#like yeah it’s not impossible for a teacher to sell drugs

[90smovieolderbrother]

was looking up things about the salamanca twins and i saw someone on reddit say they didn’t like the twins cuz they weren’t realistic. cuz yeah the show breaking bad, the show about a chemistry teacher turned meth dealer, is entirely realistic but two silent cartel assassins is too far fetched.

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 18: Freak

Word Count: 687

Rating: T

Pairing: None

CW: Language

Summary: Why is it that no one knows his name?

@corrodedcoffinfest

Freak.

If he didn’t know the jocks and meatheads called all the guys in the Hellfire Club that, he’d think it was his actual name around school. He heard it far more often than his own name. Did he actually hear his name at all around Hawkins High?

“Mr. Dawson, eyes on your own test.”

That kind of counts as his name, right? Even if it’s only his last name. His brain skims through the memories of the past few weeks and he can’t recall a teacher addressing him beyond that. They knew his name…right?

It’s sure as hell obvious that none of the students do. 

“Hey, uh…”

He knows that vacant look far too well. A look that realizes halfway through the sentence you don’t even know the name of who you’re talking to. 

“You, um…”

“Larry, we’ve been lab partners since the beginning of the year.”

“N-No, no, I know. I know your name. It’s…Grant. You’re Grant.”

No, he is not Grant. 

Why don’t the other Hellfire guys seem to have this problem?

Almost anyone walking these halls, student or staff alike, knows the name “Eddie Munson.” He’s the Hellfire guy, the guitar player, the guy to go to for drugs, the guy who gives improvised grandiose speeches while strutting down the lunch table like it’s a runway. Selling that good shit will get you far with a lot of the dopes around here. For some, the name brings a smile to their face. For most, it earns an eye roll. But at least there’s a reaction to it. 

“Eddie Munson, get down from my desk this instant!”

Gareth is only a junior but it’s not uncommon to hear his name shouted down the hallway in between classes—and not just by his sisters. His older sister is a senior and his younger a freshman, and tons of people in both those years know Gareth’s name. Popularity by proxy of sister isn’t popularity, but when said sisters have their many friends come over to the house, they get to know the brother that many of them weren’t aware existed. Opens a whole new set of doors.

“Gareth! Hey! What was that video game you were telling me about at your house last week?”

It’s impossible to be in the same classroom as Jeff without hearing his name. Teachers dote on him incessantly. He’s their prized pet, always turning homework in on time and always knowing the right answers. He’s not a kiss ass by any means, he just makes the grades and has the charm that draws adults in. That trickles down to the student population, so many of them wanting to know if Jeff will help tutor them or if he understood the homework assignment. He may not have time to be a tutor between Hellfire and Corroded Coffin, but there’s a high chance that he understood the homework.

“Jeff, will you come up to the board and show everyone how to solve this equation?”

Then there’s that fourth member of Corroded Coffin. He plays the bass, right? Yeah, that one. No, he isn’t a loudmouth. No, he doesn’t have popular sisters. No, he isn’t a straight A student. 

But he is important. Luckily, he has friends that remind him of that on a daily basis.

“Hey, Frank!” Eddie calls down the hallway as the guys make their way towards him.

“Dude, look at this leather jacket we found! It was at the thrift store when my sisters dragged me and Jeff there,” Gareth says, brandishing the item.

“It’s your exact size!” Jeff adds. “I remember from when we got our Hellfire shirts.”

Frank grins as Gareth hands the jacket over.

“Holy shit, this thing is so cool.”

“Put it on,” Eddie urges.

Jeff takes the textbook Frank is holding so he can slip into it.

“It looks good on you,” Gareth says, nodding his approval. 

Frank looks around at the three guys in front of him. They’re all genuinely happy as they look at him in his new jacket. He may not be known by everyone, but he’s known by the right people.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Steve’s help (Eddie Munson x Fem!reader)

words: 1,878

Two idiots mastelist

“I want drugs.”

"I'm sorry , don't know what you’re talking about."

The girl rolls her eyes and sighs.

"C'mon, Munson," she complains

He stares at her, then turns his head both ways down the hall, and takes the girl's arm guiding her toward the janitor's closet.

"What's wrong with you?" she removes her arm from his grasp.

Eddie turns on the light and watches the girl with an eye twitch.

"What's wrong with me!?" He repeats. “Tell me, princess, who thought of asking for drugs in the middle of the school hallway?”

Y/N crosses her arms, pretending that the exaggeration in Eddie's voice is unnecessary, when, inside, she beats herself for not considering her stupid actions. In her defense, the simple act of asking for drugs already made her nervous, so it’s inevitable not to think coherently.

She knows he's right, but she doesn't let it ruin her feigned confidence.

“Are you going to sell me the drugs or should I find another supplier?”

The concern that some teacher has heard them disappears and is replaced by curiosity in Eddie’s body. “Oh, wait— Are you serious?”

"Of course I am," she says raising her voice, causing Eddie to raise his hands in defense.

“All right, all right. You don't need to bark, sweetheart,” he frowns. “Yeah, I can help you, but OBVIOUSLY,” he emphasizes the last word, “I can't do it on school grounds.”

“Fine, after class then.”

"Okay."

Y/N reaches for the closet handle, but Eddie stops her.

"What?"

“Before you go— I mean, I’m just curious,” he says, now with a playful smile. “Why does Sheriff Hopper's daughter want to buy drugs?”

Her body tenses. “I'm not going to rat you out, nor is it a trap if that's what you're worried about, Munson,” she replies, speaking quickly.

Eddie can't help but exhale exaggeratedly and put a hand on his chest.

“Well, not gonna lie, that takes a lot of weight off me, but...” now he puts both hands in front of him. "The curiosity in my brain is still vibrating."

"What?" she snorts.

“Is this the thing when the good girl in town, daughter of the Sheriff, is going through a rebellious stage?”

“A— a what? I— what? No!” She stutters “I-is. It's not of your bussiness, Munson!" She blushes.

Eddie lets out a laugh at her reaction.

“Relax, there's no shame in any of that, princess,” he smiles, “if the first step is drugs, I can give you some advice, classes,” he winks. “Besides providing you with good quality for a beginner.”

"Whatever, I'll see you later," she says and once again, she tries to leave, but Eddie stops her again. "What!?"

“Just one more thing” Eddie gets closer to her. "If you get to the second step, where you want to go out with the bad boy to piss off daddy, I'm willing to help you out," he smiles.

***

"That's bullshit."

"Yeah, I don't think it's true either," adds Robin.

“Okay, I mean, we know better than anyone about the lies they tell on the news,” Steve says as he sets up some movies on the counter.

“But?” questions Y/N.

"But," Steve makes a face. "It's Eddie the freak Munson"

“I already told you not to call him that,” she rolls her eyes.

"Fine, I just think that he's weird."

“Steve, we are all weird.”

"That's deep," says Robin pointing to her friend.

“What I mean—” Steve says, but Y/N cuts him off.

“No, Harrington. I know Eddie, he’d never do something like that."

"Y/N, he's a drug dealer."

“And my friend,” she replies.

“And her biggest crush,” adds Robin.

“Shut up!” complains Y/N blushing.

"Now, I still can't believe that," says Steve.

“Please, stop,” Y/N growls “The thing is, Eddie is innocent and besides,” she leans against the counter and looks down. “I mean, Chrissy Cunningham? Eddie has liked her since we were kids. It's impossible,” she looks back at his friends.

Y/N feels the same discomfort in her chest that she felt when Eddie ran to her with the best news of his life; he told her about the meetings he'd had with the cheerleader without it ending in disaster… until now.

“Oh, unrequited love,” Robin sighs dramatically. “A murder and a misunderstanding. How poetic.”

"Shut up, Robin," Y/N scowls.

***

"Eddie, put the bottle down."

The boy recognizes the voice and looks towards the others. As soon as his eyes connect with Y/N's, he drops the bottle and runs towards her. Without thinking twice, he hugs her. She reciprocates feeling Eddie's body tremble.

"I didn't do it," Eddie mumbles.

“I know,” she replies.

“I swear, Y/N,” he ​​continues breaking away from the hug. “I-I don't know what happened, but I didn't hurt Chrissy.”

"Eddie," the girl interrupts him by cupping his cheeks. "It's okay, we believe you. We're here to help you. It's okay. I'm here with you, Eds"

He nods and hugs her again.

***

"I'm so glad that you're here," Eddie says with genuine relief.

The girl finishes eating and looks at him with a smile.

"I'm glad I could find you."

He nods and sighs. Y/N watches him closely.

"Everything will be fine, Eds," she says seeing his anguished expression.

"You don't really know that."

"Eddie—"

"No— I..." he insists, "I know your intentions are good, but, let's face it, we can't beat all of Hawkins."

"We don't have to fight them."

“You know what I mean. It's our words againts theirs."

"No, it's their gossip shit against the truth, and the truth is that you're innocent," she sentences.

"But—"

“No buts. I promise that I'm going to do everything I can to help you. I won't let them put you in jail."

Eddie analyzes her words, then he just nods. "Yeah, yeah, okay," he sighs.

They are both silent for a few minutes.

"Damn it, I know it's not the moment," Eddie licks his lips and smiles. "But you sounded just like your dad," he laughs.

“I know,” she growls, “I felt it too.” She sighs heavily. “He would know what to do...”

Eddie makes a face and takes Y/N's hand.

“No offense, but your dad hates me and he does have real reasons to do it. Do you think he would be on our side?”

Y/N laughs. "He doesn't hate you"

“Noup, don't try to fix it, sweetheart. I mean, if I found my teenage daughter in the back of a truck, getting high with a guy who has a bad reputation...” he cocks his head. “Hmm. Yeah, I would hate myself too,” she laughs again at the memory. “Or how about the time he found us in your room. You in your underwear, and me with one of your bras covering my eyes...” they both laugh.

“Everything was out of context,” adds Y/N.

"Wait, how can you say he doesn't hate me after he hit me the night of the winter dance?"

“Hey! Another misunderstanding,” she complains, “I came home crying because of Jason's stupid words about me.”

“Yeah,” Eddie snorts, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, but your dad opened the door and punched me,” he says massaging his cheek as if it still hurts.

"He thought you made me cry," she nods. "But then he apologized," she points out.

"Yeah," he laughs again. "What more could I ask for from the sheriff of Hawkings?"

"He'll be on our side, Eddie. Despite his dislike for you and his problems with me,” she says nudging his shoulder. “I’m sure that, as soon as the others find him, he will seek the truth and help you.”

Eddie sighs and takes the girl's hand, lacing their fingers together. After a moment of silence, the Walkie Talkie turns on. Steve's voice calls for them.

“Is everything ok over there?”

The girl rolls her eyes and picks up the device.

“Yes Steve. We're good. The same good as we were when you ask ten minutes ago.”

Eddie laughs.

"Hey, I'm just making sure that you're fine!" Steve complains.

“Yeah, I get it, mama bear,” replies Y/N knowing Steve's true intentions for calling them every 10 minutes.

Some noises are heard followed by Steve complaining.

"I'm sorry guys," says Robin. "Steve still doesn't understand what 'emergency only' means" noises of a struggle are heard again.

"Robin, they’re alone in a cabin, what do you think they can do?" Steve says ignoring the fact that Eddie and Y/N can still hear him. The girl can't help but blush and the boy's laugh doesn't help her much.

“Why does that matter? They're hiding from the police, this is serious, idiot. Also do you think your voice on a walkie talkie is going to stop them if they were doing something?” Robin answers.

"Oh my god..." complains Y/N.

“Maybe,” continues Steve. “And, c’mon, you think about that possibility too. I don't think Y/N’s dumb enough not to take advantage of being alone with her biggest crush in life."

“GUYS!” yells Y/N, pressing the talkie’s button.

"Shit— Wait, was this on?!" Steve asks.

"YES!"

"Well done idiot!" says Robin.

“Stop scolding me!”

“Give me that—” says a third voice and the communication ends.

"I swear I'll kill them when we're done," says Y/N massaging her temples.

Hearing no sign of Eddie, she turns to see him. She frowns at her friend's gone expression.

“Eds?” He doesn't answer. "Shit," she groans moving to kneel in front of Eddie. “Eddie, what Steve said, um— it's not true, it's just a joke."

Eddie's eyes finally meet hers, then drop to her lips. He knows she's talking, but the words 'her biggest crush' keep running through his mind. Instead of concentrating on what the girl is saying, he thinks about how soft her lips must be. Eddie can't help but think back to all the times he fantasized about kissing his friend, but always cowardly stopped being unsure of—

“Wait,” Eddie shakes his head. Y/N stops talking. “Fuck.” He whispers before kissing her.

Any other concern disappears. Eddie grabs Y/N by the waist and pulls her against his body, sitting her on his lap.

"Yeah, this makes sense," whispers Eddie a little stunned.

"What?"

"Only this can happen to me," he caresses her cheek. "Just when all of Hawkings is chasing me, I discover that the girl of my dreams feels the same way about me," he smiles lopsidedly.

"The girl of your dreams?" she whispers.

“I think we've both been blind, sweetheart,” they both laugh.

“You know what?” says Y/N and sighs. "You're right, this makes sense— that Steve was impulsive enough to be the one to confess my feelings..."

She kisses him again.

“Now that I got you in my arms,” says Eddie lowering his lips, leaving a trail of kisses towards Y/N's neck. He hits a sensitive spot that elicits a slight moan. "Shit, does this mean I can listen to those sweet sounds whenever I want?"

Y/N laughs blushing. "Don't be cocky, Munson."

"Oh, Darling. I've waited a long time for this moment, I have the right to be cocky."

"Do you think she's mad at me?" Steve's voice is heard through the walkie talkie.

“For the love of God, Steve, give me that!"

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

The Magical Word of JKR

In this post, I want to point out all the inconsistencies of the world that JKR has created. Some of us had been worshiping her for so long. But JKR made mistakes, not only outside her world, but inside.

Owls for muggleborns. Sending a letter through an owl seems to be something common in The Wizarding World. But why do children with a muggle background need to go back in time and use them when they could use a phone? Why can't students use any muggle technology? I know wizards are anti muggle and magic does not allow these devices to function at Hogwarts, but why not?

Drunk portraits. How could portraits get drunk? Did artists paint vessels and digestive systems for them too? How can they bleed? They are portraits with voices and personality based on real people yeah. But they are not alive. They don’t bleed or get drunk.

The trace. Wizards under 17 aren’t supposed to do magic outside Hogwarts. But The Ministry doesn’t seem to control this by which wand did it. But by location. Since Dobby did magic in the Chamber of Secrets, and they blamed Harry for it. So, what happens with pureblood kids? They are allowed to use magic outside school because their families are supposed to, so they wouldn’t trace them. So it seems unfair for muggleborns not to be able to practice magic. Since they are the only members of their family that would do it.

Hogwarts being the only school. There is only one school in all Britain for magical people. Yet there seems to be very few students when there should be a lot. And it doesn’t make sense that Hogwarts is the only choice. Or Hogwarts, or homeschooling.

I don’t understand the population of Magical Folks. It seems little because most of the wizarding families are known. There are only 28 pureblood famous families. They even practise inbreeding, they are all related. But why is that, if the wizard gene is dominant? There are more half bloods and muggleborns than squibs. So the magical population should be as large as the muggle one, even more.

Hogwarts Houses are cool. But the way kids are sorted doesn’t make sense. They get sorted when they are eleven. Seems pretty young to me to form traits and criteria that might change as they grow. Also, let’s say 100 kids enter Hogwarts one year. They won’t be sorted equally 25/25/25/25. Because according to personalities and traits, there could be 60 Gryffindors and 10 Ravenclaws, and 4 Slyhterins, and 25 Hufflepuffs. What if one year, there are no Slytherins for example?

Also, sharing a dorm, common room and classes with people from your same house (same personality and traits) seems boring and unhealthy. Having friends with different personalities, traits and beliefs should help you grow and mature. Sometimes friendships are built between two opposite people. And separating houses, forces students to just hang out with people from their houses, not others.

Love potions. These are the wizarding equivalent of drugs. Think about it. Forcing someone to show love for you is very much like drugging someone and forcing them to do stuff against their will. Love potions can permit things like raping. Something that happened to Tom Sr. by Merope. It is horrible. Yet the wizarding world permits their selling and consumption without a problem. And what’s worse, they teach how to brew it in school to children! A potion like that shouldn’t be allowed or taught.

Azkaban being the only punishment. It seems whether you are a dangerous criminal like a mass murderer or just someone that stole something once, you get the same punishment. Azkaban. An inhumane place where dementors live, and make prisoners go insane, live their worst nightmares or suck their soul. Even characters who were under the imperius curse like Stanley Shunpike. Or even The Marauders would’ve gone to Azkaban if their animagus secret was discovered. No matter what your crime is, always the worst punishment: Azkaban.

Wizards hiding from muggles. The Statue of Secrecy in the Wizarding World seems to be important. But I may ask, how can wizards hide from muggles if they don’t know anything about them? Pureblood Wizards don’t have a clue how muggles live, behave, dress, talk. Not even Arthur Weasley who works in that Department. Yet they want to be unnoticed by muggles? For example, each time a wizard dresses like a muggle they do it wrong, using colorful clothes. Wouldn’t it be suspicious? Like even Vernon sees people in cloaks in book 1, celebrating. Also, if there are a lot of muggleborns, shouldn’t more muggles know about wizards?

It is totally inhumane to just obliviate muggles each time they see something. That spell should have some consequences in their brains. Like for example, Hermione’s parents must’ve had mayhem after their minds were modified.

Memories in pensieves are not supposed to be accurate. Memories are from our point of view. From the perspective of people who lived that memory. When Harry sees Snape’s memories or Bob Ogden’s memories, they seem to be clear. Harry can see Bob and Snape in those memories when they should be seen through their eyes, they are their memories. How could Snape remember himself, see himself. You get my point? Also, memories are subjective, not objective. We remember what impacted us the most, we forget about details we don’t care about. There are feelings involved.

