommy... I’ve never done... I’m... ive never been...” you whispered, panting.

“You’re a virgin?” He murmured, stilling his movements. For a moment you thought he’d leave you again, but your worries were quashed when he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Alright, love,” he whispered, before kneeling, slowly unclipping and rolling each stocking down, kissing every inch of newly revealed flesh as he went. You sighed softly, stroking his hair gently, but gasped when his deft fingers skittered over the delicate skin of the inside of your thighs. Fingers twitching, you lifted your dress up and over your hips, undoing the button at the bavk and slinging it to the side. Tommy groaned at the sight of you in your silk slip and knickers. He crooked your thigh, throwing your leg over his shoulder as he kissed and sucked at the inside of your thighs. You whined at the curious mixture of suction and the tickling of his tongue, writhing your hips at these new sensations.

When Tommy pressed his thumb to your clothed clit you nearly jumped off the bed, spreading your legs a little wider and arching your back, gasping. He smirked up at you as he rubbed slow, tight circles, your underwear causing a delicious burning friction. You whimpered, clutching onto the bedsheets as your hips twisted, an unfamiliar tension coiling in your stomach. Thighs quivering, you called Tommy’s name, but he simply said “let it happen, YN,” pressing just that little bit harder. Waves of pleasure washed over your thrashing body as you moaned, biting your hand you quiet yourself. A few moments later, Tommy resurfaced, smiling gently at you as you looked at him with hazy, dazed eyes. He grinned when you reached for him and he fell next to you, rubbing your sides soothingly. “D-does that always happen?” You asked, thighs still twitching slightly.

Tommy grinned boyishly and caressed you’re cheek, pushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “If a man knows what he’s doing,” he said, the corners of his mouth tugging into a slight smirk. You giggled, blushing ever so prettily, stroking a finger over his buttons absentmindedly. “You want this off, YN?” He asked, gesturing to his waistcoat.

“Yes please. Your shirt too. And your trousers. I want it all off, mine too,” you whispered, sitting up a little. He grinned, sitting up with you and together you managed to undo all of his buttons and strip him down to his underwear. You hummed, kissing him deeply as you spread your palms over his bare chest, tracing his tattoo and grasping his strong back. You pulled away from him and, taking a deep breath, you got off the bed, standing before him as he lay propped on his elbows, and lifted your slip up and over your head. He palmed his cocked as you did, and his breath caught in his throat when you unclipped your bra and cast it aside. You then bent over, sliding your knickers and garter belt down your thighs, kicking them away. You blushed and stood with one hand across your tummy gripping your other arm as Tommy’s eyes scanned you up and down, from the swell of your breasts to the pert peaks of your nipples, the soft flesh of your tummy, hips and thighs, before finally, settling on the curls between your legs.

He cleared his throat and you saw his Adam’s apple bob. “Fucking hell... come here, love,” he said, voice barely more than a hoarse whisper as you crawled over to him, long hair falling over your shoulders. You looked at his tented boxers and licked your lips, before looking back to his eyes. “Be my guest, love,” he rasped. You grinned, and slid his underwear off, giving him a lovely view of your rear as you freed the, from his ankles. You trailed one finger up the vein pulsing on the underside of his heavy shaft, breath coming in little pants as his thighs tensed. Watching his face, eyes fixed to his, you slowly wrapped your hand around him and pumped his cock languidly, eyes lidded with desire. He grunted and grabbed your chin, breaking your focus. “Fucking... YN... I need you love,” he said, almost pleadingly.

“I’m all yours,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his. He groaned and pushed you onto your back, and you gladly cradled him between your thighs as he kissed you hard, his cock leaking warm sticky precum onto your bruised inner thigh. “Please...” you moaned out, nipping his lip experimentally. He groaned lowly, and you felt the vibration running through his chest as he lined his cock of with you. He pushed the tip in, stopping when he felt resistense.

“This’ll sting, just for a bit, okay, YN?” He murmured into your shoulder. “But id you wanna stop, you’re to tell me, understand,” you nodded, already panting. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt him push through your barrier and you pushed your face into his neck, thighs clenching a little tighter around his hips. He grunted slightly, pushing in until he had no more to give, before waiting for you to tell him to move. When you bucked your hips up slowly to meet his, he groaned and together, you settled into a slow rhythm, every inch of skin touching one another. You locked your ankles behind him, using your heels to dig into his back and pull him closer, deeper, impossibly so. You just felt so... full. Tommy Shelby was clouding your every sense and you were quickly becoming addicted, undulating your body to grind your nipples against his chest, your clit against his pelvis, and your innermost pleasure points against his pulsing length.

You felt that coiling pressure in your stomach from earlier and whimpered “Tommy,- Tom... Ah! Tommy, I’m-I’m-Ah!” You moaned desperately, trying to find a word for the immense pleasure he was churning deep within you. Your inner walls clenched tight around him as a deeper, more intense pleasure flooded every nerve of your being as you moaned his name loudly, pressing your lips to his in a sloppy, passionate kiss. Feeling you grip his cock, he moaned into your mouth, and with a few final frantic thrusts, he spilled inside you, pumping your womb full of his essence, holding you close as you rode out your highs.

Practically boneless, you lay under the covers, snuggled into Tommy’s side, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the Romani sun rising on his chest as he smoked. You sighed happily, tucking your head into the crook of his shoulder, kissing the available skin gently. He laughed slightly. “You up for another round, love?” He teased. You giggled and shook your head.

“No... not tonight,” you said, yawning softly. “Tomorrow morning maybe- you’ll still be here tomorrow?” You asked quickly. He stubbed out his cigarette and kissed your forehead.

“Of course I will be. Christ, I’d happily lay in this bed all day long if you’d let me,” he grins.

“Maybe I would,” you giggled and looked up at him. “I think... I think this marriage will work out fine, Tommy,” you said gently, nuzzling into his chest.

He stroked your hair gently. “You know what, YN? I reckon it will too,”

.

[the-bjd-community-confess]

More Divaz confos

Mod: Round two of these, previously: link. There’s some interesting customer reviews in this batch (5 and 8) which may be useful to readers.

1.Vic3mage "the secret bjdivaz vip group is just pictures of boxes coming in and going out". Yeah, between the bitching about d0llshe, asking people to post on doa for them, dunking on ex-customers, posting pics of random doll parts that they can't identify which doll they're supposed to go with, whining about how little money they make, whining when ppl e-mail them, whining. Yeah, other than that it's just boxes, and alpacas u can buy off amazon anyway lol.

~Anonymous

2.The butthurt users crying and guilttripping under every Divaz confession who have never been seen before elsewhere on this blog are extremely unsuspicious and unproblematic and definitely unconnected to Divaz and unbiased in every possible way

/s

~Anonymous

3.idk shit abt bjd1vas but v1cemage i can absolutely tell you the shit about ch0o is 100% accurate, fucker's got a long, long history of being an awful little man that stretches well beyond his involvement in the doll community. between the two i'd still trust bjd1vas over ch00 ch00 the fool any day!

~Anonymous

4.The Z3st and Div4s thing is really silly and both entities were being shady but did they really have to take the DZ waiting room down with them? :( He had even made a separate thread about it......

~Anonymous 

5. RE: BJD Divaz

I’ve been a customer of BJD Divaz since they first started, when it was only run by Chart3rline. I even contacted other BJD companies trying to persuade them to work with Divaz as their US representative. Most declined because they didnt like D's commission fee, but I was able to persuade a few of them.

I asked them to purchase a doll off DOA because I couldnt afford the asking price, and while they did, I found out later that instead of agreeing to purchase the seller's price, they negotiated the price to be lower. This significantly cheaper price was not passed down to me. I paid the full price +the commission fee based on that full price. I am disappointed I was not told this. This is when I stopped viewing them as a "friend" and instead, as a business. I dont hold this against them, it’s context to what Im going to say later.

I’ve stopped purchasing from D after my recent order from them. This company usually takes 3 or less months to make a doll. I’ve ordered the doll from D and it took 11 months. They let me know it arrived to them in March and that it will be shipped soon, except it only shipped on July, and only after I sent them several "reminder" emails. Before people in the comments try to put the blame on me for not sending a reminder soon, please keep in mind that I acknowledged the email in March and confirmed everything and they keep stressing to not send them emails because they are busy, I’ve emailed once every month since. I’ve since switched to ACBJD and Ive been happy with communication and the dolls ordered. I imagine ACBJD gets the same amount of emails, but they dont berate their customers if they email more than once.

I regret when people wanted a D0llshe, but not deal with him, I always recommended D. I would warn people of ordering directly and instead go through D. They assured buyers they would be handling communication and all the efforts so they wouldnt worry, except they didn’t. A person that I’ve recommended D to, who surpassed 2 years, keeps messaging me for help because D wouldnt reply to their emails. She is respectful, sweet and a timid person, not a Karen. This person, emailed D without a reply so would email a week later, only to be told that their email would be pushed down to the bottom if emailed again. No response, so she goes to FB and IG, who both tell her to email because they arent the person running orders. Finally got a response that they would get their refund, after D0llshe sends D's payment, but minus the PP fees. 3 months later and theres no refund, only a promise of them getting it later. Why is the customer missing out on fees when they have no doll? Customer emails d0llshe and he says he cant offer refund, because they didn’t order through them, which is understandable, but when all options are out for a customer, do you blame them for chargebacks?

If anyone files a chargeback, D will be blacklisting them from every company they rep, as in blacklisting you from buying direct from those companies. I urge everyone who has negative experiences with D to email the companies they rep instead of venting on confession blogs, and writing your experiences on social media. Make it count and send letters to the companies they represent, and please provide proof because they will try to make you out to be a liar.

Speaking of, they made vague posts on cl0ver singing for charging paypal fees, and that they offer guarantees as an official dealer, except when offering refunds, to non delivered products I might add, they are keeping the fees, and offered no help with d0llshe, even before they ended their dealership with them. Someone on DOA was told to not email them unless the wait time surpassed 1.5 years. They are even so petty that they post screenshots with the full name and address (dox) of the customer on purpose and then delete it out a day later as if they just realized their "mistake".

Before you try to make excuses for them about the fires, keep in mind, I am dealing with a business. The lower price negotiation with the DOA sale, I am in no way obligated to give them a pass or treat them as a friend when they made it clear that our relationship is strictly business. Their issues, are not my issues. D0lk got dragged for not shipping in time, others, including artisans, got dragged for being so late with communication and sending back refunds for cancelled orders. Why does D get to be exempt?

The supporters are the worst part of this, because of instead of being honest so D can improve, they support them for being "real". For example, look how micemage words it, to make it seem like this criticism is from one person, when there are people on addicts who didn’t have good experience. Check the bjd dealers tag here, you will see the supporters in the comments going off on any and all criticism of D. Some have sane comments, but the majority are cult like and try to identify the person venting as if it’s one person. Addicts deletes threads with criticism asking people to instead direct it to their feedback group; which lets be honest, no one is going to do because its "not that bad", and most dont want to join a new group, which is mostly dead.

This is my first and last confession on D, I’ve emailed each company they rep and told them my experience as well as contacting the 3 month wait company, with screenshots of my order, how they handled it, and the excuse they used to put blame on the company for being so late (package arrived march to D, 4 months to be shipped is on D, not the company). I’m not using company or order details because I know they are petty enough to try to identify me and publicly shame me like they have to others. This and the threat of suing is why not many people like to go public with their experience. They just keep feedback neutral, move on and never deal with again.

~Anonymous

6. Listen, I can't take you seriously in regards to BJD!vas because you're posting on a confession blog. If you were serious, you would have posted in buyer beware groups, DoA reviews or the board to get things resolved, or you would have made a complaint to the BBB. And your language makes you come off more as someone with an agenda rather than someone who is trying to warn people. If shipping is the issue, stop buying with standard shipping and pay the extra price for express shipping. I saw one of you complain that it sat with them for 20 days; that's probably because you're not the only one and they more than likely have a queue to check and then ship out. Do mistakes happen? Yes, because we're human. I've been in this hobby for a few years now and it seems like most people know you're going to have to wait, sometimes even outside the expected wait time. And shipping something as big as a doll is a timely endeavor. I shouldn't have to say that.

My point is simply to stop complaining on an confession board and either take it to the places previously mentioned. Posting here behind the anonymous mask makes you sound like a petulant child who didn't get their way right away.

~Anonymous

7.My only issue with BJD Divaz is how I never get any updates. Every email, they tell me to join their facebook page for status updates. I dont have a FB and I dont want to create one. I bought my doll through their website, updates should be posted on their website, or they could send me an email. That isnt asking much.

~Anonymous

8. Since there seems to be a lot of either "completely negative everything sucks" or "everything was sunshine and rainbows" confessions about bjd!vaz I thought I'd chime in with a neutral review.

PROS

-They were always polite and professional in their emails, and gave me very detailed answers to my questions.

-I got exactly what I ordered, so no mix ups or missing parts or anything like that.

-I think them being forthcoming about personal issues (only one person on staff, illness, the flooding isue etc.) on social media is good, since it keeps customers updated as to why there might be delays.

-If you live in the US their shipping is very reasonable.

CONS

-Reply times were varied. Sometimes it could take over a week, sometimes a couple hours.

-My order took about 10mo which, when comparing to other people who ordered through the same company around the same time, was about 3x as long as if I bought it direct and 2x as long if I had gone through a different dealer. I get some of the waiting time is out of their control, but it was kind of ridiculous.

-They dont necessarily ship the same day they send you a tracking number. I wish they said something like, "Here's your tracking number, our pickup is Xday so it should start moving after that" just so I could be aware.

All in all no major complaints. I got my doll and all that. Their lone employee is clearly overwhelmed. I hope they hire another person, if only to give the one a break.

Truthfully, I most likely won't buy through them again. I'd rather pay the international shipping and go direct, than deal with the extensive wait time. I'd still recommend them to someone looking for a very long layaway, though. I paid in full, but if I had a 12mo layaway I would've never known they weren't ready to ship my doll until month 10.

~Anonymous

[ellewritesathing]

Faking It  -  IV

Summary: You’d done plenty of dumb things in your life, but the dumbest had to be picking Greendale’s latest bad-boy to pretend to be your boyfriend.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 4

Word-count: 3.4k+

A/N: this gif has nothing to do with this part but i thought it was cute and couldn’t find a kitchen gif that fit. hope you enjoy the drama lmao 💕

Of all the ways you saw taking Caliban’s hand the day you met, you hadn’t anticipated the very obvious outcome: that you’d develop feelings for him. Actual, real, not fake feelings. But it’s not like it was your fault - no, you blamed the blonde asshole himself. They just didn’t make guys like him in Greendale, so he completely blindsided you by being … well, himself.  

He was intimidating enough that other guys left you alone, and - even though plenty of people found him as charming as you did - he made it very clear that he had no interest in any of them. He was infuriatingly good at everything he did and he looked good while doing it. He laughed at all your shitty jokes and actually listened to you when you spoke. How the hell were you supposed to not be attracted to someone who would sit with you while you worked on your art projects and quote poetry in an offhand effort to distract you? 

Who the hell could even quote poetry in real life? 

Not you. Not anyone that you’d ever met. 

Caliban was just different in all the ways that made your heart race. 

The fact that your friends liked him didn’t hurt either. Harvey still rolled his eyes whenever Caliban showed up or made the others laugh, but his anger must have subsided at least a little because you’d caught them joking around between practices. Theo loved Caliban; the two of them had inside jokes, knew each other’s lunch orders, and partnered up for chemistry. Roz would read a book and annotate it before handing it off to Caliban to read, and she liked that Caliban made you smile. Sabrina liked having someone to do dumb and borderline illegal stuff with. They liked him, and now you liked them. The fuckers. 

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Sabrina asked, nudging you with her elbow. “You’ve been staring at the baseball field for like five minutes.”

“Of course I’m listening,” you lied. You sat up straighter and tugged your clothing back into place. “Quite frankly, I’m insulted you’d think that I wasn’t paying attention to The Great Kinkle Family Reunion.” 

Sabrina tilted her head and smiled politely, that’s how you knew trouble was coming. “Then tell me what you should do when Uncle Tristan starts talking about horses,” she said. 

“Uh …”  

“Exactly.” Sabrina laughed and looked down at the field where Harvey, Theo, Caliban, and the rest of the team were running laps. “I’ve been to every family get together since I met Harvey, and they all end horribly. Caliban’s mom was really sweet to host one, but she’s in way over her head. Have you met her, by the way?” 

“No,” you said. You couldn’t tell if that was weird or not. Were fake girlfriends supposed to meet their partner’s mothers? “But I’m kinda surprised she’s doing this given everything I’ve heard about her and the Kinkles. They weren’t exactly the most supportive of her.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know why Harvey’s such a sweetheart when the rest of the family is … It was probably Tommy, now that I think about it,” Sabrina said. She shook her head and turned to look at you before taking your hands in hers. “I just wanted to check-in and make sure you’re ready for this.” 

“Brina, I can handle this.” You squeezed her hands reassuringly. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a pretty mean right hook. Ask Colin Anderson. If there’s a fight, I’ll be golden.” 

Sabrina laughed and let go of your hands. “I’m trying to prevent that fight, but good to know.” 

You laughed and bumped her with your arm. “Looks like practice is letting out. You wanna head down?” 

“Nah.” Sabrina put on her brightest smile and waved down to a very tired-looking Harvey. “Let them de-stink first.” 

---

After two weeks of prep and cover stories, the day of the Great Reunion was here. You’d woken up disgustingly early in order to get yourself together and drive over to Caliban’s to help them set everything up. 

You weren’t sure what you expected their house to look like, but clashed with the black BMW parked in the garage. It was a sweet, two-story house with a wraparound porch and balloons in the front yard. The house was painted a soft sunshine shade of yellow and had rocking chairs, hanging plants, and rose beds in the front. It was the picture-perfect house for anyone other than Caliban, but it still fit. 

Different. 

Gathering up your nerve and the rest of your belongings, you made your way to the door and pressed the doorbell. The tiny pothos plant felt as awkward as you did while it sat in your hands and waited for someone to open the door. 

Thank God it was Caliban and not his mom. 

He smiled amusedly at your plant before looking up at you. “Is that for me?” 

“I know it’s a lame gift but I didn’t know if your mom was allergic to cut flowers and I’m not old enough to buy her wine,” you said in a rush. You frowned slightly and tilted your head. “Well, not legally at least.” 

Caliban laughed and reached out to take one of your hands and lead you inside. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” 

You didn’t know what else to say as Caliban led you to the kitchen. The house was as much of a surprise inside as it was outside, and it smelled like freshly baked bread. It was colorful and covered in old photos. He seemed very at home here and lighter than you’d ever seen him elsewhere. No, not lighter. Happier.

“Wait.” You stopped dead and let go of Caliban to reach out for a photo of the cutest little boy with missing front teeth and a mess of blonde curls around his dirty face. “Is this you?” You couldn’t help the laugh that came out when Caliban looked pained at your discovery. “Aw, Abercrombie, you were so cute! What’s on your face?” 

Caliban sighed and took the photo out of your hand, looking embarrassed for probably the first time in his life. “I was seven years old and I liked eating chocolate. Is that a problem?” 

“Oh, no, no, no,” a woman said as she rounded a corner and laughed. She had the most beautiful long, brown hair and kind eyes. “You didn’t just like chocolate. If you came anywhere near it, you used to eat yourself into a sugar coma. I couldn’t bake anything around you without you eating the batter before it even got into the oven.” 

She laughed and ruffled Caliban’s hair before smiling at you. You didn’t know anyone could ruffle his hair without losing a hand. 

“You must be the lovely new girlfriend I’ve heard so much about,” she said. “I’m Isobel. Is that for me?” 

Isobel pointed at your little pot plant and jolted you back to life. “Uh, yeah,” you said and held the plant out to her. Her hands were warm as she took the plant from you. “I wasn’t too sure what to bring but I didn’t want to come empty-handed.” 

“Oh, not at all. This little guy is perfect!” Isobel lifted up the plant to look at it. “I’m going to give him some water and put him in the front. Do you guys want to get settled in the kitchen so long?” 

“Of course,” Caliban said with a gentle smile. His mom gave him another playful bump and disappeared into some other part of the house while Caliban held a hand out to you. “Shall we?” 

“Who are you?” you teased with wide eyes as you took his hand in yours.

You followed him into the kitchen and took a seat at the breakfast bar. They were here for maybe a month and their house already felt like more of a home than yours ever did. How they afforded it all, you had no idea, but Caliban never spoke about his birth dad and you didn’t want to push. All you knew was he gave Caliban his blonde hair and bone structure, nothing more and nothing less.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sight of Caliban in a sunflower printed apron. Clearly, your efforts to contain your amusement weren’t nearly as stellar as you thought they were because Caliban raised an eyebrow at you over all the baking supplies on the counter. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. 

“I didn’t peg you for an apron guy is all,” you said with a small shrug, doing your best to sound nonchalant and not totally, completely chalant. 

“I don’t like getting my clothes dirty,” Caliban said defensively. “Without an apron, anything can stain your shirt.” 

“I think I’ll take the risk,” you said as you tapped the counter. “I trust myself and don’t think anyone’s going to splatter batter on me.” 

“Batter, maybe not …” Caliban tilted his head to the side. “But flour?” 

“Flour?” 

Before you had the chance to ask what he meant, Caliban threw a handful of flour at you. He laughed at how shocked you were and you took that opportunity to reach across the counter and throw some flour at him. Soon enough the two of you were running around the kitchen, covered in flour, and laughing until your sides hurt. 

Caliban wrapped his arms around you and scooped you up, ignoring your pleading and cries that were cut short by laughter. You were still mid-air with Caliban’s face close to your own when Isobel came back. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Isobel put her hands out to get your attention. “We have guests coming in an hour and the two of you are making a mess in my kitchen.” 

Caliban set you down, but the two of you were still tangled up and filthy. You didn’t know what to say to the woman you’d met fifteen minutes ago and whose kitchen you’d subsequently ruined.

Isobel laughed and shook her head. “It’s my own fault for leaving this one unsupervised,” she teased, pointing a finger at Caliban as she made her way around to start cleaning up. “Go clean yourselves up. Come back when you don’t like friendly ghosts.” 

Luckily for you, flour was relatively easy to get out because you weren’t wearing dark colors for once. It took a while to get it out of your hair and make it look presentable, but it was hard to be too mad at the mess when it was such a fun time making it. 

When you got back downstairs, you could hear people laughing and talking in the kitchen. It was still too early for guests but it was clear that it wasn’t just Caliban and his mom. 

You were right. You rounded the corner to find Caliban freshly-changed, his mom kneading some dough, and a very pretty redhead with big doe-eyes all laughing at some inside joke. It made you feel painfully other. 

“Oh, Luce,” Isobel said when she noticed you come in, waving you over. “You have to meet Caliban’s girlfriend. She’s a gem.” 

Luce ... As in Lucy? Lucy from California? Harvey’s first crush? Lucy. 

This was going to end badly. 

Lucy tilted her head as she turned to look at you. You could see the gears turning in her head as she looked you over. “Girlfriend?” she asked with a friendly (but fake) smile.

“The one and only,” you said with an over-confident smile as you walked over and interlaced your hand with Caliban’s. You wrapped your other hand around his arm, just like the first day you met. You introduced yourself with a friendly yet fake smile of your own. 

“You guys moved up here a few months ago and Caliban’s completely forgotten about me,” Lucy teased to Isobel. She moved some hair out of her face and looked over at you again. “He used to tell me everything. We were like this.” She crossed her index and middle finger over each other with a smile. 

You’d have liked to show her one of your fingers. 

But you didn’t. All you did was smile and make some polite conversation while not letting go of Caliban. You weren’t sure why you were being so defensive. It’s not like you and Caliban were actually dating, but you didn’t like Lucy. Not only did she break Harvey’s heart and cause all the damage you’d spent the better part of two months fixing, but she also just rubbed you the wrong way. 

