#miles would be the perfect fit of 'what the fuck did i walk into' interactions with the batfam

[volos-wish]

There's so many headcanons and fics like "Bruce Wayne would adopt Peter Parker on the spot." Yet they fail to realize that Peter is also an adult and well into his career. Miles on the other hand...

[drakenology]

Hmmm how about a school reunion at UA high (you can choose any men you like idc). The pro hero doing the freaky with you in an empty class, and it could be a friends to lover kind of story. (Just sayin if it’s a good idea ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ since it just popped in my mind)

i’m running laps... nonnie you da bestest!

Reunion- Izuku Midoriya

warnings: smut, cum, panty gag..? is that what you call it?, exhibitionism, raw sex, cussing, heavy teasing, use of alcohol, friends to lovers, cocky ass pro hero midorya.

If you told yourself about an hour ago that you’d be going to a high school reunion you’d call yourself a liar. UA was the place where you spent your best years, learned a lot and made many amazing long time friends. Even if your invitation was last minute you still got yourself all dolled up to attend.

UA’s entire campus was decorated for the occasion. Even though you were to all meet in the gynasiam, your old principal still knew how to host an event. As you walk inside the gym you see all the tables, some already filled with former students catching up with their old classmates. You notice that all of 1-A was in one assigned part of the room and run over.

You noticed you could hardly recognize any of your friends when you arrived, Kirishima towering over just about the whole class as he stomped around greeting everyone with his huge dress shoes. All the girls looked so pretty in their gowns, sparkling in the light as they walked by to say hello and walk straight to the punch bowl to chat; you following them when you see Momo and Ochako.

Todoroki, Bakugo and Midorya all walk in together looking like and absolute iconic trio. They all grew into their looks fabulously, practically every alumni stopping and staring as they entered.

Izuku greeted everyone with a warm smile you’ve always loved, emerald eyes shimmering in the lights above your heads. Izuku was always such a handsome boy. Though after all these years those boyishly cute looks were replaced by the strong and prominent features of a man. He wore a black sweater with a white button up underneath, the collar sitting on the crewneck sweater with class. He had on a silver watch and matching rings, dazzling cufflinks and charming shoes. His entrance made a point that it paid to be the number one hero, and any naysayer from way back when could respectfully suck his dick.

Izuku stops by the punch bowl when he sees you and all the girls standing near it, obviously he had to greet all the women who supported and helped him be the hero he is today. He gushed to Uraraka about how strong and powerful she’s become, doing the same for Asui and Momo as well.

When he saw you though, standing with your glass in your pretty manicured hands he had hug you. Even though you were only his friend, he often found himself stroking his cock to the thought of your breathy moans as he pounds you harshly against any and every surface, his hand reaching up to choke you as he fucks tears into your eyes.

You were admirable, strong and gorgeous. All throughout high school he watched you closely, witnessing your greatness before you topped the charts as a top five hero. He always wanted to be close to you, hoping your greatness rubbed off on him as you learned from each other.

Izuku got close, his scent enveloping you as he pulled you up to him by the waist and hugged you like a long lost lover. You find yourself sighing into his chest and he swayed side to side, his big arms encasing you in their strength and protection.

This is the same boy who couldn’t even look you in the face at school without turning beet red, all grown up and so confident in himself. He could charm the panties off of even the prudest of women, his once gentle voice now smooth and deep. “How have you been, Y/N? It’s been so long since I last saw you.” Izuku says, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss it. If he was trying to seduce you it was working, a giddy laugh parting your lips as your stomach fluttered.

“I-It has been a while hasn’t it?” You grin, batting your eyelashes as he smiled back at you, sickeningly sweet as he refilled your glass like a true gentleman.

“You look great tonight.” He says, leading you over to a nearby table to sit and catch up.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Number One Hero.” You tease, sitting after Izuku pulled out your chair. Izuku laughed sheepishly, having a seat next to you.

“Stop. I’m just plain old Deku.” He chuckles, raising his glass to toast with you. As the night went on, the spiked punch started to make you pay more attention to Izuku’s matured appearance.

He sat up tall, broad shoulders and big scarred hands as he took another sip from his glass. You watch closely as his lips wrap around the rim, wishing it were your pussy instead as your thighs clench unconsciouslly.

Your clit throbs as you watch him interact with all your other friends who had joined you at the table, his charming smile and velvety laugh making your heart run a million miles a minute. Izuku himself had fallen victim to the affects of the alcohol you both consumed, Izuku’s glance diverted towards the necklace you wore which hung teasingly above your delicious cleavage.

His palms sweat a little at the thought of your pebbled nipples pressed against his chest as he drilled you into the table in front of you both. Izuku’s eyes follow your curves as you sat, thighs squished and thick as your dress hung just above your knees.

What a sorry excuse for a dress, he thought. It’d be a shame if someone were to hike it up a bit to show off that ass he loved watching walk by in class. In a fit of lust Izuku mindlessly palms at your thighs under the table, darting his eyes up at you to see if you liked the feeling of his hands on you.

Boy did you. You bit your lip, your cunt aching as his hand grabs at your inner thigh and caressing the soft skin. He kept the conversation going with his old classmates, his hands palming at your panties as he hooks his fingers along the hem. His smile was so deceiving; innocent and friendly to mask the lewd actions he was performing just under their noses. You gasp, his fingers running along your clothed slit.

“Are you alright, Y/N? You look a little hot.” Izuku asks, keeping up his sham as he points out your heavy breathing. You nod, ensuring everything is fine as you feel his hands move your panties aside. You almost yelp when his fingers gather your slick, prodding against your weeping hole as he chatted with Todoroki about a mission they were on together. You turn your face away from the table, eyes crossing when he slips his digits inside you.

The agony of his assault on your pussy almost made you blow your cover, a mewl slipping past your lips as you gasp with every thrust of his hand; thankful the music and chatter concealed your whine. You turn back to the table and look up at Izuku again, who was already staring at your body’s every move with dark green eyes. He leans down towards your ear and whispers to you so sweetly you almost faint.

“Get up and leave the table, I’ll be right behind you.” His hands slid out of your panties, your mouth whining at the loss as you get up and excuse yourself. You tell everyone you’re going to the bathroom and walk out of the gym. You stand in the hallway and wait for Midoriya to come out, your mind racing as you try to process what the fuck just happened back there.

You couldn’t deny you always had a soft spot for Deku but you would have never thought those feelings would be requited. Shortly, Izuku walks out of the gym, inching towards you to pin you up against the wall.

“You’re so naughty. Letting me finger you under the table while I talk to our friends. You know what naughty girls get, right?” Izuku hums, forehead resting on yours as he ghosts his lips over your glossed ones. “I can’t wait to smear your makeup all over that pretty face of yours.”

You shudder at his words, Izuku leading you by the hand all the way to the end of the hall, an empty classroom seeming to be the perfect place to ruin you. You kiss each other with fervor, grabbing at each other’s bodies as breathy moans and gasps are exchanged. Izuku lifts you up, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as walks towards the empty teacher’s desk. He carefully sits you down, standing between your legs as his hands unzip your dress.

“Been wanting to see these since I met you.” Izuku coos, eagerly pulling your dress down to reveal your bra, your tits sitting pretty as his hands grab at them both. Your pussy started to ache again when he pulled your bra down, bare breasts pebbling in the cold air of the room.

And to make matters worse he was being so dominant, his sweet and charming disposition replaced with feral lust. “Izu- ah- w-we shouldn’t do this here.” You whine, lying to yourself about how badly you wanted him to take you on that desk, his fingers pinching your nipples harshly.

“Oh but you were so wet earlier. I could feel that greedy pussy sucking my fingers in deep. You’re not a very good liar, Y/N.” Izuku mocked, pulling your panties down. “Be a good girl and lemme taste you, hm?” Izuku crumpled up your panties in his hands and shoved them into your mouth, pushing you enough to make you lay across the desk.

Your legs fly open, Izuku’s face making its way towards your dripping cunt with that saccharine grin on his face. He knew he was about to devour you until you forget where you are, your moans and the feeling of his tongue delving deep inside your gummy walls the only things you can fixate on. He couldn’t wait to hear those pretty moans loud and clear, his lips meeting your pussy to sloppily make out with it, tongue kissing your clit with a groan at the taste of your sweet juices. Your back arched off the desk, hands flying into his hair as his lip trapped your clit in between the plush flesh and suckled gently.

“I-Izu-Izuku!” You slurr, his tongue reaching deeper bounds as he slid the muscle inside, wanting to draw more distorted noises from you, his final accolade for all he’s achieved at his young age.

You near your end, high pitched whines muted by your panties filling your mouth, shaking and convulsing as you drool all over them. Midoriya burned that image of you into his mind, your eyes almost forming hearts in their irises as he fucked you with his tongue. He groans against your skin, so eager he’s unzipping his pants before you can cum in his mouth.

“Uh-uh. I wanna feel your pussy creaming all over my dick, baby.” Midoriya huffed, pulling his length out of his boxers. You stare up at him with hazy eyes, tears streaming down smearing all your mascara, lipstick probably beyond repair too. He’s inside you before you can think, air unknown to you as he dived deep in your needy pussy without a second to inhale, to get your barings. You’re a spectical, moaning so much you almost drop your makeshift gag, Izuku’s fingers lodging your panties back inside.

“Don’t want our classmates to hear you screaming right baby?” Izuku says into your neck, sloppy kisses in time with his brutal thrusts into your spongiest spots. You’re sobbing, pussy making raunchy sounds as you claw at his back, cresent shapes showing proudly as Izuku worked you with his thickness.

“Oooh listen to you baby. Sound so pretty for me.” Izuku panted, taking your hardened nipple into his mouth as his eyes watched yours roll to the back of your head as he hit your cervix, smirking at your reaction. He hits that spot over and over again, the white hot pleasure so overwhelming you’re drooling all over your chin, throat hoarse from all the silent screams you let out into your panties that were practically lodged down your throat.

“Fuhhhhh!!” You slurr, clenching around his cock furiously, pussy drooling all over his dick as you came hard.

“Yeahhhhh. That pussy’s so fuckin good baby. Wan’ me to cum inside you? Yeah I’m gonna cum deep inside that cunt, give me another, c’mon gimme another!” Izuku grunts, hips pistoning as your legs are pressed against your chest, stroking deeply as he rubbed lazy circles into your clit.

You babble into the gag, so overwheled you have no idea what to do with your hands going from holding on to the desk for dear life and pushing at Izuku’s abs as a way to beg him slow down, to let you breathe but to no avail. You feel yourself completely lose control of your body, thighs seeming to vibrate as you hiccup and whine your way into another blinding orgasm. Izuku leans down and kisses your forehead as if to apologize for the brutality, splurting hot globs of his sticky cum inside you and panting into your hair. You lay back on the desk, gasping as Izuku pulled your panties out of your mouth.

“Our friends are probably looking for us, baby. We should get you fixed up before we go back out there. ” Izuku laughs, gesturing towards your completely undone hair and runny makeup.

You pull your panties back up over your ass, Midoriya’s thick cum leaking out of your cunt when you stood from the desk with weak legs.

Izuku turns to you and zips your dress back up, kissing your shoulder as you look around for your other heel. Honestly, you’re speechless. You don’t know what to make of what just happened, Izuku promising he’ll confess his feelings properly, take you out on a nice date when you’re alone again as he wiped the tears from your cheek. You nod softly, smiling when Izuku kissed your forehead, already knowing you want to have sex with Izuku just like that for the rest of your natural life.

[valdomarx]

Anon requested: Person A thinks that a proposal would be a great way to get out of a jam. Person B thinks it is a sincere proposal and accepts. Realizing it wasn't done from a genuine place leads to some upset.

In Jaskier’s defence, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Marry me, Geralt!” he called, jogging over to his witcher, a little out of breath.

Geralt’s face pinched into something cross and Jaskier was sure he was about to be told to fuck entirely off.

“It’s the Belleteyn festival tonight,” he explained quickly. “I might have, erm, sown my seed a little more widely than would be advisable in the town.” Geralt scowled. “And there may have been some, ahem, threats against my person made by the local lord.“ Geralt’s scowl deepened. “But we can smooth it all over if we’re wed tonight. There’s some local custom -- forgiveness of past indiscretions for newly married couples on May Eve.“

Geralt was still glowering but he hadn’t said no yet. Jaskier pulled out his strongest move: He ducked his head, looked up at Geralt from under his lashes, and licked his lips. Geralt’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue almost imperceptibly.

“So marry me? Here. Tonight.”

.

It had been a lovely ceremony, as fake weddings go. There had been music and wine, dancing and merriment, and Geralt even allowed some of the local girls to braid flowers into his hair.

They’d only had enough coin for one ring, a simple silver band, so Jaskier had taken that and he’d given Geralt his father’s signet ring. He’d never have parted with it for anyone else, but it was Geralt. He knew without question he would keep it safe until this ruse was over with.

Perhaps there really was something magical in the air at that time of year, or maybe it was an evening spent at an increasingly raunchy celebration that did it. But after the festivities were over and the townsfolk returned to their homes, Geralt took Jaskier back to their campsite in the woods, laid him down on a bedroll with indescribable tenderness, and fucked him within an inch of his life.

It was everything Jaskier had been quietly fantasising about for years, except more because it was Geralt and even Jaskier’s profoundly vivid imagination couldn’t match the reality of his witcher, every glorious inch of muscle straining and taut, eyes blown wide with lust, taking Jaskier apart and piecing him back together again.

.

The next morning, Jaskier woke slowly, feeling the telling ache of a night well spent. Geralt was already up, packing up camp and loading their bags onto Roach.

“There’s oatmeal in the pot if you want breakfast,” Geralt grunted. “We should get going soon.” He turned back to his work.

Right. Okay. They just... weren’t going to talk about it then. Back to business as usual.

Jaskier shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Geralt would be as pragmatic about sex as he was about everything else. A way to get some relief, to meet a need. No expectations.

Hell, it had taken Geralt over a decade to admit they were actually friends. Jaskier felt stupid for even hoping for more.

Sleeping together had been a one time deal, it seemed. Too bad.

.

Jaskier realised he was still wearing the ring a few hours later. He should take it off, get rid of it. Maybe sell it at the next town.

He should ask Geralt for his father’s ring back too. But it seemed somehow rude to ask, too needy.

And he... well, he sort of liked catching glimpses of it decorating Geralt’s finger, like a tiny piece of Jaskier was with him wherever he went.

Jaskier found his thumb rubbing over the silver band around his own finger over and over again. It was silly, he knew, but he liked the feel of it. He would keep it for now.

.

After that, things got weird. At lunch, Geralt tried to persuade Jaskier to eat the last of the apples, as if he didn’t know their supply was running low. And at dinner, Geralt hunted and prepared two squirrels for Jaskier instead of the customary one. Jaskier would eat just about anything in a pinch, but charred rodent was not something he felt the need for seconds of.

Everywhere they went, Geralt kept trying to foist food on him. Did he think that Jaskier was weak? That he wasn't able to keep up without extra supplies? Jaskier was, admittedly, not as young as he used to be, but he thought he still measured up pretty well in the fitness department. He didn’t love the implication that he was falling short in some way.

.

At night, Geralt would lay out their bedrolls close together. Close, but never touching. When he laid down, Jaskier could feel Geralt’s breath on the back of his neck, and his chest ached with want.

He waited every night for Geralt to sneak an arm around his waist and pull him close, or to lean forward and whisper an invitation in his ear. Jaskier would be on him in a second.

But he never did, and every night Jaskier berated himself again for being so foolish and tried to push the thoughts from his mind. It was hard being so close and yet so far from what he truly wanted, but he wouldn’t force Geralt into a situation he wasn’t comfortable with.

.

After a week of this Jaskier was truly beginning to lose his mind, and it was a relief when they came upon a small town where they could rest for the night. Jaskier could go out, find some company and distract himself from the hopeless longing settled in his bones, even if only for the night.

When he announced his intention to look around the town, Geralt said he would come along too. That wasn’t ideal for Jaskier’s plan of distraction, but he’d make it work. He always enjoyed Geralt’s company anyway.

There wasn't a lot going on in the town, but there was a pretty barmaid in the tavern, a cheerful red-haired lady with exuberant freckles and strong curves. She flashed a smile at Jaskier the moment they walked in.

Perfect. He smiled back, ordered two drinks, and set to flirting outrageously with her. She giggled and teased back, not seeming intimidated by Geralt‘s presence, even though he was growing notably testier as their interactions became more charged.

When she reached over the bar to twirl a finger through Jaskier’s hair, Geralt actually growled.

She backed off and looked at Geralt. “Didn’t mean any harm,” she said. “I’m just being friendly. Unless...” She looked down at their hands on the bar, apparently noting their rings, and then back to Jaskier. “Unless you’re spoken for. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Jaskier said with a laugh, just as Geralt said, “Yes, actually, we’re married.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt. Geralt stared at Jaskier. The barmaid held her hands up in the universal gesture for “none of my business, nothing to see here” and backed away to wipe down a table.

Every muscle in Geralt’s neck was tense and throbbing, and Jaskier had no idea what to say.

“Geralt,” he began, carefully. “is this about the other day? The ceremony? Did you... Did you think that was for real?”

Something pained flashed across Geralt’s face, an expression more raw than any Jaskier had seen on him before. Then he stood, turned, and bolted from the tavern.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called, getting to his feet. “Geralt, wait!”

By the time Jaskier was out of the door, Geralt was already disappearing down the dirt road, not turning back.

Ahh, fuck.

.

Jaskier left the girl at the tavern with a hurried apology, pausing only to throw their various possessions into bags and to load up Roach before heading out after Geralt. He knew bugger all about tracking, but he knew the direction Geralt was heading, and after that he relied on Roach’s instincts. She at least seemed confident in what to do.

He caught up to Geralt less than a mile outside of town. He was sat alone in a copse of trees just off the road, staring at the leaves.

He didn’t flee as Jaskier approached, though he didn’t turn to look at him either. “Geralt? I’m sorry. I was thoughtless. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Geralt stood slowly and turned to face him, though he avoided making eye contact. “It was a misunderstanding.” Geralt’s face was carefully blank, a look Jaskier recognised from times he was trying very hard to hide his emotions. “A wrong assumption on my part about the seriousness of the ceremony at Belleteyn.”

“Holy hell, Geralt.” Jaskier’s mind reeled. Geralt thought they had really been getting married, and he had been okay with that? “Does that mean... Would you actually want to be married to me?”

“It was stupid,” Geralt gritted out. Anyone else would have thought he was angry, but Jaskier knew him well enough to see he was hurt. “To think it was anything more than a distraction.”

No no no, that wasn’t right at all. Jaskier tried to take Geralt’s chin in his hand but Geralt turned his face forcefully away.

“Is that why you’ve been acting strange?” Jaskier thought back on it: the gifts of food, the aborted attempts at closeness, the feeling Geralt’s eyes on him constantly, checking his well-being.

“I thought...” Geralt wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I thought you wanted things to be normal. Like they always were.”

“If I were married to you for real, I wouldn’t act like everything was normal!” Jaskier exploded. “Damn it, Geralt. I’d kiss you every morning and hold you every night. And I’d tell everyone we met -- everyone -- that I was the luckiest person on the continent, because this is my husband, the one and only Geralt of Rivia, and he’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

Jaskier shut his mouth. Too late, though. Too late to take any of that back.

Geralt’s brow was pinched, though it didn’t quite look like a frown. It almost made him look thoughtful.

Finally he looked at Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Every morning?”

Jaskier felt all the fight leaving his body in one grand sweep. Geralt let him push him to his knees on the ground and allowed Jaskier to flop into his lap. Jaskier brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I’ve thought about kissing you every day for years,” Jaskier confessed.

And then he saw it -- one of Geralt’s oh-so-rare smiles. Not the forced grimace he adopted when he needed to look nonthreatening, or the tolerant lip twitch he’d give Jaskier when he was trying to be funny. No, this was a genuine Geralt smile, more precious than gemstones, the kind that lifted his entire face and reached his eyes.

Geralt threaded a hand into the back of his hair, brought their faces closer, and kissed him. At the touch of their lips every part of him went boneless, held up only by Geralt’s arms and a determination to make as much bodily contact as he possibly could.

His head was spinning by the time they pulled apart for air. Geralt’s eyes were sparkling, and Jaskier could have lost himself in that sight for the rest of his life and considered himself a lucky man.

Geralt leaned their foreheads together. “Will you stay with me?” he asked, very quietly. “Even if all I can offer you is charred squirrel and sleeping beneath the stars?”

“Always,” Jaskier promised, without a shadow of a doubt. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Through the good and the bad, the injuries and the pain, the plenty and the lean times. Through it all, he wanted to be with Geralt.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his and slotted their fingers together. Their rings lay next to each other, the elaborate gold of Jaskier’s crest shining against Geralt’s pale skin and the smooth silver encircling his own finger like an embrace.

It was all startlingly clear. “Marry me, Geralt,” he said, his heart welling over. “For real this time.”

[afictionalwhore]

A Mermaid’s Mate

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A/N: this was inspired by a long and beautiful conversation with @jadequeen88 about nasty Pirate!Dabi and a little Mermaid!Reader and poor first mate Tenko. I’m an absolute slut for mermaid AUs and Dabi just seemed like the natural choice for a scummy pirate.

Pirate!Dabi x Mermaid!Reader ; little bit of First mate!Tenko

Words: 4K

T/W: noncon, fingering, little bit of anal play, mermaid anatomy, cucking, Captain Dabi is unhygienic in his sex life.

⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽⎽⎼⎻⎺⎺⎻⎼⎽

Captain Dabi was to be, above all else, feared. He had developed quite the reputation for himself, covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings, a tuft of unruly black hair, and maniacal blue eyes that burned with something almost inhumane. Dabi quickly rose to be one of the most feared pirates of the sea. The rumors had spread like wildfire. He’ll steal your eldest daughter and eat her heart! had to be Dabi’s favorite. Combined with his love of pyrotechnics, the dirty captain found relative ease in pillaging unsuspecting coastal towns throughout the seas, leaving quite the impressive trail of broken hearts and devastated livelihoods.

Despite his fearsome reputation, Dabi found himself tossing and turning at night recently, unable to fall asleep. News, rumors, that his father’s navy fleet had been following his ship did not settle well with the captain. Sure, Dabi had stolen this ship from said fleet but that, amongst many other unmentionable crimes, was just a part of the territory of life as a pirate. What better way to start off a life of piracy than to change his name and steal a ship from the father he hated so much? Regardless of the rumors, as Dabi told himself they were, he had found himself unable to sleep that night. 

Dabi swung his legs up and over the hammock that swayed with the motions of the ship, hopping on the floor of his quarters with a small thud. He swaggered up to his cabinet before swinging the doors open, hoping to find some rum. None. That was fine. He’d just have to ask Tenko if he had some. That’s what a first mate was for anyways, right? Besides, a walk across the deck under the crisp ocean night air would do him some good, maybe clear his head and relax him a bit. That’s just what the doctor, him, prescribed: a night under the stars with his one true love, rum.

As he made his way towards Tenko’s quarters, he saw a light at the end of his ship. As Dabi crossed the deck, he could make out the skinny twig of a man hanging over the railing, pale blue hair shining under the light like a beacon.

Scurvy must have got the poor soul, Dabi thought as he creaked along the open deck, as though that would explain the man’s behavior, despite the fact that Tenko had always been, in Dabi’s eyes, a weird one.

When Dabi stole his father’s ship, he brought Tenko on as his first mate, since that backstabbing Keigo had joined the Navy with Dabi’s father. Dabi thought he’d have to drag Tenko on board, knowing the awkward man much preferred the indoors, always hunched over a pile of books. To Dabi’s surprise, it didn’t take the shy, blue-haired man much convincing at all to join. 

“Do you think we’ll see a mermaid?” Tenko had asked Dabi as they snuck away and sailed into their new life under the veil of stars. 

