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sweeter-fantasy · 3 years

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Because I Like You

The Quiett (Shin Dong Gab) X Reader

genre: a little angst, fluff

synopsis: I just love him and I’m slightly projecting in here, a little shitty mental health and he is the sweetest man ever

warning: a mention of bad mental health, anxiety, depression, but nothing serious

word count: 2330

a/n: it took me a while because life, and mental health, but I worked really hard on it and I hope you guys will like it

You never liked leaving your house, you always feared people were looking at you, judging you, big crowds made you uneasy, and having to look presentable at all times was just too much for you, so working from home was the perfect solution for you, and your ability to work with words turned you into a great freelancer.

You were basically the opposite of your neighbor tho, he was a famous rapper in Korea, you had seen him on TV every once in a while, he was always surrounded by people and seemed so comfortable being the center of attention. Even on those rare days when he stayed in, his friends would come over, and although sometimes they were a bit too noisy for your liking, especially when you were working, you enjoyed it, you were happy for him and his friends, and their laughter was a great white noise for you at times.

The only contact between the two of you was a silent “hey” at the rare times he saw you leaving the house, usually, to get groceries, the note he would slip under your door, informing you that his friends would be coming over and apologizing for the noise, and the baked goods you would leave outside his door as you were stress baking and didn’t want to eat everything alone, usually also leaving a note with a nice message, wishing he was well.

***

You were scrolling through social media as you were waiting in line at the grocery store, and amongst all the random posts you saw that Jay Park posted a photo with The Quiett, wishing him happy birthday. You looked at the picture, although he wasn’t really your type you had to admit there was something quite attractive about him.

While you were checking out your groceries you decided to bake him a cake and to try and get out of your comfort zone, and give him the cake yourself instead of leaving it outside his door.

On the way to your apartment building, you noticed a small group of men standing outside, smoking. As you passed by them you could feel that they were looking at you, and when you walked inside you could see they were slightly looking at you and talking about something, your anxiety telling you that you were the subject of the conversation.

You pushed this thought to the back of your head, and got up to your apartment, looking for a recipe on your phone.

Around three hours later you finished making the cake, with a nice “happy birthday” written and chocolate-covered fresh fruit decorating it. You quickly changed into more presentable clothes, that weren’t covered in flour and chocolate.

You looked at the mirror, making sure you were clean, grabbed the cake, and left your apartment. You stood outside his door, and you could hear the faint music and loud talking from inside. You took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Seconds later he opened the door, surprised to see you standing there. You could see through the open door the same men you saw downstairs and quickly looked back at him.

“y/n! Hey! I didn’t expect to see you here,” he smiled at you.

“I just came to wish you a happy birthday,” you said shyly, holding out the cake.

“aw thank you! The cake looks great! You shouldn’t have…”

“yeah but I felt like I should,” you looked down, “you should get back to your friends now."

"do you want to come in? We’re having a little birthday party."

"thank you but I should get going, happy birthday!"

"thank you!” he smiled at you, only closing the door after you entered your house, and walked back to the living room, placing the cake on the table.

***

“Hyung who was that?” Jinyoung asked as all of them were curious about you after seeing you twice the same day.

“oh, that was my neighbor, y/n, she baked me a cake,” he smiled, his ears slightly red, thinking about your smile.

“she’s the same neighbor who usually brings you baked goods? The one you always talk about?” Sungbin asked, “why don’t you just invite her for coffee or something? You obviously want to spend time with her…"

"I don’t know… She’s not really the type to spend time with people, but I’d need to return the plate, so maybe then, I’ll see…"

Donggab went to the kitchen to bring spoons and plates, and to avoid the kids’ eyes, still thinking about your cute smile and good heart.

***

A couple of days later, after they finished the cake and Donggab did the dishes, he tried to muster up the courage to ask you out for coffee. It’s not that you were an intimidating person, he was just amazed by the amount of time you could spend alone, with only music as your company, how you were so nice yet always looked like you wanted to be left alone, he just didn’t want to intrude, to make you feel uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath, before finally ringing the doorbell. After what he felt like forever you opened the door, he noticed your hair was all perked up in different directions, and how you rubbed your puffy eyes, and how you were still beautiful in his eyes, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that your eyes weren’t puffy and red from only sleeping, he could swear there was a trail from a tear on your cheek before you rubbed it.

“Is everything okay?” you yawned while tiredly looking at him, you had so many deadlines lately you barely had time to sleep, you fell asleep the second you submitted your last work.

“Oh um yeah, everything is great, I just, I just wanted to return your plate, I had no idea I’d wake you up, I’m so sorry,”

“That’s okay, people don’t usually sleep at this time of the day,” you weakly smiled as he handed you the plate, “thanks for returning it.”

“Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah, I just had a really busy week, that’s all,” you yawned again, “I’m gonna go back to sleep now, thanks again for the plate!”

“Y/n!” he quickly called your name, using his hand to stop you from closing the door. He had to ask you, it was now or never.

“Yeah?”

“I-I was wondering,” he was too nervous to look at your face so he decided to focus on your ear instead, so it would at least look like he looks at you, “um, I’m going over to my parents for a couple of days, and I was wondering if you… if you would like to come over for coffee or tea or something when I come back on Friday?”

“Sure, sounds great! Have fun with your parents!” you smiled at him, before closing the door. When you placed the plate in the kitchen you noticed your reflection in the microwave, and shook your head, he was just being friendly.

“Or was he being more than just friendly?” you questioned yourself as you lay in bed, “could he possibly be into me? No way, I mean, we’re so different, it was just a friendly offer,” you convinced yourself, not wanting to build your expectations, so you wouldn’t get hurt and disappointed.

***

The days passed fast, and before you could even notice it was already Friday. Although you were excited about having coffee with Donggab, you were overworked and your mental state has taken its toll on you, everything was a little too much. You fell asleep in the morning, telling yourself you will wake up by the time you and Donggab agreed upon.

