#literally sat in the crowd and contemplated starting to smoke

[daintyvalley]

the carnal urge i have to smoke ciggies is literally unreal. i do not know why i want to smoke them so badly!!! i see them and my demon brain must have them

[matthewtkachuk]

how to be a heartbreaker: rule four - rafe cameron

Rafe Cameron’s privileged upbringing has let him get away with far too much, for far too long. Between his tormenting of the pogues, running his mouth without consequence, and arrogant attitude, it’s time someone knocked him down a peg. Breaking his bones didn’t work, but maybe you can break his heart.

co-authored with my love, freya @rekrappeter

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader, unrequited!JJ x reader

warnings: angst, starting a relationship under false pretences, drinking and drug use, mentions of death (not main character!!), mentions of drowning

word count: 4.8k

a/n: here’s the second to last chapter!! please please please leave us feedback, freya and i read every comment and cry, love you guys so much!!

As JJ re-explained the next rule, you couldn’t stop the scoff from leaving your lips. “Who exactly is the ‘we’ in this rule, JJ? Cause it sounds to me like it’s really just me.” You sighed, the thought of getting close enough to Rafe Cameron to break his heart freaked you out the more JJ spoke.

“We’ll be with you through it all,” JJ reassured you. 

“What do you mean through it all?” You asked, “Are you going to be there holding my hand while I let him kiss me?” 

JJ scratched the back of his head, eyes flicking to Pope and John B who shrugged their shoulders, allowing him to take the fall for this question. “Eh, we’ll be there to provide support afterwards.”

“Knowing you guys, you’ll be pissed at me for kissing Rafe Cameron,” you snapped, crossing your arms in front of your chest. 

“I promise, y/n, we’ll be full of love and support,” John B promised, making you roll your eyes. 

“Oh yeah, full of love and support like when JJ punched that touron who was trying to take me home.” 

“He was a douchebag,” JJ defended himself.

“I literally just wanted to sleep with him, I don’t care if he was a douchebag. Do you make sure all the skinny blondes have winning personalities before you fuck them?” You smirked when he didn’t have a response.

“Can we get back to the plan please?” John B butt in again, frustrated as JJ sighed and nodded.

“Rule number four: never get attached, we don’t do that”

You awake the next morning, sunlight filtering through your broken blinds and your brain immediately goes through your to-do list for the day, like it does every morning. You’re still half asleep, contemplating spending an extra fifteen minutes in bed but it wasn’t until an arm wraps itself around your waist that you’re jolted from your thoughts and awake. Arm. Snores. Last Night. All the memories came rushing back in seconds, your stomach twisting with nausea and you felt the blood leave your face. 

You panic, wondering how to escape from underneath the arm of your best friends’ most hated person before realizing this is your house and even if you were able to escape there is nowhere to run. As if sensing your thoughts, the arm pulls you closer and his face falls into the crook of your neck. Your heart is beating erratically, from panic or attraction or a mixture of both, you can’t say. Two soft kisses are pressed against your skin, before he huskily mumbles “good morning.”

It was hard to ignore your heart missing a beat, it was even harder to ignore the erupting butterflies in your stomach at the sound of his voice. When you heard his voice, it reminded you of how he praised you last night, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he fucked you gently on the bed. He was so attentive last night, making sure that you were okay and enjoying it, and boy, did you enjoy it. He had you undone in seconds, you couldn’t even pretend you hadn’t wanted him, every bit of you was screaming for him to take you. 

“y/n, you okay?” Rafe asked softly, cuddling you even closer if it was possible. You relaxed into his embrace for a second, unable to resist the warmth his body provided before your phone buzzed on your nightstand. 

“I should get that,” you replied softly, pulling away from him and he let his arms drop from around you, situating himself on your pillow. You tried not to stare too long at his bare torso, remembering last night when you kissed down the abs god gave him. Swallowing hard, you looked away and furrowed your eyebrows at the message from JJ.

dumbass ❤️: mandatory meeting pogues assemble

The words reminded you that you were playing with fire. You sighed, and Rafe sat up a little in your bed, “everything okay, y/n?” 

“It’s just JJ, he wants everyone to meet up at John B’s,” you replied honestly, not seeing any reason to lie. 

“Oh,” he nodded slightly, “forgot about that part of your life for a second.”

“You forgot that I’m a pogue?” 

Rafe sighed, running his hand over his face, “No, that you’re best friends with Maybank. I used to see you as Maybank’s wh-girl, but now…” Rafe trailed off, eyes looking past you to the mirror hanging on your bedroom wall that reflected your current position. 

“First of all, I’m not JJ’s anything. I don’t belong to anyone.” You replied sassily, making eye contact with him through the mirror, “Secondly, what do you mean by ‘but now’?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“I think last night explains it all,” Rafe smirked, the faraway look in his eye completely gone when he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into him, kissing down your neck. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sensation, and you wanted nothing more than to pull away when you realised that you were enjoying this moment. 

“Rafe, stop,” you laughed, trying to pull yourself away from him, for your own sake. The line between doing this for the plan and doing this for yourself was blurring with every touch of his lips.

Rafe sighed heavily, pulling away from you but not before cupping your face and planting a kiss on your lips. You lost yourself in the moment, melting into his body and letting him deepen the kiss. He could have kissed you all day if he liked, it wasn’t until your phone vibrated again that he pulled away, a smug look on his face.

dumbass ❤️: NOW! 

You sighed heavily at the message, hating when JJ would get into a demanding mood like this. You pouted, thinking about how your car was still in the shop where you had left it, not really in the mood to make the long trek to John B’s. 

“Whatcha pouting about, pretty girl?” Rafe asked, eyes focused on the curve of your lips.

“Nothing, I’m just thinking about how I’m going to have to walk all the way to John B’s-” you started to explain before he silenced you with a kiss. Your pout transformed itself into a smile despite your efforts to resist. You couldn’t help but wonder why you were giving in so easily. The rational part of your brain hated him, but the way he made you feel so good... You let the kiss deepen once more before he pulled away.

“I can drop you off,” he replied a little shyly, “y’know if you want me to.”

Your lips curved into a smile, having Rafe drop you off at the chateau would show them all how well the plan was going. Plus, JJ’s reaction would be a bonus. You could almost picture it, the stormy look in his eyes from the day before coupled with a grimace. Either that or complete indifference, but either way you wanted to find out. “Okay.”

“I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” he admitted, leaning on his elbow and looking down at you.

“Honestly, I just really don’t want to walk,” you replied, hand moving to run through his hair, “besides you’ll be on your best behaviour, right?”

He gripped your wrist, pausing your motions, before pressing a kiss to the inside, “for you? I’ll try.”

Half an hour later (you lazily made out with him for another ten before quickly getting dressed and heading over), Rafe pulled up outside the chateau. You weren’t sure if luck was on your side or not, when the prying eyes of your friends peeked over their shoulders at the sound of an unfamiliar truck at the side of the house. JJ stood out from the crowd, standing by the hammock, a smoke hanging loosely from his lips. 

You tore your eyes away from him, ignoring the look he sent you and turned your attention to Rafe, who was staring at the unreadable expression on your face. “Thanks for the lift, Rafe, appreciate it,” you mumbled, reaching for the handle. 

Rafe grasped the wrist of your other hand, making you turn to him. “Forgetting something?” You were confused for a second, but the smirk that rested on his lips answered any questions you had. He closed the gap between you, his hand cupping your face to deepen the kiss. His tongue ran along your lips, making you moan softly into the kiss. When you pulled away, you didn’t miss the quick glance Rafe sent to JJ making your stomach knot slightly. But who were you to be worried that he was playing you, when your ultimate plan was to play him? 

“Your dog is glaring at me,” Rafe chuckled, making any worries you just had disappear. 

“Don’t mind him,” You mumbled, thanking him for the ride again and hopping out of the truck, “call me, yeah?”

“Of course, babe,” Rafe winked, and when you closed the door of the vehicle, he reversed out of the driveway and was miles down the road by the time you made your way to the pogues, all with different expressions. John B’s eyes were wide, almost as if he just witnessed the real life santa claus walking around naked; Kie was amused, the smirk growing wider at the heart eyes popping from your head; Pope, as usual, seemed worried and you could tell that his mind was coming up with twelve million different questions; and lastly, JJ. You couldn’t make out his expression, he looked sour but accomplished. You weren’t sure what he was thinking but you knew that in only a couple of seconds, he’d be filling you in on his messed up thoughts. 

“That looked like some kiss,” John B whistled, playfully fanning himself making you push him off the driftwood he was lounging on. “How many of them have you shared?” he asked from the ground, resting his arms behind his head. 

You shrugged your shoulders, plonking down next to Pope and letting him comfort you silently by placing his arm around your shoulder, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, muttering a quiet greeting. “Just a few,” you acknowledged, looking back to JJ, “right, boss, get the meeting going.” 

JJ’s eyes scanned your face, looking for something that was missing. You knew he knew, he could sense it the moment you got within two metres of him but you didn’t bring it up, you didn’t ask him what was wrong because he’d eat you alive. “How is it going with him?” JJ asked, his voice low and filtered with underlying annoyance. 

“H-he’s definitely falling,” you hummed. JJ took another look at you, this time his gaze zeroing in on the red mark on your shoulder that you had failed to cover up.

“Did you fuck him?” JJ asked you harshly, dark gaze strictly on you.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, JJ,” you snapped back, cheeks feeling warm with embarrassment about being called out. 

“Uh, I think it’s my business if it’s going to fuck up the plan,” he replied, as if that thought should have been obvious to you. “Besides, you’re my best friend and that makes it my business.”

Rolling your eyes, “I think if anything, it furthered your stupid little plan. Besides who I do or do not fuck is not your concern, friend” you spit at him. The pogues sensed the outright hostility and quickly made their way into the chateau to give the two of you privacy. Although, if you know them as well as you think you do, they’re likely standing on the other side of the door, listening in.

“Look, I just think there are plenty of other people you could fuck if you needed to,” he replied, hands in the air.

“Oh really? Because everytime I try, something or should I say someone scares them away.” You glare at him, more than aware of the way JJ runs off every guy that so much as looks at you.

“Those guys aren’t good enough for you,” he mumbled, suddenly losing all his indignation in favor of something that looked a little like shame. 

“It’s literally for a quick fuck, JJ. I’m not trying to get married here. Besides, if they’re not good enough for me, show me someone who is.” 

There’s silence as JJ considers your words. You raise a single eyebrow at him, waiting for him to give you something. “That’s what I thought.” You pushed past him and entered the Chateau to find your friends just on the other side of the door, staring at you with wide eyes. “What?” 

You threw yourself onto the couch, crossing your arms and legs protectively over your body as you sat there and pouted. Pope sat next to you, a hand encouragingly resting on your knee. You waited for JJ to enter the house, his eyes shooting a glare in your direction but they must have caught Pope’s stare on the way, his face softening slightly as he released a heavy sigh. He made his way to the chalkboard, picking up the white piece of chalk and ticking off rule one and two. 

“What about rule number three?” you piped up. 

“Well, you gave him everything you had, there’s nothing more left,” JJ snapped, this in turn caused Kie to jump from the stool she was sitting on near the kitchen, walking up to JJ and pushing his chest. “What the fuck?” he hissed, eyes narrowing at the dark haired girl. 

“You stop being a fucking dick, this was your idea and if you’re not happy with how it’s going then fuck off,” Kie snapped, getting real sick of the attitude JJ has become accustomed to. 

“She’s right, man,” John B agreed, nibbling on his bottom lip, “You’ve been real snappy lately, especially with y/n.”

You threw your hands in the air, letting a sigh of relief escape past your lips, “Thank you!” 

JJ’s eyes softened, his pink lips turning into a pout. He knew there was something wrong with him, he felt more irritable as the days went on but he never pinpointed that it was because of this plan. The Pogues were right, he didn’t have the right to be annoyed at you but yet he still was. “I’m sorry, y/n,” he hummed, running his hands through his blonde hair. 

“It’s fine, J… I’ve actually been thinking, I don’t think I want to continue with this plan-” It was like a wave of anger just washed over JJ’s expression at your words, if it was a cartoon, steam would be flying from his ears. Pope squeezed your knee in support, getting ready to pounce at JJ in case he loses it. 

“What? So you fuck him and now all of a sudden you’ve got feelings for him,” JJ chuckled drily, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“What are you talking about? Look at how this plan has us acting, we’ve never fought this much before,” You shouted at him, standing up from the couch and letting Pope’s hand fall from you. You square your shoulders at JJ, telling him you mean it. 

“Don’t bother lying to me, you know that has nothing to do with this. You like Rafe Cameron, admit it!” 

“I don’t!” You hollered, ignoring the aching in your chest at the obvious lie. “So what if I fucked him? It probably just made it more believable that I liked him but I’m sick of this. I’m sick of fighting with you, I’m tired of you jumping down my throat every time I see you, it’s not the same. I’m through with this.”

JJ trudged towards you, his breathing erratic, “We’re not through until you break Rafe’s heart,” his voice was low, but his eyes spoke loudly enough to back up his words. They were fuming, scanning your face as if it was the last time he’d see you. 

“You can break Rafe’s heart all you want, but I won’t be a part of it anymore,” you whispered, pushing past his panting body and stalking towards the door, pushing it open loudly. You paused on the porch for a moment, contemplating going back in and apologizing to JJ, promising him you’d finish what you started but the image of Rafe entered your mind. In this moment, you cared more for Rafe than you did JJ, a foreign feeling. 

“Hey, you’re still here,” the sound of Pope’s voice made you turn, looking at him walking over to you. “C’mon,” he mumbled, pulling your body flush against his and comforting you. He ran his hands up and down your back, and you were never so grateful to have him in your life than in that moment. 

You nestled your head into his chest, tears brimming your bottom lashes. “Pope, I’m exhausted.” 

“I know, I know it’s hard pretending and I’m sorry you’ve to go through this,” your friend whispered, tightening his grip on you. 

“No, Pope, I’m exhausted fighting with JJ over every little thing. I’m pretending here, right now, around all of you,” you cried, allowing the tears to fall. Pope had to take a second look when he pulled away from you, never seeing you cry in his life. You were always so tough, so hard headed and it made Pope’s heart ache at the sight of you right now, “When I’m with Rafe, I feel more like myself these days.”

“But y/n, it-it’s Rafe Cameron,” Pope’s brows furrowed.

“I know,” you exclaimed, shaking your head, “I know, Pope.” 

“Look, go home and think about all this. I’ll be here with you until the end of the line, okay? I’ve got you.” You smiled thankfully at Pope, doing your handshake with him before jogging down the steps of the porch, ignoring the sight of the blonde peeking from the door when you turned to wave at your friend.

Pope looked at JJ, shaking his head in disappointment. “If you don’t tell her how you feel soon, you’re going to lose her.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” JJ mumbled, his inner voice telling him deny, deny, deny.

“Then don’t come crying to me when I’m right.”

“She fucked him, man,” JJ mumbled, running his hand over his face. His heart was hammering against his chest, his blood boiling in his veins. He wanted nothing more than to hop onto his motorcycle and go directly to Rafe Cameron and smash his face in. The thoughts of him having his hands all over your body made him sick. 

“You can’t be angry at her though, you know y/n, we all do,” Pope sighed, running his hands up JJ’s back as he bent over, trying to ease his stomach, “she may be tough on the outside but she just wants someone to love her like she loves….”

“Like she loves me,” JJ sighed, shaking his head in anger, “I can’t love her like that.” 

“You do though, bro.” 

“N-no, I don’t. I’ve tried, I’ve tried thinking of her in that way, but I can’t. I love her, yes of course I do, but in the same way that I’d love my little sister.” 

“If you want to keep lying to yourself, go right ahead.” Pope sighed, sick of fighting with his best friend about his feelings for their other best friend. JJ just kept silent, knowing deep down that Pope was right, he always was. He did love you, however, JJ wasn’t lying about being unable to love you the way you loved him, he didn’t know how. You occupied his thoughts most of the time, and he was fiercely protective of you, but he could never act on his love for you the way you wanted him to.

In your anger, you forgot that Rafe had dropped you off at John B’s, the realization hitting when your feet hit the gravel and you remembered you had to walk home. You thought about calling him, but you didn’t want to come across too desperately. That would really mess up the plan, you thought stubbornly, ignoring the butterflies that were fighting in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again so soon.

You were grumpily walking through the Cut, grumbling to yourself about your stupid best friend. Your heart sunk as your flip flop caught on a rock and you felt the plastic piece that separated your toes separate from your shoe. Looking down at your now ruined shoe, you briefly wondered if kooks ever had this issue, or if their hundred dollar kate spade flip flops broke too. 

You stopped and leaned against a tree, pulling your phone out to call someone to come pick you up - there was no way you were going to walk in the Cut barefoot. You scrolled through your recent text list, grimacing at the sight of JJ’s nickname and deciding you didn’t particularly want to speak to any of the other pogues who had witnessed your disastrous fighting. Your eyes locked on the text history with Rafe, realizing he was probably the only person who would be willing to pick you up. You sighed, before shooting him a quick text.

you: if i dropped a pin, would you come get me?

rafe: i’ll be there in fifteen minutes

You smiled a little to yourself, who would have ever thought that Rafe Cameron would be who you called when you were in need of help? Honestly, who would have thought that Rafe Cameron would ever be someone you called ever.

Even though he said it would be fifteen minutes, he was in front of you in ten. Seeing the look on your face, he quickly threw the truck in park before hopping out and wrapping his arms around you.

“Hey,” you mumbled into his chest, leaning into him.

“Hey, baby,” the nickname fell from his lips by accident, but he decided he liked it, “everything okay?” You could only shrug, the weight of JJ’s words pressing down on your shoulders. “They don’t like you being with me,” he guessed correctly, pulling back a little to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I don’t care what they think,” you said, the earlier pout resting on your lips again.

“I think you do,” he replied, hand moving to soothingly rub circles on your back as you leaned into him.

“Well I wish I didn’t,” you snapped, feeling a little sorry. Truthfully, it was JJ you were still mad at.

“I like that you care,” Rafe admitted, “about your friends, about the environment, about strangers...about me?” the last two words said with a lack of confidence. You forced a smile onto your face, cupping his cheek with your hand before pressing your lips to his. 

The strange thing is you were beginning to care for him, if only a little. His touch was calming, his presence comforting and his lips were heaven. Maybe you were just so touch starved that you latched on the first one to place their hands on you, but there was something about Rafe beyond the physical. He listened when you spoke, never spoke over you and never invalidated your feelings, not like JJ lately. He pulled away from your kiss slowly, and you kept your eyes closed, lips pursed. After a moment, you slowly opened your eyes to see him smiling down at you softly.

“C’mon, baby let’s go for a drive,” he kissed your forehead again before leading you to the passenger side of his truck, opening the door for you before getting in on the driver’s side.

You reached over the console, wrapping your smaller fingers around his hand and bringing the palm of his hand to your lips, placing soft kisses on it. “Stop that, it’s tickling,” Rafe chuckled, trying to rip his hand from yours but he put no effort in it, secretly wanting you to keep holding his hand. He looked over at you, the sun beating in from the window and lightening up his face. The way the sunshine shone across your body made you glisten, he could see the specks of dust flying around the car but his focus was solely on you, and he could have sworn your outline was sparkling. 

“Where are we going?” you mumbled against his palm, turning his hand around and kissing his knuckles. 

Moments later, Rafe pulled up to a cliffedge, overlooking the town below you. He took his seatbelt off, leaning over and clipping yours out, you took this as an opportunity to climb onto his lap, your knees straddling his sides. He nestled his face into the crook of your neck, circling his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. You felt your fingers absentmindedly brush through his soft hair, thanking the gods above that he didn’t have enough time this morning to style it with an oddly amount of gel.

You lifted your head up but knocked it off the sunvisor causing you to groan. “You okay, baby?” Rafe asked, his breath dancing across your exposed skin. He placed a kiss on your collarbone, and when he didn’t hear you answer, he pulled back slightly seeing your focus on something else. In your hand held the photograph that Rafe kept in his car, one that you were curious about. Your finger grazed the face, smiling back at you in the picture, seeing the brunette for the first time. Her smile was beautiful, her eyes were twinkling with excitement and the longer you stared into them, you knew exactly who it was.

“This is your mom?” you whispered, feeling the tension get heavy. Rafe let out a shaky breath, nodding his head at your question. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, she was,” Rafe sniffled, wanting to reach for the photograph in your grasp but his eyes found your face, seeing how soft and calm your expression was. He knew you wouldn’t pry, he knew you wouldn’t question anything but something deep down told him that he wanted to tell you, he wanted to open up to you about this part of his life that he kept so private. 

“You look just like her,” you smile, looking from the photo to Rafe. Your mouth parted at the expression on his face, the glossing of his eyes made your heart tighten in your chest. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“N-no, don’t be silly, it’s fine,” he mumbled, glancing at his mother. “When I was four years old, Ward took me out fishing by the lake on a Saturday. I don’t remember the day much, it goes by in such a blur. One week of my life was all pushed into one memory, I remember crying a lot. I remember there was a lot of screaming and-”

“Rafe, you don’t have to talk about this,” you interrupted him, hearing his voice shake. His tongue darted out from his mouth, wetting his lips and he shook his head, wiping the tears that were sliding down his cheek away. He avoided your eyes, the blue in them bright from the tears and the sun, but you reached up to cup his face, his stare finding yours immediately. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I want to,” he whispered, “I’ve only ever spoken about this to one person, and that person was my therapist. I want to tell you.” You nodded at his words, urging him to continue. “So he brought me fishing to his usual spot, he warned me about the steep slip and told me, over and over again, to not go near it. But I was four years old, I forgot or I wanted to go home so I thought, maybe if I slipped, I would get to go back home. Anyways, I stepped on it and slipped into the lake, but I couldn’t swim and I didn’t realise Ward wasn’t looking at me.”

“Oh, god,” you couldn’t help the emotions from crashing over you, feeling his tears wet your hand. 

Rafe sniffled, trying to chuckle through the pain the memory brought, “They got me out of the lake but I was unconscious, I could remember the sound of ambulances and flickering lights but everything was a blur until I woke up two days later, and no one was there to see me.” Rafe paused, heaving a deep breath, he clasped his fingers around yours, holding you tightly. He was shaking at your touch. “But it turns out, they were planning my mother’s funeral. Ward had called her from the ambulance and she left work in a hurry, she didn’t realise one of her tires were flat and--” Rafe couldn’t finish the sentence, he burst out in tears right in front of you. 

Your chest was heavy as you immediately wrapped your arms around the crying boy, bringing him closer to your body and comforting him in silence. His whole body was shaking with the sobs, the sound of his pain making you cry alongside him. His arms circled your waist again, squeezing and grasping onto any bit of life he could.

(tag list in the first reblog)

[arashikitten]

The Light that Burns Twice as Bright Burns Half as Long

   When Macaque had first spotted the kid, he had immediately been drawn to him. The aura that seemed to flicker from him was warm, bright and comforting like a ray of sunlight in the afternoon. It was strong and silly, like a child’s laughter, but there was power hidden there, raw and ancient and monstrous, like that of a malicious trickster deity toying with humanity for the hell of it.