“Okay, not to ruin all the fun,” Isobel said after a while. “But guests should be coming soon. Why don’t you kids make sure everything is set up in the back and keep an ear out for any early birds?” 

“Sure thing,” Lucy said, hopping off her seat and leading the way to the backyard. 

You started following when Caliban caught your arm and said something to his mom about getting more supplies from the garage. He didn’t say anything else as he led the way and neither did you, but that was mostly just because you were being petty. 

Caliban led you to the middle of the garage and tugged on the old light to illuminate the dusty room around you. He lifted your intertwined hands and folded them over each other as he thought about what he was going to say. 

You couldn’t wait that long. 

“So, what’s the deal with you and Lucy? And I want the truth this time.” 

Caliban laughed and shook his head as he looked up at the old light above you. He took a breath before saying, “Lucinda’s my best friend, pretty much my only friend before yours so kindly took me in. If I’d known she’d be here today, I would have said something.” 

“Wait, you were best friends with the girl who broke up your family?” you asked. 

“She apologized,” Caliban said. “And, besides, you’re friends with Harvey.” 

“Harvey’s never made out with me,” you said, untangling your hand from his so that you could cross your arms over your chest. 

Caliban narrowed his eyes slightly as he took in your newly defensive stance, and then he laughed without saying anything else. He looked amused when he met your scowling gaze again. “I can’t believe you’re jealous,” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me, it’s incredibly attractive but-” 

“I am not jealous,” you said. “I couldn’t care less.” 

“I’m sure,” Caliban said with a sarcastic smile. He rolled his eyes as he stepped closer and cupped your face before leaning down to be millimeters away from your face. “Forget about her, alright? I assure you, you’re the only fake girlfriend for me.” 

Before you had the chance to say something witty in return, the garage door flew open and the devil herself stood in the opening. 

“There you are!” Lucy said. “Cal, I need help with these streamers. I’m way too short to get them where your mom wants them.” 

“I’ll be right out,” Caliban said without taking his eyes off yours. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before taking a step back and leaving you in the dusty and dim garage. 

You shot a warning text to Harvey about Lucy before you went out to help the others. Though he never answered, he must have got it because he was surprisingly okay when he and Sabrina got there. You and Sabrina shared a look when Lucy got a bit handsy with her hello, but neither of you said anything. 

That’s how most of the get together went; you and Sabrina sharing secret, sarcastic looks and staying out of trouble. Well, mostly. You still didn’t know what to say when Uncle Tristan started talking about horses, but Caliban came to your rescue and the rest was smooth sailing. 

Until an hour went by when you couldn’t find Caliban anywhere. You asked around but no one had seen him, but his mom pointed you in the direction of his room. Isobel held onto your arm before you could leave. 

“Um, I’m sorry if this seems a bit strange but I …” Isobel smiled and looked down at her hand on your arm before letting go, clearly trying to respect whatever boundaries you may have had. “Caliban’s been a lot happier since we moved here and I think that has to do with you. I just wanted to say thank you.” 

“Oh, uh- It’s nothing. I’m just a girl and I’m sure Caliban’s brought a few of us around by now with cheekbones like that,” you said with a smile. 

“No, Caliban’s never brought anyone home before,” Isobel said, looking like she was trying to remember anything to the contrary. “Sorry, hun, I’ve gotta go. Jan’s calling me over. Good luck with the search!” 

“Thanks,” you said quietly. 

Isobel disappeared into the sea of Kinkles and you made your way to Caliban’s room. You took your time going up the stairs, looking at all the photos on the wall as you did. It was nice to see that Caliban was just as angry and angsty now as he was at  14 years old. 

It was strangely quiet upstairs compared to the rest of the house and the party in the backyard. Quite enough that you could hear someone giggling upstairs, someone decidedly not Caliban. 

Roz would have told you to face it head-on and not to sneak around like a creep. Thankfully, Roz wasn’t there to say anything. 

You tiptoed as casually as you could to Caliban’s room. The room felt more like the Caliban you knew than the rest of the house did: big windows without any blinds, a tornado of books and sketches on every surface available, and a very pretty redhead making out with him. 

“She kissed you, huh?” you asked, echoing the story of when they were younger before turning on your heel and slamming the door behind you. Your heart ached annoyingly when Caliban called out for you as he followed behind you, but your brain told it to suck it up until you were out of the house.

By sheer force of will, you made it back downstairs without turning around, but then Caliban managed to get a hold of your hand and spin you around to face him. 

“Would you please let me explain?” Caliban asked. 

“No,” you said, pulling your hand away from him. “Look, it’s not like you have anything to explain anyway, okay?” He reached out for you again and you took a step back so you wouldn’t be confused by his touch. “You and me? We were a fake relationship. Maybe this is the universe saying it’s time it came to a real end.” 

You knew what he’d say if you weren’t arguing. He’d ask you, with that annoying smile of his, when you started letting the universe tell you what to do. Or he’d make some comment about the universe being a bastard. But all he did now was set his jaw and look down at his hand. 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying this is it,” you said. “Goodbye, Caliban.” 

You weren’t sure why you expected him to say something else, to fight for your fake relationship, but all that expectation just led to disappointment. Caliban flexed his hand but didn’t say anything else as you pushed past him to get your stuff from the kitchen so you could rush to your car to cry. 

Harvey was tapping on your window just before you started the car. Curse your five-minute breakdown for being long enough for him to notice you were gone. 

“What?” you asked as you rolled down the window. 

“Are you okay?” Harvey asked. “You ran out of there so fast-” 

“You were right, okay?” You put your car in reverse before looking back up at him. “Caliban’s not a good guy and you warned me. Will you just let me go so I can cry somewhere that’s not here?” 

“Hey, you know that’s not what I meant,” Harvey said softly, reaching through the window for you. “Let me come with-” 

“No. Go have fun with your family. I need to get out of here.” 

“But-” 

“Harvey, move or I will drive over your foot.” 

You didn’t think he was going to do it, but Harvey took a very reluctant step back and put his hands up in surrender. He wasn’t going to fight for you either, not that you’d given him much of a chance. Harvey was stood there, watching you drive away until he disappeared in your rearview mirror. 

Music blared in an attempt to drown out your thoughts, but there was one you couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard you tried. Sabrina was right - every Kinkle family get together ended horribly.

Tagged:  @miss--moose​  @marrypuffsstuff​  @harryscarolinaa​  @igorsbby​​  @foji2000​​  @mschfavngz​​  @artaxerxesthegreat​​  @thxmagic​​  @strawberriesandknives​​  @xealia​​  @hotmessindisguise​​  @reheated-coffee​​  @shelby-x​​  @perseny-blog​​  @millie-753​​  @luneerius​​  @shizzybarnaclee​​  @lettherebelovex​​  @throughparisallthroughrome​  @ietss​  @thebookwormlife​  @mechanicalanimalz​  @mariamermaid​  @nqbmf​  @drrramaaaqweeen​ 

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Good morning fuckers, after a brief fluffy break, I’m back on my angsty bullshit. This time, I’m tormenting...guess who...

Yeah, it’s Cherri Cola. 

Anyways! Please pay careful attention to the warnings this time, this is incredibly dark and I want you all to be safe. Also Newsie and him have a sibling dynamic because fuck you (no, really because I want fun sibling dynamics.)

Title: all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

Wordcount: 2910

Summary: Cherri Cola has seen too much to want to survive this world. Luckily for him, his family wants him to live, and so do a snarky bird deity and a trio of teenagers.

Aka the story of how Cherri Cola met the Fabulous Four before there were even four of them, and learned a few valuable lessons along the way. 

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, a suicide attempt, hospitals, blood, flashbacks, self-harm, injury, mentions of addiction, (very brief) mentions of needles.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

Cherri Cola stared at the door of the radio station, hyperaware of the sunlight that filtered through the cracks even as he tuned out the rest of the world, slumped on the floor of the station. Darkness, it was always darkness. He was always trapped in the dark somehow. But the sunlight was worse. Sunlight was worse. 

He didn’t know who or what he was trying to convince as his nails sunk into his arms. It felt like suffocating; the darkness was endless and filled with thorns that kept him in. The memories never left and the deeds he had done could never be paid for. Not if he lived a hundred years or a thousand. He didn’t deserve to live that long anyways.

He stared at the door, the faint beams of sunlight filtering around the edges. Maybe he should get up and walk out that door. Let the sunlight take him, see how long it took him to die in the desert heat. Maybe he didn’t deserve to live at all.

No. You promised D you wouldn’t. He ranked his nails down his arms, digging deeply enough to leave welts. You. Promised. A promise was a promise. He couldn’t leave Dr. Death Defying. He couldn’t leave NewsAGoGo.

Cherri didn’t realize how deeply he had been digging his nails until the scratches on his wrists started to bleed. Blood. It always came back to blood, didn’t it? Blood of someone he had called sister, pooling around her as he sobbed. Blood of his friends, lying too still on the battlefield and in the sand and on beds in the hospital in Zone 2. Blood of the dracs he had killed, splattered all over him. His own blood, running down his forearms and coating his hands just like the blood of all the innocents who fell to his ray gun.

Suddenly filled with a new surge of energy, he climbed to his feet. Almost mechanically, he went through the motions of putting the poem he had been working on before this all away, knowing how much it bothered D when he left his poetry everywhere. It took longer than it normally would have, his movements slowed by the pain on his wrists and his general lethargy, but it felt like only a second before everything was neatly stowed away.

Cherri Cola looked at the door, squared his shoulders, and walked out into the light.

He walked. And walked. And walked and walked. (And walked.) To his surprise, the sunlight didn’t promise relief like it had always seemed to. All it promised was a harsh death.

Not that Cherri minded that much either. 

He lost track of the hours, lost track of the days after far too little. There was no change in the landscape, not once he got far enough that the radio station was out of sight. The sunlight never seemed to let up, only briefly pausing while he slept. Summertime was the worst time of the year in the desert, it was universally agreed, but the only difference it made to him was more hours of daylight. More scorching sun as his throat grew dry and the desert started to warp around him. Heatstroke, he had the capacity to think still, even as he staggered and fell. Well, this is the end.

He wondered if the Phoenix Witch would come to claim him. Probably not, unless someone put his mask in the mailbox. He knew Newsie knew where it was; she was the only one who knew where his mask and ray gun were stashed. Newsie. His mind could conjure up all too vividly the image of his friend holding the pink mask in her hands, placing it in the mailbox with a whisper of a prayer. Would Newsie cry for him? A tiny, selfish part of him hoped so, hoped he would be missed, but the logical, ruthless side of his mind pointed out that he was just…Cola. Just an old wavehead who could never escape his own mind. A killer, a Ritalin rat, nothing but a worthless excuse for a sibling and a friend. That part hoped Newsie wouldn’t shed a tear. He didn’t deserve her grief. He had abandoned her.

He had abandoned her. Newsie had been almost more of a sister to Cherri than the one he had fought on the battlefields of the Analog Wars, and he had abandoned her. He had left her just like his older sibling had left him, all those many years ago. He was as bad- no, he was worse. His sister had never had a choice. Better Living Industries had taken her and turned her into a weapon, and it had never been her choice at all. It had always been his choice. It had been his choice to fight, to kill and maim and seek vengeance at all costs, his choice to turn to the relief of sunlight and run from what plagued him, and now his choice to leave behind the people he loved.

Cherri scrabbled at the sand, suddenly filled with renewed determination. He owned it to Newsie to try and get back alive, at the very least. He couldn’t just lay here. He had to go, go home to the people he had grown to love.

Getting up didn’t seem to be an option, the shifting sand throwing off what little balance he had and easily overwhelming his spent muscles. Crawling wasn’t any better, that took strength that he didn’t have any longer. So he reached out a hand and inched himself along, slowly and painfully rolling what he thought was back the way he came.

He hardly made it two feet before he collapsed fully again, unable to move himself another inch. No! Get home, I have to get home- 

His eyes fell on taloned(??) feet as he lay in the scorching sand, and he looked up to see a crow-like figure almost crouched above him, tilting her head further than any human should be able to. The Phoenix Witch?

“Am- am I dead?” He croaked.

“Not yet.” His heart surged in hope, despite his earlier wishes, only to be squashed again by her next words. “You’re dying, though.”

“No! I can’t- I- Newsie.”

The Witch’s smile was not kind. “Why are you so upset, huh? Isn’t this what you wanted? Or,” she went on mercilessly, “have you realized there is a point to staying alive after all?”

Cherri shoved down his pride. “There’s a point and-“ he coughed, sand getting into his mouth. “-that point is my sister.”

“Your sister is dead, hon.” She let out a small cackle of amusement as he tried to speak again, finding it even harder than before. “I know who you meant, Cherri Cola. And I know exactly where she is right now, and what she’s doing.”

“What- what is she-“

“Looking for you, sugar. They all are. You’ve got the radio crew in a stir, as people say, all ‘cause you couldn’t blow your brains out like a normal person. Lucky for you though, and them, seeing as you’re not dead yet.”

“Well I’m not dying. Not-“ cough “-not until I can see my sister again.”

“You’ll see one of your sisters if you’re dead,” The Phoenix Witch shrugged.

“I’m still-“ cough “-not dying.”

“Stubborn one, aren’t you? Especially for someone who didn’t care if he lived or not just hours ago.” She tapped him on the forehead. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Cherri Cola. You don’t want to die. You want to not be in pain any longer. And to you, those seem like the same thing. But this isn’t the only route out of your grief, and it’s certainly not a painless one for the people around you. They care, you know.”

“Really?”

“Of course they do. Dumbass. NewsAGoGo cried when she realized you were gone, and so did your beloved Dr. Death Defying. They’ll be hurt worse once they realize you really are dead.”

Guilt swirled in his stomach. “I’m not dead. And-“ cough “-I’m not going to be.”

“Honey, you’re on death’s doorstep. Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to see me.” She seemed to take pity on him, kneeling next to him and brushing some of the sand away so he could speak better. “I’ll make you a deal, though, a one-time sort of offer. I won’t take you yet, and I’ll make sure you live, on one condition: you have to give me something.”

“What?”

“Anything. I want something that means something to you, though. A piece of your soul, as it were.”

It took him a moment, but “Would a bracelet do?”

“Only if it means something to you.”

“Newsie made it for me.”

She seemed to consider his offer for a moment before swiping the bracelet from his wrist. “Very well, Cherri Cola. Enjoy however many more years of life this will buy you.”

The last thing he saw was a swirl of crow feathers before the world went dark.

-

He woke up briefly who knew how long later to a redhead teen leaning over him, tilting their head. 

“Nah, I think he’s dead, Jet.”

“He looks pretty dead to me.”

“No, shh, Kobes, Party. I swear I saw him move.”

“Nah, he’s gotta be dead.”

“I swear! He was moving, and look, I think he’s breathing!”

Cherri did his best to move his head and hoped they caught on, but even that small movement sent a surge of dizziness through him, and he blacked out again before he could hear any more of the teenagers’ conversation.

-

When he woke up for the second time, he was lying on a somewhat uncomfortable bed in a room he had never seen before, and everything on his entire body hurt. There was an IV stabbed into his arm, and his forearms were neatly bandaged, which made him think this must be a hospital. It certainly wasn’t the radio station.

The person who poked his head into the room a few minutes later confirmed Cherri’s suspicions, as he was quite clearly a medic. “Oh, you’re awake!”

Cherri managed a tired nod as the medic came fully into the room.

“How are you feeling?”

“In a fair bit of pain, but I’ll live.”

“Hmm. Anything in particular, or no?”

Cherri shook his head, and the medic offered a grin. 

“You’re not going to be having a great time of it, sorry about that. Almost dying of heatstroke will do that to you. You’re pretty lucky your friends got you here in time. Oh, and I’m Max, by the way. Your name is?”

“Cherri Cola. My friends brought me in?”

“Well, I’m assuming they’re your friends, anyways. Redhead kid with a smirk like the devil, tall blond kid, and that guy with a really nice smile?” Cherri was reasonably certain he had never met those kids in his life. “No?”

“Huh. Well, anyways, I’ll send them in once I finish my checks, they might be able to explain more than I can.”

True to Max’s word, a few minutes later, a redhead with a smirk like the devil, a tall blond kid, and a brown-haired kid with a friendly smile walked in.

He felt like he should probably say hello or something, but the redhead spoke before he could. “So who the fuck are you, anyways?”

“That’s a good question. Haven’t quite worked out the answer to that one yet, but my name is Cherri Cola if that’s what you’re asking. He/him.”

“Fucking fantastic. So we picked up a random stranger and waited at the hospital for him to wake up.”

The tallest one, the one with a friendly smile, sighed. “Sorry about Poison, they’re mad that the medics made us wait here because there would be no one else to visit you and pick you up when you were healed. I’m Jet Star, by the way. They/them or he/him.”

“Kobra Kid,” The blonde said. “He/him.”

“And I’m Party Poison,” declared the one who had demanded to know who Cherri was. “They/them.”

“Well, uh, nice to meet you. Thank you for taking me to the hospital, I suppose.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, not even us would leave some guy lying there.”

“We almost did, but that’s because we thought you were dead,” Kobra Kid chimed in. He bore a distinct resemblance to Party Poison, both in face and voice, and Cherri was starting to wonder if they were related.

He shook that thought off, trying to focus on what was most important right now. “How long until I can leave the hospital?”

Jet Star was the one to answer that. “Probably another two days or so, you were in pretty bad shape from what I hear.”

“And you’re going to have some badass scars, apparently,” Kobra Kid agreed.

“And do my friends know I’m here?”

Party Poison snorted. “How should we know? We don’t even know who your friends are.”

“D and Newsie- sorry, Dr. Death Defying and NewsAGoGo?”

“Radio DJs, right? We know of them, but we’ve got no real way to contact them,” Party Poison told him.

“We can drive you where you need to go, though, once they release you,” Jet Star offered kindly. 

“That would be great, thank you guys so much.” 

-

So two days later, Cherri Cola was being bustled into the back of an old trans am by three teenagers. Party Poison was driving, and Kobra Kid had claimed shotgun, leaving Jet Star to sit in the back with Cherri. He didn’t mind that, as they seemed the most friendly. He even found himself chatting a bit with them as the siblings (turned out they were, in fact, related) laughed and debated in the front.

“So how long have you been out here?” Cherri asked. That tended to be a fairly safe question- killjoys didn’t talk about their past in Battery City, typically, but how long someone had been out in the Zones was a much safer topic.

“Maybe…fifteen years? I was born out here,” Jet Star explained. “So I don’t quite know, but I think I’m fifteen or sixteen.”

“Ah.” He felt rather old, suddenly. “I’ve been out here since soon after the Helium Wars ended.”

“Wow,” Jet breathed. “You must have seen a lot.”

Cherri stared at the scars on his hands. “Yeah.”

Jet’s hands were nearly equally scarred, although not the same wavehead scars, as they reached out a hand in understanding. “The Zones aren’t always kind.”

He offered them a wane smile. “No, they’re not.”

That was the end of their conversation, as at that moment, the car screeched to a stop in front of the radio station. 

Party Poison hopped out of the drivers seat and knocked loudly on the door as the rest followed behind.

Said door was opened by Show Pony, looking mildly frazzled. “Hey, sugar! Whatcha need?”

“I think we’ve got your friend.”

Ey looked puzzled for a second, and then eir gaze fell on Cherri, standing behind Party Poison with Jet and Kobra Kid. “Cola! Holy- Destroya, Cola!” Ey pushed past the red-haired teen with ease, skating down to throw eir arms around him. “We thought you’d gotten yourself dusted!”

“Not dusted, I’m afraid,” Cherri mumbled.

“Well, good!” Ey turned to holler back into the radio station. “Newsie! Dr. D! Get out here!”

Newsie’s hurried footsteps echoed from within the radio station, and Cherri’s words stuck in his throat as she froze in the doorway. 

“Hey,” He managed.

“Cherri FUCKING Cola, you complete and utter BASTARD!” 

He winced as Newise hugged him tightly, still swearing at him. “You fucker, you little dipshit, you absolute dumbass, we thought you were dead! We thought you were fucking dead, fuckwad!”

“I’m sorry, Newsie.”

“You better fucking be! Rat bastard!”

That was when Dr. Death Defying arrived, with a lot less swearing and fierce hugging, but certainly some scolding. “You scared all of us half to death, Cherri.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“He was half to death too, but of heatstroke, not of fright,” Kobra Kid contributed (very unhelpfully, in Cherri’s opinion).

“That doesn’t make me feel any fucking better,” Newsie muttered.

“Also, infection and dehydration,” Party Poison added.

Cherri sighed. “Not helping, guys.”

“Who are these fine ‘joys?” Pony asked.

“The Terrific Trio!” Jet cheered. “Well, the name is a work in progress. I’m Jet Star. He/him and they/them.”

“Party Poison. They/them. And I’m in charge.”

Kobra Kid snorted. “Kobra Kid. He/him.”

“They saved my life,” Cherri chimed in.

D offered the three young killjoys a warm smile. “Well, we’re very glad you did. I’m Dr. Death Defying, he/him.”

“NewsAGoGo, she/they.”

“An’ I’m Show Pony. Ey/em.”

Eventually, they all headed inside the radio station, where the trio was given some power pup for their trouble, and Cherri was given a lot of lectures and hugging for his. He would have a lot of explaining to do later, he knew, but he preferred to wait as long as possible to see the worry and fear on his friend’s faces. So just for tonight, he was going to revel in the fact that he was alive and here with his friends. That was the most important thing.

Cherri glanced down at his wrist, which felt strangely empty despite the bandages covering it, and smiled quietly to himself. “Hey, Newsie, what do you think about making another bracelet?”

[jungxk]

just one

filed under: the fuckboi saga. for @suga-kookiemonster who puts up with me gushing about jungkook on the daily and still hasn’t blocked me ily xoxo

notes: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem...until he set his sights on you. 

warnings: eventual smut, swearing, bad habits (mentions of drinking, smoking etc)

genre: humour, drama, romance, college!au 

wordcount: 5.4k

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

"what did i tell you about calling before midday?" you grumble, but jimin is already pushing his way past you before you can finish the sentence. he takes a gulp of your coffee when he thinks you aren't looking, earning a hearty slap on the arm.

"i have a good reason, i promise," he says, hands raised guiltily. his tee is tucked into his jeans at the front, so unreasonably attractive even at this time in the morning. he flashes you a pleasant smile. "i ran out of milk and your place is closer than the store. also, come to my party tonight."

"fridge door, next to the juice. and no."

"come on, hear me out," jimin starts, but you're already padding back to your room. he uses your groggy state to snake an arm around your waist, yanking you back into him effectively. you've never been a morning person and this isn't the first time he's used that to his advantage. usually you'd be at least mildly aware that you don't even have a bra on, but you're so sleepy you can barely acknowledge how the underside of your breast brushes his forearm. you can only hope the same goes for jimin, who's snuggling into you cutely - the classic puppy dog tactic. "it's not even a party, just me and tae and a few others. bring the girls if you want, we'll order some takeout. super chill."

"that's what you always say," you rub your temples. "and the next thing i know jisoo is throwing up on the side of a car and seulgi's in a fist fight."

"i mean it this time," he smiles again, turning you around like a rag doll to face him. "you never come over anymore! it'll be fun."

"what are you talking about? i was literally there yesterday! we had dinner, remember?" the warmth of jimin's hand pushing you onto the sofa would've made you give in on any other day, but all it does now is make your eyes feel extra heavy, ready to go back to bed. it was always like that with jimin, teetering on the end of touches that could be flirty, could be friendly - you could never really tell. it had been so long now you learned not to question it. besides, jimin was a touchy guy. a social butterfly and all that. he'd grope anything with a heartbeat and you were no exception, best friend or not.