Donggab returned earlier than he thought and texted you the second he walked into his apartment. As he went to put his things away he mentioned how messy his apartment is. He glanced at the clock, seeing he still had around two hours until you were supposed to come over, he decided to clean up a little bit.

Time passed quickly, and when he finished cleaning and organizing he noticed you were supposed to come over any minute now, but before he could get changed he checked his phone only to see that you didn’t text him back, you haven’t even seen his message. He decided not to overthink it and went to get changed. But as the minutes were passing by, and soon turned into half an hour, forty minutes, fifty minutes, an hour, he began to feel worried. He texted you again, and called you, and then texted and called again, he was getting more worried by the minute. He put his shoes on and crossed the hallway to your apartment, ringing the doorbell.

He had to ring the doorbell five times until you woke up and opened the door, wearing a large hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, hair messy, and your eyes all puffy and red again, but this time Donggab could see the trail from your dried tears, you were too tired to even notice that.

“Donggab? What are you doing here?” you asked, your mind still clouded from sleep.

“We were supposed to meet up an hour ago, you didn’t show up and I got worried,” he sighed, relieved you weren’t hurt, but still extremely worried about you, “can I come in?”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want to talk in the hallway,” you went to the living room, and he closed the door behind him as he followed you, sitting on the couch, facing each other.

“Listen, I’m so sorry, I… I just fell asleep and didn’t notice the time,” you said, looking at his face, feeling like you screwed up your friendship with him, “it really was an accident, I was actually looking forward to that.”

“y/n, is anything wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

"look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone,” he looked you in the eyes, seeing something break in them, he understood he hit a sensitive spot.

“So what? You were nice to me only because you pitied me?” you looked at him sternly, your suspicions were true, he didn’t care, “I don’t need your pity.”

“What? No,” he sighed, “I don’t pity you, I honestly admire the fact that you don’t depend on other people for your happiness. What I meant to say is, something is definitely wrong, you can’t deny it.”

“What do you mean, definitely wrong?”

“Your eyes, they’re always red and puffy, at least when I see you, sometimes, when you don’t have the time to wash your face, I can see the dried tears,” he stopped for a second, trying to read your face, “I heard you cry a couple of times, I just didn’t know what to do… that’s why I’m trying so hard to befriend you, so you could trust me. You’re nice and sweet and genuinely kind, this isn’t right for you to suffer, and I want to be there for you, I want you to be able to count on me.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you,” he whispered.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, you didn’t know what to say. So many thoughts were running through your head, you wanted to scream. Deep down you knew he was right, you didn’t deserve to suffer, to be alone your entire life, you didn’t want to lose him.

“Being around people makes me nervous,” you said quietly, looking down at your hands, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, “I’m so scared about people trying to hurt me that I don’t even want to try and make friends, but here you are, telling me that you want to be my friend?” the last part came out as a question, you still couldn’t believe it.

“I really do care about you, you know?” he put one hand on yours, using the other to gently cup your face, wiping the tears with his thumb, “but you’re wrong, I don’t want to be your friend.”

Your heart dropped hearing him say that.

“I probably shouldn’t have stopped talking after that,” he chuckled, “I meant to say, that by inviting you for coffee I wanted to ask you out on a date, I just didn’t know how. I mean, your eyes, they’re so beautiful that when you look at me I forget what I want to say, your smile just lights up the room, and I always want to be around you and talk to you, so maybe… I like you even more than I thought?”

“I-I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he looked down suddenly as if he was ashamed of his confession, “I mean, we’re pretty different, and I’m quite older than you, and-”

“I would love to go on a date with you,” you interrupted him, you didn’t want to hear reasons as to why you shouldn’t be with him, “I was just surprised, but I think I like you too, and going on a date with you would be great.”

He smiled hearing you say that, relieved after he asked you out.

“If you’re already here, you can stay for dinner…” you looked at him hopefully, you wanted him to stay.

“Only if you agree to call this our first date,” he smirked at you, not wanting to leave either.

“Fine,” you jokingly scoffed, “we’ll call it a date.”

“Great! I’ll order take out.”

“Sounds good,” you smiled, and got up to go and wash your face, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t believe how the night turned out, but you were happy. You smiled to yourself as you washed your face and brushed your hair, having a good feeling about you and Donggab. You finally had your shot at happiness.

#the quiett #shin donggab #illionaire #illionare records #ambition musik #the quiett scenarios #the quiett imagines #shin donggab scenarios #shin donggab imagines #khh #khh scenarios #khh imagines #sweeter fantasy writing #khh fanfics #khiphop #Daniel Cher

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crutchie-with-a-y · 3 years

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Chapter 2: The Morning Machine

Chapter 1

"Wait, wait, what?!" Specs almost spat out his beer in surprise. "Jack and Davey? Those stubborn idiots? They finally got together?"

"Yep," Smalls said, smacking the back of a pack of cigarettes and sticking one in her mouth. She leaned her face towards the end of Race's cigarette to light her own. "End of one of Jack's art galleries, he finally sold a piece, and he was so happy."

"Hey," Specs snapped the cigarette out from between her teeth and took a drag. "Aren't you a little young to be smoking?" The rest of them laughed while she bit her bottom lip in a smile of annoyance.