   The realization snapped into him only when he finally noticed the ornate, red and gold staff strapped to the kid’s back, the familiarity slamming into him with the force of a crashing mountain, crushing him beneath it’s oppressive wieght.

That was Wukong’s staff. The Monkey King’s most well known weapon and source of power.

   And it was being wielded by a child. Anger had bubbled in Macaque then, simmering and burning away at the corners of his vision like lava.

   He’d contemplated, then, whether or not he should just kill the boy then and there and be done with the day. It would be so simple, just a quick snap of the neck. Humans were so fragile, it was honestly a miracle they had lasted so long in the face of much more powerful, demonic creatures.

   Macaque had dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it came. No, the boy would likely be more useful to him alive. Macaque lifted one of his paws, and quickly summoned the small purple seal. He grinned before clenching his fist, extinguishing it in a small trail of smoke.

   Yes, that was a much better idea than killing him outright. Sure, it would require patience, and a lot of acting on his part, but if all went according to plan…

   Macaque backed into the dark shadows of the alleyway, reveling in the darkness they brought as they consumed him. A sharp smirk grew on his face.

   Watching Wukong’s face as he destroyed him with his own powers would be so much more satisfying than just killing some kid.

———————  ———————  ———————  ———————

   His first real meeting with the kid had been… interesting. Everything had gone according to plan, of course: catch the kid’s attention with a shadow clone avatar, have the avatar beat him, show up and defeat the avatar while looking as cool as possible. The kid had been impressed, and Macaque could feel the admiration pouring off of him in waves as he had scrambled to the top of the building Macaque was on.

   It was a nice feeling.

   One that had been completely shattered when the kid had realized he wasn’t Wukong, and had ever so kindly pointed that out.

   But Macaque, with his impressive self-restraint, was able to just barely bite down the growl crawling up his throat, turning his grimace into an awkward smile. He needed the kid’s trust, and he couldn’t have that if he snapped at him.

   Maybe this was a bad idea, a part of him thought. He wasn’t exactly known for his patience, or his people skills, and the kid would probably be comparing him to Wukong the entire time if Macaque did decide to “train” him.

   Yeah, no thank you.

   But as Macaque started to leave, the kid jumped up yet again, rushing in front of him with clear awe and excitement.

   “Can you teach me that awesome thing?!” Oh hell, he looked so excited and hopeful, like he really wanted Macaque to teach him. Macaque backed away slightly, so the kid wasn’t up in his face.

   “Uhh… don’t you already have a master? I thought Monkey king was training you?” Please take the bait please take the bait…

   Thankfully, the kid did, backing away slightly and, to Macaque’s surprise, looking a bit… disappointed. Like he wasn’t getting what he wanted from training with the great Sun Wukong.

   Suddenly, that small voice of doubt vanished in Macaque, replaced by interest. Maybe… maybe he should continue with this plan. He smiled to himself, anticipation brewing in his gut like a storm.

   “But you can never have too many teachers, right? I’m sure Monkey King would agree? It’s not like he’d want to hold you back!” Yes, Macaque could see the temptation growing in the kid. He could also see the beginnings of doubt, dissatisfaction toward the Monkey King being stoked by Macaque’s carefully chosen words.

   “Ummm… Yeah! Yes, he’d totally be cool with it!” That was a blatant lie, but Macaque let it slide. He needed the kid’s trust if he wanted this plan to work.

   He slung his arm around the kid’s shoulder, leading him to the edge of the building. He called the seal to his fingertips as he did so, quietly pushing it into the kid’s aura to slowly feed off it, before letting his paw slide from  Xiaotian’s back.

   Now, all he had to do was wait.

——————— ——————— ——————— ———————

   Macaque was losing his mind.

   Three days. That was all it should’ve taken for the seal to fill up completely. That was the most it ever had taken, and that was only because Macaque had been unable to complete it at the time. So, the seal on Xiaotian’s back should’ve been full to bursting.

   And yet, when Macaque had finally decided to check it, he’d found that it was barely 5% full. At first, he’d thought it was because the kid hadn’t been using his full power. But then he’d thought back to the day before when, in a fit of frustration, the kid had blasted a hole clean through the side of a small mountain. Aside from scaring the absolute shit out of Macaque, because holy fuck this kid is strong, that one blast alone should’ve filled up at least 20% of the seal. Clearly, that was not the case.

   Which left two options: either a) Macaque hadn’t correctly applied the seal (an idea that was very quickly disproven with a second check), or b) the kid’s aura was so strong, it was messing with his seal. It was honestly the only option that made even a bit of sense. After all, the kid’s presence had been enough to draw Macaque’s attention even when he was in a large crowd of people.

   Unfortunately, there wasn’t much that Macaque could do to fix that. Maybe if the seal had been incomplete, he could remove it and replace the old seal with a new, complete one. It would’ve been a pain, sure, but he could stand to wait an extra day or so. But this… this wasn’t something that he could fix. If he removed the seal now, then all his hard work from the past three days would go to waste, and he could not let that happen.

   Macaque sighed as he sat next to Xiaotian. The kid was out cold, curled up on the small futon that Macaque had set up in one of the rooms of his dojo. The kid had been exhausted, worked to the bone by his boss, Sun Wukong, and Macaque himself, and had come into the dojo two hours earlier with dark purple bags under his eyes and a bad case of bedhead. They’d trained for about an hour before Macaque had told the kid to get some sleep, unable to watch the kid try to clumsily strike him only to trip over his own feet.

   It was odd, really. Macaque typically wasn’t the type to enjoy being with others. He was a loner, had been for hundreds of years now. And he’d enjoyed it! No burdensome connections, no one to carry but himself, no one to tie him down to any one place. Besides, he found humans to be too annoying and needy, and demons were often so pretentious it made Macaque’s eyes want to roll out of his head. In short, he didn’t like being with other people.

   And yet, the kid had somehow managed to begin worming his way through all of Macaque’s barriers with an ease that, if he was being honest, scared him a fair bit. He’d spent years, years, building up those walls, making sure that every crack, every little weakness, was sealed up and airtight.

   Only for a kid, who Macaque had absolutely planned on killing, and whom he had only met three days ago, to bypass all of that as fast as though the walls had never even existed.

   That was why Macaque was starting to panic. If he got attached, if he actually started to care about Xiaotian- no, he couldn’t start calling the kid by his name, he’d get even more attached- if he actually started to care about the kid, then not only would he be unable to execute his plan, he’d be making himself vulnerable. He’d give himself a weakness, one that other demons would exploit.

   He could not, under any circumstances, let that happen. He needed to distance himself from the kid as much as possible, while still “training” him and filling the seal. It would take a couple of months, a lot of patience, and really, really good acting on his part, but he could do it.

   Besides, the kid was the apprentice of his worst enemy. How hard could it be?

—————— —————— —————— —————— ——————

   He couldn’t believe this. It was absurd. Ridiculous. An absolute waste of his time. And beyond that…

   “C’mon Macaque! I need to show you this one game! You’re gonna love it!!”

   ...It was embarrassing. It was so, so embarrassing.

   Qi Xiaotian had come into his dojo about an hour earlier, somehow buzzing with even more energy than usual and excitement making his eyes glitter like a diamond in the sunlight. When Macaque had asked the kid what had him so excited that he was literally vibrating, he’d expected it to be something along the lines of ‘Wukong finally taught me a new move’, or something else related to the Monkey king.

   What he had not expected was for the kid to start ranting about some video game that had just come out today. The kid had been talking so fast that Macaque couldn’t understand about 90% of what the kid said, and the 10% he could make out made no goddamned sense. Who the hell was Minecraft Steve? And on top of that, what the fuck is a “Sans”?

   When the kid had finally finished, Macaque had sat there for a moment, just trying to process what had just happened. He’d probably looked like an absolute idiot, just sitting there staring.

   When he’d finally found his voice, he’d said that it sounded interesting, and that he knew Xiaotian would have fun playing it. That was when things started to go downhill.

   As they had been walking to the training area, the kid had asked him what video games he played. He’d sounded genuinely interested too, like he really cared about what Macaque did in his free time (like he actually cared about Macaque). Without thinking, Macaque had responded that he didn’t play video games, preferring to use his time to train or carve stuff.

   At that point his fate was sealed.

   The kid gasped, giving Macaque a scandalized look. It was almost comical, and he’d  had to bite back a snort.

   “You’ve NEVER PLAYED A VIDEO GAME?!!” The kid gave him an incredulous look, mouth gaping. Macaque rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, his tail twitching nervously.

   “Ummmm… no? It’s not that big a deal-“ Macaque was cut off by the kid grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the dojo. Shit, this was not going as planned.

   Macaque dug his feet into the floor, halting Qi Xiaotian even as he struggled to tug Macaque along with him. The kid was strong, he’d give him that. He’d actually struggled a bit to stay in place.

   “Whoa whoa whoa, easy there kid. What’s with the hurry?”

   “You’ve never played a video game! How is it that you’ve never played a video game?!” Macaque shrugged nonchalantly.

   “I have other, more important things to do. Besides, they can’t be that good-“

   They’d argued over that for a while, until Xiaotian had gotten the idea to take the dark monkey to an arcade a few blocks away. That was when it happened.

   Macaque had opened his mouth, the word no already on his tongue, when the kid had given him this look. It reminded Macaque of a kicked puppy, except somehow even sadder and more pleading, and suddenly he’d found himself agreeing to go. Which was how he ended up standing in a shitty, loud, brightly colored arcade with an excitable young human buzzing around him like a hummingbird.

   Macaque couldn’t even get frustrated about it. Oh, he’d been pissed on the walk here, for sure. But then the kid had smiled at him, and he looked so goddamned happy that Macaque was going with that he couldn’t find it in himself to snap at him. He’d even started to feel excited about going, before he remembered that arcades are loud and smelly and full of people, and by that point it had already been too late.

   “OH MY GOD, THEY HAVE MONKEY MECH 3??!?! MACAQUE WE HAVE TO PLAY IT!!!” Still, he couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his face as his protege dragged him toward one of the brightly colored games.

—————— —————— —————— —————— ——————

   Shit. Shit. Shit. How had he let this happen? How could he have been so damn stupid?

   Macaque paced the darkened halls of the dojo, tearing at his hair in frustration. Xiaotian- no, the kid, he was the kid dammit- was fast asleep in one of the small office rooms, curled up on the spare futon that had effectively become his bed. Training had run far longer than either of them had been expecting, and it had started pouring rain as well. The kid had shyly asked Macaque if he could stay the night and, wanting to check on the seal’s progress, Macaque had obliged.

   It was more than two thirds of the way full. Which, given that a month and a half had passed since he last checked it, made sense.

   What didn’t make sense was the distinct dread that overcame him upon that discovery, turning his insides to ice and causing worry to twist in his stomach. Dread quickly turned to confusion, which became anger, which gave way to one hell of a realization.

   He’d fucking grown attached. The one person in the world that he needed to emotionally distant from, and of course Macaque had gotten attached. It was just… he’d never had anyone be genuinely happy or excited to hang out with him, or talk to him, or anything like that. Most people who saw him tended to shy away or, if they knew who he was, bolt in terror. And in the past few hundred years, he’d grown accustomed to that.

   And then there was Xiaotian, who actively sought him out, who really enjoyed being with Macaque, who actually talked to Macaque like he was really interested in what he had to say, and who smiled at him whenever he entered the dojo, and who treated him like an actual goddamned person. Macaque had never gotten to feel that before, like someone really gave a damn about him.

   And slowly, Macaque had begun to feel the same about Xiaotian. He found himself genuinely interested in whatever the kid would rattle on about, found himself feeling actual concern whenever the kid showed up to train with bruises or injuries. He’d grown fond of the kid, with their training time becoming his favorite part of the day.

   Which would be great, if it wasn’t for two little things: a), the kid is also being mentored by his worst enemy, and b), MACAQUE WAS STILL PLANNING ON BETRAYING THE KID! Except now, the mere thought of that made Macaque feel sick with guilt as he imagined the confused, hurt look Xiaotian would give him if he did, and Macaque knew he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

   But he didn’t have a choice! If he didn’t do this, if he didn’t go through with the plan, then he’d lose everything! All that progress, all that hard work, wasted! He’d be alone for the rest of his life…

   And if you do go through with it, you’ll end up pushing away the only person who cares about you.

   Macaque froze, ramrod straight. His arms fell to his sides as the sounds of the night permeated the air. He stood in the darkness, surrounded by the shadows of his regret.

   “Oh,” he said quietly, as tears dropped from his cheeks onto the cold, wooden floor.

—————— —————— —————— ——————

   He removed the seal that night, while the kid was asleep. It had been easy, easier than he expected, and the resulting golden glow from the kid’s aura made it worth it. He’d basked in the glow until he’d finally fallen asleep, and when he woke up the next morning, the kid was gone. He’d panicked at first, believing that Xiaotian had somehow found out about the seal and the plan and that he hated Macaque now and was gonna get Sun Wukong and-

   And then he’d seen the kid’s note, saying that he needed to go to work and he’d be back at around 6:00, and Macaque breathed a sigh of relief.

   Before cringing slightly at his earlier panic. It hadn’t even been a whole day since he’d decided not to betrayXiaotian, and he was already panicking about the kid turning his back on him? What was he, the kid's father?

   Some deep part of him said yes, before he quickly shoved it back down. No, he was not the kid’s parent. Mentor? Maybe. Friend? Honestly, yeah. Parent? Hell fucking no. He already had enough to worry about without mother-henning the reckless young adult.

   Slowly, Macaque went about his day. Went out into the city to get (read: steal) food, fought a demon or two for the hell of it, watched people from atop a building, before he headed back to the Dojo to get ready for the day’s training session with Xiaotian.

   Macaque checked the clock as he finished up. 5:55. Excitement rose within him. The kid said he would be here at six; he should be arriving soon.

   Macaque tried to hide his excitement as he waited, leaning against the front door. He’d gotten rid of the seal, Wukong didn’t know about him, and Xiaotian still wanted to train with him. All in all, this had been a good 24 hours, Macaque thought.

   The minutes ticked by. 6:00 became 6:30, which became 7:00. Excitement become concern, which became anxiety. Xiaotian was never, ever this late. Hell, the kid would usually be so excited to train that he’d show up ten minutes early, before Macaque would be fully prepared.

   Macaque checked his new phone (Courtesy of an impromptu shopping spree with Xiaotian). Nothing from the kid saying he would be late. Actually, aside from a message from this morning that mirrored the paper note he’d found on his desk, there was nothing at all.

   That was what spurred Macaque to start running through the city, leaping across rooftops with ease. In just a few minutes, he was almost to the kid’s apartment, wind in his fur as he turned the corner-

   Rubble. Yellow police tape everywhere. Massive scorch marks that streaked the walls and ground. One of the walls of the apartment had been destroyed, leaving a gaping hole.

   There was the scent of blood and burning flesh.

   Macaque couldn’t breathe.

   He couldn’t B R E A T H E.

   He stumbled away from the scene from the flashing light of police cars and the scent, that horrible scent-

   It was Xiaotian’s scent. Gods, that was Xiaotian’s scent, mixed in with the blood and burned flesh, and something had- someone had hurt him- someone had hurt his kid-

   He was running now, rushing to the hospital because his kid was injured and he needed to be there to make sure he was alive and ok, because he couldn’t lose the one person on the goddamned planet who cared, or he would go insane. Guilt crashed over him in waves, he should’ve been there-

   He doesn’t remember the trip to the hospital. He doesn’t remember transforming into a finch and flying around the building, doesn’t remember the search at all.

   He does, however, remember finally finding the kid’s room. He does, however, remember the short, old doctor saying that he had several 3rd degree burns, multiple broken bones, and that he may never be able to see out of his left eye ever again.

   He remembers, so vividly, finally catching sight of the kid’s battered and burned form, bandages obscuring the entire left side of his face, an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose.

   He will forever remember just how pale the kid looked.

   Like he was dead.

   Macaque flew to the roof of the hospital, clumsily transforming back as he skidded to a stop. He fell to his knees, staring numbly down at the concrete rooftop. He was dimly aware of the tears that silently streaked down his face, but he could not feel them.

   He couldn’t feel much of anything.

   Why? Why couldn’t he have just one person who cared? Why did the universe have to take the only person who gave a damn?

   Anger, slow and hot, began to burn at the tears. Why the hell did Xiaotian have to be the one to get hurt? Was it karma for Macaque? Was it the universe’s way of getting revenge for all of his misdeeds?

   But if that was the case, then why had Xiaotian been the one who got hurt? Why had Xiaotian been the one to almost die, to have his bones shattered, his flesh burned, his blood spilled? Why hadn’t Macaque been the one to suffer, instead of a kid who did nothing but give a monster hope to be better?

   “WHY??!!”, Macaque screamed to the heavens, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TAKE-ta-take me….. wh-why didn’t you take me instead...why….” his voice broke into a whisper, as his tears burned like liquid fire in his eyes.

   The heavens, cold and uncaring and so unlike Xiaotian’s warmth and light and kindness, gave him no answer.

[mermaidsneedwater]

you’re drunk

⇒ jaebeom

“Pew pew!” You narrate the sound effects from your finger guns “Jae! I’m shooting love bullets at you, are you falling for me?”

“Baby how much did you have to drink?” Jaebeom laughed.

That was a very valid question, your best friend was getting married and you had been put in charge of throwing the most epic bachelorette party complete with penis straws, strippers, and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

You had taken your duties so seriously that Jaebeom had to come pick you up from your wild night out, quite literally. He carried you bridal style out of the bar and walked you to his car a few blocks away.

“Just alottle.” You jumbled the words.

“Okay, that’s not even a word.” Jaebeom scoffed, “You’re gonna have the worst hangover tomorrow.”

“Oh man, Jaebeom is gonna be so pissed at me.” You said, forgetting that he was the one carrying you. “Hey! Don’t be a snitch and tell him. Sometimes he’s a little uptight about these things”

Jaebeom held back a laugh as you continued. “You got it.”

“All in all,” you yawned, “he’s a pretty good boyfriend, I’d give him a 4.7 rating on Uber.”

As he reached his car, Jaebeom was thankful he’d been the one to get you. He secretly loved taking care of you, but he’d never let you know that.

“Hey am I spinning or what?” You commented.

And with that, Jaebeom knew he was in for a long night.

⇒ mark

It was 3:24 am when Mark finally woke up. He’d heard his phone ringing, but couldn’t find the will to get up and answer it. Laying in bed, he contemplated the possibility of you calling, so when the phone rang a third time, Mark leaned over and picked up the call.

“Hello?” His voice still groggy.

“Mark Tuannnnnnnnnnnn!” You answered gleefully. “I need you.”

“What’s going on? Are you drunk?” He sat up in bed at the sound of your voice.

“I- uh just had a little bit, it was my friend’s birthday. Anyway, I can’t get a car home and my friends are about to leave so–“

“Stay with one of your friends and text me your location. I’m coming to get you.” Mark instructed. “And Y/N? Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Aye aye captain!” You responded with a laugh.

Hanging up the phone, Mark rushed to get dressed faster than he’d planned. You were without doubt, 100% wasted.

At 3:47 am Mark arrived at the address you’d texted, which turned out to be a diner. He found you sitting alone in a booth, sipping on a vanilla milkshake and eating some French fries.

“Where’s your friend?” He asked, his voice concerned. “She just left you here?!”

“Relax, she just left 5 minutes ago. Why’d you take so long?” You asked, dunking a french fry in your shake.

“Sorry, I’m usually not up at three in the morning!” Mark snapped. “Next time call someone else when your chauffeur can’t make it on time.”

Placing a hand over his across the table, you spoke, “I’m sorry baby, but thank you for coming.”

His expression softened as you thanked him, how could he be mad at you when you were so cute? For the amount of stress you gave him, Mark couldn’t admit to himself that he loved the fact that you called him first for any situation.

“Well now that I’m here, do you mind sharing that shake and fries?”

⇒ jackson

“Swell, swell, well” you slurred. “Lookie who it is!”

You’d gone for a well deserved girls night out, having fun with your girlfriends. That was before you tried stripping and dancing on top of the bar, prompting your friends to call some backup.

“Y/N, is that my jacket?” Jackson asked as he walked to the bar, sober as ever.

“Whattttt? Pft, no!” You looked at Jackson’s jacket hanging off your shoulders, “Ohh wait...”

As the realization dawned on you that you were in fact wearing his jacket, you looked at him with a devilish smile. “Do you want it back?”

“I mean no–“

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” You yelled happily, “Bartender! Shots for everybody! I want everyone here to have a glass in their hand, I’m paying tonight baby!”

The crowd in the bar cheered as you made your announcement.

“Yeah! Let’s have shots!” A random guy yelled.

The bartender locked eyes with Jackson who quickly mouthed no. Nodding, he served two shots, one for you and one for Jackson.

“Princess, can you get down from the bar stool? You’re going to fall.” He calmly asked.

Complying with his request you attempted to get down. Holding his shoulder for support, you were taken aback, “woah, when did you become so buff?”

In the dim lighting of the bar, nobody could tell that Jackson was blushing, and nobody would ever know. Because you were the only one who could make him do cheesy things like that.

“Ready baby? One, two, three!” Giving him a quick ‘cheers’, you downed what must’ve been your sixth shot that night.

Jackson on the other hand had thrown his shot over his shoulder, acting as designated driver meant he couldn’t enjoy the high with you.

“Wooohooo!” You laughed. “Okay, let’s talk.”

“What do you wanna talk about?” Jackson asked, curious about what this truth serum might bring out in you.

“When we’re... you know... doing things, am I bad?” You tilted your head, genuinely concerned.

“W-woah, I was not expecting that” Jackson coughed and laughed at the same time. Truly, he didn’t think that was what you were thinking about.

“Come on!” You whined. “It’s so unfair, you get to be a successful K-pop person, and you’ve probably fucked so many people!”

Jackson brought your stool closer to his and leaned into your ear.

“Trust me babygirl, you’re very, very good at... doing things” He whispered, his voice husky.

“Um, can we go home...” you told him, a little flustered from his confession.

“Why?” He asked. “Are ya going to take advantage of me?”

He winked and stood up, walking towards the front door.

“Jackson Wang get back here!” You yelled after him.

⇒ jinyoung

Jinyoung knew he’d find you on the balcony.

Mark had thrown an apartment warming party for his new place and had invited everyone. Of course with Mark, he always made sure everyone was drinking except him. Jinyoung made a mental note to scold the host for getting his girlfriend so drunk.

Stepping out into the evening air, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

Noticing he was there you smiled at him lovingly. “Cigarette?” You offered the vice to him.

Groaning, he took it out of your hands and straight to his lips. “You need to quit.” He said.

“Hypocrite,” You rolled your eyes at him, “besides I only do this socially.”

“Still,” Jinyoung said. Exhaling a puff of smoke, he put out the cigarette and threw the stub over the balcony. Mocking a baseball swing, he watched the foul thing fall down the stories of Mark’s new building.

“Hey!” You pouted. “I wasn’t done with that.”

“Now you are.” Jinyoung smirked. “Look at this view.”

“I know, it’s so magical.” You sighed. You pulled your bottle of tequila from the balcony floor and took a big swig.

“What the–“ Jinyoung started. He couldn’t contain his laughter when he saw the bottle pop up from nowhere.