Not having another education after Hogwarts. You graduate from Hogwarts at eighteen. Eighteen! And you're supposed to have figured out what you want to do for the rest of your life. Why aren’t there Wizard Universities? Wizards only have 7 years of education and that’s all. Nothing before, nothing after (unless you’re muggleborn). Seems that the wizard community doesn’t care about education that much. With only seven years of education, are you suddenly prepared for the rest of your life? I don’t think so.

Adding to the last point, wizards only teach about magic. What about math, wouldn’t they need it to count their money, or take care of their finances? What about English, spelling, grammar? Not every kid had the privilege to be homeschooled by their parents before. What about Sex Ed? I think it is important for teens that age to be careful with their sex lives.

Quidditch being the only sport in the wizarding world. Quidditch is cool, I get it. But it is not for everyone. Seems that if you want to be a sports person in the wizarding world, you only have that option. Either you like Quidditch or nothing.Shouldn’t there be other sports? In the muggle world we have tons: football, basquet, tennis, swimming, running, etc.

Love protection is not common. Lily sacrificed herself for Harry. She died for him and that love protection saved his life. Why is Harry the only one to experience it? Is it because of the prophecy? I mean Lily is not the only one who has sacrificed herself for love. Not in the story, not in History. Then why aren’t there more people with lighting scars walking around?

Why don’t wizards cure things with magic like eyesight? They have a potion that grows bones back. But they cannot cure Harry’s eyesight? And don’t say that it is because eyes are connected to the soul, that’s a lame excuse. In the muggle world, eyesight can be cured with surgery.

Hogwarts Express. Yeah, we all wanted to ride the train to Hogwarts. It is part of the experience right? But what if you live in Scotland already? Why bother traveling to London to King Cross Station to take a train if you already live there? It seems like a waste of time. Is there a provided transport for kids who live in Scotland? What about those who don't live in London? What if Scotland is nearer to them than King Cross?

Ghosts. They shouldn’t exist. It is not very well explained how you become a ghost. But it doesn’t make sense that they exist and yet many characters died and didn’t become one.

Discrimination against magical creatures. We know how magical creatures are seen in the Wizarding World. Discrimination exists. But the problem is that Jkr never does anything to fix this.Not with werewolves, not with half giants, surely not with house-elves. The only issue that the war solved was the discrimination against muggleborns.

And house-elves liking their slavery is problematic. It is saying that slavery is right as long as the victim accepts it. She created S.P.E.W and never properly addressed the issue.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous, yet students have detention there. Dumbledore says at the beginning of each year that the Forest is out of bounds. So why would you send students to detention there, Dumbles? Also, building a school near a forest full of dangerous beasts: werewolves, acromantulas, centaurs, seems kind of risky for children. Not every child obeys the rules. Look at the Marauders spending every full moon there.

How did Hagrid come to be? Hagrid is half giant. Meaning that his father is human, his mother is a giant… Ehemm… Excuse me, but how do you have sex with a giant? That’s physically impossible. How does Hagrid exist?

Male veelas? We are only introduced to female veelas in the Wizarding World. Veelas are these beautiful women that men feel attracted to, they seem in trance by their beauty, and they are not responsible for their actions. It seems to me that JKR is saying that men should not be accountable for their actions when they see a pretty girl, because it is her fault? Pretty feminist, JKR. Also, veelas are dangerous creatures. How do humans procreate with them and have half veelas or a quarter of a veela? Are there male veelas too?

Teachers not having spouses or kids. It is a stupid stereotype that teachers are sad non social people, who are only teaching because they don’t have a choice. Like they are allowed to have social lives, date, get married and have children, right? Name one Hogwarts teacher who is married with kids. They all seem pretty single. And I get it, being single is not a bad thing. But all of them being single just because they are teachers in a boarding school? Just because it was convenient to the author? Only McGonagall married once, but her husband died a few years after.

Abusive teachers. Speaking of teachers, why would Hogwarts allow incompetent teachers that are abusive (Snape), and or are dangerous for kids. None DADA teacher had teaching experience before. And since there is no further education than Hogwarts, how do teachers get prepared for the job? Teaching is not about knowing a lot of stuff about the subject, but knowing how to treat children.

Muggle vs Wizard music. What is the difference between muggle and wizard music? I never understood that. Is it the fact that wizards play music with magic? If so, why would instruments exist? Why would they play instruments? If anyone can make a spell to produce music, then anyone can be a musician. The only difference that I find is that wizard music has wizard related lyrics. Which is a stupid difference. Wizards could write songs about muggles. Muggles could write songs about wizards.

Secret Keeper. The Fidelius Charm should be a spell to hide yourself from others if you are in danger. Period. There shouldn’t be such a thing as a secret keeper. Why? Why would someone else need to know the place you are hiding? James and Lily shouldn’t have trusted anyone with their location. Not even Sirius. Not even someone they trusted, because Sirius or anyone could’ve died and passed the secret to the others. Like, it doesn’t make any sense. And also, how could Bill and Arthur be their own secret keepers but not James and Lily?

Magical therapists. Healers seem to cure physical maladies or illness pretty fine, but what about mental health? And I am not talking about mental problems because of magic. Like Frank, Alice, Lockheart whose minds were affected by spells. I’m talking about mental illnesses such as depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, adhd, ptsd, trauma etc. Don’t tell me wizards don’t suffer that. What about Remus, Sirius, Harry? Who treats these things in the wizarding world?

Time Turner. Only exists for the plot. Otherwise it is useless, stupid and confusing. Time traveling confuses the mind. Also, we don’t exactly know how it works. Is it a domino effect? Do the things you do back in time affect the present? They should. Or does it create different timelines, like it is said in Cursed Child? Also, why not use time turners for important situations? For example, save important people from dying, go back to check events of a crime and see if they are true.

Veritaserum. Wizards have a truth potion and they won’t use it. They should use it on trials to take the truth out of criminals, to see if the accusants are innocent or not. They should’ve used it on each member of the Order to find out who the spy was. They should’ve used it to discover who was the Slytherin heir when the Chamber was opened. They should’ve used it on Harry when he came back from the Graveyard to prove Voldemort was back. Why would that shit exist anyway?

Incest families. Pureblood families, or at least some of them are supposed to practise inbreeding. But if you look at the Black Family Tree, the only Black-Black marriage is between Orion and Walburga. Just one. And even if this was the case, shouldn’t this inbreeding have consequences? I don’t know if it’s the magical gene or what but The Blacks and Malfoys seem pretty fine.

If you know more and you want to add them, feel free to do so. This is a critique to improve this word and fandom ourselves. Even JKR's world is cool and wonderful, it is full of flaws that we need to speak about.

[silversatoru]

hot chocolate

megumi x yuuji 

synopsis: megumi’s days get a little less boring when yuuji starts stopping by his coffee shop 

tags/warnings: fluff, college au!, coffee shop au!, characters are aged up, making out, swearing

word count: 3780

The whipped cream bottle whizzed and sputtered, the scarce remains of its contents flying all over the counter. Megumi stifled a few cuss words under his breath, silently cursing whoever finished the whipped cream and didn't replace it with a new one. He tossed it in the garbage and drug himself into the back of the shop in search of a fresh bottle. He was only two hours into his shift at his university's coffee shop, but it had easily been the longest two hours of his life. Midterms were this week, meaning every student on campus was stopping by for some extra caffeine to get through their day.

When he finally returned with his new container of whipped cream, the line of students had nearly doubled — what a hassle. He threw a quick, fluffy spiral of cream onto the drink he'd been working on and gave it to the customer, apologizing for the wait. He shoved the money into the old cash register and handed them their change, a small sigh leaving his lips as the next customer approached.

It was an athletic looking boy with pink spiky hair and a round face. He wore a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants, and his rose-colored hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. Megumi didn't recognize him, which was weird because he had a knack for memorizing the faces of every student who walked in and out of the shop.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?" Megumi spoke in his signature monotone voice, too tired to add any customer service flare.

"I'm not sure," The boy stared up at the menu with a terribly confused expression on his face.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Megumi stared at the boy like he had two heads — he'd been waiting in line for at least ten minutes and he still hadn't decided?

"Well, I don't actually like coffee. So, I'm not sure what to get," he stated bluntly.

"If you don't like coffee, why did you come to a coffee shop. We literally only sell coffee," Megumi deadpanned.

"Well, I want to try and force myself like coffee — acquire the taste, you know? For the caffeine and stuff. Maybe you could recommend me a drink?"

"Uh... yeah sure. I'll just make you what I usually get," Megumi had to forcibly stop himself from rolling his eyes at the customer.

"Okay, great!" The pink-haired student called after him as he walked over to the array of coffee machines.

Megumi grabbed a cup for hot beverages, sliding it under the latte machine and filling the it with the warm brown liquid. He stirred in some oat milk and a drizzle of honey before topping it off with a layer of cream. He made his way back over to the peculiar customer and carefully handed him the drink.

"It's a honey oat milk latte," Megumi stated plainly.

"I'm not even sure what a latte is, but thank you!" His lips twisted into a toothy smile as he handed Megumi his debit card.

The dark-haired boy swiped his card through then machine and finished the transaction before returning it to the boy, "Have a nice day".

"Thanks, you too! My name is Itadori Yuuji by the way, it was nice to meet you...," he squinted his eyes in attempt to read Megumi's name badge, "Fushiguro! That's a cool name".

"Uh, thanks. I have to help the next customer now," Megumi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly — this whole interaction was so weird.

"Oh, right. Thank you again!" He called out as he turned and left the shop.

Megumi found it impossibly hard to concentrate on his job after that. For some reason his mind was consumed by his interaction with Itadori Yuuji — the peculiar pink-haired student. He found himself still thinking about it later that night, even after working all morning and attending classes all afternoon. No amount of school work was able to distract his mind from this stupid new boy.

When he woke up the next morning and slipped on his apron before heading to work, he wondered if the pink-haired boy would be back again today. He searched all morning for a head of fluffy pink hair amongst the hoards of students, but he never came.

Around ten o'clock the coffee shop always dies down, as all the students and teachers are in class. Megumi leaned back against the counter and pulled out his phone, mindlessly scrolling through twitter while he waited for a customer to show up.

The golden bells hanging from the front door emitted a soft ringing sound, signaling that someone had entered the shop. Megumi looked up to see a baggy sweatshirt and messy pink hair, and for some reason his heart jumped.

"Hey, Fushiguro!" Yuuji's face was plastered with a bright smile.

Megumi scrunched up his nose, it was weird for the boy to call him by his name — they didn't even know each other.

"Hey, how was the honey oat milk latte?" Megumi slid his phone back into his pocket and approached the counter.

"Oh, it was terrible. Fucking awful, actually," Yuuji's faced scrunched up in horror as he reminisced on the atrociously bitter flavor.

Megumi was genuinely offended. Yuuji could have told him he was the ugliest person he'd ever seen, that he had the personality of a brick wall, but to insult his coffee? That was crossing a line. Megumi knew his coffee-making skills were impeccable.

"Excuse me?" Was all he could manage.

"Yeah, it was probably one of the worst things I've ever put in my mouth. Anyway, I was hoping to try something different today," Yuuji said nonchalantly, his hands resting comfortably in the pocket of his hoodie.

"Okay..." Megumi took a deep breath, trying desperately to keep his cool, "What would you like to try?"

"Could you just make something for me again? I really don't know what to order".

"But you hated my last recommendation," Megumi stared at him blankly.

"Yeah... but eventually you'll have to make something I like," Yuuji insisted.

Megumi grumbled a quick "alright" and headed back over to the machinery, searching his mind for a recipe Yuuji might like. Eventually, he decided on a caramel macchiato — everyone likes those. He handed Yuuji the drink and the pink haired boy quickly payed before leaving the shop again.

Megumi watched him as he walked past the coffee shop windows and took a sip of his drink. The pink haired boy's face twisted with disgust, and he looked like he could barely keep the liquid down. He immediately took another sip, his body having the exact same reaction as the first time. Megumi let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he watched that absolute idiot until he could no longer see him.

He continued to refer to Yuuji as stupid, weird, or annoying, but that was completely contradictory to the fact that he couldn't get the pink-haired boy out of his mind. He found himself wondering if he would come back again for a third time, and if he did, what drink would Megumi make him? A small part of him was getting invested in this outlandish journey of finding a drink that Yuuji actually liked.

That night Megumi had a revelation — maybe hot coffee just wasn't Yuuji's thing. He decided that tomorrow he'd make him something cold, that was sure to work.

So, when the third day rolled around and Yuuji's messy pink hair came waltzing into the campus coffee shop, Megumi made him an iced cinnamon dolce latte. This time though, Yuuji followed him over to the array of coffee machines, asking him questions about how coffee was made. Megumi found himself explaining the entire process, from how the coffee is brewed to what sweeteners and creams he was adding to this particular beverage. He was honestly appalled by his own actions, he would never put in this kind of effort for any of his other customers — so what made Yuuji so different?

"So, what's your major?" Yuuji questioned while Megumi dusted some cinnamon over the top of his drink.

"Biology with a minor in veterinary technology," Megumi answered without looking up at him, snapping the plastic lid onto the coffee cup.

"Ohhh somebody's smart," Yuuji mused, "Animals, huh?"

"Yeah, they don't talk as much as people do," Megumi said, only half-joking.

"Right? People can be so annoying sometimes," Yuuji shook his head.

Megumi found his lips cracking into the tiniest smile — how ironic and blissfully unaware this boy was. He seemed to truly live life without a care in the world.

"What's yours?" Megumi asked, finally stretching out his arm and handing the pink-haired boy his iced coffee.

"Oh, sports med," Yuuji responded, his nose scrunching up as he took the first sip of his drink.

That answer didn't surprise Megumi at all, given the boy's athletic physique it was obvious he was into that sort of thing. The poor reaction to Megumi's coffee didn't surprise him either — this endeavor to find him a drink he likes is proving to be futile.

"Not good?"

"So bad," Yuuji shook his head, his eyes filled with despair and disgust, "We'll find one eventually though!"

"Maybe," Megumi didn't know it, but his face softened when he talked to Yuuji, his shoulders fell and his jaw unclenched.

There was so something so simple and calming about conversing with that strange boy.

"Well, thanks anyway! See you tomorrow Fushiguro!" His voice rung out through the shop — he really had no volume control when he spoke.

Megumi found himself watching Yuuji through the windows until he could no longer see him again —this was becoming a bad habit.

When the rush of students on their way to morning classes finally died down, one of his coworkers approached him.

"Sweet cream?" The boy questioned him, one of his eyebrows raised in suspicion.

His coworkers name was Inumaki Toge, and he was deaf and mute — selectively mute, anyway. He only communicated in words related to coffee, which was entirely too strange for most people, but Megumi didn't mind.

The two of them had been friends since Megumi first got this job two years ago. They'd even created their own communication system — Toge would talk in coffee terms, which translated to certain things that really only Megumi understood. Then, the dark-haired boy would respond in sign language, a skill he learned just so he could talk to the boy. It broke his stone-cold heart when he first started working here and saw Toge was always alone in the back of the shop. Most students didn't have the time or energy to learn a whole new language for the sake of someone they didn't know, but Megumi decided to put in the effort.

Megumi rolled his eyes, signing that no, he and the pink-haired boy were not friends.

"Americano," Toge furiously crossed his arms over his chest, accusing Megumi of lying to him.

I'm not lying! He's been coming here the past few days for coffee. I don't know why he talks to me so much, Megumi quickly signed back, his eyes narrowed at the white-haired boy.

Toge rolled his eyes at him in the hardest, most exaggerated way possible.

He's just a customer Toge, don't look at me like that, Megumi folded his fingers into the different signs, his frustration towards the mute boy growing.

"Espresso," Toge mumbled under his breath, twisting and returning to his spot at the back of the shop where would grind coffee beans and restock their shelves.

What? You're out of your fucking mind Toge. I do not like him, he's just a regular customer, Megumi angrily signed at him, but it was to no use, as the deaf boy had already turned around and was paying him no mind.

Their conversation lingered in his head for the remainder of the day though, because maybe Toge was onto something. Megumi was terrified to admit it, but Yuuji's daily visits had quickly become the best part of his day, even if he was kind of annoying.

And it continued to be the best part of his day for the next few weeks. Yuuji would come to the shop everyday and they would make pointless small talk while Megumi brewed him new drinks to try. Not a single one ever suited his palate, but he continued to return none the less. His motives were becoming questionable at this point — was he still coming for the coffee, or had this turned into something much bigger?

So, when winter break was right around the corner, and the last day of classes began, Megumi wondered what his days would be like when he didn't have their daily interactions to look forward to.

It was especially snowy today — enough to dust the ground and freeze the air, but not enough for classes to get canceled. Bundled students trudged in and out of the shop, buying coffees and hot chocolates in attempt to keep themselves warm. Their was an excited energy in the air though, it seemed everyone was thrilled for fall semester to be over — everyone except Megumi.

His heart skipped a few beats when Yuuji's familiar soft face appeared in the door.

"Hey, Megumi!" He called out, waving his had furiously through the air.

Somehow they had transitioned to a first name basis about a week ago — the dark-haired boy wasn't even sure how it happened but he certainty didn't mind it.

"Hey, you want something warm or cold today?"

"Definitely warm," Yuuji answered quickly, a shiver coursing its way through his body.

Megumi nodded, getting to work on something that he was sure Yuuji would like.

"Are you visiting family over break?" Yuuji wasted no time addressing their winter-break dilemma.

"No," Megumi shrugged his shoulders, he was one of the very few students who never went home on holidays.

"No family to visit. I live in an off-campus apartment so I just stay here over breaks".

Megumi expected Yuuji to frown, maybe even show him some pity for his unfortunate situation, but he did the complete opposite instead. He lips spread into the widest smile, and he swore he saw him jump in excitement.

"Me too! I used to visit my grandfather, but he died a couple years ago. My holidays have been pretty lonely".