“Sure, kid.” Dabi shrugged, more focused on the rope work than whatever mythical creature prowled the ocean depths.

Ever since then, Tenko was always ranting and raving about mermaids. Dabi had already given the scrawny man lecture upon lecture after catching Tenko throwing their limited food supplies out into the ocean. It was only a matter of time before the man died trying  to fuck some poor, unknowing ocean creature in belief it was a living, breathing, genuine mermaid. 

That’ll just leave more rum for me. Dabi thoroughly believed, turning back towards Tenko’s quarters to retrieve the rum, head too full of worries about his father to bother with lecturing Tenko once again. Karma would deal with Tenko for wasting their food yet again.

Dabi had almost made it to Tenko’s quarters when he heard it: a soft, feminine giggle. Dabi wondered if he had already drunk the last of his rum that night and simply forgot. There was no way a woman could be on board, not without womanizer Captain Dabi knowing. It had been only Dabi and Tenko for weeks. He was simply hearing things. He had to have been.

Dabi decided to creep closer, just within earshot of Tenko and the mystery woman. He heard Tenko’s raspy voice—“fruit”—following by a lighter, almost airy voice— “foooot?”

“Try again,” said Tenko, leaning a little further over the railing. “Frrrruit.”

“Frrrrrrooooot. Frrrrrrrruit. Frrrruit. Fruit!”

“Good! That’s perfect!” Tenko exclaimed before tossing whatever fruit he had stolen from the kitchens into the water. “You’re learning so fast!”

Dabi expected a splash, prayed there would be a splash. Instead, his ears were greeted with more giggles. Dabi shook his head before turning around and slinking back to his quarters without the rum.

“I’m out of damn mind,” he mumbled as he tucked himself into his hammock, the swaying of the ship lulling him to sleep.

It didn’t stop there. The food kept disappearing. Tenko was just a little too eager to stay out at night for someone who usually didn’t enjoy the fresh air. Although Dabi felt his first mate could really use some refreshing ocean air. Dabi found himself sneaking out at night, stalking his first mate and listening in on his conversations with whatever the man was talking to. 

This had gone on for about a week. Dabi was growing more and more restless, finding himself inexplicably irate with his first mate. Conversations with Tenko usually were about some ocean myth, but they began to take a turn that left Dabi more irritated than uncomfortable or bored, especially combined with what Dabi was watching at night.

“Did you know mermaids can mate with humans?” Tenko said one clear day as he was cleaning the deck while Dabi charted their course.

Dabi stopped mid step and turned to face his friend. “Please don’t go and fuck the manatee.”

“I’m not going to fuck a manatee! I’m telling you! There’s genuine mermaids out there!” Tenko was working himself up into a fit.

“Fine, fine,” Dabi waved him off. “I believe ya.” I need to get this man laid. I need to get laid, fuckin’ Christ. 

“Unrelated, though,” he pointed an accusatory finger at his first mate. “Tenko, do you happen to know where the food has been goin’? I know mannin’ a ship with just us two fuckers is a lot, but we really can’t be out of apples already.”

“No, captain. No, sir,” Tenko fumbled with his fingers. “I can’t say I do know. Perhaps we have some rats?”

“Rats, yes, of course.” Dabi said, fearsome blue eyes never leaving Tenko’s red ones. “Rats. Tenko, make a note for when we’ve stopped in the next town. We need to pick up more apples and rat traps.”

“Yes, sir.” Tenko scurried away, and Dabi didn’t see his first mate for the rest of the evening.

The interaction had left Dabi more irritated than usual. Not only did he have to deal with a lunatic first mate, but he had to deal with the fact that said first mate wasn’t actually crazy. Add that to the stress of being out on the open sea for a week since he had heard the rumors of his father catching up with him and Dabi found himself on another sleepless night in need of a drink.

Knowing that he had already drank the supply he had stolen from Tenko a week ago and there would be nothing in the cabinet, Dabi once again heaved his body out of his hammock, boots hitting the hard wooden floor of his quarters, and found himself making his way across the deck under the moonlight to Tenko’s quarters.

Once again, there was Tenko, in his regular spot, hanging over the railing with his lamp beside him resting on said railing and illuminating his pale features.

“Tenko.” Dabi heard his first mate’s scratchy voice and watched as Tenko pointed a long finger towards himself. He heard the water move, splashing ever so softly, before the airy voice replied. “Teeeehnnnkooooooh. Teeeenko. Tenko!” Musical giggles floated into the night air.

“Yes!” Tenko moved his hand over the ship’s railing to point out into the water.

After a few moments, a soft voice answered back, telling Tenko your name.

Tenko sighed and repeated what you had told him. “That’s beautiful.”

Dabi scoffed. A burning feeling in his chest left him uncomfortable. That was enough foolery for him. God he needed a drink. He quickened his pace to Tenko’s quarters, nothing but rum on his mind.

Dabi made it to Tenko’s quarters, the blue-haired man too distracted to notice Dabi sneaking about. He fumbled around the room with the sway of the ship, throwing objects around until he had found what he was looking for. Rum in hand, Dabi left to return to his own quarters. As he made his way back, he overheard Tenko’s raspy voice once again.

“I love you.”

Dabi could feel the bile rising up. As he went to take a drink of the rum, bringing the bottle up to his lips, a gust of wind and a big wave caused the ship to rock, throwing the drunken captain off balance. He fell with a loud thud, disrupting Tenko. Dabi couldn’t believe his luck when the wave had also thrown Tenko’s lamp into the ocean below. He quickly scurried back to his room, going unnoticed by Tenko. Still, it was just the two of them on board. Tenko had to know Dabi had been spying on now.

The next night, Dabi found himself in a similar predicament as the first night he had caught you and Tenko, sleepless and drunk. Funds were running low. More importantly, the rum was running low, nearly out at the pace Dabi was drinking. He had been pacing the floor of his cabin, when it finally clicked.  Dabi heard the giggling once again, annoyed by the creature and his first mate’s consistent flirting. 

You. You were the answer. How much had Tenko taught you to speak? Surely Dabi could teach you a few new words, a few more tricks. Dirty sailors would run for miles for a chance with you. Hell, even some of the corrupt lords of the nearby islands would pay the big bucks to look at you. If Keigo was still the man he was when Dabi and him were friends, Dabi was sure Keigo would keep his mouth shut about his whereabouts to his father in exchange for letting his little mermaid suck him off. 

Further, Dabi convinced himself that he would be doing Tenko a great service by catching you. Dabi was a smart man. Growing up under his Navy officer father’s thumb, Dabi had heard a fair share of mermaid tales before meeting Tenko. What kind of friend would Dabi be to let poor, innocent, unsuspecting Tenko fall in the clutches of an evil mermaid?

Last night was too close for comfort for Dabi. He had to move fast. They would be docking soon. It would be the perfect chance for Dabi to see how much he could make off of you.  He swung open the door to quarters to see Tenko making his way towards your usual meeting spot.

“Tenko!” he barked.

The young man jumped and turned around, hiding whatever leftover food he had saved from dinner behind his back, hoping Dabi wouldn’t notice the disappearance if it were from his own plate.

“Yes, captain?” he asked.

“We’re docking at the next town. I need you to take inventory and make a list of what we need.”

“Yes, sir.” Tenko made his way to the storage below deck.

“No!” Dabi yelled. Tenko turned around, confused. “Start with the kitchens.”

“O-okay, sir.” Tenko turned to make his way to the kitchen, near his own quarters and across from Dabi’s.

Once Tenko was out of sight and well in the kitchens, Dabi ran below deck. He grabbed the net from the storage, and headed to the spot he always saw Tenko waiting for you at.

You had swam up to your usual spot, waiting for Tenko. Tonight, you were a bit more impatient. You had been practicing the phrase Tenko told you the night before and were excited to tell him. You felt the footsteps approaching, the vibrations rippling through the air and water. Something felt off. The footsteps were heavier than Tenko’s. A small voice in the back of your mind screamed at you to swim away, but in your excitement to impress Tenko, you pushed the thought back. Perhaps Tenko just wasn’t feeling well.

Finally, a figure appeared over the edge of the railing. You popped your head up from below the surface, splashing water as you threw your arms up in the air to exclaim “Love you!” 

It happened too fast for you to comprehend. At a dizzying speed, a net was thrown over you, trapping you in and dragging you across the water before hoisting you up into the air. You struggled against the bindings, crying breathlessly, “Tenko! Tenko!” 

As the net containing you was swung around the ship to hold you over the deck, you heard a rough, dark voice. “Tenko? No, doll. The name’s Dabi.”

You were dropped unceremoniously on the deck floor, net still draped over you.

In the commotion, Tenko had returned from the kitchens. He ran towards Dabi and you, trapped under the heavy net on the hard flooring. Whatever he was holding in his hands fell to the floor.

“No!” Tenko cried, calling out your name, reaching for you.

“Please don’t!” Tenko sobbed, falling on his knees. “Please. You don’t understand. I love her. Mermaids mate for life! I’m sure she feels the same for me.”

An inexplicable anger rushed over Dabi at Tenko’s pleading. When had Tenko ever been with a woman? And he expects this mythical beauty to love him? Dabi felt that he could burn up his whole ship with his rage at his first mate’s stupidity. 

That at least, is what he told himself. Dabi would be the last to admit that he was actually jealous of Tenko and whatever relationship he had with you. You were beautiful beyond words. How a creature as breathtaking as you could love someone as shrimpy as Tenko was beyond Dabi, and it left him pissed. 

“Would you just shut up!” Dabi spat at him. “Are you stupid? I thought you were the expert here. You should know it doesn’t have any feelings. It doesn’t love you, it only wants to kill you.” 

Dabi’s cruel words ached in Tenko’s heart. He clutched at the thin fabric of his shirt over his chest.

“You’re a pitiful excuse of a man! If you love her so much, then just take her from me!” He dragged the net off your shaking frame. “Oh wait. I’d have ya tossed overboard for mutiny. What a piss situation for you then. Well! Go on! Watch your woman, your thing, get claimed as your captain’s!”

Tenko’s head dropped. His whole body dropped. His hands gripped his dirty pants so tight his knuckles turned white. Tears ran down his face, dripping off his chin and onto his dry, cracking knuckles and pants.

Dabi swung a leg over you to straddle you at your waist, knees pressing in on either side of your slippery fin.

“Let a real man show you some real fun. Okay, babe?” Dabi smiled down at your quivering form, shaking with fear and cold.

Dabi ran a long, cold finger up and down over your small slit, just below where your fin and waist merged. After it had gained enough wetness from your natural slick and the ocean water that was still dripping off you, Dabi pushed the rough finger into you, causing you to gasp and jump.

“She’s so tight, Tenko!” Dabi exclaimed as he curled a finger against your spongy walls. “Well, damn! If I’d have known she was this tight, I’d have caught her a long time ago. Why didn’t you tell me she’d be this tight? Holdin’ out on your captain now?” 

You thrashed around the deck, beating your tail against the wooden floor of the deck and gasping for air, reaching out for Tenko, as Dabi continued to finger fuck you. 

“Tenko! Tenko!” you sobbed.

“How many times do you have to tell you, bitch?” Dabi growled. “The word you’re looking for is Dabi.” He shoved two more fingers in your small slit, pumping a few times before spreading them. “Gotta make sure this little mer-cunt is nice and stretched out for me.” Dabi chuckled to himself.

Dabi continued to finger fuck you as you sobbed below him. Your clawing at the wood of the deck had stopped, little scratch marks left behind in the wake. The air was heavy with the sounds of you gasping for air between your sobs and hiccups and the squelching of Dabi’s fingers in you.

“Oh? And what’s this?” Dabi took the hand that wasn’t busy with your cunt and poked a finger around your tighter hole just above the slit he currently had three dirty fingers stuffed in. He basked in your widening eyes and shocked gasps as he continued to finger around.

“Tell me, Tenko,” Dabi mused. “Is this her tight little asshole?”

Tenko, still staring at the deck, answered bleakly. “Yes, captain.”

“Fascinating.” Dabi slid his thumb past the rim of muscle. A thrill ran down his spine as you jumped underneath him.

“You like that, baby?” Dabi applied more pressure with his thumb. You squirmed more beneath him and cried. 

“Shhhh” Dabi cooed. “You’ll feel good real soon.” He turned to Tenko, who could be mistaken for a statue with how still the man was. “Tenko, tell me where her clit is.”

“She doesn’t have one like a human girl, sir,” came the small, dry reply.

“Oh? Then how is she supposed to feel any pleasure?”

“You see the thin skin around her waist? Right by her fin and skin?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“That’s her skirt. Right at the base of her skirt, where it dips in that V shape, that’s essentially her clit.”

“Ah, right here?” Dabi took the thumb out of your ass and pressed against the small V where your fin and skin met.

You couldn’t contain the moan that spilled out of your mouth. Dabi smirked at your reaction. 

“Bingo,” he said, as he massaged small circular patterns in that spot. He curled the fingers inside you, pressing against your gummy walls, before dragging them out. As your moans increased in pitch, Dabi increased his speed. Soon, you were putty in his hands, on the brink of orgasm.

“Come for me, doll.” Dabi whispered as your walls clenched on his fingers. He pressed once more on your “clit” and the knot tightening within you broke. You threw your head back against the wood of the deck, eyes squeezing shut, and cried out.

“Good girl. Good girl.” Dabi praised. 

Once you had calmed down from your orgasm, Dabi raised up to his knees, still trapping you underneath him. Your previous orgasm in combination with the fight you had put up left you exhausted below him. You looked up at the clinking of Dabi undoing his belt. He pushed his ratty pants down just far enough to release his aching cock. Being with you had excited him in a way that no human girl he had slept with before ever had. He had never been so hard and just watching you writhe behind him was enough to turn his cock an angry purple, precum leaking from the tip. 

Your eyes widened in fear as you took in the sight of him. He was bigger, much much bigger than any merman your mated sisters had told you about. He was pierced too, a Jacob’s ladder crawling up the underside of his massive length. This was completely foreign to you, and only served to make you all the more scared. Your adrenaline kicked in once again, and you resumed your beating and clawing against the deck, screaming “Tenko! Tenko!”

Tenko sobs resumed as he heard your calls for him. He could do nothing but watch Dabi stroke himself with you fighting beneath him.

“Please,” he rasped, barely audible.

“Would you just shut the fuck up before you make me go soft?” Dabi shouted at the man.

Tenko bowed his head again, resembling a kicked puppy. He sobbed and hiccuped, only serving to turn Dabi on more despite what he had just yelled at the man.

Dabi gave himself a few languid pumps as he lined himself up with your sopping cunt. You stilled as you felt the tip against you, frozen in fear.

“This is going to hurt at first, but I promise you’ll feel good soon,” he whispered to you, placing a hand on either side of your head and dipping down to kiss you. You turned your face to avoid him, only causing the possessed man to laugh.

As Dabi pushed himself in, inch by agonizing inch, your mouth fell open in a silent scream. Your hands scratched at the floor of the deck, trying to find purchase as Dabi stretched you. Dabi let out a groan as he bottomed out, tip kissing your cervix. The initial stretch felt like it was burning you from the inside out. He was too big.

“God. You must be a virgin, huh? Ready for the real fun, doll?” Dabi smiled down at you before pulling out and slamming back in.

You gave a scream, and threw your arms around Dabi, desperately trying to hold on to something, causing him to chuckle. He repeated the motion, again and again. You buried your face into the crook of his neck. The pirate smelt awful, but you were too scared to let go of him. However, as he had promised you earlier, the pain had subsided into something much better. You couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of Dabi’s piercing dragging along your walls, his cockhead hititng your cervix with each thrust.

“I’m not gonna last long.” Dabi grunted against your ear. Between your soft moans and warm, sticky cunt, Dabi was in ecstasy.

He lifted a hand to press back at your sensitive spot, causing you to squeal and tighten your grip on him. Your walls spasmed around him and clamped down on his cock. As he picked up his speed, Dabi’s thrusts became sloppy, beating against the barrier to your womb.

“Gonna cum,” Dabi panted. “Cum with me. Cum all over this too big cock.” He pressed on your spot, and your orgasm ripped through you, hot pleasure running through your body as Dabi painted your insides white.

As Dabi pulled himself out of your vise grip, cum dribbled out of your too small hole. Dabi marveled at your gaping cunt, whistling at the mess he had made of you. 

“Would you look at that,” he spread your hole, causing more cum to leak out. 

He stood up over you to fix his pants. Once he was fully dressed again, Dabi picked you up, cum still leaking out of your small slit, and dropped your lifeless, ragdoll form on the hard floor of the deck in front of Tenko, who lunged for you. 

Tenko cradled you in his arms. Your head lolled over his arm as his fell on your shoulder. His tears dripped down on your barely rising chest as sobbed racked through his small frame, the salty tears from the both of you mixing with the ocean water on the deck. 

Dabi scoffed at the scene in front of him.

“Better go get her some water and fast. How long can mermaids be out of water, again? Doesn’t look like she has a lot of time left,” He said to Tenko. Dabi wouldn’t be surprised if you were in shock.

He turned on the heel of his boot to retire for the night, but soft, broken sob stopped him in his tracks.

“Daaaah-beeee. Daaah-bee. Dabi. Dabi!” Despite being held safe in Tenko’s arms, you were reaching out for Dabi, crying for the man who had devastated you. Your pitiful state pierced his heart. 

Mermaids mate for life.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story {12}

Chris Evans x Reader Series

Warning: Lots of Cursing, Plot, Angst, Slow Burn, PLENTY OF WORDS 

Words: 6.2k

Note: Okay, so this ask/request came in and I was all prepped to write it as a one shot, but I had so many separate ideas that sprang to mind for it and from it. As of right now, I am going to play this one by ear. Hell, I might just keep writing it as long as we’re all in our quarantine/self-isolation. So, it might be one part every week, or I might change it. I honestly have no idea, so let’s start with calling it a mini-series and see where it goes. Thank you anon for the request, hope it’s cool I tweak, twist and stretch this out. 

I hope you guys enjoy this. Thank you for reading as always!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive & Pic Heavy***

Previous Chapters:  Q1 |  Q2 |  Q3 |  Q4 |  Q5 |  Q6 |  Q7 |  Q8 |  Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | 

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine: Day 54-

 -Chris-

 He’d thought about kissing you for years. He’d had countless dreams about it and umpteen daydream about how it would happen, how it would feel, and a slew of other things. In three years, the thoughts were always different. He never imagined it would have gone the way that it had. He expected something accidental, or even awkward like a stupid caught under mistletoe thing or even the midnight new year’s kiss you’re suckered into because you’re standing close. That was not what happened. From the day when he’d admitted to you being a temptation, he’d been overcome with the desire to kiss you. The day at his hideaway, that desire had turned into a need. It was now three days later, but he could still taste your lips. Still.

Groaning, he rubbed his face and walked over to his window. He had to find a way to get a grip. He felt out of control like he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t see you, talk to you, touch you, kiss you, making love to you. With that thought, he hit his forehead into the window and groaned.

 “What the hell is wrong with you?”

 The coolness of the glass was only a slight relief until he opened his eyes and saw you sitting beside the pool in yet another sexy bikini. Slowly he looked along your legs that were glistening with what he suspected was coconut oil. You smelled like the stuff every time he was around you, coconut oil and every tropical fruit known to planet Earth. He loved it more and more with each passing day. You smelled good enough to eat, and he’d thought about several ways he’d like to devour you.

 “Get a fucking grip, man!”

When he was about to walk away, you changed positions. He watched as you got onto your knees and peeled off your cover-up to then flip over and bend over, giving him the perfect view of your ass. He felt his face press against the glass, and all he had to do was stick his tongue out to look like the horndog he felt like he was. He always knew you had the perfect ass, but now looking at it practically in all its glory, he realized he didn’t know shit. You had curves his palms were itching to explore. You bent over to the table near your lounge chair and picked up a glass then brought it to your lips. He couldn’t look away. He literally had to forcibly pull himself from the window. Temptation was a horrible thing, a dangerous thing. 

It was temptation he’d battled over the last three days. It was a battle that fluctuated every hour. One hour he was winning the war, and the next, he was the weakest man in the world and damn ready to kick down the guesthouse door and burying his face between those sinful thighs. He literally had to force his mind onto other things. It was hard three days ago, and it was hard today.

 For the last few hours, he’d been trying to make plans in a world that was shut down. Businesses were closed, venues closed, restaurants closed, everything had come to a standstill. That meant he had to get creative. He went through the plan in his head one more time and took up the freshly sealed envelope as he walked to his door. He’d missed this morning’s breakfast on purpose. He knew that if he faced you so soon after last night, every single thing he was feeling would be painted across his face. He also knew that if he came face to face with his family, then he’d go round and round the situation yet again.

 When he got in from walking you back to the guesthouse, he was restless. He couldn’t sit still. After a shower, he still hadn’t exhausted himself. He was wide awake and wanted to do a lot more than go to sleep. From the light on in the guesthouse, he suspected it was the same with you. Every time he laid down and tried to close his eyes, they popped right back open. He went around the last few hours with you, then the last weeks since quarantine began, and he even went as far back as the entire three years he’d known you.

 His first instinct was not to waste any more time and plan that date for the next day, but by the time the sun came up, and he’d gone two miles more than he usually would have, he was in his head. He came up with countless reasons to nip things in the bud.

 It began with you being too young for him. He was two weeks away from being thirty-nine, and you’d just gotten to thirty. He never saw himself doing the whole older man/younger woman thing. The two of you were at different stages in life. He’d made a promise, an important one. He never went back on promises he made; he was always as good as his word. That was just the kind of man he was. You had a type, and it was one he didn’t fit the criteria for. The two of you led and lived two completely different lives.

 This went on all day, for three days straight. The day would begin with him going through countless reasons to end things before they began, or he crossed a line, and by the end of the day, he was right back to where he began, wanting to cross all the lines. He stayed at his hideaway knowing that you wouldn’t show up there again without the okay, and it was a fact he took comfort in. He ate there, slept there, and kept to himself for the most part. When he went back to the main house, it was to make sure you didn’t take his absence in the wrong way and to make sure he didn’t take ten steps back in the progress that was made.

 Every time he saw you, it didn’t take long for your eyes to meet. Once they did, it was the most intense experience. It always felt like your mental brainwaves reached out for one another, and when they synced, it was better than every connection he’d ever thought he had. It was an indescribable feeling but one that reverberated throughout him. He always wanted to get closer. If you were across the dinner table, he wanted to push everything off and kick everyone out and slam you on it. If you were across the pool and your eyes met, everyone disappeared, and the two of you went on this mental trip together, one that had him panting like a dog and sweating by the time either of you looked away.

 The one thing that tripped him up was the night before when he caught you openly ogling him. It was another night of drinking around a bonfire on the beach with the adults, and you were unusually quiet while nursing your glass of wine. He noticed little looks throughout the night, but it was while everyone was enthralled in conversation. When he did notice you outright looking over him, you started at his neck and went lower along his torso and arms. When your eyes dropped to his waist, he was having trouble breathing. Under the intense heat of your eyes, it took everything in him to stay seated and not throw you over his shoulder and run with you down the beach to the tall grass where he knew he could have his way with you. That was when he knew he had to leave, so he did. Once in his bedroom, he was trapped with his thoughts and imagination, and the entire process began again.

 By the time morning came, he was right back to square one, wanting you more than he’d ever wanted any other woman and knowing he had to back away from this. Now he was at the point of saying fuck it. He was only so strong, and three years of continuous strength was impressive enough.

 “Where’ve you been these last three days?”

 His mother stood before him with her arms crossed as she leaned against the front door.

 “Uh, well—around.”

 “Around?” Her eyes bored into him, and he knew it was a matter of time before she saw right through him.

 “I was gonna--,” he began before she cut him off.

 “Let’s take a walk. The others can handle the restocking of supplies.”

 “Ma, it would go faster--,” he began.

 “Walk with your mother, Christopher!” She didn’t even wait for him to respond before she walked out the front door. He knew he had to follow, so follow he did.