“I’m not sharing, after what you did to my cigarette.” You held the bottle away from him “I know you’re gonna drain this.”

“Okay, okay,” he held his hands up in defeat, “I won’t try and drain it.”

“Promise?” You asked. “Pinky swear.”

You held out your pinky like a five year-old. Shaking his head and chuckling, Jinyoung attached his pinky to yours.

“I don’t know how I’m so in love with you.” Jinyoung looked out of the balcony. It took him mere seconds to register what he was saying when he turned to you. “I mean-“

“You love me!” You squealed. “I knew you were going to say it first!”

Turning to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Don’t even try to deny it Jinyoung, you’re stuck with me.”

“I guess I am.” Jinyoung complied, wrapping his arms around your waist. “But you know, you’re so drunk sweetheart, you’re going to forget I said it in the morning.”

“Mr. Park, this is not the kind of thing one forgets” You stated. Leaning into his chest you placed your head over his heart, mumbling “I knew you were going to say it first.”

⇒ youngjae

Youngjae was eating his words as he watched you down shot after shot. He’d teased you before going out that you never let loose, and while he was right, he’d now come to regret the decision encouraging you to drink.

“Kiss me!” You clung to your boyfriend.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he managed to dodge your lips as they landed on his jaw.

“Come on, I know you can do it,” you insisted. “Just one kiss.”

“Y/N, darling, you’re beyond drunk.” Youngjae tried to reason with you. “We can’t.”

“I knew it! You’re going to break up with me.” You began to cry.

Oh crap, you were one of those emotional drunks.

As the tears flowed down from your eyes, Youngjae struggled to find the words to make it better.

“Why would you think that?” He asked

“Because you’re avoiding me and you won’t kiss me!” You cried.

“Yeobo, please. I would love to kiss you right now. A lot actually. But I can’t, we can’t. It’s not right.” He explained.

“Can’t or won’t?” You pushed him. You took another sip of your drink and he cringed.

“Alright, alright!” Youngjae brought your forehead to his lips, and lightly pecked it. “Happy?”

“What was that? That was the kind of kiss my grandpa would give. Kiss me like you mean it.” You insisted.

“Alright, point to where you want me to kiss you.”

You pointed to your eyes and Youngjae’s lips followed, then each cheek, your nose, and finally your lips.

As Youngjae leaned in, he pivoted and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“You’re the worst!” You exclaimed. “Don’t be such a tease.”

“Sober up and then we’ll talk,” Youngjae replied with a laugh.

⇒ bambam

Unlocking the door to your apartment, Bambam helped you in.

“Woaah” you said almost falling in your heels. “The air up here really is that good!”

“Y/N, you’re at most 5’8 in those heels, there’s no difference of air quality with a couple of inches.”

“Let me have this okay!” You hollered.

“Alright, come on,” Bambam ushered you into the bedroom, “let’s get you ready for bed.”

You plopped yourself on the bed as he knelt down and took off your heels. He worked his way up, removing your skirt and top, leaving you in your bra and underwear.

“Hey, hey, hey! Buy a girl dinner first.” You covered yourself up, “are trying to get me naked?”

At the mention of this Bambam lost it, chuckling he replied “Baby, trust me, that’s like the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Oh, so you think I’m ugly!” You retorted.

“No, I just wouldn’t take advantage of you when you’re like this.” Bambam replied calmly.

“Damn you and your manners!” You responded “if you’re not trying to get me naked then I want you to turn around while I change.”

“Y/N are you serious? You’ll take forever, just let me do it. It’s not like I haven’t seen you before” Your boyfriend insisted.

“Turn around!”

Seeing as he wouldn’t win the argument, Bambam turned around and waited for your signal to turn back. He waited ten whole minutes before you were finished.

“Okay, you can turn around.”

And what a sight awaited him, you’d managed to get your pajamas bottoms on correctly, but the shirt was on backwards. Stifling a laugh he headed over to you, “May I?” He asked.

Shrugging you sat on the bed again as he helped turn your shirt towards the front. When he finished he noticed you were sleeping in your sitting position.

She’s in for a rough morning tomorrow.

Tucking you into bed he kissed your forehead, and got ready for bed himself. “I love you, you crazy girl” he whispered.

⇒ yugyeom

For someone dating an excellent dancer, you yourself had two left feet. Usually you shied away from showing this trait off but when you were drunk? Let’s just say you certainly thought you were good.

“Jagiya, why do you always have to be drunk to dance with me?” Yugyeom laughed.

You were too busy busting out what you thought was the Lullaby choreography, but actually looked like you were a grandma with hip problems.

“Less talking more dancing!” You called out happily.

Sometimes you and Yugyeom did this, when there was nothing to do, you’d order a pizza and get drunk. It was a great way to relieve the stress of the week, but always ended up in a splitting headache for one of you. Today, it seemed like you would be the one waking up with a massive hangover.

As the song ended, Yugyeom changed the playlist and let a slow song play.

“May I have this dance?” He asked, bowing down.

“I guess.” You said jokingly.

Looking fake hurt, Yugyeom pulled you close and you swayed to the music.

“Woah,” you said, breaking the tension, “so awkward.”

“This isn’t awkward Y/N, it’s romantic.” He insisted. “We’re keeping the spark alive.” 

“Ugh, that sounds like something an old person would say,” you groaned. “I don’t wanna be old.”

“Unfortunately for you, everyone grows old.” Yugyeom said, resting his chin on top of your head. “But it’s okay.”

“Is it?” You asked, looking up from his shoulder.

“Absolutely.” He nodded.

“Since when do you say such profound things Yugy?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Since always, you just don’t listen.” He stuck his tongue out at you playfully.

“Ah you’re right, everything you say goes in one ear and out the other.” You teased.

“Oh that was a low blow,” Yugyeom tickled your sides, “you’re going to get it!”

return to masterlist

[spaceskam]

feeling so high since i met you

ao3

warning: drug use

Liz jumped when her locker slammed shut.

"Happy 16th birthday to me," Michael said with a grin, "You promised that we'd get together, Princess."

Liz blinked at him and felt her stomach tie up in knots. She hasn't really spoken to the boy since her Quinceañera a few months prior, but they'd shared looks in the hall and he'd wink at her and she's blush and Maria would mock her.

"You share a birthday with Max and Isobel?" she asked instead of giving her answer to his proposition. She hadn't expected that he'd actually want to put that plan in motion. He licked his lips.

"Call it a coincidence," Michael said, smirking like his face was designed for it. She gulped. "Are we gonna?"

"I-I told Max I'd be at his party," she fumbled out. Michael nodded slowly.

"Okay. Well, I'll be there if you change your mind," he said, walking backwards away from her. She watched him until he disappeared and then even after.

"Um, excuse me, what was that?" Maria said as she appeared behind her. Liz whipped around to face her, eyes wide and face turning red as if she was guilty for something. She wasn't, but still.

"He just... Was wondering if I was going to Max and Isobel's party," she said. Maria raised a suspicious eyebrow, grinning.

"Mhm, sure, why? He wants to see you?" Maria teased.

"Shut up, it's just Michael," Liz laughed.

"Okay," Maria sang in response.

Liz spent the rest of the day contemplating if she should take up his offer.

It wasn't until she spent the first hour of the Evans' twins party watching Michael Guerin flirt with every girl in the room all while she failed to get attention from Kyle that she decided to take Michael up on his offer. She'd lie if asked, but she liked the idea of a guy chosing her over everyone else. It was stupid and obviously a selfish desire, but the cocky way Michael's head tilted to the side whenever she walked up to him made her heart beat faster.

"I changed my mind," she said. He smirked and looked to the girl he'd been chatting up.

"Sorry, gotta go," he said simply, taking Liz's hand to begin leading her through the crowd. She caught a glimpse of the insulted reaction that the girl he'd been speaking to gave and tried not to revel in it too much. However, leaving a party with a well established bad boy made her feel like she was in a romance novel and she couldn't get enough.

Michael, surprisingly, opened the truck door for her and helped her climb in to the passenger seat. Liz bit down on her bottom lip and unabashedly watched him get into the driver's side. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You do have your license, right?" she asked. He grinned and nodded.

"What, you don't trust me, Princess?"

"I'm literally in your truck, I clearly trust you too much," she said. He licked his lips and flashed that insatiable little smirk before starting up the truck and backing out.

The ride out to nowhere had her feeling giddy in a way she'd never felt before. She knew that going to the desert with a guy she'd had three conversations with to smoke weed was, objectively, a horrible idea. However, it felt so good to do something bad for once. She didn't have have to be the perfect daughter every day. She could be a little reckless.

Besides, this was absolutely a one time thing.

"So, what changed your mind?" Michael prodded as they turned onto a road that was sandy and had no street lights. When she didn't immediately answer, he added, "What happens in the truck, stays in the truck."

Liz gave a little laugh and rolled her eyes. "Honestly? I was lonely. Maria refused to come to a party with Isobel Evans, Alex refused to come to any party at all, and Kyle wasn't talking to me, so..."

"Oh, fuck, Valenti? You're into that fuckhead?" Michael asked. She scoffed.

"He's nice and cute and smart and–"

"And helped his buddies take everything out of the bed of my truck and throw it in the dumpster," Michael said and that shut her right up. She didn't know he did things like that. "And now you know he's a dick, so pick a better crush."

"Noted," she sighed. He gave her a soft smile though and it only took a few seconds to consider that maybe Kyle simply wasn't the guy for her.

"And here we are!" Michael announced, halting the truck so unexpectedly that her whole body moved forward at the momentum. Forward enough, in fact, that his arm jetted out to hold her back.

"Did you just mom me, Guerin?" she asked, a helpless grin on her face.

"Can't bruise the princess, can I?" he said. She rolled her eyes.

"Stop calling me princess," she said. He scrunched up his nose and tilted his head, feigning like he was considering it before he shook his head. Liz stuck her tongue out and unbuckled her seatbelt.

As they climbed out of the truck and headed towards the bed, the reality of the situation felt heavier. How was this going to go? How would this effect her? Would her dad be able to smell it on her?

Still, she grabbed Michael's hands and let him basically lift her into the bed of the truck with little to no effort. They relaxed in the pool of pillows and sleeping bags, all of which he confirmed had been washed since Kyle had thrown them in the dumpster.

They both sat criss-cross and knee to knee. A giddy, jittery feeling filled Liz and she was smiling so big that it hurt, her toes wiggling in her shoes on their own volition. Michael snorted and shook his head.

Then Michael pulled a joint out of his jacket and she just stared at it.

"You can back out at any time, Princess," he said, pulling a lighter out of his pocket next and twirling it between his fingers. She stared at it possibly a little too intently.

He lit the joint. She licked her lips.

“I’m not backing out,” she said firmly. Who was she to back out from a challenge? “I just... don’t know how.”

“Here, I’ll show you,” he said.

Liz watched as he lit the joint with ease, bringing it to his lips and breathing in. His eyes closed and his head tilted back. He blew it out in a puff of smoke. If her mouth watered at the sight, no one needed to know about it. 

“Your turn,” he told her, holding it towards her. Reluctantly, she took it. Liz looked between the joint and the boy and then back again before slowly bringing it to her lips, hoping she wasn’t about to embarrass herself monumentally. She tried to breathe it in, but it took less than a second before she was coughing. Michael’s laugh filled the air and he leaned forward, patting her back.”It’s okay, that happens on everyone’s first try.”

“I’m bad at this,” Liz said, trying to smile through her red-faced embarrassment. Michael shook his head.

“Nah, it’s okay. Look, c’mere, I’ll help,” he said. 

Micahel scooted a little closer and then brought it to his lips, breathing in deep and then removing it from his lips. He ushered her to move closer to which she furrowed her eyebrows. Then he raised his playfully and ushered her again. She obeyed and then, with his lips only a centimeter away from hers, he breathed the smoke into her mouth. This time, it went a little better, but it might’ve been because her brain short-circuited.

They carried on like that for bit, passing it back and forth and Liz getting a little better each time. She didn’t actually think it was effecting her any outside of feeling a little more relaxed with her situation. However, that could’ve just been because she was getting more comfortable around Micahel.

“No way,” Liz said, scoffing as she handed the ever-shrinking joint back to Michael, “I don’t believe that.”

“What do you mean you don’t believe that? I have straight As!” he insisted with a laugh.

“I just don’t believe it. Every time I’ve ever seen you in class, you’re either sleeping or doodling,” Liz accused. Michael smirked.

“You starin’ at me, Princess?”

“That’s not the point! There’s no way you have straight As. I’m not, like, saying I find it hard or anything, but I do have to pay some attention,” Liz said. Michael shrugged.

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Liz scoffed, “You’re so rude.”

“Mm, I thought you said I wasn’t like everyone said?” he asked. She narrowed her eyebrows at him, but still let out a little laugh. It was easy to laugh with him. Maybe it had something to do with their first real conversation consisting of Liz crying, but he was just easy to talk to. She didn’t feel any pressure to prove anything to him. Even with Maria and Alex, she felt his pressure to be what they expected her to be even if they wouldn’t actually mind if she let loose.

With him, that wasn’t there.

“You’re so... I don’t even know. You’re a fuckin’ enigma, Michael Guerin,” Liz admitted wistfully. Her eyes lingered on his lips as he licked them. For a split second, she wondered how they tasted.

“Enimga? Comin’ from you? Okay,” Michael said. Liz furrowed her eyebrows.

“What’s what supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he began, leaning back, “I have quite literally seen you be a different person with every single person you talk to. Honestly, I’ve been wondering if I’m talking to the real Liz or if I’m talking to the Guerin-Specific Liz, you know? Nothin’ wrong with it, I guess, you’re just a people pleaser.”

“I am not!” 

“I mean, but you are though. Why do you like Kyle? Because you actually like him, or because he’s a football player and you’re supposed to like him? Why do you try so hard in school, ‘cause you like it or because you don’t wanna upset your dad? Why are you out here with me? Because you want to or because it’ll make a good story to tell people when you wanna sound like you’ve done something dangerous?” Michael prodded. By the time he was done, she was glaring daggers. He really was rude.

“First of all, I liked Kyle because I thought he was nice. I work hard in school because I want to go somewhere in life. I’m out here with you because... because...” Liz trailed off. Why was she out here again? Well, truthfully, she knew. It wasn’t because he was dangerous. It was because he wanted her to. Which sounded like a really embarrassing answer.

And the weed must’ve actually been working because she said that out loud.

Michael’s face changed instantly and his shoulders squared. “You’re here because I want you to? Are you for real? I-I mean, I know I said you were a people pleaser, but... No, Liz, don’t do shit like that. Don’t, don’t fucking go off with a guy because he wants you. Nah, I’m taking you home.”

“No!” Liz exclaimed before she told herself that was acceptable to say. She tried not to cringe, but she was already in this. “I meant, like, I’m here because you chose me. Like, guys like you don’t choose girls like me. I guess you make me feel like I’m not really, like, little miss perfect. That’s what I meant.” 

Michael leaned back, a wall still up. However, he put the little nub of a joint to his lips and breathed in deep. “You really tryin’ to stress me out when I wanna chill.”

Liz let out a soft laugh, “Can we go back to talking about your grades?”

“You mean the ones that are better than yours? Sure,” Michael said, hesitantly relaxing again. She liked that. She liked the way he breathed. She liked the way his eyes closed all slow. She liked the way his lips wrapped around the joint.

“They aren’t better,” Liz shot back, but with only a little momentum, “They’re the same.”

“Nah, if the classes were harder, mine would better.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ooh, a swear word? Nice.” 

Liz let out a helpless laugh alongside him. The laughter just got harder and harder and harder until they both were gasping for air and couldn’t figure out what they were even laughing about. 

“You’re so high,” Michael laughed, getting even more hysterical as Liz wiped tears from her eyes. Her stomach hurt in the best way.

“Me?! You’re laughing too!” 

“Yeah, I’m high too! I smoked way more than you!”

“God, I just,” Liz said, slowly pushing her laughter away. He was still grinning in that way that he never ever did in school. It was so new and so gorgeous that Liz couldn’t really help herself. “I just want to kiss you.”

Michael swallowed the rest of his laughter, his cool guy body language coming back into focus. Slowly, he stubbed out the joint on the side of his truck.

“So why don’t you?” 

And that was hard to argue with, so she did.

Considering she’d gone to a party to try to get Kyle’s attention while subconsciously considering doing this with Michael, Liz had worn a pair of lowrise bootcut jeans and a flowy yellow top. That very brilliant decision made it easy to go from leaning in to kiss him to him splaying his hands across her back and pulling her closer. Confidence came from nowhere and she moved her tongue to get a taste of what she’d been thinking about. Michael sighed softly at her decision, praising it by pulling her onto his lap so she was straddling him. Cheers to past Liz for bypassing the dress.

Michael kissed like he knew exactly what he was doing which, granted, he probably did. She knew that, aside from the talk of how sketchy he was, he also knew there had been talk of girls fooling around with him starting all the way back in middle school. She never really understood the hype until he moved from her lips and started kissing her jaw, gently sucking and biting and making her feel much higher than the weed did.

His hands, god, those hands, slowly slipped beneath her loose shirt and pressed against her skin. Some part of her, a more logical part of her, told her this was probably where she should stop. However, the main part of her decided to thread her hands into his curls and hold him close. 

She knew this wasn’t like her to kiss a boy like this. But, like Michael said, what happens in the truck, stays in the truck. So she pulled his hair and tugged him away from her neck, pressing her lips on his harder. He made a soft little noise into her mouth that genuinely sounded like fucking heaven, so she pressed flush against him and pushed her hips into his and felt his groan vibrate against her skin. In a ballsy decision that she would blame on the weed if it ever came up, she led one of his hands down to her jeans. 

“Little miss perfect, my ass,” he breathed, grabbing a handful of her butt in those stupid jeans. Liz gasped, involuntarily pushing up onto her knees. Michael smirked in response. “Was that a good gasp or a bad one?”

Liz swallowed hard and grabbed his chin. She’d never felt like this before. She’d never felt so capable and confident. This wasn’t a test and this wasn’t someone to please. She could just be Liz and she could do things she couldn’t do otherwise without people saying shit. Michael wouldn’t say shit. She could do what felt nice and he was so eager to go along.

She pushed her thumb past his lips.

“Who are you?” Michael asked softly, but he was smiling and that felt good. She kissed him again.

They made out a lot longer than they’d smoked. She let him grab her ass and happily urged him to feel her up under her shirt. Michael taught her, albeit unintentionally, how to kiss better and taught her how to drive a man crazy with just the roll of her hips.

It wasn’t until it started fucking raining that they realized they had to stop eventually. Or, well, sort of. They kissed until the rain hurt.

With a bit more laughter, they scrambled back into the cab of the truck. Liz was soaking wet and breathless and happy. Genuinely, deeply happy. When she looked to him, his head was tilted back as he caught his breath and he looked to be in a similar daze. 

The drive back into town felt slower than the drive there, but she didn’t mind. They both used that time to calm down from whatever the hell had just happened. They didn’t touch, they didn’t speak, they just breathed and enjoyed it. Then Liz thought about what she could do to make sure it happened again. It didn’t take long to realize that she probably couldn’t.

Michael pulled to a stop outside the diner, one of the lights still on to show that her dad had waited up. They continued to sit in silence for a moment before she turned to face him.

“This isn’t an option, is it?” Michael said. LIz licked her lips. “I mean, you have a nice family and you’re a nice girl. Me, I’m... Well, we could probably talk in school sometime, yeah? But... desert dates, not gonna happen, right?” 

Liz knew he was right. If her dad knew where she was and what she was doing, she would be grounded for life. This couldn’t be a recurring thing. Sure, she could rebel. But one night of it felt like enough.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I had fun.”

Michael sighed and nodded, giving her a small smile. “Me too.”

“Happy Birthday, Michael,” she said. Michael snorted, shaking his head. 

“I actually forgot it was my birthday,” he admitted. Liz grinned and rolled her eyes. She leaned forward, though, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She didn’t regret it. Any of it. “Goodnight, Liz.”

“Goodnight.”

Halfway into climbing out of the truck, she looked at him as she thought of a brilliant idea.

“Next year?” she asked. His eyebrows furrowed.

“You want an annual hookup in the desert?” he asked. She scrunched up her nose.

“No. Bi-annual hangout. My birthday and your birthday. Whatever happens while we hang out, well... What happens in the truck stays in the truck,” Liz teased. A silly, lopsided grin covered face.

“I’ll see you then.”

This was the best decision she’d ever made.

[flamegatorwrites]

Hey guys! The layout of this chapter is a bit weird because Tumblr is being really stupid. Anyways, here's chapter 5. I'll try editing it later

Kakyoin sat up and clutched his throat. He awoke feeling something sharp pressing against it, almost like the tip of a knife. He looked around the dark bedroom, barely able to see anything except for vague, furniture shaped shadows.

Then, his gaze met the glowing red eyes at the foot of his bed. He froze. He summoned his stand, which probably wouldn't do much good, and spoke.

"Who are you?"

His voice came out as a high pitched whisper. He was shaking. He silently prayed that Jotaro would bust down the door and help fight this guy off, even though he was in his own apartment and probably asleep right now.

The owner of the glowing eyes stepped forward, the little bit of moonlight that shone through the window illuminated his face. This wasn't a normal intruder, any idiot could tell that. But Kakyoin knew that whatever the hell this thing was, it was pure evil.

The man himself was beautiful. He looked like one of the angels in a Renaissance era painting, his strong bone structure and muscular physique was that of an ethereal being. Kakyoin was in awe.

"Noriaki Kakyoin," the man purred with a voice like silk.

"Who are you?" Kakyoin's voice shook.

"It would be more beneficial if you don't know that right now."

Within the blink of an eye, the man was kneeled beside him, his full, luscious lips dangerously close to Kakyoin's own. The man smelled like wine and blood, the scent almost made Kakyoin's head spin with euphoria. It smelled like heaven, and he couldn't get enough of it.

"I've been observing you, mon amore. You want from the Joestar boy what you can easily get from me... in exchange for one thing."

The Joestar boy? Oh- Jotaro. What did he mean by that?

"What are you talking about?"

"Darling," he hummed, "I know things. Many things. And you, my dear, are falling for someone who is incapable of love."

"No, I'm not-"

"You're a holy man."

Kakyoin stared into those red eyes, eyes that stared back at him with an inhumane amount of hunger with that sentence.

"I'm... a deacon, yes."

He smiled- a sly, sadistic smile- and licked his lips. The moonlight was bright enough that Kakyoin could see his razor-sharp, white fangs.

"The blood of a holy man is life essence to my kind, as hamon is to a hamon user. I'll come back for you, mon amore. You mustn't tell anyone of this- especially not Kujo and the other two men. I'll know if you do."

Within an instant, he felt a sharp pain in his neck. He winced, tightening his grasp on the bedsheets. The man placed his hand on Kakyoin's jaw, lightly grazing his thumb against his skin. Kakyoin leaned into the touch- he was beginning to enjoy the sting.

As soon as it began, it ended, and the mystery man's lips were above Kakyoin's ear.

"Remember, darling- I know things."