Megumi looked up at him, a bewildered expression on his face. Who could have known that someone as cheerful as Yuuji was carrying such a burden?

"Where do you live? Maybe we could hang out over break," the pink-haired boy cocked his head to the side.

"Second street," Megumi answered, filling Yuuji's cup with steaming brown liquid.

He certainly wasn't opposed to the idea of seeing Yuuji more often, but it scared him just as much as it excited him.

"I live on Third! I can't believe we haven't run into each other before," Yuuji gasped.

Megumi wordlessly finished up the hot drink, subtly scribbling his address and his phone number onto the coffee label while the other boy blabbed on about how close they lived. When he was done he held it out to him, the pink-haired boy reaching out with his mitten-covered hands to take the drink.

He took a small sip and his eyes sparkled like they held the stars inside of them.

"This is so good! What kind is it?" Yuuji asked, eagerly taking another sip and inevitably burning his tongue on the hot beverage.

"Hot chocolate," Megumi spoke plainly, "I've come to the conclusion that it's impossible for you to like coffee".

"You're probably right," Yuuji nodded, "I think I'm more of a hot chocolate guy".

"No, you're a child with immature taste in drinks," Megumi scrunched up his nose.

Yuuji faked offense, and then held up his hand and attempted to flip Megumi off through his mitten — but it didn't really work.

That's when he noticed the dark-haired boy's phone number and address scribbled on the side of his cup. A light blush dusted over his cheeks and he offered Megumi a warm smile.

"I'll see you around!" He called.

A thousand butterflies flew around Megumi's stomach as he watched the boy leave and walk down the snowy sidewalk. What the hell kind of cheesy hallmark movie was his life turning into?

"Americano," Toge's accusatory voice shook Megumi out of his trance.

Okay fine, maybe I'm a liar. Fuck off, Megumi signed at him, to which the deaf boy chuckled to himself.

                                                             ☃

It was Christmas Eve now, and classes had ended a few days ago. Megumi checked his phone obsessively, but a text from Yuuji never appeared. He started to doubt that the boy actually meant what he said about wanting to hang out — maybe he was just being nice and Megumi had taken it the wrong way. He couldn't help but feel disappointed, no matter how much he wished he didn't care. He'd even taken a container of the coffee shops' hot chocolate powder for Yuuji. He planned on gifting it to him, because he had liked it so much.

So, when six o'clock at night rolled around and there was still no sign of the cheery pink-haired boy, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Who knew he was so invested in this idiot?

A light knock on his front door pulled him out of his thoughts, and his heart leaped into his throat. He peered through the small peep hole of his door and euphoria spread through his body — the stupid, spiky-haired boy had finally arrived.

He opened the door and Yuuji immediately blushed, his eyes wide as he looked around Megumi's apartment.

"Hi," He squeaked, "Sorry I didn't text or anything".

"It's okay," He ushered the boy inside and closed the door behind him.

"I stopped at a convenience store and bought some cookie dough. I thought we could make them, since yanno, it's a Christmas Eve thing".

Megumi found his own cheeks get warm at the other boy's forwardness. Baking cookies felt so familial, not like something you'd do with a coffee shop acquaintance. But none the less, he nodded his head and guided Yuuji into the kitchen.

The awkwardness between them quickly melted away as they rolled out the dough and attempted to cut out fun Christmas-themed shapes. Megumi chewed on his bottom lip as he focused on the intricate snowflake cookie was trying to make, his perfectionism getting way too involved. Yuuji on the other hand held up a half-smushed blob with a few spikes coming out of the top and two holes punched through the middle.

"It's you!" he laughed, holding his monstrosity of a cookie up for Megumi to see.

The dark-haired boy scoffed, "That's terrible, it looks nothing like me".

"Sorry, Mr. I'm smart and good at art. Are you sure you're not a sculpting student or something?" Yuuji stuck his nose in the air, carefully placing his Megumi cookie on the greased metal tray.

They each cut out a couple more shapes before the oven let out a loud ding to let them know it was preheated. Megumi picked up the tray and shuffled over to the oven, carefully placing it on the top rack. He closed the door before standing up and turning around — bumping right into Yuuji, who for some reason was standing right behind him. They were the exact same height, so Megumi's nose practically slammed into Yuuji's. He blushed furiously, quickly backing up into the counter.

"Sorry," he mumbled a quick apology, though Yuuji had been the one standing right behind him, so maybe he should apologize.

"Can I ask you a question?" Yuuji cocked his head to the side, completely ignoring Megumi's apology.

"Sure?" Megumi gave him a confused look.

"This is more than just two coffee shop friends hanging out, right? You can kick me out if I'm wrong, but if I'm right, I'd really like to kiss you while those cookies bake".

Megumi's eyes widened, his heart thumping hard against the walls of his chest. Of course he wanted to kiss Yuuji, he'd wanted to for weeks — it was all he thought about while he brewed him his stupid coffees everyday.

"Yeah... yeah, you're right," Megumi nodded, those few words were all that he could manage.

That clarification was all that Yuuji needed, a soft smile blossoming on his face before he stepped forward and cupped his fingers around the back of Megumi's neck. Heat spread through his face as their lips collided, every other one of his senses fading away as his body honed in on Yuuji's touch.

He'd been kissed before, several times by both men and women — but none of them compared to this. None of them were this gentle, soft, and electrifying all at the same time. Yuuji's fingers curled into the base of Megumi's hair, and he found his own hands tracing up the sides of the others' torso. He was completely drowning in the ocean that was Yuuji's lips, his mind growing foggy. He'd imagined what this would be like far too many times, but never once did he think it would be this good.

The ten minute timer Megumi had set on the oven started blaring through the kitchen, and he couldn't believe it had been that long already. A soft sigh escaped his throat as Yuuji pulled away, a smile tugging at the other's lips.

"I didn't expect so much experience from the quiet coffee barista," Yuuji poked at him, his eyes glistening with a fire that hadn't been there before.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, I guess," Megumi shrugged, grabbing his oven mitt and pulling the cookies out of the oven.

The pink-haired boy let out a light chuckle, immediately trying to grab a cookie off the metal sheet. Megumi swatted his hand away, insisting that the cookies would be too hot eat right away.

Megumi found his lips intertwined with Yuuji's again after setting down the tray — after all they'd have to pass the time while the cookies cooled somehow.

And so for the first time in a long time, Megumi didn't spend Christmas alone. Rather, he spent it with an overly-cheerful pink-haired boy who became a ray of sunshine in his life of clouds. Though he wished he liked his coffee, Megumi had no problem with brewing him hot chocolate instead. And he did, every morning for the rest of the spring semester he always had a cup of hot chocolate ready for Yuuji. He'd even stopped charging him for it at this point, throwing on a free drink discount every time he came.

[obxlife]

Perceptions (Rafe x Reader)

A/N: This is like my third Rafe request and I have another one on the way and can I just say that I love writing about Rafe? Don’t get me wrong, he’s probably the most challenging character to write for, but, God, I love it. Also, this was for sure the hardest work I have ever done. Like almost every single character in this request is way more complicated than I’m used to, but I’m really glad I wrote it. I think this may not be my best work, but at least I tried, right?

Pairing: Rafe x Reader

Request: Hi! Could I request a Rafe x Reader where maybe the reader is Barry's younger sister but she is the complete opposite of him: she's basically a soft, innocent sunflower, and wants away from the life her brother lives. Somehow her and Rafe meet and he becomes totally smitten with her? Something with angst and fluff maybe?

Summary: You hated the fact that people would judge you because of your older brother. People would constantly assume you were a drug dealer, an A-class bitch, and a low life. Nobody ever tried to get to know what you were really like: sweet and innocent (for the most part). So when Rafe comes around one time when Barry is not home, you get mad at him for having the wrong perception of you.

Warnings: Mentions of drug use and drug dealing

PERCEPTIONS

No matter how hard you tried your brother seemed to have the uncanny ability to ruin your life in every way possible. 

Admittedly, your life wasn’t very good, to begin with. 

For starters, when you were two and Barry was four, your father beat your mom up so bad she had to go to the hospital for twenty-three weeks. The day she was supposed to come back she never showed up at the door of your dingy house. Both you and Barry cried that night. 

Two years later, your dad was arrested under charges of child abuse (the bruises on both your’s and Barry’s bodies were enough evidence of that), and you and your sibling were left under the care of your aunt. 

However, Aunt Jess was just as much as a mess as your parents had been. Sure, life with her was a bit better than with your father because there were no beatings, but there never seemed to be food on the table or warmth in the winter. 

When Barry reached middle school he began to change. It seemed as if the sweet version of himself that you had grown up with was being hidden inside a dark room only for a meaner version to take over. This began to happen around the same time Aunt Jess’s boyfriend, Adam, came into the picture. 

You and Barry were not stupid children. You knew Aunt Jess kept Adam around because he had a knack for getting a hold on drugs. You also knew that Aunt Jess was using him as a form of “protection”, as she knew no one on the Cut would ever dare raise a finger in his direction. 

What you never noticed was how Adam was pushing his job onto Barry. 

You never knew what had happened to your brother, and he never wanted to talk about whatever was going on inside his brain. So, in three short months, your relationship fell apart. It was soon after that Barry began to completely ruin your life. 

See, unlike him, you had made friends that were actually a good influence and had a good family life. They lived in houses that weren’t perched upon wheels like yours was, and they had fridges that were always packed with food. They had clothes that shined and smelled nice, and their skin always seemed clean. 

But Barry had to come in and scare them off by being the complete worst. 

“Did you know Y/N and I are poor?” he would begin. “We’re only friends with you so we can steal all of your stuff!”

The tone he would use would imply that he was trying to be sweet, but you knew he just wanted you to suffer along with him. He wanted you to have no friends and feel no love just like him. 

The thing with Barry was that the rest of the kids in his grade knew he had been trying and dealing drugs. They had seen Adam hand it to him in the morning so that Barry could sell it to the older boys that went to the high school that was just down the road from his own school. The kids that were in Barry’s grade wanted nothing to do with a drug dealer. 

So Barry took out his anger on your relationships. He made every single one of your friends turn their back on you. For the first time in your life, you wanted to not be related to your brother. 

But that was impossible and you knew it. So, you tried to be as different as him in every single way possible. You would refuse the drugs handed to you by Adam, you would not talk with curse words, and you would be gentle. You would be sweet towards your teachers, you would try to ace all of your classes, and you would show compassion towards others. But, try as you might, this did not change people’s perceptions about you. 

Five lonely years later, Aun Jess died. Overdosed. Adam didn’t care. He didn't even prepare a funeral. He just took you and Barry and kept Aunt Jess’s house to himself. He began pushing the entire business onto Barry, telling him that he would soon be the one to take over.

“It’s gotta be you, kid. You’re doin’ amazin’ with it right now. Those boys you sell the drugs to? They got good money.”

Barry would just stare at Adam and laugh. “It’s what you taught me.”

“Yeah,” Adam would say. “Those Kooks got good money on them.”

As they would smoke a few cigarettes you would try to concentrate on your homework. 

“Get ready, kid,” Adam called out to Barry. You were pretty sure he didn't know Barry’s name. Or your’s. “I’m heading out soon and I’m leaving you kids with some good shit to stay afloat for a while.”

Barry could only stare back at Adam. “What do you mean?”

Adam sighed. Your pencil wasn’t moving on your paper. He was leaving? While Barry was still a minor?

“Don’ worry about me, kid. I just feel guilty if I leave you nothin’.”

“When?” was the only thing you asked. The men turned towards you in surprise. You hadn’t spoken to either of them for a couple weeks now, as you tried to avoid as much interaction as possible with either of them. 

“I don’ know yet. As soon as I feel like it.”

It was a month before Barry turned eighteen that Adam felt like it. Leaving. 

The broken-down trailer that had once belonged to Aunt Jess now belonged to you. And you made sure to change things once Adam was gone. 

“This is my room,” you made clear to Barry one August morning. Yous stood on the doorway of what used to be Adam’s room. “None of your buddies can come in here, okay?”

“What do you mean? I thought I was making the rules in this house. I want that room!” he screamed. 

“Well, you ain’t getting it. I don’t want one single gram of whatever drug you’re dealing right now in here, and if one of your junkie friends ever comes in here, I’m screaming bloody murder.”

You shut the door in his face. After that day, you didn’t come out of your room for a week. You had been crying for days on end, wishing that somehow Barry would go back to being the sweet boy he had once been. 

That was the problem. No matter how much you wanted Barry out of your life, you still loved and cared for him. No matter what fucked up things he did, you still wanted to know he was safe. And no matter how much you didn't want to, you would cry for the boy he had once been. 

It had been two years since Adam had left when things seemed to change a little for the better. It had been an ordinary summer day. You had just graduated high school (with zero friends and zero colleges to go to because Barry had stolen your college money about four months ago) and you were tired of being cooped up in your room. You had gone outside and into the open air because Barry and his friends had finally left somewhere. You were just walking around the porch, trying to put things back where they belonged when you heard a bike. 

“Oh, no,” you muttered thinking Barry was back. However, when you turned around, you saw a Kook taking off his helmet. 

Huh, you thought. Didn’t Barry stop selling to the rich because they had tried to rat him out to the cops?

The Kook approached the porch where you were standing on, waiting for him to talk. He didn’t seem to notice you yet, as he tried to look into the windows of the trailer. 

“Um, hi?” you said gaining his attention. 

Startled, the boy turned around. You hadn’t expected him to be so... hot. His hair was gelled back and his green eyes stared at you before going back to the window of the trailer. He was tall - a lot taller than you (but you were Barry’s sister so that meant you were not that tall at all). Lastly, you noticed his muscles pressing against the cloth of his shirt. 

Turning back towards you, the boy did a double-take and said, “Hey.”

The boy had sworn he had never met perfection, but you were pretty goddamn close. He really just felt entranced by you for a couple of seconds, and couldn’t help but feel like you were a gift in this world. He shook his head. Stop getting distracted, he thought. You’re only here for the coke.

He moved towards the other window of the trailer and peeked inside. 

“May I help you with something?”

The boy shook his head before speaking, “I - I don’t think so. I’m looking for Barry. You know where he is?”

He seemed to be avoiding eye contact with you.

“No.”

You decided that this was probably one of Barry’s junkie friends that just so happened to also be a Kook. You wanted nothing to do with him. 

You began to clean once again before the boy spoke again. “Do you know when he will be back?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

The boy continued to stare at you. He thought that you might be Barry’s sister. He had mentioned you once or twice when selling drugs.

“Hey, aren’t you Barry’s sister?”

You froze. You didn’t know Barry had been talking about you to his customers. 

“Yes.”

The boy smiled. She’s hot and she sells? “Cool. So can you, like, sell me something?”

You’re anger spiked up. You hated it when people assumed you sold drugs just because your brother did. You hated how people just assumed things about you because of your brother. 

“I don’t sell,” you muttered trying to reach for the doorso you could go back inside to your trailer house. The boy stopped you before you could continue. 

The boy would never admit to it, but he didn't want to see you go so soon.

“C’mon,” he pleaded, “I won’t tell Barry anything.”

Now you were truly mad. However, you just sighed. 

“Look, just because Barry sells drugs does not mean that I sell them too.”

The boy stared at you in disbelief. So she doesn’t sell? Huh. “Aren’t these things supposed to run in the family?”

You nearly choked on your own spit. “Um, I’m sorry. What?”

The boy shrugged, thinking that maybe that was the wrong thing to say. “Isn’t that how it works?”

You shook your head violently. “No. No, it’s not.”

You tried to reach the door again, but the boy stopped you. Again.

“Okay, fine. Don’t sell me any drugs. Just tell Barry Rafe was here.”

With that, the boy left. Rafe? What a strange name, you thought. 

Rafe, on the other hand, was smitten by you. He couldn’t believe he had really made that much of a fool of himself. That was why he had decided to truly leave. 

The next time he came around he was surprised you opened the door. His breath caught in his throat and he coughed, trying to breathe again. 

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah.”

Turning around, you called out for Barry. 

When your brother appriached the door, you left to go back to your room.

“What’s up, Country Club?” Barry belted out, wrapping a hand around Rafe’s shoulder. He was still thinking about you. “You here for that good stuff?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You got my money?”

“About that...”

Barry shook his head. “No money, no drugs, Country Club. You know how it is.”

From your window, you stared at your brother and the blond boy. Why hadn’t he left your mind since the last time he was here?

You couldn’t hear the words exchanged between your brother and Rafe, but you could tell they seemed to be arguing. However, Rafe managed to convince Barry of whatever he was trying to convince him of. After that, he left. 

But that was not the end of Rafe. You began to see him a lot. Heading towards your house, or when you were out in town. It seemed as if you two just continued to bump into each other. It was through these many bumps that you began to form a relationship of friendship, though both you and Rafe truly felt more than that. 

You had fallen for him about two months after meeting him. It wasn’t as if he did something specific to make you fall for him. You just simply did. 

It was almost the same way for him. There was not one thing in particular that made you latch onto his heart, but he still gave it to you. 

There was only one thing that bothered you about him, and it was the fact that he was using drugs. It wasn't a topic either of you talked about or tried to talk about around the other, but it was safe to say that if he wasn’t doing drugs, you would have never met. 

Despite this, you were sure you could help him. You just knew, from what he had told you about his life, that if you showed him how much you loved him he would manage to work his way away from coke. 

You truly believed this, because, in fact, you had no clue as to how bad Rafe really was. It wasn’t until weeks later that you realized that Rafe might have been too far down the road for saving. 

He had shown up at your door desperate for Barry. He was acting in a frantic manner, as if something had shocked him or made him want to calm down with the help of coke.

He had barged right through you into your house, shoving drawers open and turning the already messy trailer even messier. 

“Rafe!” you yelled. “What is going on?”

“I - I just know there has to be some. There has to.”

“What?”

“Maybe here? No, no. In the drawer? Where... where...”