 They walked through the front yard along the graveled path in silence for several moments. The chirping of the birds and gentle breeze in the air said summer was on its way. It was a beautiful day, and he hoped it would remain that way to produce a beautiful night.

 “How are you handling the shift in dynamics in your life with this quarantine?”

 “What do you mean?”

 “With what you’ve been doing.” The way she looked at him had him paused, thinking maybe she knew. He remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

 “Normally you’re working twenty-three hours of the day and have little to no free time. It’s been opposite, right?”

 Relieved, he sighed and nodded. “Yeah. It’s been—different, a real change, but honestly, I think I like it more than I should.”

 She smiled and patted his back. “Good. I’ve always told you that you need to take the time to enjoy the fruits of your labor. It is important to have some time to yourself to reflect and recalculate your life choices and decisions, time to see what has been working from what is a massive failure, and make the necessary changes that will impact your life positively. It is important to listen to recognize the signs of life and listen to them. If you go against them, you end up in situations that quickly flutter out of control, and then you’re worse off than when you began.”

 He felt like she was hinting at something very discreetly, and it drove him crazy. She spoke like this when she knew something no one else knew that she knew. When he looked at her, she looked to him with slightly raised eyebrows.

 “Uh—okay.”

 “Have you recognized any life signs within the last—seven weeks?”

 “Ma, what are you talking about? You only go on these deeply philosophical rants when you’re holding on a piece of information that can throw a monkey wrench in something.”

 “I have no such piece of information.”

 He didn’t believe her but decided to let it rest. They took a turn toward the path for the beach and fell into a comfortable silence before she began talking about current events. This was where he got his outspoken nature. She had no problem giving criticism of government policies and officials, and neither did he.

 Soon the sand was underneath their feet then she spoke again.

 “So getting to spend this time with Y/N has been great, right?”

 He scoffed and laughed. “So this is what this walk is about? What did I do now, ma?”

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but since you brought it up, do you have to be so cold?”

 “Cold? I’m not cold.”

 “I know that. She doesn’t.”

 He looked to her and knew the two of you had talked. “Has she said something to you?”

 “Do you care?”

 He sighed and focused on the sand beneath his feet. If he said yes, then she could read into it, and if he said no, then he knew she’d know he was lying. His mother could always tell between his truths and lies. It was infuriating.

 “Maybe just be nicer, that’s all and maybe stay away from dropping that you think she makes shitty decisions.”

 He snorted but cringed at the same time. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He was in his feelings, and it popped right out.

 “Yeah, that was bad,” he agreed.

 “Get to know her a little.”

 “Ha, I think that would defeat the purpose. Don’t you think?”

 “Why?”

 He didn’t answer. There was no need to.

 “Who says I don’t know her?”

 “Learning things about someone on the surface is different than really getting to know someone and all the nuances that make them who they are. She’s a real catch, Chris. I liked her when Scott first brought her around, but these three years—she’s an incredible woman.”

 Her words were not helping his internal struggle. They were only making him sway to the side he shouldn’t even be on. It was getting impossible to keep his distance from you, impossible to let another fifty-something days pass where he didn’t bury his face in your neck.

 “Isn’t it funny how the universe brings things and people into your life at the most opportune times? Often it’s times when we need to make a change—when we’re ready to make a change,” she said in her Obi-Wan Kenobi wise one teaching tone.

 He would have said something about how she was as subtle as a train, but he agreed with her on this one. For the last few days, he’d began thinking it was meant for you to be quarantined with him and his family, it was meant for the two of you to be trapped this close. His mind went back to something his mother said years ago, something that made even more sense now. He nearly laughed out loud.

 “Just be the amazing man I raised, the one who wore his heart on his sleeve and spoke from his heart and did everything with light and love. Remember him?”

 He nearly threw up in his mouth.

 “He wasn’t so bad,” his mother continued.

 “Everyone seems to love this guy a lot more.”

 “They never knew the other guy. I understand that not everyone deserves to know that you, but I’m sure some people might deserve to see him.”

 She looped her arm with his and reassuringly patted his forearm. She knew she was right, and even though he hated to admit when she was right, she was. When they climbed the last step leading to the backyard from the beach, you were no longer at the pool.

 “I’m going to make sure everything is packed away where I like. You—enjoy the sunshine,” his mother said with a smile and an almost unnoticeable head nudge toward the guesthouse before she walked away toward the house.

 He stood there for a few moments going over his own thoughts. This was supposed to be one of the easiest decisions. It was, but it was also a decision that would cause a domino effect. It was like he had to come to terms with flipping the first domino, come to terms with everything he would end up doing as a result of this date. Digging in his back pocket for the envelope, he slapped his palm with it and walked toward the guesthouse. Once at the door, he wedged it in the crack and released the anxious breath he held before he walked off to prepare for the night.

  -Y/N-

You’d been staring at the envelope for the last thirty or so minutes. When you’d come back from the bike ride with the kids, you didn’t expect to see it wedged in the door. At first, you thought it was mail that was forwarded to you, but then you realized you hadn’t given any forwarding instructions. It was then you saw your name scribbled across the front of it, and you immediately recognized Chris’s handwriting.

 You were enjoying the agonizing stares and wayward glances of the last few days. You were grateful for the space he was giving you. You didn’t know if he was doing it for you or if he was having second thoughts. Whatever it was, you were glad about it. You were able to go over every single word that was spoken the night at his place, analyze every action, and even daydream about that kiss. You’d never been kissed like that in all your thirty years. None of your crushes, school boyfriends, adult boyfriends, Charles included had ever kissed you like that, and none of them had ever had you feeling what you felt in those two minutes.  

 For the last few days, that was what was fucking you up. You’d kissed plenty of guys, you were in no means promiscuous, but you enjoyed having freedom of your body and did what you pleased with it. While you were ultimate level exclusive with who you allowed close to you, you had no problem claiming your pleasure. You’d kissed men who loved to use too much tongue or drown you in saliva, or peck at you like they were a bird and you a worm. You’d kissed men who knew what they were doing and those who were entirely clueless, but with him it was different.

 He didn’t use too much tongue; it was the right amount, and he had a thing where he rolled it around yours that sent goosebumps down your spine. The level of saliva was perfection; the only thing that was drowning was your underwear. Then the way he nibbled at your bottom lip and sucked; it took your breath away. It was clear he knew what he was doing. He was at expert mastery in the art of the kiss, and because of it, you were ready to risk it all, and that was a first—a first that scared the shit out of you.

 You’d never had this reaction to a man before, and you were enjoying prolonging it though it was absolute torture. Every time you caught him watching you, you played whatever you were doing up. If you were walking, you’d swish your ass a little more, swimming you’d lean against the pool wall and pretend you’re stretching your back, which sent your breasts out even more. It was amusing to see his reactions. You thought you’d been stealthy with checking him out, but on the beach last night, you realized you were the opposite of stealthy. When your eyes met, it sent you entirely over the edge. When you went to bed that night, you couldn’t help but bring out your bullet vibrator. Your finger was no longer cutting it.

 “Open the goddamn envelope, Y/N.”

 You trailed your fingertips over your name that he’d written and flipped it over, ready to rip it open. You unfolded a sheet of white paper and smiled at his messy but strategic handwriting.

 -Y/N-

 I’ve been trying to figure out the best day and the best way to go about this. You mean that much.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

Will you have dinner with me tonight?

If your answer is yes, please meet me at seven at the house in the woods. God, I hope your answer is yes.

 -Chris

 Your smile was so wide, your cheeks hurt. You could imagine his cheeks were flushed as he wrote this. Such a dork, you thought to yourself.

 “A sweet dork. Huh.”

 You took notice of the butterflies fluttering around your belly and dropped back on the couch with a loud groan.

 “Get a grip, Y/N. It is just a date. One date, one meaningless date,” you drilled with your eyes closed, trying to slow your racing heart.

 After a few minutes, you sprang back up to a sitting position with panic coursing through you.

 “Fuck, what do I wear!?”

 You leaped to your feet and ran into the bedroom to rifle through the closet and drawers. When you packed for this quarantine, you packed sweats, leggings, tanks, swimsuits, cover-ups, underwear, sleepwear, and even lingerie. You didn’t even want to wear actual fabric, so nothing was adequate for a date. After twenty minutes of searching, your entire floor was covered with clothes, and you were sitting in the middle of it full on panicking.

 “What do I do?” Closing your eyes, you fell back onto the pillow of clothing and berated yourself for not thinking to pack anything nice.

 After a long, while you got up and looked around and decided you just had to improvise and cross your fingers it looked good together. It took you almost an hour to find something you were remotely okay with that wasn’t overtly sexy or way too chill. You wanted his jaw to drop when he saw you, but you didn’t want him thinking you were some easy piece of ass. After putting it together, you hopped in the shower. When you eyed your hair remover lotion and thought if you should bother. After barely fifteen seconds of decision making, you slathered the lotion on. Better safe than sorry, you thought.

 By the time you got out of the shower, you had forty minutes to get yourself put together to get to the house. It wasn’t enough time; you knew that. You wanted to give him the full date look. The full glory of a put together you. It probably didn’t matter seeing that he’d seen you without make up these last seven weeks anyway. Something in you said to carry on as usual. By the time you were finished, you slipped on your slides, refusing to dwell on the fact you didn’t have not one pair of heels. You probably looked a hot mess.

 When you opened the door, there was the bike Chris had found you for the bike ride with yet another note in the basket. You smiled, and as you were about to take it, your phone went off.

 MSG Scott: Coming to dinner?

 Fuck, you thought as you wracked your brain with a response. You couldn’t very well tell him you weren’t because you were going on a date with his brother. You groaned and took a deep breath as you tapped a response out.

 MSG: No. Somehow, I have three zoom meetings tonight about a serious project. I’ll be doing this all night. I’ll come by and grab something when I’m done.

MSG Scott: Okay. I’ll even leave a bottle of wine in the fridge for you. I think you’ll need it.

 You smiled but felt like an asshole. Chris was probably going to be balls deep in you in a few hours, and he had no idea. The thought of it had you excited. Grabbing the envelope, you opened it and read the note inside.

 -Your chariot awaits-

 You smiled rolled your eyes as you walked the bike toward the wooded area of the property. Once on the path, you wrapped the hem of your skirt and climbed onto the bike and set off. You did your best to not think about the many ways this night could go. You wanted to stay present because you knew that if your mind wandered, then you’d put yourself in a state of anxiousness for the rest of the night.

 Before you knew it, you were in front of the gate, and your heart was racing, and it wasn’t from the exercise. You climbed off the bike and leaned it against the gate before you pushed through it and nearly fell on your face at the sight before you. The path before you was trailed with lights that made a path toward the house. As you took in the house, you couldn’t help but say, wow. It was covered in twinkle lights that lit up the property with a warm and romantic glow. 

When you looked back to the path, you saw Chris standing there. From the distance you were at, you couldn’t fully make out his face. You hesitated taking your first step but pushed away the uncertainty and walked on. It felt like the longest walk you’d ever taken. After what felt like five minutes, you stopped in front of him. He looked a little shocked and something else you couldn’t decipher.

 “Hi,” Chris whispered. You smiled small at first, but it spread in seconds.

 “Hi. I’m sorry I’m late. It was a task and a half getting to this,” you said, signaling from your face to body. Chris then slowly looked over your figure before he returned to your face.

 “You look—wow incredible.”

 You smiled and released your nervous breath and the worry that he wouldn’t like how you looked.

 “Yeah? I wasn’t sure. I literally had nothing to wear.”

 “You could have come in sweats and a t-shirt, and you’d still look incredible.” You tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible, your blush took over.

 “Thank you,” you bashfully whispered.

 “These are for you.” Chris held out a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies to you. You couldn’t believe your eyes, and he must have sensed your hesitation.

 “Sunflowers, they mean happiness, adoration, and even loyalty while the daisies mean innocence, purity, and new beginnings,” Chris explained with his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to speak loudly, you heard him loud and clear, and the wat his voice wrapped around you and coxed you closer was not missed.

 “Innocence and purity, huh.” You reached out and took the flowers from him and brought them to your nose.

 “What don’t think you fit the criteria?”

 “Ha, innocent and pure, nope. How did you get these?”

 “I picked them. I think my mother will be very upset tomorrow, but this was an emergency.” You smiled and shook your head. He had game.

 “Thank you.”

 He led the way to the house then stopped to let you walk up the steps and across the front deck before him. As you walked, you could feel his eyes on you, and you were glad you’d chosen this mix and match outfit. Just as you were going to walk inside, Chris took your hand, stopping you in your tracks. When your eyes met, he came closer then looked at your hands. His fingers softly grazed yours, and goosebumps flew up your arm. When he was inches from your face, he looked back into your eyes.

 “Close your eyes.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “Close your eyes. This is your first test in trusting me.”

 You cocked your head to the side and took him in. He was being serious. Scoffing, you shook your head and closed your eyes only to snap them open again. He hadn’t moved an inch. He just stood there patiently waiting. Sighing, you closed your eyes and kept them shut. You didn’t know what he was doing, and the fact that you had no control over this set you off. After a minute, your anxiety was at its peak.

 “Hopefully, by the end of the night when I ask you to do that again, it’ll be easier for you.” His lips were close to your ear. You could smell his cologne and picked up the hint of mint and basil that came off him.

 He took your other hand and led you.

 “Keep coming; you’re doing great.”

 After a few more steps, you stopped. You wanted to open and look, but you fought the urge and instead waited for him to tell you to. Again, it felt like an eternity of silence.

 “Open them.” You took a deep breath and opened your eyes and slowly blew it out when you took in what he’d been doing. Before you, the limbs of the trees were draped in twinkle lights that hung down, mimicking the limbs of a weeping willow tree. In the dead center of the dangling lights was a table set for two with lit candles to finish off the décor. You were blown away to the point of speechlessness.

“Wow.” It was a whisper. Chris stepped out before you and held out his hand for yours. When you placed it in his palm, he led you across the deck down to the scene. You looked around and took notice of a movie screen that was on the exterior wall, and a setup area with candles, cushions, and flowers. You smiled to yourself.

 Chris motioned to the seat for you, and you wasted no time sitting with a plop. Your head was spinning looking at everything he’d done. This looked like he went through a lot of trouble.

I’m going to check on dinner. I’ll be right back.” You nodded and watched him walk toward the house. For the first time, you took in his crisp white shirt and tan colored pants. It was casual, but he looked good. Your eyes dropped to his ass and smiled. He looked really good, you thought. When he disappeared inside, you took in your surroundings again. Taking out your phone, you snapped a few pictures, so you could reminisce later as you reflected.

 You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize when he’d returned.  When he touched your shoulder, it scared you half to death.

 “I’m sorry, I thought you heard me.”

 “Oh god, no. I’m sorry I zoned out.”

 “Everything okay?”

 Taking a deep breath, you slowly released it and nodded. “Yeah.”

 “You sure?”

 “Yeah. I was just—admiring what you’ve done here,” you informed.

 “Do you like it?”

 “What’s not to like? It’s beautiful, really beautiful,” you said with a smile before you looked at him. when you did a relieved look washed over him, and that was when you saw he was nervous too.

 “Wine? I know you prefer white, but I have some red too.”

 “But you prefer beer, I can drink beer,” you countered.

 “I’m much more than a beer drinker. We’ll start with the white.” Chris began opening the bottle, and your attention dropped to his hands. He had his cuffs rolled up just enough to show his forearms. As he gripped the bottle and the opener, every single vein bulged in his arm and hands, and just like that, your mind was in the gutter.

 Clearing your throat, you straightened, “Actually, let’s start with the red.”

 “Red?”

 “Yeah, red wine is more potent.”

 “Potent. Uh—do you think stronger is a good idea?”

 You studied him and smirked. “What do you think if I drink red wine that I’ll try to jump your bones?”

 His smile was boyish and adorable. “I never said that. Just thought you’d want a clear head.”

 “I can more than hold my liquor,” you finished. Chris nodded and switched gears and began opening the red wine instead. When he filled your glass halfway, you eyed him, which made him snort before he poured a little more.

 “What should we drink to?”

 You thought about it for a few moments then crossed your legs. Chris’ eyes dropped to your exposed thigh, and you thought this was almost too easy.

 “What do you want to drink to?”

 Chris looked up from your thigh with just his eyes, and you were stunned silent yet again.

 “No masks,” Chris proposed holding his glass out to you.

 “No masks,” you repeated, tapping your glass to his before you took a hearty gulp of the semi-sweet but tart liquid and moaned.

 “Nice choice,” you commented. You could taste the berry and hickory undertones in it, but it wasn’t overpowering.

 “Of course, you’d think so, the wine collector.”

 “Hey, if you like to drink, you better get a hobby that correlates.” He smiled warmly before he sat adjacent to you.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t get you from the guesthouse. I wanted to but--,” Chris began.

 “No, no need to apologize. I understand. Honestly, I think meeting here was a better idea. Cute message, though.” Again, he smiled, and you took another hearty gulp of wine that turned into quite the mouthful.

 “Thirsty?”

 “You have no idea,” you answered. Chris just watched you, and the longer he did, the more your nerves were playing tricks on you.

 This was insane, you thought. No man had you this nervous and anxious. In all the years of first dates, this was a first. You were usually calm, cool, collected, and completely detached and objective. It was all to ensure you analyzed the night correctly down to your date’s words, body language, and efforts with planning the night. You were struggling with remaining objective.

 Your knees nearly buckled when you’d walked through the gate. Then when you stood before him, you nearly panted out to give away just how breathless he made you. When you saw what he’d done to the back of the house, you almost let loose an “aww,” and now you were barely keeping it together to not melt right into him, and it hadn’t even been an hour yet. He was already presenting completely different than he had in the entire three years you’d known him. Your head was still spinning.

 “Are you hungry?”

 Keeping your fresh ass in check, you nodded and took another long sip of your wine. Chris stood and walked back into the house, and you used the time to find your chill.

 When he laid down the trey, he carried he arranged the plates and assortment he’d prepared across the table. The scents coming from the plates had your belly grumbling.

 “Wow, this smells incredible.”

 “You sound surprised. I can cook, you know.”

 “I’d heard stories of you being able to do a little somethin’.”

 “I do more than a little somethin’, I can throw all the way down in the kitchen,” Chris bragged. You nodded as you laughed.

 “Let me be the judge of that.”

 Chris sat and waited for you to take a bite. You sliced your meat and put a piece in your mouth. Instantly the juices of the steak washed over your tongue, and you couldn’t help but moan.

 “Uh-huh, told you. Chef Evans!”

 “All right, it’s good. No need to brag. Cockiness in men is unattractive.”

 “You’re a liar, and you know it,” Chris dryly responded which made you laugh loudly.

 The two of you ate in silence for a few moments.

 “I’ve always liked your laugh.”

 Your shock was evident. He smiled as he finished his mouthful.

 “Ah, that’s right, you thought I hated everything about you. Got it,” Chris teased.

 “Wow, this is surreal,” you added.

 “I always thought I was doing such a horrible job hiding how I really felt, thought I was so see through. Either I was better than I thought, or you’re not as good at reading people as you thought.”

 “Hey, not cool. Don’t come for me, Chris.”

 He laughed again and continued to eat. Your head ran to New Year's Eve. “New Year's Eve, that comment you said. Was that bullshit?”

 His smile was soft as he finished chewing. “Complete bullshit.”

 You busted out laughing then and squealed. You really thought he was throwing shade at you.

 “Oh my god. You asshole. The rest of the night I was in my feelings, I was so salty. Wow, Chris.”

 He laughed some more as you shook your head.

 “Wait, is this what Sebastian meant?”

 “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “As I was making my way over, Sebastian and I chatted, and he said he liked my dress and that no wonder he’s so conflicted,” you divulged.

 “Wow, he said that?”  You nodded and waited for him to answer.

 “Wow. Um, yeah I guess. We’d gone out drinking before, and I must have had too much, and I think I may have let something slip,” Chris explained.

 “Wow. I’m an idiot.”

 “You’re not, you saw what I wanted you to—what I needed you to,” Chris slid in.

 “I was so salty that I was so determined to have fun and ignore you. When Charles approached me, I said, fuck it why not to leaving with him,” you confessed. Chris’s eyes bugged as he leaned back.

 “You’re kidding.”

 With a yikes face, you shook your head. “Hand to God.”

 “Woow. You’re telling me I drove you to him?” His disbelief was evident; you juggled your head from side to side, not wanting to say yes or no.

 “Wow, I’m about to flip this fucking table.”

 You laughed out loud again and covered your mouth, trying to hide just how amused you were. This was perfect comedic irony. Chris finished his glass of wine, then shook his head.

 “Guess I am the asshole.” You shrugged and continued eating.

 Thanks to the laughter, your anxiety had decreased, but you were now wondering if he was thinking about you sleeping with Charles on New Year’s. When you glanced at him, his expression was unreadable, his brows were knitted, and it looked like he was in deep thought, but you couldn’t read if his thoughts were angry ones.

 “Do you remember the first time we met?”

 You smiled fondly as you nodded. It was one of the few pleasant outings with him.

 “God, that lake was beautiful,” you reminisced.

 “It was. I thought you were gorgeous; your smile was the first thing I noticed. Then your laugh,” Chris began with a soft smile on his lips. “I remember watching you cannonball over and over into the lake. You had endless energy, and you never looked more beautiful. You were so full of light and joy. I don’t know; there was something about you that just made me feel like a firefly drawn to you like you were a flame. Then when you began telling your story, I was hooked. You were funny, charismatic, silly, and just carefree. That is one of my favorite memories of you,” Chris finished.

 You didn’t know what to say to that. You had no idea he held that day or memory close at all.

 “We talked for two hours straight that night, right?”

 He nodded, and the two of you just stared at the flame of the candle, both lost in the memory.

 “I remember thinking that night that Jesus Scott’s brother is hot, but he’s smart,” you admitted. When Chris looked at you, you regretted opening your mouth. You gulped down the remainder of the wine and blew out.

 “That was the night I realized I liked you.”

 “Liked, liked?”

 “No, liked, liked was later,” Chris said.

 “When?”

 He studied you for a minute then finished his glass before he reached for the bottle to refill your glasses.

 “It was the fourth of July. We all went to the firework thing in the Hamptons, and the whole night, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. I watched guy after guy approach you, flirt, and with each of them, I felt something that was unfamiliar to me—jealousy.”

 “You’d never felt jealousy before?”

 “When it comes to a woman or men who talk to her? Never. The way I lived my life back then—there was no reason or room for it. I felt it that night, though, and it was unsettling. You talked, and I was hanging off every single word. When the fireworks started, the first burst in the sky lit you up in this amazing light, and the happiness on your face hit me harder than a Mack truck ever could. It was the most uncomfortable I’d ever felt, the most insecure and fearful. It terrified me, but like a firefly, to the flame, I had to get closer. Then when you looked back at me something felt different in that moment, I saw something in your eyes that was unsettling.”

 “Was that when you disappeared? I remember I reached back for your hand and got your fingers. Then they were gone. I looked back, and you were walking away in the crowd.”

 The emotions that came back with the memory surprised you. You’d buried that night so deep, but having it resurface now was unexpected. You took a long sip from your glass and tried to work through the feeling of nakedness.

 “I’ve regretted that night for a long time,” Chris quietly admitted. You studied him and waited for him to continue.

 “Some nights, I thought I regretted walking away, others I thought I regretted everything else.”

 “And tonight? What do you regret?”

 His eyes met yours, and it was there they remained. The longer he stared at you, the louder your heartbeat. You were sure he could hear it, but he didn’t say anything about it. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for quite a while before sadness washed over his face, and his eyes dropped to the table.

 “Ask me again tomorrow,” he softly whispered. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something behind all of that. Something had just happened.

 Before you could bring it up, he changed the subject and asked you about work. For the next fifteen minutes, you explained what you did and your goals and hopes and dreams when it came to your craft. Chris happily listened and never looked bored by a thing you said. He genuinely looked interested.