And with that, he disappeared. Kakyoin was feeling many things- fear, confusion, even a hint of arousal. He touched his neck where the man had bitten him; there were two small wounds, they could be easily hidden from the others.

He didn't like the idea of hiding something from them. Especially when it involved them. But he knew that the beautiful stranger was serious; he knew that his life was now in this man's hands.

"Oi, Kakyoin!"

Kakyoin opened his eyes and looked at the foot of his bed. No longer was it the man from last night- it was Jotaro.

He remembered the events of last night- what an odd dream. There's no way that could've been real. Vampires? In Japan? Impossible. The way Avdol had explained it, there were only vampires in Egypt, where the head vampire himself- oh, what was his name?- fed on innocent people. He was ugly and ruthless and cruel, he wanted to destroy the world and all its inhabitants.

"What time is it?" Kakyoin yawned. He stretched his arms and felt his neck stiffen. He probably slept on it wrong, he thought. He figured that much until his fingers brushed against the wound- and it hurt.

He felt the small welps left on his neck- surely that didn't really happen. Surely there was some reasonable explanation for whatever happened.

"It's, like, two in the afternoon. We had to make sure you didn't die or some shit." He pulled his ripped up hat down over his eyes, hiding the blush covering his face. "And you're not dead, so... that's cool."

Kakyoin smiled. There was absolutely no way he was falling for Jotaro. This guy was quiet. And tall. And maybe he was slightly (really) attractive. And kind of a dork once you got to know him-

Oh shit.

"Yeah," he replied. "Uh, let me get dressed. I'll meet you out there in a few minutes."

Jotaro nodded and left the bedroom, softly closing the door behind him.

He sat there, starting at the blank wall. Last night did happen. There was a vampire in Japan. Did the others know about this? Probably not, considering that the man swore him to secrecy. Who was he? How did he get to Japan? It couldn't be the master vampire (whose name Kakyoin couldn't remember to save his life). The head vampire was a disgusting, vile creature. This man was beautiful and kind and charming- or was he?

Kakyoin trudged over to his closet and put on a green sweater and a pair of black jeans. He stared at his priest suit. The words from last night rang in his ears- a holy man. He scowled at the black suit. He despised it. He loathed it.

He remembered his father telling him that he was going to become a priest- to 'continue the legacy.' He visibly cringed. He wasn't a Christian, he told his parents, he wasn't fit to be a priest. His father hit him for that. He got beaten a lot after that. He hated coming home from school and seeing his father's car in the driveway- he knew what was coming. He would be forced into his father's small office. He would sit at that large, old, dark-oak desk studying the ways of god, the ways of the priest, anything that would help him in his 'journey' to 'find Christ'.

He decided not to come out as bisexual after that. He was afraid that his father would torture him some more, so he lashed out. He had a bunch of shitty hookups with both guys and girls that only ended in his own misery. He couldn't go to therapy. "That's what God's for, boy," his father would tell him, give him another slap across the head, and point him back towards the Holy Bible.

When he graduated high school and moved out, things got better. He'd mostly gotten away from his abusive father, he'd grown as a person, made more friends, and even had a few secret relationships that ended on decent terms. He even started going to medical school, but his father made him drop out- "god comes first." He was a walking contradiction, though- who would've known that somewhere in the world there would be an agnostic man studying to become a priest?

These past few weeks, though, were his peak. This was the happiest- yet most confused- he'd been in his life. He had someone to call his best friend now, he had super powers, and he was slowly beginning to accept himself as who he was. He was even contemplating telling off his father and quitting the whole priest act. He hated it.

"Oh my god, come on!" Polnareff yelled from the living room. "I've got some hot babes to see!"

"Polnareff, we're literally just going to the library," Jotaro said. "Unless you're into dusty old ladies and depressed college students, I don't think you're gonna have much luck finding all the hot babes."

"I just wanted to sound cool, let me have my moment."

"Good grief, dude, you literally have a moment every five minutes."

Kakyoin opened the door. Avdol and Jotaro were bickering, and Avdol looked like a single mom whose kids were fighting in the grocery store. Iggy was nowhere in sight (hopefully they'd left him with someone).

"Why are we going to the library?" Kakyoin asked.

"We're meeting someone," Avdol sighed. "He's an old friend of Joseph's. We believe he can help us track him down."

"Apparently, they fought together when they were younger," Jotaro added. He pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and pulled one out of the carton. Kakyoin hated cigarettes- unless they were Jotaro's cigarettes. Even Polnareff wasn't allowed to smoke in the house (Kakyoin's excuse being that Polnareff kept knocking his ashes in the floor)

"Okay, I understand that," Kakyoin said, "but why the library?"

"Because of all the babes-"

"Because it's the only place we're not 100 percent likely to run into a stand user," Avdol cut Polnareff off with a glare that could make the devil himself uncomfortable. "They want us to go out somewhere crowded. A library is our best bet."

After the arcade ordeal a few weeks ago, Kakyoin had learned a lot about stand users and vampires and such. They always seemed to be lurking in places like the grocery store or a local restaurant. So, he'd been training with the others. His own stand, Heirophant Green, was an extremely independent stand. It could fluctuate between two forms: a more human shaped form, which was better for one on one fighting, and a bunch of tentacles, which were extremely useful in stealth situations. The training helped him control Heirophant's more humanoid form, but the tentacles were a mystery. He could somewhat control them, but they seemed to have a mind of their own. They would even appear on their own sometimes, stretching out and feeling around the surroundings. They never did anything bad, but it was still odd.

"Have you guys met him before?" Kakyoin asked.

"No, actually," Jotaro said. "This guy went off the grid after he and the old man had a falling out."

"He used to talk about him a lot, though," Avdol chuckled. "Every time we went to the bar, we'd hear some crazy story about the shit they got into together."

Eventually, they all left Kakyoin's house and got into Jotaro's car. Polmareff and Avdol squeezed into the back seat, while Jotaro drove. Kakyoin slid into the front seat and buckled his seatbelt (something the others failed to do).

The ride there would be about 30 minutes. It was quiet, until Jotaro whispered to him in Japanese.

"So apparently, they don't know anything about this guy."

"Do you even know his name?"

"No, but Avdol does. There's a reason he went off the grid- he's a wanted criminal from waaaay back in the day."

"So he's not gonna tell us?"

"No. Not until we know everything is clear."

"Guys, please," Polnareff whined, "it feels like you're talking shit about us."

"No, Polnareff, it doesn't," Avdol sighed.

"Don't worry," Kakyoin laughed. "We're talking about business."

"Business?" Jotaro laughed. "Nice cover. Polnareff is kind of an idiot, so he's definitely buying it."

"Hey, be nice," Kakyoin lightly punched his arm.

"Listen, I love Polnareff to death, he's just so... slow. Even Avdol will admit it."

The rest of the ride there was almost silent, except for Polnareff whining about how his hair couldn't fit in Jotaro's 'tiny ass smart car'.

"Why did you even get this?" Polnareff asked. "I can barely fit in here, and you're bigger than I am!"

"It's pretty roomy up here, actually," Jotaro rolled his eyes. "And it's got Bluetooth."

"Why do you need Bluetooth? You don't even listen to music."

"He listens to music with me," Kakyoin shrugged. "He even let's me play some- I'm like his personal DJ when I get in here."

"What?" Polnareff gasped. "You're capable of having fun?"

"Go eat a baguette, french fries," Jotaro chuckled. Kakyoin smiled at the sight. Jotaro didn't laugh often- apparently, he hardly even spoke before he and Kakyoin met, Avdol had said.

"Stop calling me that!" Polnareff yelled. The smirk on Jotaro's face was replaced with his signature scowl.

They finally made it to the library, with a very mopey Polnareff and a tired Avdol. They were an odd duo, but Jotaro said they were best friends regardless.

There were only a few people inside- the librarian at the front desk, and a few of the local college students at the different tables, all wearing headphones. One was even crying, Kakyoin saw. It was probably exam season.

They walked to the back of the library- the part with all the town archives and business books were. Nobody was there- at least Kakyoin thought. A door opened and a man looked out at all of them. He was a taller, older man with sandy blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

He gestured inside and the four of them went in. The room was larger than Kakyoin expected, a round table with 5 chairs sat in the center. It smelled of old books and candles. The room was filled with books that looked broken beyond repair, shelves upon shelves of them lining the wall.

"Mr. Zepelli," Avdol shook the man's hand. "Thank you for meeting us on such short notice. You're the only person we knew of that could help us."

The man smiled, and looked at all of them.

"Guys," Avdol addressed them in a low voice, "This is Caesar Zeppeli. He and Mr. Joestar defeated a great evil, and we think he can help us with our current problem."

"Of course, Joseph got himself into another mess someone else has to clean up," he sighed, with the most dramatic eyeroll Kakyoin had ever seen. "I swear, he's just the same as he was when we were kids."

"Oh my God!" Polnareff yelled, earning frantic shushing from the others. "You're the guy who Mr. Joestar saved from that big ass rock!"

"Polnareff, shut up!" Jotaro growled.

"That's definitely not what happened," Caesar sighed. "We were fighting these ancient... beings. One of them almost killed me. I used the last of my hamon to help JoJo get the cure- I didn't know if I would live or die. There was such a huge power surge that a piece of the ceiling fell and I barely made it out from underneath. It was a very old building, and the piece that fell down was around three feet thick.

Well, JoJo came in, and freaked out. He was crying and punching the rock, completely ignoring me even though I was right beside him. Then he started screaming about avenging my death and a few other things, and then he noticed me."

"I guess this means we get to know all the shit my grandfather lied about doing in his 'crazy teenage years'," Jotaro whispered to Kakyoin. Kakyoin smiled and looked up at him. He was smirking, staring straight ahead at Mr. Zeppeli.

Kakyoin remembered that the vampire said to him- 'you, my dear, are falling for someone incapable of love,' he said in that voice that sounded like royalty. 'You want from that Joestar boy what you can easily get from me.'

And maybe Jotaro was incapable of falling in love- who knew, honestly? Certainly not a random vampire who managed to get Kakyoin all hot and bothered.

And thus, Kakyoin decided, he was going to try. Whether Jotaro was capable of loving him or not

[lucidpantone]

Chapter 1: Visitations

Someone recently asked the tag if Sander and Robbe stayed together forever. Here’s a fic giving you the answer. Thanks for the inspiration.

Read the rest on Ao3.

Autumn always brought along rich tones of vanilla, cinnamon and all-spice into Robbe’s landscape. Robbe loved the autumn colors, shades of sun-burnt orange, vermillion and chartreuse sprinkle across the leaves that littered the pavement on his route to work. Its like he could taste the change of seasons ahead but it also gave him cause for concern. A visitation session was surely on the horizon. Sander was like a rolex watch when it came to anything Bowie related. Robbe was sure that cat was the love of Sander’s life. He found Bowie abandoned on the streets of Antwerp as a kitten and saved him from certain death. Robbe can still recall the day he came through the door with something nuzzled inside his leather jacket.

“Sander, we can’t keep it.” Robbe retorted as Sander gently cradled the kitty against his chest rocking it back and forth. “We just got this apartment I don’t even know if were allowed pets. I’m slammed at university, your never here, and your always at work or at the studio”.

Robbe knew this discussion was pointless. Sander just kept pouting at all of Robbe’s logical reasoning, flashing his puppy dog eyes at him and holding up the tiny kitten to Robbe’s face as a defense. Robbe just rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in defeat.  

“Ugh… okay …. Fine. God I hate you sometimes Driesen.”

“Love you too” Sander replied, pressing a soft kiss on Robbe’s jawline with a victorious smile plastered across his face.

“So, what are we going to name it?” Robbe asked looking down at the tiny creature who was literally the size of Sander’s palm.

Sander frowned. He almost looked offended by Robbe’s question.

“Bowie, of course. I mean his all black with a white lightening bolt on his belly. He's obviously a Bowie.”

Robbe found Sander’s response endearing. So much so he didn’t have the heart to tell him that that white striped looked nothing like a lightning bolt but he went with it anyways.

“Bowie, it is.” Robbe said as he leaned into Sander’s chest to pet the tiny kitten. Sander immediately cautioning him before he even laid a hand on the cat.

“Go slow, his sensitive okay”. Robbe couldn’t help but smile at his boyfriend’s protective reflexes.

There it was. The text Robbe had been dreading since the animal clinic called him earlier in the week to confirm Bowie’s appointment.

Taking Bowie to the vet on Saturday. I should get to Brussels around 7 tonight. Does that work for you? - Sander

7 works. - Robbe

Robbe grunted and slid down his desk chair.

“What’s up with you?” Lia asked.

“Oh nothing” Robbe quickly perked up and sat up on his chair. He didn’t want to be caught sulking at work.

“Do you think you can have the club estimation ready for next Wednesday?” Lia asked.

Robbe was the youngest architect at his firm. So he always felt like he was slightly faking it or suffering from imposter syndrome. He had only just completed his certification and was lucky enough that the firm he apprenticed at for two years offered him a full time job upon graduation.

Lia was the second youngest she had graduated a year earlier. They spent a lot of time together dealing with all the young trendy clients who wanted to do renovations on shoestring budgets.

“What time is it?” Lia asked Robbe.

“Half past 5” Robbe shouted back.

“On a Friday” Lia scoffed. “Let’s get out of here. I need a drink after this week.”

Robbe nodded his head towards the door and both of them sprung up off their chairs collecting their paperwork and turning off their computers.

Robbe began to take off his shirt and tie exposing his black tshirt underneath. He hated his nine to five attire but the firm had a strict dress code policy. Shirt and trousers.

“I hate this tie” Robbe grunted loudly as he forcefully ripped it off himself.

“Well you wouldn’t have to wear it if you weren’t so damn cool” Lia teased him.

“Firstly Thibaut is over exaggerating they are not neck tattoos. You can barely see them.” Robbe dramatically threw his hands up.

“I mean you can totally see them…..what are they again?” Lia asked sarcastically.

“Shut up” Robbe started pushing Lia towards the door.

Grabbing his black jacket and man bag off the coat rack on the other side of the office practically skipping towards Lia who was leaning against the door frame waiting for Robbe to hurry up.

As he got to her she held her hand against his chest examining the three tiny icons placed directly at the bottom of his throat underneath his adams apple.

“A lightning bolt, a half moon and….”

Robbe finished her sentence for her “ The other half of a ying yang. The white half.”

“How hipster of you” Lia said curiously.

“I guess, or better yet the mistakes of a misspent youth.” Robbe smugly replied.

“Misspent youth???” Lia laughed out. “Robbe your only twenty five”.

Robbe rolled his eyes he felt like he was thirty five sometimes. “Almost twenty six for your information. Come on now, I need a beer” he grabbed onto Lia’s hand and started dragging her out the door.

“We aren’t going to Belgica?” Lia shouted back to him as they walked down the street.

“Why not?” Robbed asked confused.

“Because your too pretty for your own good Robbe and we spend half the night fighting off every gay boy in there trying to get your attention.”

“Stop it Lia.”

“It’s true Robbe. You got that whole rebel rebel graduated up skater boy vibe and that damn mop of hair. Your like a billboard for shampoo or something. Plus your single.”

Robbe was blushing. Lia was too sweet she always made him feel special in her own teasing way. She was like the big sister he never had.

“Ok you choose” Robbe surrender.

“Noir it is” Lia responded.

Robbe looked at his phone and checked the time 5:42.

Robbe liked Lia but he didn’t want her privy to his messy love life. She had already lived through Robbe and Lucas’s break up.

Did she really need to know anymore about him.

Robbe paused for a moment and thought fuck it.

Meet me at Bar Noir at 7. -Robbe

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

As Robbe reached over the sink to grab some paper towels he simultaneously ran his right hand through his hair and looked up into the mirror. His eyes inadvertently darted towards the text peeking out underneath the sleeve of his tshirt. He inhaled sharply vividly recalling the memory of his nineteen year self play fighting with Sander because he wanted to see it.

“Show me,I know you got another one” Sander walked around his boyfriend inspecting Robbe’s body contemplating which part of him to undress first. As he slowly began tugging at his hoodie a huge cheshire grin appeared across Robbe’s face.

“Got him” Sander thought. He finally managed to get Robbe’s hoodie off when he saw the cling film wrapped around Robbe’s right bicep. Sander grabbed Robbe’s right wrist turning it upwards to face him and lifting it slightly to uncover the text on Robbe’s inner arm. It was a simple three word phrase but it was “their” phrase and what Robbe repeated to Sander when things got overwhelming for him. In a slightly hushed voice Sander read the phrase out loud “minuut per minuut”.

Robbe broke out of his daze. Pulling himself out of the memory.

Robbe headed back out the bathroom into the boisterous Friday night afterwork bar crowd.

Another shot of whiskey? Lia shouted from the bar.

“No,no” Robbe was signaling to her. He wanted to make sure he was somewhat sober for his impending meet up with Sander. They hadn’t seen one another since Chernobyl at the beginning of the summer.

Robbe snaked through the crowd till he reached Lia at the bar. They stood shoulder to shoulder as she knocked back her shot and chased it down with some beer.

“You should know my ex is probably going to show up here any minute now”. Robbe swiftly mentioned.

“You and Lucas are talking again?” Lia said with optimism in her voice.

Robbe quickly broke eye contact and shook his head. It still stung to hear Lucas’s name. It had been a few months but everything was still a bit raw for him.

“No the other one.” Lia instantly scowled at Robbe’s omission.

Robbe jokingly tapped her shoulder with the back of his hand as they walked towards a bar table with their beers in hand “come on don’t do that… you don’t even know him”.

“I don't need to know him, I know his type.” Lia shouted over the crowd as she scooted herself onto a bar stool.

“Extremely good looking” Robbe acknowledged that as Lia counted Sander’s qualities off with her fingers.  

“Mysterious but in that deeply troubled kind of way” Lia formed a peace sign with her hands at her second observation.

“Mindblowing sex” Lia held three fingers up towards Robbe’s face now.

“Oh and let me guess” Lia leaned into Robbe’s face real closely. “He broke up with you?”

Robbe chuckled “You know me too well Lia”.

“No I don’t. Like I said I know the type” She stated as she chugged down more of her beer.

“Speak of the devil”. Robbe gestured towards the door.

Lia looked up wide eye. Robbe was used to this reaction. Years of seeing others getting enamored by Sander’s beauty.

His lunar white hair a relic of the past. Sander was a brunette now. His natural copper tone brown hair framed his perfectly chiseled face. A jawline for days.

“Oh now I get it. I would have chernobyl(d) with him too”. Lia said a little too enthusiastically never taking her eyes off Sander as he spotted Robbe and started walking over to them.

Lia broke her gaze and quickly looked up and down Robbe’s body. “So what is your dick made out of gold or something” Lia questioned Robbe.

Robbe scoffed. “What”

“I mean you obviously attract a type. Smoking hot with pretty eyes” leaning her body slightly towards Robbe and opening her hand up like she was begging for Robbe to tell her his secret.

Sander reached their table.

Lia let out a barely audible “God I wish my exes looked like yours” as she raised her glass of beer to her mouth.

“Hey” Sander said as he took off his leather jacket exposing his arms covered in intricate tattoos sliding onto the opposing bar stool across from Robbe. The table was one of those cylinder bar tops that had Robbe and Sander awkwardly rubbing shoulder to shoulder both looking strait on towards Lia.

Sander looked at Robbe for a second too long waiting for him to introduce him to his friend.

Robbe’s mind finally caught up with his manners.

“Lia this is Sander, Sander this is Lia. We work together.” Sander reached out to shake Lia‘s hand.

“Nice to meet you” Sander responded.

“We’re just going to finish up our drinks and then we can head out” Robbe explained to Sander.

“Yeah that's fine. Gives me time to roll” as he pulled out rolling paper out of his back pocket and placed it on the bar table.

“How was the driv...?” unbeknownst to Robbe, Lia abruptly cut him out of his own conversation. “You drove here?” she questioned Sander. Sander nodded. Her eager curiosity getting the best of her. “Where from?”

“Antwerp, I live there” Sander responded flaty. He could tell Robbe’s friend was a little curious about him. God knows what Robbe had told her about him.

“What are you doing in Brussels?” Lia questioned some more.

Sander attempting to look busy as he rolled a joint.

Sander hated people trying to figure him out. He was the private type didn't like to give strangers to many details about himself but this was Robbe’s friend so he had to play nice.

Sander rested his right forearm against the table as he sprinkle tobacco onto the rolling paper.

That’s when he noticed Robbe’s friend attentively examining the tattoo on his wrist.

“It's a constellations.” Sander responded in a curt tone.

“Yeah I know what it is” Lia explained. “I see it everyday. It's the same one Robbe has on his wrist right?”

Robbe’s eyes found Sander’s. Sander smirked back at him.

Robbe suddenly turning red at Lia’s discovery.

Sander finished rolling his joint licking it together. When he shifted his body towards Lia.

Robbe thought to himself “here we go”. He had seen this typical Sander performance before fueled with charm and bravato.

“Yeah it's one of mine” Sander shot a flirty smile at Lia as he stuck the joint behind his ear.

“I mean the design of course, not the person.” Sander winked making Lia giggle like a teenage girl.

Sander leaned straight into her personal space. Making her slightly pull back. Sander was making her nervous.

“If your interested I have a tattoo shop in Antwerp I could ink you sometime. You can get this exact tattoo or something personalized from me to you.”

Sander slowly pulled away from Lia’s orbit leaving her slightly flushed.

Robbe chuckled a little to loudly. Sander shot him a boyish grin in return. Well aware that Robbe knew what game he was playing.

Robbe found these exchanges very amusing. It took Sander a mere 5 minutes to get his coworker from denouncing him to having her completely giddy and wrapped around his little finger.

When Robbe was younger these interactions use to really bother him. Make him feel insecure like Sander could get anyone he wanted what was he doing with Robbe.

But now it was just amusing to Robbe. It solidified what Robbe already knew which was no one really knew the real Sander. What Lia was seeing now was Sander peacocking at his best.

Lia broke out of her spell as she fumbled through her words a little and stated. “I think I want something custom. It’d be weird if we all had identical tattoo’s?”

“Oh there not identical” Sander stated as he grabbed Robbe’s beer off the table and took a large gulp into his mouth. Robbe gawked at him unimpressed.

Can you spot the difference? Sander suddenly took a hold of Robbe’s hand and slammed both their forearms onto the table towards Lia direction.

Robbe’s coworker leaned in super closely to examine their forearms as their hands were clasped together.

It didn’t take long for Lia to uncover what made each tattoo unique. Each forearm had a perfectly placed red planet in the middle of it (maybe Mars) with an orbital belt surrounding it. There was a moon and stars and another distance planet in the background(maybe Saturn). There was one thing that looked out of place but also really beautiful. A large blossoming tree was growing out of the large center planet. There was also some cursive text placed horizontally on both Robbe and Sander’s wrist. Lia recited the text from left to right it started from Robbe wrist “All the way” and ended on Sander’s wrist “or no way”.

Lia's brow furrowed. As she looked at both males. “I don’t get it, what does it mean?”

Sander finally spoke up locking Robbe into his glare as the words slowly dripped out of his mouth. “All the way or no way”.

Robbe let go of Sander’s hand almost violently and spoke. It felt like he had kept quiet throughout Lia and Sander’s entire conversation. Like he just disappeared for a moment.