"A, I'm nineteen," She snatched it back. "And B, you started smoking at thirteen so I don't wanna hear it." The group chuckled. Elmer, Race, Smalls, Mush, Finch, and Specs had all been sitting on the fire escape sipping drinks and passing stories and updating Specs on all that had happened in the time that he'd been gone. They'd been at it for hours, but it didn't feel like it'd been that long. That's how time passed when Specs was with his crew. He remembered coming home around four when he was a kid and just talking with his friends until Sarah came in and asked if anyone had had dinner yet considering it was eleven. "And Jack's doing art galleries now?" Specs asked, glancing down at the cars that were sputtering to life in the street. They'd talked clean through those early hours of the morning that still feel like night, and now they'd reached the early hours of the actual morning when the sun peaked over the roofs of apartment buildings and people started heading out for school and work. "Oh, yeah," Elmer started, but before he could continue, a brown-haired woman stuck her head out the window from the apartment to the fire escape. "Do any of you need any extra food for today? Considering that I have to leave in" She stopped rubbing her eyes to smack a thin, sage-colored watch on her wrist. "Jesus, I was supposed to leave already. Anyone need anything?" "SARAH!" Specs shouted with glee, causing her eyes to slam open. "Oh my lord, Specs, Darling! Where have you been?" Sarah smiled brightly with outstretched arms, the exhaustion wiped clear off her face. He stumbled over his friends and wrapped the only maternal figure he had in his life in the strongest hug he could muster. He used to run up to her and bury his face in her stomach, but now she barely reached his shoulder. "I thought I said to stop growing at five-seven, " She grinned, lightly tapping his nose with her finger. "Now you're going to be hitting your head when you get inside." "What time is it, Sarah?" Race said, over-pronouncing the R in her name. The rest of the group was stretching out and picking up empty beers. "About 5:15, Racer," She responded, mimicking him. "Ah, shit, I gotta catch my train in ten minutes." Finch scooched past everyone and pushed himself through the window. Everyone else groaned in similar frustration and began to climb through the window. Except for Elmer, who stretched back out on the porch with his hands behind his head. "Ah, the joys of unemployment. I don't have to be anywhere today," He smirked, his eyes closed in relaxation. "You got fired, Nitwit," Mush smacked him in the back of the head. "You gotta go find a job and go get those kids up for Sarah." Elmer groaned. "Tell them there's a pot of oatmeal on the stove and I sweetened it so don't add any more sugar," Sarah said as she waved Specs through the window. Elmer nodded and climbed onto the outside of the fire escape. "Oh, Elmer use the LADDER, Lord, you gotta cut that out!" Sarah hollered as Elmer dropped from the edge of the fire escape onto the one below. Specs laughed as he stepped into the apartment he knew so well. It hadn't changed much. To the left of the fire escape window was a dim bedroom with no light fixtures, and to the right, it opened up into a living room that extended into a small kitchen with a tiny bar and no room for a table. The living room had a couple of ratty couches and a rocking chair facing a beat-up old television. Old, creaking mattresses were scattered all over the floor, some stacked with piles of blankets and some with sleeping bodies still in them. The walls were covered in drawings and notes and school papers that had been tacked up with pride. Specs smiled. He could still see some of his work decorating the room. It was so good to be back. "Where the hell did Elmer just go?" Specs asked, blinking out of his nostalgia. "Oh, we had enough growing boys and enough of us had jobs that we decided to rent out the Jamesons' apartment after they moved to California," Sarah informed him, walking into the kitchen. "Yeah, and 'cuz with all those "growing boys" this place smelled like actual ass," Smalls said, plopping her petite body down onto one of the couches. "Don't get too comfy, you got work too, You Little Brat," Mush reached over the back of the couch and picked her up, throwing her over the back of his shoulder and carrying her towards the bedroom, Smalls squealing as they went. "Ohhh, alright." Specs followed Sarah into the kitchen where she was bagging up sandwiches at the counter. He reached for a bag to help, but she poked him and gestured for the sink. He smirked and walked over to turn the faucet on and began scrubbing his hands. "Yeah, it's been nice to have the extra space. The bedroom up here has everyone's clothes in it, and downstairs we have a couple of desks and a crib." Sarah said, finishing with a little hum. Specs loved that sound. She always made it when she was happy about something. Specs could tell she was proud of how far they'd come since renting out that single bedroom all those years ago. He knew, he was there, he remembered it like it was yesterday. He was proud too. "Wait, what do you need a crib for? Specs questioned, flicking his hands. He did some quick calculations in his head. "Everyone should be.....twelve at least." "We have a couple of babies, well, used to be babies." Sarah pulled a marker out of a drawer and began scrawling names on the lunch bags in her smudged, loopy handwriting. Always was like that, Specs thought to himself. "Now I think they count as kids, but they're still small enough to sleep in a crib without too much protest." "Where the hell did you find babies?" Specs was still confused. "Sarah brought them in from work," Finch entered the kitchen to brush his teeth at the sink. "From work?" Specs glanced between the both of them, passing a bag to Sarah. "Yeah, she's a lunch lady at an elementary school," Finch said, his mouth foaming with toothpaste. "Can't you tell?" Sarah laughed, gesturing to her long, white, button-up dress and white sneakers. She stepped back from the counter and walked into the living room, kneeling in front of the TV to look at her reflection on the screen to pin up her hair. "Yeah, and some of the kids there didn't have a place to go so she brought them here. And they had younger siblings." Finch finished brushing and turned around, drying his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. "That's....so nice of her." Specs looked back at Sarah, who had finished pinning up her hair and was now gentling shaking awake those who were still in bed. "I know and," Finch looked down at the rows of lunch bags sitting on the counter. "Christ, she did it again." Specs looked at him with his eyebrow raised. "She gets up every morning at like four and makes everyone lunches and breakfasts, no matter how old they are." He explained. "Just like she did when we were kids." Specs said quietly, his heart suddenly aching. "Yeah," Finch shook his head. Their attention was drawn away by the sound of the apartment door opening and a dozen footsteps coming in. A stream of kids, ages three to around seventeen came through the door, all yawning and chatting with each other. Some were carrying half-eaten bowls of oatmeal and some were jumping on each other's backs. Some of the faces Specs recognized, and others were entirely new to him. But they all had the innocent, playful aura of kids raised by the newsies of Lower Manhattan. As the apartment began to fill with lean bodies and laughter, none other than Jack Kelly stepped through the door in his loose white T-shirt and faded blue jeans, ushering the last of the line of youngens through the door. His eyes looked to his left at the kitchen counter and his brow furrowed. He stepped into the living room and raised his voice over the chatter. "So you mean to tell me that the lovely Ms. Sarah Jacobs with a full-time job got up at the ass-crack of dawn to make all of us breakfast and lunch and nobody is going to thank her?" Sarah looked up from where she had been kneeling on the floor in front of the mattress and locked eyes with Specs. Before she could move though, the swarm of bodies rushed towards her and latched on, yelling their "Thank Yous" and "You look so pretty todays" and "You're the bests" so loud the neighbors across the street must have heard. Then a couple of the older kids lifted her up on their shoulders, despite her giggling protests. They carried her towards the door when she began to say she needed to leave, and everyone shouted a wall-shaking "I LOVE YOU SARAH" as they lowered her to the door. She laughed loudly and said she loved everyone too before making her way down the hall. "Every morning," Race said, strolling into the kitchen behind Specs and his face-bursting smile. "I swear that woman has more children than God himself," Another familiar voice said, pushing through the door past the kids. David Jacobs slid into the kitchen, met by Jacks welcoming arms. "Specs! Specs, you're here!" David's eyes went wide as he noticed him. Specs had completely forgotten that he was even there, he felt like he'd been watching a movie. "I didn't even see you there!" Jack wrapped him in a tight hug...and then a scarring noogie. "H-HI, Jack," Specs wriggled out from under his arm. Jack laughed with the tip of his tongue hanging out. How has nothing and everything changed at the same time, Specs thought, looking between Jack's characteristic laugh and the arm David had wrapped around his waist. "How have you been, Mr. Deserts-Us-For-Another-City-That-Isn't-Even-Close-To-Santa-Fe?" Jack asked, bending down to toss a tennis ball back to some kids in the living room. "Santa Fucking Fe? You're still on that musty desert town?" "Hey, it is not a musty desert town!" Jack protested before the ringing of an alarm clock that sat on the counter interrupted. "That's my cue to leave," Finch said, patting Specs on the back and grabbing his lunch as he made his way towards the door. "I'll see you at around five or maybe meet you for lunch at Jacobi's?" He said. Specs nodded, realizing as soon as Finch had left that he didn't know when his lunch was. "And that's our cue to start packing up," Jack said, stepping back into the living room. "Aho, everyone. The alarm just buzzed so let's get moving. Let's see if we can beat seven minutes today, THOSE PAPES DON’T SELL THEMSELVES!" Jack clapped and everyone started speeding around the apartment, in what Specs thought could only describe as efficient chaos. Blankets and sheets were torn of mattresses and folded in the same blink of an eye. The bare mattresses were then stacked in the corner of the room, while another group of kids began washing oatmeal bowls off and stacking them on the counter before grabbing lunch bags and passing them to their friends who they were labeled too. Specs felt a little less than useless, as he didn't know how to help and mostly felt like just a block in the gears of this morning machine. But when Jack and David started pointing him out to kids they were assisting and their eyes lit up with recognition, that feeling was washed away. "Specs! Guys, it's Specs!" A mid-teens Sniper called to his buddies, before running up and nearly knocking him over with his enthusiastic embrace. The kids talked at a mile a minute, and Specs didn't have time to answer all their questions before Jack yelled that it was time to go, and everyone rushed to get in a line in front of the door, their every hand gripping one of the brown paper lunches as they waved goodbye and filed out into the hall. Before he closed the door behind the last kid whose hand David was holding, Jack grabbed his and David's lunch and scanned the apartment before laying his eyes on Elmer. "Where the hell is Crutch?" He asked him, narrowing his eyes. Elmer's hands flew up with innocence, but before he could say anything, Jack snapped his fingers at him. "Don't be getting smart with me. I asked you to help him up here, and if I hear that it took any more than thirty seconds for you to be helping him up here, you're dead meat, you hear?" He said, his tone assertive. Elmer sighed and nodded, swinging his feet off the couch. "Okay, okay, I'm going, Jack." "Alright," Jack's face switched back to his cheerful morning grin. "Tell Jacobi I'm covering your lunch, Specs. Actually, I'm stupid. We all have lunch. Let's all meet at Jacobi's for an early dinner. Sounds good?" He looked around and everyone nodded. "Elmer, you get the word out to everyone before the end of the day?" "You's always asking me to do stuff," Elmer moaned dramatically. "Ah, yes well that's what those who are in charge are supposed to do. I can see why you got fired." Jack said snarkily. "Alright, see you after work. Love you Elms!" And with that he shut the door before the pillow Elmer through could get to him.