The blond continued to mutter as his hands shook. “I need - I need some right now.”

You stared at him in shock. “Need what?”

He was becoming more and more frantic with every second that passed. “I need it. I need some.”

You couldn’t do anything. What was wrong with him?

“Coke... coke,” he muttered. “Where - hidden. Yes, yes.”

“There isn’t any,” you said after gaining enough courage to speak. “He took it all with him. Said it was the last of his deliveries for a while.”

Rafe shook his head. “N - No. No. There has t - to be some here...”

“Rafe,” you whispered. 

“I need some!” he suddenly exploded. Grabbing things and throwing them around, breaking the plates that were on your counter. “I fucking need some!”

“Rafe,” you whimpered. You were scared. What else was he going to throw around? How much time was going to pass until an object eventually hit you?

“No! Stop! I need some! I can’t fucking think without it!”

“What are you talking about?”

He stomped towards you, “Where is it?” He grabbed onto your face. “Tell me! I need it!”

He pushed you down onto the couch, as you whimpered from the pain in your cheeks. “I don’t know,” you sobbed. 

Rafe was panicking. His breath had shortened as he pressed a hand against his chest. “I - I can’t...”

He sounded so winded. He suddenly dropped and curled up into a ball. His breathing was erratic and was not going back to normal. Swallowing your fear you shifted towards him. Your palm paused before touching his back, afraid he might hurt you. You finally decided to press it against the boy's cotton shirt. 

As soon as your hand touched his back a sob escaped past his lips. “I just can’t do it.”

You rubbed your hand up and down in a circular motion. Your other hand came around to his hair, shuffling your fingers through it in what you hoped was a relaxing motion.

“Do - do you want to talk about it?”

Rafe shook his head and sobbed. However, he did begin to speak about it. “Barry cut me off. And I just have been so fucking lost without it.”

You sighed, mad at yourself for not having noticed this. 

“And - and now, my dad - he kicked me out.”

not knowing how to comfort him, you pressed your lips to his hairline. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”

At this, Rafe shrugged you off. “Don’t say that. Nothing is okay. I - I can’t get my shit together and I’m falling apart -”

Rafe was cut off by your hug. A short time later he hugged you back, and you felt a tear fall down your cheek. You just wanted Rafe to be okay. 

He continued to sob for a long time. You just held him, letting the shirt you were wearing become drenched in tears. You had no clue what to say to make him feel better so you only remained quiet. 

When his sobs turned into sniffles, you pulled him back a bit. You wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “For what, Rafe?”

He sighed. “Scaring you and throwing things around.”

You smiled softly, but the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s okay.”

“No,” Rafe shook his head, “it’s not. It’s not okay that the one thing that calms me down other than you is coke.”

You had stopped listening halfway through his sentence. “Do you mean that?” 

“What?” About coke?”

You laughed at his awful attempt at a joke. “No. About me.”

“Oh,” he replied, dumbfoundedly. “Uh, yeah.”

You smiled and hugged him once again. “I’m going to say this really fast, but I really like you.”

Rafe tensed in your arms. “Tell me you’re not joking.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “I’m not.”

Rafe pulled back with a smile on his face but it fell. “No. No, no, no. You can't like me.”

“What?” you asked, offended. 

“I’m terrible. And you - you’re perfect. And sweet. And kind. And so unlike me or Barry or anyone else. And you’re special.”

“So?”

“So, Y/N, I ruin every single good thing in my life. And I don’t want to ruin you.”

You stilled. Was that really the reason? Your heart soared at the same time it clenched in pain. 

“Well,” you began, “you don’t get to determine what I do and don’t deserve.”

“Y/N -”

“No,” you held your hand out. “Let me finish.”

“Okay.”

“Trust me when I say this, Rafe,” you tried to say without breaking into tears. “But you are so much more than you think you are. You are also kind. And sweet. And special. And I want to be with you.”

Rafe smiled once again before looking down at the ground. “I want to be with you...”

He paused, almost as if for dramatic effect. “But I want to be better for you.”

You nodded your head, but you didn’t fully understand. He could tell because of the confused look in your eyes. 

“I don’t want you to be with me yet because I want you to be with a better version of myself. I want to be better for you.”

At this, you smiled once again and threw your arms around him. You sighed happily and whispered in his ear, “I’ll wait for however long it takes.”

Rafe wrapped his arms around your waist once again for that day. 

“I’m so happy my first perception of you was wrong,” he muttered. 

“Me too,” was all you could say. 

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

The Fallen, 13/17

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 13/17.

Pairings: Nine x Rose.

A/N: Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“We've all fallen, but at the same time we're not broken. There is the hint that we are going to get up again.” - Amy Lee.

CHAPTER 13:

Maxence was standing in his underwear in the bathroom. He held his arms out, inside up, and waited. His brother was examining every inch of his skin – hands, fingers, arms, elbows, legs, toes – and checking his face – his eyes, inside his nostrils, inside his mouth. Th end of this exam consisted in him peeing in a plastic recipient Tegan was carefully sealing and dropping at the lab he was working with as a doctor. Every day, it was the same routine. A mandatory routine for him. He had gone through four detoxifications in two years so now, his family was taking all the necessary measures for him not to dive back a fifth time. It could be lethal to him. His liver and his brain had been badly damaged by years of drugs and alcohol intakes. He had been clean for six months now and the withdrawal and need for a new dose that could numb his pain for a little longer, but he was resisting, for the sake of his family. He was doing much better, every day, one day at a time. The first weeks after his last rehab journey he had lived at his mother’s under the close watch of his mother and brother. At night, he was tied to his bed, someone was sleeping on a camp bed beside his bed, the door was locked. They were taking turns to watch over him and get some rest. They were taking turns to take care of him when he was sick. On days, he was working as his mother’s assistant in the elementary school she was a teacher in. He was preparing the classroom on morning and cleaning it at the end of the day, after all kids were gone. He sometimes helped preparing the lessons and activities for the next day. It helped me to adopt a new routine and to be surrounded by ‘normal’ people again. He was reinserted in society as if he had never been gone. It was easy to forget he was ever gone. But not for Joanne, not for Tegan and certainly not for him. This routine had given him a proper pace of life and had enabled him to focus on a better lifestyle. This withdrawal never really left him but it was easier to be oblivious of it when you had something to keep yourself busy. He was offered a part time contract when he resumed his psychology studies. He was unsure of what he would do once he would get his certification. At least, he would have certifications. It was better than what he had six months ago. He had just come home from a late class and was starving. The medical exam used to irritate him so much before. Now, he was used to it. He showed when Tegan was done and dinner was ready when he came out of the bathroom with a large T-shirt and sweatpants on. They cleaned the kitchen together, Tegan helped him with his lessons and they went to sleep. They both were working the next day. This flat was new to the both of them. They had moved in last month. Since Maxence was stable, he was allowed to live by himself in his own flat but the decision was heavy and they were all worried that the solitude could drive him back to the dark side so Tegan had left his ridiculously small studio and they had taken this three rooms flat and were sharing the rent. Maxence had the larger room, though he never understood what was the point of this decision. Tegan should have had the bigger room in his opinion. His job required him to have a proper desk to work on and if the smaller bedroom could fit the desk and the bed, it didn’t leave much room for moving around, but Maxence hadn’t insisted, hadn’t fought. He took what he was given and worked with it. His mother and brother only wanted him to be fine again. They knew better than him. Tegan would never forget the day he had come to his mother’s and found his brother unconscious on the ground with vomit close by. He was doing an overdose and if he hadn’t been found in time – which was a question of minutes in this case – he would have died. His lips were blue, he wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t responsive. Tegan had had to push aside the fact that it was his brother dying under his hands and remember how to do his work properly. If he hadn’t intervened that day, Maxence would be dead. The man had no memory of this but Tegan would never forget. It would forever haunt his mind. He had been the one insisting on Maxence going to rehab when Joanne wanted to heal him at home. After a failed attempt, she had decided that rehab would be better for him. Even if it took four tries to have him cured. They were glad to have the old Maxence back. Gone were the non-sense about a bad wolf, a flying blue box and a mysterious imaginary woman called Rose he was continuously writing to. Joanne had kept all the letters, they were neatly gathered in a wooden box she was hiding in her room, away from Maxence’s curious hands and eyes. Being sober had made him forget it all about all these bullshits he was spewing when he was high and drunk. If they were asking him one single question, he would look sincerely confused as if it had been entirely deleted from his mind with the reasons of why he was drinking and drugging himself in the first place. He had had brain scans but no damaged had been detected. Nothing to explain his sudden memory loss of the last two years of his life. Without his struggle to remain clean and sober, he would have pondered the question. He was keeping on with his life, one step at a time, oblivious to the two years gap in his memory. Some people would go mad from not remembering such a long period of their life. They would try at all costs to get it back if it was possible. Not Maxence. He had disappeared for two years, had no memory of it and wasn’t looking for getting these memories back. Last time he had tried such a thing, it had ended up with drugs and alcohol and he refused to dive back for the sake of his family, and for his own sake. His health was fragile since he had messed up so much with his body and another deviation could actually kill him. After going through so much pain and ordeals, after fighting to get better, it would be a shame to abandon the battle. Especially when things were finally going well for him. He woke up once that night to the sound of discreet footsteps in the flat. He opened his eyes wide and pricked up his ears, his heart racing. His instincts kicked in and forced him silently out of bed with the first thing he could find by hand: his Gibson Les Paul that had seen better days. It was a wonder he hadn’t sold it when he was in need of money for drugs. Instead, he was selling himself. It only worked for a time. He was so glad to be out of these vicious circles he had fallen into. It wasn’t easy every day but life in itself was never an easy game to start with. You had to be prepared to face the good times as well as the bad times. Sometimes there were more bad times than good times. You had to take the blows until it got better and if it didn’t get better soon enough, you just gotta be strong. He had to be strong. He pushed the door open without a noise and sneaked out of his bedroom. His eyes got used to the darkness and scanned the surroundings. He was expecting to see some kind of burglars nosing around to find anything valuable, was ready to surprise them and knock them out before calling the police. He was almost excited by the adrenaline rushing through his mind and body at the idea of danger and justice. He was disappointed though to find out it was only Tegan who was getting ready to leave the flat and checking his bag. He nearly had a heart attack when Maxence switched on the lights ready to knock him out with his guitar. “Are you out of your mind?” The young doctor was keeping his voice low to avoid waking up the neighbours. It was a quiet district and a quiet neighbourhood. He wouldn’t be the one to break the rule. Neither was Maxence who put the guitar down on the table and placed a hand over his heart as if to soothe its maddening rate. “You’ve scared me, damn it! Thought there was a thief or somethin’.” “Yeah, sorry. Night emergency. I shouldn’t be long. Was gotta leave a note.” His Scottish accent that came from years of orphanage with a Scottish social worker – or even from his biological parents, whoever they might be – was stronger due to the fear Maxence had caused him. When he was facing intense emotions, Tegan was almost impossible to understand for anyone who hadn’t grown up with him. “’Kay. You called mom?” “Nope. You’re on your own about this. Big test for you.” Tegan tapped his shoulders, Maxence was dumbfounded. He was never left alone. Not once in the last six months had he been alone at home or at work. Annoying, but for his safety. It was the very first time he would be alone since he was out of his fourth detox. Quite scary and really big test. Once Tegan was gone, Maxence drunk a big glass of water and went back to bed with his phone. It took him a moment to fall back asleep. The concept of being alone in the flat was new and pretty frightening to him who was constantly fighting demons threatening to overwhelm him again. He woke up a second time that night. He had expected his second waking to be at the sound of his brother coming back home. Yet, despite the time that had passed between the last time he checked his alarm clock and now, Tegan wasn’t home. It was pain that woke him up. He felt a deep, jagged, burning pain in the fleshy part of his right forearm. It ceased for a second, then the pain hit again like a knife driven deep in his flesh and moving around to inflict as much pain as possible and create just as many manages. He switched the light on with a cry of pain and glanced at his arm. His eyes grew wide with horror and shock when he saw the blood covered his sheets and skin. Immediately he pressed a hand on the wounded arm and rushed to the bathroom. He rinsed the blood as the invisible knife was continuing his business until suddenly the pain was gone and three letters showed up in the middle of the blood: ‘RUN’. For a long moment, he stared confusedly at the three letters deeply carved in his skin as blood was still flowing out from the cuts. His mind was racing, his heart was pounding hard, his hands were shaking, he was breathless. He blinked, rubbed his eyes but the three letters were still there, still painful and bloody. ‘RUN’. He used to love running when he was younger but his bad habits had gotten the best of it and he had stopped doing sports. He should get back to it soon. It was important for him to keep in shape now that he had a healthier life. ‘RUN’. Why this word? Was it a reminder of a past he had forgotten? He could hear himself saying those words to someone. It was in a basement. Perhaps a dream. It looked too weird to be a real-life situation. ‘RUN’. How had those words appeared on his skin so suddenly? He was certain not to have done that to himself in his sleep. The letters just came out of nowhere. He gripped the edge of the sink when dizziness from the loss of blood hit. His left hand had a stronger grip than his right one. It was lacking of strength. The cuts were deep and needed to be taken care of. He would pass out if he couldn’t get a hold of a doctor. Thankfully, he had some knowledge in medicine thanks to Tegan and to his own studies. He cleaned the blood from his arm the best he could and wrapped it tight in a towel. Then, he ran to his bedroom and grabbed his phone. He called his mother first but she wasn’t answering. She was still asleep. He tried Tegan who was obviously not home but didn’t get any luckier. He was left to deal with this non-sense on his own. Great. First night alone and he had to go through something like this. What would his mother say? What would Tegan say? If he was telling them the truth, they would think he was crazy or high again and would never trust him ever again. Words just didn’t appear all of a sudden on someone’s skin. It wasn’t possible. If he was lying to them, if he said that he did that to himself, they would be sad and worried about his mental health. He didn’t have a therapist. They had thought it would be a bad idea considering his mad words. They would have had him locked away in the loony bin. The thought of it was terrifying him for some mysterious reason. He managed to gather his ID papers, his keys and phone in a bumbag he put on his shoulder. He left the flat quickly, locked the door, thought that if Tegan was coming home to find no one and bloody sheets he would freak out. He went down the first flight of stairs, tripped on the last step and ran into the wall nearly knocking himself out. How was he supposed to reach the closest hospital if he couldn’t even get out of his place without tripping?

To be continued...

The Fallen © | 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

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[pynkhues]

Omg what do you think it would be like if rio amd beth met when they were younger? Before the kids?

Haha, these all blew out a little bit, so I’ve only done three headcanons, but hey! I HC them at about six or seven years apart, so in 1 Rio is 13 and Beth is 19/20, 2 he’s 18 and she’s 24/25, annnnd in 3 he’s 21 and she’s 27/28. 

Anywho, here are three AUs I’m never going to write:

1. Becausemaybe Beth’s a couple of years out of highschool and in the time between caringfor her sick mother, and looking after a pre-pubescent Annie, she tries to makesome extra cash teaching piano to kids in and out of their neighbourhood, andmaybe it’s one of Rio’s sisters who sees the flyer on the noticeboard at thelibrary, who begs their mom for lessons – they have abuela’s old piano in theliving room anyway – who promises to do all her chores without complaining(like Elena can do anything without complaining), and who finally gets her way.

AndRio’s thirteen and only really hanging around to make fun of how musicallyilliterate Elena’s bound to be (girl has no rhythm or artisticflare, not like their abuela), and he ain’t even thinkin’ what the teacher’sgonna look like, but he didn’t expect her to look like that. Andthere’s something to it, he knows it even then, with the way her hair catchesthe afternoon, afterschool light just right, with the way her fingers danceover the piano keys as she takes Elena through scales and songs, and so maybehe hangs around a little more often, dangling off the back of the sofa for thehour-long lessons, even as Elena glowers at him from the piano stool, and maybehe’s a little jealous of the way Elena’s leg presses up against the teacher’sthere, or the way the teacher holds Elena’s fingers, ghosting them over thekeys, and it wouldn’t be a big deal until his sisters start talking abouthis crush, cooing and singing, and he’s punching Carmen in the arm,and she’s pushing him off the chair to sit on him with her fat ass and it’s nota crush, it’s not.

 2. Or maybeit’s like this:

Maybe Rio’seighteen and he’s dealing pills out the back of his cousin’s restaurant –nothin’ fancy, just a bit of ecstasy, a bit of MDMA, and one of his boys bringsround a new buyer who looks like the hardest thing she’s done is weed and winecoolers.

“Nah,she’s cool,” his boy says, and Rio looks her over, and this girl is short and young, wearing glittery neon eye shadow anda nervous grin, but whatever, Rio thinks, a sale is a sale, and it’s all gooduntil a car door slams shut and there’s the sound of heels clipping down thepavement and there’s an energy in the air suddenly he hasn’t felt before. Thegirl’s eyes clench shut, and then she’s babbling, without even looking.

“Oh,god,” the girl says, opening her eyes again, staring, “Okay, I’m already sorry,please know that. This is about to be very embarrassing for all of us, and I justwant to say that I - -”

Whateverelse she’s about to say, he doesn’t hear, because suddenly the girl’s beingyanked back by five foot seven of pure fox,and he’s grinning before he can stop himself, drinking her in as the woman (andshe can’t be too much older than him, maybe her mid-twenties) reads the girl forfilth.

“I can’tbelieve you,” she continues. “Whatwould mom and dad say? I’m serious, Annie, this is a new low, even for you. Youhave no idea what this stuff is made of, I know you’ve seen the PSAs, they makeit out of rat poison and - -”

And hangon, Rio thinks, his shit is good.

“Look,lady,” Rio says, striding forwards, and it must have been the wrong thing tosay, because the woman is turning on him faster than he can blink, and healmost rocks back at the look of pure fury on her face.

“Don’tyou look, lady me,” she hisses,thrusting a finger in his face, before gesturing back at the girl. “She isfifteen years old. You are selling drugsto a child.”