"first of all, eating cereal in my bed while i play fallout is not dinner," he says, carding a hand through his ashy hair as if to make sure you don't forget how handsome he is while he's convincing you. "i found a marshmallow chunk in my pillow case by the way, so thanks for that. but what i mean is, you always work so hard. you deserve a little fun and the last time you came to one of my things was, what? two months ago? it's like you don't like parties!"

"i don't like parties!" you say, folding your arms. "you know this, jimin. especially not the sticky, humid kind. i’m an introvert in disguise, remember?"

"what if i clean? like vacuum and everything?"

"do you even own a vacuum?"

"not the point," he presses his lips together so his cheeks puff out. "i miss you."

you hold back a shit eating grin. "you miss me?"

"yeah," he props his elbow on the back of the sofa to face you. "ever since senior year started, i hardly see you letting loose. and i get that it's not the same as before, i just," your eyes soften and he avoids them vehemently. "whatever. maybe i just miss seeing you all dolled up."

he isn't exactly lying. ironically, you found yourself becoming even more isolated nowadays, especially with graduation looming in the not-so-distant future. ever since you switched your science major to arts, your parents made it abundantly clear that there wasn't a chance in hell they'd support you. financially or otherwise. while not joining your family's long line of doctors and engineers had its perks - the main one being you weren't painfully miserable anymore - it also meant you had nothing and no one to fall back on if your career went tits up. and while overworking yourself with projects and internships in preparation wasn't such a loss since it was a subject you were actually passionate about, jimin was right. too much of anything wasn't good for anyone.

"dolled up, huh..." you say, and he perks up immediately at the resolve slipping in your voice.

"yeah. i forgot what you look like with lipstick on," he peers at you hopefully. because occasional bad habits and fickle personality aside, jimin really did care. and him coming all the way here just to make sure you didn't slip back into how you used to be was testament to that. "and not the skin colour ones, i mean like actual colours."

"they're called nudes."

"and not even the good kind," he huffs, shifting closer because he knows you're about to break. "so? what do you say?"

you look up at him one last time before sighing in defeat. "i'm not bringing jisoo," you say, but he still beams happily. "if she catches tae with his tongue down another girl's throat it's gonna be your birthday party all over again, and i don't have the strength for that. and i'm leaving before midnight. i have an early class tomorrow."

"that's fine!" jimin says with a grin that takes up almost his whole face, soft cheeks glowing. he leans in close enough for you to get a whiff of his comforting, intoxicating cologne. "as long as you can make it."

"just a few friends and takeout, right?" you poke his chest warningly. "nothing crazy?"

he nods. "nothing crazy."

x

x

x

"yeah, there's no way in hell i'm going," jisoo says around a mouthful of pasta. you're currently all curled up on your bed like always, even though there's a perfectly good living room, not that you mind. ever since your parents kicked you out, having the girls crowded in your room made you feel cosy. less alone. "i'm either gonna clock taehyung into next week or screw him on the porch. i'd rather avoid both instances."

"do you even remember what he did?" seulgi asks, genuinely curious. "i think i was breaking up a cat fight at the time."

"no, you joined in," you correct, but she ignores you.

jisoo chews her food thoughtfully. "i think it was something to do with another girl? julie? jennifer?" she takes another second to think. "to be honest, no not really. but the point is i remember how he made me feel and that's just as important! if not more! but that doesn't matter," she says, training her eyes back on you. she points her fork. "what we should be worrying about is ____."

"you're right," you sigh, burying your face into your koala plushie. "i haven't shaved my legs in like, centuries. i'm considering telling jimin i'm sick, that's how badly i don't wanna deal with it." you rub your scratchy knee against seulgi to prove a point. "see? i'm like a porcupine! getting even one leg bald by tonight is like, a three person job-"

"not that," jisoo says, waving your leg away when you stretch it to her. "i have wax strips in the bathroom, you're fine. what i'm talking about is jimin. i know i say this before every party, but i'm like, a thousand per cent certain he's gonna make a move on you."

even seulgi laughs at that. "here we go again. what are you gonna bet this time? that skirt you ordered came in the mail by the way."

"i'm calling dibs on her new lipstick," you point to the one on her vanity. "jimin broke my brown one! he put the cap on without rolling it down first. i thought it was an accident but after this morning i think maybe the fucker broke my favourite nude on purpose."

"ugh, typical," seulgi shakes her head in disgust. "men are so dumb. don't tell me it was the limited edition one that i got you?"

"it was!" you wail, covering your eyes at the memory. "i actually cried."

"hello!" jisoo claps her hands between the two of you. "can we focus for a second?"

"deciding which of your stuff to steal next is focusing," seulgi offers.

jisoo narrows her eyes. "stop acting like the pair of you won't take my stuff anyway." she turns back to you, her expression looking far more serious than what the conversation permits. "what are you gonna do when jimin confesses to you tonight, hm? should seulgi let him fuck you in the bathroom or do you wanna be cockblocked until he's sober enough to kiss you with no tongue?"

"how about neither?" you sigh. "babe, when are you gonna give all this up and just believe me? me and jimin are friends."

"i'll believe you when it sounds believable!" she huffs. "come on, coming all the way over here to get you to come to his party because he misses you? asking you to get dolled up for him? this is peak fuckboy crush culture, i don't know why you don't want to accept that!"

"because it's jimin!"

"exactly," jisoo looks at you carefully. "it's jimin...can you honestly say you've never thought about it?"

you don't say anything, because you both know the answer. but in your defence, so did everyone. park jimin was gorgeous and friendly and naturally touchy. he always knew the right thing to say and was charming to a fault without even having to try. everyone and their mother thought about him in a romantic context, even you put your hands up to that. you may have briefly entertained the idea back in the beginnings of your friendship but it was quick to pass. even though he was friends with literally everyone, not many people could say they were close to jimin like you, and that made you so happy. there was nothing else to want.

"well, if you ask me, whether he's in love with her or not is irrelevant," seulgi butts in. "i'm not letting that clown near her tonight or any other night until he buys her a new lipstick."

"wow, you're right," jisoo nods, sinking back into the pillows. "forget what i said. cockblock him until he at least coughs up a gift card."

x

x

x

"just a few friends and takeout, right? nothing crazy?"

"nothing crazy."

"this is crazy," seulgi hisses, hands wringing out your arm defensively when you both pass a couple dry humping on the front porch on the way in. "it's not even that late!" the gush of musky air that hits you both in the face when you walk in is enough to render her speechless after that.

it definitely took some getting used to after a few weeks being cooped up in an art studio or at your desk, but it wasn't something a few drinks couldn't fix. it's only after seulgi wanders off and leaves you to your own devices does taehyung find you in the corridor, with that smile that shows all his teeth, big arms wrapping around your neck so you have no choice but to squish your face into his shoulder.

"____! i thought jimin was lying when he said you'd show up!" he says, manoeuvring you round the corner where the music is a little more muffled. he keeps his hand around you even once he's steadied you, the contact going straight to your head. it didn't help that literally every one of jimin's friends were as beautiful as him. his dark eyes study you carefully, and you know that look. "is jisoo here?"

there it is, you smile to yourself. "not tonight, tae. sorry."

he pouts, fingers tapping patterns on your side. "did you tell her i was sorry? about jennie? it all happened really fast and i..."

"didn't you finger her in the garden?"

"yeah, but she blew me! what else was i supposed to do?"

"tae," you pat his chest soothingly. if it was any other guy you'd be talking in colourful expletives, but taehyung really was a puppy in a boy's body. he had the attention span of a peanut despite meaning well, and you were just a tad too nice to reprimand him for it. at least tonight. "i think you should consider that maybe the jisoo boat has officially sailed. reigning her back in will only do more harm than good, you know?"

"will it though?" he has a twinkle in his eye. which in your experience, is not a good sign.

"that wasn't a challenge, taehyung." you frown.

he winces. you only call him taehyung when you're super serious or super drunk. and since the drink he gave you is still half full it wasn't wise to bank on the latter. you were always sweet, friendly to a fault, but when it came to your girl friends even you had your limits. "okay okay, fine." and before barely a millisecond passes, "so...did you come with seulgi?"

"for the love of god," you mutter, passing him. you definitely needed another drink.

x

x

x

when jimin sees you across the sea of bodies in the living room, he can't hold in his giddiness. you look particularly pretty tonight, with your hair down and a attractive red stained lip colour (of his choice). watching you blossom into such a soft, captivating young woman over the last couple years made him so happy. maybe too happy. jimin had a tendency of breaking things closest to him when he got too invested, and it was a miracle you weren't one of them - yet. he does his best to handle you with care even though you aren't a fragile little thing anymore, his touch radiating that as he snakes an arm around your waist.

"oh!" you squeak, turning back to look up at him with wide eyes as he tugs you into his chest. you're so pretty. "jimin!"

"when did you get here?" he smiles, effectively pulling you away from the group of friends you chatted with. he lowers his mouth to your ear like he's sharing a secret, chest close against yours. you gulp. every little thing he does always feels so intimate, and it was harder to ignore that when you had a bit to drink. "if taehyung hadn't let me know you showed up i might've missed you."

you brace a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, your feet a little wobbly after that last shot. "wouldn't be the first time. do you even know half the people here?"

he shrugs playfully. "am i supposed to?"

you sigh. "jimin, what did i tell you about lending out your house and booze to people who don't know your last name?"

"hmm," he tips his chin up and pouts his mouth thoughtfully so that his cheek dimples, fingers interlocking behind your waist securely. the action is enough to make onlookers dubious of your ‘friendship’, and you don't blame them. but you quickly push the thought aside in favour of jimin's alluring eyes. "something about how its telling of my generous and lovable character?"

you pinch his chin until he squirms into laughter. "try again, hot shot."

x

x

x

"what was that?" seulgi hisses in your ear on one of your many trips to the bathroom. thankfully since its a house party you aren't crowding into a stall together like you would a club, giving her enough space to sit on the rim of the bathtub while you fix your hair. "like is it me, or is jimin extra touchy with you tonight?"

"not you too," you groan, ruffling the roots. "for the last time, jimin is just being jimin. can we please talk about something else?"

"okay, fine," she says, getting up to fix the back of your hair that you can't see. "while prince charming was sweet talking you downstairs, some guy came up to me asking about you. ever heard of jung hoseok?"

you pout thoughtfully. "red hair? kinda loud? i think so..."

she smacks you playfully. "what do you mean you think so? the guy is so pretty i started feeling insecure about myself! and i'm wearing my lucky underwear!" she says, making you laugh. "anyway, apparently he's in one of your political arts classes and hasn't had the chance to talk to you yet."

you wince in the mirror at her. "i don't like where you're going with this..."

"____, babe. just get his number. there's nothing wrong with just talking a little," seulgi says gently. she knows how close you keep your cards to your chest, and with good reason after all you'd been through. you only had a few close friends and sociable as you seemed, letting people in was difficult for you. but if anyone genuinely wanted more happiness for you, it was seulgi. you never dabbled with guys if she didn't give them the all-clear. "he seems like a nice guy, really. and you know i'd never just say that for the sake of it."

"i know," you smile, dipping in to hug her. "i'll think about it."

x

x

x

jimin, being the center of attention that he is - the walking social hub of any given five mile radius - considers himself pretty good at handling the unexpected, especially at house parties. the unexpected being a broken vase, vomit on the carpet, a fist fight in the kitchen. normal stuff. what he isn't prepared for, however, is jungkook rocking up well past one in the morning, already making eyes at some girls even when he's barely got the other foot in the door.

jeon jungkook doesn't usually turn up to these parties, because...well, he never usually turns up to anything. but everyone knew his name, of course, because jungkook's track record was the only one that trumped jimin's - to the point where it bordered on myth, and with good reason. the guy was built like a steakhouse and still had the handsome, innocent face of a boy that meant well even though he rarely ever meant well.

which in all honesty wasn't a problem. jimin loves jungkook like his own, really. he's known him since he was pre-pubescent and acne prone and lord knows he'd fight a losing battle for that boy because that's what brothers do. regardless, when jungkook all but lets his line of vision land somewhere near your pretty smile from across the garden, jimin smacks him upside the head. "no."

"the fuck," jungkook spits, rubbing his undercut. "i didn't do anything!"

"yet," jimin finishes, stony faced. "i'm just stopping you in your tracks so your bad habits can catch up." he entertains jungkook's sceptical expression before huffing. "____ isn't one of your play things. she's a good person and no offence, but she really doesn't need any of your shit in her life."

"she's your friend, not your girlfriend," jungkook clarifies, and jimin can see the way his eyes fight to peel away even with ten feet and thirty bodies between you. 

maybe it's the alcohol but he can't help the way his gaze keeps naturally drawing back to you; it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to set his sights on a girl for the night, but you were so...different from his normal pickings. so...fresh. you didn't try hard and you didn't need to, kept to yourself and remembered every ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ - jungkook liked that. jungkook really liked that. "how is it i've never run into her before?"

jimin isn't stupid enough to use the words off limits because that's just fanning the flames with this kid. he's older than jungkook but he still resorts to puffing out his cheeks and lying through his teeth like a five year old. "she doesn't like you."

"she doesn't know me," jungkook flashes his glittering smile at him, the devil incarnate.

"everyone knows you, kookie," jimin says into his beer, too quiet to be banter but too loud for jungkook to ignore. he cards a hand through his ashy brown hair, doesn't look jungkook in the eye but may as well with how serious his voice goes. "please. just leave her out of it."

jungkook presses his mouth together, dimples pinching at the sides resolutely as he sways his gaze to some giggling redhead instead, because that's what brothers do.

x

x

x

somehow you always end up in this position - the drunk friend having to help the drunker friend. but the drunker friend isn't usually seulgi; in the intoxicated hierarchy on a night out you always fell snugly between jisoo and seulgi, but not this time. this time, you find yourself on the porch with seulgi's head cradled in your lap after she emptied her stomach out on the lawn, frantically tapping on your phone for an uber just as it dies.

"fuck," you grunt, throwing it back into your purse before rummaging through your roommate's. you visibly cringe at how sticky it feels, covered in god knows what and refusing to switch on. "this can't be happening..."

you're forced to prop seulgi up against the side of the house while you hurry inside to search for jimin. it was well passed late but the crowd was still hot and heavy, your short stature making it difficult for you to peer through the sea of bodies. you almost cry in relief when you finally locate taehyung in the kitchen, his hands instinctively grabbing your elbows to pull you out of the crowd and steady you when you teeter over to him.

"tae," you start, almost dipping straight into his chest if he didn't have a hold on you. "have you seen jimin? i need a ride home, seulgi's done for tonight."

"i'm pretty sure he's busy," he says apologetically, gesturing upstairs. "as in, took some girl up to his room an hour ago kind of busy."

"fuck," you sigh, head lolling back. "seulgi's still outside...”

"here," tae says, pulling you into his hip with one hand and reaching for his phone with the other. the contact is nice, warm. comfortable to the point where you find yourself snuggling your head into his shoulder. tae glances down at you against him with a pleased smirk. "easy there, princess. keep your head up while i call you an uber, okay?"

"i can take them," a sudden voice intervenes, your chin lifting up to peer over tae's chest. the boy beside taehyung offers you a small smile, so disarmingly attractive you lose your words. he's got round eyes that glitter even in the dim kitchen lighting, connecting with yours in a way that makes it impossible to look anywhere else. "i'm parked just outside. only had a few beers and even that was like, hours ago."

"are you sure, jungkook?" taehyung asks, still keeping a protective arm around you.

"'course," he turns his attention back to you, your skin prickling inadvertently under his gaze. he's so tall you have to look up at him a little. "and you said your friend's still outside, right? the quicker she gets home the better."

you nod. "thank you..."

"jungkook," he smiles, teeth glittering as he plucks you smoothly from taehyung's hold and into his. you're so focused on the weight of his hand around your back you forget to say bye to tae, letting jungkook guide you through the packed hallway and back outside. maybe it’s the booze but his jawline is amazing even from this angle. "i'm a friend of jimin's."

"yeah, i know," you giggle finally. "everyone knows you, jeon jungkook. you're just...different than i expected."

"different?" he pries softly, the quick lift of his brow making you giggle again. "different how?"

"just," your teeth sink into your bottom lip when you eye him up and down and jungkook swears he's got head rush just from that. you take him in, broad torso stuffed into a leather jacket that's straining at the seams, hair pushed back to reveal his handsome face. even the tattoos poking through the v of his t-shirt makes you splutter back a laugh, so picture-perfectly badboy. "...cute."

jungkook doubles takes. he wasn’t exactly expecting that adjective. "cute?"

"yeah," you say, but you're already turning your attention to seulgi now that you've reached her, slipping an arm around her to haul her up. you wobble a little since you're quite unsteady yourself, jungkook quickly ducking down to help you. "where's your car?"

"over there," he tilts his head in the direction of a jeep, propping seulgi's limp arm around his neck.

"who's this?" she slurs sleepily into your ear, but she's loud enough for everyone to hear. "he smells nice."

"your guardian angel," he answers. "with a truck."

"hm," seulgi considers carefully, even while you and jungkook bundle her up so she's lying across the backseat. she's already got her head nestled into your purse like a pillow by the time you manage to climb into the front. "ya seem nice. ____, give him a suck on my behalf when we get home."

jungkook discreetly grins to himself while you're busy with strapping in your belt. "he's not taking us home like that, babe."

"why not?" she grumbles, eyes barely open. "you waxed your legs!"

"here," jungkook says, his face suddenly close as he leans in to pull your seat belt over you. if you looked up you know you'd be millimetres apart, forcing you to stare dumbly down at your torso while he buckles you in, giving the stap a final tug so it settles comfortably between your breasts. it's such a quick action you barely register how practiced it is, like he's done it a thousand times. a more pressing matter is at hand anyway: seulgi was right. he does smell good. "there, all set."

your mumbled thanks barely carries over the sound of the engine starting, and thankfully you're not trashed enough to forget your address. jungkook rolls the windows down so the night air sobers you up a little anyway, finally free of that musky feeling of being in a room filled with too many people. "ah, i missed this...jimin hasn't taken me on a night drive in ages."

"you and hyung are close, right?" jungkook asks, arm up on the wheel in that way that makes boys look irresistible. "he talks about you a lot."

"oh yeah? funny, he never mentions you." you muse.

"really? not at all?"

"i think he called you chlamydia on a stick once," you ponder. 

jungkook huffs, and you can't help but laugh at his pouty expression. he finds himself drawn to it, almost entranced by it; even with your messy hair and smudged makeup, your smile is so effortlessly beautiful. he can see why jimin hid you away from him for so long. "i don't blame hyung for wanting to keep you to himself, i guess. girls as beautiful as you don't come by often."

you smile to yourself and it doesn't go unnoticed by him. "very smooth. don't forget to ask for my number when you help me out."

jungkook tongues his cheek, exhilarated by the challenge. "you think i'm flirting with you, noona?"

you keep a calm demeanour but even he sees the way you eye the veins in his big hands while he drives. but watching the rough of his palms skirt smoothly over the leather is near hypnotic. "i think you're trying to flirt with me, jungkook."

"maybe," he admits with a shrug. "so would you give it to me?"

"what?"

"your number."

you regard him properly. "do you want me to?"

"yes," is his bold reply, calling your bluff without hesitation. jungkook's sheer confidence makes you falter for a moment, his attitude so relaxed you can't tell whether he was taking any of this seriously or not. he meets your eyes from across the console with a small smirk that renders you speechless yet again. "not that jimin hyung would approve. but you're a big girl who can decide for herself, right?"

you blink, before shaking your head with a laugh just as he pulls into your road. jungkook waits patiently for an answer while he parks up by the curb, relishing in the way you eye him oh so carefully. you're tip toeing that fine line between drunk enough to speak your mind but not drunk enough to forget in the morning, so there really wasn't a better time to put all his eggs in one basket. you wet your lips at him and he's sure he’s hit bullseye, but then you're grabbing his chin and pinching it like you would with jimin. "you're cute, jungkook. now help me get her inside."

he blinks, his brain taking a second to catch up before he has to manually tell himself to move. getting seulgi out the back of the car wasn't easy but he's just glad she didn't throw up on him. you call a quick thanks over your shoulder before dragging her in and kicking the front door shut behind you, jungkook finding himself back at his steering wheel more riveted than before.

"fuck," he swears to himself, pulling out his phone and getting up taehyung's chat. "i need her number."

x

x

x

you barely plug your phone into charge with both eyes open once you've put seulgi to bed, and even then jimin's contact is the first thing to appear on the lockscreen. even though you’re halfway in bed with a makeup wipe in one hand, you force yourself to reply.

[jimin 3:42am] you get home okay? tae said you needed a ride, sorry

[you 3:45am] np ur friendsh jungkook gave usf a lift

[jimin 3:45am] jungkook? like jeon jungkook?

[you 3:49am] well unless you know anyt othrer jungkooks yh

[jimin 3:49am] is he there right now?

[you 3:51am] wht no he just dropped us off

[jimin 3:52am] thats all???

you frown, like that was any of his business. but you're honestly too exhausted to pick a fight.

[you 3:53am] yh thats all u nosy fuck

[you 3:54am] anywyh im dead now so gn

[rogerina-yee-haw]

“at least I’m one”

sd!gwilym lee x reader

chapter 5: “- the anticipated  sweetness”

[the goodbye] [the sadness & tenderness] [the broken rules and true affection] [the pain and eternal bliss]

summary: you and gwil met ten months ago; and he offered you to be his sugar baby almost immediately. you agreed at that exact moment, not knowing where it would get you.

warnings: smut, FLUFF!!, typos, grammar errors (as usual lmao)

a/n: Alice won’t show up in this chapter, sorry. it was too sweet to ruin it with her presence. next chapter is the last one!!!! sorry if this one is too bad!!!!

                                                    September.

“Five hundred pounds?” you sighed as you looked at the price. “Even my life costs less than this!”

This was a chic Versace dress you found at that one posh shop. You didn’t even know how you got there – you were just wandering across the mall; the next thing you knew – you were looking at the pretty but very expensive pieces of fabric.

You could afford this dress only if you worked with no sleep, days off and rest. Shit, you could afford a plain tee-shirt in this shop if you worked yourself to death for six months!

“Guess I’ll die as a poor bitch”, you thought to yourself. You still couldn’t stop looking at this dress; it was everything you ever looked in an evening gown; it was long with a side slit – just to expose your leg a bit; the long sleeves would cover your arms, and the lack of fabric on the back of the dress would give everyone a hell of impression. “It wouldn’t fit me perfectly; must lose weight before even thinking about buying it”.

“I can’t agree with that”.

You flinched at a sudden violation of your thinking process; you already wanted to step away and ignore the man who interrupted your thoughts when you looked at him.

And – oh Lord – he was gorgeous.

Tall, handsome as the Devil himself, in a visibly expensive suit and a smug grin on his face – this man was everything you’ve ever wanted but never had. You opened your mouth, trying to say something, but only gasped – he was too beautiful and rich for you to even try. “Mum was right when she said my shyness will be the death of me”.

“What to be shy about?” he raised his eyebrows; you frowned before you realized.

“Did I just say that out loud?” you quavered; he let out a laugh and looked at you again.

“I’m pretty sure you did; I wouldn’t be speaking to you if I didn’t hear you talking to yourself”.

You covered your face with your hands; you had never felt that ashamed of yourself. You were talking to yourself in a posh shop and this handsome man saw and heard you doing it? “I’m a disaster”, you mumbled. “Sorry you had to witness that”, you said, still covering your face.

“It’s alright. I talk to myself too occasionally”.

You finally were able to raise your head; so you looked at him suspiciously. Really? This fucking Adonis? Talking to himself sometimes? “That is hardly believable”.

“You have quite an opinion of me for the person whom I’ve just met”. Judging by the smile on his face you realized that you – again – expressed your thoughts about him being the Adonis out loud.