 Dinner was delicious, and the conversation was flowing and the worries of earlier that you’d have nothing to talk about dissipated. You talked about a wide range of things that didn’t stop at work or interests. You even ventured into the hard-hitting things such as politics. When he went into a spirited rant about his beliefs, you sat there happily listening.

 When he spoke like this with conviction, you found him most attractive. You loved an educated man, a man who had a brain and was not afraid to show it. It was clear he wasn’t his vocabulary was on point, and with every three-hundred-point Scrabble word he dropped, you drank more and more of your wine, hoping it would douse the fire in the pit of your stomach. It did nothing.

 As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch his mouth. It moved beautifully as if he were speaking the most creative prose. You loved the way his mouth formed the words and letters. He had your undivided attention. Four bottles of wine later, you were still sitting at the table talking, and you didn’t mind at all. You couldn’t help but think how you’d misjudged him all these years. You’d put up a wall after that fourth of July, and with each interaction, you just added another pane of glass to make it thick enough that he could see you, but he’d have no effect. It was clear to you now that he was shattering each pane of glass. His effort into tonight took half of it. He was easy to talk to, the way your brains played off of each other was something you’d expected.

When he turned on a movie to fit across the screen of the makeshift movie theater, you were in a comfortable bubble. He handed you the remote, and that was how Netflix and chill began. You watched an action-comedy that had the two of you laughing loud enough to wake the animals in the woods. Neither of you cared. He laughed when you laughed, and you did the same. Every time he clasped his hand to his chest as he laughed, it pulled at your heartstrings, heartstrings you had no idea existed for him. This one night was fucking you up more than three years of his cold and frigid antics.

 “Wow, I’m gonna have to call Helms and tell him what a fucking good job he did with this,” Chris announced through fits of laughter.

 “Him? My god, that little boy. Shit with my luck that would be my son,” you admitted, which set Chris off on another laughing fit, one that you joined in on.

 “Don’t laugh, I’m serious. He’d be dropping all sorts of f-bombs and pussy talk.”

 “In his Bostonian accent,” Chris added through laughs.

 “Yes. You can see it too.”

 “Yeah, like fugettaboutit sweetart now show me that pussy.”

 You busted out laughing again and hit him on the shoulder.

 “Oh my god, my son would be a badass kid, I can see it now.”

 “Nah, I’d keep his ass in line,” Chris said.

 “Whatever, you’d be laughing with him egging him because he takes after your ass with that dirty ass mouth,” you added. You laughed together for a few moments before you both slowly registered what you’d said and how it came off. You both had just referred to your future imaginary son as a son you would share. Oh fuck, you thought as you finished your wine.

 “I’m gonna get started on those dishes,” Chris announced as he stood and walked off to the table still littered with dishes and utensils.

 You sat there and grabbed the bottle before you, and took it to the head while you reflected a little. After a few minutes, you decided thinking was the enemy right now and took up the glasses to walk inside. Chris had already started loading the dishwasher when you approached.

 “Hey, got room for two more?”

 “Thanks.” He took the glasses and busied himself once again. You hopped onto the counter beside the sink and crossed your legs, leaving your thigh exposed.

 “Why did you build a house on your property that already has a house?”

 “This is usually where everyone comes to let loose. Often the house is always full, and it gets loud. I thought it would be a good idea to have somewhere I could hear myself think or even work.”

 “This is really cool, and interestingly enough, it looks like you. There are so many details that just screams Chris,” you said.

 “Like what?”

 “The bed.”

 You didn’t mean to go right there, but the wine was finally beginning to work.

 “The bed?”

 You nodded and brought the wine bottle to your head again.

 “How?”

 “It’s rustic, kind of, and the plaid on it. You have a lumberjack thing when you come home.”

 He snorted and laughed out loud. “Wow, a lumberjack?”

 “What’s there’s nothing wrong with lumberjacks. There are plenty of women who get hot for lumberjacks.”

 “Are you one of them?” Chris glanced back at you with an eyebrow raised. You smiled.

 “Maybe,” you muttered before taking another sip from the bottle.

 “What do you get hot for?” He didn’t look back that time. He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, but you knew he had.

 “Not gonna tell me? Gonna make me guess? Okay, I can guess. Let’s see,” you began drinking down the wine.

 “From the expert analysis of members of Lipstick Alley I’d say tall, slim, partly curvy by slim standards, hair color doesn’t matter not really, you can take blonde, red, brown, black, but beauty does, pretty eyes, slim nose, big boobs, nice ass by slim white girl standards,” you listed off as Chris dried his hands and walked to you. When he was before you, he took the bottle from your hands to raise it to his mouth.

 “Sound about right?”

 “Does any of that describe you?”

 “Not at all,” you answered with a smirk as you uncrossed your legs.

 “Then I guess that doesn’t make me hot. Only you have made me hot for the last three years,” he blatantly admitted.

 You snorted and rolled your eyes. “You’re full of shit.”

 “Why?”

 “Because you’ve been fucking all these years. So hence, you’re full of shit.”

 You made a move to hop down, but Chris was between your knees in seconds, stopping you. “How do you know I didn’t have to think about you all these years?”

 Butterflies filled your belly again.

 “Uh--,” you began.

“Cat got your tongue? Is it really that impossible to be true? Impossible to think that all these years I’ve had you in my head while I was with anyone else, had you in my head every night where I stroked myself, had you in my head every night for the last fifty-two days?” You were speechless as you searched his eyes.

 “Welcome to my prison, Y/N,” Chris whispered close to your ear before he walked away back toward the back deck.

 You couldn’t believe your ears. Had he really just admitted to using your image to fuck the thots he had all this time? Had he really just called it a prison? You hopped off the counter and walked out back.

 “What kind of shit is that to say?”

 “It was the truth,” Chris calmly said as he leaned against the table to then cross his stretched out legs.

 “You’re telling me you thought of me while you fucked every girl over the last three years? You thought about me as you had sex with other women? How am I supposed to take that? Is that supposed to feel good?”

 You felt jealousy like you’d never felt before. “Wow.”

 “Does it feel the same way I felt seeing you parade around with every Thomas, Randall, Trevor, Harry, and Charles? Hearing the stories from our friends, sitting there?”

 “There is a huge difference there. You knew how you felt. I--,” you snapped your mouth shut and turned your back to him.

 “You what?”

 “I didn’t know how I felt,” you quietly responded before you spun to him. “You knew how you felt but still chose to fuck them. You still chose how the last three years happened. Now you tell me this. Why?”

 “I made a promise, Y/N.”

 “To who?!”

 “It’s not important,” he began before you got fed up and got closer.

 “The hell it isn’t. who did you promise, Chris?!”

 “You!”

 You lurched back and looked at him as confusion filled you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: 

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @disneysdarlingdiva @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesinger @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @nervousninjatheorist @dangerouslovefanfic  @surmya1907 @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @thinkxlovexloud @chris-butt @swinchestersgirl @momobaby227 @alyxkbrl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @kreolemami @aysha1447 @cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 @snowpiercer21 @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @anandalambert @youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @emilykjhgsj @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrange @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06 @anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl  @coldmuffinbanditshoe @jennmurawski13 @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @maxcullen @shadyskit @someone-really-bored @thejemersoninferno @itsallyscorner @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @acciolove724 @straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @evansgirl7 @jovanaprime @deadlymistress24 @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paige @amelatonin @nerdybitchpudding @amennariee @likesfairytales @maverickabull @est1887 @periodtcevans @thotti3par7on @vintageembrace @produtofchina @jd-now-jq @winchwm @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507 @euh-say-what-now @raveviolet @rdjparker @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @041802  @ljstraightnochaser @priya212 @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @renfrewscorner @baby-iyania @euphoric05  @thelilbutifulthings @winterboobear11 @awaywithtime @problackasfwilson @brownskinafro @miss-jackson500 @siempremamita  @theladybiers @evermcfearless @ibe-erynn @marvelatthis30 @kailyndavillier @literaturefeen @richonne4life @ani808 @scifi-fantasist @mizzzpink @creolemimi @cessamjrmr @disconectedswift @i-lie-here-charmed @bamakakechick @captainchrisstan @martinafigoli @almosttherebunot @letsdothemostermash @spxcecxramxl @queenwinchester27 @chrisevansfanfic @thejeneralvicinity @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @imaslutforcaptainamerica @redhairedfeistynerd  @mirmirmur @nico-diangelo-grey @ibe-erynn @amazonian-strap-queen @cookinggurl43 @jasmindaughteroftheworld @letsdothemonstermash @almosttherebutnot @munteanhore @blackgurlkillinit @madixii @smediumsmeatbae @shar74nett @live-laugh-love-ki @deadpixie22 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison-00 @timotheessoleil @guardian-tn @rynabarnesrogers-reading @blackmissfrizzle @queenoftheworldisdead @patzammit @reveviolet @madixii 

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.

[goldafterglow]

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

 “Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold. 

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

ppl that asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @cryptkeepersoul @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @cocoatales @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul

ppl that did not ask no ma’am no sir: @ergotautology @dindjarindiaries @pascalplease​

again, you can join/leave my taglist here :)

[themanip]

alternate routes

SYNOPSIS — how do you go throughout life? well, you find someone you like. get to know them. start dating. break up a few times, get back together. get married. have some kids. die old. typical. fucking in a back room of an awards show, not once, but twice as complete strangers, was definitely not how most relationships start out.

PAIRING — taehyung x metzi (oc) WARNINGS — descriptions of cheating, fliphones, mentions of getting laid, really bad intros tbh, the introvert line being introverts, and girls who are rlly bad at timing, an asshole named ryan, cursing WORD COUNT — just over 3.1k AUTHOR’S NOTE — hi! i am so fucking bad at writing the first chapter or two, i promise if you can bear the beginning of this story, it gets better. i have two and a half chapters written so far but i am writing super often! once a few more chapters get published i will create a masterlist. please enjoy and if you have any comments or recs don’t hesitate to let me know!! :)))

𝟏: 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐄 

𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟖 ⇥ The universe known to man is a labyrinth—an irregular maze, a passage that cannot be routed—and to understand that took more than an average mind. The matter was far too complicated than any obsolete man to comprehend on a whim. Millenia passed before galaxies were formed, planets were created, all unbeknownst to the stars bursting just miles apart.

From early amphibians, to the ice age, to cavemen, evolution has made great strides in every species. Humans in the past were variants called homosapiens, and most likely came from chimpanzees. Great strides like this were something to be proud of, you'd think.

When Metzi Ludovic realized that birds can fly with natural evolution, while humans had to industrialize it (thanks to the Wright brothers) she was pretty distraught. As an imaginative and critical eight-year old, fifteen years later, not much had changed. Currently, she was pondering over the fact that humans are one of the few species with opposable thumbs.

Majority of animals had not yet evolutionized to create opposable thumbs. While frantic over this, she also imagined her beautiful Pomeranian, with thumbs popping out of his paws. Her thoughts were quickly subdued, thanks to her coherent thoughts making an appearance. As cool as it would be, all other animals would devour humans if they gained that ability.

Is that the only reason humans are all mighty? They can industrialize and aim properly due to their adaptations, so that they somehow became top of the food chain?

Thankfully, she was redacted from her thoughts as her manager, Emmy, let out a distressed sigh. "Wren, we cannot change your outfit again. You look beautiful," At this point, looking at Wren, she knew that she would look good. Somehow, she couldn't convince herself.

"Wren, we can switch. I don't hate green, so you can take blue if you want it. I really don't mind," Metzi smiled softly, and she knew it was the right thing to offer as Wren's face lit up, a few tears being wiped away. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, just do me a favor and loosen the ties on that, please. I have had way too many tacos yesterday to fit into it with the strings that tight," a small laugh left her mouth, and as she laid on the comfortable sofa. It was plush, but somehow offered no lumbar support. Who the hell makes a couch so soft, yet so unbearable for convenience of naps?

Selfish, she thought.

This dressing room was beautiful, so you'd think they'd have enough funds to make a decent couch. She could enjoy the aesthetics of the room, anyways. A luxurious baby pink covered the walls, and was bordered by pristine white. Plush gray carpet was under her feet, and was stain free. With Malorie in here, that probably wouldn't last long.

She was over by the double mirrors, applying powder over her face. She was so beautiful, Metzi couldn't fathom why she insisted on so much makeup. The same could be said about herself, so she kept her somewhat inner misogynistic comments at bay. She was pretty quiet, but something was off. She wasn't usually this quiet, so Metzi shot her a text.

She was very personal, and barely talked about what bothered her. Occasionally, Metzi would get her to open up, which she could physically see the relief on her face as she broke down. A brief, but to the point was written out on Metzi's phone.

you don't seem okay. wanna talk about it? Read 2:33 PM

The three dots popped up, and Metzi's attention was quickly brought to Vida, who sat down next to her, letting out a sigh. "How much longer until Olive gets here? I'm so close to taking a nap," Vida quickly put her hair into a makeshift ponytail, and leaned back, closing her eyes.

"It's only two, so I imagine not for a good hour or so, a nap sounds kind of nice," Wren commented, stood in the other corner of the room, with Emmy helped her undo the straps of her outfit. Her green silk top complimented her skin perfectly, but Metzi knew it was too late to convince her.

"Well, I'm out, wake me up when she gets here," Vida quickly blurts, and her head is now comfortably laying on the arm of the sofa. "I'll get up, I have to go to the bathroom anyways," Metzi commented, sighing before getting up.

Silence followed, and the blonde decided to take a look at her phone. A text was sent back on Malorie's behalf, and she widened her eyes momentarily. Standing still, she turned back to look at her. A face of guilt was evident, and she tried her best to hold her breath.

i have something to tell you, i'm not supposed to. i just feel so bad knowing while you don't i really shouldn't have said anything forget it

meet me in the bathroom

Read 2:37PM

Metzi's mind was in a whirlwind, and she couldn't think of anything she'd be referring to. Of course, it was useless, because clearly she wasn't meant to know about it. She hurried out of the room, the last thing she heard was Wren complaining once more about her outfit.

The hallways were empty, mostly because they'd came so early, and Metzi took her time reaching the bathroom. It was communal, so she really hoped that nobody else was here yet. The awards were meant to start in a few hours, and considering they had three faces to paint with makeup, early was a necessity.

"I hope you won't be mad at me," A small, timid voice aired behind her. The blonde turned around, and clutched her phone in fear. "I'm not, please tell me what's going on,"

As Malorie opened her phone, Metzi tapped her foot anxiously.

God, she really had to piss.

The brunette looked up at her, and showed her a photo.

"What is that?"

"That, was Ryan. On Saturday."

Ryan was her boyfriend of six years. An anxious cramping formed in her stomach at the mixture of his name and the tone of Malorie's voice. The photo she was now staring at made her want to vomit. Her stomach was now doing somersaults.

In the photo, it was indeed Ryan, in Metzi's own bed, with a mop of curly red hair under him. Most was covered by the sheets, but it was enough to come to the correct conclusion. He was clearly enjoying it too, judging by his face. Upon further inspection, she noticed something odd.

Grabbing the phone out of Malorie's hand, she zoomed in. On her nightstand, where a picture of the two usually sat, was now face down. While he fucked another woman in her bed, he turned her face down.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she took a deep breath in.

What happened Saturday? She was home mostly all day, so when did he have time to do this?

"What—how did you get this?"

"I came to give you your present, and I heard something. Y'know since you gave me keys? I figured it was okay to come in, and your bedroom door was open. I knew Ryan would try to make me the liar, so I took a picture. He told me that if I told you," Malorie pursed her lips, "well he threatened to do something pretty fucked up."

"Holy fuck," Metzi whispered, "I just—I had no fucking clue. This entire time, and who knows how long he's been fucking her?"

One lonesome tear fell down her cheek. In anger or sadness, Malorie didn't know.

Opening her phone, she opened Ryan's contact. "Hey," Malorie whispered, her voice now soft. "If he tells you anything about me, promise you won't believe him?"

"Of course, you come first. Always."

She debated on whether or not to call him, but instead opted on a text.

I hope you enjoyed fucking merida, we're done. get your things out of my house by tomorrow. delete my number.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, and a smile adorned her face. Her bladder problems now the least of her concerns, she started back for the dressing room. Emmy now sat at the vanity, on her phone, and Vida and Wren were basically cuddling.

Surprised at the sudden intrustion, all eyes landed on the pair standing in the doorway.

"Ryan cheated on me, so now we're all single." Metzi gave nobody the chance to respond, as if anyone could think of what to say, and took a deep breath in.

"I haven't been fucked in months, and now I know why. So, I'm gonna get laid tonight, feel free to join me."

All seven of them had their faces beat to perfection, their outfits tailored and steamed of any wrinkles. They looked absolutely impeccable, as if the world around them kissed their feet. Hell, some reporters actually acted like that.

The members of BTS were now known worldwide, and it seemed that they were sought after by nearly everyone. Each member was so unique—so captivating in every aspect. Personalities somehow intertwine perfectly, yet polar opposites sometimes.

Proud but humble men, they basked in the warmth of positive attention. All eyes were on them for now, and they proudly understood it. As they walked on the red carpet of the music event, Yoongi and Jungkook both hated what they would be forced to do in mere minutes. As self-declared introverts, social interactions were about to start, and they honestly would rather sit in the corner and get this over with.

They would meet a few smaller artists, an occasional household name, (which they would fawn over for the rest of the night) and then be on their way. It would probably be in a few news articles, and some artists would insist on pictures, and they would be spread around within minutes. It was the same routine, and almost every time they would speak as little as possible, save for Namjoon, and would discuss it later. Hollywood was English dominated, and they despised it.

"Right now we only have to meet one group, and then we're okay for a few hours," Namjoon spoke quietly and quickly, and they piled off of the red carpet into a building. The hallways were scary, dark and empty, but a light above them quickly lit up.

To their surprise, the hallway was beautiful. The walls were an navy blue, white accents on top and bottom. Numerous gold paintings and records lined the walls, and it seemed to go on forever.

"Who is it we're supposed to be meeting? This hallway is a bit sketchy," Jimin perked up, and Namjoon chuckled. "WB,"

"Who is that?"

"I can't remember what their name stands for, but they sing that one song," Namjoon goes on to hum the tune to a familiar song that got pretty big, and all of the members start singing along. Of course, the lyrics are completely off and the tune is absolutely horrid, but they all recognize it vaguely.  

All numbly following Namjoon, he was taking rough instructions from their manager to get there. This was not how it usually happened, but he had said something urgent came up. He had told Namjoon how to get there, and he knew that they were smart enough to make it without breaking a couple ligaments.

"Group? I thought it was one singer," Jin commented, and Taehyung nodded in agreement. "I would have never thought it was more than one. Are they American?"

"I guess we're going to find out," he snickered, and they all stopped at the corner. The door was slightly creaked open, and soft laughter could be heard. It was feminine, soft. It sounded like pure happiness was inside that door.

To double check, Namjoon eyed the sign on the door.

A large, black WB was written so even the partially blind could read. It was odd, the only dressing room out of probably at least a hundred, was all the way back, alone. They had no time to question it before Jin took a few strides forward, and boasted his English abilites.

"Come on-uh, guys."

The rest of them burst into laughter, and Namjoon quickly followed suit, knowing Jin would not be the prime candidate for introductions. He would simply utter a few English words, turn to Namjoon for help, and in panic, make a really bad play on words in Korean.

Timidly, Namjoon's knuckles rapped on the already-open door, accidentally pushing it further open a bit. "Come in!"

They were met with three girls stuffing their faces with chocolate cake, and another laying on the floor, fiddling with a.. flip-phone?

Jin grimaced at the reminder, glad it wasn't pink.

All eyes awkwardly met at the realization, and two of the three muffling down cake choked a bit. "Emmy, I thought you said 5:30?" Malorie was the one to ask, but none of the boys knew that.

"It is 5:30,"

The cake was swallowed within seconds, the flip-phone was now laying on the table, untouched. Four girls scrambled up simultaneously, and watched as the rest of the men piled in. An awkward stout of silence followed, and this so called Emmy, rose and met the boys first.

She had a firm grip, and introduced herself as their manager. The situation was humorous to say the least, these girls who could pass off as teenagers, were standing in single file in shame. The first was a beautiful girl with a large afro, and she kept a tight smile. She did not know who they were, nor did she really care. She introduced herself as Wren.

Next, was a taller woman, who seemed a hint older, with large winged eyeliner. She was Vida. Jin's first instinct was that she reminded him of him, she was definitely the oldest. Then, a smaller girl with a thick smile and soft curls was next. Soft hands, gentle grip. Her name was Malorie.

The last, was a young woman with blonde hair. Realistically, she didn't have any defining features besides her hair, she was the average American-looking girl. She introduced herself as Metzi, and to their surprise, bowed.

"It's really nice to meet you guys," Emmy let out a soft chuckle, and Namjoon nodded tightly. "Are you performing tonight?" It was Malorie who had asked, a soft question. "Yes, actually,"

"I heard you are as well," Namjoon replied, hoping to end the small talk quickly. "Yes we are! I'm surprised you've heard of us, I mean we're not huge."

She wasn't lying, but they definitely weren't small, either. Sixth biggest girlgroup of all time by album sales just behind TLC. Thirtieth on the most followed Spotify artist. Their debut album was certified Gold in six countries. Humble was the key to success, though.

"I'm not sure how big they are in the States, but aren't they pretty well known in Korea?" Yoongi spoke, but of course he wasn't talking to the girls, he was talking to his bandmates. He also spoke in Korean, which is why he nearly had a heart attack when a very feminine voice responded in Korean as well.

"We're big in Korea? I knew we were pretty well known in Japan, but I never really knew about that," It was the blonde one, Metzi. All seven members were in shock, the way she spoke it so effortlessly. If she didn't look the way she did, she could pass off as Native Korean by language alone.

"I know South Korea is very conservative and insistent upon how they operate things, and we're probably the farthest thing from it. I just was under the impression that we didn't fit the mold to do well there," Metzi continued talking, and Wren, Vida and Malorie had absolutely no clue what was going on or being discussed.

Had this been in Spanish, all the girls could have participated. Metzi just insisted on learning Korean, though.

They didn't seem too bothered, though, instead more humored.

"She's been waiting to use that one, huh?" Vida whispered, laughing lightly. "You're not wrong, Korea is known to be very conservative, however, that doesn't mean you have to fit stereotypes to break Korea or any other Asian country for that matter," Namjoon spoke in English this time, and finally the other three girls got a whiff of the conversation.

"We are the farthest thing from ideal boy-groups in America, and we broke it for the most part. Obviously a lot of it is due to our fan base, but point still stands." Seokjin broke in, the conversation now half Korean, half English.

"Good to know," Metzi said softly, a grin on her face.

"How did you learn Korean?" Taehyung spoke up in curiousity, and crinkled his eyes. "I started learning a few years ago before we kind of blew up, and when we visited Korea a few times, I just picked it up a bit. Still a lot I don't know, but I can speak pretty fluently now."

Taehyung nodded in understanding, silently applauding her ability to simply pick up on a language. He doesn't think he will ever gain fluency in English, no matter how hard he'd try. It was a lot harder than he imagined it to be.

"I'm gonna be honest, from media portrayals you guys are made out to be asshats, but you seem pretty down to Earth. Nice to know the fame doesn't get to your head, you know?"

Now it was Wren speaking, and a few snickers sounded from Jungkook and Jimin's mouth. "Asshat," Jimin repeated softly, and they broke into more laughter.

"We appreciate that, thank you. Ignore them," Hoseok spoke this time, a large smile adorning his face. "We will watch your performance tonight, and cheer you on."

"Ditto," Metzi responded in English this time, and Hobi's eyes crinkled in confusion. "Same to you," she clarified in Korean, and he nodded.

They said their goodbyes, and Metzi told all the girls to bow. Namjoon and Vida had a brief talk, and it was no time before BTS and WB were now separate, discussing the events that had just taken place.