And thenshe seems to pause, narrow her eyes at him, take him in for the first time, andhe rolls his shoulders back, rocks his jaw a little.

“I mean,god,” she says. “You’re a child. Whaton earth are you doing?”

Andwhatever he’d been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that.

“Excuse me?”he says, and the woman frowns, looking between Rio and his boys, and they mightbe young, but older, harder people than her have crossed the street to avoidthem, and Rio’s thinking about getting up in her space when she says:

“Ishould take you all home. Tell your parents what you’ve been doing, how aboutthat, huh?”

And hersister – Annie – she’s covering her face behind her, and saying, “Oh my god, Beth,” and he’s so stunned into silence andinaction that the woman – Beth – just keepstalking.

 3. Or maybehe’s sitting beside his sister, Carmen, at her antenatal class – and she’s beencomplaining about her swollen feet since he picked her up a half hour ago.

“I ain’tMiguel, no amount of bitchin’ is gonna make me rub them,” he tells her, andCarmen hits his arm, hard. It’s afull class, and it was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, but they’ve beenwaiting on some deadbeat daddy to show, and Rio can tell the nurse running thething doesn’t have the heart to tell the teary-eyed, red-cheeked mama that it’spretty clear to everyone here her boy ain’t gonna turn up.

“He justhad meetings all morning,” the woman says, and she’s older than him, but still young, hands low on her big belly,avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room, and Carmen frowns beside him. “Ithink maybe he confused the dates or the time or - -”

“Poorthing,” Carmen says, low under her breath to him, and then scoots her assforwards across the floor towards the other woman. Rio rolls his eyes. Carmen’salways been a bleeding heart. “Is it your first?”

Thewoman blinks, her blue eyes impossibly wide, and she nods, clearing her throata little, trying to regain her composure.

“Yours?”

“Third,”Carmen says with a proud grin. “My husband had to work too. He was a rockstar firsttime round, but he figures we done it before, yeah? I told him that this shitchanges, but to be honest, I think he was right. I could teach this thing now.”

Thewoman laughs softly, and she’s pretty, he thinks, all new mama glow, thatfertility goddess shit that Carmen always says, complimenting herself, (and sure,she does looks it too, not that he’dtell her that).

“Look,why don’t you borrow my brother,” Carmen says suddenly, and Rio’s head spinsaround so quickly it could fall off. “Like I said, I’ve done it all before, andyou only really need the men in these classes as props anyway. All the heavyliftings on you.”

Thewoman blinks over at him, and he can see her blush, but she shrugs, a littleawkward, a lot embarrassed, and Carmen’s grinning kindly at her and then smuglyat Rio, like she can sense his twenty-one-year-old mortification which shedefinitely can, but they do it, and he learns her name is Beth, and he learns shesmells like lilies and strawberry shortbread when she presses her back into hischest and he spreads his legs around her, and that her skin is smooth as heslides his hands down her arms, and her belly firm when the nurse adjusts hisfingers over her baby bump, and his body’s already lean and hard and scarred,and he can’t quite believe, however briefly, touching someone so soft.

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 8

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4 ; Chap 5 ; Chap 6 ; Chap 7

Masterlist : Here

AN : Hi guys! I can’t believe I made it this far ! Last chapter did so poorly I’m having a life crisis, I hope you’ll like this one better, it’s the calm before the storm. I’m wondering if I should update more than once a week so I asked the lovely @brightonfleet and I’ll try to post on Wednesdays and Saturdays now, since the chapters are so smol. Thank you for your love and support, feel free to comment and send me messages, see you on Wednesday ! (Also the title isn’t clickbait this is my gift to you).

Chapitre 8 : Is he naked ?

One thing I never knew was that one day I'll be pissed at « Friday I'm In Love » by The Cure. My head felt heavy as I sat on the bed, eyelids still shut tight, budding headache waiting in the corner of my head for the perfect time to screw me over. I could feel the burning sunlight trying to attack my eyes even behind their curtains, bathing the whole room in their warm rays like they owned the place. It smelled like food, and someone hummed along Robert Smith's singing, so Mandy was already awake. Painfully stretching and rubbing my face, I rolled out of bed, carefully taking in the light in the room as I finally opened my eyes, trying not to trip on the covers. Yawning, I dragged myself to the kitchen to greet my roomate.

- Hey.

Mandy turned around when she heard my grunt, spatula in hand. The table was already set, with orange juice, bread and cutlery, which I almost knocked over while putting my elbow on the table.

- Hi dude. No offense but you look like a truck ran you over.

- Fuck you, my head hurts so much already, how come I'm hungover and you're not ?

As a response, she shrugged, looking like she herself didn't know the answer to that. But like the good friend she was, aspirine was alredy on the table next to a glass of water. Oh I remembered now, she probably wanted to apologize for her screw up yesterday night. I couldn't blame her nor get mad at her though. It slipped, it happened. And besides, I think we saved this whole situation by lying terribly and then drink some more. I could vaguely remember Josh holding out shooters for everyone and cook burgers in the middle of the night but other than that... my mind was pitch black.

- Where's Josh by the way ?

Swallowing a whole glass of water woke me up further and despite my stomach's complaining and churning, my appetite awaken too.

- He's sleeping on the couch, came the simple reply.

- What couch ?

Did we owned a couch ? No we didn't.

Turning back once more, my friend pointed something behind me with her spatula, motioning for me to follow the direction. Oh, so we did have a couch after all. And a sleepy curly head snoring on it, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. Too many questions came to my mind.

- Okay, so since when do we own a couch ? And also Josh slept here ?

- We got out for a walk last night and found a couch so Josh could sleep on it when he wants to crash at ours.

- He plans to do that on a regular basis ?!

She shushed me hurriedly, standing still as Josh turned and moaned in his sleep. His clothes were scattered on the floor around him and on the worned out leather couch that creaked with his every movement. God I hoped no animals were living on it. Getting up, I stole a pancake from the plate next to Mandy, needing energy to register everything that just happened in less than five minutes. So what she's telling me is that we got so drunk we went who-knows-where and got back to the dorm with an abandonned sofa we found on the side of the road ? Just so Josh could sleep at our place. Couldn't he just bring an airmat or a sleeping bag, like a normal person ?

I had to admit my irritation was purely fake. This whole situation was so ridiculous it made me want to laugh more than anything, really. Going to great lenghts only so he could stay the night. Unbelievable, what a princess. It's with an amused grin that I studied his sleeping figure, peaceful and quiet. A rare sight.

- Is he naked ?, I half-murmured to Mandy.

She turned to me, then to Josh, putting her back to the kitchen counter next to me, intently watching him turn in his sleep before the blanket slipped and uncovered his bare ass in all its glory for the world to see.

- Yup, he is.

- Should've guessed.

Nodding to ourselves, we returned to our occupations, and I helped her with breakfast. Our sleepy guest sat with us only a few minutes later, with the covers hiding everything needed this time, devouring pancakes and chatting joyfully about last time and the day to come.

We didn't have school today, which was the main reason why the Christmas Festival was set to this day. And it also explained why students weren't that interested in coming. Even though it was a proven fact that we were all gonna party hard in the dorms after the concerts. Speaking of which, Josh had to perform today but wasn't stressed at all. In fact I never saw someone being this serene about singing onstage to a batch of people. He was talking about how it'll be amazing, and we'll be there, and they'll be rocking the school like it was no big deal at all. It truly amazed me, giving how nervous I was just presenting an assignment to the class. He ate a lot, babbled a lot, and then thanked us for everything and left. Time flew by fast after his departure.

I was too hungover to do anything more than lie in bed all day watching Netflix, let alone do homework. Mandy and I slept some more, and in what seemed like a minute later, had to shower and get dressed for the festival.

Much to my surprise, almost every department had their part to play to the Christmas school fest. The architecture dudes with the help of the carpenters students built cabins and decorated them with christmas lights and lanterns hooked on trees, the Music dept helped set the stage, Furniture Design peeps brought some tables and chairs they had left in the workshop (mostly projects refused by teachers), and Photography students as any other department invited a whole lot of people and bought alcohol for us all to enjoy. It wasn't crowded, but there was a nice amount of visitors nevertheless. A good amount of drugs too, judging by the familiar smell surrounding the school grounds. The stage was surrounded by wood cabins giving or selling beer, food, or cocktails, with stools or benches to sit, which were already taken by the time we got there.

We stood in the cold for hours, close to the heaters and the tiny hot dogs stalls, stuffing our bellies with junkfood in a vain attempt to warm ourselves up. We didn't know where the guys were, nor what their band was called. None of the twins were replying to their phones, so we were left with no clue as to when they were gonna play or if we could skip half of it and come back just for them.

- Can't believe the flyer said « free beer », grumbled Mandy while rubbing her arms.

- Yeah about that, I'm the one who asked for it to get removed, sorry.

Her hair whipped my face as she abruptly turned around to face me with a look of pure betrayal on her face.

- What ? Look at all the efforts they put on the festival, it's only fair they at least get some money out of it.

A lot of people brought their own booze to the party so they didn't have to spend a cent here anyway, we just didn't know enough folks to borrow from them.

- Screw that, she exclaimed before heading to one of the stalls.

Where was she going ? Should I follow ? What kind of crazy plan had she in mind ?

I saw her body leaning on the counter of a drinks stall where the barman looked overwhelmed by all those people calling him around, playing idly with a strand of hair while pretending to read the laminated menu just has her free hand got under the wood panel, fingertips caressing the handle of a huge beer keg. There was no way in Hell nobody would notice her stealing something so big, she couldn't get away with it. By the time I was facepalming while pretending I didn't witness anything at all, she came rushing to me with the keg in her hand and grabbed my arm, hurrying me to follow as we sank through the park.

- I can't believe you stole it, how the fuck are we supposed to drink a KEG ? Do you even know how to open it ?

She paused, letting the big barrel of beer clunk to the hard floor.

- I was kinda counting on you on this one, she said with a perplex tone. We'll find someone who can, don't worry.

I wasn't really worrying about that to be honest but oh well, now that we had it, might as well open it.

It turned out finding someone who could help us was more easier than I first thought, and since a lot of people had the idea of bringing their own keg along, nobody seemed to think it was weird we were carrying one. Now I wasn't a big fan of curing a hangover with more alcohol, but I got to admit it was a special night. And seeing everybody party without participating would've been a shame. That's what I told myself when I poured us another drink.

It was starting to get really chilly outside, so we stayed by the heater, taking turns to sit on the keg when our feet got too tired of standing still, listening to the bands playing, watching the christmas lights illuminate the trees and people sitting under them.

- Who's next ?, asked Mandy for the fourth time that evening.

Struggling once more to get the crumpled flyer out of my jacket pocket, I squinted my eyes, trying to read what band was next in the darkness of the night.

- Greta Van Fleet, I guess. Don't know her.

- Me neither.

Oh how wrong we were. I think my heart leaped in my chest when I saw Jake's figure enter the illuminated stage, followed by Josh, his tambourine, and their two bandmates. The lump in my throat came back, and as the first guitar notes were played it became impossible for me to either keep my mouth shut nor to take my eyes off of Jake. He looked so good. They all did, jamming and playing loud, smiling and having fun, but Jake. He was something else. He looked unreal. His unbutonned black patterned shirt revealed his chest and all the pendants that hung around his neck, bouncing to the rythmn of his body, while his hand recklessly attacked his guitar' strings. His face, so concentrated, like nothing in the world in that moment existed, a single drop of sweat running on his cheek, hair plastered to his forehead, some strands of it getting stuck at the corner of his gaping lips. That night he took my breath away.

- They're so good, muttered Mandy, taken aback too.

I could only nod, at a loss for words, barely having the capacity to register all the informations that were presented to me because it would mean I could miss a second of Jake playing. They all were simply incredible. You could tell they were putting their soul in their music, and it moved me in a strange way, changed me somehow, even a little. That drum solo was the most powerful I had ever witness, the skilled bassist made an amazing job of keeping everything together, and Josh's vocals would put to shame every damn diva on this earth. I think I died a bit when I saw Jake lift his guitar to put it behind his back and play his solo like that. Or if I didn't, I fell even harder for him. There was no turning back from the depths I was now. When Greta Van Fleet started performing at our school, I saw all the people surrounding us stop their activities to pay attention to them. That's how powerful they were.

Josh was in a bliss, we could tell by the spark in his eyes. He played the tambourine during solos, hopping on the stage like he was born on it, giving the crowd smiles and winks, and even blowing us a kiss. We waved at him, but my gaze kept finding its way to Jake like he was calling it back home. He was too busy to focus on anything else, drowning in his music, delighted by the sounds they were producing, barely realizing there were people cheering for them. He looked up from time to time glancing at his surroundings, and during one of them our eyes met. My heart skipped a beat, and he smiled, a pick stuck between his lips, eyes squinted with glee.

By the time they finished their set, my legs were shaking as if I was the one who just performed, but they didn't let us any time to catch our breath. A sweaty and barely dressed Josh jumped out of the stage to come rushing to us, holding us both in a tight embrace and giggling in our ears. He was talking excitedly about the show, how exhilirating it was, and bombarding us with questions about it and what we had thought of it. In the corner of my eye, standing on the stage, Jake was quietly picking up his stuff, putting his guitar back into its case with great care, chatting excitedly with the drummer. Oh fuck I wasn't mentally prepared.

- Are you kidding me ?, yelled Mandy who was holding Josh at arms' lenght. You guys killed it ! We absolutely loved it, you were the best !

- She's right, I chimed in, adrenaline kicking in. Why are you even in this school ?! Damn I wish I had recorded you, I kind of want to hear your songs again now.

Chuckling kindheartedly and hugging us some more, Josh thanked us a million times before settling down with us, helping himself to a beer he chugged before asking for another one. Still feeling starry eyed, I couldn't help focusing on the sweaty guitarist next to the stage, deeply lost in thought between his two bandmates having a conversation. Some people must've bought them drinks real fast because they were carrying red cups, still in their stage clothes with a coat put on top of it. Josh on the other hand... I couldn't look at his bare chest without scolding.

- You're going to catch a cold.

As much as his red velvet sleeveless jacket looked good, seeing his moist skin glimmering got me worried. We were in December, it was like -4 degrees outside, a few more minutes like that and he'll end up like the little match girl.

- Mama I'm too hot to catch a cold, came the reply with a smirk and a wink.

- Oh my Lord go put a coat on I swear to God Josh-

- Okay, I will ! But more importantly !, he said loud and clear while putting each arm around our shoulders. Tonight, my place, we're throwing an after party ! Ladies, please be my guests.

As backup to his words, Josh made grand gestures and a deep bow, taking our hands in his while I shook my head with a look of disbelief on my face.

- Only if you put on a coat.

[creativitytoexplore]

First Urges: A Homo Monstrum Chronicle by Kevin Stadt https://ift.tt/2WBj9vA Alex lands a date, just in time for the plant-based Apocalypse; by Kevin Stadt.

Alex had no way of knowing that the seeds of a new world had already sprouted, could not have imagined how man would mutate before the close of day. He sat in the back corner of a Northern Prairie Community College classroom, watching a fat black and yellow bumblebee hover over the spring peonies outside the window. The flowers led him to think of her, and he shifted his gaze to where she sat several rows over. Covered in freckles, eyes almost as dark as the black hair she always seemed to hide behind, wearing a blue sundress, heavy black boots, and a full sleeve of tattoos down her left arm, she typed on a laptop as the teacher lectured. The debate in his skull drowned out the class discussion of Cormac McCarthy. She's WAY too hot for you, dude. You look like Ed Sheeran with a gut. But, while she exerted a gravity on him that made paying attention in The 20th Century American Novel impossible, none of the other guys even appeared to notice her. Maybe she just presses my particular buttons? He leaned back in his chair. No way. You wouldn't even be able to get a sentence out. A parade of embarrassing memories of talking to girls crowded his consciousness. The discomfort growing on their faces as they watch him try to get the words out. The way they try to let him down easy, usually with something like, "I have a boyfriend." Dr. Owen, an ancient white-haired professor with a hint of Texan drawl, interrupted Alex's thoughts. "Alex, any ideas?" He felt his face warm. "Uh..." Dr. Owen leaned on the podium, book in hand. "Well. If you don't know the answer, I guess we're all in trouble. You're my go-to guy." "Just zoned out for a second. C-c-could you please repeat the question?" "What do you think of the significance of the title, Child of God?" "I think no matter how dark the main character gets in the story, he's still just a human on some level. Whatever we might become, we were all k-k-kids once. Started out innocent, children of God. The world ch-ch-changes us into monsters sometimes." "Very good answer. Thank you, Alex. In McCarthy's work, many characters..." Alex relaxed as the attention shifted away from him. He straightened in his chair and glanced at her. Their eyes locked for a moment, then she looked down and brushed her hair out of her face.