You looked down and gripped your hands into you handbag. “I guess being an embarrassment is my life goal”. You couldn’t bear looking at him; finally, you had the chance to hit it off with a handsome dude when you successfully blew it.

Well, you thought you blew it.

“Don’t apologize; it wasn’t embarrassing at all”.

You furrowed your brows and glanced at him. “Really? Not at all?”

He grinned and looked back at you. “Maybe a bit, but it was alright”.

You rolled your eyes at his words; this conversation wasn’t going anywhere further. At least, not with you. That blonde with a short red dress on could certainly get it with this pretty dude. Not you, in your high-waisted jeans and old hoodie with the Avengers logo on it. You didn’t even want to get started on your mum’s sneakers you had been wearing for a couple of years now.

You mum, by the way, always said that your insecurity was keeping you from all the good things in life. And even now, when this mysterious man was certainly interested in you – you didn’t see it. You preferred to drown in your doubt and insecurity. It was easier for you to shield yourself from the world.

“I’m Gwilym, by the way”.

You looked at his hand that he reached out for you; you were attentively examining his palm and fingers. “You know what they say about men with big hands”, Billy’s was echoing in your head, as you subconsciously bit you lip. Gwil suddenly felt really tight in his pants.

“I assume you also have a name”. You were out of your thinking process once again; you looked at him quickly.

“Y/N”, you responded softly as you shook his hand. You felt electricity travelling through your body; your ears were burning suddenly and your palms were sweating. What the fuck was that? “Really nice to meet you”.

He nodded, silently agreeing with you; “You know what they say about men with big hands…”

You rolled your eyes one more time, trying to make this fucker’s voice inside your head shut up. You were so invested in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice how lustfully Gwilym looked at you. He wanted to pull you to the closest dressing room and fuck the hell out of you. You were so incredibly beautiful and hot – and Gwil really had to restrain himself from taking you right then and there. Right in the middle of that shop, maybe.

“Do you mind going to dinner with me tonight?”

His voice wasn’t asking, it was demanding. You suddenly felt weak in your knees under his gaze; you could have melted as the snow under the sun just 'cause this man was looking at you like that. And that reminded you that you hadn’t been with a guy for a while.

“No, I don’t. I don’t mind at all”.

“Good”. He looked as if that was exactly what he expected to hear. “D’you mind giving me your address?”

Oh, you didn’t mind. You also didn’t mind if he would just fuck you in the nearest restroom.

But you were too shy to suggest such the idea.

“Will eight o’clock be alright?”

“Sure”.

You refused when he suggested driving you home; you lied about having to meet your friend so that you wouldn’t spend some alone time with him. “Gwilym”, you thought while waiting for the bus. “Such a pretty name”.

                                     ╰╮✾╭╯✯╰╮✾╭╯

You wake up because you dream is suddenly over – but not like there was anything more of interest during your first date. Just pure primal attraction that ended up with you being fingered by Gwilym in the elevator. It was pretty crazy for you as you have never been a person who would hook up on the first date, but Gwil turned you on so much that you couldn’t handle it. Now you’re happy all of it happened. Now you’re with the man of your dreams.

The sun shines through the curtains of the hotel room window, and you wince because of its brightness. You stretch a bit, trying to wake yourself up, and rub the sleep from your eyes.

“You look like an angel”.

Your gaze falls on Gwil; he leans to the bedroom doorway, a soft smile on his lips. You grin back at him and sit up on the bed, covering your bare chest with the blanket. “You look good too”, you say, observing him. He’s already in a suit, just without a jacket; his hands are in his pockets and he looks so damn hot. “Are you leaving?”

He shakes his head. “Just came back”. Gwil slowly makes his way to the bed and crawls right next to you. “It’s midday already, baby”, he says, reaching to your forehead and kissing it. “We’ve got exactly twenty-four hours before going home”.

“Have you decided what you’re gonna do?” you put your hand on his cheek and he leans into your touch. “That’s a good opportunity, you know”, Gwil chuckles and then sighs deeply.

“A good opportunity but a hard decision to make”, he mutters and kisses you delicately. “I might lose everything if I do it”, his voice is quiet and he looks at you, a glimpse of fear and hopelessness in his eyes. You cup his cheeks and make him look you directly in the eyes.

“Is money worth staying on the job that you hate? Is it worth wasting your time on the place where the boss is a total arsehole to you?” he shakes his head. “Then quit it. Take Ryan and Jack’s offer”.

“I won’t be a vice-president in their company”, he says, “I won’t have this much money if I agree. This is not what you signed-”.

“I don’t care”, you whisper and press your forehead to his. “I’m not with you because you’re rich. Sure, I love expensive gifts”, you both chuckle, “but I can live without them as long as I’m with you. I want you to be happy, Gwil”, you say breathlessly as his hands tighten their grip in your waist, “and I know this new job will make you happy. You won’t hate your boss, at least”, you add and he smiles, leaning closer to you, so that your foreheads are pressed together.

“Bosses, to be correct’, he replies; Gwil leaves a trail of kisses on your jaw. “And I’ve been hating them since we met”, you smile. “Don’t think it’s a good idea to work on my friends who ruined my deal on purpose”.

“Baby, they did it to get you here”, you answer, “to talk to you without your boss interrupting”.

“Yeah, this old bastard left the same day that we arrived on”, he mutters, sucking a hickey into your neck, “doesn’t know shit about his own fucking company”, you let out a gasp, when Gwil’s lips get to that sweet spot, right under your earlobe. You squeeze his shoulders lightly, and the blanket falls from your chest, exposing your breasts. “Acts like he’s the smartest”, Gwil covers your neck with love bites, “when in reality he’s too stupid to even make himself a cup of tea”.

“I guess talking about your boss turns you on”, you swallow hard and Gwilym pulls off of your neck and looks at you in confusion. “You got quite hard while talking about him”, you raise your eyebrow and palm him through his pants. He moans at the sensation of your touch. “Wish I could turn you on so quickly as old Smithers does…” you sigh dramatically and Gwil rolls his eyes, smiling at you.

“You little minx”, his lips are on yours the second he lays you down, flat on the bed, so he’s hovering over you. His covered bulge rubs your thigh and you moan into the kiss, and it gives Gwilym a sign to move further. His left hand trails down your body, paying special attention to your boobs, while the right one is on your face, cupping your cheek. Finally, his fingers rub your clit slowly and you whimper, when he does that. He kisses you fiercely and you try to unbutton his shirt when he puts one finger inside you.

“No”, you pull away, “don’t want your fingers. Want you”.

“Love, we’ve run out of condoms”, he caresses your face. You don’t give him the verbal answer immediately; instead, you unbutton his shirt and help take it off of him, and pull him into a heated kiss. It’s open-mouthed, with moans spilling from both of you, it’s demanding, as your hands wander across his torso, it’s bruising, ‘cause you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth.

“I want you to fuck me raw”, you whisper looking deeply into his eyes.

His eyes are widened the second these words leave your mouth. “You’re not on the pill”, he states as if you didn’t know this. You swallow and kiss him again, less roughly now. 

“Just pull out”, you say, “or is it too hard for you?” your cocky smile makes him go absolutely insane. His eyes sparkle with something you can’t quite read, something that makes you grow even wetter. 

He makes a move closer to your face like he’s going to kiss your lips and when you close your eyes, he suddenly pepper your neck with kisses. He sucks on your collarbone profoundly, leaving marks all over it.

“Mine”, he mumbles, biting on the skin between your breasts softly, “all mine”. 

You mewl in response, tugging on his hair and shutting your eyes in anticipation.

As Gwilym kisses all over your boobs, sucking on your nipples and touching just the way you like it, he notices your closed eyes and messy state; he smirks and moves back to your lips; his kiss is tender but searing. “Want you to look at me”, he rubs your clit slowly, almost lazily, making you squirm and whine. “Want to see your pretty eyes as I fuck you”. 

You help him unbuckle his pants, and when he’s fully naked, in all his glory in front of you, you almost howl. You can’t quite believe you’re going to spend your life with him – and love, joy, lust, and desire overcome you. You sit down on the bed, so that his cock is right in front of your face, and you pump him slowly, maintaining eye contact with Gwil all this time. His dominating side seems to fade away, when you put your mouth on the tip, passing your tongue over the slit. And when you look at him innocently, a grin appears on your face. He looks so fucking hot like this: lips parted, breath hitched, eyes filled with lust, a hand on your cheek. While keeping the eye contact, as you’re following his demand, you take all of him in your mouth. Gwil gasps and his hand is on your head, tugging on your hair slightly. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good”, he gasps, “but…”, your head starts bobbing up and down his cock, and he almost loses it. “Don’t want your mouth”, he pants, trying to catch his breath, “want you”.

You pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop, and he bends down to you, kissing you lusciously. He lifts you up and turns you over without any effort. “On your hands and knees, baby”, you obey happily and wiggle your bum for him. Gwil chuckles and smacks your ass, making you drop your head in between your arms. He lines himself at your entrance and teases you by sliding the tip of his dick up and down your slick folds. “You’re so wet, love”, he mumbles, rubbing your back gently. 

“All for you”, you’re heavy breathing – you need more. And he knows it. So he gives it to you.

Gwil slides into you effortlessly and stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust. When you tell him to move, he does it deliberately and leisurely, making the burning ache between your legs even hotter.

“Gwil, baby”, you turn your head just to look into his eyes, “harder, please”.

He stops moving completely. “You sure?” he always asks. Always keeping you comfortable. 

“Yeah”, you nod. You want to add, “Just destroy my fucking vagina”, but you decide to keep it to yourself. For now, at least. 

He pulls out of you only to slam back with all his length. You scream from pleasure and your legs are already wobbly and you know – a couple of more thrusts like this and you’re a goner. You don’t know where this ability to cum so quickly comes from. Gwil feels you clenching around him, and slows down a bit, silently understanding your desire to last a bit longer. 

“So tight, baby”, he whispers, smacking your butt and then giving your ass cheek a squeeze. He touches your shoulder and makes you get up so that your back is leaning against his chest. Huge mirror right in front of you gives the two of you the perfect opportunity to look, to watch each other in the state of pleasure. 

“Look how pretty you are”, he wraps his hand around your neck lightly, “look at you being wrecked by my cock. So beautiful, baby”. And you’re wrecked – with sweaty skin, messy hair and broken moans coming out of your mouth. 

Gwilym takes his hand off of your neck and puts it on your stomach, helping you move. His other hand massages your boob, making your head fall onto his shoulder. The sounds you’re making are no longer humanlike – but words of love are entangled along with them. You both kept your feelings deep inside for too long for them not to be said to each other almost all the time. 

You are the first to come, and Gwil holds you tightly and fucks you through your orgasm. He’s not far behind you and he comes rather fast, biting on your shoulder and grunting your name. 

You come back from your high and catch a glimpse of you two in the mirror. Gwil's face is buried in your neck, kissing and sucking on it. You intertwine your fingers with his and kiss his palm softly. The hotel room smells like sex, sweat, and love. And you know you’ll enjoy it for the rest of your life.

“I love you so much”, he mumbles while kissing all over your shoulders. You hum in response; when Gwil pulls out, you whine at the feeling of emptiness. He chuckles and walks to the bathroom - he comes back a couple of minutes later, with a wet towel to clean up the mess he’s made on our ass. You smile, feeling his touch; it never ceases to amaze you how much influence he has upon you.

“There you go”, he taps your butt lightly and then wraps his arms around your waist. You lean to him, pressing your back to his chest, and let your head fall onto his shoulder. You’ve never felt more comfortable and safe in your life, ever. It’s like you’re in your personal heaven, and you don’t want to leave his warm embrace.

“That’s funny”, he mumbles.

“What?”

“You tell me to leave the job that I hate, and I obey immediately”, Gwilym kisses the corner of your mouth, making you giggle. “But when I was telling you to quit that pathetic job of yours, you wouldn’t ever listen to me”.

“Well, I quitted it, eventually”, you raise your head and turn slightly to look him in the eyes. Gwil lets out an airy chuckle, through his nose, and shakes his head.

“And I’m really happy about it”, you smile softly.

“Of course you would be. I did it to come to Dublin with you”.

“Sounds like you’re regretting it now”.

You shrug your shoulders. “I could have been brain-fucked be Damian by now instead of just being with you. Dunno what’s better”, Gwil smiles and kisses you tenderly. Your neck gets numb, and you turn your whole body, your chest pressing to Gwil’s. The kiss is needy and sweet, with hands on cheeks, soft laughs and noses rubbing together. Every moment with Gwil is so intimate and soulful that you keep wondering how you could ever live without him. How did it happen that only ten months ago you met the love of your life?

“How is it possible”, Gwil says breathlessly in between kisses, “that I”, you kiss him heatedly again, “even had a life before you?”

You look into his eyes and smile sheepishly. “You’re cute, Gwilym Lee”, you put your hands around his neck. He raises his brows and grins back at you, his hands finding their way around your waist and they rest just above your ass.

“Oh, really?”

“Really”.

He looks at you for a while before speaking again. “Wanna meet my parents tomorrow?”

You nod eagerly. “Will Heather be there?”

Gwil rolls his eyes. “I won’t let my sister steal you from me”.

“Nothing can take me away from you, baby”, you peck his lips, “trust me”.

“Will you wear that dress?”

The look in his eyes is hopeful, he’s almost begging. You chuckle and press yourself even closer to him. “That dress means a lot to me, y’know. We met through it”.

“I remember something like that”.

You sigh and roll your eyes, being suddenly irritated with his remark. “Hope you don’t ruin it by the end of the night”.

Gwil’s eyes sparkle and he licks his lips. “Can’t promise you this, love”, he whispers before kissing you one more time.

________________________________________________________________

I would really love to see some feedback because I feel like this chapter is stupid and useless pls tell me what you think

“alio” taglist:  @majesticdiscodeaky @heartsarecompatible @all-my-friends-are-german @magicwithaknife @longing-hiraeth @thelondondreamer5 @roger-taylors-drumsticks @runningoutofwordstosay @chlobo6 @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @queenficarchive @murydedeus03 @alis-volat-propriiis @deacycomics @hollandspcter @gwils-bitch   @crazylittlethingcalleddub-step @painthatiusedto @kaylaylaylayla @rogerinastolemyheart @broken-pieces @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @leah-halliwell92 @brianandthemays @murydedeus03 @rogerfxckingtaylor  @zvzxs

[sunshinexlollipops]

So Ive been reading ur fic and oh boy do you write dutch so well!!!!! I can really feel just how twofaced his character is just like in canon. But it has me wonderin...whats Your least favorite thing about Dutch???

Okay. So. Dutch Van Der Linde.

Dutch Van Der Plan.

A man of big faith, but little mind.

(You can see his mango of a brain is trying to process something. Bless.)

Anyways. This is long so buckle up.

So, one thing that really, really bothers me is the fact that Dutch literally never wanted to leave the life of an outlaw, and we could’ve avoided EVERY event of the game (and RDR1) had it been for one decision of Dutch’s.

Now, I’ve been reading Arthur’s journal like a mofo, especially for the events he wrote about before our gameplay begins in Chapter 1/Colter.

In it, Arthur mentions that there had actually been a plot of land that the gang was going to buy and settle on (location not mentioned), but Dutch ended up passing on it with no exact reason as to why.

(I say this because Arthur seems to theorize on why Dutch deemed it unworthy of taking. As for Micah being an influence on Dutch’s decision, he might have been. This entry actually talks about Dutch picking Micah up in the Grizzles after meeting him in a bar. He very well could’ve sparked Dutch into rejecting his intention of purchasing the land. After all, Arthur makes a point of saying Dutch is immediately enraptured with Micah, for which he doesn’t understand or like.)

(Sorry if it’s hard to read, for some reason my game disc won’t read no matter what I do — it’s a disc drive issue unfortunately — so I downloaded the companion app. This is how the journal appears in it so sorry if it’s hard to make out!)

The gang at this point could afford a plot of land, or at least, they had a decent amount of money going and they seemed to be in the clear. So buying land could’ve been doable for them.

How much isn’t exactly stated, and I’m not sure if it matches up with any of the numbers Arthur had written down at the beginning of the game (and like it matters, considering you’re not able to get it).

But the point I’m making is: they could’ve easily bought a plot of land and settled down before the Blackwater ferry attempt, but Dutch refused.

In fact, it was Dutch’s idea to rob the ferry after hearing about it, and he and Micah ended up getting excited and over their heads with the prospect. They never camped there with the intentions of such a heist, so it was only meant to be a thing in passing while they headed westward, towards California.

It’s mentioned a couple of times in the game that their intentions were to get there (or other places, as Arthur writes that Dutch never seems set on any location as they move along) and buy land to start ranching and living honest lives.

In fact, one of your later interactions with Leopold Strauss (I believe about the point where you’re in Shady Belle) discusses this in passing, when Strauss tells Arthur that he plans on going to Australia instead of trying his hand at homesteading.

They all had this expectation of: one more good score, and then we’re done.

I’m not exactly sure how the gang would’ve settled, I doubt a few would. Bill, Micah— those are two I know would never be able, the way they are. I feel like Swanson would also have a hard time of it, as he needed the downfall of the gang to get cleaned up (as I mentioned in my recent chapter, he’s addicted to morphine in the game— it’s not explicitly stated, but Arthur can find Swanson’s stash hidden in a bible if you look at his belongings in camp).

The others would be fine. While some didn’t get the chance, most of the gang were able to make something of themselves after everything fell apart. So it’s not like they weren’t against or incapable of such a thing.

So really, it would have been a lie if Dutch denied it because he knew no one would take to it. They would need to adjust, yeah, but Dutch wouldn’t have had utter chaos on his hands from a majority of them being unable to switch into a more domestic lifestyle.

I honestly think he was just taken by Micah, and he truly engaged his envisionment of what their gang could be. It all just fed into the god complex he seemed to truly pick up as the story progresses, and Hosea and Arthur were losing their ability to reason with him.

He gets obsessed with philosophy of them being idolized, of him being a martyr, especially with this book he is always reading by the time you get to Horseshoe by a writer named Evelyn Miller. (He reads others by him too, and is just enthralled with what he has to say, but this seems to be the first he picks up and reads by the way Dutch discusses it.)

Because of Miller, I got some random and telling dialogue while walking through camp one day.

Dutch compares the gang to animals that Miller is discussing— ones that come out better than the rest because they survived where others died.

He compares their adaptation to his righteousness, as though they are the same thing.

With how Dutch views civilization as a curse and the new oncoming age of the world to be barbaric, I’m pretty sure he considers outlaws to be a pure and dying breed.

He always compares himself to an animal who is simply fighting to survive, and not a man with a choice. A conscience. It’s why he begins to give in so easily to darker actions and tendencies, and it really only fuels his downfall.

I think he viewed them taking up a plot of land and settling as admitting defeat, of letting the world and the so-called bastards who are changing it in the ways he despises win.

I doubt Dutch would ever let the gang settle, even if the ferry robbery went smoothly, and Hosea and Arthur managed to make their real estate scam work right after and got out just as easily.

His corruption was set before we got a chance to play, so it’s just something I don’t think he was capable of at that point. Even if everything was perfect for them to do so, because it sounds like it was, before Blackwater.

So, in short, Dutch Van Der Linde could’ve had the chance to settle the gang down and let them live good and decent lives, but he refused and caused the entire mess that follows.

Fucker.

[whenimaunicorn]

Lessons - Part V

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Characters: Brida, Ragnar the Younger, Female OC: Cynwise Words: 4893 Rating: Mature for some suggestive almost-sexytimes. The slow burn is burning hotter, on both the Brida/OC and Ragnar/OC fronts...

Part I   Part II   Part III   Part IV

“What made this one? The edge looks jagged.” Cyn had found herself fascinated by Brida’s scars. She let her finger ghost over the pale, lumpy mark on the back of the woman’s shoulder before following it up with the wet rag. While her wound healed, Brida needed help with both dressing and bathing, and she didn’t seem to want anyone but Cyn to do it.

“I think it was a hatchet, dragging through my armor,” Brida answered, twisting to look down her own back. “Can’t quite recall. But I do remember gutting the man that did it.”

Cyn shivered, picturing the beast she knew Brida to be on the battlefield. Could she herself ever be so ferocious, so unafraid? In her old life she had never thought she had a taste for violence, but as she listened to the confident, casual way Brida recollected the incident she knew that she wanted to feel that strong too.

No matter how stubbornly Cyn tried to hold on to her anger over Brida’s harsh words, her grudges always seemed to be overwhelmed when they were together: by the intensity of her admiration, and other feelings that were harder to name. She dipped her rag into the bucket she had drawn from the river near the day’s campsite, then drew it down the taught muscles of Brida’s back, watching the gooseflesh rise in its wake. A chill shivered between Cyn’s own shoulders just in sympathy, but Brida did not complain about the temperature of the water. Cyn tried to finish rinsing her quickly.

“Only a few days left to travel, now,” Brida remarked.

“And what happens when we reach Dunholm?”

“I get to lay in a comfortable bed!” Brida laughed. She leaned forward, so Cyn could better scrub down the curve of her lower back. “Ragnar will make a sacrifice, to thank the gods for the successful raids. We will feast the warriors for a few days, and then most of them will go back to their own farms, or trades, if they’ve got them. Some will stay. Ragnar’s closest sworn men live at the fort with us.”

“Oh,” Cyn said. “Mostly… the unmarried ones?”

Brida looked over her shoulder at her. “Still worried about the idiocy they cooked up with this ‘contest’ over you? I wouldn’t think too much of it, they have their own diversions at home. Stay scarce, and they’ll forget about you.”

Cyn passed the wet rag to Brida so she could wash her own chest. “Ragnar says you will be keeping me very busy after we arrive.”

Brida smirked. “Does he. Well, there’s plenty of work to do, that’s true. As long as I don’t have you serving ale, you’ll probably never even see those layabouts. All they do is throw dice and stink up my hall all winter.”

Cyn thought of the young warrior who had taken her aside yesterday and told her he had enough silver from these raids to buy both her and a farm near the coast, if she’d have him. “Is Hjalkar one of these ‘sworn men?’”

“Hjalkar, that goat-fucker, what’s he been saying to you?” Brida eyed her sharply. She paused her washing, water dripping down over her breasts.

Cyn looked away, now embarrassed to have brought it up. But, she had wanted Brida’s perspective on the man before she took his offer any more seriously. “He said he wants to settle down, bring me to a farm he’d buy, if I’d have him. Said he could afford to pay for my freedom.”

Brida’s lip curled. “He does seem the type to buy a woman rather than win one.”

Cyn frowned. “He approached me with respect.”

“It wouldn’t be freedom,” Brida dismissed. “He’d remind you how much he paid, every time you spoke out of turn. The only reason he wouldn’t call you ‘slave’ would be so that the children would be legitimate.”

“Oh.”

Brida nudged her. “Are you that eager to leave me?” Her tone was light, but the memory of their earlier conversation haunted her eyes.

“Not if that is the price,” Cyn said coolly.

Brida’s grimace was probably meant to be a smile. “Good.” She suddenly became very interested in strip of light emerging from the tentflap. “I like having you with me.”

They were silent for some time after that. Cyn wondered if Brida was waiting for her to respond with some similar sentiment, but how could she? Yes, she did enjoy Brida’s company. Even when she was being prickly as a hedgehog, nothing seemed to exhaust the unexpected affection Cyn felt for her. But how could she, or anyone, just decide that they were happy to be someone’s slave? Did Brida not realize she was being unfair to ever want Cyn to accept this place under her foot?

Brida was evidently contemplating similar things. Her voice was soft and level as she asked her next question. “Do you still want to go home?”

“No, there would be no place for me. My reputation is surely ruined.”

“Then where were you going while we raided that church?”

Cyn regarded her for a moment, not certain she wanted to have this conversation. “A nunnery,” she finally said.