"As you can see, Jack is a completely different person," Race said dryly, spooning the last bit of his oatmeal into his mouth and heading towards the door. Specs chuckled as he watched through the window as Elmer dropped down the fire escape again. "Okay, I gotta be on my way too. Crutch could probably use a hand if you don't have any plans for the day. And make sure Elmer leaves by noon otherwise not everyone will know to come to Jacobi's for dinner. See ya!" And with that, Race spun out the door, and Specs was left alone, seeing his childhood home a way he had never seen it before. Empty.

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babbushka · 4 years

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The Shape of You (1/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

11.4k, Warnings: Mentions of blood/injury

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It’s warm, in the dream. Warm and black, in an all-consuming kind of way. You’ve had this dream before; it’s a comforting one, a familiar one. In it, you are surrounded by inky darkness, smooth and silky as it wraps around you. In it, you are walking through a grand expanse towards a light, red and glowing.

If you had not had this dream before you think you’d be terrified, think it an omen of some ominous kind. But the darkness is not something to be afraid of, you’ve come to learn. And when the red light beckons you, there is not a promise of evil on the other side, but rather one of liberating freedom.

You reach out to it, walks towards it. You’re in no hurry, in the dream, in no hurry at all. It’s patient, you find with relief as it seemingly takes eons and eons to navigate the soft velvet of wherever this place may be. As you get closer, little pricks of light begin to emerge, stars from a galaxy far far away. They twinkle as if they’re smiling down at you, and you smile back, unafraid.