Alex stepped in dog shit. "God damn it." He raised the bag of food he brought home from his shift at the Korner Kafé to balance as he gingerly lifted his foot. A rusty Honda Civic pulled up to the trailer next door. The neighbor, Ricky, swaggered out onto his porch with Zeus, a massive Doberman. Zeus's beady eyes darted back and forth between Alex and the car, and his sharp ears alternated between pricking up and swiveling backward as he growled. Ricky's skeletal frame swam in a black Insane Clown Posse hoodie as he waved the car to pull closer to the trailer, and his tight jeans did nothing to hide the device locked onto his ankle. His skin seemed little more than a thin patchwork of meth-mite rash and neck tattoos laid over a skull. The Civic's window rolled down and Ricky pulled something out of his hoodie pocket as he bent to it. The guy in the car took it and exchanged it for cash in a smooth, practiced move. As the car pulled out and Alex and Ricky each approached their respective front doors, Alex paused to make a little show of wiping his shoe in the grass. "Hey man." Ricky lit a cigarette and squinted at Alex through the smoke. "Hey." Alex tried to affect a friendly, joking tone. "Dude, I just stepped in a big pile of dog poop in our yard. Can you maybe have Zeus not drop those b-b-bad boys over here?" Ricky cocked his head and took a drag. "The lady on the other side of you has a dog, too. I think it was hers." Alex took a deep breath. Part of him seethed, but another part of him knew starting trouble with Ricky wasn't a great idea. "Dude, Mrs. Scott's dog isn't half as big as the d-d-dump I just stepped in. And anyway, she picks up her dog's business with a bag like every time." Ricky narrowed his eyes. "Wasn't Zeus." Rational fear slid into the background of Alex's brain, and anger dissolved his inhibitions. "Man, I've seen him shit over here a dozen times since you got back. My little brother plays in this yard. Or at least he used to before that dog showed up." Ricky flicked the still-burning cigarette toward Alex and pulled his hoodie up just enough to reveal the black butt of a handgun sticking out of his waistband. "Fuck off, dude. And don't ever talk to me again." Then he loosened his grip on the leash just enough so that the Doberman suddenly shot forward several feet, making Alex jump and drop the bag of burgers. Ricky laughed and flipped him off before disappearing into his trailer with a slam of the door. Alex picked up the bag and muttered to himself about calling the cops as he climbed the front steps, taking his shoes off on the porch before coming in. "Ma? I'm home." She came down the hall beaming at him and hugged him tightly, still wearing a skirt and blouse from teaching. "Aw honey, you didn't have to buy dinner. I could have made something. I'll give you the money for it." "It's okay, Ma. You were up to your eyeballs in second g-g-graders all day. Tony made these for us because I stayed a little after work to clean out the back room." She took the bag and squeezed his arm. "It's just that you do so much. I wish you didn't work this hard." "Oh, stop. Where's Justin?" "In his room doing homework. I told him if he wanted to play that video game with you later, he better get it done now." Alex followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, lowering his voice. "Ma, I think we should call the cops on the n-n-neighbor." She stopped unpacking the burgers and let out a sigh, looking older than her forty-eight years. "Please, Alex." "Come on, Ma. Dude's selling drugs in plain view. We can't have that around Justin. Not to mention, half the time that fucking Doberman is r-r-running loose -" "Language." "Justin can't even play outside anymore." "Believe me, I know. But if he gets arrested again, his mother will be destroyed. I honestly think it could kill her." Alex rolled his eyes, but she held up a hand. "No, seriously. He's Lorraine's world. And her doctor just put her on medication for her heart. Says she's at risk for a 'cardiac event'." "Come on." She stepped closer to him and put a hand on his cheek. "Lorraine's been my friend for almost twenty years. Let me talk to her. I'll see if she can get him to stop." Justin appeared in the doorway wearing a green Hulk t-shirt two sizes too big for his skinny build. "Get who to stop what?" Alex waved the issue away. "Nothing. You hungry?" The boy's bright blue eyes grew wide. "Did you get sweet potato fries?" Alex lightly punched the boy's shoulder. "Yeah. But just for me and Ma. Forgot to bring you anything." Justin started slap-boxing at Alex and within seconds they were laughing, yelling, and wrestling their way out into the living room over their mother's protests that they should wash up and come eat.

A few minutes before the next lit class, Alex's heart skipped a beat as he pretended not to notice that she'd sat right next to him. He feigned indifference, locking his eyes onto last week's notes, all the while wondering at the amazing scent he could just barely pick up on. A hint of perfume, or maybe her shampoo? Something sweetly floral. Is she looking at me? Alex read the same line of notes over and over, trying to act natural. Her pen hit the floor next to his foot. He bent over in a flash, then cursed himself for doing it too fast. As coolly as possible, he held it out to her. To his horror, he heard himself say, "You dropped your pen." You dipshit. You think she doesn't know she dropped her fucking pen? But when she took it she smiled, said thanks, and brushed her hair behind an ear. "Hey, you work at the Korner Kafé, right?" Please, please don't stutter. Just this one time. He cleared his throat. "Yeah." "Thought so. I'm pretty sure I saw you there once." Alex nodded, completely blanking on what to say next. Jesus man, SHE started a conversation with YOU and you are dropping the god damn ball here. But talking about being a dishwasher at a greasy spoon didn't seem like the kind of thing that would score him any points, and he had a hard time seeing a logical transition to a different topic. After a few moments of excruciating silence, she said, "So do you like McCarthy?" His mind buzzed with calculation. He'd got the sense that a lot of the women in the class weren't fans of the author - too focused on the dark, the violent, the transgressive. They might have liked The Road, but Child of God was probably a tough sell. Yet he told the truth. "Yeah. He's my favorite novelist, actually." "Totally. Genius, right? By the way, I'm Megan."

She started chatting him up again as soon as Dr. Owen finished class. He almost felt lightheaded with the impossibility of it, and kept wondering if he was acting weird. Dude, doesn't matter. Don't get your hopes up. As they emerged outside into the spring afternoon sun, he assumed they'd naturally part ways. Should I ask her out? Or maybe I should just take this as a victory for now and wait to see if she sits by me again next time? A group of guys pushed through the doors behind them. One held up his phone for the others to see, and as they passed by, said, "...some kind of alien-looking shit making people lose their fucking minds." Megan squinted and shielded her eyes. "Which way are you going?" "Home." He gestured toward the path that wound through Miller Woods toward the trailer park. So, let's tally up all the ways you're selling yourself to her: you have a menial job, a stutter, and live in a trailer. "No way. You live in Deer Park?" He tried not to deflate too visibly. "Yeah." "Awesome. My cousin lives on the north edge of Deer Park, and she's like my best friend since forever. I practically lived at her place there on the weekends when I was a kid." "Really? I live on the other side. Must be why I never saw you there." "Maybe you did. Who knows?" "No. I'd for sure remem-" He caught himself and his face warmed. She smiled and elbowed him. "I'll take that as a compliment. Hold on and let me text my cousin. If she's home, I'll walk with you. Okay?" Minutes later, his brain struggled to process the fact that he was walking alone on a beautiful spring day with Megan. As the campus receded into the background and the cool shade of the woods surrounded them, they talked about friends, family, and school. "I feel like I should m-m-major in something more useful than English, but I really l-l-like literature." God damn it. He'd done pretty well up to now, but suddenly his stutter was locking him up. He cursed himself silently and gritted his teeth. Megan said, "Hey, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I totally had a stutter until like the fifth grade. So... I don't know. Easier said than done, but really you don't have to worry about it or feel weird about it. At least not around me, I mean." He let out a breath. Oh my God. You should totally marry this girl, dude. "Cool. Thanks." They strolled in silence for a moment before she said, "Whoa. Look at that!" Megan stepped off the trail and approached a bizarre plant almost as tall as them. A thin, craggy, purple stalk held up a single flower like nothing Alex had ever seen. Hundreds of wispy, black, thread-like tendrils dangled from a central bulb. Alex caught its scent. Somehow it smelled like a heady combination of home, of love, of childhood and possibility and hope. It smelled like happiness, and he closed his eyes and pulled it deep into his lungs. "God." He wanted to say more, but suddenly putting a sentence together felt like a monumental, confusing task. Alex found his feet taking him right up to it. The thread-like tendrils waved, and for a brief moment some quiet part of his brain noted that no breeze blew. Megan stepped nearer, too, closing her eyes and putting her face so close that her nose almost touched it. Alex did the same without consciously deciding to do so. The flower's tendrils reached out to him. They caressed his skin, each glancing touch setting off fireworks in the pleasure center of his brain. Alex saw the flower doing the same to Megan, and for an instant a thought passed through his mind that this was weird, that flowers didn't normally do this, but the notion broke apart before it even fully formed. One of the tendrils found Megan's ear, then another her nose, her mouth, and her eyes. The threads snaked into these openings, and she shuddered as if in climax. Alex sucked in a breath as the wisps penetrated him, too, every opening on his skull. He pushed his face even closer, nearly losing his balance and wishing only that the flower had more threads and he more eyes and ears and noses. Psychedelic fireworks of color exploded in Alex's brain and he heard himself groan. He was dimly aware that he'd fallen to the ground. His vision smeared and slid as dizziness overwhelmed him, and his consciousness ebbed away by degrees into the sweet relief of blackness.

When Alex came to, he found himself lying on the ground in the dark near the plant. Megan was gone. His phone vibrated in his pocket, but when he took it out he couldn't think of what he was supposed to do with it or how it worked, so he dropped it. He noticed fibrous white roots covered in fine hairs reaching up out of the ground around the plant, and an intense desire to bring the flower food overcame him. Alex set off through the dark, aware that he could see everything perfectly in the moonlight, that he could hear every animal skittering in the darkness, that he could smell the trees and earth and even the worms beneath his feet. What's more, his mind was quiet, almost empty save for the occasional clear impulse. Gone were the incessant words, scenes, and stream-of-consciousness dialogues of his old mind. He crossed neighbors' yards in a straight line toward his trailer, and he heard Zeus already growling at him a hundred feet away. Without deliberation, Alex broke into a sprint toward the sound, propelled by a strength and speed he'd never imagined before, and at a dozen paces distant leaped toward the dog and came down on Zeus's neck with his knee and felt it crack and the body go limp. Some part of him recoiled in horror at what he was doing, but another part of him reveled in it. What do you think of that? Not so fucking scary now. Alex snapped the dog's chain with little effort and turned back toward the woods, dragging the Doberman through the neighbors' flower gardens. When he threw the animal's carcass on the root system, a moan escaped his throat and his legs turned to jelly. The roots reached out to the body and attached to it everywhere. An image flashed in his mind - he saw himself throwing the Doberman on the roots again, but this time with the dog alive. The ache of pleasure that followed brought Alex to his knees.

The next thing he knew, he found himself standing in the dark in Justin's bedroom, watching the boy sleep. Something in his mind, an insistent impulse, wanted him to take his brother to the plant. He stepped backward and scrunched his eyes shut, shaking his head. His own voice rang out clearly in his skull. No, not that. Anything but that. Less than a minute later he stood in his neighbors' house, next to Ricky's bed. He could hear the sleeping man's heart beating and blood flowing and could smell the pizza Ricky had eaten for dinner, the hot dogs he'd had for lunch, his soap and socks and breath. The giddy anticipation of bringing the plant such a prize mixed with the perverse thrill of transgression and the warm adrenaline charge of impending violence. He grabbed Ricky's t-shirt and Ricky's eyes popped open, his face a mask of shock and anger. Alex watched the neighbor's hand shoot out and snatch an aluminum baseball bat positioned near the head of the bed, and without thinking or even realizing what he was doing, Alex swatted Ricky's face with an open palm. Ricky grunted and went limp, falling back on the bed with a smear of blood on his cheek. The neighbor's breathing and heartbeat continued. Alex lifted his own hand and studied it. A thin, needle-like claw with a drop of sharp-smelling viscous liquid at its tip retracted into his palm. As he breathed heavily, part of him sickened at the claw, at the whole scene. What am I doing? But as soon as the objection appeared in his thoughts, it garbled and glitched and slipped away. His mind hummed only with the urge to throw Ricky to the flower. And when he did so some minutes later, the bliss visited upon him brought tears to his eyes.

In the clear light of morning, he padded in through the back door and kitchen making no more sound than a cat and stood behind his mother, who sat on the edge of the couch watching the news with a hand held over her mouth. The screen flashed images of men in hazmat suits examining plants just like Alex's, and then video of EMTs working on a woman as they rolled her into an ambulance. "...dozens of attacks in the Green Oaks area overnight. They appear connected to the appearance of the unidentified plants, and authorities warn local residents to stay home, keep doors locked, and above all avoid the plants and anyone who has come into contact with them. Call 911 immediately if -" Alex felt pulled in different directions. He wanted to hug his mom. To talk to her and say sorry and be forgiven. To understand what was happening. But he also ached to hunt. He shifted his weight and the floor creaked. His mother shot up with a scream and turned around, her eyes wide and hands shaking. Tears fell down her face, and she mouthed words that he couldn't understand. She took a step forward and reached out to him, stopped, cried harder, and pulled back. Visions of slapping her and throwing her on the roots flooded his mind. He bent over and punched himself in the head over and over, trying to drive them out. Putting together even one simple syllable took all his will and concentration, and as he grunted the word through gritted teeth, he suspected it may be the last human language to pass his lips. "GO!" While he battled to root himself to the spot, some foreign growl in his chest, the spike in each palm popping out, his mother sprinted to Justin's room. Alex clenched his teeth and fists and his whole body shook in a cold sweat. The last thing he saw of his family was his mother running through the front door, pulling Justin along in his pajamas, both wearing expressions of sheer terror.

When he returned to the plant again, this time with two neighborhood cats, Megan was there. He tossed the cats to the roots and shuddered with the pleasure of it and noted a new human body face-down next to the flower, a large, bald man. Megan spoke no words but smiled and hugged him with a strength that drove the breath out of his chest. The happiness of being in her arms compounded with the joy of the plant seemed almost too much for one heart to bear. As she pulled back, he saw excitement written all over her face, and she gestured mutely toward the flower. Since he'd last seen it, the plant had sprouted several clusters along its stalk, each of them with a dozen long, thin, orange seedpods. Megan regarded them thoughtfully for a moment, then chose a lighter-colored pod and picked it. She took a bite from it, then held it out to Alex. Black seeds dotted the yellowish, creamy flesh of the fruit. He took a bite, and the rush of it was such that he had to pause regularly as he chewed to moan and get his breath. Alex let the fruit roll on his tongue before swallowing it. It tasted like some combination of strawberries and grapes, but with a mind-numbing narcotic jolt. They ate and regarded the corpses in various stages of digestion around the plant, several human-sized, many more pet-sized, roots enveloping each with hairy, groping filaments. The decomposition and absorption of the carcasses struck Alex as sublimely beautiful. Before long, though, a new craving began to set in. Megan, too, seemed to feel it. She glanced around restlessly and let out a low whine. As the moments passed, a vague need to move on grew pressing, and a weight settled on his chest, making it harder and harder to breathe. Sharp pains began to stab him in the gut. Finally, Megan took him by the hand and led him away. The farther they got from the plant, the better Alex felt. They walked a long time, avoiding houses and roads and the distant wail of sirens, across the newly-tilled corn and soybean fields of their town, and those of the next two towns. They hit upon a creek and followed it until dark. The creek wound its way eventually into woods, a place Alex had never been before, and as they surveyed the surroundings, he felt pressure in his bowels. He scanned the woods with unguessed calculation, feeling for the right place. A spot of earth, equidistant between several trees and dark with rich soil, spoke to him. He bent over it and dug a hole with his hands, glancing up to see Megan doing the same elsewhere. Then he pulled off his shoes and pants and left them there and squatted, careful to pass just a bit of stool into the hole, then lovingly and painstakingly covered it. Alex found another spot some ways off, and another, and another, until between them they'd dug and filled in a dozen holes. When she rejoined him, he looked into her eyes and knew she felt the same joyful longing as he, and they set off in the dark, hand in hand, to find food for the precious, hungry young.

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

So South Compton was different...

Jason Line called the FBI himself at a pay phone, "there's some shit going on here that is off you need to look at" and put the receiver down so the call could be followed to the location. And went on about life.

That is how i got to Compton.

It was so bad it went straight to me after a month of surveillance I arrived. Pulled in strong. Guns down. Whips out.

They could get out but not away. And the kidnappers pretended to be their friends.

10 days of surveillance. 1 overview and i was called. "Let me finish this 9 weeks at school and receive my grade. Its been almost 9 whole weeks I been here. Can they wait?"

"No"

"How long have they waited since they called?"

"About 12 days."

"That's about all i need in school days. Please? Its really important that i finish"

"Oh alright you need to say good bye. I'll allow that. Then we commence. Alalala bye! Too good for you!" Finally some one taught Bob how to say Good bye. This 😇 here.

"I get too much anxiety! Will you at least say good bye when i tell you no?"

It made me laugh. But also give me a future to worry in - instead of ny belly. Because he changed his 110% ways. Made the future strong.

If i said no it was because it was black dark and i could see nothing. So Alex would go clean aliens that abduct. I still needed my back, i wasn't going through that again. I Had a hard problem saying no and being too curious. And that cost me a lot. If i saw only blackness the entire planet would be erased.

Overhead they talked "well what did she say exactly?"

"She said pleeeeeasssee"

"Well call her back that means she's in charge and we will probably need. Harriet. Harriet said NO. She's all black like blackened chicken but won't be a threat. There is something special there i know but it's something only Sabrina can do. Of that I'm quite sure"

"Ask her what to do in those 12 days. Dam sounds a lot like Christmas don't it? 12 days of Christmas times two"

The last four digits of my current phone number is 1428

"Start the Fight Club. Call Mary Queen Elizabeth until then for that. Have her thug out. Tell her she is Queen Mary of Scott not in England. She will be a biker babe. If this isnt Harriet. Its upper and I don't usually hear you two talk so this is upper demand only quality of royalty"

"Don't talk about your mom like that"

"Mom is too fragile. I mean someone with War behind them and is bored. Im sure i got the right one. Its something about height that is the clue I need. So she needs to take her man. This one isn't about color."

The location of Compton was so close to me i could kiss it. Right next to my head. The image. Bright as day. I explained what it looked like.

"Okay Sabrina you got it. Mary Queen of Scots here you come! Nigga, too! Now wait you want her to wear a bandana on her, around her head? What color."

"Blue"

"Now this isn't gang territory."

"It purely has to do with height"

"Is there love involved? Is it the answer or solution?"

I coughed both times. It was making me sick. This never happened before.

"Sabrina. How dangerous is this?"

"Extreme. Don't send Alex until week two. Tell him to bring the boys. One and Two. But bring the wrong ones first. That ought to do"

"Sabrina you're making the situation worse"

"What comes up must go down isnt the clue nor solution. It is the only clue. I'll need crack on this side of the street to help my cough. Ill get it there then. 18 months. I've been pregnant, too before."