Brida actually rolled her eyes. She gave Cyn back the rag and reached for a dry cloth. “Do you even believe in the Christian God?”

Cyn was not going to answer that one. When Brida looked to be finished drying her front, Cyn took the cloth from her hands and rubbed it briskly down her Lady’s back, then along her uninjured flank.

Brida grunted, as if responding to her own thoughts. “I remember wanting to run,” she said, without turning around. “I was so small, but I remember raging over it. But… the anger fades. You should stay. It is a much better life for women among the Danes. More freedom, and respect, than Saxons give.”

Cyn shook her head, just a little. “Freedom, and respect. These two things are denied to a slave.”

Brida twisted just enough to smile at her, ferocious. “And I told you how to win those things,” she said brightly. That forced cheer she used when she wanted to be done with uncomfortable talk. “Fight me in the square. I’ll be healed enough to train you again soon.”

 * * *

 Dunholm was a forbidding block of walls perched atop a lonely hill, but the inside was spacious and welcoming. Brida felt well enough to ride in, and a horse had been found for Cyn, too. So that she could “stay close” in the event that Brida needed swift assistance. Even though Ragnar was right there on her other side, and much more suited to catch a falling woman.

Cyn knew that this meant her first impression to the inhabitants of Dunholm would be as if she were a person of rank and respect. She wondered if Brida had engineered that purposefully, or if the woman just did not care much about formalities. They were greeted in the courtyard by the man that had been left in charge of the fort, who looked curiously at Cyn until Brida identified her as “my new slave.” Then it was as if she didn’t exist, and with a jerk of his head the horse was whisked away from her as soon as she dismounted.

Brida stayed astride her own mount for longer. Cyn guessed by the tightness of her jaw that she was not looking forward to the pain that was likely to come when she tried to twist out of the saddle.

“Papa!” came a high-pitched cry from the edge of the yard. A young boy, hair so blonde it was almost white, burst out running toward them.

Earl Ragnar had barely set his feet upon the ground before he whirled and wrapped the child up in his arms. The delighted sound the man made resonated right through Cyn’s chest. Her eyes went to Brida, whose smile was tight as she watched Ragnar’s joyful reunion with his son.

Cyn walked to her side, letting her shoulder brush Brida’s knee as she patted her horse’s withers. Before she could say anything, her attention was distracted by a golden-haired woman who was approaching Ragnar with a baby propped against her shoulder. “Is that—”

“Asta,” Brida said softly. They both watched in silence as she turned the babe in her arms, trying to get her to look at the Earl. Ragnar’s face was soft and bright as he sought to catch his daughter’s attention. “The mother’s name is Ingirid.”

Brida’s fingers closed over Cyn’s shoulder. Cynwise reached up to cover her hand comfortingly with her own, then realized as the other woman shifted her weight that she was only trying to get assistance dismounting her horse.

Brida sucked in her breath, trying to swallow a small cry as she aborted the attempt. Ragnar came to her swiftly, brushing Cyn out of the way with a concerned look.

“Let me help you, my love,” he said softly, reaching up easily to swing her off the horse.

Ingirid was behind his shoulder. “Oh, Brida, have you been injured?”

Brida stretched as she found her footing, releasing herself from Ragnar’s arms. “It’s just a scratch,” she said to the air above Ingirid’s head.

“I’ll send up a healer,” the other woman promised.

Brida’s face twitched. “Come on, Cyn,” she said, taking hold of her hand, “let’s go see what they’ve done with my Hall. We have to make room to display our new treasures.”

When Cynwise looked back over her shoulder, Ragnar had taken the baby into his arms. She couldn’t have been more than a year old, and she bubbled and cooed as her father made silly noises into her face.

 * * *

 “Why are we whispering?”

Not that Cyn minded it; her face was so close to Brida’s their noses were almost touching, and she had no interest in pulling away. Though the smell of spiced ale, thick on Brida’s breath, did make her long for another swig from her own cup.

“Because I want Ragnar to feel left out,” Brida responded, her mischievous grin showing a wide row of teeth. “Maybe then he will leave more quickly.” She smoothed her hand down Cyn’s shoulder and tugged her closer on the bed.

Cyn giggled.

Earl Ragnar, who had come into the room to change his soiled shirt, whirled to look back at the two women sprawled out on his bed. “You are drunk,” he accused, like he had only just realized it. “Both of you, in the middle of the day.”

Cyn resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. “It is the only way I could think to make her stay in bed,” she defended. “We’ve only been back four days, and she has barely rested.”

Ragnar smiled his approval down on her, the warmth of it hitting Cyn like the sun. “Then I like this idea.” He pulled his soiled tunic off over his head, and did not move to pick up a new one. Cyn felt her cheeks heat as she took in his bare warrior’s chest, glinting with golden hair and wound about with tattooed green lines. “I was thinking of taking a nap, myself.”

They both squealed as he dropped to his knees on the foot of the bed. “There’s no room,” Brida growled, swatting at him.

He fended her off easily. “Sure there is. It’s a big bed.”

“And, you smell,” Brida continued. She pulled Cyn against her chest like a favorite doll. “Don’t you dare get that stink on us.”

Ragnar loomed forward, a glint in his eye that made Cyn’s heart stop. Brida kicked at him, and Ragnar caught her foot, holding it still with placating hands that seemed intended to remind her not to overexert herself. His gaze grew heavy as it ran over the both of them, lying tangled in each others’ arms beneath him, and Cyn felt her first wash of nerves as she guessed what his heathen mind might be thinking.

But Brida would not let Cyn pull away. “What is that smell?” She crinkled her nose. “Were you wrestling with the pigs all morning?” To Cyn he did not smell any worse than usual, just sweat and perhaps a little earth, but she pretended disgust to keep up with Brida’s game.

Ragnar just shrugged, refusing to be shamed. “More or less.”

His eyes fell to the side of the bed. Brida’s tight embrace had pulled Cyn to the middle, and there was now plenty of room for his large body to crash into the space she had vacated.

“Get out!” Brida screeched while he plummeted. There was more playfulness than anger in her tone. She reached across Cyn to push at him.

Ragnar shouldered her off and twisted to lift the cup Cyn had left on that side of the bed. He drained it of ale in one pull before turning his refreshed face back to them. “Relax, woman. I am all the way over here.” He settled down into the mattress. “Maybe Cyn will be kinder to me than you.”

“Don’t count on it,” Cyn answered, using the entirety of her bravery to roll her back against Brida and look Ragnar in the face.

His eyebrows jumped as he peered at her over the pillow they were now sharing. “Don’t you mean, don’t count on it, ‘my Lord’?”

Cyn gasped at her slip. Brida held Cyn’s shoulder, pulling herself up on one elbow to glare at Ragnar over her head. “Don’t you frighten my girl.” She pressed her lips swiftly into Cyn’s cheekbone. “We were having such a nice time before you showed up.” The whole line of her body was pressed against Cyn’s back now. It felt wonderfully comforting, and Cyn’s drink-addled mind forgot to be worried about Ragnar’s proximity as she settled back into Brida’s warmth. “I told her she doesn’t have to call me Lady when no one’s around.”

Cyn was sure she missed some communication that passed between them overhead as Ragnar regarded Brida. “Is that so.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “But I am the Earl. She would still have to call me Lord, even if she were a free woman.”

“I’m a free woman, and I don’t call you Lord,” Brida smirked.

“You should,” Ragnar retorted.

Brida rolled her eyes and pulled Cyn to face her again. “Did you hear something, Cyn? I thought for a moment someone was in here with us.”

She giggled, squaring her body toward Brida, ignoring the other side of the bed. “No, I hear nothing.”

“Probably just some dog, that likes to hear himself bark,” Brida winked, lifting Cyn’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Now, what were we talking about? Oh yes—”

Cyn lost all ability to listen to Brida’s words when she felt Ragnar’s fingers brush up and down her back. She caught her breath when they ventured as far as the back of her thighs.

Brida stopped talking, craning her neck to peer over Cyn’s body. Still refusing to meet Ragnar’s eyes. “Are you listening to me, Cyn?”

“I think” –she struggled to speak through the flutter in her chest—“I think there is an ant crawling on me.” She reached back and knocked Ragnar’s hand away.

As soon as she brought her arm back in front of her, his fingers were dancing across her flesh again, with more pressure this time. Was he trying to tickle her? When she refused to squirm, he took hold of her side and pinched the flesh above her ribs.

Brida whacked him this time. “Definitely an insect, it bites!”

Brida grabbed her ale while Cyn squeezed her teeth together and fought the urge to turn around and fight back. Her muscles were singing for action as Ragnar’s fingers continued to probe at her back and neck. “Is he always this irritating?” she asked Brida when she felt about ready to crack.

“Yes.” Her eyes sparkled. “Is it terrible that I’m glad he’s annoying someone other than me for once?”

“Yes, it is,” Cyn complained between her teeth. His scurrying touches tried to find any sensitive point he could reach while she resisted every urge to flinch.

He tried another pinch, this time on her bum, and as he did it he let the rest of his fingers stray right between her thighs. Cyn yelped and pressed her legs together, but that only seemed to trap him there for a moment longer, pressing his hand against some wickedly sensitive bit of flesh that relaxed something deep inside her even as it drove her to jump up and away.

“What did he do?” Brida demanded.

Cyn opened her mouth to tell, but Ragnar chose that moment to grab her flanks and tickle her in earnest, allowing her to produce no sounds other than laughing gasps as she struggled to free herself. She tried to plead with Brida for help, but she seemed too amused with Cyn’s flailing to intervene.

Cyn howled in betrayal when Brida started tickling her too, running her fingers up the sides of Cyn’s neck and down her chest. Her nipples tightened when the struggle caused them to brush against Brida’s palms.

They were all laughing now, and Cyn’s heart swelled even as she thought she might lose her mind from the overstimulation. “Mercy!” she managed to choke out. “Mercy, Lord!”

Ragnar roared in triumph, and rounded on his woman. “See!” He bypassed Cyn and started to assault Brida instead, mindful of her side but still pushing her down to the furs. “One of you knows how to address me!” Now Brida was the one gasping and sputtering, and grinning the whole time.

Cyn lay still beside them, trying to catch her own breath and calm the wildness whirling through her own body.

“Say it,” Ragnar urged, feigning severity as he made Brida squirm and pant. “Call me Lord.”

Brida seemed like she was trying to say something, but Ragnar had her laughing so hard she couldn’t get anything out. Her eyes rolled toward Cyn. “Help me!”

Cyn lunged at the barechested man kneeling over her Lady, pushing him just below his collarbones. She didn’t really think she could knock him off the bed, but it was worth a try. Ragnar twisted at her impact, leaving off Brida to grasp Cyn around the shoulders. They were laughing in each other’s faces as she tried in vain to dislodge him from his stance.

He was pulling her in, closer and closer against his rippling chest as she fought her losing battle. Ragnar’s eyes gleamed just before he shifted his weight, pressing her back toward the empty side of the bed.

He landed with one knee between her thighs and Cyn felt as if she might be burning and freezing at the same time. In her lessons, they had practiced this position dozens of times, but it was different in a bed, different when everyone was grinning and her head was light from ale and Brida’s laughter…

Her hands trapped against the soft hairs on his chest, Cyn looked up at the darkness clouding Ragnar’s eyes and realized he was feeling it too. She pushed at him but her limbs had gone weak, her senses burning with the unintended sensation of her open palms sliding over the Lord’s warm skin.

His eyes glittered with the effort of controlling himself. With a growl, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and scraped his teeth across her skin.

Cyn couldn’t stop herself from looking to Brida. She found her lying on her side, quite close, a glint of fascination in her eyes. Her hand came to Cyn’s face, fingertips barely brushing her cheek as Ragnar lifted his head.

“Are you all right, Cyn?” Brida asked.

Her tone made Ragnar pull away. He removed his knee from between Cyn’s and rolled onto his hip beside her.

Shame clouded Cyn’s face. “I’m not—” she lost her words, and tried again. Brida stroked her face, but she found the gesture more embarrassing than comforting. “In our lessons, you taught me better than that. You must be disappointed that I could not push him off.”

Brida dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “We are just playing. In a real fight you would have severed his balls from his body. No shame in being overpowered by a beast like that one,” she jerked her head over Cyn’s shoulder, “when you’re trying not to actually hurt him.”

Ragnar gave another growl behind them.

“Quiet, beast,” Brida said.

Cyn sat up, shimmying down the bed and out from between their bodies. Her skin was prickling.

“What’s wrong?” Brida asked again. “Do you want me to kick him out?”

Cyn shook her head, biting her lip in awkwardness. “The Lord wanted to take a nap.”

Brida’s lip twisted, and she turned to regard the man sprawled out beside her. “He doesn’t look very sleepy to me.”

“And that’s why I should go,” Cyn said swiftly. Ragnar was already reaching for his woman, though they were both looking up at Cyn almost… wistfully?

Their eyes followed her as she found her shawl. She was halfway through the door when Brida called her name. “Cyn.”

Her shoulders jumped.

“There was one thing that I was planning to get done today, before you seduced me to laze about in this bed.”

She turned, wondering why she felt so guilty. Brida’s hand was on her wound, and Cyn worried suddenly that their play had strained it.

“Go down to the storeroom and check the cheeses for spoiling? And then the grain. And report back to me before you go help with supper.”

 * * *

 The first time Cyn had met Ragnar out in the woods for training, somewhere so far away that no one would overhear the clang of swords and realize a slave was being taught to kill, she had been so apprehensive she had hidden behind a tree just to catch her breath and calm her features. She had always found him to be trustworthy, if mischievous, but it seemed entirely foolhardy to meet with a marauding Viking somewhere so alone. Ragnar was over a head taller than her, close to twice her weight, and she already knew that he desired her body. Even with Brida’s lessons, Cyn doubted that she could do anything about it if he wanted to press his advantage out here.

And yet. Ragnar had greeted her with a broad smile and moved slow and careful as he guided her on that first day through the basic positions with wooden swords and shields. She supposed she must have looked like an anxious doe when she first walked up to him, and it warmed her more than she wanted to admit that this patient reassurance was his instinctive response to her fear.

Day after day, lesson after lesson, Cyn had found it too easy to warm to those kind eyes, watching her from over the edge of his shield. As he instructed her, he reminisced about training with Brida, long ago; he encouraged Cyn every time she faltered with stories of the other woman’s mishaps and struggles.

“Brida’s greatest fault was her impulsiveness.” Ragnar blocked Cyn’s strike and spun into a jab of his own. “Still is,” he added after Cyn deflected him easily. After so many sessions together now, she was starting to understand the rhythm of this kind of fight. With her eyes loosely focused, she watched Ragnar’s arms, and the angle of his shield, as much as the direction of his gaze. “You don’t share that problem, do you Cyn.”

She swung wide and Ragnar’s shield flew into place well before her sword could penetrate the opening she thought she saw.

“If anything, your trouble is the opposite. You wait too long, considering too much.” He hammered at her shield, slinging four blows in succession without giving Cyn room to do anything but hold her shield up high and try not to lose ground. “Sometimes you just need to act.”

She had acted quickly, back in her homeland when she had tried to run. And moved just as impulsively when she turned back to save Brida’s life. Cyn wasn’t so certain that Ragnar was right. Impulsive action was futile when her heart and her mind still did not move with one single purpose.

She swiped at his legs after his final downstroke, making him jump back. Then she rose and struck at his sword-arm, forcing him to block with the weapon rather than his shield. She stepped in with a twist like he had taught her, and for the first time in all their practice she succeeded in knocking the sword out of his hand.

“Good!” Ragnar roared, overjoyed by his student’s success. He tipped her shield out of the way with his own, and then Cyn found herself wrapped up in the man’s biggest bear hug.

She let her body relax against his, returning the embrace for at least a moment. Pride tugged a smile at the corner of her lip, and the expression spread further when she imagined succeeding in the same maneuver against Brida one day and winning her freedom.

“One day soon, you will conquer, Cyn, beside Brida and I on the battlefield,” Ragnar said into her hair, not releasing his warm grip by even an inch.

Cyn had led Ragnar to believe that Brida had asked for her to be trained with weapons so that they could stand together in the shield wall one day. Even though it had never been her true intention, Cyn was surprised now how much the image stirred her.

Of course, that feeling may have just been the flutter she got in the chest every time that Ragnar’s body was near to her own. Safe now in her assumption that Ragnar was never going to force himself upon her, Cyn had begun to indulge herself, only a little, in enjoying casual touches such as these. Especially since just a little flirtation ensured that she would keep his interest long enough for him to train her well enough to have a chance in a fight against Brida. “I look forward to that day,” she whispered in reply. So far, the plan had been working; Brida’s wound was almost healed but he had never once suggested that they no longer needed to train together out here.

Ragnar pulled back, only far enough to look her in the eyes. His strong arms kept the rest of her body melted against him. The laugh lines around his eyes were slackening as he searched deep within her face. That gleam of pride was turning into something else. “Just once, Cyn,” he rumbled. “I need to know what you feel like beneath me.”

He never gave up. Cyn forced herself into a sardonic smile, even as her stomach flipped. “You already know what that feels like, Lord. You’ve bested me onto my back many times.”

Ragnar let a little smile break the intensity on his face, but he pressed on. “Then I want to feel what comes next, if this time instead of letting you up, I slid my hand between your legs.”

She cursed her body for trembling. It happened every time she tried to be brave. “You know I won’t betray Brida.” She straightened, pulling herself from his arms. “Especially not for a few minutes of pain, on my face in the dirt. Just so you can feel like you’ve had your victory.”

Ragnar let her go, crinkling his brow as he watched her retreat. “Is that what you think sex is, Cyn?”

She picked her shield up from the ground, then tossed him his. “I’ve heard all the sweet words men can think of. But I know the truth at the end of the game, once they get your clothes off.” Ragnar looked sad for her. Somehow that only made Cyn feel more angry. “So if you care for me at all, Ragnar Ragnarsson, you will not speak about bedding me again.” She leaned forward and picked up her practice sword from where she had dropped it at his feet. “Can we get back to training?”

She pointed the wooden tip right at his throat, but Ragnar made no move to retrieve his own weapon. “I think,” he said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture, “maybe you should talk to Brida about this.”

“Do you? Do you really want me talking to Brida? About things like this? The kinds of things you’ve been saying to me?”

Ragnar only smirked. “She already knows. You don’t think I would be trying to bed you without her blessing, do you?” Cyn’s sword and shield suddenly felt very heavy. She wasn’t sure that she should believe that. “But I think you might learn something, if you told her what you told me. Women feel a lot more than pain, if a man knows what he’s about.”

Cyn threw her weapons with a clatter onto the ground. Clearly he was not going to take her seriously any longer today. She turned her back and started back to the fort.

“And she will tell you, that I do. Know what I'm about.”

My Last Kingdom Taglist:  @ceridwenofwales @oddsnendsfanfics@laketaj24 @thewildbeauty @geekandbooknerd @therealcalicali@captainpoopweinersoldier @tiyetiye @pokeasleepingsmaug@goldentailedmermaids @sifshoney @laketaj24 @titty-teetee  @savismith @ariellostatci @perfectus-in-morte @axiseeu12

[trashpandaorigins]

Understanding

After the events of Heaven Can Wait Groot must tell Bucky and Steve about Rocket....

*Contains Spoilers for Heaven Can Wait We’re Only Watching the Sky and other GRSB Scenes from a Life series*

…...In another hundred years this technology could be utilized in every country on earth. Bucky let out a small belch and took his gaze off the documentary and down to the empty ice cream container propped against his belly. Damn, all gone. He shrugged, turning back to the TV. There were many things in this century he was still getting used to, many things he didn’t like. But Netflix. Netflix was fantastic. He smiled to himself and licked the spook free of chocolate ice cream.

“Groot?” Bucky thought he heard Steve question from the other room.

“Steve is that…?”

“Yes, yes of course come on in,” Bucky knew that tone without seeing his face. He groaned, heaving himself to a sitting position on the couch as Groot lumbered in. He was taller, brown twigs stuck out of his limbs where leaves should have been. His eyes sunken and forlorn. Groot’s eyes slid to Bucky, then to the TV, narrowing. In a single motion the long wooden arm swiped up the remote and the screen clicked to black.

“Hey man, what gives?” Groot turned on his large feet and looked down at him with some unreadable look between remorse and a scowl.

“He said he had something to tell us,” Steve inferred, coming and standing beside him. Groot lifted his lithe fingers gesturing shortly with his hands in the ASL Steve had taught him.

“R….Rocket?” Bucky pieced out. “Where is the little fucker?” Groot signed again, this time slow deliberate.

“....d...dead?” Steve guessed with quite trepidation. The flora colossus nodded curtly.

“Yeah right,” Bucky scoffed, standing up and looking between the two of them. “I’m not buying it. He’s tried this before it’s not going to work.”

“Tried what?” Steve’s confusion redirected to him. Bucky only waved his good arm dismissively. “I’m not giving him anymore money”

“He faked his own death to get money off you?”

“Oh don’t worry I’ve done the same thing to him.” Bucky grinned impishly. “Only he falls for it every time!” Steve only raised a brow, folding his arms. “Ive been emotionally blackmailing Rocket  to extort him for money and weapons for years!” He forced a laugh, “That’s like the basis of our friendship.”

“Dare I ask how many times the two of you have done that to each other?”

“What!? I have to channel my impulsive violence somehow!” Steve cracked a smile that quickly diminished by Groot’s furious words,

“I am GROOT.”  Bucky huffed,

“Your not...you're not serious.” But the flora colossus only blinked, looking at him incredulously. It couldn’t be. He saw Rocket just a few months ago and the raccoonoid had been as scrappy as ever. Maybe a little worse for wear, some white fur encroaching on otherwise silky brown grey fur but that was to be expected. He was getting older, they were all gradually getting older.

“When?” Steve murmured, but Bucky hardly heard him. The severity of Groot’s words closing in on him. Rocket couldn’t be gone...that brash heat packing reckless thief had broken out of who knew how many prisons, (98 the last time Rocket bragged about it), he’d faced down a celestial, he helped defeat Thanos, he’d taken on baddies ten times his size! Hell he’d survived much the same torture Bucky himself had gone through. He couldn’t be...dead. Yet somehow looking at Groot, Bucky knew. No wonder the tree like creature looked miserable. His bark was flaking off in sloughs, his eyes not just sunken but exhausted and hollow. Bucky ran a hand over his face,

“Was he alone?” Bucky murmured, staring anywhere but those large dark eyes. Groot shook his head. “Was....was he in pain?” The flora’s frown deepened, large shoulders shrugging.

“You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know?!” Bucky accused, stepping dangerously close. He shook with indignation, jaw clenched. So that was how it was going to be? Had Rocket had died in pain...trying to claw the metal out of his flesh? Was that to be his fate then too? A sharp throbbing at the stump of his shoulder where his own skin met metal was the only answer.

“I...a...am Groot,” Groot breathed, holding his arms out helplessly.

“How?” Bucky suppressed the growl in his voice. He watched Groot’s now trembling hands, slowly bending and forming the words.

“Age?” Steve guessed before Bucky could. No that isn’t right. If Rocket is going go down it should be fighting the biggest scariest space demon, going down in a blaze of gunfire pulling the largest heist the galaxy has ever scenes or tail deep in Asgardian whiskey in his room full of gold coins and units...anything but age. Age was too typical to calm for the thievish ringtail. Too mundane.

“I want to see him,” Bucky managed, still trying to grasp the news.

“I am Groot?” Groot signed with guarded rigidity.

“I don’t care,” Bucky bit his tongue before he could shout. “I want to see him.” Steve’s warm hand gripped his shoulder, steadying him.

“Buck...now might not be the best time to….”

“He was my friend too,” He measured Groot’s look of shielded sorrow with his own. Dark and challenging and righteous. The flora said nothing, but nodded, motioning for the two of them to follow.