The talk of the night was the mysterious blonde girl who spoke fluent Korean. 

taglist: @princessoftheroad​ <3

[cyber-flight]

Notes from the AHWM Explanation Livestream

This will be long, so fair warning! If you're on computer, you can press the spacebar to skip this post if you want!

There was CG smoke for the bomb

The last shot was running after the bomb goes off, filmed during the day

Many cursed images

(0:56 - Guns Blazing) November 5th = gunpowder treason & plot (a reference)

Ethan is the one yelling during the run

Helicopter/Car was filmed in a place formerly known as Spiderwoods (spiders, snakes, and bugs everywhere)

Mark's patented method to get rid of snakes is to tell them to fuck off

There was big black snake near the library

Chica snore-grumbles

Most of the choices were pretty evenly split in the video data

The guy who owned the field in Helicopter/Car also owned the helicopter

It was hard to get the cameraman to know that the camera is an interacting character

They filmed up to 10 pages a day

Prison was the first 2 days of shooting, as well as the part with the most characters/extras (12 people)

Mick gets typecasted in roles of authority

The Prison location is a functioning mental hospital

John was a Prisoner, first mate, and is a realtor IRL

There is no "why" to recording this to keep a broad audience and have fun after Mark was in a depression and made WKM

The Gregory Brothers / Schmoyoho made 2 renditions of I Don't Wanna Be Free (which is on Apple/iTunes/Spotify)

The musical was a production/recording nightmare on the 2nd day

They had 20 minutes max. to learn each segment; they had a choreographer helping them learn the dances

The original vocals didn't have the accent

Mark had to do the vocals, acting, blocking, etc. in 30 mins

Mick was supposed to cross frame during the top-hats-part, but they had already recorded it; the producers weren't comfortable telling Mark "no" yet, so they had Amy do it

The smashed bricks were styrofoam; Mark was typed to a rope that was pulled

The director of photography was Phillip J Roy; he took a pay cut to work on this project

Yancy's sleeve tattoo is the whole map again

Yancy's tattoos are Tiny Box Tim and Mark/Dark across his knuckles; those were Makeup's ideas

The Musical was only 1/4 of a recording day

There was 3 work weeks of shooting (15 days)

Day By Dave made a remix

Yancy was named "Prison Mark" until the fight scene started to be made in post-production, where he needed a name; Mark liked Yancy and Amy was very against it originally

Yancy killed both of his parents; Mark knew people were gonna fall in love with him anyway

"Yancy stans, go, march on"

Yancy has an emoji bandaid

Heapass (canonically) makes an appearance in Thanks and also Yes Please; he had "Heapass" on a cast, but it was on the wrong side from the camera

Holt Boggs (the cell guard) is an amazing man; he was overqualified ("soft hands")

The cell was in a green-screen soundstage, so there was more improve

Yancy was supposed to be hidden in the ceiling or beside the bed, but under the bed turned out better; he's hidden under the bed the whole scene

The Red Gemini was the camera that they used for this project

Mark just runs off frame in Thanks and also Yes Please

The audio-only part was very convenient for filming and fitting for a 1st-person perspective

Yancy's talk at the gate was Mark real-acting & the late shot of the 1st day of filming, which made all of them realize that the project could actually work

Yancy WANTS to be in prison; he knows all the ways out - he'd leave if he wanted to

The items in the box are more representational achievements

Mark needs our help to promote AHWM, through liking the video(s), commenting good things, and spreading the project; the performance of this dictates the ability to make another similar project

Mark worked for FREE for 5 months, taking no cut of the budget for himself

"Yancy is just Prison Mark with amnesia" "There could be a time-skip there; it could work"

Robert Rex, "a god walking amongst mere morals;" has always wearing the same thing; Mark didn't know that he was going to do different accents

Amy is the hand with the feather-duster

The Warden's desk moves into the hallway after a smash-cut

Mick's line had to be rewritten so it can be ambiguous; you can only tell if you were looking

The Warden embodies "big strong hands," something Mark writes into dialogue a lot (along with "trust you me"); everytime he touches something it cracks (his desk, Yancy's shoulder)

Pulling stuff from behind Mark's back was on-the-spot

The dirt joke was a prop-person and Mark throwing buckets

Mark helped Holt Boggs make a short video

HOLT BOGGS

The truck in Prison was a one-take-wonder; they actually bashed the truck through the wall in a such a cartoony, perfect way

The Bob/Wade skit was a reference to Prop Hunt

Mark comparing the disappointment of people not liking the video to a cup of dirt under the Christmas tree

The lid to the sewer says "a heist with markiplier"

The sewer was in an actual sewer treatment plant, which took about a week of filming; some parts were flooded so they couldn't film there; this place was scheduled to be torn down

Mark forces us to choose the Light Tunnel first

Cranbersher, GrittySugar, and Lixian collaborated for the Light Tunnel; it was originally going to be live action with a green-screen and a pre-made raft; Cranberser offered when he had a 3-month break from other projects

Amy notes that Mark did a lot of "falling"

Mark had to carry a 200 pound man and a heavy camera rig to carry Y/N

There was poison ivy, snakes, spiders, etc. on the island

The Game Grumps voiced the aliens; Erin originally was meant to play the Warden & Danny was meant to play one of the guards

Many roles fluctuated due to scheduling

Getting abducted is a reference to ADWM ("not again!")

Mark loves MatPat's scenes and acting (Build a Shelter)

There were so many mosquitos near the Cave and the actors couldn't put on bug spray because they had to preserve their makeups

There was a giant hole in the Cave from which grasshoppers rained down

They were a mile into the cave; they weren't able to staff them for 3 days, so they recorded for 2 days and had fo cut some shots

The Cave freeze-frame was unscripted; the camera director didn't tell cut and it was too funny

The Hermit was originally supposed to be Jacksepticeye but scheduling errors were in the way

Mick was originally supposed to be Crazy Ed

When the sound-guy didnt have a sound effect, one of them riffed something at the mic and it was modulated to fit as best as possible

Mark's camera loses signal/battery power

Mark has done the hot-wire-while-moving in Car before (van videos)

The blue flash during Car is you from the future/another timeline

Mark was actually driving the car; someone flashed the blue light so it was a bit dangerous

Tyler and Ethan make appearances as Zombies

Tyler actually let Mark hit him with a rock

There was a dead beaver in the shed during the Zombie Apocalypse

The Zombie Apocalypse shots were in VERY hot weather

The barricaded front door but very open back door was intentional humour

Ethan's zombie handshake was thought up on the spot

Moe was the man screaming from the fire and zombie attack, making everyone behind the camera laugh

Rosanna Pansino sings opera & speaks Chinese

The Scientist had to be broken up (the cuts are in the gunshots)

243 is a chemical identification symbol in an actual laboratory, nothing meaningful to the plot

The code leads to the AHWM website

What's truly inside the box is the real timeline, which is the team making the project

The room where the monitor was in (Amy, script manager, etc.) was locked out and no one could see what was going on, only hear it through headsets

Mark threw 2 dummies (main video, Absolutely Not!)

Chica likes to climb through the cords underneath Mark's desk

The true/canon ending is For The Greater Good, which leads to ADWM

SodaPopIn hasn't really done this before, but he went with it because he was told Mark was nice; he continued even during harsh weather, many planes, and a long take/monologue

The sandwiches are a callback to ADWM

The montage endings were inspired by the ones Amy made for ADWM

There was never any time set aside to get photos for the montages, so they had to continuously get pictures

Catherine makes an appearance in the Warfstache bit

Warfstache is just a meta joke > you respond by writing in the comments as a survey, producer Catherine is more powerful than the video-editing, ringing the bell for notifications

They rented the same place for the Warfstache bit that they used to film all the other previous Warfstache bits

Dark inserts himself wherever he feels like being

There is charity (#TeamTrees) merch for each of the egos/Mark characters in this project (including the new ones)

Edge of Sleep's last episode aired yesterday (as of the stream - 6/11/19)

A "reverse" charity livestream is happening soon

The next project(s) are already in the works

SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT HEIST

Amy originally wasn't going to work on this project until they went to Texas; she became Creative Producer once Mark put himself into too many places

Iba originally auditioned for the man in the burning truck, but his voice was so good he became the seer/guide

The project has been "cooking" since May

The next project would be a completely different project, not a continuation

SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT HEIST

Regular uploads start again tomorrow (7/11/19)

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

we fell in love in October

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think! 

Summary: One where the reader and Ben were together in high school and left Derry together and when they come back they are married and everyone is surprised to see them still together

A phone call that your entire adult life is based on stacks of self-imagined and wrongful placed memories is best not received in a an overseas, foreign country with your husband ten thousand miles away. The trip it selves originally lasted no more than five days, but after Mike’s ring, you cut it short and immediately booked a flight destination Derry Maine after two. 

It was a work trip meant to educate you on all the new techniques and information you missed out on during your two year hiatus, and the company you represented, Thomas Cook, is an English company, so England was the best place for you to learn.

You and Ben had been away from each other every once in a while, so neither of you made it a big deal to spend a few days apart, but Ben nor you expected the phone call that shook both of to your core.

Following a meeting on etiquette, you returned to your hotel room for the night, unlocking your phone and noticing that you missed a few of ben’s calls. That was odd, considering Ben always patiently awaits for you to initiate contact so he wouldn’t ever interrupt you in case you’re busy.  

You were planning on returning the call the moment you arrived in the privacy of your room, when another person tried to contact you, and this time it wasn’t someone you recognized. The number came from Derry, and although that name sounded vaguely familiar, you couldn’t pinpoint an exact memory to place it.

Thinking that it might have been an assistant reaching out to you, you picked up the phone and listened as the elevator slowly rose floor above floor, trickling painstakingly slower than a snail, and making little bump noises at every level.

The only other person in the elevator with you, a coworker, swore to never reveal the undignified yelp you let out as Mike reintroduced himself to you, claiming to be one of your childhood best friend and begging you to come home to aid in another battle.

It clicked then why Ben never let up the constant stream of messages and bells, and why you always felt like you knew since the beginning of your life, because you had.

Every new thing Mike explained to you solidified itself in stone, as real as the clothes you wore and the floor you stood on. The name pennywise revolted you, every hair on your body standing up in high alert as a fight or flight reaction, transporting you back the summer you turned thirteen years old and an inhuman thing haunted your nightmares and your daily life.

By the end of the call, you craved Ben’s calming presence and his sweet nothing whispers he shook out of his sleeve at times you dreamed of shadows curling up your form and pulling you down to the deepest pits of despair with futile strength.

It made sense now why you blanched every time someone asked you where you and Ben met, or how long you two had been dating before marrying in a forest Ben decorated with fairy lights and flowers that sprouted a smell so delicious you caught a few guest sneaking them with them at the end.

‘Mike?’, You asked right before he launched into another aspect of his story. Part of you felt immensely sad, at the idea of Mike staying behind in Derry, helpless to do anything as you all forgot and moved on, but another part of you couldn’t care less at the moment, talking to Ben the only thing you knew would calm you down.

‘Yeah Y/N?’

‘Did you speak to Ben yet?’ In a way, you knew the answer. The none stop flood wouldn’t exist if he didn’t, but as long as an ounce of doubt remained, you were not picking up.

‘Yeah, I talked to him. Wait, you remember him?’

In a not so proud moment, you ended the connection abruptly, and pressed the icon next to Ben’s name, his contact photo one you snapped when he designed the new home and proudly presented it to you as a surprise.

An answer came at once, before the first ring even echoed, the breathing down the other line harsh and brisk.

‘Y/N, thank god. Are you okay?’ His deep, sturdy voice anchored you back to real life, a tranquility that he somehow always possessed reducing your stress levels.

‘I’m fine honey. I’m fine, are you?’ It’s a throw away question for sure, since Ben would do anything in his power to let you remain sane, and expressing his own worries is not part of that plan. Not being able to be there for your husband when the world is tilted up its head is killing you.

‘Sweets, don’t worry about me, worry about you. I can fly over to England tonight if that’s of any use.’

Frankly, getting to Ben and sifting through the confusing onslaught of emotions and recollections with him lists higher on your priority list above everything else, but you can’t do that to the others.

‘No, Ben listen to me.’ Your voice remains flat and drained of anything other than firmness, a benefit of working with customers you have required over the years. Freak out postponed ‘till you dragged your suitcase from terminal to terminal, for you had to arrange plans first.

Ben would most likely think with his heart and prefer to be around you, but by the time he would land in England and the two you transfer to another plane, the other losers – you named each other that if you recall correctly – may be dead.

‘Book a flight to Derry, and I’ll do the same. I won’t travel as fast as you, so assure the others that I’m on my way.’

‘But Y/N’, Ben protested, his desire to protect you standing in the way of common sense, god you adore this man.

‘Ben please,’ a droplet of tears drip on your cheek, confronting you with the realization that you cried.

‘Okay,’ Ben gives in, the displeasement out in the open, but listening to you none the less.

---

The old clubhouse is not as hard to find as you originally thought, the way to the spot from your old house purely muscle memory that allows you to pinpoint the exact location.

You know the reunion of the losers already transpired yesterday, Ben updating you throughout the night, but your flight only touched base this morning. Derry is an old town with reception towers spaced out and far apart, resulting in barely any communication between you and Ben.

The Derry-Inn was exempt, and so the next best guess as to where they could be was that the losers retreated to the one place radiating with love and untainted by the dirty hands of the towns curse.

The hushed talking under the hatch prove you right, and a smile carefully pokes through the bland face you’ve sported for two days, and regardless of how crazy it might seem, a blanket of safeness falls upon you, creating a barrier between you and the problems about to head on your path.

You reach down to rattle the hatch, a warning that you’re coming down to the others, and the swing it upon, dust flying in your face in such a huge amount it suffocates you. While coughing, your hand flags away the excess dust swarming around you, gulping down breathes of fresh air.

The leader creaks under your weight, but surprisingly you’re not required to bow down to fit into the clubhouse, a comfortable height for you to ease into.

You misjudge the last step, losing your footing and tumbling down the last two trads with a yap at the pain radiating from your feet up your leg, falling down faster than you should have.

Richie shrieks in fear, jumping several steps away from his spot under the stairs to hide behind Mike, the entire losers club swiftly glancing at you.

‘Ha’, Eddie exclaims once his brain catches up to his sight and he apprehends its you. ‘That’s what you get fucker, that’s karma.’

‘Yeah? Was it karma when I fucked your wife as good as I fucked your mom?’ Richie inquires, smirking at the reaction Eddie provides him.

‘That’s fucking disgusting and not the definition of karma by the way.’

‘You guys are clearly still the same’, you mutter, forgoing the pain and observing the interaction between the two best friends.

‘Y/N’, Bev breathes, approaching you with a pep in her step and halting in front of you, allowing you to close the distance and embrace the girl that you forget about yet missed so dearly.

With most of the losers here, it’s hard to grasp that you ever omitted them, for they colored your childhood in so many ways and are intermittent with the person you are today.

Ben shuffles closer too, but waits forbearance so Bev can take her time. The other losers greet you with a smile and a far-off hello, happy to see you again after so long. After Bev stops hugging you and walks away to further explore the shelter, Ben stoops in and kisses you with a short and soft peck. He’s always respectful of you, to the point he usually won’t kiss you in public so you’re comfortable, but this is an exception.

‘Ben, man didn’t you claim to have married someone?’ Richie wonders aloud and gaps at the two of you, resembling a fish out of water.

‘Yes’, you drag out, confusion lilting your words, ‘we are.’ The losers pause, including Mike, the wheels turning in their head to process the new information.

‘You guys got m-m-married?’ Bill questions, his eyes sparkling with happiness for his friends, all the times he psyched Ben up so he gained the courage to ask you out on a date in high school.

‘Yeah for two years now’, Ben proudly proclaims, resting his hand on the small of your back to stable himself and hide the way he falters when everyone zero’s in  on him.

‘In October. Ben arranged the whole thing in the woods with a fairy tale theme.’ You nearly add that it was perfect, but that’s a lie. Something was missing that day, like a stubborn smudge you tried very hard to remove yet remained. You never shared it with Ben, because he thought of every detail and ever speck to a T, and by all means it should’ve been flawless. Maybe that smudge was the insistent memory of your friend not being there to support you like you wished they were. Despite not sharing your concern with Ben, you wonder if he experienced the same thing and was afraid to inform you.

‘Wait, do I remember this wrong or did you guys start dating in October too?’ Bev quizzes.

You peer up at Ben for guidance, but he comes across just as clueless as you. It could very well be, and looking back on it, the two of you did instantly reach a consensus about the date of the wedding. Perhaps the remnants of your childhood manifested in the date, and if they did, the next anniversaries will be extra special than so far.

Right now, it’s essential your focus lays elsewhere, like in how to defeat IT for good this time, so no other lives are cut short because of an intergalactic demon.

Ben links your hands together, a tight grip that lets you know he’s right beside you, and he’s not going anywhere. The two of you together are equipped for anything.

[youstydiaa]

The Great Queen //

Oikawa Tooru x Reader

part 1

summary: you were always a quiet one, keeping your interactions to your group of friends. another thing about you, you did whatever made you comfortable. including wearing the schools bou's pants instead of the skirt, and wearing incredibly baggy and oversized clothes. that didn't mean that you can't rock skirts, dresses, and volleyball shorts. which oikawa tooru would soon find out after a quarrel. with you.

dancer/ volleyball player! reader :)

You were always fascinated by dancing, always moving and trying out new moves -even if you had no idea what the fuck you were doing- since you were a kid. Fortunately, your parents noticed your undying interest in dancing and got you a private professional dance teacher. Unfortunately, as you entered middle school, you realized there was no dance club. Feeling bummed, you never thought about joining another 'lame' club. Until one of your senpai's (a second year) approached you, with the proposition of joining that one club.

Exactly, you guessed it. Kitagawa Daiichi's own Girl's Volleyball Club.

You were never a fan of sports yourself, you just didn't bother with knowing anything about them except their name. What you didn't know was, that you had the perfect build and physique for a middle blocker. Even if you never played volleyball, that position would fit you as it didn't require that much skill. And because of all that, you refused.

She made you a deal. She asked you to watch one of the practice games at school. If you liked it, then you would join and she would teach you. If you didn't, well you wouldn't lose anything. Turns out, you did like it. It was actually and exhilarating experience, you wanted to feel the ball slam into the other side of the court, feel the after burn of spiking it. Scoring a point, felt like the feeling of perfecting a new dance move. Exciting.

As you entered Aoba Johsai, as expected of a regular wing spiker on the girl's volleyball and a Kitagawa Daiichi graduate, you were put in a slightly difficult situation. Joining the dance club, or joining the volleyball club?

Volleyball to you was just to pass time in middle school since there was no dance club, but dancing was your passion. The obvious answer was the dance club. Which lead to you scoring multiple leads in multiple competitions and performances, and three years later being the president of the dance club. Captain of the girl's dance team which consisted of 10 girl members, 3 of which including you were your group of friends.

You being a quiet girl, tomboy and a volleyball enthusiast in your second year in middle school, you were quite familiar with the adorable black-haired blue-eyed first year boy who admired your volleyball skills and wanted you to teach him how to spike as strong as you even though he wanted to be a setter (you suspected he had a tiny crush on you and wanted to spend time with you but we won't get into that). Kageyama Tobio was obsessed with volleyball, you recognized his obsession because you were kinda familiar with it, and you considered him as a little brother. So of fucking course, you knew about the rude third year volleyball 'star setter', who almost hit him with a ball in the face for asking him a simple question. Fun fact, you were on your way to teach him a lesson if it was not for the fact that Iwaizumi-senpai reassured you himself that Oikawa Tooru has learned his lesson. You were quite familiar with you senpai's temper so, you were convinced.

Fast forward to you walking in the cafeteria on the first day of your second year, ignoring the weird looks the first years were giving you for wearing the boy's uniform pants, bummed about knowing that Kageyama wasn't attending here and furious about the fact that the gym in which you practice in was closed because of some renovations.

"I heard that all the other gyms were renovated and finished by mid summer, ESPECIALLY the volleyball gym which was finished first." Aiko, your best friend, and the vice president of the dance club complained loudly while moving her hands. "Ugh! Sometimes I wish I could choke each boy on the volleyball team to death."

You smiled dreamily. "Well, one time i dreamt that I was shoving a volleyball in each of their-"

"(Y/N)." Your other friend, Yui, warned.

"All of them except Iwaizumi-senpai. He's a good guy, and above that he's hot." You continued.

"Have you even seen any of them or even talked to them?" Yui sighed. "Both of you."

"We don't need to talk to them to that they're assholes and arrogant." Aiko replied. "Except Iwaizumi-san."

"And teacher's pets, sucking up to the principle with all that bullshit of being a 'powerhouse school' and 'qualifying to nationls' each year." You air quoted with your fingers. "Aaaand they lose to Shiratorizawa at the end. Every fucking year. Losers."

"Yeah, Assholes." Aiko snickered.

"First of all, what is up with you and assholes today?" Yui pointed at Aiko as you all sat at a table. "And you, didn't you go to school with these guys?"

"Yeah, weren't you on the girl's team?" Aiko rested her hand under her chin, sticking her tongue out to Yui after.asking you.

"We were never really friends you know? I only know Iwaizumi, and a bunch of other first years I am so completely sure I'll find on the team after a week or two." You took a sip from your soda can and continued. "And, yeah I was but I wans't that much of a talker and I despised their captain. That Oikawa guy? A total douche."

"Again with the insults, you've never even met them! Honestly, I think it was the school's fault for favouring them over us and other clubs." Yui pointed out. "And, you should probably change your view on them, because as our beloved dance team captain, you are going to go plan out a schedule with the boy's volleyball team captain. Because, we're going to train at their gym till our gym opens again."

"Whoever he is, I'm sure I can handle him." You put a hand in your pants pocket, slouching in your chair and taking a sip of your soda

"Buuuut, since the universe hates you.." Aiko dragged out nervously. "The Captain is Oikawa Tooru."

Yui ducked as fast as possible, as you spit your soda in the place where her face would've been. "He's WHAT?!"

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

Two Weeks after,

You dragged your feet across the corridor dreading what was waiting for you behind the gym doors.

"Do I have to? Can't one of you do it?" You groaned, trying to dig your feet into the pavement, so when Aiko tries to push you, which she will. You would be stable.

"You are the Captain (Y/N), remember? Besides, I'm pretty sure even if they're assholes they're hot and I wouldn't miss a chance to see that." She smirks sneakily looking at Yui. "And I'm sure Yui wouldn't mind seeing Matsukawa sweating in another place besides her dreams."

"Whatever Aiko, I'm not going to deny it. Matsukawa is hot and you know it."

"Well, that's true I'm afraid."

"Let's just get this over with." You grabbed both of their hands. "The faster we finish the faster I can go home and relax from this stupid day."

As you entered, you spotted Iwaizumi sitting with his other teammates, drinking water all of them sweaty. They probably have been playing before you got there. "Iwaizumi-senpaiiii." You dragged out teasingly, knowing how he hated to be called senpai.

All heads turned to the three girls enter the gym, one of which was wearing pants and opening her arms wide open after, smiling cheekily after, they assumed, she called to their vice captain. They immediately knew who she was, after all she was the only girl who dressed like a boy coming to school but looked like the sexiest and most confident girl in the world while dancing.

"Oi idiot." He stood up and walked to her and her friends. "Oh you're still friends with her? Is she paying you or something?"

"Iwazumi-senpai so mean!" You pouted while your friends laughed. "and you two, you're my friends don't encourage him!" You turned to your friends.

"He does have a point (Y/N), we have been getting paid by your parents these past years to be your friends. Sorry to disappoint you." Yui said with the straightest face she and Aiko could muster before bursting out laughing.

"I hate it here.." You crossed your arms turning to Iwaizumi. "Anyways, where's your douche captain? I need to speak to him."

"Shittykawa? I thought you hated him, are you turning to one of his fangirls now or something?"

"First of all, ew I'm gonna barf. Second of all, since our gym is closed for now, I need to set up some things with him since we're going to train here for the time being." You huffed.