"You're not on a ramble. You've got all caught up. Okay bye"

"No wait. Something about LSD. 2020"

"Its only 1994. Okay bye"

I got a call from Snoop Dogg 10 days later. He would always go in black on a good story. It would be my 18th month to start smoking crack. Just not consecutively.

"WHAT YOU MEAN YOU ARE ALL ON CRACK? YOU KNOW WHAT YOU GOT STARTED DOWN HERE? FIGHT CLUB ON MY NAME! THE CRIPTS! CRIEP! WHAT THE HELL!! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW. IM NOT KIDDING YOU IM SO PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW!!"

"Snoop my final is toMARROW. Listen. Snoop i know all about my crack addictions. Okay. Look. Listen.,i just need you to come down and make sure the girls are alright. My last period of the day you can substitute and make sure all goes well. One month That's it Then meet me in Compton. I need help and i sure don't know what to do"

"NO! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW AND ILL GET YOU OFF CRACK!!"

"Tell Shaq, he will know what to do and you come here and you both take care of me for me. I won't take no for an answer. Love me like i love you. Please! Would you do this just one for me? It is perfect this girl needs help and she's pregnant but she needs an adult to listen to but i can't get to the front of the class. Im trying but it's certainly impossible to travel locate and do my second plan. Because the 1st isn't working!"

We both cried on the phone. For a few moments. We could hear each other sobbing.

"Okay but you do this one for me! Listen to Shaw!"

"Okay what ever you need!!"

"Click" we say that for Bob.

"Click. I Love you too and Miss Shawntae. Tell that women i do. Click. On the Double Down Low Double D G Dogg. Now love me'

"Yeah i do"

Boy is he in for a surprise when he finds out I'm not even on crack. Neither is this girl and Idk what to do or how to tell her she's even pregnant and she has no clue and that is all he actually needs to do. He would double kill it. But that was good for the school over all. He would need his strength and it would build up there. It would be permissible.

I had been worried about my final the next day. I was sure i was B ridden. But i was for sure now i would get an A. A+ was my final grades for all semester. I only went 15 weeks. So that is why to finish the 9 week semester was so important to get an actual final grade and not an average. Boy i never went to school and sure i would miss it.

But i was so excited about Compton i could hardly contain myself. And getting to smoke crack once again for a whole month?

Snoop didn't know but to avoid Shaq telling me to keep off drugs... May be I would just come clean... Haha in a double standards way.

And I did.

*I smoked crack to remind me what Alex went through. It was always foreign to me. Only when he was quitting and only enough to sustain him and me both. No more than 3 hits total. 3 hits each was OD and to the idiot booth.

Shaq bought me the crack. He was more readily available to admit failure than deceit and no way in Hell would he face Snoop when he found out he had been lied to.

Two crack rocks was all I needed he bought 4. Did a deal in front of Snoop to get banned from public.

Shaq, Queen Elizabeth and I built the Sugar Shack for Snoop as an apology. It was a small wooden storage shed to the left. So to the right we made it bigger, enhanced it. Over night. With Alex and his 2 high thugs.

"See Snoop? This is what drugs can do!!"

"Get on outta here! I want my candy" Candy is a Venetian word from planet Venus. Snoop loved candy. Do any thing for a treat.

"Oh you know I'll need her, too. Put her on the list and all the girls"

"SABRINA YOU BUILT THIS HIGH! NO! NO MORE. NO MORE OF YOU ON DRUGS!!"

Snoop didn't approach me. He flew to kill me. I wrapped my arms around his chest "thank you for being so patient with me. I'm sorry. I'll quit smoking crack now. I will i promise."

"That thing better be full of candy early the next morning then and i ain't selling candy to no strangers it is all mine so don't be thinking that -- oh wait!! Its all full!!! I didn't even notice!"

"$3,000 worth of candy. Its all our drug money, isn't it boys? I promise Snoop I'll quit, too!" Shaq would laugh till he cried at our trick we pulled together on the fly to protect and tell Alex how bad he needed to keep his drug use under control and hidden.

That day Snoop got fired as teaching principal. He really was hurt in his feelings. And we were in danger of losing our precious Snoop. So i risked it all lifting the kids up one by one up and over my head as far as i could really slow then dropping them fast so that it looked like abductions from UFO.

"I need the principal" i said a few hours later cause snoop wouldn't leave outside that door. snoop walked over he stood in front of the alien light switch sticker.

"Okay now kids do the alien dances i taught you. Intermingle. Now UFO. Doubt yourself. Do the vogue. Now what does a UFO do?"

"Up. Up. Up. Like we taught the moose" they said in a trance like quality

"That is why i need to be in here."

"No Snoop one of us needs to go in the alien space ship to get the drugs to have them analyzed"

"Last time i did that 3 kids came down with me and you had to kill them. So you need to"

"Kids. Do you all like Snoop? Answer and do it Snoop style. Can snoop be principal?" All hands shot up, again. "Can Snoop be teacher?" All hands shot up. The voting was rigged. Alex said try to get you to do it because he didn't want me to. But Snoop. Hey listen. We're all CIA and sometimes we need to teach each other a lesson. And you got a real attitude"

He laughed and stretched his tall frame up in the chair and draped himself over it. Obviously charmed.

[frivoloussuits]

Preview: Suits/Hunger Games AU

Here’s a peek at the fic I keep procrastinating on by writing Suits 100 prompts instead, lol. Apologies in advance for any odd formatting+warnings for referenced drug use and deadly violence.

All the Capitol’s geneticists have tried and failed to produce something that can compare with Mike Ross’ brain. At three years old, he’s more literate than many of the adults around him, and he spends his days reading aloud from a dictionary, his family’s longest book, to his baby sister Jenny. His eyes, skimming over the text at stunning speed, shimmer blue like the sea, nothing like the coal and fire surrounding him in District 12.

In District 1, Lily Specter dresses her four-year-old son Harvey in his finest clothes and takes him to their city’s central park soon after winter ends. Surrounded by a horde of other children, he plays games, solving puzzles, punching targets as hard as he can, flitting through an obstacle course with all the easy grace of a spring breeze. He throws himself into the challenges with childish enthusiasm, turning downright giddy as he outstrips one opponent after another. Young as he is, he doesn’t realize these are the entrance tests for Pearson Academy, Panem’s premier training school for the Hunger Games. He doesn’t notice Jessica Pearson herself observing him from a distance.

When school starts, Mike skips particularly boring classes and instead loiters around the Hob, 12′s black market. Even though he’s too young to buy or sell anything himself, assorted shopkeepers take a liking to him, and some use him as a human calculator. When he’s not needed, he tucks himself into odd corners, soaking up old stories and the old records that Sae plays sometimes, all crackling horns and syncopated rhythm. One day he’s joined under a table by a fellow truant named Trevor, the same age as him, with a dangerous spark in his dark brown eyes.

Seven-year-old Harvey– or “Specter,” as everyone calls him nowadays– lounges in his Academy quarters, blasting jazzy music out of brand-new speakers and singing along. When other kids bang on the door and shout for him to quiet down, he simply smirks and turns the volume dial higher, because he’s added bars and bolts to his door and built a barricade from furniture to keep intruders out of his room, and nobody can stop him from doing what he wants in here.

That is, until a little redheaded girl breaks through all his barriers, circumvents all his defenses, sneaks up on him as he leans back in his chair with three of its legs off the ground, and moves as if to tip him over– only to reach across him and click the speaker’s off button instead.

As he gawps, she just raises an eyebrow and says, “Hi, I’m Donna. I just moved in next door. Shut up, please, or I won’t be so nice next time.”

In a single heartbeat, an explosion in a coal mine orphans both Trevor and Mike.

Harvey ignores the baseball bat at the back of his closet and instead brings out a dark suit. Today is the first time he’s ever been permitted to leave the Academy during school. The occasion meriting such special allowances is his father’s funeral.

When his mother shows up at the wake with another man on her arm, Harvey straightens up and tells her to go to hell. “You made a fool of Dad,” he says. “You exploited him and his legal problem this whole time, and all he ever did wrong was love you from the moment he met you. Is it so damn impossible for you to at least pretend to be faithful?”

Lily just shakes her head, torn between pity and exasperation. “That’s not how things work here, Harvey.”

In the aftermath, Mike and Jenny move in with their grandmother Edith. There’s a roof over their heads but never enough food on their plates, and the wind cuts right through the walls and their threadbare blankets to chill them to the bone.

During a particularly harsh winter, Jenny takes ill, and Trevor starts showing up at their door with extra supplies of meat and other food that he can’t possibly afford.

At the Academy, Harvey beats back his grief by hurling himself into the nonstop competition, battling all the other students who want a shot at one of 1’s Tribute spots. He regularly faces off with Scottie, a girl with flashing dark eyes and a brazen wit, and every time she forces him to the ground. When he at last wins a match, he expects her to sulk or play it off as a fluke, but instead she beams proudly at him. Then there’s Donna, who proves a damn near equal match for him. Each wins just as often as the other, and the hope of pulling ahead sharpens both of their resolves. They pummel each other with mock weapons, study for months to beat each other’s scores on Games knowledge tests, and spend every school day taunting each other.

With time, the taunting softens to playful teasing, and they gradually turn inseparable. In their rare hours of free time, they break out of the Academy and roam around the nearby city. Harvey rather suspects Jessica is aware of every time they stray outside– she seems to have a knowing glint in her eye each morning afterwards, but perhaps he’s just imagining it.

Mike starts going out to the woods with Trevor, breaking a wide array of laws simply by crossing 12’s fence. They compound the crime by poaching, hunting down animals to eat and selling whatever meat they have to spare. After some exploring, they discover a swath of wild Eufrosyne trees, and they start harvesting the leaves to sell as well. They find plenty of buyers– people seem grateful for drugs around here.

One night, they find that the fence is electrified when they try to go home, and so they are temporarily barred from 12. Trevor starts to panic, but Mike starts to plan, recalling hundreds of tricks for surviving in the wilderness that he’s learned off the Hunger Games. They end up adapting a shelter that the girl from 3 made last year and weathering the night. When the fence powers off the next morning and they return home, they find Edith and Jenny both frightened senseless.

“We’re perfectly intact,” Mike reassures them. “Nobody died!”

Trevor gives an easy smile and plants a kiss on Jenny’s lips. “Yeah, you know you can’t rid of me that easily.”

Harvey wears suits increasingly often, at interviews and dinners for fencing competitions and boxing tournaments and Mock Trials. Yet his dress is considerably plainer, just black slacks and a white T-shirt, on the day when he kills for the first time.

His victim is a patient suffering from a painful terminal illness who consented to being killed by an Academy student in exchange for money for her relatives. He knows taking her life ought to affect him– it’s an explicit opportunity to work through some of the self-loathing and moral quandaries that accompany killing ahead of the Games– yet he tries to pretend he doesn’t care. He thinks he’s doing a good job of it, until Jessica calls him to her office for a cup of tea and he winds up breaking down as he drinks it, just as he later finds out she predicted.

Days later, he’s dropped off in the wilderness with Donna for an Academy survival practical. As they huddle around their fire, in the shadow of a shelter they constructed together, she nudges him with her elbow. “I got us a present.”

“Oh?”

She pulls an old rubbing alcohol bottle out of her pack, unscrews the top, and hands it over to him. He takes a quick sniff and immediately starts chuckling. “Not quite the same alcohol it says on the label, huh?”

“Scotch, straight from Cameron Dennis’ surprisingly well-stocked cabinet.”

He grins and takes a swig. They while away the afternoon, passing the bottle back and forth and sharing increasingly ridiculous ideas for knocking off opponents in the Games, until Donna puts forth a plan with a can opener that Harvey can’t even try to top.

One bright spring morning, Edith passes away. Leaving Jenny with Trevor, Mike flees to the woods for the night, closing his fingers around the mockingjay pin she left him.

It’s impossible to ignore the Cameron Dennis problem anymore. And while Louis, the other main teacher at Pearson Academy, has his own endless issues, at least he’s not an addict.

Harvey and Donna drag Jessica down to Cameron’s office one night, when he’s out of his head with some ugly mix of alcohol and morphling, and the teacher they’ve studied under for years turns on them, slurring that Jessica ought to expel the two of them for their insubordination before lunging at Harvey. He easily sidesteps, and Jessica fires Cameron on the spot with a melancholy sigh.

“Well, that was self-sabotaging,” Harvey remarks in a half-hearted attempt at levity. “Now we’ve got to train with Louis instead.”

“No,” Jessica says sharply.

Harvey’s heart stops, as she confirms that they’ll be training in her small advanced class from now on, because she has officially decided to send them to the Games.

A few years down the road, Mike watches Dana Scott of District 1, a girl with murderous eyes and brazen confidence with all manner of deadly weapons, play in the 73rd Hunger Games. He’s fascinated in a sick sort of way, and he supposes he should root for her, if only because he’s put quite a bit of money down on her. She’s a relatively safe bet– Pearson Academy’s Tributes always start with the odds in their favor, thanks to their training and their willingness to do whatever it takes to win– and he grows more certain of her chances as the Games unfold, as images of Dana stabbing, garroting, and poisoning burn themselves into his brain. She pushes through the arena, along with her partner Vanessa, a young woman who matches her guile and skill in battle when necessary but has a sort of vulnerability about her that Mike rarely sees in Pearson students.

In between the deaths and fighting, the cameras show the coaches and sponsors and Gamemakers all mingling. Mike sees Jessica Pearson herself schmoozing with Caesar Flickerman, both wearing smiles that could kill. In the background, he identifies Tom Keller, the Capitol citizen in charge of most of the Games’ main gambling systems. The camera starts to pan away as Tom throws an arm around an up-and-coming Pearson Academy student, a young man strutting around with slicked hair and a suit that cost more than Mike’s house.

Mike rolls his eyes and tells Jenny, “If I ever try to look like that, feel free to smack me.”

“Will do,” she giggles, “after I figure out how you managed to afford anything remotely like that and take some of that money for myself.”

Mike gives her a thumbs-up.

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” he says a few minutes later, rising from his seat with a yawn. “Wake me when the Gamemakers start firebombing the kids from 5.”

“How do you know they will?” Jenny frowns.

"They will.”

And they do.

Dana and Vanessa win, and they visit 12 and all the other districts on their Victory Tour. Yet the Gamemakers and academies and gamblers have already turned their attention forwards, to the 74th Hunger Games.

[sending-the-message]

There's No Helping Dizzy Gillespie by ljhall

I first met Dizzy Gillespie last week, about three months after she died.

(Her name wasn’t really Dizzy, it was Disney. Her mom was hyped up on something when she went in to give birth, and kept insisting that her daughter be named for a Disney princess. The nurses assumed she meant a specific princess and kept suggesting names to her, Belle, Jasmine, but she just kept shouting ‘Disney Princess, Disney Princess’ until Disney Princess Gillespie was printed on the birth certificate.

She got the nickname Dizzy later. Had nothing to do with the old jazz musician; it was because she was ‘clumsy’ and fell down a lot.

But I didn’t know any of this until recently. I didn’t know anything about her.)

In Reno there’s a paved bicycle path that wanders down by the Truckee River just off downtown. It’s sketchy in places (like Reno itself), but I’ve always felt safe walking the stretch between the Auto Museum and my apartment. During most of the year the river is wide but shallow, and you always see people on the rocks off the bike path, fishing or feeding ducks. Plenty of homeless people nap in the grass. None of that makes me uncomfortable.

The day I met Dizzy, I was headed home after work. In a hurry, because I didn’t have the money to stop and get food so I had to make sure something was in the oven before my boyfriend Colin got home. But I spotted her, crouching down by the water, and something made me stop instantly.

She was all alone, and she was tiny. I’m not too good with kids but I put her at being maybe six or seven. And god, she was thin. She wore dirty salmon-pink jeans and a threadbare t-shirt, and I could see the bones in her wrists and elbows from off the path. The sharpness of her shoulder under the thin shirt, the knobs of bone at her spine as she hunched over.

Her hair was long and tangled and mousy brown. Her hands, with their knobby wrists and bony fingers, were filthy.

I couldn’t look away from her.

She appeared to be playing idly, flicking her fingers in the water, rocking back and forth a little bit. There were some men fishing a good way down, but other than that this stretch of the path was empty.

I usually try to mind my own business, but this was too much. I left the path and moved over a few wider rocks towards her. Not wanting to scare her, or seem like some hovering pervert or something, I cleared my throat when I was still a few feet away.

She turned to look up at me. Her dirty hand pushed dirty hair out of the way of a dirty, shadowed face.

For a moment when she first turned I felt tense, nervous, like I was half expecting her to behave like a jump scare in a movie trailer. But she was just a normal little girl. Her eyes were too big and too round, her cheekbones pronounced, her skin really pale, though it was oddly yellow around her eyes.

She was so fucking thin.

I don’t know how to talk to kids, but I cleared my throat again, feeling uncomfortable. “Honey, is there somebody here with you? Do you need any help?”

The little girl tilted her head a little, stringy hair sliding off one shoulder. She smiled. “No help,” she said.

Her voice…it was too quiet, but I heard it clearly, from close up. It was like looking at a TV screen playing on mute, but hearing the sound through earbuds. Her voice shouldn’t have reached me over the flow of the water and the traffic up on the bridge. But it did, it came right to me like she was somehow standing right beside me, speaking into both my ears at once.

The strangeness of that only hit me later. All I could think about, looking at the girl, was that she was so skinny it made me want to cry.

We were only about a block and a half from the apartment. I knew Colin would throw a fit if there was a strange kid there when he got home, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Hey, um. Why don’t you come with me? I’m gonna make some dinner, and we can call your folks or whoever to come get you.”

The little girl rose to her feet. Bare feet, and her dirty toes balancing on the wide, flat stone somehow made me want to cry even harder.

I didn’t move in closer but I held out my hand. “Come on, sweetie, let me help you.”

Her lips were so pale they looked white when she spoke. “No help,” she said, slow and solemn. Then the smile stretched to a grin, and her voice in my ears went sing-song. “There’s no helping Dizzy.”