---

Bucky marveled up at the Benatar’s arching iron ribs, so huge and yet graceful? Or at least it would be if there wasn’t trash thrown about, wires and exposed pipes in bad need of repair. Had Rocket really been gone that long? The sharp scent of too much axe mixed with the ichor of engine grease and weaponry and candy of all things. Groot guided them through the echoing halls to the main bridge.

“I am Groot,” he announced as Gamora, Quill, the bug lady, Nebula and the tattooed guy, turned to face them. Steve’s smile was almost as strained as his voice,

“Groot was kind enough to let us aboard...he told us...about Rocket. We were hoping to see him...to say goodbye.” Most of the time Steve’s running mouth got the two of them into a host of troubles but it was times like this Bucky was grateful for it. Quill planted his hands on his hips,

“Well, seeing as this is my ship. He really should have asked me first.But I’m feeling generous today so,”

Bucky tossed his hair from his face, instinctively reaching for his pistol. The man’s arrogance was unending.

“Cut the bullshit,” he hissed. “we’re here for Rocket. Not you. Get this ship  the air and take us to him and we’ll be on our way. It’s thanks to Rocket this thing is even flying at all” Quill’s mouth gaped like a fish, blinking mutely.

“We cannot take you to Rocket,” the tattooed man who’s name Bucky could not and did not really care to remember intoned, “There is nothing left of him. Besides his cybernetics. Fur and flesh will have rotted away by now.”   Nothing left of him besides his cybernetics. Sour churning bile rose within Bucky at the thought, he fought the urge to gag and redirected his murderous glare to the muscular alien.

“Planet X2 four systems away,” Gamora intervened before Quill could come up with some lame comeback. “It won’t take long. But you’ll want to find something to hold on to when we announce the jumps.”

“Thank you,” Steve answered for the two of them. Groot slid around the tattooed man and Mantis, taking a seat in the pilot’s chair and punching in the codes.

---

Bucky fiddled with the odd package in his hands, is this supposed to be food? It was impossible to tell what time it was from the endless void of space. The ship drifted forward with the similar movement of the naval ships he’d been aboard during the war. Smooth, with the occasional pitch and throw. Steve had sought out Nebula, the two of them not having seen each other since the battle with Thanos. Bucky thought he heard Steve mention Tony, thus he and cyborg woman had fell into a somber but good natured enough conversation. He found himself wandering the ship alone until coming upon the kitchen area. He gazed at the symbols on the metallic wrapped package and shrugged, sliding into the diner style booth against the wall.  

Footsteps alerted him to someone’s presence a few moments later. He craned his neck and watched the green woman stride in. She instantly looked at him with a passing curiosity and finally walked over to the table, sitting down on the opposite side.

“What happened?” Bucky broached the inevitable subject with what he hopped was sensitive respect. It was the elephant in the room and his morbid curiosity would not abate. Gamora kneaded her hands together. “Please, I can’t ask Groot,”

“Nor should you,” she quipped sharply, her eyes meeting his with a fierce protectiveness he knew too well. She held him there in that gaze for a moment before looking away, shoulders dropping. “There’s not much to tell. He just got old. It’s not like he took good care of himself. With the biology of a terran animal that only lives a few years...combined with the injuries he suffered and the untold volumes of alcohol...a history of insomnia…..it caught up with him.” Bucky bit his tongue, he could only imagine the aches and pains that were going to get his goat one day. Too many fights in too many narrow stairwells. Too many falls from too many heights.

“He...died….in pain…?” He repeated, clearing his throat.

“Yes.” Gamora answered, clinically. “Won’t we all?” She scrutinized him, the silver metal webbing etched into her flesh gleamed in the passing stars. Bucky looked at his own vibranium arm, rubbing it unconsciously with his good hand.

“Guess so,” he forced through the sudden lump in his throat. The confirmation of Rocket’s suffering riled in his stomach. “Why didn’t you take him to a medic?” He challenged, anger was easier than grief. “Your the Guardians of the fucking Galaxy, one of you must have known someone, someplace that could have fxed him!” His fists clenched, leaning forward against the table. “You could’ve taken him to Wakanda!” His voice rose in rage and helplessness.

“We did everything we could,” Gamora answered calmly. “And nothing that he didn’t want us to do.” Her eyes landed on Bucky’s arm. “He didn’t want to go to Wakanda,” she finished with a breath. Bucky watched her facade momentarily betray her. Like an expert, she hid it instantly, clearing her throat and looking down to fiddle with her rings.

“Who cares what he wants! It’s not like he had a choice at that point….” the words died in his throat and he covered his face with his good hand, forcing himself to breathe.  You know what sentience means Barnes?! Choices! I could make my own dast choices! The memory of Rocket’s words rang loudly in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed, the fight gone from him. It was a stale sorry, forced and awkward and both of them knew it. But that was what you said didn’t you? When someone died and you didn’t know what else to say? It was sircumcript. Gamora’s frown only deepened. Her observation of him uncomfortably impeccable, scrutinizing him further with the eyes of a trained killer. Looking for any signs of hostility, identifying the places where he concealed his knives and the one gun he’d brought along just in case. Old habits die hard.

“Don’t let Groot bother you,” she continued as if she weren’t sizing him up. “He hasn’t been the same since…”

“Ahh,” Bucky leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m used to people treating me with contemptuous resentment. It’s better than the alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Murderous unadulterated loathing.” He smirked, “I have that effect on people. It’s a gift.” Gamora flashed a smile with a satisfied huff to boot. Bucky returned the grin, sharing the levity for a moment. She had a nice smile, rare but genuine.

“We don’t have much extra space,” she stood after a moment, back into her distant severity. “But you and Captain Rogers can settle down wherever.”

“Thanks,” Bucky nodded to her as she turned to go, halting in the doorway

“We’ll be on X2 in 10 hours terran time.”

---

Maybe it was because he was sleeping in a new place, surrounded by new people. Maybe it was because it had been a long time since he’d last had night terrors this bad and the universe just liked to fuck with him. Or maybe it was because the only other person to have nightmares like these was no longer dreaming at all. Whatever the reason, Bucky jolted awake in a sweaty daze, chest heaving, trying to shake away the feeling of prying gloved hands poking into his flesh.

“Buck,” Steve’s quiet voice beckoned him from the terrors, one arm sliding up his back, rubbing between his shoulders in small smooth circles.

“He didn’t deserve it Steve,” Bucky’s voice trembled. His fingers curled around the metal bench on which they’d squeezed themselves. “R...Rocket he didn’t deserve what they did to him.” He tried to suck air between words as if he was drowning. “he shouldn’t have died Steve, not like he did. Not...not with metal festering in his insides.”  Bucky’s breath came in ragged gasps no matter how hard he tried to settle himself.

“Bucky...shhh….” Steve tried, but the man continued.

“He didn’t deserve what happened to him...but...I, I did.” Bucky shut his eyes against it, trying to concentrate on Steve’s steady touch.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked softly,  Bucky lifted his head from his hands, meeting Steve’s steady gaze with his own.

“I killed those people Steve,” he choked.

“That wasn’t you James, Hydra made you do those things,”  the fervor in Steve’s face spoke for itself but Bucky only let out a shuddering sigh.

“Not Hydra,” Bucky cut him off with more vitriol then he intended. “Before that,” he ran a clammy hand over his brow, silently praying none of the Guardians were awake. “I killed those men in the war...and when Hydra took me,” he leaned against Steve’s chest. “It wasn’t just brainwashing. They took that violence and just...enhanced it.” Bucky turned over his shoulder to look at Steve’s determined face. Still seeing the best in him, even after all he’d done. After everything the two of them had done. “Rocket was a little animal before they...c..created him...he was innocent. But...me...I…” he swallowed. “I was already a killer.” Steve opened his mouth to continue but Bucky leaned forward, kissing him roughly.

“I’ve killed more men than you,” Steve breathed, hoarse. “What does that make me?”

“I have killed more men than either of you. And women too. I am not sexist. I hold enormous respect for women.”  Steve and Bucky leapt up from their cot to see the large tattooed man emerge from the shadows.

“D...Drax!” Steve stepped between the Destroyer and Bucky. “That’s not what sexism….wait...how long have you been standing there?!”  The muscled man only looked between the two of them.

“Groot sent me to get you. We are approaching X2.” Without further assurance Drax turned on his heel, motioning for them to follow.

Out the window of the cockpit, still trying to calm his racing heart, Bucky gapped at the teeming planet before them. Enormous alone in the galaxy but for the stars and colored in a thousand shades of green.

“Hold onto your butts,” Quill smirked, slamming on the controls sending the ship speeding forward.

Steve hissed in shock, slamming his hand on a fake break,

“Fuck!” Bucky let out a small laugh, catching Steve around the waist as they plummeted closer to the surface.

---

Bucky did not know what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it.  Trees of every shape and size covered the planet in a rainforest like density. Streams of clear water gilded around trunks and through spindly roots. He arched his neck to look upward at one of the four suns circling the planet, their rays of light streaming in gilded brilliance through the canopy. Flowers bloomed fragrant and bright along their path, giving of sweet scents the likes of which he had never smelled. Bucky looked over his shoulder to where Steve was gazing in wonderment, he knew the man well enough by now to know when he was suppressing the urge to whip out a sketchbook or notebook. Steve’s unfettered curiosity made Bucky grin despite their somber destination.

“Too bad you left your khaki shorts at home,” he couldn’t resist teasing, brushing a large fanned leaf out of the way. Steve smirked, stepping over a large low lying root. Bucky looked forward again, making out the top of Groot’s head through the dense foliage. Gamora followed him, then Drax and Mantis, who remained close to Nebula, clinging on the bionic woman’s arm. Pointedly, Peter had refused to go no matter how much Gamora had pressed him. The last place Bucky had seen the man before they set off was the main corridor, down which Quill lumbered, headphones on, going to brood no doubt. Bucky knew it was wrong to hate him for it, but something about the cowardice, set him smoldering.

Bucky ducked his head under a low hanging branch, stooping over and then stood.

“We’re here,” Gamora gestured to the clearing before them. A sloping hill arched upward to the edge of a drop off  overlooking the vast vista of forest and pools beyond. On the crest of the hill a noble sprawling tree grew strong and taunt, its large crown wide and full. The thick roots bore deep into the earth and spilling off the edge of the cliff.

“I am Groot,” Groot pointed towards the tree stoically. His face un-readable. He looked to Gamora who only nodded in confirmation, turning on her heel and walking towards the large tree. Bucky swallowed, mouth dry and turned to Steve.

“You still want to do this? No one will judge you if you don’t.” Bucky could feel Groot’s narrow gaze on him.

“Oh I know someone who will,” he smirked sarcastically and followed Gamora up the hill.

---

“There,” Gamora breathed now that they stood before the large tree. Something about the place made Bucky feel small and quiet, a hallowed ground of its own kind. The tree itself was no distinct species as far as Bucky could tell. He followed her eyes to a notch in the tree dark and perfect size for a small creature to curl up inside. He stood there a  moment, frozen in what to do. Not dissimilar to after he’d gone on a spree, after he’d murdered someone, taken someone out. Head in a fog, on the verge of running in a panic, fueled by nightmares and whatever else Hydra had pumped into his veins. This time however, he did not run away. Bucky reached out, fingers brushing the rough bark of the tree with the same hesitant tenderness he had used to touch Rocket’s fur. In their years of friendship Bucky had stroked Rocket’s fur a total of three times. (Besides the handful of occasions on which he’d grabbed hold of that ringed tail to yank Rocket out a jam in the heat of some drunken brawl or the target of some enemy five times his size). Once shortly after they met and it was revealed how alike the two of them were. The second time when he’d had to save the raccoon’s life by re-assembling his cybernetics, using the howling voices in his head to guide him and lastly when he had told Rocket the true nature of his creation. A prototype made by Hydra as a test run for making howlies.

Bucky willed himself to take a deep breath, resting his palm flat against the tree. What had Rocket done after this violent discovery? He’d curled up in the man’s lap, and  fallen asleep. It was a trust Bucky had not earned, had done nothing to deserve and yet, Rocket snored and slept content and Bucky hadn’t shut his eyes a wink that night in the dimly lit apartment. Instead he ran his  hand over the raccoonoid’s side rhythmically, letting the warm soft fur calm his mind and ease his fears.Watching as with each little breath of the sleeping creature, skin pulled tight across metal. Yet Rocket curled in his lap, not unlike an abused dog who finally came to rest content by your feet.

Bucky looked up, into the leafy crown of the tree, squinting his eyes against the sunlight. He swallowed, hand still resting against the tree. Stop being such a sap Barnes, Rocket’s husky voice mocked in his mind, laced with irritation. If only the raccoonoid would reprimand him now. A hundred different sarcastic cutting remarks ran through the man’s imagination. How Rocket would tease him if he could see the tears pressing against the back of Bucky’s eyes. He waited for it...for any grating laughter or flick of the tail. But no, he’d never hear that sarcastic voice again. Rocket would never make fun of him. They’d never spend another night at some dive bar getting increasingly drunk and daring each other into dumber and dumber acts of brazen stupidity. They’d never exchange weapons or old tales of battle. Rocket would never perch up on Groot’s shoulders or scream over a hail of gunfire in blood thirsty joy. They’d never look warily at each other, knowing the other had spent the night in a terrorizing nightmare. They’d never steal a sympathetic glance when they thought the other wasn’t looking especially during the drizzly days when the metal in their skin ached particularly bad, or during the sweltering heat and frigid cold. They would never share the shame of the things they’d become, the things they’d done. Guess I’m the only monster left. But if the little abomination could drift off peacefully...surrounded by a family he’d found in the arms of the person he loved most in all the world, then well, maybe there was some hope for Bucky after all. He could only hope for as much.

The spell broke after a moment, his hand slipped away and he stepped back gazing at the lush grass. Gamora, Drax, Mantis and Nebula stood some distance away lost in their own thoughts. Steve gave him a sad smile, squeezing his shoulder before stepping up to say his own goodbye. Bucky looked out across the immense forest, his gaze gliding in a haze over it’s beauty until he saw Groot. Back turned to the tree, form rigid and away from the others.

“I’m sorry I shoved you earlier,” he tried approaching the flora slowly. “If there’s anything you need or want….just...let me know.”

There’s nothing I need or want that you can give.

Bucky nodded, “I know...I just mean...well...if you ever want to…” his heart tried to find the words, muddling through the thick black tar of grief. “He was my friend too and….I know it’s obvious but...he really loved you.”

He loved you too.

“Ha, I don’t think….wait,” Bucky turned to the flora in slow comprehension. “Groot, I think I….I think I understood you. Wait say something again!” Groot turned to him, face still drawn but no longer contemptuous.

It’s about time,

“Ha! No shit! I’ve been trying to understand you for years!” A laugh broke through Bucky’s melancholy. How many hours had Rocket tried and subsequently failed to teach him?

Only when you truly listen do you begin to understand.

“Is that some zen buddhist saying or what? Shit,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I guess you're right!”

What is zen?

“Ask Quill later,” Bucky waved a dismissive hand and the two of them resumed their silence, gradually turning around to face the large tree where Rocket lay.

I guess he was right about one thing

“What’s that?”

He promised not to go until someone else could understand. I thought he meant them, Groot gestured to the other Guardians.  It seems I was wrong.  But Rocket was right after all. Those large eyes looked at Bucky with renewed appreciation. Bucky felt something inside him inflate, joy or sorrow or something in between he couldn’t quite tell. Maybe it was one in the same. He rubbed his eyes, watching the suns set against the magnificent tree casting a glowing golden light upon them all.

“Guess he was.”

[gvaf-radio-blog]

I was laying in bed trying to not think about the rejection when the crying fit started, normally it goes away after a bit but this welled up and I felt an emotion like onto a rage induced tornado surging through me and I pounded the floor screaming like I lost a limb to a bear trap and started to pray to God, keep in mind I am a Satanist, to either help me find a way to get the love of my life back or to give me the means to end my life.  Satan was very understanding but reminded me to call them first next time since Satan never told me I was damned for being born pansexual and they did turn me on to better fashion and literature, sorry Satan.

It had been going on like this for the better part of July and there were several things going on in my life at the time one of those was a firm belief that I had grown too old, too fat, too broken to be any use to anyone other than to make others feel better and be target practice for the Russian Cupidi who seems very intent on making others fall in love with me on the other side of the continent, little fuckers have surprisingly deep laughs I found out . There was a person I was convinced was the love of my life because they seemed to understand me, never made unreasonable demands of me ( I thought)  and to put it simply we could not be in a room alone ever. We worked well together in fact each time we would meet it ended in us kissing and tearfully saying I love you to each other  while holding each other head to head crying. Everytime I heard a slight Russian tinged laugh. We were for a short time had an almost family, an almost family is where things are just off and need adjustments. I wanted tp make us a full family badly I wanted this family to happen because these kids were at one time treated like mine own, I am a  simple and boring man except for the Cupidi and a stalker with cat ears who keeps leaving dead birds on my front stoop.  

So yes I was that fool everyone has laughed at in a heart break fueled misery that pop songs and movies lie to us and say “ AH but tis only the third act! The two distant lovers will be reunited and the love song with start after the credits”. I want to start rounding up the con artist that make a living by filling empty headed children with these notions of true love or that love conquers all and sodomize them with live lobsters.  I don’t want to violate ethically challenged people with shellfish everyday, just on those days when I have to deal with the doll eyed masses, ok so basically every day I was trying to give myself the benefit of the doubt.  The Ex had asked me if the reason I wanted to get back together was because they were a “sure thing” I told her that they were really a long shot but if I didn’t try then I couldn’t live with myself. Fast forward a few weeks and several insulting explanations later and I am now turning over all the reasons I am broken goods and that I should not rise above my station because I deserve to be alone, i’m scum, I’m why baby jesus cries and milk spoils when I walk into the room. I started taking pot shots at the local Cupidi with my compound bow but it was hard to aim with eyes full of tears and the edible kicking in finally. I don’t know how to say fuck you in Russian but I think I know the sound of the word. 

Next we find me red eyed muttering some gibberish that’s been fueled by what I would find out later to be a suspected mental illness that is only half way being treated with medication and therapy. To give you a funny and disturbing visual. After not eating or sleeping for several days  I looked like what could be described as a  cross between a fat Reinfeld and a goth George Costanza , or Meatloaf on a bad day. I give you options for your visuals, am I not merciful?

It’s now sometime between one and five A.M and I am looking up the price of the least expensive .45 handgun because I’m poor and I’ll be getting some extra money soon because I turn thirty nine in a week I do not want to be thirty nine so I start looking for american style solutions, happy fucking birthday. I chose this caliber because having some medical training and studying the wonderful world of trauma  I got to see in full detail what a self inflicted head wound looks like and what a person's life is when the bullet doesn’t take enough grey matter. I didn’t want to be alive then I sure as hell didn’t want to live as a joke character from a Garth Ennis story so I was going to get a bigger bullet .  America, fuck yeah.

so I started to make my final birthday plan and feel at peace with having my last ride of Clove’s, bourbon and a good pub hamburger then, Tchüess. BANG! Obviously I didn’t buy the gun to end my misery and embarrassment as my brain was telling me I needed, because instead my brain going into OH FUCK mode was throwing everything it had at me to save the ship. Then it hit pay dirt. I rediscovered a natural emotional energy that put my mind into a laser focus clearing the fog and lies away  just enough to stop my self destruction and restart the rebuilding I began in the winter. The emotional energy that saved me from turning my head into goo goes by the name of pure fucking spite.

I realized that my idiocy levels had reached a critical mass when the Cupidi in hazmat suits who seem to be , in Russian , bitching about extracting me to go get recharged . They came down to take me back to a containment unit that will refill my cynicism back to optimal and lethal fuck off capacity. After my IV of coffee and Monster™ grape was removed I was set loose again into the wilds of Southeast Portland to reconnect my brain with seething hatred that I somehow misplaced my hatred during the heartache attack between Southeast Division and Southeast Clinton street where I  was bludgeoned with a baseball bat by the woman who was wearing cat ears. I was on a time limit because I had to do this quickly and retract my steps before my appointment with a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner at two P.M later that day. I managed to find my hatred , my senses and a new found desire to attack any human with those fucking anime cat ears on their head and entered the office and was treated like a human being not a Cro Magnon sociopath who might try  to kill people on the train, it was a nice change of pace honestly.

We talked about my past trauma and some of the diagnosis that where off base and some that came close to the mark but the main thing we talked about was the depression, the depression that had me looking for a gun as a treatment plan. This Nurse Practitioner pinpointed everything that I had to hide from others or train myself not to do in less than thirty minutes, Let me give you a bit of perspective. 

Most of the mental health professionals I worked with in the past used a method I call flow chart counseling, example:

Therapist sees me walk into the door, therapist will ask if I drink if yes how many drinks in a week, if no move on to the next question. Therapist: Mister Cromag do you drink?

Me: yeah, I like a good beer, or wine I take a shinning to good bourbons as well.

“Therapist now flows to follow up questions”

Therapist: How many drinks per week?

Me: Well, I like to have a drink that pairs with my dinner and some weekends I’ll have a bit more during games or socialization depending on who’s around.

“Therapist now moves down to alcoholism”

Therapist: how long have you been an alcoholic?

Me: I’m sorry what?

Therapist: You binge drink Mister Cromag, more than four drinks per week means substance abuse.

Me: No it means I like the taste of a stout. “Moves down the chart to denial”

Therapist: We need to find you an addiction specialist.

Me: You think my drinking is bad, wait until I tell you about my porn collection.

After that exchange I was referred to a physical therapist to help with carpal tunnel and after a traumatized therapist had to call security all while frantically  trying to find a flowchart for the psychotically horny they made a suggestion about me having an Oedipus complex.

So you now see what I mean, a lot of professionals never got to the heart of it and there are other stories where I’ve had the professionals all but sneer at me when my symptoms are presented. So this Nurse Practitioner was a nice change of pace and with the discussion about my issues, what I thought I might have been dealing with  (sometimes people see that I do have some form of intelligence and not just hit thing with club real hard unga bunga) we then worked out what medication I needed to treat  the thing I was dreading, being diagnosed with  Bipolar 1.

Bipolar and ADHD share many of the same characteristics and as I’ve learned if you have one the other is more than likely there it just needs to be screened for. Bipolar is also a hereditary form of mental illness which makes it a bit unique where others are mostly trauma induced but Bipolar just kinda waits for something to happen and when nothing does it creates its own fun. To add to this good time Bipolar  is classified as a “mood disorder”  your highs are hyperactive boarderlining and often going into a full true manic state of mind and body, not nearly as fun as it sounds. Then the lows are soul crushing affairs that amplify the depression and then takes the lies you brain tells you and creates a story based on people around you, your fears, past trauma and then makes you this poisoned lullaby cake that tastes like candy feels like medicine until you fall to your knees paralyzed and the fangs sink into your back and you see too late what is having you for dinner tonight.

So that’s a quick and blurry on Bipolar 2, I have Bipolar 1 which means I get all of that plus the added fun of hallucinations, and not the type Terrence Mckenna taught us about. These are things that just manifest as if they are real life like if you were in a  film and it was edited without  warning and in this new situation  you now have to improvise a reality, any  reality, this is why I take *drugs prescribed and other. The other issue is that it feels like my memories get remixed and things that happened now have a new twist, a paranoid hurtful twist.  Good example of this is when I was making a terminal wishlist and believed that there were people who truly wanted me to die because I interpreted their actions as malicious. Another example is I was walking home to the apartments  around ten or twelve years ago, I was walking home at the time with groceries and when I got through the front door there was construction going on at the apartment above me. I sleep days and at best i’ll get four hours due to shit employer, new born child, a girlfriend that was Sybil the next generation who completely refused to get treatment because she was a psych major and thought she was the heroin to overcome all odds  in a lifetime movie.  So on top of this my mental illness is not in check, no insurance and if I mention medication at work I could get fired. 