You know how the dream ends; it ends the same every time. The jolt of your alarm clock bringing you back to consciousness, pulling you awake. You never seem to be able to reach the red light, but you aren’t discouraged by that – how could you be, when every time you have this dream you get closer and closer? When every time your hand seems to reach out a little farther?

It’s going to end soon, you think in the safety of your mind, in this little bubble you’ve built for yourself. The dream is going to end, and you’ll have to face the day, another day of being you, of being (Y/N). Soon enough you’ll get dressed and have breakfast with Armitage, your friend who lives next door, and he’ll complain about his students and you’ll complain about work only for a short while before you’ll need to go get ready to spend the next ten hours at the place.

It’s going to end soon, but that’s alright, because you know after those ten hours are up you’ll get to come home and hopefully, hopefully, have the dream again.

When you walk through the rich blackness of the void, when you approach the red light, this time you’ve gotten a step farther. This time you’ve reached your hand out nearly to the edge, nearly to the very edge of the red. It curls and winds around your hands like smoke, if smoke could be hot. It tugs at the tips of your fingers, wanting you to come closer closer closer, and you chuckle at its eagerness.

“One day.” You say sadly, in the dream. Or maybe you say it out loud, out in the real world too. You don’t know.

You live alone, so there’s no one to ask, no one to laugh at the way you talk in your sleep, if you do at all.

The red tugs on your hand again, insistent, but you shake your head with a sigh, you reclaim it because you have to, you have to or you’ll never wake up and then you’ll be late for work, and if you’re fired from this job then there will be astronomical consequences, consequences that you simply can’t risk.

The red seems to know this, and it’s almost as though you can feel it sighing too. It reaches out to caress your face, warmth seeping into your bloodstream through the gentle press of an invisible force against your cheek. You let your eyes begin to close slowly, savoring the feeling of the love of the universe, because that must be what this is, that’s why you’re not afraid.

As your eyes close, as the red begins to slip away, you think you see the silhouette of something – of someone, standing just on the other side of the light.

You snap your eyes open to try and get a better glimpse, because you’ve never seen that before in the dream, you’ve never ever seen a person standing on the other side, you’ve never seen anything solid and corporeal and real and –

You bolt upright in your bed, the radio crackling to life from across the room, its bright cheerful jingle alerting your brain to get the fuck out of bed and go turn it off.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swing singers coming through the speakers are loud enough to earn you a pounding on the wall, courtesy of your neighbor and one of only two friends you had, Armitage Hux.

“Christ (Y/N)!” Your friend says loud enough that you can hear him through the wallpaper, “It’s my day off can’t a man get some sleep?”

Your feet slide into slippers on the side of your bed, and you pad across the room naked to shut the radio off. You’re not really one for listening to all the commercials and commentary, preferring your vinyl collection much more than whatever taste some disc jockey thinks he has.

“Sorry Professor,” You roll your eyes sarcastically, “But if I have to be awake at this hour then so do you.”

It was the routine, day off or no, that you spend every morning together. Neither of you had anyone, no one to really call your own, and so you spend it with one another. It helps fight the loneliness that creeps into your soul sometimes, and even though he’s aggravated at waking up on a weekend, he still does with a hopeful, “Coffee?”

Smiling to yourself, you grab your robe and tie it tightly around your body.

“I’ll be over in five.” You check the time, before leaving your bedroom to brew up a big pot of Lyons standard roast.

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

Once the coffee has brewed and you’ve brushed your hair enough to look presentable for your friend, you make the short trip next door with hot percolator in hand, and a smile. A smile which, upon the opening of his front door, is not returned to you by Armitage, who instead looks like he may crave death or violence.

“Remind me again why we wake up at two o’clock in the morning?” He grumbles, his Irish accent thick from sleep as he abandons the door, leaving you to close and lock it behind you.

You follow him further into his apartment, a chic, mid-century modern space that looks very curated, very well thought out, very Armitage. He’s changed his design taste more times than you can count really, but for the past year it’s been the same; dark teal paint on the walls and ceiling, with matching teal-stained wood on the floors. His furniture and décor are all varying shades of rich orange to provide an interesting contrast that only gives you a headache sometimes.

“Because my shift begins at five, and it’s a two-hour ride to work.” You reply, fishing out two mugs from his cabinet in the kitchen and get to pouring you both a generous helping of coffee.

“I didn’t ask why you had to be up at two, I asked why we had to be up at two.” He huffs, gratefully accepting the mug with his cold hands, humming around a healthy sip of the brew.

“Because you love me.” You wink, setting down the coffee pot in favor for rummaging through his pantry, pulling out flour and sugar, “And you love the pancakes I make you.”

Armitage sets the table with plates and silverware while you begin to measure out ingredients and raid his fridge. It was a good setup you thought, you cooked breakfast and then abandoned him with all the dishes and cleaning up. You spent enough time cleaning, you always say.

“You do make damn good pancakes.” He complimented you as you stuck some butter in the pan to melt and sizzle.

“Any plans today Armie?” You smile at the immediate groan that escapes from between your friend’s teeth as you mix pancake batter into the perfect consistency to be poured.

“Yes, regret ever telling you about that nickname.” You can tell he’s scrubbing a hand over his face, the way he tends to do when he’s annoyed.

“Drink your coffee.” You tease, using a ladle to start breakfast properly. “I was thinking, when I get back from work maybe we can go downstairs and see the new film that Boris got, it’s a Fred and Ginger musical.”

Your apartment building wasn’t really an apartment building at all – or at least, it didn’t used to be. What were once storage rooms for the cinema downstairs had become single bedroom apartments nearly ten years ago, according to Boris, the friendly Bulgarian proprietor. When the cinema began to fail due to the rise of television, he sought out extra income and became a landlord.

This was perfect for Armitage, who, as a professor for film history at the university, had an immense love for the classic older films which were only ever screened on special occasions, or at special theaters. Boris knew this, and he acquired many old film reels from the 1930s and 1940s, which he played during the week as a way to generate interest on otherwise slow days.