Robbe shot Lia a calculated smile.

“It doesn’t mean anything. Just something we use to say to one another when we were younger.”

Robbe began to get up and collect his jacket. Obviously implying that this little meetup was now over. It surprised Lia, Robbe was never this brash, almost rude. Lia was about to make some silly joke about ruining the night when Robbe sensed it and he did something he only ever did with clients. He gave Lia one of his stand down asshole smirks that halted anymore conversation. That let their clients know that negotiations were now over and this transaction had come to a close.

Lia scanned Sander’s face for some explanation. She saw a hint of reaction towards Robbe sudden harsh change in demeanor but it amused him. He seemed to like it.

Robbe finished putting his jacket on and soften again leaning into Lia to give her a kiss on the cheek and bid her good night. Flashing that calculated smile at her again.

He glanced back at Sander. He hadn’t moved.

“Get your jacket” Robbe demanded.

Sander began to get up and collect his things. Never breaking eye contact with Robbe a dark tonality hidden behind his eyes.

Lia was so confused. It’s like these two were speaking some unknown language only they understood but it was so strange. Lia knew Robbe but she rarely saw this side of him. It was slightly distance, spikey, but confident almost captivating. Its like this sweet, thoughtful and warm human morphed into someone else in front of her eyes but she couldn’t explain what he morphed into.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking at.

“Text me when you get home” Robbe whispered into her ear as he gave her one final kiss good night and walked towards the exit never looking back at Sander to check if he was coming with him.

Sander leaned in towards Lia giving her a kiss goodnight. Perfectly placing it a little too close to her mouth. It gave her butterflies she could almost taste him as he pulled back.

Lia's eyes followed him towards the door.

She sat there bewildered, puzzled, thinking to herself.

What was that? or better yet, who was that? and she wasn’t talking about Sander.

[songbird-musing]

Virtuoso: Chapter Two - Recitative

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy's brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician's Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras' "vibe," whatever that means.

Enjolras tries to tackle his pop-song-nightmare, and enlists the help of Grantaire.

Chapter One

Recitative 

The world exploded around Enjolras as he awoke. Combeferre was in the kitchen, coffees in hand grinning widely beside the ‘Morning Gong.’

“Why do I let you keep that godforsaken gong?” Enjolras complained, the imprint of computer keys ridged in his cheeks. He had fallen asleep at the kitchen counter with the machine a stand-in, whirring pillow.

“Morning, sunshine!” Combeferre said brightly, and Enjolras cursed himself for ending up with morning people for roommates. “Any sign of Courf?”

“Negative,” Enjolras yawned, “I think he went to an after-party last night, he could literally be anywhere. He might not even be in Paris.”

“He’s probably not even still in France,” Combeferre laughed, placing a mug beside Enjolras. “I will never understand how he can still party like a first year... When did you get back?”

“About one,” Enjolras stretched out and brought his computer to life, tapping impatiently on the mouse pad, “I was working on the pop nightmare until about five, though.”

“Ah, I had almost forgotten about your pop dilemma... How my day has been brightened!” Combeferre beamed, coiling himself around his mug. “I’m heading off soon, so if you’re ready in twenty minutes we can walk together...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Enjolras said, still not fully awoken. He yawned widely, noticing that it was already ten past eight and hurried to shower away the scents of the previous night.

It was an overcast day, grey skies neatly connecting to the grey Parisian pavement. Combeferre and Enjolras walked side by side, an impressive array of instruments strapped to them.

“Okay, but how about...” Combeferre interjected, swerving the topic of their heated morning debate, “How about you could either write an utterly commercial pop song that goes immensely successful, and your name is forever linked, so, like, everyone in the world will be like ‘Oh Enjolras? That guy who wrote that pop song?’” he put on a silly voice, crossing his eyes underneath his glasses, “Or you write a crazily successful classical piece that changes the world of classical music forever but nobody ever knows who wrote it and it goes down as a musical mystery forever. Which would you rather have?”

“Can I not just tell everyone I wrote it?” Enjolras asked, scrolling through his phone and nearly colliding with a lamppost.

“Uh... No,” Combeferre confirmed, “You tragically die and nobody knows who you were.”

“Wait... am I dead in both situations?”

“No.” Combeferre pondered, “Actually, scratch that, you’re not dead, you just can’t tell anyone you wrote it.”

“Well obviously the classical one,” Enjolras said flatly.

“Authenticity over fame... I could have guessed,” Combeferre said, not bothering to conceal a yawn. They were just going through the motions. Often they filled the space of morning silence with pointless conversations to wake their brains. “Okay so the situation is the same but with the pop one you also do loads of classical as well, but when all of your millions of fans come to your concert they just want to hear your top hit.”

“I’ll take that, then. An audience of millions is better than none, besides I’m sure I could change their mind.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh,” Enjolras stretched out his neck and they fell into silence. Enjolras’ mind drifted to the pop song he had been working on. The piece sounded spiky – filled with diminished and augmented chords – in short, it sounded nothing like a pop song.

Pop music, to Enjolras, was foreign – but not cross-the-border-to-Germany foreign, it was more of a outside-of-our-known-galaxy foreign. He had hurried past shop fronts that blared warbling voices and fuzzy synths, as if the sound was shameful. His parents raised him on a strict diet of music composed before the 1900’s. Even his more rebellious high school friends viewed pop music warily – that was private schooling for you. Now, at Paris’ highest esteemed classical university – pop was an insult.

“I hate pop music,” Enjolras grumbled, heaving an almighty sigh. “It’s inane.”

“That’s the point,” Combeferre poked.

They bid their farewells at the gates of Saint-Michel’s and headed to their separate classes.

Enjolras weaved through the crowds, dodging instrument cases, almost receiving a trumpet to the forehead. He stopped. The throng of people behind him huffed and split around him, as he hopped back down the stairs and turned to the smoker’s area. In his first year he had held an enormous campaign to turn the area into a community garden.

“Instrumentalists should never smoke,” he had argued to the board, “It’s counterproductive to breath support. If you’re training the next generation of musicians – they shouldn’t be given the resources to destroy their lungs.”

His fury had been met with blank stares, and Enjolras had avoided the area out of principle. In the morning glow, the pavestones glistened, the ivy was burnished gold. It still looked like the perfect place for a community garden.  Enjolras had to force himself to stop mentally planting sunflowers.

Tucked in the corner, Enjolras found whom he was searching for... he also found Courfeyrac.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac were sat on the wall, chatting too animatedly for nine in the morning. Grantaire, dressed in dark green, blended into the ivy, looked as though he had been stolen from the middle of a woodland nymph painting. He turned, catching Enjolras’ eye, and beamed – Enjolras wondered what Grantaire saw as he stood there.

“Enj!” Courf said, reaching out a hand.

“Please don’t touch me, you’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days.” Enjolras commented, a grin playing on his face, “Courf, our flat is literally ten minutes away, just grab some spare clothes!”

“No, you’re right, it is so gross. I am definitely coming back tonight, though. I just couldn’t give up on the chance to go to an after-party... Especially not a Patron-Minette one, those guys are absolutely mental. Montparnasse tried to get off with me, but I think I offended him when I said he reminded me of Arthur.”

“Why? The young Arthur was a dreamboat,” Enjolras said.

There was a very long pause.

“What?” Courfeyrac spluttered.

“Arthur Rubinstein was really hot in his youth,” Enjolras eyed Courf with suspicion.

“On what planet was I talking about Arthur Rubinstein? What is he? A pianist?”  

“Yeah...” Enjolras squinted, “Which Arthur are you talking about?”

“The aardvark thing.”

Enjolras looked blank and Grantaire started to sing the theme tune. Enjolras could only blink in response.

“I’m so confused,” Enjolras said, “Montparnasse looks nothing like an aardvark.”

“Yeah... I coulda been hallucinating pretty badly,” Courf said and hopped to his feet, “Are you coming, Enj? Fantine won’t like it if you’re late...” he tried to put on an intimidating voice, but by third year lateness seemed wholly inconsequential to everyone, even the professors.

“I’ll be there in a second; I just wanted to have a quick chat with Grantaire about the pop thing.”

Courfeyrac cackled in response. “Good luck,” he kissed both Enjolras and Grantaire on the cheek, and wandered inside the building, scuffing his cigarette out beneath his shoe.

Grantaire squinted against the sun. “How’d you enjoy Patron-Minette?”

“I liked them a lot more than I thought I would,” Enjolras said without thinking, he turned red. “I didn’t mean that I... It’s just, pop isn’t really my thing.”

“Éponine doesn’t like the word pop. It’s psychedelic, contemplative, indie, punky folk, darling.”

“Well, then I guess I am a fan of psychedelic, contemplative, indie, whatever else it is,” Enjolras said lightly, a smile creeping onto his lips. “Sorry to ambush you, and feel free to say no...”

“I love a good ambush, sometimes,” Grantaire laughed, “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras sighed. “Well, Prouvaire said you were doing this pop project, and my teacher is forcing me to write a pop song, and I have absolutely no idea what to do, and it’s all a bit of a disaster, and I was wondering if you wanted to collaborate?” Enjolras blurted, taking an embarrassingly large gasp for breath at the end of his ramble.

“Yeah, sure, sounds cool.” Grantaire scribbled a number on the back of a receipt and held it out, “Here’s my number, text me when’s best for you... Or you could Facebook me, I’m sure there aren’t many ‘Grantaires’ on there, it won’t be too hard to find me.”

“Oh, brilliant! Thank you!” Grantaire seemed like he would have needed more convincing than that. Enjolras pocketed the receipt.

“Do you have a setup at your flat?”

“Um,” Enjolras faltered, “I have a couple of leads and a microphone... And about three-quarters of an orchestra.”

“Huh,” Grantaire shielded his eyes from the sun to look at Enjolras, “Not really helpful for pop... you can come to mine, I have everything there for the Patron-Minette recording and stuff. I’ll text you my address when you text me.” He tilted his head and laughed wolfishly, “I can’t imagine you at the flat... It will be interesting.” He grinned, “Let me know,” and sauntered away before Enjolras could say another word.

Performance class called for Enjolras to sit at the front. His arms cradled around the cool wooden curves of his cello. He bowed his head, pulled his bow taut, and felt his fingers fall into a familiar position, strings indenting his callused fingers. The whole classroom inhaled together, and Enjolras felt electric. His eyes fell shut, and instinct tugged at his muscles, creating the smooth, elegant dance around the instrument. The song was a duet between his body and the cellos. It was as intimate and in tune as a lovers waltz. Moments like this, lost in lines of manuscript and drowning in notes, that time ceased to exist. Enjolras felt like he did not exhale until the piece resolved, its final cadence dousing the room. The sweet, warm oasis of music cascaded as the class applauded.

Enjolras breathed raggedly against the neck of his cello, daring a smile at his classmates.

Fantine stood, roses in her cheeks. “Simply delightful!” she beamed, “Will you perform the piece at the concert next Friday? I know you’re incredibly busy, but we’re missing a cello solo...”

Enjolras pencilled it into his diary, trying to ignore the vaguely frustrated glances from the rest of the class.

Courfeyrac’s flute solo went down well, and he flushed with pride. Enjolras grinned at him genuinely, wondering how he had managed to compose such a lovely piece when he hadn’t even had time to return home.

“I feel like you need an accompanist,” Fantine said brightly, “It’s very sweet, but I think it needs a bit more depth... Do you know Combeferre?”

Enjolras and Courfeyrac shared a grin.

“You could say that, Fantine...”

“Ask him to accompany you. He’s very good at that.” She clapped her hands together without waiting for an answer, “Marius, what do you have for us today?”  

~*~

Once Enjolras had sent the text to Grantaire, his fingers couldn’t stay still. They traced over the table in triplet rhythms, danced over invisible keys, tensed as the pulse of music within him swelled.

A message returned in minutes and Enjolras dragged his eyes from Courfeyrac’s antics to read it.

I finish at 4 today, could do something after that if you’re free –R x

He sent back an affirmative and planned to meet the almost-stranger outside the school gates later that afternoon.

Combeferre was astutely trying not to laugh, cheeks molten with joy, as Jehan and Courf tested their ranges.

“My whistle pitch is literally the best. I’m probably the best in the school,” Courf said, emitting a high-pitched scream. “Maybe the world.”

“That is so not whistle pitch,” Jehan said, snorting loudly.

“Yeah it is,” Courfeyrac shrieked again and the table of four collapsed into all encompassing laughter. Through delight-tinted eyes, Enjolras remembered again how much he adored his friends.

~*~

“Hey,” Grantaire said, stamping out a cigarette under his boot heel. He noticed Enjolras’ lingering gaze on the smouldering stub and said, “Nasty habit, I know. Especially when you’re a singer,” he lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“You sing?” Enjolras said, carefully arranging his face into a passive, non-judgemental mask. To Courfeyrac and Jehan he often lamented the early loss of their vocal ability and breath control that promised to swoop in with every cigarette and joint they smoked.

“I do,” Grantaire said with a grin, “I also play guitar, bass, keyboard, a little bit of drums and whatever else I can get my hands on.”

“Sounds...” Enjolras floundered, “Pretty pop-based.” He grimaced. Compliments had never been a strong point of his.

“That’s why I’m the man for your job, right?” He smiled, looking like he had been rendered on a canvas, all wilderness and Dionysian thrill.  “What do you play? Harp?”

“Why does everyone say that?” Enjolras enquired.

“Am I wrong?” Grantaire directed them down the stairs to the Metro station.

“No.”

“You’re such a harpist... everything about you screams it. How many times have you been forced to wear angel wings, a halo and a toga at weddings?”

Enjolras shuddered. “Way too many times,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh.

“That’s what I want at my wedding.” Grantaire said, hopping down the escalators carelessly, “Apollo the harpist, golden everything, even gold suits, the priest dressed as a cherub...” He dashed onto the train and held the beeping door open for Enjolras.

“Really?”

“No,” Grantaire grinned, “Couldn’t imagine anything worse... Sorry!” He careened into Enjolras as the train started and apologised again, pointing out the short route to his place on the map.

“I do not know what it will be like in here, so beware, in advance,” Grantaire said ominously, turning the key in his lock and giving Enjolras a warning stare. “Hello?” he called, cracking open the door by an inch. Silence poured around them. “They must be out. Welcome to Chez Patron-Minette.”

“You live with the band?”

“I’m supposed to just live with Ép and Montparnasse, but yes, I basically live with them all,” he paused and flicked the lights on, looking around disdainfully, “The other three unofficially moved in without really consulting me.”

“How awful!”

“Nah, it’s fine. I have the biggest room, anyway.” Grantaire smiled, a sheen of politeness glazing his eyes, “Drink?”

“Um, I’ll have water, please,” Enjolras said, trailing one hand on the kitchen counter.

Grantaire looked up from the fridge, a spark of mischief playing in his eyes. “We’re living the rock star life tonight,” he said, “Cheers to that!”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was being made fun of.

“Sorry it’s a mess, I didn’t realise this was happening, of course.” Grantaire chucked a few items of clothing around and surreptitiously shoved an armful of cans into his bin. “Afterparty...” he said as a way of explanation.  “So...my friend...” he grinned into his cup of water, “I am fully at your service, what can I do for you?” he did a silly bow, dark hair bouncing around his shoulders.

“Valjean is making me write a pop song and I have no idea what to do,”

“Harps don’t usually translate well to pop, no.”

“I can play other instruments, as well,” he was quick to confirm, as if Grantaire would care in the slightest about his pedigree of musicianship, “But only classically.”

“Have you made a start with anything?” Grantaire asked, flexing his fingers around the neck of his guitar.

“I...” Enjolras grimaced, “I have... But... it’s not... well, listen for yourself.”

He plucked his phone from his pocket, searching for the audio file. It took two chords for Grantaire’s forehead to crease. It took just three more before his lips pursed, a laugh ill-hidden behind them.

“I know!” Enjolras protested, hastily muting the piece. “It’s terrible!”

“It isn’t terrible...” Grantaire rubbed the bridge of his nose and coughed, “It’s just not pop... like, at all...” A laugh bubbled out from his hand. “Sorry! It’s a lovely piece... but did you modulate twice in one bar?”

Enjolras looked sheepish. “Sort of.”

Grantaire laughed, throwing a palm to his forehead. “Oh, bless you. This is going to be harder than I thought. Let’s start again, and let’s start simple,” Grantaire said, his words not what Enjolras wanted to hear. “So we’ll do a four chord song, okay?”

Enjolras paled.

Enjolras hunched over the keyboard, fingers splayed on smaller keys than he was used to, Grantaire nimbly tuned up his guitar, strumming once when he was finished and letting the discord rattle around them.

Inner pianist screaming, Enjolras stilled and offered, “Does it have to be four chords? I mean we could add some embellishments, a modulation here and there, and still have it be pop, right?”

“Nope, pop thrives on simplicity...”

“But there are exceptions...”

“Yes, and they are known for being exceptions. You wanted straight up pop, so we’re using four chords,” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“But...”

“I could make us do a three chord song, if you wanted?” Grantaire laughed as Enjolras drooped, “Come on, Enjolras, let me lead you to the wild side.”

The pair looped four chords over and over, Grantaire humming a melody over the top. Enjolras’ eyes glazed over.

“What do you want to sing about?” Grantaire asked.

“I don’t sing,” Enjolras snapped out of his stupor, much closer to Grantaire than he thought he had been.

“Well what do you want me to sing about, then?” Grantaire slid his palm against his guitar and pulled open a scruffy notebook.

Enjolras pondered, still playing the chords in auto-pilot, the simplest thing he had played since he was five. “The disparity of classical music,” he said, turning to Grantaire with fire in his eyes.

“Woah,” Grantaire said, recoiling a little, “Not really a great subject for a pop song.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and pushed back from the keyboard, “That’s why this whole assignment is a waste of time. You can’t talk about what you want to talk about, unless all you want to talk about is sex and alcohol.”

“Two very delightful subject matters,” Grantaire responded, mischievous glint in his eyes. When he noticed Enjolras’ stony expression he backtracked. “No, it’s not just like that... Well, okay, for the most part it is, but you can write about whatever you want, really.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “Okay, a pop song about the disparity of classical music, let’s... give it a go.”

Enjolras glanced at him carefully, still unsure whether Grantaire was mocking him. The dark haired boy gave a genuine smile, almost bashful as he ducked down to watch his finger position on the guitar. Enjolras blinked. He watched Grantaire astutely, taking in the curve of his neck and the curve of his nose, the ink-spill of eyelashes across his cheeks and the length and dexterity of his slender fingers.

They played together for a while, Grantaire improvising melodies and lyrics over the top of the basic chords. Enjolras nodded seriously and scribbled down notation in his trusty manuscript paper pad. “So for the chorus we can use the same four chords but just mix the order up,” Grantaire said, strumming once across the neck of the guitar.

Enjolras sighed and spectacularly collapsed onto the keyboard, a dissonant crash echoing throughout the room.

“You alright, Enjolras?”

Enjolras merely groaned.

With a gentle clunk, Grantaire placed his guitar down and wheeled over to Enjolras on his chair.

“Enjolras,” he sung, drawing his knees to his chin. “Is it all getting too much?” Enjolras rolled his head and sent another chord ringing.

“I don’t mean to sound dramatic,” Enjolras said dramatically, “But I would literally rather be shot twenty-seven times than write a pop song.”

“Ah. Not a great state of mind to be in.” He wheeled away and spun slowly in the centre of his room, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not exactly what you had in mind, but instead of getting shot, we could get shots.” He laughed, the sound lovely and carefree and curling around Enjolras’ edges like smoke.

“I never drink alcohol when I’m composing,” Enjolras said, drawing to his full height and stretching out his limbs.

“Mozart did.”

“What?” Enjolras said after a beat.

“I’m just kidding, I have no idea what Wolfgang’s drinking habits were. I know mine, though, and there’s a lovely happy medium of being just the tiniest bit wasted and creating amazing stuff.”

“Does it still sound good the morning after?”

“Ahh!” Grantaire said in a stage-yell, “I didn’t want to hear the voice of reason tonight.” Enjolras’ lips broke into a smile, the phenomenon looking like sunshine on his face. “Okay so both getting shot and getting shots are out of the question, then. I guess we’ll just have to carry on composing.” He put a hand on Enjolras’ arm, his face edging a little closer than expected. “It gets better, I promise.”

“Stop,” Enjolras said with a groan, “I’m getting war flashbacks to bullying in high school.”

Grantaire paused. Where he had made to move back to his guitar, he turned to face Enjolras again, perplexity playing over his features.

“Bullying? You?” he gaped, “I’m aghast! Kids can find fault in Apollo reincarnate. No wonder my high school days were doomed.”

“I came out at like the age of seven, I was a pretty easy target.”

Enjolras noticed Grantaire’s eyes shift over him.

“Seven, wow! It took me ten years longer to get the courage,” Grantaire shrugged, “People were still idiots about it.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, realising that he had automatically assumed ultimate straightness after hearing Grantaire’s rumoured popularity with women. The silence permeated for seconds too long and he added, “Right! Pop music!”

~*~

Enjolras kind of hated to admit it, but the song was actually going pretty well and not sounding as horrific as he had imagined it would. Sure, its harmony was brain-clawingly annoying, and the lyrics eye-rollingly inane, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Honey, I’m home!” came a loud voice from outside Grantaire’s door. “Have you seen Claque? He has stolen my tobacco, piece of - ” Éponine barged through, “Oh,” she said, catching sight of Enjolras and backing out. “Oh!” she said again and re-entered. “It’s you! Enjolras, darling! Sorry I just saw the blonde hair and thought R was trying to impress a girl with his beautiful guitar fingering.”

“That joke wasn’t funny the first time you made it,” Grantaire said, barely looking up from his guitar. He executed a perfect, intricate riff.

“Nah, it’s like a fine wine. It gets even better each time.”

“Not how wine works,” Grantaire deadpanned. “And besides, you laugh, but girls love it! They think ‘ooh wow, look how long and quick his beautiful fingers are...’ and imagine them tangled in their hair as I take on the role of their ravishing lover.”

“Well... Is it working Enjolras?” Éponine asked.

Enjolras froze a little bit. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but... he turned his gaze to Grantaire’s fingers.

“Don’t tease, Ép,” Grantaire said, a mischief oozing from his every pore.

“I just don’t feel as special now that I know it’s not just me you’ve seduced with your fingers,” Enjolras said, pushing his lower lip out.

Éponine cackled and sloped further into the room, socks padding across the hardboard flooring. “What are you boys up to this fine evening?”

“Writing pop,” Grantaire said with a flicker of his eyebrows.

Éponine’s face suddenly contorted and she looked at Enjolras in disbelief. “Huh, didn’t expect that from you, babe.”

“I’m writing his first pop song with him,” Grantaire interjected, “Popping his pop cherry, it could be said.”

“It could be said,” Éponine laughed, “But it shouldn’t be.” She looked at Enjolras with a grimace, “I’m sorry you have to work with this loser.”

“Ugh, get out,” Grantaire said quickly, humour dancing in his eyes, “Can you not see we’re in the middle of a very serious and important task.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, echoing Grantaire’s levity, “He’s still in the middle of trying to seduce me with his fingers... It’s very important and serious.”