 I wish this was a part I made up  but I mentioned I was on antidepressants at one time and they removed me from two positions back to entry level until I got clean off celexa, Not allowed to do the fun drugs and then punished for using the boring ones no idea why I stayed there for eight and a half years. 

Back to the construction, I get home try to put my groceries away and one of the workers says he needs to do something in the bedroom I tell him to get bent , he calls me a fat fuck and I proceed to beat him bloody! Except it never happened, I woke up beating my fist bloody onto the tiled floor of the kitchen where I had started to put away my groceries until I jumped into this other reality, I’m just happy the kid wasn’t home because it might have scared her and made her cry and knowing I made her cry hurts the worst, I would have attempted that second suicide earlier. This freaked me out I’ve never had an hallucination like this I was scared, when I told then girlfriend hoping to get support or at least pointed in the direction on where to look she labeled me a schitzophrentic started talking to me as if I was going to flip out  and that I was even more dangerous.  I let that turn around in my head for years thinking that this was the linchpin to me being broken and with the way she talked to me I believed I didn’t deserve help. This was one of the main reasons I had to kill myself after she took my daughter away.

Like a few million other miserable , confused people out there I didn’t know a blessed thing about what was happening, I remembered the mental abuse and emotional abuse from the church, and some had argued physical and neglectful abuse I recieved at the hands of my family or my mother’s husbands who told my mother to no provide for me but instead buy him a new toy car. My step sister who somehow hates the knot headed reprobate more than I do stole his precious camaro and rear ended a Semi. After learning she was ok I fell on the floor laughing because all I could think about was this NASCAR addicted stunted man child calling his mommy to whine about a broken toy, to add to this mental image he was wearing a blue jean diaper and clutching a plush Richard Petty teddy bear.

There’s more but I don’t feel the need to talk about school bus drivers and me losing memory of one full  year of my life, bullying at the hands of adults and children alike. I feel like that would be redundant and unfortunately all too common a story I’ve heard from so many people in my life, friends, lovers , coworkers the fucking homeless people who talk with me after I give them beer money. Leaving some of the genetic issues aside you bastards need to understand how wide spread some of these traumas are for fuck sake my motley of misfits are all walking trauma case studies and instead of getting help YOU people ridiculed them, or gave them the greatest useless sentence in the english language which is :

 “Just get over it.”

Do you know what I would like to see? I want to see all of us survivors roaming the streets like that piss poor movie they claimed was a horror movie the Purge and with a list not unlike the list owned by the man that comes around Johnny Cash sang about during his song of the rapture, and I see men, women, and nonbinary people going to the address of those passive aggressive twits and beating them within an inch of their life, then carving into their chest (backwards) “get over it” then we move on to the homes of the rapists and tell them “you asked for this” before destroying their cocks with battery acid. The screams in the night would be glorious with the bats acting like percussion and the screams keyboard swells it would be like Front 242 unplugged. Maybe then the sniveling pretentious nra members out there will learn a bit. At best, it would be fair warning not to be passive aggressive asshole and learn a bit of compassion and mindfulness or to just get their heads out of their ass about battles they know nothing about if they want to avoid severe head trauma that one can not just simply get over. 

Living with mental illness is not easy at any level whether a small bit of depression after a breakup or full blown PTSD after a brutal rape that leaves one unable to leave their house. Whomever has these afflictions are the ones suffering and your feelings of inconvenience or fear  of those sufferers need to be thrown into the Willamette river, I would say you need to follow suit  but there’s enough garbage in this river you can fuck off into a trash compactor.

Living is the hardest thing I do but I keep finding ways to stop the thoughts from taking over and I will and have done whatever it took to not die and sometimes the only way I was able to beat the mental illness was being bat shit insane. Some people think I’m a drug addict, others just think I need to talk to my old invisible friend, a few well meaning souls have suggested psychedelics and these people are pure and I will castrate any who try and stop them from their holy work from the almighty Bob. what I do need is to find that bitch with the **baseball bat and introduce them to a proper bonfire that I’m going to roast one of those little commie Cupidi on, oh yes I want my revenge for St Louis. 

*the drugs in question are cannabis for the most part, when I’m spinning hard it helps tune me down and when the depression hits it shuts up the thoughts that plague me. Not a cure all nor is it a replacement for proper medication and therapy. I like to think of it a supplemental medicine that has the added effect of making Tool sound even more epic and letting me sleep peacefully. 

** all wildy violent, funny and or cartoonish descriptions written about are there to be funny and entertaining no Cupidi do not exist and the Cat ear person does but the assault was less bloody and didn’t involve a bat  but it was far more traumatizing.

[the-heat-that-drives-the-light]

space-feminist

replied to your post

“since i apparently do that now im gonna air more frustrations. ive...”

first of all, i feel your pain, i had a phone die on me recently and i work on stuff in my phone notes so i lost a lot

second, if you need help finding videos, i'm sure there are plenty of us in the fandom who can help you track stuff down so don't be afraid to ask!

third, we appreciate (or should appreciate) all the work that goes into making beautiful gifs of our man and thank you

hi! sorry, i went dejectedly to bed after my little rant. i’ve been asleep for 12 hours, i think maybe i needed a snooze :)

first

it really helps when the void answers :) (i had to download my own brand new stitch hug from an ask like a goddamn pleb bc of this, damn you hardware, why must you be an ass) also im sorry your phone is a lil ahole, need me to fight that fucker bc i will (ง'̀-'́)ง

second, yes. i know. and i will get better at asking, i really need to learn to. i’ve just been alone in my giffing endeavours for so long, im so used to have every video and direct others to them at the drop of a hat that i feel i need to find everything myself. and i mean everything, ive spent hours, weeks, MONTHS scouring for videos and pics, in the best resolution possible, hitting up asian and russian and south american sites, getting the software to download from them, finding video sources, squeezing every ounce of dogged determination out of myself, and i very rarely fail, i almost always find those fuckers. but goddamn, you’re so right, i have to realise that others do the same, and maybe have links and even the vids and pics themselves, and i know, if fandom is about anything, it’s about sharing. im just used to be the sharer, not the sharee. (also i need to work on my need to have everything stored, to own it, im a fucking dragon, it’s ridiculous, it’s the same irl, if there are hardcopies of anything im into, i will get them. i just bought the eps of from eden and in the woods somewhere, and i won’t tell you what they cost, im ashamed to, and i realised my turntable can no longer play 45′ for some reason, and i have all the tracks on cd and countless digital versions already, but im just- well dumb. and yes, i will buy a new turntable just for this. and also if he releases something else on 45′, which he undoubtedly will the pretentious git.) but i will henceforth ask, and y’all need to get ready for it. :)

third

(never stop)

tHANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

just know it goes all ways, and that i love being in this fandom, you’re all amazing and even if we’re small, we’re so damn pleasant and i just- love it and adore you all.

(i have other hugs in my repertoire, but they’re all other fandoms related, mostly sebastian stan that i just don’t wnat to deal with rn, i hate marvel, i need to get my hands on some good andrew hugs, anyone got some nice ones lying around, links please, see im trying, besides im damn well gonna get my moneys worth from having to download my own gif ffs)

and also

have a smile, one of the few i still possess <3

again, thank you :)

[artificialqueens]

for all the honest world to feel (trixya) (6/9) - dare

“You fucker,” Adore crowed, drawing back with a face-splitting smile. Bianca grinned back, crooked, and tucked a little of her bangs behind her ear.

“Only one of us gets to affect a tone of outrage here, bitch,” Bianca said. “You’ve been keeping Trixie Mattel stashed away in your little grow-op for how long, exactly?”

(AN: more laughs, more sadness! i can’t believe it’s been two months. hopefully yesterday’s interlude served as a bit of a refresher; as usual, i use “she/her” for adore and “he/him” for pretty much everyone else (depending on the context.) no promises on when the next one will be up, but it is currently reading week so i’m gonna try to get as much done as i can. ALSO IVE UPPED THE CHAPTER COUNT. i’m sorry? i don’t know if i should be apologizing. 

this week on honest werld: bianca tries to cheer a couple of sad sacks up.)

| ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | 

TO: KATYA - 7:28 AM - Friday August 29th, 2017

check in?

FROM: KATYA - 7:28 AM - Friday August 29th, 2017

[A single emoji: index finger pinched to thumb, OK, the universal symbol of ‘all-good’.]

FROM: KATYA - 7:29 AM - Friday August 29th, 2017

you?

TO: KATYA - 7:29 AM - Friday August 29th, 2017

yeah. that’s about right

*

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out,” said Bianca, staring inquisitively, like Brian was a specimen under a microscope. “There was a pool on it. I guess we all lost – my money had you under a mattress in a drug den somewhere. You know, a classic.”

“You heard about that, huh,” Brian said, with a smile that landed somewhere between awkward and sheepish. He held Bianca’s gaze steadily as a nervous feeling turned over in his stomach – or maybe that was just the hangover.

He hadn’t seen Bianca in… god, ages. He couldn’t even say when.

“I hear everything,” said Bianca. He looked Brian up and down, brow raised; then his dimples flashed. “It’s just a matter of distinguishing the bullshit from the facts.”

Brian huffed a laugh – flavoured with relief – and stepped back. “Come on in,” he said. “I, uh. I wasn’t expecting to see you. It’s… kind of a mess.”

Bianca grabbed his bag again and followed him in the door, snorting audibly. “If you think I don’t know that…”

“Oh, no, this is fully on me,” Brian said. “Adore’s been away all week.”

“I know,” Bianca said. There was a thump – Brian turned to see that he’d dropped his bag in front of Adore’s room, and was leaning back against the wall beside the door, inspecting him. Bianca continued, “She’s been texting me pictures of the other lawyers’ asses that just say ‘P.E.G. THEM’. The same caption every time. All week. I’m about to call my telephone company and change my damn number.”

“Just buy another prepaid, girl,” said Brian, and grinned when Bianca laughed.

“But yeah,” Bianca said, shrugging. He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I thought I’d come down and, y’know, cheer a bitch up, and then I find you here.”

He gave Brian an expectant look.

Brian cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. He rubbed a hand at the corner of his eye, willing away the dry itch of too much liquor and not enough sleep. “I’ve, uh. Had a lot going on, I guess. Uh – I’m in the guest room, actually, sorry. That throws another wrench in your plans. I could take the couch, if you don’t mind my crap being all over the room –”

“Don’t be stupid, no one’s sleeping on the couch,” said Bianca, “except maybe you, right now, if you don’t collapse on the floor instead. You look like you’re about to pass out. Sit down, for Christ’s sake.” He brushed past Brian at what could only be called a clip – fast, determined, and altogether more than Brian’s hungover brain could fully process. Brian chose the path of least resistance and heaved his aching body – he was definitely getting too old to be sleeping without a real pillow, shit – over the arm of the couch, settling down with his cheek leaned against the back cushions as he watched Bianca set about tidying the kitchen. Bianca called over his shoulder, “Should I bother looking in the fridge, or should I spare you the indignity and just go get groceries?”

Brian thought about the wilting lettuce all sad and alone on the second shelf, and closed his eyes. “Uh,” he said. He’d never made that salad. “Might be best not to look.”

Cupboards banged open and shut, keeping time with the pounding in his head. “That’s what your dad told your mom when the nurse put you in her arms, huh,” said Bianca over the racket, who could very well be doing this to punish him.

“You think my dad stuck around that long?” said Brian, suffering quietly in the unmoving dark behind his eyelids. “You think I was born in a hospital?”

Bianca cackled. Brian’s head throbbed.

A long moment later, something cool and damp pressed against his temple, and he opened his eyes to see condensation drip down the side of a glass of water from very close-up. He lifted a hand to the glass, fingers brushing against warm skin, then looked up further to meet Bianca’s eyes, which were resting on him with a sober kindness.

“If you’re gonna die, do me the courtesy of moving to the balcony first so you don’t stink up the place,” Bianca said, mouth twitching up.

Brian pressed the glass against his cheek. “Anything to make this easier for you,” he said.

Bianca – nearly three years later and Brian was still a little too intimidated to even try for ‘Roy’ – huffed a laugh and returned to the kitchen. The cupboards started banging again, but a little quieter this time. Brian sipped his water and watched through half-lidded eyes as Bianca fussed and grumbled. “Always moving things around, I swear to God it’s like she tries to piss me off…”

“If there’s no food, what are you looking for?” Brian said.

“Frying pan. You’re vegetarian, right?”

Brian glanced up, surprised. “Yeah.”

“Get that look off your face. I remember things. I’m not that old.”

Brian smiled, hiding it away behind his cup.

Once Bianca was satisfied with the layout and contents of the kitchen, he leaned back against the counter and started tapping away at his phone rapidly. “Sesame oil, hoisin, star anise,” he muttered, “tofu, rice noodles – if I find anything instant in these cupboards, I swear…”

The sun was splintering through the clouds above the rooftops across the street; Brian shut his eyes and pressed the cup against his cheek, the cool glass soothing the ache behind his eyes. There was a pause in the low flow of words across the room and then Bianca said, “How’re you doing, miss Trixie?”, in the kind of crooning voice you might use on a sick pet.

That was fair, probably.

“Somehow both too close and too far from death at the same time,” Brian mumbled against the glass.

Footsteps sounded across the floor. He opened his eyes again.

“Don’t,” Bianca said, now over by Adore’s room, rustling through his duffel. “I’m just going for groceries. You can catch a few more winks while I’m gone.”

The fog in his head made Brian’s nose itch, his eyelids hang heavy. He nodded distractedly at Bianca as he rubbed at his face with one hand; when the door shut, he slumped against the arm of the couch, knees coming to rest against the back, glass of water cradled in his hands between his ribs and the cushions. Somewhere outside, a wind chime jingled quietly. His eyes drifted shut.

At some point, Bianca came back. Brian twitched into wakefulness at the sound of the door; shoes on hardwood (quickly silenced); the fridge opening and closing and the stove top beeping on. Bianca hummed tunelessly across the room.

Something in Brian twisted, turned in on itself like a dog gnawing at a mat in its stomach fur. Not quite restlessness, not quite nausea. He made a quiet, incoherent noise, then licked his lips and tried again: “Bianca?”

Bianca looked over at him. He saw it through mostly-closed eyes. “Yeah?”

Oil sizzled in the frying pan. The doors to the balcony were still open, and there was a faint smell of ginger beginning to fill the air, chasing away the staleness that clung to the corners of the room. Brian swallowed against the dry feeling in his mouth. “Tell me about your tour?” he said.

Bianca huffed a laugh. “Don’t get me started, girl,” he said, warning, but Brian cocked a sleepy eyebrow and he laughed again, louder. “Alright. The most recent show was in Florida, so, you can imagine, a bunch of swampy assholes – you didn’t need to fuck ‘em to smell ‘em. And the venue’s air conditioning was amazing everywhere except in the dressing room. You wouldn’t believe…”

Bianca rambled on. Brian closed his eyes again and drifted off to it, Bianca’s voice a soothing rhythm in the room, like one of those fountains where the water trickles slowly over tumbled stones. The pounding in his head faded. His eyes shut. He slept.

*

Hours later the door closed again, startling Brian into confused wakefulness and a late afternoon light. The sun had passed beyond the scope of the glass doors, casting the living room into shadow. Brian blinked hazily against the indistinct dark of the entryway, unable to make sense out of the lines and shapes that blurred before his eyes.

There was the thump of a bag being dropped. His gaze focused in on the sound – and up, to its source, where Adore stood listless, pale and brittle in the shadows. Her eyes slipped shut while he watched, and her lips thinned, pursed.

He opened his mouth.

“Adore.”

Adore’s eyes flew open to meet Brian’s gaze, but it wasn’t him who’d spoken. She looked to his right.

“B!”

In a flash, Adore’s face went from spent exhaustion to an almost hungry joy – not hungry, exactly. Sharp at the edges and a little too bright in the eyes. Brian didn’t know how to explain it, but it hit him like a punch all the same, familiar and close. Adore flung herself at Bianca, who caught her easily.

“Hey, baby,” Bianca said, knuckles going white at her spine.

“What the fuck, Yanx, what the fuck,” Adore kept repeating. Her elbows poked out like a spiny guard where her arms were wrapped around Bianca’s neck – like, god fucking help you if you try to get between this shit. She’ll fuck you up.

“What? I can’t take my weekend off to come visit my best girl?”

“You fucker,” Adore crowed, drawing back with a face-splitting smile. Bianca grinned back, crooked, and tucked a little of her bangs behind her ear.

“Only one of us gets to affect a tone of outrage here, bitch,” Bianca said. “You’ve been keeping Trixie Mattel stashed away in your little grow-op for how long, exactly?”

Adore paused, and looked back at Brian.

Brian dragged himself upright – well, more or less. Bianca had drawn a step back, watching him with an eyebrow cocked. Adore, holding one of Bianca’s hands in both of hers, was watching too, mouth set with trepidation, waiting for Brian’s move.

“About a month,” Brian said. “It’s, uh. It’s a long story.”

Bianca’s brow twitched higher. “I cleaned your puke out of the bath mat while you were passed out just now. I think you can fuckin’ humour me.”

Adore’s eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” she said, “oh my god, dude, the thing –” she glanced quickly at Bianca and then back, “when I was in L.A. I saw – but the thing, last night, dude, how fucked were you?”

“Ask your bath mat,” Bianca said. “And what thing is it we’re referring to? I’m not a fucking codetalker – no offence to your people, Trixie.”

Brian laughed, hoarse but real. “That was the Navajo, you dumb bitch.” He sipped his water – which miraculously hadn’t spilled all over him during his nap – and aimed for a smirk. “Sorry that the only code you understand is hanky because you’re a fucking dinosaur.”

Bianca cackled, and the sound – bright and younger than such an old bitch deserved – bounced off the walls, pushing back the pall of the encroaching evening and the stale air in the corners left over from Brian’s week alone.

“Watch it, girl,” Bianca shot back. “I brought your dinner into this world and I can take it out just as easy.”

“Food,” Adore blurted, turning suddenly and shaking Bianca’s arm.

Bianca rolled his eyes. “Did your lawyers not feed you in L.A.? It’s on the stove. I’d say you know where your own plates are, but in this kitchen, I can’t be sure.”

Adore smacked a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, B,” she said, then spun past him into the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bianca said. He eyed Brian critically. “I’d ask what you’ve been eating but I’ve already met it. You look thin.”

“Who knew depression had such perks?” Brian said, but judging by the way Bianca’s lips thinned, it fell flat.

“Come on,” Bianca said, decisive. “You’re having seconds tonight, and if I have to clean them out of more of Adore’s furniture later, I’ll do it. Because I care, Trixie Mattel.” He came over to the couch and offered Brian a hand up; once Brian was standing, he took him by the elbow and lead him towards the kitchen. “But expect my invoice by Monday. My mother taught me two things: how to clean and how to bill for it. So don’t you take me for a fool.”

“Oh, I’d never,” Brian laughed. “Lot of drunk white women stay at the hotel she worked at, huh?”

“Don’t compare yourself to them, now. You couldn’t afford to stay there.”

Adore flitted around once they were sitting like she had springs instead of feet, spreading candles throughout the room so everything was glowing and soft at the edges. And Bianca could cook, apparently, because it wasn’t enough that the bitch was talented and funny and well-read and handsome. Brian scraped his plate clean and – at Bianca’s glare – got seconds.

At one point, Bianca stepped outside to make a call. Adore leaned over and said, “Trixie, when I was in L.A.,” and then paused, one hand curled around Brian’s wrist. “Yeah?” he said, prompting, grinning easily with the food and the hour and the company. Her gaze flicked across his face – then she smiled and said, “I was really fuckin’ worried about my plants, dude.”

“Wow,” he said. “They’re fine. Where is the faith? I thought we were friends.”

“You’ve said that to a lot of people in your life, haven’t you,” Bianca yelled from outside the doors.

It was good. Everything else might be fucked beyond belief, but this – it was good, and something in Brian’s chest felt like it had been opened, like the first sweet breeze breaking through a summer heat wave, fluttering the curtains and knocking screens against their frames.

*

Brian woke just after midnight to a dry mouth – this hangover was going on twenty-four hours now, which was some bullshit – and the quiet sound of rain and distant voices. The glass by his bed was empty so he pulled on a shirt and slipped out the door, only to stop, drawn up short at the sight before him.

Adore and Bianca were on the balcony. They were turned in towards each other, talking quietly; Adore had one arm braced up on the railing, and Bianca was holding her hand. The city beyond them hid behind a grey curtain of late August rain. The night haze closed them in together, away from the rest of the world – and Brian, standing at his door, holding his empty glass against his chest, was just as far away.

Bianca said something he couldn’t catch, a serious expression straining the corners of his eyes as he searched Adore’s face for… Brian didn’t know. Adore replied, then ducked her head, shoulders hunching up. She freed her hand to fumble at her pocket, coming up with a carton of cigarettes. She lit one in the candle on her right – and missed the look that crossed Bianca’s face, aching and tired.

As Brian watched, Adore aimed a crooked smile out from under shaggy bangs – saying something, cracking some joke – only for it to break at the edges, ragged and thin in the orange glow of her cigarette. She turned away, out into the rain. Her shoulders, square and black against the grey night, cut a lonely figure, like some doomed ingenue from an old hollywood movie.

Bianca stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her shoulders shook.

Brian couldn’t watch anymore – shouldn’t have seen any of it. He slipped away into the bathroom to fill his glass, then back into his room, deliberately not looking out onto the balcony again – and it hurt not to, in some fucked up way, hurt worse not looking than looking had. Because seeing Bianca hold Adore’s hand, and seeing Adore lean into the warmth of Bianca’s body – that had fucking hurt, like a blunt force straight to the chest.

He went back to bed. Cheek pressed into his pillow, he looked again – for the fifth or sixth time that day – at the texts from that morning between him and Katya. Not even ten words and they were all he could think about.

He fell asleep and dreamed of seagulls in flight; white sheets rumpled like seafoam; warm skin and a warmer smile.

*

bianca is here and she thinks she’s my mom, he texted Katya the next morning, each word coming too slow and careful. Stupid. He was so stupid. how do i tell her it’s a new dad i need instead?

He considered the text for a solid minute before pressing send.

There was no reply, but no read receipt either. He stared at the phone for another minute or two, lost in thought, until a knock came at the door.

“Hey,” Adore called, “hey, get your guitar, I want to show Bianx what you’ve been teaching me.”

“Sure, just a minute,” he called back. He woke his phone up to check it one more time, then got up to grab his guitar from the corner, flipping his notebook shut where it lay on the bed along the way.

He’d gotten a little work done this morning. It still made his palms sweat to see it all laid out like that, all the little fears and hopes he tried not to look at from day to day, and to remember that video on his instagram. But there were too many words set down to let them all go to waste. And anyway, he didn’t have to share the finished product with anyone. Just Katya.

He owed Katya that much.

Out in the living room, Bianca was curled on the couch barefoot, like a large and particularly self-satisfied house cat, smiling over a mug of coffee at Adore on the other end, her guitar balanced precariously in her lap.

“Oh, cool,” Brian said, affecting as much irritation as possible when they looked up at him. “Everyone gets to sit except me. Very cool.”

“Someone called me a dinosaur last night and someone didn’t,” Bianca said. “Figure the rest out for yourself.”

“Oh,” Brian said, and discreetly shot Adore the finger around the body of his guitar. Adore raised a lazy peace sign in return. “I’ll take that, I guess,” he continued, contemplative, “I probably deserve it.”

“Grace in defeat,” Bianca said. “I like that about you, Trixie.”

Brian hummed, dumping his phone on the coffee table and then straightening to sling his strap over his shoulders. He tapped his foot on the floor idly. “What did you want to play?” he asked Adore, then, not looking down, plucked out the notes to the theme of Jurassic Park.