"And as you can see, she's not that happy about it either." Aiko butted it.

"Clearly." Iwaizumi chuckled. "Well, Shittykawa was in the bathroom and should be returning-"

"Iwaaaa-chaaannnn."

"Now." Iwaizumi scowled.

Oikawa Tooru, was headed towards you. And honestly, now you get why all these fangirls liked him. He had a nice face and body but, god could you feel his obnoxious aura from a mile away.

"Iwa-chan who have we got here? Are you flirting with one of my fangirls? I go to the bathroom 5 minutes and you're already destroying my fan club." Oikawa pouted like a baby.

"The best 5 minutes of my life are over." Iwaizumi face palmed. "Anyways, this is (Y/N) and her friends Aiko and Yui." Iwaizumi pointed to each one of you respectively while your friends waved slighlty.

"We're here from the dance team, about the gym schedule." Yui said, knowing you weren't going to speak until you stopped staring intimidatingly at Oikawa.

"Ahhhh Right, I heard about that. Are you the captain or should I safely say that the one who's staring at me like I've murdered her whole family is?"

"That's me." You replied dryly. "Not nice to finally meet you." You smiled sweetly in mocking.

"Why do I feel like I've met you before?" He tilted his head slightly.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)." You crossed your arms looking to the side like you're disinterested, which you were. "I heard that you played almost as good as me in middle school."

"You!" Oikawa narrowed his eyes at you. "I know you, Tobio-chan's bodygaurd in middle school."

"Yes, the same Tobio who you almost broke his nose. you're lucky Iwaizumi got to you first before me." You smirked.

"What do you want?" He huffed at you.

"I want this gym after school every day, except on the weekends." You stated. "I know you have plenty of time to train after us, we only practice for 2 hours on weekdays and on weekends we rent our own studio, so you can have the gym to yoursel-"

"No can do, sweetheart."

"What..did you call me?"

By now, some of the volleyball team had formed a circle around you two wondering why their captain took so long, your friends knew better than to get between the two of you unless things got rough. Your hatred to Oikawa wasn't unfamiliar to some of the other members, like Kunimi and Kindaichi. And the others, well they were enjoying the show.

"We need extra time to practice soo you'll have to practice after us." He crossed his arms.

"Let me get this straight. You want us, a group of ten girls, to train after you finish, in a sweaty dirty gym, and walk home at 10pm?" You clenched your fists. "Yeah, no, not happening."

"Well, it's our gym honey, take it or leave it. Although.." He held his chin as if he was in deep thought. "There is one thing you could do for me.."

"Ew, Perv."

"Not like that! I meant a bet." He scoffed.

"A..bet?" You and your friends raised your eyebrows.

"I'm saying that I.." He trailed off. "Challenge you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), to a volleyball game. And the winner, gets to use the gym whatever time they like."

"Shittykawa, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that she said that she was better than me and still is. I bet she wouldn't be scared about losing to me would she?" He raised his hand waiting for you to shake it.

Everyone looked at you expectedly, and your friends could tell exactly by the look on yoir face what your answer would be. "(Y/N) no." They spoke in unision.

(Y/N) yes.

"Deal." You took his hand without hesitation. "But I choose my players first."

"Fine." You walked away to the locker room to change your clothes.

This is gonna be fun.

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

As you walked again in the gym, everyone's eyes was on your exposed legs in your short shorts, and tight shirt that were clearly not your size.

"(Y/N) you can't be seriously thinking about doing this! He has the advantage!" Yui tried to reason with you, Aiko nodding in agreement.

"Relax, guys. Kageyama's friend didn't call me a queen for nothing." You laughed slightly.

"Are you ready, body gaurd-chan?"

"I swaer if he calls me that one more time.." You whispered to yourself.

A three on three, his team contained Iwaizumi-chan, obviously and their libero, Watari.

While you chose his other friends out of spite (and their talents), Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro. As you stood on the court, you decided to warm up with each other first. You gave up the ball to Oikawa's team so they could set first, unsurprisingly, they chose Oikawa.

"Ready, (Y/N)-chan?"

"As I'll ever be.." You smirked.

Everyone knew about Oikawa's killer serve. When Oikawa served, out of instinct Matsukawa and Hanamaki stepped out of the way. They knew this was warming up, they also knew how petty Oikawa was and how he may serve like that now but he won't serve in the actual game. What they didn't expect was you, recieving the ball in perfect formation, sending it upwards without falling to the ground or sending it outside the court.

"Oh Oikawa Tooru, You don't know how long I've been waiting for this moment."

You straightened up, catching the ball and leaning with one hand on your hip. Everyone's breaths hitched as they could almost see a bright crown on your head, with royal robes covering your body.

The Great Queen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

this is my first time writing on tumblr and my first time writing for haikyuu i hope you like it i can make part 2 if someone actually read it

[henrikvanderswoon]

MURDER AT TURQUOISE INN: A Nancy Drew Story Written by 10-year-old Yours Truly Readthrough

Alright, guys, you asked for it! It’s pouring down rain outside, I’ve grabbed some tea, I have my entire Nancy Drew game music track playlist going, and I’m ready to crack this s nutcase wide open.

Absolute ridiculousness below: 

The fact that this story is titled “Murder at Turquoise Inn” is already sending me, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I spelled it terquoice on the cover page.

I also started this story out with a letter to Ned. God bless. 

Dear Ned, Beth Robertson was murdered! 

As if Ned (or anyone else) even knows who the fuck Beth Robertson is, Nancy. 

I named the owner of the inn Tina Mulberry, and I think that was very sexy of me. 

“I turned to do something, and when I came back, she was dead on the floor! I could tell because her heart wasn’t beating and she wasn’t breathing!”

I mean… that’ll do it, Tina. That’ll do it. 

Oh, but she can’t prove anything now because she ran to get help and when she returned the body was fucking MISSING.

Bess throws a conniption fit every time someone says “Beth.”

“Oh, hello, Nancy,” she greeted.

“Hello,” Nancy greeted back. 

That is some…some god-tier writing right there. 

I really had no concept of space and time in fifth grade.

It was a huge room. Bigger than the cafeteria in Ned’s college.

Oh, was it? 

A message from the author: Hey kiddos, if you’re snooping around in someone’s closet and you come across a completely conspicuous button just chilling on the wall, don’t press it.

The three girls came out of the closet.

Well, there you have it, folks. Nancy, Bess, and George are gay. Everyone’s gay. Even your cat is gay.

Tina has a niece named Lily who calls her Mrs. Mulberry. Also, Tina consistently neglects her work duties in favor of writing a screenplay at the front desk computer and I have no idea why. 

The murderer is walking around leaving stupid messages with the drawing of a knife on them trying to curse everyone and I’m so confused. Where the hell was I going with this? 

“I KNOW YOU SAW BETH DEAD, BUT IF YOU TELL ANYONE, A DEADLY CURSE WILL FALL UPON YOU.”

WHAT DOES THIS EVEN FUCKING MEAN?

The lines in this thing are really just peak writing:

George took off after him at a safe distance to avoid being seen. But BAD LUCK FOR HER, the man jumped into a car and drove off.

 Someone sabotaged the girls’ rental car while they were away from the hotel, and this couple they literally just met are like: “I just remembered, we have an extra car that we don’t use. You could use that.” Who the fuck–?

Uh, oh. They got back to the hotel and found their own curse lying in Bess’ suitcase:

LAY OFF THE CASE, NANCY DREW. YOU MADE MRS. MULBERRY TELL YOU THE MURDER STORY. NOW THE CURSE IS UPON YOU TOO.” 

This sounds like a ten-year-old wrote it… wAiT A MiNutE–

Literally nothing in this story explains what the curse would even do to them. I love myself.

The culprit: *leaves threatening messages warning people not to speak about the murder or they’ll be cursed*

Nancy:

“Oh, hello,” Jackson greeted.

“Hi,” Nancy said. “Say! Have you heard about the murder?”

I ALMOST SPAT OUT MY TEA.

Also:

“I’m going to the store to, um, get some stuff. Like food.”

“But there’s foot here.”

“I just want to BUY things, okay? You’re so NOSEY!”

Jackson stormed off, leaving Nancy astonished. That put him on her suspect list FOR SURE.

This is a literary gem.

The way the dialogue sounds in this thing…I mean you can just tell the only written media I had been consuming at that time was the 1930′s books. 

“I think,” Nancy replied. “That tomorrow we should go to the place where I followed Jackson.”

Giving me Scooby-Doo vibes too. 

The number of times Bess says something like, “Why, Nancy!” or “This is horrid!” really makes me want to turn this into a drinking game. Take a shot every time Bess speaks like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. 

“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Bess exclaimed. 

…

No comment. 

Also, Nancy’s unadulterated sass my fifth-grade self gave her is both the worst and the best thing I’ve ever seen: 

“But what if the house isn’t empty?” Bess asked. 

“Bess, please. Ever heard of the word: S-N-E-A-K?”

I want to harpoon myself. 

There’s an elaborate maze of tunnels running underground that connects the hotel to this sketchy house miles away. The characters consistently find themselves back there several times throughout the story and literally nothing about it makes any sense at all, nor is it ever explained.  

“Man, that passageway confuses me,” said George.

Thank you, George, it confuses all of us. 

I’m actually embarrassed about how many times I refer to the group of characters as a “threesome” or a “foursome” in this thing. It’s really just the worst.

The culprit purposefully leaves behind their real initials multiple times in this story and has the audacity to be surprised when they get caught at the end? Iconique™. 

“I’m just a weird ol’ guy, Sweety-Cakes.” 

Ned, are you okay? Was I okay when I wrote this? 

Ned’s coming to visit, and he brings Burt and Dave with him and boy howdy did I forget about those two. 

“This mystery sounds dangerous,” Burt remarked. “Shouldn’t you leave this case to the men?” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Nancy fired back.

Yaaaassss, Queen. Get his ass. 

Also the murderer has now resorted to hitting people with a driverless vehicle and I’m honestly convinced ten-year-old me was on drugs. 

“Good! We were starting to get worried about you.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I…wait…wait, actually, worry about me!” 

The line goes dead here because Lily’s car was uhhhh T-boned. 

My only regret in this story is that the Hardy Boy’s are not here. Although, in hindsight, they’re probably lucky they didn’t get subjected to this shitshow. 

Meanwhile, George thought maybe Bess had made a mistake and walk’s into the men’s bathroom. She walked in but found no one–well, except a bunch of screaming men. 

I don’t even know what to say. 

They went to see Lily in the hospital and Bess got hit by a driverless car in the fucking parking lot. WHAT KIND OF MADWOMAN WOULD WRITE THIS I CAN’T BREATHE.

That night, back at the hotel, Nancy gets lured out of the hotel and into the back forest behind it because someone’ s playing weird music and I’m just now realizing my child self had no idea what kind of theme to run with here (murder, hauntings, curses, GTA) so I just went with all of them at once.

“I could just destroy it,” Ned said as he studied the lock. “Stand back.” Backing up a few yards, he bolted for the cabin door and broke it down with a strong kick. “For Nancy!” he shouted. 

HeR Interactive’s Ned could never.

 So they find Nancy tied up in a cabin in the woods and, lo and behold there’s a trap door that LeADs InTo tHE UnDeRGroUnD TuNnEls. Who’da thunk?

And of course they find a journal written in code, and the code key just happens to have been left in the cabin. 

“I’ve written this journal in code so if anyone finds it, they will not discover my secret. Okay, now that I’ve said that, here is my secret.” 

This is the first line Nancy decodes. I’m…

Naturally, we find out that Beth Robertson was not dead, but just kidnapped (don’t even ask me how the fuck they got her body to appear dead…drugs?) and being held in the underground tunnels. 

Because this makes perfect sense. 

“You seem different. Your voice doesn’t sound the same and you’re a little shorter than you usually…” Tiffany trailed off. “You are Jackson, aren’t you?”

“No,” Ned said. “Thanks for asking.” 

This is 100 times funnier without context so I’m not giving you any. 

I don’t know about you guys, but if I was arranging a meeting with a colleague and they showed up in a ski mask and a hooded cloak, I’d be a little suspicious.

“But you’ re supposed to be delivering Nancy Drew poisonous flowers from her ‘boyfriend.’”

Oh my god this bitch pulls a gun on Ned and together the rest of the group (you know, the ones who haven’t been hit by a car) fucking go APESHIT on this woman’s ass. I CAN’T BREATHE. 

And of course they find Beth tied up somewhere in the tunnels and get her to safety, and they learn that Bess and Lily are recovering well in the hospital and go to visit them and everything’s all bright and happy. 

THE LAST LINE OF THE STORY HAS ME SCREAMING, THOUGH. To the point where I’m just gonna sign off here and leave you all with it. 

“Man.” Lily looked sad. “I wish I hadn’t missed almost the whole thing.” 

Bess spoke up. “I, on the other hand, am glad.” 

[lifeonashelf]

...INTERLUDE...

Come to Vegas! We can make out, gamble, and forget all our troubles.

This is quite possibly the greatest text message I have ever received. Four days later, I hit the road.

I have never driven to Las Vegas by myself. Once I complete the journey I can’t fathom why this is, because despite the extended sprawl of nothing between us, Vegas isn’t nearly as far away as I picture it in my mind. I arrive in 3 hours and 17 minutes (which, oddly, is the exact figure Google Maps gave me when I checked the route before leaving my apartment—this is even more astonishing when you factor in that Google not only calculated my precise rate of speed for the entire trek, but evidently also predicted that I would be pulling off the road for seven minutes to have a cigarette at a rest stop just outside Baker). On the way, I listen to two volumes of a 10-disc playlist I made a few months earlier. When I burn mix CDs for myself, they are ridiculously schizophrenic—crossing the state line, I hear Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”, my favorite track by the death metal band Gorefest, and then “Cool For The Summer” by Demi Lovato in immediate succession, and I sing every word to each of them. Needless to say, it is an awesome drive.

Everything proceeds smoothly when I arrive. The Gold Coast has my lodgings ready for me two hours prior to the posted check-in time and they are able to accommodate my request for a smoking flat. I take my bag up to the 9th floor, set up my laptop at the table by the window, and then smoke a cigarette in my room just because I fucking can. I purposefully skipped dinner the night before so my stomach would be prepared to maximize the possibilities offered by the hotel’s Ports O’ Call Buffet. I tear that shit up, then head to the lounge to play a bit of video poker and get a cup of coffee—the machines at the bartop are not kind to me; that cup of coffee ends up costing me sixty dollars. Such is Vegas.

The day is uneventful, by Las Vegas standards. I drink more coffee, I gamble some more and win back my sixty bucks, I write a bit, I watch some basketball. But I am really just killing time. Because the passing hours are merely a preamble; the woman who sent me the text message which acted as the siren song for this trip is in the same town as me, and come “around 7ish” we will be in the same building.

She’s here on business. ___ is a reality television producer, and has been dispatched to Sin City to film the upcoming season of the show Hell’s Kitchen. I have not seen her in over two years, even though she only lives 30 miles from my apartment in real life and driving to Nevada is in fact way more effort than I would normally have to exert to visit her. But our real lives are rarely able to intersect. Besides, I love Las Vegas. And there’s something undeniably enchanting about the prospect of walking beside a beautiful girl amidst a panorama of brilliant dramatic neon and exotic stereoscopic night-sounds. Being in Vegas is like being in a movie, and the character you get to play has way more fun than you do when you’re not on-screen. Compared to my daily existence, and the daily existence of anyone who does not live here, the milieu of Vegas feels like an ethereal dream. That’s why it’s the perfect place to rendezvous with ___; being around her is so intoxicating that it feels much the same.

Our history spans nearly two decades. It is as complicated and messy and wonderful as any history I have ever shared with anyone. I cannot possibly recount all of it here, though I will tell you some. I lost a girlfriend when ___ and I became close because that girlfriend clearly identified that we were mutually attracted to each other. I would have never cheated, but my relationship imploded because I aggressively refuted her well-founded apprehensions and pretended like she was acting crazy for even insinuating I was drawn this person who I would 17 years later drive 230 miles to visit at the whim of a late night text. As a result I broke the heart of an incredible woman who deserved far better, and she broke mine by dumping me. Twenty-four hours subsequent, I was on a park bench making out with a girl who I swore up and down was merely a platonic acquaintance, and I was officially a liar.

I was 23 years old. I was also far more charming and attractive than I am now, and in the mindset to actively explore the positive corollaries which arose from that confluence. I spent a few years kissing a lot of girls because I was single and I was in my early twenties and it’s a good idea to kiss as many girls as you can when you’re single and in your early twenties because you won’t get to kiss too many more after that. Despite the sagacity I demonstrated by accurately predicting this, I was an unadulterated fucking idiot when it came to ___. I am horrified by my conduct throughout everything that ensued between us, and I will forever be haunted by the what-ifs brought about by the consequent brazen stupidity I exhibited.

From the moment we began groping each other at Cahuilla Park in Claremont, ___ became sort of a surrogate for the girlfriend I had sacrificed, a proxy upon whom I could bestow both the passion that had been extinguished and the anguish that had been stoked after the break-up. ___ did not kill my relationship, I killed it by being a callous asshole. But I think subconsciously I blamed her anyway (for having the audacity to enter my life and be the extraordinary girl she is, I suppose); that was far easier than owning up to the fact that I had acted like an irredeemable piece of shit toward the girl she supplanted. My pride and my heart were wounded and I couldn’t take it out on the person whose inescapable-in-hindsight decision had caused those injuries since she was no longer taking my calls. So I took it out on her replacement instead. And over the course of the several tumultuous months that followed, I proceeded to meticulously break the heart of another incredible woman who deserved far better.

I have never handled anyone as poorly as I handled ___. She was a dazzling and unequivocal gem, yet I treated her like she meant nothing to me at all. The mere thought of her being with anyone else drove me mad, yet instead of telling her this I told her time and time again that she could never have me all to herself and continued dating other people to underscore my assertion. More than once, I brought her to tears by stating in no uncertain terms that I never wanted to see her again, only to call her the very next night and ask her to come over as if that conversation never happened. I wasn’t simply emotionally abusive to ___, I was utterly fiendish to her. For every year of my life leading up to that one and every year since, I have been proud to conduct myself as a true gentleman, so I will never understand how I was even capable of hurting anyone as persistently and comprehensively as I hurt her. Rest assured, I didn’t understand it at the time, either. Nor did I understand why no matter how awful I was to her, she still saw the best in me and held out hope that I would come to my senses and acknowledge the singularly special thing that was standing right in front of me.

Unfortunately, I realized far too late that the reason ___ did so was because she was deeply in love with me. And I also realized far too late that I was deeply in love with her.

By then I had done about as much damage to her psyche as one person could do to another. Though she wouldn’t know it, my comeuppance was delivered by the next woman I entered into a failed relationship with, who put me through a lot of the same things I put ___ through and came up with several novel doozies of her own for good measure. ___ and I remained in sporadic telephone contact, though we rarely saw each other in person. Bizarrely, this had the upshot of emphasizing the indissoluble strength of our bond, since none of the interactions we had were stilted by our silence and distance—every time we came together, I felt as close to her as ever and she clearly felt the same.

Over the years, we’ve had numerous conversations about what happened between us. I wish to keep those private, but the essence of what has been expressed is that despite everything she considers me one of the people closest to her in the world. She also told me that “Perfect” by The Smashing Pumpkins is her song to me; I listen to it often, even though those beautiful and devastating lyrics always bring tears to my eyes.

Of course, along the way I finally did what she desperately wished I would have done 17 years ago. I came to my senses and acknowledged the singularly special thing that was once standing right in front of me. I made overtures to that effect on a couple of occasions when we once again found ourselves simultaneously single, but they were way overdue. She said she did still love me and always would, but the wall I forced her to build to shield herself from me had grown too tall and sturdy to tear down. A tacit understanding developed between us: we would be friends for the rest of our lives, but I had confused and harmed her enough for one lifetime and she was not willing to give me any chance to add to that abominable legacy. It’s a verdict I had no choice but to accept because it was a much better one than I deserved; she would have been undeniably justified in never wanting to speak to me again.

I know ___ has never wholly resolved the chaos of emotions I stirred within her, neither the amorous nor the angry. Some cuts are too deep to be sutured, and those tend to leave scars. Truthfully, I think she despises me as much as she adores me; she just adores me too much to let the other side win out most of the time. But this paradox is entirely fitting because our entire relationship is a paradox, a saga of two satellites which have shared each other’s orbit since they were launched and create a blinding explosion when they collide. Last night, she kissed me in the lobby of the Golden Nugget casino and we melted into each other just like we did that first time in Cahuilla Park, seventeen years erased by the touching of lips. When we came up for air, she wrapped her arms around me and buried her face against my chest and said, “god, I hate you,” with so much love in her voice that it made my stomach swim. It was the perfect thing for her to say in that moment, both because it is absolutely true and because it is the absolute opposite of the truth.

We had a delightful night on Fremont Street, both of us properly investigating that very cool region of the city for the first time. We had some drinks and we listened to some music and we played some poker and we held hands as we walked the promenade. For a few hours, we got to be the couple both of us wanted to be at one time or another, just never at the same time; we even fought like a couple for part of that span, since the resentment and pain she’s had to bury deep within herself to continue accepting me into her life despite my previous sins still gets triggered from time to time when we speak of the past. Regardless, I wouldn’t have changed a second of it. The night was absolutely magical, because ___ is absolutely magical.

But the spell of Las Vegas gets broken once you realize that nothing there is real. There’s an axiom people use to justify all manner of debauchery they engage in while visiting Sin City: “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”  Tonight ___ is out with a large group of people who esteem her, and I am alone in a smoky room sitting at my laptop, which is a lot closer to what our individual non-Las Vegas lives look like. This artificial vacation existence in which we were united as one happened in Vegas and will stay in Vegas, because it has to. Because, truthfully, the life she built for herself without me is much richer than the life I built for myself without her. Tomorrow morning I will get in my truck and exit this city of lights to travel back across a stretch of barren desert the length of two mix-CDs, and after I arrive home I will spend the next interminable number of days and nights sitting at my laptop in a room that is less smoky than this one but no less lonely. Meanwhile, tomorrow morning ___ will continue to work her fascinating job and then she will leave the country on some adventure, and no matter where she is and what she’s doing, she will be surrounded by people whose company is far more gratifying to her than mine ever could be.  

The hours we spent holding hands on Fremont Street were unreal. But they were also so real that I am still reeling from the aftershock of our latest satellite collision. Our relationship, both the real and the unreal, befits that manner of contradiction. I don’t think ___ and I are still in love with each other, but I do still love her in a way that I have never loved anyone else. I have committed unconditionally to other women in her absence and redistributed the connection we share into a more manageable framework, but whenever there is no one in my life I can’t help but recognize that there very well could be if I hadn’t once been a soulless beast to someone who was merely pleading for me to appreciate them the way they sincerely deserved to be appreciated. ___ is without a doubt one of the most phenomenal and inside-out beautiful human beings I have ever known and I cannot conceive of my life without her in it, yet I still to this day find it difficult to face her. Every moment I spend with ___ feels like a gift, but those moments also sting in equal measure, because she is a walking reminder of me at my absolute worst.

I don’t think she has ever truly forgiven me. I’m not sure she really ever could, or should. Nothing I do today can undo what I did yesterday. I know that no matter how exhilarating it feels to look into her gorgeous and soulful eyes after we kiss in a glittering alternate universe, there are times when she looks at me and only sees a man who likely hurt her worse than anyone else she has ever known. I know there is a part of her that will always love me, but I also know there’s a part of her that wishes she had never even met me.

While I can only suppose what the world might look like if I had treasured her instead of trashing her all those years ago, I am positive that it would look far better and brighter than it does now. I’m aware that even if I had done the right things then, it’s improbable we would still be together today. Very few relationships go that distance, and despite our exceptional chemistry, ___ and I are not effortlessly compatible. I wouldn’t change a single thing about her, but there are unchangeable things about me I know she could not abide and no one should have to. She detests smoking; I enjoy smoking more than I enjoy most other things. She dreams of spending her days traveling and exploring; I dream of sitting in my easy chair and watching blu-rays.