You paid your rent early, which had the added bonus of being on Boris’ good side, which in turn meant you got to see the movies for free whenever you wanted.

“Which musical, Top Hat or Swing Time?” He eagerly accepts the pancakes you flip onto a plate for him, before drowning it all in syrup and powdered sugar.

“The Gay Divorcee.” You tease with a grin, “Right up your alley.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Armitage rolls his eyes once again, although now he’s much less aggravated with coffee in his system and food in front of his face.

“Will you see it with me?” You put a hand on your hip, and he smile.

“Of course I will. It’ll give me a good excuse to finish grading these essays, maybe I’ll tell my students they can write something about the musical for extra credit – god knows some of these kids will need it.” He gestures to the pile of marked and unmarked papers on the other end of the kitchen table.

The stack that still needs to be graded is far taller than the stack of finished essays, and you wince when you read that the one on top of the stack has been given a D-.

“Which paper is this one?” You plate yourself some pancakes and sit at the table, making sure the stove is off and the plastic spatula isn’t anywhere near the heat where it could be left to melt.

“The midterm; an analysis and comparison of German Expressionism in cinema before and after the second world war.” Armitage sighs around a bite of the delicious breakfast.

You can’t help but shake your head fondly at your friend, that topic being so on brand for him. His father was a Navy General, and he had been even more patriotic than most. But while his father had big dreams for Armitage to follow in his footsteps, instead he became a professor, much more interested in researching and educating the new generation.

Still, he found ways to incorporate his love for the military into his love for cinema. It’s all propaganda anyway, as he likes to say.

“Show me the awful papers when I get back, we can laugh about it over lunch.” You smile as you dig in to the breakfast you’ve made, but he scoffs.

“Oh please! I’ll be crying.” He replies, a funny blend of deadpan and melodramatic.

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

Once breakfast was over, you kiss Armitage on the cheek and wish him a good day, before taking the warmed coffee pot back to your own apartment next door. Filling up two thermoses, you set them near your purse right by the door so you can easily grab them on your way out.

After breakfast you typically only have fifteen minutes to get properly ready for the day, but that was alright. Dressing never took very long, not when you were provided with a uniform. Sometimes Armitage exhausted you with his fashion shows; trying on every possible combination of sweater vest and tie he owned, asking for your opinion on new trousers. You loved having one less decision to make, especially this early in the morning.

The uniform was a simple dress made of a dark grey linen. It had accented cuffs on the rounded collar, short sleeves and hem in a darker grey, and two large pockets on either side which proved themselves immensely helpful. While not required, it was often encouraged to wear the provided apron, a white thing that’s gotten so soft and worn over the years from all the bleach baths you’ve had to give it.

And though the uniform may seem drab and boring to some, you adored the anonymity of it. You liked being able to blend into a crowd, to move unnoticed. It was imperative that as a cleaning woman you were out of everyone’s way, and any flashy attire would have certainly drawn unwanted attention. That’s not to say that many of the other cleaning women didn’t enjoy the attention – your own dear friend Gwendoline among them.

With the red scare, your boss had made a push to encourage individualism within his employees – he felt that everyone looking exactly the same and wearing the same was far too much like communism, and he’d be damned if he were anything like the Soviets. So things like scarves to tie back hair, pins or broaches, nail polish colors, and shoes were encouraged to be something you made your own.

The only one of these little pleasures you indulged in were your shoes, and your daily dilemma often consisted of which pair of short reliable heels you would be slipping your now stocking-clad feet into.

You were having one such dilemma now, looking at your wall of heels. Another perk of living alone, you think to yourself, no one there to tell you to get this obsession under control.

In honor of the dream you were once again so lucky to enjoy, you picked a pair of red kitten heels off the top shelf and put them on as you hopped across the living room, grabbing your dashing out the door.

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

The world is so quiet, this early. Not completely silent, as it were, because there were always people like you, always people having places to go and friends to meet. Living so close to the Vegas Strip was interesting, and you saw all sorts of people on the sidewalks and in convertibles, driving around in the dark with their sunglasses on because they think it makes them look cool.

As you descend the steps which lead out of the apartment, you are stopped by the familiar sight of your landlord up on a ladder, arranging letters on the bright marquee sign surrounded by golden lightbulbs.

“(Y/N)!” He calls to you with a hand up waving, “Good morning dear!”

“Good morning Boris, you’re up early.” You call back, making sure to be loud enough that he can hear you with his old ears. His hearing has been failing him lately, and you do your best to help him when you can.

“Early or late, eh? Will you come to the screening tonight?” He laughs heartily as he gestures to the big black letters which read the name of the musical.

“Of course I will, I’m bringing Professor Hux along – he’s going to encourage his students to come this week.” You tell him, and he gasps.

“Students! He has big class, yes?” Boris’s excitement is contagious, and you find yourself grinning.

“Yes, nearly one hundred and fifty eager filmmakers.” You inform him, and the news shocks him so much that he nearly falls off the ladder.

Thankfully he has one of his sons, a nice young man named James, holding the ladder steady. You always wonder why James isn’t the one up on the ladder, since he’s clearly in better shape, but then you remember this is Boris you’re thinking of – he’s the kind of man who doesn’t trust anyone to do anything the right way.

“One hundred fifty! When you come tonight, you get free popcorn, okay?” He is giddy, and you feel good to have made his day a happy one.

“Okay Boris, I really must go now.” You see the familiar headlights of the city bus turning the corner, so you give him another wave, “I’ll see you this evening.”

“One hundred fifty…did you hear that?” Boris is in awe, not having had so many customers in a long time.

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

It takes three buses to get to work. When they had been looking for a place for you to live, you had insisted that there be a bus station as close as possible because if you were going to be spending ten hours on your feet, you wanted as short of a distance from the stop to your front door as possible. You don’t mind the two hours each way, you don’t mind the long grueling hours – but you sure as shit were not going to take any extra steps in your heels if you didn’t have to.