Both Éponine and Grantaire laughed raucously. Enjolras glowed with warmth.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Éponine stood and made to leave, she leant into Enjolras conspiratorially and mock-whispered, “Montparnasse’s hands are much nicer.”

“Lies!” Grantaire scoffed, “Begone you deceitful scoundrel!”  He shot a look at Enjolras, “She really is lying, Montparnasse’s flowery fingers have nothing on mine.”

“Don’t let him hear you call them that. It’s floral, darling, not flowery. Much more trendy.” Éponine traced Grantaire’s epic eye roll and added, “Okay, okay, I’m going. See you later!”

Grantaire’s head bowed as he laughed to himself, features shadowed by his dark hair falling forwards. “I love her,” he said, fingers sprawling effortlessly over a complex guitar melody.

Enjolras tore his eyes from Grantaire’s hands, licking his suddenly very dry lips. “We could perform this live in class, if you’d like...” Enjolras said. Grantaire looked at him, eyes calculating.

“Would you want me in your class?”

“What do you mean?” A surprised giggle fell from Enjolras’ lips.

“I mean you’re a classical god and I’m sure all the teachers are in love with you. I am a mere mortal second year who’s honestly just a bit mediocre.”

“Mediocre? Are you kidding, Grantaire?”

What followed was a shift of energy that was hard to describe. The look that the two young men shared suddenly became heavier, the silence felt louder and Grantaire, usually the master of words, couldn’t form a sentence.

“Ha,” he said loudly, a hint of blush creeping across his cheekbones. “That’s how my parents liked to describe me,” he joked, stretching out languidly and dragging a hand through his hair. “Should we break? Do you want a snack or a drink or something?” Grantaire stood and threw his head back to elongate his muscles, only the way his eyes flickered shut and his lips slid apart made it look almost obscene.

“Do you have coffee?” Enjolras asked, trying to look anywhere else in the room.

“We have cheap granules, if that’s cool with you.” Grantaire laughed raucously, “It’s okay, darling, I can see from the terror in your eyes that cheap granules are not cool with you. Tea?”

“Do you have soya milk?”

“Oh you sweet boy,” Grantaire couldn’t stop laughing, “I don’t even know if I have regular milk that’s in-date. I think we have a box of green tea somewhere... Are you a green tea kinda guy?”

“Absolutely,” Enjolras said, “The extent of me being a green tea kinda guy is actually quite concerning.”

“Well I’m afraid I’m quite a bad influence, I can only feed your addiction. One green tea coming up!”

While Grantaire was out of the room, Enjolras properly looked around, eyes drifting across the debris that was scattered. A grubby looking mug held an array of drumsticks and paintbrushes, loose guitar strings were coiled in a messy pile, a precarious stack of records balanced an old gramophone. Pictures were tacked to the wall, stopping abruptly where Grantaire’s arms couldn’t reach.

Enjolras’ eyes caught a series of photographs of Grantaire and Jehan. In one picture they were meditating, the others doing intricate looking yoga poses: if joy could be captured, these pictures were evidence of it. Wide, lazy smiles and dopey shared glances were rife throughout the set.

“Here we are!” Grantaire said, carefully cupping a steaming mug. “One green tea! I’m going to go out for a smoke, want to join?”

Enjolras, took the hot tea in his hands. Grantaire cracked open the door, throwing a backwards glance at him. Enjolras felt suddenly very warm, and reckoned the cool air would do him good, second-hand smoke lung damage be damned. “Sure,” he said. Grantaire beamed, and Enjolras wondered how a word as simple as ‘sure’ could illicit such a response. He liked it. “Sure,” he repeated, and followed Grantaire into the cold.  

A/N: Hollaaa chapter 2! Like I said in chapter 1, I’m transferring this from my ao3, which is almost finished here if you want to read further! Hope ya enjoy! These classical nerds fill my heart with joy! Please let me know all your thoughts!! <3 

[n1ghtt1me-stars]

Day 9: time travel

Morgan had possessed their ability for as long as they could remember. It wasn’t a particularly useful ability as all they could do was visit any place in time and watch because any action they took had no effect on the timeline.

Whenever Morgan was in the past, they were invisible. And that just meant they had something similar to millions of films on demand (or an unlimited resource for whenever a history project was due).

It was fun, until they discovered the existence of immortals. Then it became even more enjoyable.

**

Morgan was twelve when they first spotted them and was trying alcohol for the first time in a Roman pub. They had pinched some watered-down wine from a table as they entered; sipping the wine (that tasted of honey and herbs), they watched the ancient Romans for a few hours. The pub was quite crowded but, as they were sitting on a stall at the corner of the bar (and was in possession of weird powers), no one paid them any attention.

Growing bored, Morgan began to contemplate heading home before a strange man entered the pub. His red hair, decorated with a gaudy laurel, and black robes made him stand out. As did the fact that he loudly ordered something “drinkable”. The slightly hostile stares made Morgan think that the man was a tourist that had offended somehow.

The man sat alone for a minute at the bar, not far from Morgan, until another customer piped up from a nearby table. “Crowley!” someone said, and Morgan looked over to see a man all in white go and sit next to ‘Crowley’.

They started talking to each other; Morgan couldn’t hear their conversation over the general murmur of the pub and they weren’t that interested in it anyway. Jumping around history had taught them that most people were strange and listening in just made them stranger.  

Not long after, the pair left and Morgan heard them talking about oysters as they walked past. As Morgan prepared to go home, they thought the incident was mildly interesting but, really, the colosseum was so much more entertaining. 

**

A year later, Morgan made the ground-breaking discovery. They were in St James’ Park during the 60s… the 1860s that is. Hanging out in the park was one of their favourite things to do, even when the weather didn’t really allow for it. The ducks were fun to feed in whatever time period Morgan decided to visit.

Victorian clothing was Morgan’s favourite thing to wear despite the fact that they had no need to blend in. They used their power for fun and what was more fun than a top hat and tails or a large dress and corset.

And the frilly umbrellas were a lot more functional than the flimsy plastic used in the present day.

Morgan was feeding the ducks when they heard a hushed conversation grow closer. Looking to their left, they saw two men standing side-by-side and Morgan froze. The man in the white suit was very familiar and, despite the change in style, they also recognised the man in black as Crowley.

Maths wasn’t Morgan’s strong suit, but they were pretty sure a person couldn’t live for 2000 years. Staring in disbelief, they tried to rationalise what they were seeing. Possible, eerily similar, descendants? Morgan thought as they edged closer to listen to the conversation.

Crowley was talking about ears and ducks while the other man stared down at a slip of paper in horror. “Out of the question!” The man-in-white said, crumpling up the piece of paper.

“Why not?” Crowley whined. Morgan watched on in confusion as the conversation turned to suicide pills and fraternising. Without context, their conversation made little sense. All Morgan learned was that the other man was called Angel (or, at least, was called that by Crowley).

As the pair stormed off in different directions, Angel threw the piece of paper into the pond… which promptly burst into flames.

Morgan remained in the park for a while as they tried to regather their wits.

**

Morgan was experimenting with their powers, trying to see how far they could go back. It resulted in them hanging out in some desert among a crowd of people and watching the ark, Noah’s ark, being built.

It was amazing, especially seeing all the animals (though the presence of unicorns was a bit mystifying). Unfortunately, Morgan saw Angel at the front of the crowd. That meant Crowley couldn’t be too far and the two of them just made this whole time-travelling thing way more confusing than it had to be.

As expected, Crowley did show up and pushed through the crowd to reach Angel. Feeling a little reckless, Morgan followed so they could hear their conversation again. The two appeared less familiar with each other than they did at St James’ Park.

Angel was telling Crowley about how God was planning to flood everyone (well, the locals). Morgan listened with interest as Angel told the familiar story about the flood, the ark, and the rainbow as it was about to happen. It was all very strange, but Morgan was beginning to figure out what the pair may actually be.

After the unicorn ran off (which did explain their apparent extinction) and the rain started to fall, Morgan left rather quickly to avoid the upcoming flood.

**

It took two years for Morgan to see the celestial beings again. Well, possible celestials as that was their strongest theory. Why they were on earth, Morgan hadn’t a clue.

 Standing in the Globe, Morgan ate some grapes as they watched an early production of Hamlet. The place was practically empty which Morgan thought was completely understandable. They had hoped that seeing it would make studying the script in the present less unbearably dull but it seems they were wrong. Morgan would have to go forward a few years to when it actually became popular.

Just as they were turning to leave, Morgan noticed him: Angel. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t alone for long as Crowley soon entered the Globe (who once again had a new hairstyle).

Their conversation was as unusual as always but Morgan was slowly puzzling it out. The mentions of temptations and miracles and Hell led to Morgan concluding that they were looking at an angel and a demon: an angel and demon who worked together…for convenience apparently.

Morgan also found out why hamlet became a major hit before they went home.

**

Turning seventeen made Morgan a bit of a thrill-seeker, which is why they visited London in 1941 during one of the worst nights of the blitz. It wasn’t like they were able to die in the past anyway.

They wandered around the empty streets and looked at all the blacked-out buildings, thinking about all the people who were too terrified to sleep. Studying history from books would never be enough to understand the feelings of the people who had lived through or died in these terrible times.

Morgan was regretting their decision and was planning to leave before seeing even one bomb until they saw Crowley running across the street in front of them. He appeared frantic, so Morgan chose to follow.

Panting for breath, Morgan was thankful when they reached a church and Crowley paused outside the entrance. Crowley also took a couple of deep breaths before pushing open the Church door and gingerly walking inside. Morgan could hear him mumbling “ow” repeatedly under his breath as they approached the front of the church where Angel was being held at gunpoint.

Ah, Morgan thought, that’s why he was looking so agitated.

Despite the literal Nazis threatening them, Morgan watched on as the two immortals had their own conversation about Crowley’s name. They became a bit worried about the incoming bomb (as Morgan could figure out what Crowley was intending while the Nazis thought it was an obvious bluff) but they really wanted to see what happened.

The explosion was daunting but Morgan barely felt any heat or pressure. When the smoke cleared, they were standing in the same space and so were Angel and Crowley. Their conversation was amusing as, despite his arguments, Crowley was way too nice for a demon; there was no real reason to save the books except to make Angel happy.

As Morgan went home, they hoped that the two of them remained together throughout the rest of time.

**

Really, Morgan should have known that there was the possibility of running into the two immortals in the present; it just had never crossed their mind before.

The week leading up to their eighteenth birthday was strange: there was the discovery of Atlantis, the barely-avoided-nuclear-Armageddon and then waking up on Sunday a year older to see a snobby old woman sitting at the end of her bed.

The woman was nicely dressed in a formal skirt and coat. She had a full-face of make-up and her hair was in a strict up-do. She scoffed, “I cannot believe someone like you was chosen.” Her voice was quiet as if she wanted Morgan to just catch her words so she could deny them if Morgan called her out. The woman cleared her throat and said, “My name is Linda. I am a chosen one of two generations ago and I am here to explain your time-jumping abilities.”

Morgan was tempted to say No thanks. I’ve managed to figure them out in the eight years I’ve had them but then Linda went on the say that she had secured a lunch reservation at the Ritz and that was too good to refuse.

The Ritz was very posh and Linda was looking at Morgan’s attire with disgust. “Elbow off the table please, and are you even listening?”

“Not really,” Morgan said. The part about a few people in each generation being gifted this ability was interesting; the bit about the responsibility of finding new chosen ones and guiding them was obvious because why else would Linda go all the way to Islington to find Morgan; and all the technicalities about the invisibility and not-dying when in the past was something they worked out years ago.

Linda sighed and pinched her nose with two fingers, “I am trying to warn you about the danger that comes with your power. It is all too easy to remain in the past for months or even years which makes coming back much more difficult.”

“So, just don’t do that?”

“You are not listening. The longer you stay in the past, it will be harder to remember when in the present to come back to and if you mess that up, you can ruin the timeline.”

Morgan was growing annoyed by the condescension, “Why would I stay in the past for long? It’s fun, yeah, but I can’t interact with anyone. And isn’t this something I should have been told ages ago?”  

Picking at her food, Morgan listened to Linda’s lecture with half an ear. In a haughty manner, Linda said, “Most people are not as reckless as you and would be careful and wait when they discovered they could visit the past. Anyway, just listen to me. I am older, more experienced and I know more about the world than you ever will.”

“Okay,” Morgan said, though something else had caught her attention. Two men were dining at a nearby table: Angel and Crowley. Unfortunately, they were too far away to hear anything but the pair seemed to be toasting something. Happy that they were still together, it took a second for Morgan to remember that they weren’t currently invisible to the outside world so they quickly tore their gaze away.

Focussing back on Linda, Morgan said, “Hey, did you know that angels and demons exist and live here on earth?”

“Don’t be silly,” Linda replied, looking at Morgan like a weary carer who couldn’t care less about their child’s imagination.

“I’m done,” Morgan said as they stood up and strolled away from Linda. They walked past Angel and Crowley and, while everyone else in the restaurant was watching Morgan with slight interest, the pair seemed too wrapped up in their own bubble and was ignorant to what was going on around them.

[cancerouskelly-blog]

Well, I don’t know what to say...

When things are this broken, I don’t know what to say. I feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun. I had been prepared to die. The Dying Girl was my identity. I told everyone else to fuck off, I told circles of close friends wisdom I made up because everyone listens to you when you’re dying, right? That sort of how it feels. But after awhile, I started to heal. My broken wreckage of a body started to walk upright once again. I started to feel hungry, to feel horny, to crave the warmth of the sun on my skin. I started dyeing my hair, and going to Riley’s basketball games where she cheered. I gained weight, I took my Keytruda infusion every three weeks, and I started to get better. My cancer disappeared. My doctor was optimistic. He told me I should stay on Keytruda for another couple of years and then they’d just keep watch by giving me PET scans every 6 months, like normal. I had achieved health. I’m not even sure how it happened. I just stopped being scared of dying. It was inevitable, right? So why be scared?

Then I wasn’t dying. Then health landed in my lap. It was truly a Christmas miracle. I was happy. I was in love. My life stretched out before me and I was going to be around to live it. I was going to watch Riley graduate, I was going to marry Sam. Not everything in my life had to be surrounded with this melodrama of “oh god, she’s dying.” I could just tell people to fuck off and mean it, right? When you lose that sense of urgency, that humane sense of longing that things can always be done better and again, you start to feel like the world’s mysteries are still vast but workable, you begin to think you may have a chance to figure it all out. When you’re dying, you shrink your world to the smallest it possibly can be. There’s no point in being the grenade that will wreck the lives of many. You keep your interactions brief, via text message, or some other such impersonal communication. You can almost feel yourself start to put your life into smaller and smaller boxes. Because when you die, there are some people who will have to live with your absence, there’s no fighting that. Riley, Sam, my parents, all of these people will see my absence in their lives. They’ll have to donate my clothes, and look at my photos, picture my face when I’m laughing or crying, listen for the sounds of my foot steps down the hall. My death will rip a huge hole in the fabric of their lives. But this isn’t something I have to sentence everyone to. When I was told that I was dying, I started systematically removing myself out of people’s lives. And for that, I’m sorry. Trust me, it isn’t you, its me. But it’s really you. I don’t want you to spend your time crying, aching for the familiarity of me in your life. If you haven’t seen me or spoken to me regularly, how will your life change when I die? Really? It won’t. That’s been the goal, at least, for me.

But then I got told that I was going to live. I reacted to this news with trepidation. Everyone around me celebrated. Hurrah! Kelly will live!! But I wasn’t ever so sure. I had been burned by remission before. I knew how fleeting health and disease can be. You can literally be healthy one second and then as sick as a dog the next. You could go in for a routine scan when you’re just starting to put your life back together, and they can tell you that you need surgery, like now. Then all of a sudden, you’re struggling to stand up, and get that nasty ng tube out, and hating the jailers er… nurses, who are refusing to let you just get out of there. I wanted a smoke and a drink. Fuck this surgery post op shit. But eventually I was wheeled home where I began to contemplate what poison they’ll serve me. I was almost grateful for the surgery because it gave me an excuse to wait a bit on the chemo. I have seen myself bald and skeletal, easily able to picture what my corpse would look like. I have seen myself tan and glowing, the picture of perfect health. But if you can believe it, I was sicker when I looked and felt great. Stage 4…. We get those moments of silence even in our chatrooms and subreddits. Here I am, stage 4, and no, there’s no stage 5. I know where this ends. So do you. So imagine my surprise when even my blasé doctor began to predict that my life may go on. I was ecstatic! I was going to live!!

It was a slap in the face when several months later (just a few weeks ago, in fact) I got another scan that showed that while the original tumors I had before the Keytruda are gone, there is in fact new tumors in my abdomen. So many that it is impossible to count. What does this mean? Well, I can tell you that my doctor told me with a straight face that I should just wait and get another scan in a few months. Maybe the tumors are shrinking, we don’t know. We have to compare them to a few more months on Keytruda. But I was betrayed by my own happiness. I had accepted that I was going to die, but then I was told I could live while I felt healthy. I should have known better. I should have at least considered this outcome, that it’s very like the Keytruda is no longer working, and that I will have a limited amount of time to find some clinical trial that will take me on so they can extend the misery of my days without extending the amount of them.

What I feel right now is angry. I’m angry that I ever let myself believe in a future. I’m angry at the Keytruda for doing its job just well enough to kill my tumors but not well enough to keep new ones from growing. I’m angry that my doctor simply shrugged his shoulders at me for 3 seconds in a crowded hallway and said, “well, we knew it would work, but we were never certain about how long this would work,” before walking away and left me standing there with my PET scan report in my fist, and my stomach dropping to my knees, as every single tiny bit of hope that I had strung on spiders silk strings from a halo of clear scans and my blasé doctor talking about the years ahead. I had cut away the doubt that should have kept me safe, should have provided something soft to land on the way it did when I was told that the chemo wasn’t working. I should have known better. I should have never allowed myself any hope at all. I should have looked at the statistics and known that while I wasn’t typical, I wasn’t any better. There’s no miracle drug in cancer. Just last month I found a magazine in my oncologists office about “How I Beat Unbeatable Cancer,” and picked it up for a read. It was a story about a sixty something year old getting on Keytruda and how it completely got rid of her cancer. She had been ready to die, but this miracle occurred and she was now going to live. I sat in that same waiting room earlier today, and picked up the very same magazine. I wanted to crush it, I wanted to throw it away, I wanted to rip it up piece by piece because who the fuck is this lady, and why does she get to live, but I don’t? I keep cycling through all of these emotions but I can’t say anything. That’s the worst part. My oncologist knows how bad it is, but won’t give me a straight answer either way. My mother has listened to his either/or premonition and decided that the better one is what will happen to me. That this will work. That I will not die. Sam too. How can he accept the answer that I’m going to die? He won’t accept it, and I get why.

But here I am, writing all of this out in bed while I try not to look my daughter in the eye because I can’t bear to tell her. I’m scared. I’m angry and I’m so fucking scared. The doctors aren’t listening to me, no one is listening to me. I’m going to die. I know this. Anyone who can google search can tell you, this is it. Its curtains. I’m not going to get a healthy reprieve again. And I hate myself most of all for wasting it. I wasted my health because I figured I’d have more of it. I let them give me less and less pain medication because I believed that if I just allowed myself to live in pain, that eventually I could see the right doctors who will fix me. But no one will touch me know. I’m the cancer girl, someone suffering from a disease for which there is no cure and they can’t even fucking palliate. It’s just so disheartening to not be able to reach out to your doctor and say, “please? Please, I’m suffering, why can’t you help me?” and it’s because he’s retiring in May, and can’t keep his head in the game.

I almost just want to end it all now. I’m so sick and tired of being in pain. I’m tired of waiting for the cancer to make it’s next move. I don’t want to die. I’ve seen the way cancer kills you and I sure as fuck do not want to do that. I hate the waiting, I hate the pain. Why won’t anyone help me? Why won’t any doctor help me?

[jrtuliao]

Day 3: The night I fell in love with New Orleans

After 2 days of consistent nights of hanging out with friends. For the first time in my life I found myself alone, not lonely, but by myself. My friend Kaitlyn was tired from work and had to help her boyfriend pack for his move to a new apartment. My Godbrother Antonio was at work till late so we couldn’t meet up until past 9 pm. I found myself at a crossroads at my friends house on what to do. Her room mate Trey (a really cool dude through and through) suggested that I go to Frenchmen street by the French quarter just a little ways off from the main Canal area. He described the area that it was rich with Jazz and blues, food and a great time. Sadly he couldn’t join me on this adventure for he had work ( he’s an Uber driver). So I said fuck it, why not, little did I know that my personal introverted self felt a little uneasy being alone in a place I had no idea what to do, where to go, and no one to mentally cling onto as a crutch in an unknown place. Little did I know about the fearlessness inside of myself. So Trey and I get into his car and as he’s driving me, he’s describing the area of how awesome it is. Also how many bars were there, cool shops and interesting people. Meanwhile inside, I felt a slight scream within me, with questions about who will I be in this situation, who will I become after?  Will I change? or stay the same? Will I make a friend? I never thought or said these words, but I know I felt them right in my gut. Right at the core of my shy self back in high school.

The moment Trey dropped me off in front of Dat Dog (this cool hotdog spot). I instantly felt out of place. I constantly looked at my phone, pretending to know where to go. I walked into this cool knick knack shop, that had all sorts of books, postcards and random magazines (Oh! there was also a ton of gay porn and paraphernalia). I also wandered into this kickass record shop called Music Factory. It had a ton of original print records. Some Simon & Garfunkel, Rolling stones, Count Basie, John Coltrane, Led Zeppelin, Etta James, Aretha Franklin,etc.  I was interested in getting a couple of records, but decided not to. I didn’t feel a necessity. A necessity to anything honestly. Like, what’s the point if I didn’t share any of these special moments with someone. That was until I met Michela.

Now, fast forward a few, let’s say 15 minutes of awkward wandering, listening to the amazing street performers, I noticed this woman, just walking outside of this bar. She kind of slumped to the side and started crying. I noticed it right away. I wanted to talk to her, not because she was beautiful, not because I felt alone, not because I felt like I needed a companion. I wanted to make her smile. No, I wanted to earn her smile. 

I initially decided not to linger and stare from afar, but due to my initial hesitance and cowardice, I left her to cry and wandered more. (Btw Frenchmen street is like 2-3 fucking blocks, so I did laps left and right). When I came back around the street on the other side, she was sitting by the side of Dat Dog where I had started my lone adventure. She was smoking a cig and still a little teary eyed. I stood there on the corner of the block for contemplating if I should talk to her. I didn’t want to seem like a creep to be standing for an uncomfortable long time, but I didn’t want to leave. I made a decision and whispered to myself, “No regrets, be better”. I shoved my phone into my pocket and walked over.