She thinks I was worth falling in love with; I think strongly otherwise.

I don’t specifically wish ___ and I were together now. Yet therein lies another paradox. Because I got a little glimpse of what that might look like last night on Fremont Street, and it looked amazing. But that wasn’t real, that was Las Vegas; what happens there stays there. It was a magnificent movie, but that’s not what our actual lives look like. We could make out, we could gamble, but we could never forget all our troubles—no matter how much she loved me then and loves me now, I will always be one of hers.

So maybe what I do wish is that I could really be the person she was holding hands with in that unreal fantasy, the person who kissed her with abandon in the lobby of the Golden Nugget, the person she gazed at with unbridled tenderness during that joyful interlude when both of us were able to shelve our past and exist solely and safely in our present. The person she hoped I would become before I shattered her hopes by becoming a monster. Regrettably, untethered from our mutual orbit, I grew to be someone else entirely, someone with numerous regrets he can never completely atone for, someone she will always measure with a watchful and skeptical eye to protect herself. Someone who can never be anyone else except who he is. And that person simply would not be capable of making ___ as happy as she deserves to be, because he already had his chance to do that and made her miserable instead.

Besides, he can barely make himself happy most of the time.

 ###

 The trip home is an inexorably depressing conclusion to every great vacation—you’re doing the exact same thing you did when you set off, except there isn’t anything to look forward to when you arrive. Fittingly, an unseasonable rain is coming down when I hit the 15 Freeway. The water-dappled windshield and the desolate unfolding highway ahead evoke another cinematic scene, perhaps a montage in which the central character takes a long drive to think heavy thoughts. At the risk of becoming a cliché, that is exactly what I do.

My mix-CDs play on, the music blurring past with the miles. I hear “Wonderwall” and I hear “Stairway to Heaven”, which are two songs that everyone should listen to extremely loudly on the open road at least once in their life. Seaweed… Tiamat… Purity Ring… My Chemical Romance… P!nk… The Dillinger Escape Plan... Fleetwood Mac… Each one of them imparts a decisively fantastic tune, but this time I’m not singing along. I am instead blinking away tears as it dawns on me exactly how much I am leaving behind in Las Vegas. Not the money I lost at the video poker machines, but the luminous girl I wagered at the age of 23 when I made a much more foolish gamble than I could have ever imagined and ended up losing the most precious thing I never had. The fortune that I lose over and over again every time ___ and I part from each other and return to the real world.

I discover that her hold on me, this cosmic magnetism we share, has not diminished with time. And I discover that the axiom is not absolute—not everything that happens in Vegas stays there; some things follow you all the way home.

That night on Fremont Street, she told me that she will never be completely over me. At least that makes us even in one respect.  

Though the imprint I left on her heart was shaped like a bruise, there will always be a piece of mine that is the precise shape and size of ___. That piece belongs to her, and though it is a woeful consolation prize, it is the only one I will ever have the opportunity to give her.

But it does come with a vow: forever and always, whenever and wherever we meet, in Las Vegas and in real life, I promise we’ll be perfect.

 May 9, 2019        

[thcllslnrd]

Strange Love

!! EDIT !!: So this is like kjdfhsk from June? I’m just posting it cause it’s still not bad and I don’t wanna get rid of it, but I’m not gonna finish it since I’ve now finished all 7 seasons and I know these characters totally don’t fit the way I assigned them here anymore. Vampire Bill is...not the guy he was in season 1 lmao. I just wanted to post smth while I’m in the middle of other things, so have an unfinished Parksborn AU!!

---

I started watching True Blood recently and even though I've only seen season one so far, the idea of a AU for Parksborn won't leave my head. I mean, a southern Peter with telepathy and vampire Harry? Mmm yes please.

Summary:  “In a society where humans and vampires co-exist, Peter Parker  may have found the perfect boyfriend. Peter is clairvoyant and constantly hears people's thoughts, which makes dating a bit difficult. When vampire Harry Osborn walks into the bar where he works as a waiter, Peter realizes that he can't `hear' what he's thinking and he is immediately attracted.” (Aka the first episode of True Blood written as a Parksbron AU)

Character assignments: Peter as Sookie, Harry as Bill, Flash as Jason, Gwen as Sam, MJ as Arlene, and Miles as Lafayette.

Peter couldn't help when people's thoughts became his own.

He always tried his best to shut everyone out when waiting tables at Stacy's or walking through town, but sometimes it was too much. Took too much energy to shut too many people out. It wasn't like he could control whatever this was, either! But it made the waiters job hard some days.

Tonight was one of the harder days at Stacy's, the local bar getting busy with the usual crowd of people and then some. Only a handful of the customers weren't drunk yet, but it was only 11 p.m. and Peter had no doubt everyone would be hammered in no time. It was a Saturday night so he knew it was bound to end up like this, but he hated busy nights. Busy, drunk, loud nights always meant people's minds were busy, drunk, and loud.

Jesus, how the hell are Parker and Thompson even close to brothers? They're so fucking different, I jus-

How the hell am I gonna pay my rent after all this! Goddamn I don't wanna have to go to that bar and dance around again....

That woman seriously needs to lay off the burgers, I can see them dragging down her face.

Please Jesus, give me just this one whiskey. It's all I want, just a little bit, I know you'll give me the strength to not want shot number two.

Shit, Flash's one hell of a looker. To bad he's always hanging around with his brothers best friend, I'd love a piece of that a-

Peter slammed the two pitchers of Bud onto the table of 4 townsfolk, biting his tongue to keep his mouth shut in front of them.

"My brother can do however he pleases, thank you very much," The brunette mumbled, walking back towards the plate shelf.

Miles, as always, was working hard in the kitchen between stirring something in a two foot tall pot and flipping fresh made burger patties on the flat grill. For as long as Peter's been working at this bar, the other man's been wearing an apron in that kitchen and keeping everyone company. He was funny, gave good advice, and was all around good company.

As he sat down the spatula to the right of the flat grill, Miles started shaking spices into a separate bowl.

"I need'a order of fries. And if you dropped a handful on the floor for me that would be just wonderful." Peter sighed, resting his arms against the cold metal.

"You got it, hun," The darker man finally turned to the waiter, seeing his uniform and overall look for the day. "Goddamn, Petey! What're you doin' with that tight shirt and fluffed up mob'a hair...D'you have a date tonight?"

"No, but when I wear fittin' close I get more tips."

"You got that right. These hillbillies are suck'as for good packagin'."

"And if I act like I don't have'a brain in my skull the tips are even bigger. If I do, there'all a sudden scared a'me." Miles just laughed, looking up from his bowl and pointing to the other with a handful of spice shakers.

"You got it wrong, hun. They ain't scared a'you, they're scared of them leeegs-"

"Miles Morales! I don't wanna hear that from you tonight!" Peter huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Miles just kept laughing as a bright red-haired girl walked up next to him, putting one plate in each hand. That was Mary Jane, or MJ, and she'd only been working at Stacy two or three years when Peter started. She was sweet, helped him out a lot when he just started serving and taking orders. She had strong opinions, and not the greatest taste in men, but she was always happy and fun to talk to.

"What in the blue hell are you two talkin' 'bout?" Miles turned to the woman with a grin, keeping his hands busy with the food.

"Oh, the usual, Parker's legs an' how everyone wants a hunk outta him." Peter was quick to roll his eyes, looking between the man in the kitchen and the waitress next to him.

"Well, I'm sure he'll figure it all out one day, Miles." MJ took a quick glance between the two before winking and walking off, hands full with paid food to serve.

Peter just bit his lip and walked off with another sigh, knowing the fries would take another minute. He had other orders to attend to, so he went to the bar and grabbed a tray to carry drinks before locking eyes with the bartender, Gwen Stacy.

Gwen was the owner of this bar, which used to belong to her father's before he passed away. They've been friends for years too, met their senior year of high school and have been fairly close since. Peter had always been the loner type anyway but Gwen was a good change of pace. She got along with everyone of all gender, sexuality, color, and opinion (even if she didn't always agree). It made her a good bartender since she had to deal with pretty much everyone in town on the regular, and most importantly a good friend. It did make it strange for her to become his boss after so many years of being friends too, but it left out any awkward 'co-worker and boss' interactions. For the most part.

"How's your night goin', Parker?"

Peter pushed a smile. "I've had better, but it's not'a total wreck."

"Well, is there anythin' I can do to improve it for ya'?"

Peter ran a hand back through his hair, eyebrows knit close in thought. At first he was actually thinking on something to improve his night like an extra break or maybe a free drink, but something changed in the room. He wasn't sure how obvious it was to everyone else in the bar, the sudden silence, but he felt like he could breathe again. No more thoughts about food, beer, liquor, drugs, men, women, sex, all of it was gone. Peter quickly realized it wasn't only everyone's thoughts but everyone in the bar had done dead silent. The whole bar was quick as lightening to end their private conversations. But...why? The hell was everyone so quiet and alarmed by?

Peter didn't see why until he turned around.

Someone new, entirely unfamiliar had walked into Stacy's tonight. It wasn't that new faces weren't welcome here, but there was something clear as day about this new guy. He was tall, but couldn't be more than half a foot taller than Peter, and paler than a piece of printer paper with dark red hair and chocolate brown eyes. There was no question about who he was or what he'd order tonight.

Peter turned back towards the bar and Gwen before him and the redheaded stranger could lock eyes. "My god, I think Stacy's just got its first vampire!"

"Yeah, I think you're right."

"Can you even believe that!? Right here in little ol' Bon Temps? I don't think I've ever been so excited to meet one since they came outta the coffin two years ago!" Peter kept a hold of his tray and pulled his order pad and pen out of his shirt pocket.

He wasn't sure how or why, but when the brunette turned to to serve the vampire, he was already looking right at him. It might have been weird but it was even weirder that Peter was excited, interested to do this. Vampires have been living alongside humans for a solid two years now, but for what he knew, he's never met one before. Especially not in the workplace. Besides, in a small town like this, you rarely got something this exciting.

The brunette walked his way up to the vampire, a smile clad on his face. "Hi, welcome to Stacy's! And what can I get for you tonight?"

The man in the booth was quiet, almost as if he knew everyone was still watching out of the corner of their eyes and thinking about his presence alone. The conversations had picked back up, but if he didn't drown out all the thoughts, they all had something to do with this new vampire.

"Do you guys have any of that bottled, synthetic blood?" Peter bit his lip, already knowing the answer.

"No, I'm really sorry. Gwen got some a last year, but no one ordered it and she had'ta dump it all out after it went bad." He stopped for a second before talking again, trying to fill the silence. "You're our first vampire. Small town."

"Yeah, I think that woman over there's on to me."

"Oh, that's Gwen! She's cool, trust me." Peter kept his smile after looking back to Gwen, unsure why she was watching him so closely.

"Am I...that obvious?"

"A-A little? I mean, I noticed the moment I saw you, but I don't know about everyone else." Peter lied, because he shouldn't be able to know what everyone else thought.

"Well...if you don't have any blood, then I'll just take a glass of red wine. Gives me a reason to stay."

"Oh...o-okay, I can do that for you! Whatever the reason, I'm glad you're staying." Peter smiled, tapping the end of his pen to the notepad.

His smile started to twitch when the woman sitting in the next booth leaned back, pressing her head close to the vampires but keeping her eyes locked on Peter.

"Oh, don't mind Peter. He's craz'r than'a ol' mad dog." There was a real badly spoken tone of seduction in her voice, and if that was her say of trying to flirt or lead on either one of them, she wasn't doing very well.

Peter couldn't help but make a slightly irritated face at her, waiting until he turned away to roll his eyes and huff. He saw the fries waiting at the kitchen window and quickly delivered those and a side of ranch to a different table before getting a glass of red wine from the blonde bartender. He held it, the only thing in one hand, and placed it on the table right in front of the vampire.

"You're reason to stay," Peter smiled, even though noticing the woman from the other booth was in now in the same booth as the redhead.

He clearly seemed to be annoyed, uninterested, but she had her hands all over his shoulder and arm, pressed close. He already felt bad for the vampire having to deal with this woman, until her thoughts were all he could hear, loud in her head. She was doing quick and fairly complicated math as she looked the vampire up and down (as if she was gonna bite him instead), raving about the money she'd get for selling all his blood. When the other woman gave him a weird look, unaware that Peter was even able to listen in on her intentions, he quickly snapped out of it and mouthed a sorry! out before rushing back to the bar.

Well shit.

"Gwen, we've gotta problem, Sarahlee is planning on drainin' that vampire clean and sellin' his blood!" Gwen raised an eyebrow at the man, busying her hands with cleaning a glass.

"Wait, you listened in on her and heard all that?" Peter sighed, knowing it shouldn't have to be much of a question. All of his close friends and family knew of his skill, proved it one way or another until they understood, and what fool would talk about draining a vampire for their blood right next to them?

"Yes! Clear as day!"

"I'm sure he'll make it out okay! Besides, he's a vampire, right? He should be able to handle himself just fine."

Peter turned back to check in on the undead red head, see if the glass of wine had been touched, but no one was in the booth anymore. Not the vampire, or the touchy woman clinging to his arm. His eyes went eyes, frozen for a split second before moving quick and sudden.

"Damn! Gwen, cover me!"

He wasn't quite yelling but he was still talking too loud, dropping his note pad on the middle of the floor and busting through the front door. The hot air hit his skin all too quickly but Peter couldn't even take it in, running down the small set of front steps and out into the parking lot. He had to stop, close his eyes, and focus, of all hopes of finding and trying to help this vampire were blown away. He did just that, clearing his mind and waiting until he got the hint of her thoughts, an echo.

Damn needle...should I keep...worth the wait...

Peter ran as quietly as possible towards the thoughts, stopping dead in his tracks after a few steps to only now realize he was totally defenseless. He knew how to fight with his hands, but considering this woman was handling a vampire all by herself, tonight wasn't the night to take chances. Taking a quick glance around all of the cars, he found a thick link of chain in the open bed of a truck, taking it out and wincing at the sound of metal on metal. If was a quieter carry though, which was good for while she got closer to the vampire and his kidnapper.

For a split second the brunette thought what if Gwen was right? What if the vampires already got his escape planned and he only gets in the way? What if he only makes things worse? Her words were starting to get to him, convincing him to start backing away while he had the chance, until he saw that he was entirely right.

The redheaded vampire from before was now laid out on the ground, needles and wraps all tied and poked into his left arm as the other woman was starting in on his right. She was struggling, and Peter didn't know if it was finding the vein or getting the needle through his skin or what. He was quiet, dead silent but taking a few more steps from behind the struggling woman. The vampire noticed him after awhile, squinting like he was confused or couldn't make out who he was, but the brunette just raised a single finger to his lips in signal for him to keep as he is.

Once Peter was only a yard or so behind the kidnapper, he took a deep breath in before holding the chain with both hands and swinging it against the woman like a baseball bat. She let out a loud gasp as she fell on her stomach, coughing a few times and turning her head to see Peter, still holding the chain and fully prepared to use it again if needed.

"Oh you prissy son of a bitch!" Sarahlee hissed, either from the pain or anger, and pulled a curved blade out from her back pocket. She held the knife out in front of her, just as prepared to use her weapon as he was, but missed on the first swing.

"Step back from him, you low-rent, roadkill eatin, white trash." Peter warned her as harshly as he could, he other woman just laughing and pointing her blade.

"You have no idea who the fuck you're messing with, motherfucker. So just keep your pretty little hands away from me and this vamp, before you get on my bad side."

"Oh please, at this point I'm already sure you don't have any other side."

[oforamuse]

i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) 1/?

mickey milkovich hasn’t seen ian gallagher in over 9 years, not since the day he broke his heart and they shipped him off to prison for a crime he didn’t technically commit.

the last place he expects to bump into him is new york fucking city.

or, the one where two broken puzzle pieces find a way to fit themselves back together.

au from 5x12/6x01 onwards.

read and comment on ao3

They’re out of fucking milk. They’re out of eggs, butter and even bread.

There’s not even a bag of chips in sight - what the fuck is this?

‘Fuck.’ Mickey curses, he’s hungry and there’s nothing in his goddamn apartment to eat. He could’ve sworn Mandy went grocery shopping only a few days ago, how did they already manage to finish the lot off? He swears someone’s been sneaking into their fourth floor walk up to raid their fridge - it’s probably that bitch who’s always yelling at the ass crack of dawn on the floor below, Mickey’s constantly having to stomp on the floor at 5am to shut the bitch up. His stomach rumbles angrily, he got in late last night from work and couldn’t be bothered to throw something together before he passed out on the sofa. Mandy’s not even home right now so he can’t even be properly pissed at her for eating all their food as much as he would like to. He rubs his hands over his eyes, already exhausted by the day despite only waking up 10 minutes ago. He slept in late, later than usual, since work had been a bitch the night before. Too many drunken handsy people having to be thrown out of a club on a friday night - he definitely does not get paid enough to deal with that shit.

He opens the fridge door again hoping for some sort of fucking biblical level miracle but groans, it’s still as empty as before. There’s not even a 20c pack of ramen floating about, only a bag of flour, a few beers and a lonely can of soup sitting on the top shelf. There’s no chance he’ll be eating that can of shit. He begrudgingly resigns, it’s 2pm on his day off and he just wants some damn eggs.

To the overpriced bodega two blocks down he goes, he fucking hates that place.

He huffs and stomps grumpily into his room to quickly throw on some proper clothes, hastily picking out a clean t-shirt and pairing it with yesterday’s somewhat clean jeans. He shrugs at his reflection in the mirror - he ain’t got no one to impress, especially not on a run down the road. He goes into Mandy’s room and grabs the twenty bucks he’d seen sitting on top of the dresser - telling himself that he’ll pay her back somehow, despite the fact she’s the greedy culprit who ate everything. He throws a jacket over his shoulders, grabs his keys off the hook by the door and bounds down the narrow staircase. Their apartment sits on the top floor of an overpriced but barely used laundromat on a busy cross street in the high east nineties. New York is loud, people are rude and it stinks 99% of the time, but it works for them. Besides, it’s not Chicago, that’s the important part.

That’s the really important part.

Mandy had moved in here originally with an ex boyfriend she’d chased all the way out here from Chicago, and they’d actually managed to stick it out for a few years before he inevitably ran off with another girl. By that point, Mandy had already gotten a receptionist job at a gym downtown and somehow managed to score a relatively low rent with the landlord, so she decided to stick it out instead of moving home. Mickey isn’t 100% sure there wasn’t a blowjob involved or something, but he ain’t questioning it.

He got out of prison just over 3 years ago on good behaviour and pretty soon after found himself following Mandy out to the East Coast. He never thought he’d see himself leave Chicago’s city limits but as soon as he completed his 2 years of parole and he was free to leave the state, he hopped on a bus without looking back.

There sure as hell wasn’t anything left for him there.  

His few years of parole had been lonely and even though he’d never admit it if anyone asks, the last thing you want after being locked up for years is to live alone. He mainly kept to himself, picked up some shifts at a local mechanic that his PO had managed to organise for him. Stayed out of trouble and mostly kept his head down - which wasn’t the easiest thing for a Milkovich to do but his heavy ankle monitor constantly reminded him that he was barely even out of the clink, he knew he couldn’t chance it to toe the line. It surprised him how relatively easy it was to stay out of trouble and it made him wonder how different his life could’ve been had he not been brought up by a sadistic criminal of a father and a nonexistent mother. If he’d had a normal childhood without the scrounging and the hiding and the beatings.

He didn’t try and reconnect with anyone he knew from before. What was the point? Svetlana had skipped town for some rich guy, she’d mailed him the divorce papers and they’d finalised it all around the third year or so of his incarceration. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to the kid, not that Mickey particularly minded, but he had been growing somewhat fond of the fucker. His brothers’ still lived at home, but he’d heard from some fellow inmates that his dad was out so he steered clear of his childhood home and any of his dad’s old local haunts. He bounced around dingy motels for the majority of the year, which was a fucking hassle since he had to keep asking his PO to change the radius on his montior, but it out weighed having to go and ask anyone for any favours. He avoided his entire old neighbourhood, willing every single time he got on the L or walked down a busy street that he wouldn’t bump into someone he knew.

Even if he wanted to reconnect with people he didn’t even know where he’d start, it had been 6 full years. It took him for fucking ever to track Mandy down, let alone…

No.

No.

He’s halfway to the store when he stops. He can’t fucking breathe.

What the fuck.

He can’t move, he can’t physically move.

His bones feel like they’ve interlocked in place, sticking together and solidifying him into an ancient statue and he can’t. fucking. move.

Because it’s Ian fucking Gallagher.

Ian Gallagher standing right in front of him.

Ian fucking I don’t love you enough anymore Gallagher.

He’s standing right in front of him on the sidewalk in New York city, right outside a goddamn Duane Reade, hundreds of miles from the Chicago South Side.

What in the fucking fucking fuck?

Mickey could be dreaming, Mickey must be dreaming, because this can’t be fucking real. He’s often seen the ginger boy, man - he corrects himself, in his dreams over the last few years. He’s always appeared as a shadowy figure or even as a whimsical idea echoing in his subconsciousness but this is way too realistic.

He’s here, he’s here standing right in front of him in the living and breathing human bodied flesh.

Yet he’s still the exact same tall, red headed guy that a teenage Mickey fell for over a decade ago and it’s like being bitch slapped by a bus, full force and full of impact. Ian hasn’t seen him yet, he’s talking into his phone, laughing at something that’s been said and Mickey’s heart hurts. It’s been over nine years since he saw Ian laugh like that. His hands start to shake and his breath picks up in short, small uncontrollable bursts. There must be somewhere he can go and duck into. He checks the distance to the entrance to the Duane Reade, wondering if he could chance it before the other man notices.

He should turn around, groceries be damned, he should go right the fuck now before Ian see’s him and-

‘Mickey?’

Oh, fuck. Even his voice is exactly the same. God, Mickey has waited 9 years to hear that voice again but right now all he can hear is rushing wind in his ears, his entire world turned on its axis.

Is everyone around him moving in slow motion or is it just him?

He looks up and Ian is staring at him with a wide eyed, what the fuck is going on, expression on his face. Yeah, Mickey would like to know too, if only he could get his fucking breathing under control.

‘Mickey?’ He repeats without moving closer, the phone call hangs abandoned in his right hand. He wonders who from his past is on the other end of the line, Lip? Fiona? Perhaps a new boyfriend? Husband, even?

‘Hi.’ Mickey breathes out harshly, panic rising up slowly in his throat. He still can’t move.

This is a dream, this is a fucked up dream.

‘What, what are you- you’re out?’ Ian asks, finally breaking the barrier between them and moving a step closer. His face is practically the same as he looked the last time Mickey saw him, but it’s been clear the time that has passed. He’s lost even more of the baby face he once possessed, his jaw now sharp and precise. His eyes are bright and alive, worlds apart from the dead and sunken look Mickey recalls from their last interaction - the one where Ian had told him he’d wait and never fucking visited him again.

‘Fuck you doing here, Gallagher?’ He hears himself blurt out shakily and he barely even realises he said it, only noticing Ian’s eyebrows furrowing together in a response. He looks so confused and concerned but also somewhat hurt and Mickey wants to. fucking. bolt.

All he wanted was some god damn eggs but instead he gets sucker punched by history and the feeling he’s about to spew his guts out onto the sidewalk.

‘I could ask you the same thing.’ Ian replies, dumbfounded. Someone shoulders grumpily past Mickey and he’s suddenly pulled back to the fact they’re standing, staring at each other in the middle of a busy sidewalk.

‘Fuck you, watch yourself asshole!’ He calls after the guy in the classic New York fashion he’s managed to perfect in the last few months, he’s getting quite good at blending in. People continue to shove passive aggressively past them, though neither men move. ‘Been here almost a year.’ He says without bringing his gaze back to Ian, staring just over his shoulder at the busy traffic.