Confused, I took a step closer.

Without a pause, without another word, without the slightest sound, the girl was somehow gone.

I was looking directly at her when it happened. One moment she was there, water dripping from her fingers, hair skirted by the breeze, solid and real. And then nothing. An empty rock.

I’ve never seen anything like that. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I felt sick, damn near terrified, staring at the empty space where that little girl had been.

I’m dreaming, was the first thing I thought. But no, I remembered my whole shift at the call center, and waking up that morning. Everything else around me was still sharp and clear.

I almost reached out, almost went to that rock and felt around, because it seemed impossible that she just wasn’t there anymore.

But instead I moved back over the rocks to the bike path, and I stood there a long time watching the water. Hearing her voice in my head, like she was right there whispering in my ears.

There’s no helping Dizzy.

I wanted to tell someone about it, but I haven’t talked to my mom in a while and most of my friends aren’t my friends anymore (Colin says everybody moves on and that’s how it should be, us having a new life together without people interfering). Colin’s been tense about work lately, and the quieter I am with him the better.

So after I made dinner and he settled down with his X-Box, I headed for the internet.

I felt dumb even typing the searches into Google. ‘I saw a girl who vanished’ and ‘can people just disappear’ and of course those were pointless. I felt sick, though, bothered by the fact that people can’t just vanish, that I knew she was there, that I could still hear her voice in my head.

On a whim I Googled ‘There’s no helping Dizzy,’ and got a bunch of medical websites about vertigo. Then, thinking about it, I looked up just Dizzy, and Reno. Still a bunch of vertigo sites, and some links to doctors in Reno.

But at the top of the results, in a box my eyes had moved right past at first, there was a link to a news story.

And that’s where I learned about Dizzy Gillespie.

Her parents had been arrested. That was the news story. The police had gone into their home - they lived in an old RV parked at a trailer park south of where I lived - looking for drugs or something. They found the barely-alive body of eleven-year-old Disney Gillespie, locked into this tiny alcove of a back bedroom.

She died in the hospital the next day. Starved to death. Long term malnutrition. She was small for her age, the doctors said. Way too small, so this had been going on for years. All her life.

She hadn’t been to school in weeks, later articles said, asking how this child could fall through the cracks. I wanted to know that too, but then…I lived in the same city where all this happened and I never even noticed the news stories.

Affectionately known by her friends as Dizzy, the article said. It quoted her teacher, Mrs. Novak, who was just devastated by the news. Just shocked. Stunned. Who could ever do that? Their own child.

None of the articles had any pictures of her, but I guess that wasn’t surprising. There were shots of her mom, too young and hollow-eyed and bruised up the arms as she was led in cuffs into a police car. Her dad, thin from long-term drugs, long-haired, half his teeth crumbled away.

Colin came up behind me as I was looking at one of the pictures, making me go still. He put his hand down on my shoulder and pointed at the screen. “Jimmy Gillespie. Can you believe I went to school with that piece of shit?”

I don’t know why but I felt uncomfortable. “You knew about this? The little girl?”

“I had twenty different idiots sending me links on Facebook, sure. This is why I’m never having kids, shit like this. World’s nuts.”

“Yeah.” I sat still and waited until he wandered back to the couch.

There was a time I wanted kids, but. Not with Colin. Maybe not ever. I’m getting older than most women when they start having kids. He’s pointed that out before, a few times.

But I never really worried about it before now. Suddenly, though, there was a little girl’s thin, shadowed features in my head, a little voice chanting in my ears. No helping Dizzy.

That voice was right. She was dead. She died three months ago. There was literally no help anyone could offer anymore. It was too late.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her that night, or at work the next day. I take calls for a few different companies, some mail-order hair-growth formula, and a website that sells coins on QVC or whatever. Did you know people still call in and order CD compilations of Motown hits? They do. I take those calls, maybe three a day.

Nothing exciting, and I have a lot of time to get lost in my own head.

I had no doubt that I saw what I saw. Colin tells me all the time that I remember things wrong, that I think he said things he never said. But this was different. I knew it for a fact when I went on his Facebook during a break and saw some of the things people had sent. Saw a picture, finally, of Dizzy Gillespie herself, sitting on the lap of a mall Santa, gaunt-eyed and insubstantial. I knew I’d never seen that picture before, and I knew that was the same girl I saw by the water.

That meant something. It had to. I never believed in ghosts before, but I couldn’t exactly argue with my own eyes.

I went home the same way as always, and took it extra slow on the bike path as it edged down to the water. But there was no sign of her.

I was so distracted thinking about it that I didn’t get dinner started on time, and had to call Colin and ask him to pick up something on his way home. He showed up with a bag from McDonalds and one drink, and told me to figure my own shit out.

Which, I mean, was fair. I was the one who messed up. There was ramen, it wasn’t like I had to go hungry.

He went to bed early. Before he did he came up to me at the computer and he kissed my hair and told me he was sorry for being an asshole. He’s a good guy, really. He’s going through some things at work, and when things at home don’t go according to plan, he just…anyone would get mad.

I gave him a little while to fall asleep before I went back to the bedroom.

And there, by the bed, was Dizzy.

She was standing there, right in the pool of lamplight that came in through the window. Still wearing that thin t-shirt and those pink jeans. She stood without moving, looking at the bed. At Colin, as he slept. In the darkness, the sharp angles of her face looked almost carved, like she was just shy of being pure bone and skin.

I stood there frozen, just staring at this child, this impossible presence. I was scared to speak up, scared of waking him, or scaring her off, or something.

After a long minute, she turned her head to look at me. And I heard her voice in my head, loud and clear, though this time her mouth didn’t move to speak the words herself.

There’s no helping Dizzy.

And she was gone.

I called in to work the next day and took the bus down near the RV park.

I had no idea what was driving me to go. But I wanted to see.

There was a low gate at the road coming in, with an intercom you were supposed to buzz, but the gate was busted and hanging open anyway so I just pushed through and went in. It wasn’t a particularly scary place. Poor, obviously, but like the homeless on the bike path home poverty didn’t scare me in itself. I grew up poor, and had a pretty unlucky life. If it wasn’t for Colin I’d probably still be in some basement studio in a building that rented out most its rooms by the week.

There were trailers on the property, some with gates set up like little yards, with chairs and grills and things set out (and chained together so they didn’t get stolen). Some of the lots had RVs sitting in them, most of them looking like they hadn’t been on a road in years.

The RV that I’d seen in pictures, in articles about Dizzy, wasn’t there. Instead there was an empty lot waiting for its next tenant.

I don’t know what I wanted to find, but I stood there looking around for a little while, sure I hadn’t found it yet. Maybe it was in the RV itself, towed out to some police lot or junkyard or maybe pulled apart by the neighbors and integrated into their own lots.

“You looking for somebody?”

The voice made me jump, and I focused to see an older woman in the doorway to the trailer beside the empty lot. She looked nervous, peering out her door with paranoid, troubled eyes.

I hesitated, but approached her. “I was looking for…” I couldn’t think up a lie, so I just gestured to that empty lot as if it was an answer.

“You with the news?”

“No, I just…I knew her,” I said suddenly, out of nowhere. “Dizzy.”

“Dizzy.” The woman paled. She pushed the door open, moved off the little stair and down onto the gravel and grass that made up her lot. “You know we did everything we could for her,” she said to me, her voice pitched loud all the sudden.

I frowned, looking around, but there wasn’t anyone else in sight. “What do you--“

“I mean it. We did everything. We couldn’t have known. There’s no way we could have…”

Her eyes went past me and down, and her steps stumbled. She stopped moving, her sun-lined face losing color. “Oh god.”

“Ma’am? Are you okay?”

“She won’t leave me alone,” the woman answered, her voice suddenly ragged, her eyes horrified and growing wet as I looked. “She’s always here. Please…” She wasn’t talking to me, her eyes locked just behind me.

I looked back, and to be honest I was entirely expecting to see Dizzy there. It made sense to me, that she would show herself to these people. That she would be here, where home used to be, often.

But I didn’t see anything there.

When I looked back the woman was moving, stumbling backwards, making the sign of the cross with a shaking hand. “I’m sorry! Leave me alone, I’m sorry!”

The thin side door of the trailer slammed with a sharp bang.

I waited a moment, then turned around again.

Dizzy stared at the trailer, but looked up at me fast. She smiled.

For some reason, I smiled back.

My next trip was to North Nevada Middle School. It was about a mile walk and two busses to get there, but I never hesitated.

Children didn’t starve to death in a vacuum. Dizzy went to school. Dizzy lived in close quarters with other people, other families. Dizzy had been tiny and malnourished, had earned a nickname because she was so lightheaded and weak that she stumbled and fell all the time. But the neighbor said she couldn’t have known, and the teachers were just so, so shocked.

She was so small I thought she was half the age she really was. That wasn’t something people could just miss.

School was still in session when I walked up from the bus stop. I was alone, from what I could tell, but …I wasn’t alone. She was there, somewhere.

The kids in the classrooms I passed seemed a lot older than I expected. The teacher from the paper, her homeroom teacher, was Mrs. Novak. The school was basically one long hallway with side corridors for the lunch room and the gym, so she wasn’t hard to find.

Well, her room wasn’t.

When I peered in, there was a man at the head of the classroom, droning on to a pack of bored eleven-year-olds. Behind him, on a square cork board, homemade cards were pinned. Over it, written in dry erase on a whiteboard, was Get Well Soon Mrs. Novak.

I knew at once why she wasn’t there. I knew that she had looked out at her classroom more than once over the last three months, and saw a girl who shouldn’t have been there. A fatally skinny girl with stringy hair and pink pants. I knew it had driven her away, made her sick.

Good.

Feeling satisfied, I moved back down the hall without saying anything.

There was a small office with big open glass windows, right near the front doors. I passed them by slowly, wondering who else Dizzy appeared to. The principal? Other students? Friends of her parents who knew something was wrong but did nothing? Cops who had done welfare checks and left her in that RV? Her parents, sitting in jail with nowhere to run to get away?

The office door opened as I passed, and a woman - young, sweet looking, younger than me I think - peeked out at me. “Miss, is there something…” She trailed off. Her gaze drifted down, and horror filled her face. She let the doorway at once, slamming it behind her, and I could hear her voice. Muffled through the wall, but panicked, damn near shrieking. “She’s here! She’s here, Jesus help us.”

I headed out the door.

Outside the sun was blazing hot and merciless, and everything seemed to be stalled around me. Traffic was a distant hum, birds were quiet, probably napping in shade.

I looked over and down, and Dizzy was there. She looked up at me with the same sad smile.

“You don’t look like this when they see you, do you?” I asked.

She shook her head, her smile growing wide and mischievous. She pointed at me, and at herself, a question in her expression.

Did I want to see?

I wasn’t sure I did, but I braced myself and nodded.

It was as disconcerting as when she had vanished into thin air that first day. One moment she was one way, and the next…

I knew why that woman had screamed, and why the teacher stayed home sick.

Dizzy’s thinness had been horrifying to me before, but now she was a skeleton. Every bone clear through her skin, her head a skull with staring eyes and drooping hair. Her skin was shriveled, decaying, splotched with purple where it wasn’t paper-white. Her lips were spreading away from her gums, her eyelids were too wide, receding back the same way. Her mouth was open, shadows making it look black and empty and…

…hungry.

Permanently, agonizingly hungry.

This was the body they had found, I was sure. This was what the neglect of so many people had brought about.

In another moment, Dizzy was back to being the sad, skinny, but smiling girl I had first seen.

I felt the wet heat of tears going down my face, and absently swiped them away. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no helping Dizzy,” she said.

I wondered who those words first came from. Was it something her mother said to outsiders who expressed concern over the little girl, trying to convince them that her daughter just wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t grow? Was it something the teacher said, while calling the girl Dizzy like her stumbles were caused by a lack of grace and not a lifetime of neglect? Was it spoken with a laugh, a dismissive wave, a ‘kids will be kids, she’ll grow out of it’ kind of casualness?

How many times had Dizzy heard it, for it to be the only words she held on to now?

Another question came to me, and this was one I actually had to ask. “Why…how can I see you?”

Dizzy shrugged. But she reached out and pointed a bony finger at me.

I looked down, lifting the arm she was pointing at. I blinked in surprise to see a bruise I hadn’t noticed before, dark and wide and in a shape I recognized well.

He hadn’t meant to grab me so hard. I was in his way, he was running late. He hadn’t been sleeping well, he told me in apology before he left, kissing my head like always.

I rubbed at my bruised skin absently. “He doesn’t hurt me,” I said, looking down at Dizzy. “Not on purpose.”

She looked up at me, her smile faded into a tight line. “There’s no helping Dizzy,” she said again, pointing at my arm insistently.

And I wonder, even now…if I really do need it, is there any help for me?

[cannahbliss-blog1]

So... I wanna work in the cannabis industry. (Colorado): How to get into the cannabis business

Once upon a time, I too, was a fresh implant here at the Denver scene. Although, I didn’t solely come for the cannabis, it did play a large part in my decision to relocate. I kind of stumbled into this industry to be honest. With that being said, I was very lucky to have experienced a broad perspective of this infant we call the marijuana business.

Pros and Cons of the industry. Pro😀 YOU’RE WORKING WITH WEED ALL DAY! The smells, the quantity, the different strains just displayed in front of you. It is fucking amazing. Con☹️ You’re working with weed all day, so you smell like dank everywhere else you go. Some people get offended with that (which you learn to ignore that hateful shit) but if you have children, this can cause a problem if you need to go to a parent/teacher conference right after work. Pro😀 No failed drug tests (for marijuana, that is). You’re growing weed…kind of self explanatory. But they can test you for other things. Here’s a tip, pot managers are a little more savvy when it comes to harder drugs, so if you look like you’re on them, they’ll know. Con☹️ Pay. I think the biggest reason why a lot of people give up on the industry is because they can make a lot more money doing something else. This is understandable. A cashier at Walmart makes more than a cultivation assistant at a large dispensary. Owners tend to sell “the dream” and convince you that you’re making history. Well, you are, and making them richer in the process. Pro😀 Given you find the right group of stoners, this is the chillest, easiest way to make money. You can freely talk about your marijuana consumption all day / every day if you want and not worry about the boss hearing you. Con☹️ Depending on what department you decide to work in, it’s back breaking work. Remember, marijuana is a plant, thus, you will become a farmer. Moreover, safety is not federally backed yet because marijuana is not federally legal yet. So no physical is required, no safety equipment is required, etc. So you’re at a big risk, especially if you’re older.

The first thing to make clear is that you will not find a job in any type of cannabis business if you are not a current resident of the state where it is legal. Owners and managers get hundreds of replies (sometimes in a single day), so they don’t bother reading resume’s that come from out of state. And with very good reason. Many transplants simple don’t stay long. Rent is high and is getting higher everyday. You may have to start off with a low wage in order to get your foot in the door. It’s nearly impossible to eat and pay rent with just your weed job.

Now that you are a resident (yay!), your next step is to get a med (Marijuana Enforcement Division) badge. Almost every ad you run across will require you to have your med badge before they even talk to you. So, if you’re not trying to own a business, you have two options. A support badge grants you access to work. For a lot of jobs this is the only thing that’s required so I would recommend starting off with that. But if you have a lot of education, or plan on working in a corporate office because of your work history, then a key badge might be a better choice. Key badges allows you to make managerial decisions. And of course, it’s significantly more expensive. Go to Colorado.gov for more info on how to get you support badge / key badge.

Now, start applying. The good thing about looking for a job in the industry now is that businesses have been loosening the reigns on their high standards. At first, in order to get a job in the industry, you needed to know someone or have experience. (Right, how can you have experience if it just became legal?) Yeah, it was designed to keep the jobs to Colorado natives and long time residents. Can’t blame ‘em for that. They figured they fought for their state to legalize it, so you fight for yours. But then out of state business owners got their residency and started opening dispensaries. Now, the turn over rate in some companies are so high, everybody’s worked everywhere. If they haven’t moved up, they are probably on the way out the door.

Craigslist: Good ol’ Craigslist. Yes, Craigslist is a good place to find a weed job, for sure. I found my jobs on Craigslist BUT, and there is a but, you have to weed out the legit with the not-so-legit. Type in the search mmj, or marijuana and they’ll pop up.

Staffing agencies: There are a couple of staffing agencies that are dedicated to the cannabis industry. Mary’s Staffing would be an example. Although, it’s a free service, it requires more than just sending in your resume. You know that saying, “The squeaky wheel gets fixed first.” Well, apply that to these agencies. You gotta call, pester, question what steps have been made to get you employed. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I ever got a call back…

Marijuana job sites: There’s a site called THCjobs.com. Cool thing about these sites is that they have jobs from all across the country. Bad thing is that it’s not updated in a timely manner. Now it’s not all the site’s fault. Oftentimes, the owner forgot he had that ad up. Nevertheless, not a bad place to look.

Remember, you are still applying for a job and although the managers may like to get high, they still use professionalism in picking candidates for employment. This is an agricultural job so any skills towards horticulture is a plus. You can mention that you trimmed at your friend’s house during the interview but don’t put it on your resume. If you’re going towards the front of the house, retail is a plus. Budtending is just like retail. You sell product. I know you’d rather get high than right a cover letter but it’s worth it. It brings you to the front of the pack when it comes to the abundance of resume’s.

You made it to the interview. Look, try to be sober. They already know you like weed, now they want to know if you’re reliable to do the job. Look sharp, don’t smell dank, but still be you. Dispensaries are so different from the next, so they all look for different things in potential candidates. Some are worried about production, so they want people that can get the job done fast. Some are more worried about longevity so they want someone with a certain personality fit. Every dispensary is different so don’t be discouraged if some don’t call you back.

I hope this little tune helped ya. If you have some extra knowledge to throw on there, by all means. Disagree, that’s cool. Help us understand better. Sending my love through this spliff I burn. Peace.