I said hello and asked if it was okay for my to sit next to her. She thought I was asking for a smoke, so I had to clarify again, but a little less confident, but more warm She said it was okay and so I took out my own cig (Malboro Golds), lit it and sat down. There was a cool silence between us (no more than 10 seconds). So I started talking to her. I introduced myself with a handshake, “My name is Jed” She shook back and said “Michela”. I learned that she is Italian and came to visit, sadly this was her last day. I had also learned, that she came here to the U.S. to speak English. (She knew english, took classes in Italy, but wanted to get better at speaking it). So I started asking her about herself, and why she chose to travel to America. Turns out she was visiting multiple parts of the U.S. She started in California, then here in New Orleans, from there to Texas for family and then finally New York. And then I asked, “Why do I see sadness in your eyes, when there is love everywhere” She brushed off the question, with a “don’t worry about it, it’s nothing, really” She said she was more said, that she had finally found a place that she absolutely loved on her final day. And then... something amazing happened.

A silenced settled in, as we both started to smoke a second cig. These two women were playing guitars and singing across the street on the corner started singing 4 Non Blondes’ “ What’s up”. I started singing subtlety and slowly she started singing along with me too. And before we knew it, there were to people singing in unison, harmonizing together, singing, “Heeyyeaahhyeaahyeaaha, HEYYYYYEAAAHHYEAAAH, I said HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON!”. It felt like peace.  When the song stopped, we finished our cigs and she said, “Hey would, you like to accompany me to this shop here? I want to get a post card”. I said, “of course”. It was the shop I had first visited, with all the knick knacks and Gay Paraphernalia. We both had been inside that shop prior to. As we browsed, I continued to inquire about her with questions about her major (she is a bio major, planning to go into, economic studies on pollution for masters). As we walked in between the cramped aisles of books, dust and random thrift, I found a cool guitar. I asked if she knew any instruments, she knew how to play piano. I was very intrigued. And then I asked the big question, about the universal language we all feel at some point in our lives. I asked about what kind of music did she like, love. She spoke about rock n roll, jazz and the blues. Her favorite band is The Beatles and through them and of course many other greats, she fell in love with the blues. I spoke about the record shop up the street. And she had been there prior as well and wanted to go back before it closed. She ended up not getting the postcard from that shop. We then rushed up to Music Factory around 7 (the store closes at 8). And we browsed the records together.

I asked if she was eyeing any records in particular as we continued to talk about, Jimmy Hendrix, Neil Young, Etta James, Eric Clapton, Arethra Franklin and many more. She told me, she wanted this Album by Neil Young, “On The Beach”. I told her to get it, she felt guilty spending money. She ended up getting 3 albums (with my push for her to do so!) On the Beach, an album by the Beatles, or the Beach Boys, and the third one I can’t really remember. I ended up picking up some records also to my surprise. Elton John’s “Don’t shoot me” and Mott the Hoople “All the Young Dudes”. She also bought 2 pins from the shop, I ended up buying one. (I found out later she had bought the extra one for me). We left a few minutes past closing and decided to go find someplace to eat. We wandered for a few minutes, took pictures of graffiti and random wall art as we walked and decided on this cool bar restaurant that had an upstairs to it. Live music was playing on the main floor, while people ate upstairs. We were seated a little closer towards the window and some wall furniture with a mirror on top of the shelf( it was nice).We had the most energetic waitress who was really sweet. We spent a good while deciding on what to eat, because we were busy talking about what was on the menu. I was helping her understand some words and how to speak some phrases. At one point we had to literally google shrimp and veal to see what it looks like. (because she wasn’t sure on what that was) (Oh! also she knew was shrimp was but in Italian). We had a fun time googling most of the things on the menu and finally decided on a shrimp salad and Veal Pasta with a nice glass of Pinot Grigorio ( white wine) to accompany our meals. It was a grand time.

We spent roughly more than an hour there, probably maybe even two. And every minute we laughed, talked, asked questions about each other, shared music with each other. I had never heard of the band Morphine and she had never heard of Fleetwood Mac.We talked about movies, she had suggested this movie by Woody Allen, called Zelig (we both weren’t sure of the spelling). I had suggested Madment and Baby Drive. Every time we’d share something cool, we took out our little notepads and moleskins and had each other write in the other’s book the suggestion, phrase, song, move random fact, or book. We talked about books a lot. I had mentioned, Ready Player One and then Brave New World and 1984. The moment I mentioned Huxley, she began to share these awesome facts about his family. How his grandfather was a primary support of Darwin and his Evolution thesis, and I think his brother, or uncle started the World WIldlife Foundation. She had such a glow in her eyes, when she would share all these facts with me. I loved her company, and she loved mine. By the time finished our food, it go cold. We laughed about how much we spent talking and less eating. Once we finished up, I had payed for our dinner, she felt bad and offered to buy me a beer. I took her up on that offer. And thus began a night of smiles and warmth (btw it’s still hot as fuck).

When we left the restaurant, we went looking for a bar to get a drink. Stumbled into one which had this kickass live band called InBusiness. They played a mean funk, hard, fast and belching. They had so much energy. As we drank and stood within the crowd watching, I started dancing a little bit (i never dance, and I felt like I danced awkwardly haha). Small head bobs, and knee bouncing, just feeling the music. And she did too, she started swaying with me and smiling. Oh how awesome it was. We left to find another bar, and then Etta James came ringing us in.

We stood outside at the door first as we watched this band sing Etta’s,” I rather be blind” and just like a moth to a flame we were entranced by their music. I saw she started tearing up. So I started singing along with them, and so did she and the tears went away again as we felt the blues together. And then when it was over, man... they were on fire, the band started playing some awesome tunes and then she turned to me and asked, “ Want to dance?” I stupidly said, “ I don’t dance very well”. She replied with a “Me too”( This was a lie, she was amazing). And then we just went in there and really started feeling the music. 

We slowly swayed with it, then bopped to it and shook to it. And the next thing I knew, we had put our stuff down at a table and really started dancing! The two lead singers was a bald headed powerful black women with a swagger I never knew and a Big bold black woman with a voice that just hit your soul with some funk. The bald headed woman, turned to the crowd and scream “ Y’ALL WANT SOME FUNK?!” she turned to her band and said “NOW PLAY ME SOME FUCKASS BEAT!”. And boom a electrifying energy washed over us as Michela and I continued to vibe off of each other immensely. They played  this dope ass funk version of “Lean on Me” which really got us both jiving. She said it got a little hot, so she wanted to change. I was by myself really feeling the music for a short bit and when she returned, I was stunned. She had this beautiful dress on, I didn’t know what to say ( My dumbass finally complimented her a little later). We danced a little more and then left. We walked and talked and made friends with these 3 cool cat poets on the street, who did poetry for any donation, as per their words, “ It can be from nothing to a million dollars, it’s entirely up to you!”. I had one written about Freedom (I’ll share that later) and she had a poem about change. Both were really Ginsberg -esque and they were awesome. We stopped by this street vendor who sold jewelry. It was funny because the main dude kept trying to hit on her, while trying to get me to buy her some stuff. I didn’t care, I had the honor to see her smile. I joked with the guy as we haggled and watched this man with a tuba play with this other guy across the street with a trumpet. They were really popping! The guy made all of his stuff with his friend by hand, and was nice enough to give her these two beautiful earrings they made, while she bought a wrist band from them. We continued on into the night talking, dancing, smiling. Enjoying each other. Walked into this one live performance where this Filipino dude was killing it on the mic with his dope voice, while her and I danced more. Every time she turned and smiled at me, I felt warm. I became braver with myself as I continued to dance with her, not caring for all the guys trying to do so as well. I grabbed her hand and twirled her around as I made steps I never took before (dancing and in life, double meaning and all that shit haha). When we left the place, she had told that I was a very good dancer. That was the first time I was ever told that. 

We went into another bar to cool off, and watch a smooth jazz band play. bought a couple of drinks for us and we just talked about our adventures here in New Orleans. We shared pictures from the sculpture garden, funny pictures of graffiti and talked about other stuff we did during our time. She felt sad that she only had 4 days to be there. She was even sadder that, when she’d be in New York, I would still be here in NOLA. ( from the 21st to 30th I think, she’d be in NY, I was here till the 30th). Oh man did I wish I would be in New York when she’d touch down, just to see her again.

When it was time for us to go, she realized she had lost one of the earrings somewhere. We went hunting for it. I said, let’s check out the previous bar we went to (the one with the dope ass Filipino singer). And she found it. She was so happy, “Good karma” I said. When we started walking to a corner to get her a cab, she told me, “ You are such a gentleman, and beautiful person” I told her, “ You are too, and I am lucky to have been honored with your company”. She smiled. I had ordered a Lyft for here, she was staying in the India House Hostel on Canal. And we hugged and kissed each other. She said, “I’ll never forget you Jed”  I said ”I’ll never forget you too Michela”. And she went in to the car and off she went, waving goodbye....smiling beautifully.

There are a many things in this universe where the energy ebbs and flows. But sometimes you just need to take a dive. I wish I could’ve went home with here for many reasons and the obvious. Maybe I clearly missed my mark. But I made a friend. I had a perfect night. Two complete strangers, sharing and loving. I never learned about why she was melancholic. I didn’t even ask if she had someone back in Italy. I don’t know if we will ever see each other again. We promised to stay in touch. She has my number, and we have each other’s Facebook. That night we had zero expectations of each other, we just knew we loved music, we had the blues, but we always smiled and danced. We just, loved. 

We just,

loved.

For Michela, I’ll never forget you. And remember Lasciati traspoztale olal oliveztimeuto

or

Tenere i tempi buoni a rotolarsi

July 17, 2017 Frenchmen Street <3

[busterdiamond]

Already Dead

1 I sit, clutching a small canvas bag, as tightly to my chest as my strength and space will allow. It is my only possession in this place. The bench is wet from the rain and the station platform is so crowded that the pressure I feel from the people around me makes it difficult to breath. I feel so afraid. Real, all enveloping fear. I scan the exit from the ticket office again. Still no sign of him. The train is due at any moment. The woman sat next to me moves closer to make way for someone else to sit and I glance across to make sure our new companion is not him. It is another woman. I let out a small involuntary gurgle. The tannoy booms “The next train arriving at platform 3 is the …….” It is my train pulling in so I stand and move nearer to the track. I feel the cold of the moisture from the bench seeping through my trousers against the backs of my legs and the brim of my hat flutters in the wind as I approach the platform edge. The back of my hand brushes against my own rough stubbled cheek as I reach for my hat to stop it blowing off and I am shocked at how abrasive it feels, like a course grit sandpaper. The carriages swish by, gradually slowing until one stops almost in front of me and the doors open. It surprises me when the woman who was sitting next to me on the bench pushes by me quite aggressively and gets onto the train first. I want to tell her not to be so rude, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself. As everyone jockeys for position I find myself being forced further back into the carriage and it occurs to me now that if he were on this train, I would have no chance of escape. The doors close against someone’s bag then open again. As they do he climbs aboard. I recognise him instantly and he looks straight at me. No nod of recognition, no sneer or smile. He looks away and into the rest of the crowd. I can’t believe that he hasn’t recognised me, but he continues to look into the crowd, searching. I feel sick with it all and the crush of people is so claustrophobic I want to cry out. As the train pulls away I decide to move further down the carriage and exit from the doors at the back when the train stops at the next station. The tightly packed commuters obstruct me, but I am insistent and quietly determined. After a minute or so I find myself in front of the rear doors. As the train slows I look out onto the approaching platform. Bond Street. Not my stop, but close enough. I can walk the rest of the way. The carriage lurches as the driver applies the brakes and I stumble against the wall of the train and the man standing next to me puts out his arm to steady himself. I am quite literally horrified when his hand goes straight through me and smacks, palm first into the wall. He pulls his arm out of me again and the train door opens. I almost fall out of the train onto the platform and as I do a small child runs into me and onto the carriage. Through my legs like they were mist. I turn to try and make sense of what has just happened and the childs mother walks through me in the same way. It is at this point I realise that I am invisible. My would be assassin hadn’t recognised me because he hadn’t seen me. I am probably dead already. 2 Malcolm Tewksbury bought a newspaper and a packet of pipe tobacco from the little kiosk on the Embankment just opposite The Savoy Hotel. It was 7.30 in the morning, but the sun was struggling to break through the dark clouds and occasionally waves of misty rain blew across the Thames into the faces of people making their way into work, turning the pavements into shiny grey mirrors. He stopped and sat on the river wall and instantly three or four pigeons settled near his feet. Opening the little paper pouch, he pulled at the fibres of tobacco leaf and pushed them into a small briar pipe that he always carried with him. He lit the pipe and sucked until a little fire glowed in the bowl and then let the smoke out of either side of his mouth and nostrils into a big cloud around his head. He shook the newspaper straight and read the headlines for the morning which he noted was September 12th ,1971. No mention was made of the robbery from the day before. Nothing. He rustled through the rest of the newspaper, fighting to keep it from turning in on itself in the breeze. Not a word had been written about the heist. He smiled to himself and closed the paper, folding it so that it would fit into his jacket pocket. Puffing at the pipe a few more times he stood and turned toward Westminster. He could see Big Ben from where he stood. He checked his watch, 20 minutes to walk to parliament square. He would be able to do that easily. **** When the robbery had first been presented to him as a possible job, he had dismissed it out of hand. He preferred the kind of steal that was in and out. Quick strike, make a lot of noise, threaten everyone, take the money and run. Of course, he didn’t do any of the dirty work himself. Planning was everything in his book. He planned the job, employed the right people and took his cut. He had never been in prison. He’d had a few close shaves, but he always made sure he was so far removed from the action that nothing could ever be proven. ‘Circumstantial’, he liked that word. This robbery had been different and difficult and because the target had been safety deposit boxes, no one was quite sure how much money could be made at the end of it. That was part of the thrill too. It was a Lloyds Bank and it was in Baker Street, so the pickings were likely to be good. Safety deposit boxes were also a good bet because rich people put things in them that they didn’t want the authorities to know about… lots of cash, gold and jewellery. The difficulty was having enough time to empty them and leave the bank before the police turned up. He organised the meet at his sister’s house. She went to Bingo on a Wednesday evening. The four men sat around the table. All of them drank tea from large white mugs. They had been over the possibilities and talked around the job for almost two hours. Fresh tea had been made. “We���ll need a whole weekend to empty that lot.” said Jarvis. Tim laughed. “it’s a bank 3 Barry, they ain’t going to stand by while we empty the bloody boxes.” Barry shrugged his shoulders, “if we can’t spend a bit of time in there, then we haven’t got a hope in hell of coming out with anything. We gotta empty the boxes so we know whats in ‘em”. Mike Turnbull, vintage bank robber took a sip of his tea. “Or we get the boxes out and open them later?” Malcolm shook his head. “There are too many boxes Mike and they are too big.” “How about we tunnel in?” said Barry. Tim laughed again, loudly. “No, seriously”, Barry raised his voice. “we tunnel in and then we can spend as long as we like, within reason, having a look through. Then we only take what’s valuable.” Tim got up, really laughing now. “He is mental!” “He has a point though” said Malcolm raising his hand. “You are joking” said Tim. “Turnbull grimaced as though he had a bad taste in his mouth “I know a tunneller” he said. Malcom raised an eyebrow, “Do you mean Jimmy?” Mike nodded, “I know he’s a pain in the arse but he can dig and he can get a good team who will keep their mouths shut.” Malcolm sat contemplating for a moment. “It’s an option. We still have to work out where we tunnel from and we can’t guarantee that we will earn enough from this to make it worthwhile for everyone involved. Can you find out if he’s available Mike?” Turnbull nodded. Tim gulped the last of his tea. “I’m out on this one Malcolm, I think you’re all barmy. Where are you going to tunnel from? What about the noise?” Malcolm made a smile “No problem Tim, as I said at the start no one has to commit until it’s all been worked out.” “who is this Jimmy? “Asked Barry. “Jimmy Parkes,” said Malcolm. “He’s an unreliable, lowlife., but very handy with dynamite and a tunnelling genius. He has never been caught, not for digging tunnels at any rate.” “He laid sewage pipes for the army in Egypt straight after the Second World War and then on the London underground during the 1960s. His knowledge of explosives and his readiness to work underground means that he got plenty of work with some of the larger criminal gangs and he’s made a fortune from various jobs up and down the country. Sadly, for Jimmy his addiction to gambling means that he often owes more money than he has. That’s what makes him a risky prospect for us. When he owes money, he’s an easy target. When the chips are down, Jimmy looks after Jimmy.” “is there anyone else we can use?” asked Barry. Malcolm looked up at Mike who again made a face and shook his head. “No.” said Malcolm. “If we want to tunnel, then we have to use Jimmy Parkes.” **** The walk to Westminster took him twelve minutes. His pipe was still burning when he arrived at the base of the clock. The man that he was supposed to meet had been almost as reticent about meeting face to face as Malcolm. Malcolm was still worried that it might be a trap set for him by the police although the meeting had been set up through another infamous criminal, a man that, if you valued your life and reputation, you didn’t argue with. 4 Malcolm recognised him as soon as he appeared in the doorway. Lord Brinksby, Aristocrat, ex politician and fixer. A big supporter and adviser to the Royal Family. His face looked as though it had been polished like his shoes and his mouth was full to bursting with pristine teeth. He was about six inches shorter than Malcolm and his camel coloured Crombie coat looked as though it were too big for him. He gave a nervous little laugh and stepped forward, offering his hand. “Mr. Tewksbury? His teeth almost stopped the name coming out . Malcolm shook his hand. “sorry, you have me at a disadvantage, have we met before?” Brinksby smiled. He knew Malcolm was pretending not to recognise him. “we have not met before Mr. Tewksbury , but I am certain you would have heard of me , I am Lord Brinksby.” Malcolm relented “yes , of course, Lord Brinksby” he smiled back , “very pleased to meet you, although I am at a loss to know why you might wish to speak to me”. Brinksby opened his other hand with a flourish. “Shall we walk , whilst we talk?” They started off back toward the Embankment and Brinksby was silent until they reached the river. “This is difficult Mr. Tewksbury , but I believe that during the course of a recent ‘job’ undertaken by some friends of yours, something that belongs to a very powerful acquaintance of mine has gone missing and they would like it back very quickly without any fuss.” Malcolm was genuinely surprised. The robbery, which was obviously the “Job” that Brinksby spoke of had yielded a lot of cash and more gold than they could have hoped for, but very little by way of trinkets and Jewellery. “I am not sure I quite understand .” said Malcolm. Did Brinksby want an admission that he was involved in a robbery. Was he being set up? Brinksby’s casual manner changed very abrubtly. “This is not a game Mr. Tewksbury, I will not be played to.” His red cheeks seemed to grow ever rosier. “ I have no interest in any crime you may have committed, but I cannot stress enough how important it is that this item be returned immediately or I have to say the consequences will be dire.” Malcolm held up his hands, palms open. “ I can assure you sir , I have not come across an item that I could describe to you as unusual or of any great value in connection with the “job” you speak of. “Have you been through all the boxes and bags that were taken from the vault?” asked Brinksby. Malcolm shook his head “No , not all of them , but as I said, no one saw anything unusual. What is the item you are looking for?”. The Lord stopped walking. “ I can’t tell you what it is , but I can tell you what it looks like.“ He ran his tongue over his teeth. “it’s a bangle a bracelet, Ivory and Jade. It is hinged and very thick with an inscription on the inside edge. It has no great value as an item of Jewellery. My acquaintance would like the item returned. Once it has been received, nothing more will be said and nothing else will be asked of you. As I say we have absolutely no interest in the matter other than this item. Malcolm thought for a moment. The very fact that he was told by one of the most notorious gangsters in South London to contact Brinksby , was incentive enough .There was nothing to be gained from resisting this man’s request. Early estimates from the heist showed a haul amounting to at least four million pounds in cash alone. The value of the item was nothing in the scheme of things. He would look for the bracelet and if it were amongst the spoils he would return it. 5 He offered his hand to Brinksby “ I will check and contact you by telephone in the morning on the number I was given. If the bracelet is there, you can be sure you will have it by the end of the day tomorrow. I give you my word.” Brinksby returned his handshake. “ I do hope for all our sakes Mr. Tewksbury , that the bracelet is found and placed back in the hands of its rightful owner. I expect to hear from you tomorrow morning.” He nodded a curt farewell and turned back towards Westminster. “Goodbye.” **** “Jimmy is in.” said Mike. He wants two of his own boys to help him with the dig and he’ll pay them out of his percentage. “There’s a shop two doors down from the bank that’s empty, used to be a men’s outfitters, Jimmy reckons he can go through the wall in the basement of that shop into next door and then dig a fifteen foot tunnel straight through to the bank vault.” Barry laughed . “How long is that going to take?” Mike shrugged “Well; He says three weekends. Cant dig in the week as its too noisy and he thinks someone will hear. The vault will need to be cut open with something he calls an Arc cutter. He says that’s pretty noisy too , but if that’s done in the early hours on Saturday of the last weekend then we get the whole Saturday and Sunday to clear the security boxes.