‘What? You’ve been out for a year?’ Ian’s ask incredulously, bringing Mickey back to the shocked expression on his face. It’s almost as if he never even considered the possibility that Mickey might’ve made parole early instead of sitting his full sentence. Behind the confusion there’s a small smile playing on his lips, it reminds Mickey too much of those days and it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

How is it still hurting after 9 years?

‘Almost three.’ Mickey replies, his attempt at nonchalance hardened by the bitter taste flooding his mouth. He feels like he’s about to choke, he has to get out of here. ‘Listen, I gotta go-’

‘Mickey, I-’ Ian interrupts, stepping a foot closer to him. His arm is raised in front of him in a way that looks like he’s going to try and touch him or hug him or something-

Mickey spins on his heel and gets the fuck out of dodge.

Groceries forgotten, Mickey practically sprints back to his apartment, the streets a blur around him as he shoulders through. He takes the four sets of stairs two at a time, not letting himself register the sharp ragged tightness in his chest until he gets to his front door.

His hands fumble as he pulls the keys out from his pocket, but somehow he manages to steady himself enough to let himself into his apartment. He slams the door behind him and slumps immediately down to the floor, his back against the wood as he tries, unsuccessfully, to steady his breathing.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fucking, fuck.

What on fucking God’s green earth is Ian doing here?

Here.

Here in this world that Mickey has so painstakingly created for himself, for him and Mandy. A world that is hundreds of miles away from Chicago, from the South Side, from them. From the porch steps where Ian stood blankly, rejecting Mickey’s heart and crushing it in his hands. Hundreds of miles away from the Kash and Grab where they’d fuck in the back room but laugh out front, from his broken childhood home that was made just that little brighter by Ian’s laughter, from the prison he sat in for 6 fucking years doing time for Ian fucking Gallagher.

Mickey’s hands are shaking, the tattoos on his knuckles blur as he shoves them underneath his thighs in an attempt to get something under control and closes his eyes. He breathes slowly, his stomach nauseous, his rabid hunger from an hour earlier long forgotten. He doesn’t think he could eat anything for another week.

There’s a quiet, hesitant knock on his apartment door, a foot or so above Mickey’s resting head.

‘Mickey?’

It’s Ian again, Jesus, he must’ve followed him here. He curses the fact that the main door downstairs is broken so any random fucker can walk in. He’s told their landlord so many times to get it fixed, and God he should’ve done it himself because he really could’ve used a proper lock right about now.

‘What do you want?’ Mickey grunts out, pulling himself off the floor to grab the pack of smokes sitting on the small table by the door. His hands shake as he pulls out a cigarette and it falls to the floor, fuck.

‘Mickey.’ Ian’s voice persists, and Mickey rolls his eyes because the kid was never good at getting the message of go the fuck away. His stomach jolts at the thought of that persistent teenage ginger freckled freak that buried himself under Mickey’s skin and tattooed himself there when they were just kids. He remembers 16 year old Ian’s earnest way of looking at him like he held the world in his hands, following him around and slipping into Mickey’s life almost seamlessly. He remembers the feeling of agony he felt every single day, sitting in that cell and willing to turn back time and change things. Mickey registers something flowing through him, something fiery and hot, it’s anger. He feels it swarm from his fingertips all the way down to his toes, it pushes him forward. He swings around, unlocks the door and stares at the man standing in front of him.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ He spits, years and years of pent up disappointment and heartbreak coursing fiercely through his veins and he feels like he’s about to explode. This isn’t how he used to imagine seeing Ian again would be, he always imagined warmth and floating and butterflies in his fucking stomach. He imagined kisses and tears and I love yous.

He stopped imaging seeing Ian again around the 4 year mark. 6 years of sitting in a prison, waiting, changes people.  

And yet, everything feels the same. His heart still fucking pounds in the same way and his knees feel like they’re about to give out at the sight of those eyes and that ginger hair.

‘It’s you.’ Ian breathes, the surprised expression slipping away from his adult and aged features revealing the same kid he’s always been, ‘It’s you, here.’

‘Yeah no fuckin’ shit Sherlock Holmes.’ he snaps, patting his pockets to find a lighter in an attempt to give his hands something to do other than shake. Fuck, he must’ve left it inside.

‘I didn’t know you were out-’ Ian starts awkwardly, almost as if he doesn’t know what to do now that he actually has Mickey in front of him, like the bastard didn’t follow him up here and practically demand his audience.

‘Are we really going to do the fucking sentimentalities?’ It comes out way more breathy and defeated than Mickey would’ve liked but he’s tired, overwhelmed and really just wants a smoke. They stare at each other, it’s awkward and clunky and full of history. ‘Like, how's the fucking weather been? Really?’

‘No, I just- you look good.’ Ian offers quietly, his eyes flickering down, following Mickey’s entire body to the floor. It should feel good, getting checked out, but it doesn’t.

‘Not a lot to do in prison other than work out.’ Mickey says firmly, puffing his chest out slightly. He doesn’t miss the way Ian’s shoulders slump as a response at the mention of his incarceration.

Good.

Truthfully, other than his heart hurting every minute of everyday, the majority of prison feels like a blur to him now. It was hours of working out, fucking and volunteering in the canteen, the library, the yard. Anything to keep his mind off of things. He’s managed to keep up with the working out though, regularly running around the top end of central park and he sometimes gets one on one boxing lessons from a guy down the road. It feels good, he feels strong. Ian was always the strong one between the two of them - not any more.

‘How ya been?’ Ian asks casually as if it’s only been weeks and not years, the ease at which he says it slaps Mickey, it stings.

‘Oh real fuckin’ fine and dandy.’ Mickey replies harshly and Ian’s eyebrows drop, his forehead creased by the words that hang unspoken. Mickey can feel a heavy scowl form on his face, it hurts with the intensity he’s holding it.

‘We could, uh, go for a beer? and talk, maybe?’ Ian presses earnestly, somewhat testing the waters. Mickey can’t help but bark out a laugh. Nine years of fucking silence and the guy wants to go for a beer. His stomach churns and he feels like he’s going to vomit. He stares at him, his silent answer glaringly obvious. Ian’s eyes fall, they’re heavy and sad and they’re burning right into Mickey’s skin. He shakes his head, exhausted by it all and goes to close the door, but Ian steps forward sharply and grabs the handle.

‘Don’t- Mick, please.’

The nickname stabs Mickey in the gut. He can’t do this.

‘Really, Ian?’ Mickey asks in disbelief, ‘Nine fucking years of nothing and you want to go for a beer-’

‘I know that-’ Ian tries but Mickey keeps barrelling through.

‘Act like I never went to prison for your ass?’ Mickey fires back sharply, unable to hold it all back, ‘And you never fucking visited me? Not once after that first time- six years I sat there like a bitch and nothing.’

Mickey’s breathing is ragged, his chest heaving. He's angry, he's so fucking angry.  

Ian’s face crumbles. He resigns and releases his hand from where he’d been holding the door open and steps back cautiously, shame hangs in the air between them.

‘I just want to talk to you.’ Ian says softly, his eyes serious but desperate. There’s a glimmer of wetness in them that makes Mickey want to both scream and take him into his arms. They’re the same green eyes Mickey filled into the 'IAN GALLAGHER' filing cabinet and locked away in the back of his mind - he doesn’t think he’s even slept with someone with green eyes since Ian. He’s fucked a lot of gingers over the years, a lot more than he would ever probably admit, but those eyes? They’re something you can’t just replicate.

Fuck those sad eyes, he thinks, you don’t get to be sad.

You don’t get to be sad when you are the one that did this.

‘We had six years to talk.’ Mickey bites back venomously, he’s not sure where this surge of confidence came from but he’s grabbing it by the reins and riding it out.

‘I know, I-’ Ian steps forward, his hands raised up as a peace offering. Mickey wants to push them far away but also grab them by the wrist and never let him go. His head hurts, he’s confused. He wants to throw up.

‘Ian?’ A voice calls out from down the hall, slicing through the red hot tension between the two men. Mickey breathes out heavily and glances down the hall at his younger sister.

Fantastic, just what he needs. He braces himself.

‘Ian!’ Mandy all but squeals, throwing her arms around him happily, her skinny arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. He lifts her off the ground easily for a moment before dropping her back on her feet. God, they're like a bunch of school kids. Mickey shifts his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, not knowing where to put himself between the two old friends, and ultimately, he just wants to leave.

‘It’s so good to see you, Mandy.’ Ian says quietly, the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile, his eyes then shift plainly over to Mickey. He looks away sharply.

Mandy steps back, throwing a slow glance between the two of them, Mickey standing in the doorway, eyes down, and Ian a few feet back. The atmosphere shifts as her slow realisation sets in.

It’s an echo of a moment all those years ago, Mandy standing in the doorway just before Mickey’s disastrous marriage to Svetlana after Ian had begged him not to go through with it.

‘Am I interrupting something?’ She asks awkwardly, and Mickey wishes his sister could just read the fucking room for once.

‘Uhhh…’ Ian begins, clearly unsure where to start but Mickey rolls his eyes because fuck this.

‘No, you’re not.’ He grunts, turning around quickly and slamming the door on the two of them - despite knowing fully well that Mandy has her own key and Ian could walk right in there anyway.

He stomps into the kitchen and paces, the filing cabinet deep in the back of his brain marked ‘IAN GALLAGHER’ breaks open like Pandora's box and decade old memories he’s tried so hard the last few years to lock up come flooding out. They fall out onto the kitchen floor and Mickey feels like he’s drowning.

I love you. What the hell does that even mean?

Shut up.

Don’t. Don’t what? Just…

Shut up.

You love me and you’re gay.

Shut up.

Ian what you and I have, makes me free.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. He slams his fist into the wall, pain coursing through his knuckles and up his arm. It does nothing to relieve his anxiety, only leaving him with an inch dent in the wall he’s going to have to fork out for at some point. He can’t bring himself to care.

He pulls the fridge door open and reaches to the back for a knocked over beer. He opens it deftly and chugs it in one. It’s bitter as it goes down and does nothing to suppress the swarming unwanted thoughts.

Chugging beer in the dugouts, covered in blood, breathless. Kissing. Fucking. The taste of beer and blood and sweat lingering on each other’s lips.

‘Fuck.’ He mutters, he can’t even have a fucking drink in peace without his brain reminding him and reminding him and reminding him.

Reminding him that if Ian walked in right now, heart and arms open, Mickey would probably fall into them willingly, years worth of heartbreak be damned.

Fuck, he thought he was done with this. He’s worked so fucking hard at being done with this, but apparently, Ian Gallagher is allowed to just walk back into his life - without notice - and set fire to years of his progress.

He reaches for the fridge door and has his hand wrapped around his next beer when Mandy comes storming in, knocking it from his grip. It clatters to the floor, spinning slowly to a stop below the sink.

‘You’re a fuckin’ rude asshole, you know that?’ She spits, her face twisted and ugly.

‘Fuck off.’ He fires back, once again going to open the fridge without bothering to pick up the fallen can off the linoleum. He just wants to get fucking drunk and forget, but of course, Mickey’s not one to usually get what he wants. Mandy’s hand slams the fridge shut before Mickey can even inch it open.

‘You haven’t seen the guy in years, you could at least be fuckin’ nice.’

‘Can’t a guy have a fuckin’ beer in his own home?’ Mickey snorts, feigning nonchalance but fooling neither of them. He steps out of her glare and bends down to collect the fallen can. It’s gonna be a bitch to open, but clearly access is denied to the fridge right now. He needs another drink.

‘No wonder he fucking dropped your ass as soon as you got locked up.’

He stops. Mickey feels like he’s been slapped.

One hand grips the can and the other balls instinctively into a fist. He stares down at the floor, he can’t move, panic and anger and sadness all flare up in his chest, like broken fireworks spitting out against a dark sky. He was brought up to never use violence against women, but fuck, this is the first time in his life he feels like punching, slapping, or doing something to his sister. Making her feel even an ounce of the agony he’s dealt with for the best part of a decade.  He won’t, but his hands are shaking, his breath is rising up his throat and he wants to scream.

He doesn’t. He stays there, halfway bent down to the floor, staring at his shaking white knuckles wrapped around the Bud light in his left hand.

‘Fuck you.’ He grunts without looking up. Mandy scoffs and turns away, padding slowly into her room. Her door slams shut and Mickey’s knees buckle to the floor.

He lies on the dirty kitchen floor and breathes.

[jisssooyah]

Hi you... if you were going to curate a little season of films for me, which ones would you choose and why? They don't need to be horror, I'm just curious what you would choose 🌸

I don’t know if you’ll like these movies, or if you’ve already watched them, but after i watched these films, i felt like they might need to belong to you now. i hope they make you smile, roll your eyes, and cry just as much as i did.

1. city of god (2002): this is one of the most immersive and gorgeously shot films i’ve ever seen. it’s set in rio de janeiro during the 60s and spans decades exploring the drug culture in the slums and how this can affect kids just as they are trying to figure their own selves out. the way this film is shot, feels like you were at the sea with them as the sand crunched underneath your feet. but the way that the director captures these individuals, makes you so fucking relieved that you don’t live through any of the circumstances that they go through. 

2. the dreamers (2004): set in 1968, this film follows three students in Paris who come of age and explore one another and their limits during the revolution. while these students prop themselves up as individuals obsessed with sex, running underneath themselves is a current of jealousy, obsession, and blurred familial relationships that made me increasingly uncomfortable. you find yourself feeling bad for the children, and ultimately upset at their upbringing because of their parents. 

3. if beale street could talk (2018): this movie is based off of james baldwin’s titular 1974 novel. in it, the director expertly and vigorously explores love: a love that feels so real that it hurts. the cast is what sold this film to me. the way they talk, laugh, cry, and smile at one another is achingly beautiful and terrifyingly sad. i wanted to transport myself back to their time period and watch the main characters fall in love because the film didn’t seem like enough. 

4. the neon demon (2016): this film follows an emerging model who sacrifices herself to the demands of the industry in order to be attractive and beautiful. there are so many stunning colors in this film that it makes you dizzy, like you’re in a trance and that’s what this world is for the main character: a trance. as she oscillates between reality and fantasy, her world and the characters in it, increasingly seek out to alter her personality. 

5. death becomes her (1992): a deliberately ultra-campy parody of trashy, pandering "women's pictures," soap operas and paperbacks from the '80s and '90s. The three leads all do some of their best work - it's hilarious watching Meryl Streep play a terrible actress, Goldie Hawn is particularly hilarious during her character's cat lady phase, and all around just a really fun and eccentric film. 

6. princess cyd (2017): i can’t think of anything to write for this but i just wanna say that this is literally one of the most pleasant movie experiences i’ve ever had. so much light and genuine interaction in warm sun rays radiating positive energy and an openness that is far too uncommon in movies nowadays. people talk, people connect, people grow bonds and are allowed to be sexual or intimate or personal without an air of shame or judgement. just pure kind and curious human association. 

7. spiderman: into the spiderverse (2018): the message of Spider-Verse is not "gentrify yourself! stop expressing your personality and just conform to what society wants you to be!" After all, what makes you different makes you Spider-Man, and Miles' final expression of himself as a superhero still retains much of his personality and individuality...they're just being used in more productive and fulfilling ways. It's the little things that drive the point home, like noticing that the title page for Miles' finished Great Expectations essay has been stylistically doodled and colored like street art. Rather than seeing his artistic gifts as an opposition to his schoolwork, Miles infuses them together to make the best of the hand he's been dealt.

8. my life as a zucchini (2016): initially heartbreaking and sad, but slowly becoming more joyful and heartwarming as the plot moves along. The film really feels like it captures the essence and child like wonder of these kids, all of them going through hardships but managing to find something to help each other out. It’s so refreshing to see the actual orphanage portrayed in a more positive light, not the usual horrid dump that a lot of lesser movies play them out as. The animation is stunning. One of the best uses of stop motion I’ve seen, everything is so colourful and detailed. There’s some moments set in snowy mountains and these look incredible. There’s clearly been so much love and care put into each and every scene here. The music too, sounds spectacular, it really works well with each scene. 

9. lovesong (2016): Mindy and Sarah have that type of relationship where they don't need words because they speak in a language made out of glances and touches. This movie is about the fear of ruining a meaningful friendship and losing an important person, about love that is so complicated that one might not even try because the outcome seems to be so obvious.

10. her (2013): Heartbreak is formative: it changes you heart side out, and leaves your muscles a little stronger, your skin a little thicker, your bones easier to repair. Before this film, I’d never seen anything constructive in having your insides pulled apart by the seams by another person, but this film taught me how. Being in love and then being forced out of it is an experience that changes you fundamentally, but Her taught me its purpose – you don’t need them to leave you so that you can find someone who’s a better fit, because perhaps you never will. You need it to participate in humanity. The common denominator is being hurt, and without it, you’re barely alive.

11. shoplifters (2018): bittersweet and richly transportive, Shoplifters is a film that nonchalantly eases you into its tragic beauty in a way that doesn't punch you hard until the end. It simultaneously made me want to be part of the film's world and also very glad that I'm not. The setting the characters live in is messy and cluttered and full of dysfunction and lies, but it's also got family, and laughter, and fist-bumps, and slurping warm noodles while rain pings on the tin rooftop. So nuanced, so many tiny moments of delicate beauty and unassuming heartbreak, so many people making terrible decisions with good intentions.

12. god’s own country (2017): though it is a love story between two men, this aspect is only addressed briefly in a single scene. Rather, the film is about finding someone who makes you want to be a better person, someone who comes into your life just when you needed it most. Gheorghe helps Johnny open up and realize the beauty of the simple life. From this relationship, Johnny begins to feel comfortable with expressing himself, and his love and gratitude towards others. He also begins to appreciate life in the country, surrounded by stunning landscapes and the beauty of simplicity. Addressing the Yorkshire countryside, Gheorghe says "It is beautiful, but lonely." Johnny is presented with the notion that he doesn't have to be cold and miserable, slaving and drinking his days away. He is presented with the possibility of no longer being alone and finally finding happiness and contentment - and it is more than gratifying to see him accept it.

13. disobedience (2017): a tender star-crossed daydream. the three main character dynamics are special enough on their own, but the romance that blooms at the center is cathartically intimate and even magical: a reunion that feels so inevitable. catching glimpses of a past life, details we aren’t privy to. all the stolen kisses and whispers and promises. a bond so strong that they fall back in sync with each other like second nature, even if they try to fight against it. even if it won’t work. and yet they choose each other, even if for a few minutes.

14. raw (2016): this film is so gross and I like that. There is tons of blood and unique body horror and it all works perfectly for the tone the film is attempting to set. The use of color, specifically neons, creates a constant feeling that you are traveling through some sort of weird ghost world, which I really like. Overall, it's a very well put together film with flashes of brilliance.

15. the night is short, walk on girl (2017): what an absolutely magical adventure of a film. Essentially this is a heavily episodic look at a night in the lives of several people, centered on a woman and a man as she gleefully floats from event to event while he neurotically obsesses over how to "coincidentally" talk to her. The storytelling is incredible; while the overarching narrative is simple there are countless threads woven together to connect everyone in the story to each other. That in itself is a big theme: connections between people, how everything is interrelated, and what a large impact seemingly insignificant things people do can have an impact on everyone around them.

16. coraline (2009): Coraline is the best stop motion movie ever made in my opinion. Before the film released in 2009, I read the book and was completely blown away by its creativity and story. It’s a pretty dark tale featuring many scenes of fright that work well in both a horror setting and an animated kids setting. On surface value, this film is quite horrifying, which is something I’ve always loved about it. While it does make a few minor changes to the book, it improves upon a piece of art that was already jaw-droppingly good. Coraline feels like a real little girl with some real problems. She’s selfish but likable which is something most films cannot translate well. Of course, she has a pretty awesome arc as well which brings this movie to a perfect close for her character. The other-mother is also perfectly done. She is almost exactly how I imagined her in the book and the animation on her is spookily gorgeous. There is not one dull moment in this film. It is literally a perfect piece of cinema.

17. the third wife (2019): haven’t seen a film this visually delicate in a while. Ash Mayfair works with the looming mountain surroundings to make her characters —these women, these girls— as small as possible, as isolated as possible. Uneasiest of all is the protagonist May, so young and so weighed by responsibility, her position blurs between being one of the wives and being one of the daughters. It’s an extremely bleak tale of circumstance. An old tale, certainly, but so beautifully crafted it doesn’t matter. Mayfair holds a fearful tension throughout, and it only ever shatters in the cruelest of ways.The abundance of women and display of sisterhood begin as a comfort, but horror takes over as we realize how conditional and fragile that comfort is. Even the daughters are subconsciously aware, one of them praying to the gods to grow up and become a man, shearing her hair off in naive triumph. It’s a doomed cycle of girls performing roles which are unfortunately their best option, right up until the final scene of May with her daughter, still in their mourning clothes. She, like the older wives, finally realizes they’re the same as the cattle laying on their side for too many days.

[journalofagirl]

September 21, 2020

I went to a school. It was a thousand miles away from home (literally). And I can’t tell you why I went. I think I went because my dad wanted me to play soccer in college. So I went. And I was miserable.

I hated going to practice everyday. I hated my frozen dorm room. I hated the food. I hated my professors. I hated the small town. And I hated that everyone else was so fucking happy when I was so fucking miserable. 

My epilepsy kept me from going out after 10 PM. I think that contributed to me not being able to bond with anyone. Everyone else had their people, and I was stuck watching from the outside. It was like I could physically be there, but all I did was take up space. I sat on the floor when there wasn’t room on the couches, I sat slightly outside the circle that couldn’t fit everyone, I walked behind everyone when there wasn’t enough room on the sidewalk. I could walk away and nobody would notice. Even my roommate moved out of our room into her own.

I tried to connect to people. I swear I did. But somehow I wasn’t enough in one way or another. 

I spent mid-October 2019 through mid-February 2020 in a haze. I can’t tell you where one month started and another began. I can’t tell you what I was tested over. I couldn’t read more than two sentences of my favorite book. I can somewhat recall coming back from class and just laying in bed, not even taking off my shoes, and just laying there. Not being able to sleep, but not being able to do anything either. Just stuck there, empty. 

What brought me out of it was realizing that I could get out. I found hope. And then I felt something besides emptiness and despair for the first time in a while, anger. Angry at the people who called themselves my friends, but didn’t even take notice to how empty I was. Angry because if they did notice, they did nothing to help. Angry at my dad for wanting me to play college soccer. Angry at that small town for being so small and not allowing me to find a place of escape. Angry at the weather for raining every single fucking day. And more than anything, angry at myself for getting myself into the situation in the first place. 

So I made sure my grades were perfect. I made sure my applications were perfect. I refused to let myself fall back into that pit of emptiness no matter how lonely I still was. I was getting out. And I was going to be happy.

Then corona happened. And it was the best thing to ever happen to me. I didn’t have to go back. Ever again. 

So I transferred. And now I’m at a new school. And it’s so much better. The food is edible, my classes are actually engaging, I don’t have to play soccer, I can control the temperature of my room, my building isn’t infested with strange creatures, it doesn’t rain everyday, and it isn’t filled with people who pretend to care. 

But there’s one problem: I have no friends.

I don’t even know where to start. All I have in person are discussion sections that nobody is happy to be at and nobody talks to one another. The physics discussion has interaction between students, but I don’t know how to talk to them without coming across as a know-it-all asshole. 

In the end I’m still just lonely. But not completely empty like I was before. I’m happier. But I’d really like to not be lonely.

And then there’s the part where I’m flirting with the idea of labeling myself as ace, or maybe even aroace. I’ve never looked at anyone in a more-than-platonic way. And I have never felt sexually attracted to anyone. I can tell you if I think that someone is attractive, but there’s no sexual connotation to it. 

And since I pretty much have no friends, I have no one to talk to about the ace/aroace thing.