The bus comes at exactly three every morning, and it’s the same bus driver every time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N).” He greets you, a kind older gentleman who probably needs his sleep more than even Armitage did.

“Good morning Mr. Henry,” You reply, taking a seat up front so you might talk to him and keep him company on the drive to the main bus exchange station. “Did you have a good evening?”

“I surely did, there’s nothing better than getting to go home to the Missus.” He gives you a dreamy-eyed smile through the rear-view mirror. “It was her birthday last night, I took her out to dinner and a show.”

“Mr. Henry you are such a romantic.” You lean your head against the window, using your small hat as a pillow to shield yourself from the cold rattling glass. “Where did you take her?”

“Circus Maximus in Caesars Palace! Damn what an evening. We only just got back home an hour or so ago, and I wanted to take off the morning to get some rest into these bones, but my boss didn’t take to the idea too kindly.” Henry shrugged, making you frown.

You wish you could encourage him to stand up to his boss, but with racial tensions as high as they were, you didn’t want to see your friend get hurt, or lose his job. Henry had been driving this route ever since you began working out in the desert, and you thought of him as a highlight of your day, a friend even if you only saw one another for the short time you did.

“I hope you have a fast shift today and that no one gives you any trouble.” You tell him honestly, only ever wanting the best for Henry. You’d offer him some of your coffee, but he’s got a thermos of his very own up at the front of the bus.

“Seeing your smiling face certainly does help, Miss (Y/N).” His eyes glimmer when he asks, “Now tell me, anything interesting going on where you work?”

You chuckle and shake your head, staring out the window as the streetlamps blur together, cutting through the dark.

“I’m afraid not, or if there were, I wouldn’t know anything about it, I just clean.” You say.

“Don’t be so down on yourself, we’re the ones they don’t ever suspect, isn’t that right?” Henry asks, and when you look back at him, he’s got a smile and that mischievous look in his eye again.

“Yes, it is.” You reply with a smile of your own.

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

More and more people get on the bus as it visits the various stops, until it’s almost packed. You used to be so surprised by that, by the way so many people seemed to wake up before the world was ready, before the sun had even begun to stretch and blink away the night. But that was Las Vegas, you supposed, almost like New York City in a way, with all the casinos and hotels and shows. Sometimes it felt very much like you lived in a parallel universe, where day and night were reversed.

You thank Mr. Henry and give him a warm parting smile when the bus finally arrives at the transfer station. Everyone follows suit as they exit, and it makes you feel a little brighter to know that people are willing to be polite if only someone would set the precedent. You’re more than happy to set that particular precedent, every time.

From Mr. Henry’s bus to the next takes nearly five entire minutes, between the length of the bus station and the busyness of the crowd. You always come close to missing it, and you’re always out of breath from running. Thankfully though, you have Gwendoline to look forward to every morning, your friend who always saves you a seat on an otherwise crowded bus, always looks out for you otherwise you’d have to stand for the next hour, holding on to overhead bars that you can’t quite reach.

“Hey! Come on, what do you think you’re doing?” One of the other passengers complains when Gwen spots you and offers you the seat next to her at the back of the bus.

You both always took the very last row, because you were the very last stop on this particular route before it swung back around to the transfer station.

“You’re getting off in ten minutes you can deal.” Gwendoline snaps back, and the woman rolls her eyes, adjusts her grip on the handrail.

“Thank you.” You snuggle up against your friend on the crowded bus, your laps now filled with your cardigans and purses.

You met Gwendoline on your very first day at work, completely by accident. You were in the wrong place, lost and confused, and had stumbled across this gorgeous blonde woman who wore bright red lipstick that smeared around a sneaky cigarette. She had helped you, and you’d been inseparable at work ever since.

She isn’t very much older than you, but she has that worldly quality that makes her feel wise beyond her years, and gives her an authority over people – even strangers – that you find endlessly amusing.

“Henry was cutting it close today.” She comments, looking at her watch.

This bus departs the transfer station on the half-hour, and does not come back until the next half-hour. You’ve never once missed it, but you certainly have chased it down to get it to stop and pick you up.

“No, it’s not his fault, I think one of the other routes is down so people were confused and no one knew where they were going.” You point out the bus window to the people nearly swarming like bees around the poor people in the ticket kiosk.

“Fuck, really? It’s too early for that.” She looks nearly offended, as if to say, how dare the world be so difficult.

“I agree.” You reply to both her words and her look, and take one of the thermoses out of your purse, offering her, “Coffee?”

She plants a big kiss to your cheek and warms her hands on the thermos before bringing the thing up to her lips for a long deep gulp. You hope that the thermos has done a good job keeping the coffee hot, because you know how much of a bummer warm coffee can be for some people, but your worries disappear when she happily sinks into her seat on the bus and smiles, content.

“You’re a saint, (Y/N), you know that?” She clutches the thermos to her chest, and you grin.

“It’s the least I can do.” You reply, because it’s true – with all she does for you, you’re more than happy to return the favor for your friend.

“Cards?” Gwen pulls out a deck from her pocket, and you light up at the sight of the bent and beat up deck.

“Cards.” You agree, the two of you twisting towards one another, shuffling and re-shuffling the pack before dealing them out onto your laps.

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

When the last of the passengers have gotten off the bus, the driver pulls over onto the side of the road, letting cars whizz past on the interstate to your left. The sun still hasn’t made her debut yet, and the driver has turned the lights off, so that the bus might blend in to the darkness a little better.

“Identification?” He asks, like he does every morning.

There is a reason you and Gwen are the last two passengers every morning, a reason why this is such an important bus to catch.

You and Gwen don’t bother getting up from the back of the bus, not feeling in the mood to walk all the way up front to only go right back, so you fish out your ID cards and flash them long enough that the bus driver can see them in the rear-view mirror.