[rivygucci-blog]

Getting myself into a pickle

In the beginning of my freshman year, I was walking through the campus quad after my last class of the day. Aside from passing by the hippies, the weird Asians jumping out of trees with nerf guns, and the typical Frisbee bros who couldn’t even throw it straight, were the set-ups for Greek life with a variety of frats and sororities trying to sign up rushes. Now, coming from a background of partying and whatnot, I was instantly intrigued and decided to check it out. I approached this one frats set-up since they had the biggest tent and seemed the most friendly. I spoke with one of the brothers and he gave me the low down and everything. After I put my name and number down, the guy told me him and his brothers were having a big rush party and would contact me later with the details. “Sweet”. I thought to myself. “Rush parties mean free booze and free booze means lots of girls, because who would be interested in joining a frat if there aren’t any girls? A frat without girls is like jerking off without splooging. It’s pretty cool at first, but you get nothing out of it.” Anywho, the night comes around and I get the text from the brother with the address. My cousin (who we’ll call Gucci), being the only one with a car at the time, elected to drive there. Before leaving, I made sure to grab a condom and to have a little pep talk with Gucci. Now, when I drink I tend to do things that I may regret when I become sober. I’ve struggled with this the moment I discovered the sweet effects of alcohol, so I had to make sure Gucci was able to intervene if anything was to happen. He agreed and we drove off to the party. Upon arriving we were greeted at the door by two brothers of the frat. They were extremely friendly and made a quirky joke about my cousin and I not bringing any girls. We laughed and they opened the door for us. The house itself was beautiful and riddled with many rooms. There was a room for beer pong, flip cup, dodge, beer and so on. Naturally, my cousin and I followed the music down to the basement. Upon entering, we were instantly met by tons of girls dancing and having a good time. There wasn't an ugly, fat, chick there. It was looking good so far for both of us. Being naive 18 year olds, my cousin and I kinda nestled in the back for a little before being approached by one of the brothers who we’ll call Chad. Chad was your typical frat bro, but without the annoyance and hints of unbearable privilege. He was kind, courteous, and offered us as much beer and pot as we could handle. Before you know it, my cousin and I got blitzed beyond our wildest dreams. We were dancing and singing with the girls all while smoking like chimneys and drinking like fishes. Then the cocaine came around. These fuckers literally brought it out on a silver platter and presented it to anyone willing to partake. Not trying to be a buzz kill, I took a snort or four and soon after that, everything was a blur. The next thing I remember is wandering aimlessly upstairs. After a few minutes, I saw a commotion going on near one of the rooms. I noticed a line of dudes forming outside a room. All of a sudden, the door blasts open and out comes this drunk dude with a smile on his face followed by easily the most unattractive and chunky girl in attendance that night... who just so happens to be butt naked! She yells out, “NEXT!” At the top of her lungs. The next dude in line follows her back inside the room and the door shuts behind him. It took me a moment to process what was going on. Where’s Gucci, you may ask? I had no clue. I sat down in the kitchen and tried to sober up a little bit. After some time passes by, my head shifts up due to the sounds of loud cheering as the previous guy emerges from the room more satisfied than a gay dude in a sausage shop. At this point it was time for another beer, so I opened the fridge and looked around. Whilst reaching for a cold brewmeister I felt two hands clench my shoulders followed by, “Hey Rivy, guess who's next in line!” It was Chad. “Hey everyone, give it up for Rivy!” The brothers begin to do some ritualistic clapping and cheering. “She's gonna take your nut faster than a squirrel! Go get her! Said Chad. They all cheer once more. Despite my heavily inebriated condition, I wasn't actually about to go have my loins spoiled by that disgusting sow. Who knows what kind of disease lay festering inside that woman? I wasn't trying to be the 15th guy to do so either. However, I really wanted to make a great impression. This frat was awesome and I didn't want to be known as “that guy” for not boinking the fraternal trailer donkey. While everyone was busy cheering and banging on the walls, I quickly poked my head inside the fridge trying to figure out my next course of action. Chad started pulling on me, so I had to act quick. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of those large pickles that are individually wrapped next to a beer. At this point, I wasn't too sure what I was doing, but it was the best thing I could have done in that moment so I snagged it. Chad finally pulled me away just as I was able to conceal the pickle from anyones sight. I'm motioned in front of the room, hesitantly walked in and closed the door behind me. The inside of this dark swamp-tavern smelled like a musky barn filled with monkeys having sex on a pile of dead Mexicans. I had to use my hands to feel around to make sure I didn’t fall. I prayed that I wouldn’t accidently touch a warm puddle of spunk. “Make sure you wear a condom when you fuck me.” the girl nonchalantly said. I followed her voice before I bumped into a bed. I quietly take the pickle and rip it out of its package. I then remove the condom out of my pocket. I was saving this condom thinking I was going to get lucky, obviously this wasn't the type of luck I had in mind. I opened the condom, blindly slid it onto the pickle and begun feeling around to see where this sloot lays. My hand soon met the wettest, slimiest, most dangliest pussy I think I have ever felt in my life. It felt like the mouth of a boxer dog after It was just finished eating through a package of raw bacon. I instantly pulled my hand away and gagged. “ARE YOU GONNA FUCK ME OR WHAT? HAVING TROUBLE GETTING IT UP?!” she yelled. I jumped and once again felt around. I brushed my hands on her legs and felt her knees were pressing into the bed. She was in the doggy position. I was shaking. I couldn’t believe I was about to fuck this girl with a pickle. I held the salty green latex covered snack in one hand as I made contact with her chewed up catchers mit with the other. I slid the pickle in and begin to jimmy it in and out, and my God, was this the loosest meat tent ever. After a few seconds, my nerves got the best of me and I accidently dropped the pickle on the bed. I quickly picked it back up and started again. All of a sudden, the pickle slipped out of the condom and was lodged inside this girls reproductive cavity...or crater. The saltiness and the unexpected feeling of being breached by a common, everyday food item was enough to make this girl scream at the top of her lungs. Apparently, when I dropped the pickle and inserted in back it, I had it faced the wrong way and the pressure from me squeezing it along with the condoms lubed inside was enough for the pickle to shoot out. “WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” yelled the girl. All I could utter was, “Um, I don’t know?” She blasted the lights on and barged out of the room. I looked through the doorway and see her in the middle of everyone with her legs fully apart. What went from cheers quickly turned into silent observation as this girl was trying desperately to pop out whatever was inside her. After a few grunts and hollers, PLUMP! The pickle slapped the cold, hard ground. There were mixed reactions from the crowd. Laughter erupted, along with confused and angry looks pointed at me. I remained sitting on the bed contemplating how I was going to talk my way out of this one. The girl begins to cry from the embarrassment and runs off. Chad emerges from the crowd along with a few other brothers. They look at the pickle, then look right at me. “Yo dude, what the fuck is this about?!” yelled Chad. Him and a few of his brothers enter the room. I was speechless. I motioned to get up but they slam me down and take turns pushing me around and asking me what the fuck I did. All of a sudden, I felt a punch land on the back of my head. It was powerful enough to push me back out of the room. I feared for my life. Was I really going to get jumped by a whole frat after sodomizing a girl with a pickle? Yep. They took turns kicking me, and the whole party went to mayhem. One big dude picked me up and was about to slam me on the ground before I heard my cousin's voice yell for them to stop. I could feel blood drip down from my face as my cousin and I were cornered by the front door, yelled at more, and finally thrown out. The next day,I had to go to the hospital and get 20 stitches on my head. Not only that, but a few of my ribs ended up getting fractured along with a bunch of other cuts and bruises. As the year went on, my reputation dwindled and any hope for me joining any frat was finished. I slowly started losing all of my friends, especially the lady friends, which wasn't a good time. Ultimately, I had to leave that college at the end of the year and I'd say this reason for it accounted for 80% of that decision. I, however, was lucky I wasn’t taken to court. The idea of a girl having a buffet line outside her door for fucking wouldn’t have sounded to good in a trial, along with being fucked by a pickle and all that. When I look back, I honestly don’t know why I just didn’t say “No” when asked to partake in the unholy act in the first place. Either way, my cousin and I ended up at a different school later on and have a hell of a story to tell at family gatherings. TL;DR: Went to a frat party, got really drunk and high and was encouraged to fuck some random fat chick who was taking on the whole team. I didn’t want to, but I had to do something to look cool so I fucked her with a pickle. Pickle got stuck inside her and I was beaten up by the whole frat, lost all my friends, and had to leave the school at the end of the year.

[justincianciolo]

The Haunted House; A Dream.

So, it starts with the boys going to the haunted house. They went every year but this year was different. They had finally updated some of the features, and some were "state of the art" and they wanted to see what it was all about. They walked through and saw a lot of the same stuff, but a lot of models were swapped out with holograms. The spooky wall, which used to be a large monitor display was replaced by an actual wall that literally seemed to twist, warp, collapse, and then snap back into place. All while making creepy sounds and all that jazz. They were startled but their shock quickly fizzed into laughter. They walled around the bend and then up the spooky staircase. At the top of the stairs was a disclaimer. Anyone under 18 had to go left, while anyone over had to go right. Luckily, there wasn't an attendant there to stop a curious kid from going the adult route, and our characters were underage and curious.

The displays from that point on were more Gory and even more realistic. It went from the usual boogeyman to scenes of torture, holograms that acted out gruesome decapitations and strange satanic rituals. Most of the exhibits were digital projections, until they turned a corner and saw what looked like a nun, but dressed in a bright red robe. She was standing with her back turned, but the model was on a rotating plate that slowly spun her around. As she began to face the kids, her robe slowly opened, revealing her naked body. It was completely life-like and the kids were fixated on the waxy silicone flesh. She then drew her hands out from her robe, revealing a long, cross-shaped dagger. She wasn't looking at the kids, but past them, through them. Beyond them. She then took the dagger and drove it quickly into her left armpit and let out a blood-chilling shriek. It startled the kids to say the least, and then they heard the wheezing of an old man. Like someone without a tongue trying to exclaim or startle the viewer. To say the least, this exhibit was the most frightening. The holograms were life-like, yes, but this figure seemed too real. As the blood spilled on the floor towards the kids, they could smell the metallic, rusted penny blood scent. It wrapped around the soles of their keds as they watched the figure bring both her arms up in a familiar crucifix pose; blood still pouring from the wound. The kids stood in terror, almost forgetting the haunted house or each-other even. Each youngster was singular suddenly. Isolated from one another in this hyper-realistic scene of self-mutilation. Divided in terror. One of them finally shook off the medusa rigor Mortis and slapped the other on the forearm with the back of his hand, without looking away from the rotating model. They finally found each other, the three of them, standing in a line facing this exhibit, that was seemingly out of place, even while being in the adult section. They finally collected themselves and walked into the next room; their wet keds squeaking on the linoleum.

As they walked through the rest of the haunted house, no other exhibit seemed to phase them. The three were silent, which was unusual. They had been to the haunted house plenty of times; making fun of the models and each other if they got spooked. They were all as silent as alter boys on Sunday. In their minds, they were still looking at the poor woman. Her body seared into their consciousness. Beckoning, almost. Her face still covered by a red hood. They wondered how the exhibit worked and how it was designed to reset for the next batch of people ready to be scared stiff. When they had walked into that room, there was no sign of fake blood residue on the checkered floor. And there was no opening in the models armpit. They thought that maybe that's why it's so state-of-the-art. It was such a grand illusion. And the blood on their shoes...they didn't see any bloody footprints on the floor in front of them. With every doubt that the boys expressed, another was quick to shrug it off in some seemingly simple explanation. After all, they weren’t experts on automatons or mannequins or whatever smoke and mirrors contraption was behind the scenes.

They sat outside the haunted house, on a bench across the way where they were selling hot dogs. It was busy, but the three were still silent for the most part. Their young minds still replaying the scene, trying to make sense of it. Trying to understand it. One of the boys was staring at the exit of the haunted house, trying to spot another scare victim with fake blood on their shoes. They sat for quite a while, but couldn't seem to spot another pair that met the same fate as theirs. They were relatively quiet until they spotted an older boy that was in their chemistry class. He came up to them with a bully-esque grin on his face. “Looks like you queers saw a ghost in there!” A comment that shook them from their contemplation. The tallest of the three composed himself quickly and responded with a not-so-funny or not-so-well-thought-out “Your face.” But that still didn’t return the state of the three to normal. The bully ordered a hot dog and sat down to discuss the haunted house.

“Better this year, yeah?” The bully said. “Yeah, that wall was crazy. I thought it was actually going to come down on us.” one of the three said. “What’d you think of that nun? Far out, huh? Nice cans on that one.” the bully exclaimed casually as all three perked up and their excitement surfaced. still with some terror behind.  The boys, while sitting there, waiting to find a pair of shoes that matched the exhibit’s bloody display, they even began to question if it were even real. But now, the bully spoke about it. reaffirming the idea that it was just an exhibit like any other. Almost taking the mystique and wonder out of it.

“Yeah, it was pretty weird. And all that blood. How’d they even do it? The tall one said.

“What are you talking about? It was the cheapest part of the show. You didn’t see the fans blowing red wax paper? It was a joke. It was nice seeing a naked lady and all but it was just so cheezy.”

The boys were even more confused now, but they chose to not bring up all the important questions that were swirling in their minds. In their fear and wonder, the three were almost sharing thoughts without speaking them to one-another. They were in the same realm subconsciously, or even consciously. They were good friends, but this shared experience seemed to affect them in similar ways. Bringing them closer. They shrugged off the bully and he eventually grabbed his hot dog and walked away, but not without lobbing another insult at the three. They finally turned away from the exit stairs of the haunted house, now looking past the hot dog vendor and into the crowd. Not really looking at anything at all, but staring into the void as their thoughts continued to spin. Of course, that was until they saw the man.

An old man, almost well dressed enough to be out of place. In a wool three-piece and an oxygen tank on wheels. The tell-tale tubes wrapped around his ears and into his nose. If he was wearing a hat, he’d look like one of those mobsters you’d see in old black and white tv shows. Or like the twilight zone or something like that. His eyes, though, fixed and wide, staring at the three. Piercing through the crowd and chilling the youngsters to the bone. He wheeled on closer towards the hot dog stand, and then the three. He held up his finger to the vendor, indicating a “one” and then the three could hear it. That familiar wheezing from inside the haunted house. They thought maybe he was in there, too, but how could he make it up the stairs with that oxygen can? Even with the attractions being state of the art, it still was in the stone age when it came to handicap accessibility. The boys grew uneasy as the old man continued to occupy the same space as them. Almost like one of the exhibits came to life and proceeded to follow them around. The old man grabbed his hot dog and looked at them. Waddling over and standing in front of them. He spoke with a voice that seemed to come from beneath a pile of gravel, or even like smoke seeping through smoldering ashes. “You boys look petrified.” He then coughed, seeming to dislodge decades of sludge from his voice box. “You like being scared, don’t you.” He then laughed a smokers laugh and attempted to gum the bun of the hot dog. The man seemed to pull the air out of the space between them. Their ears almost popped like being in a vacuum. The old man spoke again. “If you think you’re scared now, just wait.” He smirked and half of his face rose and folded into a billion wrinkles. He then looked at the middle boy of the three and held out the wet hot dog towards him. “Want a bite? lost my chompers in the war.” The old man laughed the same smokers laugh, then turning as he began to walk away. Still laughing the ashen, gravel laugh that eventually turned into coughs like dredging a lake. The boys finally peeled themselves from the bench and walked the opposite direction of the old man. Making sure to stay close together. We’ll keep each other safe, they thought.

_____

Milo was upset. This was his last drive to this goddam house. His brother was doing the best he could, but his adopted family was a little more than your typical dysfunctional family. Even though his brother was older and technically not blood-related, he still felt the need to step in when he knew he was being mistreated. His older brother was caring for their grandfather when the caretakers were indisposed. Barely interacting with the old man firsthand, but at least he would come by and take out the garbage and stuff like that. Their grandfather had two caretakers. A nurse and a handyman. Both had private quarters in the house. Their parents were long dead, and the old man was the last thread to the family tree, even if the family name was mud. Milo loved his older brother, and when he found that he had been struck by the handyman so hard that part of his beard refused to grow back, he knew he had to intervene. It was a long drive for Milo, but it gave him lots of time to filter his rage into a more concentrated and maniacal form. His older brother refused to go back to the house after whatever incident occurred, so this trip was to do his brother’s normal routine, but with the added task of confronting the handyman. Now, anyone living in that house with that old man; it’s understandable that they’d get a little loopy. The house was on a large estate that was more than a few stone’s throws from the nearest sign of civilization. Isolation can get the best of you, but Milo’s brother, the gentle soul..why would anyone ever hurt him? In some sad, poetic way, Milo was protective of his older brother. Even though, growing up, He’d beat up Milo for the slightest abrasive moment. Somewhere in the years that passed, the paradigm had shifted. Milo couldn’t stand the old man and even thinking of how that poor nurse, only in her early twenties, had to live there and perform those horrendous tasks for the old bag of bones; It made Milo’s skin itchy and his own bones shiver. As he pictured it, his grip flexed and rolled on the arch of the steering wheel. Just a few more miles til ground zero.

He was certain that the handyman was a drinker, and again, living in that place with that man would lead anyone to the drink. Milo was trying to give the handyman the benefit of the doubt, but it still wouldn’t shake his anger. He finally pulled off the highway and onto the backcountry roads that would lead to a large family estate. Of course, Milo had no interest in inheriting any of the land or the house that was seemingly tainted with the smell of death and misfortune. He wasn’t a blood relative, so he wasn’t in any will anyway. Even when his adopted parents died, he received nothing. His brother inherited a decent sum of money that he put into his college education and a new car. Nothing flashy, just something to get around. Originally he was going to blow it all away like careless people do, but Milo advised him to do otherwise. Again, like an older brother would, even though he was three years younger than his brother. Milo drove through the dead forest that surrounded the large, decaying house; towards the light of the high east tower’s windows.

He finally got into walking distance and gathered his things from his modest car and made his way towards the castle. The archways and columns reminded him of architecture you’d see on church facades. Carved stone faces stared blindly out from the house, into the misty void of the early evening. He pulled the chain which activated the archaic doorbell and hoped that someone would hear it. Most of the house was sealed off this time of year, and the bell chimes were sometimes muffled. He didn’t understand how the doorbell worked, but someone would eventually come to let him in. However, on this specific evening, no such luck. He tried knocking on the splintered, giant door until his knuckles hurt. Still nothing. He pulled out his phone to call his brother, only to remember that he never got service in the area. The house never had a land-line, either. He decided to try one of the many side doors of the estate, walking from the concrete landing out into the wet grass. He was stepping into real darkness now, with only faint moonlight to show the separation between forest and yard.

The house was quite large, and it seemed like a quarter-mile or so of walking towards the next identifiable door shape in the massive stretch of exterior walls. Again, locked. His bruised knuckles were content with skipping this door, so he continued to walk around the building. He finally saw a faint light in the distance, maybe from a window, and began to aim his paces towards it. They were old windows, of course. Mostly stained glass that seemed to be thicker at the bottom than the top. He recalled an old wives tale about how glass is technically a  liquid and that evidence of that was in old windows like these. Regardless, the glass obstructed his view as he tried to peer through it. The windows were permanent and not the kind you’d be able to open to crawl through. He continued until he got to a window with a less obscured view of inside. He peeked in and saw something that chilled him deeper than the night air and darkness. He saw the old man and the young girl. She was upset, almost crying while standing in front of the permanently-seated old man. He was touching her breasts with his withered claw of a hand. Milo gasped and almost fell back as he took his gaze from the lit window. He continued to walk towards the next door, almost in tears. His mouth and throat were dry but nearly salivating from his body’s shock. Like his face was collecting tears, ready to fall into the night. Building a barrier between reality and his brain, which was already full of thoughts that he had yet to clearly process. His palms were hot and sweaty, almost steaming in the cool air. He was shaking as he walked towards the next door until he came upon a familiar figure.

The handyman was digging around the house. Propped against the wall of the house were various tools. A rake, a spade, and sledgehammer. And of course, a wet half-empty  bottle of clear liquid that Milo doubted  was water. Milo spoke and startled the handyman, who was now working his way into a hole. “Who the fuck is that!?” The drunk stumbled as he exclaimed. Milo came closer, into the light, identifying himself. The handyman relaxed and chuckled as he reached for the dirty bottle next to the hammer. “I didn’t know you were coming all the way out here. I was expecting your brother tomorrow.” The drunk coughed; a reminder to himself to spark a new cigarette. “My brother had some business to tend to. I’m here in his place. “ Milo said calmly and automated. Trying to speak above his anger that stewed below the surface of his words. He placed his trembling hands in his pockets, almost like a conscious effort to keep them from doing what his brain wanted. Which of course, was to drive his already bruised knuckles into the gross heap of human that was the handyman. Milo wasn’t by any means quick to anger, but he loved his brother and hated the handyman. He pictured the dirty man laying his hands on his older brother, which made battery acid bile seep into his mouth from his throat. His teeth clenched as he looked at the man. “Well, there isn’t much for you to do, really. I already burned the trash and now I’m working on fixing this damn pipe. It’s busted. See” The handyman pointed down at his feet. He was standing in a small brown puddle. “Damn pipes froze. I guess these pipes have to go somewhere, huh?” The man grinned at Milo. “Only problem is that the pipes are below all these damn boulders in the ground. Gotta break them up to get to it.” The man sucked back his cigarette and took a swig of his poison to wash it down. “Your idiot brother wanted to get contractors out here. Thinks I’m good for nothing. Had to set him right.” That’s all Milo needed to hear.

The man’s words set his rage into auto-pilot. Milo reached for the man’s dirty bottle. “Oh, want some of the good stuff.” The handyman groaned and chuckled. Milo held the bottle in his hand and dumped it into the dirt. The handyman let out a gasp of surprise as Milo raised the bottle and turned the liquid glass into a billion glistening shards with the aid of the man’s face. Milo felt the crunch of the man’s nose against the bottle right before it exploded into cosmic star dust in the night. The remaining shards that were still connected to the neck of the bottle which was firm in Milo’s fist, cut into the handyman’s eye and turned it into a runny ooze as the man fell back. Milo then dropped the glass and reached for the sledgehammer.

Milo was never the kind of guy that would go around the night before halloween smashing pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns, but the handyman’s skull was a well-earned substitute. He was impressed at how the head squished into a flat oval shape. He had done so much augmentation to the handyman’s head, that it separated from his neck without any additional cutting needed. He took the smashed jack-o-lantern and laid it in the handyman’s shallow hole that he had been digging, and covered it with some dirt and leaves. Milo had some goo on his hands now, but he couldn’t discern what it was in the darkness. He had a few ideas, but the rage kept it from getting to him. He wiped his hands in the dirt and continued to find a way into the house.

Milo finally found a door that was unlocked and made his way into the castle. The building was somehow colder than outside, and lit with molten candle puddles that were a little too reminiscent of the current state of the handyman. He made his way down the corridor, trying to find the old man and poor girl. His body was trembling with adrenalin from the outside encounter. He thought to himself that even if he had left every piece of the handyman exposed, nobody would’ve found him anyway. The castle never received any mail and there was no listed address for the estate. That thought, in his mind, amused him for a moment and almost alleviated the disorienting reality of what he had done just minutes ago. He did feel some kind of sick justice, however, on his brother’s behalf. Some could say that he overreacted, but maybe, even if he were caught, they’d understand. As his train of thought raced down the tracks of his psyche, Milo continued down the long main corridor, that seemed to weave into infinity. He passed dimly lit portraits of elders  and relatives of yesteryears; all strangers to the adopted boy that nobody wanted. His fingers stuck together from the residue of the tacky alcohol-laced oil of the handyman. He rubbed his hands together, trying to clean himself. From what he saw through the window, and what happened with the handyman, Milo had no real plan on what to do next. He just knew he  had to get to that poor girl.

 He came into one of the main rooms and found the girl standing in front of the seated old man. He was wearing his classic three-piece. The girl must’ve changed because now she was in a crimson cloak and hood that covered her poor face. This must’ve been part of some sick schedule of entertainment for the old man. Milo didn’t understand when all of this had started, but it shocked him regardless. Of course the drunkard that was currently outside, melting into the garden wouldn’t have done a thing to prevent it. For all Milo knew, he helped enforce it. After all, the handyman came from the same bloodline that shared ranks with the estate’s proclivities. He had heard stories from his older brother about how the old man grew up as an aryan youth and later a member of the SS. Some time after the great war, he was hunted down and castrated by an Israeli extremist movement. The old man must’ve still had a craving even with his body mutilated.

The old man wheezed and gestured towards the girl, which prompted her to expose herself. She hesitated at first, but then opened her cloak revealing her  young, trembling body. Milo stood petrified as the scene unfolded. Almost familiar.  The old man’s expression was near-dead, but still smug somehow. He sipped a liquid from a straw and then something caught him by surprise. His eyes grew large with a sense of dread. She drew a blade into herself and screamed at the old man, who then began to cough uncontrollably. She had pierced an important part of her anatomy, and her blood ran fast and spread out across the checkered floor. As the poor girl dropped the blade from her hands and stared into the old man, Milo could see that the old man was coughing up blood. The young girl and old man were now both bleeding, dying. Milo, finally shook himself from the stiff fear-state and ran towards the girl. His shoes squeaked on the floor. It was too late. The door that Milo had used to enter the house had creaked open and the night wind blew through the hall, knocking the flickering candle flames into smoky darkness. There was only darkness now, as Milo stood in the house of death. His breathing was the only sound in the room, which seemed to grow louder in the absence of any other sound…

Until, of course, he heard a wheezing….and then a voice…

“Are you scared yet?”

____

The three boys finally left the haunted house, for real this time. The attractions were certainly state of the art.