Adore fell back into the arm of the couch, laughing, and Bianca pointed a finger at Brian and said, “You’d better lock your door tonight, bitch.”

“Please,” said Brian. “I welcome death.”

“Could we maybe, like, play my fuckin’ songs? Before I pussy out over here?” said Adore.

Bianca made a skeptical face at her. She made a much worse face back.

“Alright, alright,” said Brian, adjusting his strap. “27 Club?”

Adore’s new material was all angry and loud, but she kept returning to these softer, acoustic versions, like there was something in there between the notes that she was trying to find, something that got lost when it was all grinding electric rhythms. Brian followed her on the melody, rounding the sound out with three notes for her every one. Her music didn’t sound angry to him. It just sounded honest.

That had always been Adore’s greatest strength, though – that revelatory honesty, that unquestionable realness. Even when she was plastering on a smile, it was there underneath, palpable. Brian didn’t know how she did it.

(Nothing is real, mama, Katya would say, but that was also just her way of saying that everything was.)

(Brian didn’t know about all that. Some stuff was realer than other stuff – it was just a question of whether that mattered.)

The last chorus faded into a settled quiet. Adore tapped her pic against the body of her guitar rapidly, like a wood-pecker, then looked up at Bianca through her lashes and said, “What do you think?”

Bianca opened his mouth, paused, and then huffed a quiet laugh. “I think you put the rest of us to shame,” he said, and Adore ducked her head over her guitar.

Brian looked at them a moment, then swallowed and said, “I just want to remind everyone in the room that I did the heartfelt acoustic thing first. Just. You know. In case anyone had forgotten.”

Adore laughed and kicked out at him, missing his knee with her turtle-print-socked foot by a mile.

“I hate you,” she said, beaming. “9 Yards?”

“It’s your gig, girl,” he said, clinching the capo into place.

Adore nodded. She tapped them into the intro, grinning up at Brian like they were a team, and they fell into the melody together, just like they’d been practicing all month.

Three songs later they took a break, while Adore stretched her fingers out and Bianca got them all drinks. The two of them traded jabs across the room, and Brian, cross-legged on the floor, tucked a smile into the body of his guitar as he listened to their banter. He fiddled away at the notes aimlessly. The words he’d been penning late at night ran through his mind, the internal rhyme, the dips and pauses.

“I have it on good authority you never reorganized a damn thing when you were living with your mother,” Bianca was saying, “so I can only assume you’ve picked it up now to spite me –”

“I reorganized plenty!” Adore protested. “Moving shit around is reorganizing, it just isn’t tidying.”

“Oh, and you think you can have one without the other? Like, oh, well, I put this condom on, guess you can fuck me in the ass now! That ain’t how it works!”

Adore dissolved into laughter.

“Wow, I’ve been doing sex wrong this whole time,” Brian said, then almost dumped his guitar out of his lap as his phone buzzed on the table. The screen flashed with a new text: FROM: KATYA.

The guitar went on the floor; the drink Bianca tried to offer him went unnoticed.

“It’s from Katya,” he heard Adore stage-whisper as he snatched his phone up and unlocked it. “You can tell ‘cause she looks like she’s about to throw up her heart out of her mouth.”

“That’s visual,” said Bianca, and “Fuck the both of you,” said Brian, exiting the room, gaze glued to his phone.

Safely tucked away with a door between him and his hecklers, he read the text a second time, a third, and his own before it:

TO: KATYA - 12:07 PM - Saturday August 30th, 2017

bianca is here and she thinks she’s my mom

how do i tell her it’s a new dad i need instead?

FROM: KATYA - 1:34 PM - Saturday August 30th, 2017

what’s a step up from a check-in

He sank down onto his bed – and then a new text appeared, and another, and another.

if bianca’s ur dad and my uncle what does that make us? because i’m into it

i should have opened with that

I just. can’t tell when it’s a joke and when it’s a call for help with you right now

Brian swallowed.

me either, he typed.

Moving between the living room and the guest room was like moving into another house – another life entirely. The air prickled at his skin, slightly too cool with the encroaching fall. He’d left his window open the night before; gone back to his room, the image of Adore’s shoulders and Bianca’s hand at the turn of her hip burned into his mind. He’d cracked the window and lain on the sheets, thinking, thinking, completely un-fucking-able to stop thinking, staring out the window at the shadows cast by Seattle’s spindly bulk.

Katya’s texts from before had lit the dark of the room with an unfamiliar blue as Brian read them over a third time, a fourth. As his eyes had slipped shut, he’d heard it again, the way Katya’s voice had cracked: it’s not – you don’t just get to have things.

In the late afternoon, now, he hunched over his phone, shoulders up against the silence of the walls. He typed, i’m okay. And then, I don’t know what else to say.

There was a pause. Three inscrutable dots.

i don’t know how you did it, back then, Katya sent. trusted i’d make it through off one emoji and some incredibly unwarranted faith in – idk, fate? god?

You, sent Brian without pause.

He hurt. It was a physical thing, like all the ache inside of him had clawed its way out of the lock-safe of his chest and sunk long nails into his bones, his joints, all the spongy marrow, the nooks and crannies of his body. The way he missed Katya – it was a physical thing.

Dumb, sent Katya.

And, yeah.

i’m tired, he typed. The words came slow, because every letter felt like it cost him something. i feel sick all the time, more than i can blame on a day-old hangover. i miss you. I don’t know what to do.

He stared down at the words in the little text box, sitting idle, deceptively tranquil. His thumb hovered for a beat over the [x] to delete – then he shook his head and sent it off.

Delivered and then Read flickered instantly, followed by the ellipsis of Katya’s typing.

okay, came the answer. okay. thank you for telling me, tracy.

For some reason, the simple, sober seriousness of it made his eyes prickle. He huffed a laugh and rubbed at his nose.

we’re gonna work this out, was the next message, and then he really was tearing up, lashes sticking damply together as he blinked down at his phone.

we’re gonna work this out and it’s all gonna be okay, Katya sent.

thats a lot of optimism from a selfprofessed fatalist, he replied one-handed, wiping at his eyes with the other.

satanist, Katya answered quickly. theyre different things. sometimes.

Brian huffed a laugh, and then, mouth twitching despite himself, typed and sent: oh, you mean some people try to be bipartisatan?

There was a pause.

I, Katya sent.

I can’t even be mad

Im actually relieved

Brian really did laugh then, a sharp bark, and grinned down at his phone, like he could see Katya grinning back from the other side of the words.

The dots returned.

FROM: KATYA - 1:43 PM - Saturday August 30th, 2017

so bianca’s there now? how’s hell’s favourite senior citizen doing

That one Brian screencapped to show to Bianca post-haste.

good, he replied. sounds like she’s taken up throat-singing. seems to be sleeping in adore’s room.

Katya sent back a line of eyes-emojis.

mhm. it’s good though, Brian continued. like a continuous wave of benevolent judgement radiating directly at me. i think that’s healthy. Needed, even.

There was no reply for a minute; Brian kicked his heel gently against the back leg of the bed frame, waiting it out. His gaze drifted to his notebook, open at his side, and the corrections he’d scrawled out that morning. Assonance, meter, rhythm – just because it was honest didn’t mean it could be sloppy. He had his pride, here.

His phone buzzed again. Katya, forever on his wavelength, had sent: i liked your song

And then:

well, for values of liked. I mean – you know.

but it was good. is there more of it?

Lots more – black ink bleeding across faint blue lines, all the shit he’d been not-saying for a year or more condensed into four-four time. A whole fucking mess of a song more.

Yeah, he sent. And then, biting his lip: i’ll have to play it for you sometime.

He looked down at those words on his screen and the flicker of the Read notification, then amended -- i mean. i want to.

i’d like that, Katya replied, followed by a single heart.

Outside the guest room, a guitar picked up again, hesitant at first and then with more confidence. Brian glanced at the door, then out the window at the stretch of grey clouds hanging over the city. He turned and lay down on his side, phone in hand, and scrolled up to the top of the conversation – 1:34 PM, Saturday August 30th – to re-read it from the start.

*

Too late that night, tired but restless, Brian stepped out of the guest room to see faint light on the balcony and a thin haze of smoke. The apartment smelled vaguely sweet; mug in hand, he followed the scent out through the open glass doors, where Bianca was sitting alone, watching a small stick of incense burn. The orange glow at the tip simmered steadily, like a car light on a highway at midnight.

Bianca turned at Brian’s approach. “You’re up late,” he said, tipping his head back to observe Brian as he hovered in the doorway awkwardly.

“Yeah.” Brian jiggled the mug. “Getting some writing done.”

“Yeah? How’s that going?”

“Oh, you know. Slightly less painful than a country doctor pulling teeth. The usual.”

Bianca laughed softly. “C’mere,” he said. “Come sit. Enjoy the night. And this, uh, smelly shit Adore chose to inflict on us.”

“Really? I don’t see her out here,” Brian pointed out. “She bought it, but you lit it, girl.”

Bianca harrumphed, sinking deeper into his nest of blankets. “Well, she’s actually sleeping for once. Someone’s gotta keep the neighbours awake on her behalf.”

(When they’d walked into the magic shop that evening, Bianca’s first words were, “This feels like some white people bullshit.” He’d scanned the place, scowling, while Adore held her hands up to her face and snickered behind them. “No sense of self-preservation, messing with forces they don’t understand. It’s a miracle there’s enough of ‘em still around to plague the rest of us.”

Steph’s first words upon meeting Bianca were, “You look like you need more chamomile in your life.”

“I have some we can share,” Adore had offered; “if you can fuckin’ find it,” Bianca had interjected under his breath.

Adore had dug her elbow into his side. “Don’t be a grump,” she’d said. “I like these white people, man. They sell me crystals.”

Brian, behind them, waved at Steph with weary commiseration.)

Bianca tugged one blanket free from his pile as Brian settled down and passed it over; Brian took it with a nod, hunching his spine against the chill. Fall came faster in Seattle than L.A., like an impatient host ushering a guest out the door. Brian tried hard not to think of the implications of that particular metaphor.

“Let me,” Bianca said, nodding at Brian’s mug, then, when he passed it over, poured half of his own into it. A faint haze of steam rose out of the mug as Brian took it back.

“Thanks,” he said, then choked on his first sip – not because it was hot, but because it was beyond alcoholic. “The fuck is this?” he managed.

“The only cure for the common cold,” said Bianca. “I don’t know. Whatever was in the cupboards. Lemon, chamomile, and a shitload of gin, can you taste it?”

Brian stared at him. “No,” he said. “It’s just a delicate bouquet.”

“Ooh, someone thinks she’s fancy,” said Bianca reproachfully. “You don’t want it, give it back.”

“No, no.” Brian huddled the mug closer to his chest. Bianca’s mouth twitched crookedly.

They drank in silence for a minute. The skies lay heavy and low, weighted with rain; the street was quiet. On the coffee table, the incense was burning down to its stick, the sweet unfamiliar smell drifting on the breeze. Sips two, three, and four of Bianca’s hell brew went better, and a slow warmth began to fill Brian from the inside out. He slumped back into the chair, twisting his feet in the ends of the blanket as he stared out onto the street. The buildings were so obscured by the dark that he could only pick them out in edges and lines, like some monochromatic cubist painting.

“How long do you think you have left here?” said Bianca.

When Brian turned to look, Bianca was watching him – might have been watching him the whole time.

“I’m not asking ‘cause of Adore. Short of insulting her mother or voting for Trump, Adore would let you stay until the oceans rise to swallow this godforsaken hipster port-in-the-storm whole. I’m asking for you – ‘cause I don’t know how much longer you have it in you. Staying. And you’d better have a plan for when you can’t anymore, because otherwise this whole bullshit tangle will just get worse.”

Brian lifted his mug, rested it against his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I know.”

Bianca let him sit a moment longer, then said, “So?”

“Yeah,” Brian said again. He took another sip to steady himself. “I don’t know. Everytime I think I have a handle on what I’m feeling, something else comes up, or something happens, and it’s like I’m back in that moment again – standing in my bedroom in L.A. and realizing I couldn’t do it for another second more.”

Bianca hummed, low and almost soundless in the dark. “And what’s it?”

“The whole – thing. All of it.”

“Narrow that down for me.”

Brian turned and scowled at him. “You know, Adore never gives me this kind of shit.”

“Adore has her own shit. That’s why you never asked her to actually help – you just asked her for a place to stay. You wouldn’t have sat in that chair, and you wouldn’t have said as much as you have, if you didn’t want me to give you shit.”

He held Brian’s gaze steadily until Brian looked away, back down into his mug.

“Yeah,” Brian said.

“Hey,” Bianca said. “You know I wouldn’t push if I didn’t care.” He nudged Brian’s knee with his own. “Don’t repeat that or I’ll deny it.”

Brian laughed, just quietly.

“So,” Bianca said again. “What’s it?”

A siren rang out, somewhere in the distance. Brian took another drink. The clouds overhead cast everything in deep blue shadows; his hands had gone ghostly white and veinless. He wrapped them tighter around the warmth of his mug.

“Everyone wanting something from me,” he said finally, then corrected, “expecting something from me, and feeling like I have to answer to it. All of it, because no two people expect the same thing. That’s not what I fucking signed up for,” he said, volume climbing, then he cut himself off, looking away.

“Isn’t it?” said Bianca impassively.

Brian – snapped.

“I signed up to compete on a dumb-ass game show. I signed up to show my art to the world – I signed up to share what I could do, not who I am. That’s mine. That’s mine and not any other fucking person’s in the world. I didn’t sign up to be grabbed at, told what to do, or told when and where to spill my guts for some strangers’ emotional boners. They can go jerk off to season seven if that’s what they really need. I owe them my work – my best work. I don’t owe them me.”

The mug was shaking in his hands. He breathed, then breathed again, fighting against the band around his chest.

“No,” Bianca said gently. “You don’t.”

Brian opened his mouth, then closed it. It felt like something had dislodged inside of him, something that had been stuck in crooked where it didn’t belong; he couldn’t meet Bianca’s eyes. He looked out at the skyline until his mouth felt less dry and he could speak evenly. “But that’s not how it works.”

Bianca made a questioning noise. “Isn’t it?”

And – for fuck’s sake. “I don’t know. Why don’t you go ask Adore.”

Silence. Brian pressed his lips together, then took another sip of his drink. That was a low blow and he knew it. When he looked back, it was Bianca staring out at the skyline, face unreadable.

“Sorry,” Brian said quietly. And then: “I don’t know how to go back. But this isn’t… this isn’t who I want to be. I didn’t know I could get to this point, not anymore.” He hunched his shoulders. “I’m such a fucking mess.”

“Well,” said Bianca. “Yeah.”

Brian’s mouth twitched. “Thanks, girl.”

They sat in silence for a moment – a new, companionable silence that Brian had never felt with Bianca before, always a little too impressed and in awe to actually relax. He drained the last of his mug and pulled his blanket further up around his shoulders and neck. Sitting with Bianca like this felt like sitting with Adore did, like – like sitting with Shea, or Kim, or Katya, and that made him feel both warm and lonely at the same time.

“You know,” he said abruptly, “Adore has to be one of the – the best fucking people I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not exactly breaking news to me,” said Bianca.

“I’m serious. I show up out of nowhere and she just… lets me stay in her house, tells me it can be for as long as I need – seriously, who does that? For some bitch off the street? Come on. I wouldn’t.”

Bianca rolled his eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic. You’re not some bitch off the street. She liked you before all this, she told me so.”

“But you know what I mean,” Brian insisted. He watched Bianca from heavy, half-lidded eyes – he was either tipsy or half-asleep, and for the fucking life of him he could not have said which.

“I do,” said Bianca. “But – you realize she got something out of it too. Having you here. It’s been good for her.”

“Well,” said Brian, “well, yeah.” He tipped his face over to look at Bianca fully, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth and the way he held the edges of the blankets bundled in his lap, arms crossed to keep them place and hands tucked into his sides for warmth. “She’s lucky to have you. You balance her out – you’re like a rock. Or, I don’t know, some other, less-cliché shit.”

“I can see why you’re such a successful songwriter,” said Bianca.

“Fuck you, you’re the wind beneath her fucking wings.” Bianca laughed, and Brian grinned sleepily. “I mean it. You’re like – you’re so steady. Nothing touches you. That’s what she needs right now.”

(Earlier, he remembered, in the magic shop: the moment where Adore had retreated from the conversation, so smoothly Brian almost hadn’t noticed – eyes going distant and distracted, body closing in on itself. One moment she was there and the next she wasn’t.

And then: the way Bianca had stepped forward, touching a hand to the small of her back. The way Adore had leaned into it. The way Steph hadn’t noticed at all, because Bianca had taken over the conversation completely, buying Adore the moment she needed to get herself together.)

Bianca’s mouth pursed and he looked away.

“Who’s older, you or her?”

“I –” Brian paused. “I don’t know, actually.”

“She makes it easy to forget. And then sometimes I look at her and I feel like she has to be my age. No one that young should look so tired.”

Brian shifted in his seat, unsure of how to respond to the strange tone in Bianca’s voice. “Bitch has good skin.”

Bianca hummed quietly.

“You know,” he said, “you go through things in life and you think, this isn’t so bad. There’s no point in lingering on it because the more time you spend in place, the less time you spend getting yourself out of there. You know? You think, I can handle anything. And then you see someone else go through their own things – someone you care about, someone you love… “ Bianca trailed off. “That’s the real hardship. That’s the shit you can’t push away or push through. Where you learn you aren’t so tough after all.”

Brian swallowed, and thought about Katya.

“It’s not –” Bianca frowned and looked away. “It’s not her fault. But it’s hard.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Brian said again, more forcefully. Bianca looked back,

surprised – then smiled all lopsided, and reached over and squeezed Brian’s forearm.

“Anyone ever told you you’re a sap when you drink, Miss Mattel?”

“Yeah.” Brian looked down at Bianca’s hand, then at his own around his mug. A dozen nights from the past month filled his head, the warm cocoon of a tipsy haze, Katya’s voice in his ear. He had developed this bad habit of repeating hey, I like you, like it was some big secret he was revealing every time. And then Katya would say, smile evident in the timbre of his voice: you’re a sap, Tracy. How many nights?

God, Brian missed him.

He swallowed against the tangle of feelings lodged tightly at the base of his throat. “Is it worth it?”

“Mm?”

“You’re the biggest name there is in our world. You know what I mean. Is it worth it?”

Bianca looked at him, equal parts thoughtful and watchful. Words clustered on Brian’s tongue but he couldn’t get them out: the stress, the loneliness, the bullshit, the distance –

“It can be,” said Bianca after a long moment. “You have to make it worth it, though. Make it yours. Do what you want to do, no more and no less, and make sure that at the end of the day, you have something to come back to.”

*

Brian dreamed of the pier; he woke too early, with gritty eyes and a tightness in his throat, and lay on his side looking out at the heavy grey skies which had persisted through the night. He remembered Steph, the day before:

“You look weathered,” she’d said, while Adore showed Bianca around the store.

“Yeah,” he’d said. “My pores are all oc-cloud-ed.”

She exhaled half a laugh, but looked at him with serious eyes. “So,” she’d said, “how’s that end of the world treating you?”

Seattle outside his window grew lighter but not brighter, the grey pall lying melancholy along its lines. All the colour leached out; that last pretense of summer giving up the fight. Brian shut his eyes against it and fell back asleep.

*

“My uber is downstairs,” Bianca said, chiding, as Adore refused to let go. “Dan.”

Adore sniffled. “Shut your face and let me hug you.”

“My wrinkles are getting deeper by the second, Delano.”

“‘Cause you can’t afford to get a lift done. Shut your face.”

Brian, leaning back against the island that separated the kitchen from the rest of the room, looked down at his hands so he wouldn’t have to see the way Bianca’s mouth twisted, abruptly less than firm.

“Now don’t you two do anything stupid once I’m not around to keep an eye out,” Bianca said a moment later, “and you, don’t you let that one forget to eat, okay?”

Brian glanced up again to find both of them looking at him, Adore with a fond smile halfway there and Bianca with a scowl.

“I eat!” he protested.

“Hmph,” said Bianca.

“Okay, exactly one of us looks like a short brown stick insect, so…”

“Shut up and c’mere,” Bianca said, finally loosening himself from Adore’s clutches, and when Brian hesitated, he came over himself, grasping Brian’s elbows, one then the other, and tugging gently until he folded forward into the waiting hug.

Bianca was warm and steady, and Brian shuddered, just a little. He didn’t know how Adore could let go.

When Bianca was at the door, bags in hand, he paused and looked back at both of them, even though his Uber was waiting (and beginning to honk intermittently.) His gaze flicked from Adore, to Brian, and then back to Adore. Adore made a rough noise. “Text me, dumbass,” she said. “I’ll miss you. Fuck. Get out of my house.”

Bianca laughed, eyes crinkling up at the corners, then waved a little at both of them – like a fucking dork – and disappeared out the door.

Adore slumped back against the couch. She looked both tired and older; but there was something more quiet about her energy than Brian had seen in the past month. He went over to settle beside her, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders gingerly.

She rested her head against his shoulder. He rubbed his thumb against the slope of her arm, absent, then said, “Want to get plastered?”

It was barely noon.

“Yeah,” said Adore. “Fuckin’ slaughtered.”

The rest of the day was… a bit of a blur.

*

Brian woke to a new day, sunlight, a pounding head, and a text from Katya.

LA is more of a sinkhole than i remember, it read. Anxious about fault lines & wishing u were here.

He pressed his face into his pillow and read it again, then again, half a smile creeping onto his face.

The night before was pretty much a shitshow, but he remembered parts here and there; vaguely, he could recall Adore digging her toes into his thigh – she’d been stretched out along the couch, while he’d been tucked into one end, mug of something ungodly held between his hands – and telling him, voice quieter than the night outside, that she’d watched the video. His video, the one he’d deleted from Instagram.

“That’s,” she’d said, slurring a little, “that’s some real shit, dude. Like some real ass shit. That’s not the shit you walk away from.”

But I have, he’d replied, barely even conscious of what he was saying. Lots of times. Katya and me… it’s always been ‘almost’ with us. Almost after almost after almost.

And almosts only count –

“But you want it,” she’d said. “And I know – I know she does too. Dude. I know.”

And what was he supposed to do with that? Did Adore think he hadn’t figured that much out for himself?

Fuck.

He turned over in bed, away from the sunlight, and groaned quietly. It felt like a small animal had fucking died in his mouth. He dragged himself upright on unsteady feet. There was a slight possibility he was still drunk.

Phone in hand, he stumbled out of bed, hitching his boxers up with one hand. The stretch to the door felt like an interminable distance. Water, he thought, get some water, and then back to bed for more sleep, and when I wake up I’ll feel like a person again –

He opened the door.

For one golden moment, everything was still. Then somewhere across the room, something jerked, and Adore gasped, “wait –”

Brian blinked.

Another jerk of movement; a thud; and then his vision cleared, the noonday sun slanting through the apartment easing in his eyes, and he saw Adore staring back at him from the couch, mouth slack, one hand pressing her phone face-down into the coffee table.

“I was –” she stuttered, “– fuck, I was –”

In his hand, Brian’s phone began to vibrate insistently.

“Fuck, Trixie,” Adore said weakly. “I was live.”

Brian stared at her.

People talk about the bottom falling out of your stomach. This wasn’t that. This was walls tumbling outwards, like a card structure when the table under it’s been knocked, the hollow inside of a house revealed to the open air in the shock of a second. This was the walls of his chest split open; fault lines doing what fault lines do.

He pressed a hand behind him at the door, like maybe he could step back into his room and all this would go away.

His phone was still buzzing, continuously now, the noise like a power drill. His mouth was dry as sawdust.

He wasn’t ready. The walls were coming down and he wasn’t fucking ready.