“Thank you ladies.” He says, much less like a robot this time. “I know you’re you, it’s just protocol.”

“You ever wish you could say ‘fuck protocol’?” You ask, and he regards you, not-unkindly when he replies,

“All the time.”

The bus roars to life once again, now that your clearance has been checked for the first time of the day. It’s a much more scrutinous process at the next bus stop, one you’re always a little paranoid over but prepared for. Bag searches, identification card and number, finger scans, the whole works. Four-thirty always seems too early for that sort of thing, and sometimes you wonder if you’ve accidentally brought something in that could be deemed dangerous, that they’ll randomly find some reason to haul you away.

The desert is dark and stretches on for miles and miles with nothing to see, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, should one need to. You hope you never need to.

Gwendoline always makes fun of you for it, but it’s all in jest. She tends to give attitude to the security guards at the bus station, but she gets away with it because she’s a bombshell. She may be just a maid, just a cleaning woman like you, but damn does she fill out her dress nicely.

“Have a great day ladies.” The bus driver says once the hour has passed, and you and Gwen have gone through ten rounds of card games, leaving you the winner this time.

“See you tomorrow.” You reply in unison, making one another laugh at your timeliness, jinxing and double jinxing one another, demanding bottles of Coca-Cola as payment.

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

This bus station, much like your work and your job, doesn’t…technically…exist.

It’s a small little depot in the middle of the desert, armed guards at every door and gate. You join the pool of other employees, when you get off the bus and pass through the first gate. No one is allowed to drive their cars onto the main site, everyone – no matter rank or position – has to shuttle in from this station.

It’s always so interesting seeing everyone here, milling together and scanning their badges. You’re sure it must be a humbling experience for some of the managers and heads of department, being treated the same as the sanitation workers, but if they’re upset about it they don’t show it.

You get your pat down and walk through the metal detector while security inspects your lunch.

“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same thing?” One of them, a young guy who is usually in good spirits, asks.

“If you want to come over and pack my lunch for me, I’d be happy for the variety.” You joke, giving him a playful wink that makes all the other security guards whistle, as you clear the metal detector with a green light.

“Don’t go giving him any ideas, (Y/N),” Gwendoline harmlessly flirts with the guy, “I might want him to toss my salad instead.”

This makes them all whistle and jeer, hoot and holler and laugh and Gwen laughs back, snatching your purse and hers back from the metal table. Some of the other employees catch ear of the conversation and they shake their heads with incredulous smiles of their own, but neither you nor Gwen really care – what’s the point of working if you can’t have a little fun every now and again?

There’s no room for playing cards on the shuttle, not this time. The small bus isn’t jam packed like a tin of sardines the way the public city buses are, but still there isn’t an empty seat, no real luxury for spreading out. That’s fine though, you think, as you shift into your professional attitude, start thinking of all the things you’ll have to do today.

It’s Sunday, and that’s a good day, a strong day, you think. It’s usually barebones crew, only the most basic staff that needs to be there. In fact, it’s usually mostly cleaning people like yourself and Gwen, getting the place ready for full operations to commence Monday morning. Of course there are still all sorts of scientists checking on their experiments and engineers testing their inventions and the like, but on the whole, Sundays are easy days.

They wax the floors on Sundays, so you know you’ll be doing quite a bit of sweeping scrubbing mopping for most of the shift. The building is huge, but more than that it’s sprawling, like a maze almost in the way that it’s constructed. That’s purposeful, you know, but in the beginning it seemed almost impossible to clean because everywhere you looked there was another hallway leading to another set of doors that all had tile and shelves and counters that needed to be taken care of.

Now though, now you were an expert at it, able to clean up even the stickiest messiest stains in twenty minutes or less. You prided yourself on your work, and always wanted to leave everywhere you went better off than it was when you got there. This job was important to you, vital, one might say.

The shuttle crosses through the gate in the desert, the gate which feels as though it has no ending, chain link splitting through the sand. The large sign boasting RESTRICTED AREA NO TRESSPASSING nearly disappears into the purple of night, and you check your watch to make sure you and Gwen will be able to punch in on time.

“We’ll be fine, we always are.” Gwen sees you checking, and you roll your eyes.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes, it takes nearly ten to get all the way to the lobby.” You show her your wrist, but she only pushes it away, not bothering to look.

“Then that leaves us with five minutes for a cigarette.” She whispers covertly, and the two of you snicker together at her secret smoking habit.

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

The base never looks more imposing than it does like this, too early in the morning before the sun has come up, when there’s nothing but harsh fluorescent lighting flooding the desert. The buildings are brutal, grey cubes that jut angrily out of the earth, rock and sand cleared away for the lines of sidewalk that connect each area in Area 51 like a spider’s web of concrete.

Inside the lobby, people are busy busy busy, walking back and forth in all capacities. Some are wearing white lab coats, others are in suits, and others still are clicking their heels off to go do some typing behind their desks. Friends recognize and greet one another, strangers excuse each other they pass, and along the wall you and Gwen wait your turn to clock into work. The little hand proudly proclaims that you do have five minutes before you technically have to start, and Gwen gives you a devious little smile as you both walk arm in arm down to the ladies’ locker room.

You think it’s kind of funny, that all locker rooms look the same. Rows and rows of standard sized lockers stick out from the walls, creating little aisles almost. Gwen follows you to your lockers, which naturally are side by side, near the middle of the room. It’s perfect because it’s right near a window, and Gwen always cracks it just slightly so she can light up a skinny Virginia Slim and not stink up the place.

She’s not the only one who does it, but no one wants to get caught.

While she smokes, you stash your purse and lunch into the locker, grabbing your cardigan that you keep there at work and sliding your arms into it. It might be one hundred-degrees in the desert when the sun is up for the day, but inside the buildings they keep it at a chilly sixty degrees, and with all the water you deal with, the last thing you need is to be even colder.

“You got any plans tonight (Y/N)?” Gwen asks as she flicks her ash outside through the window, “I was thinking about going out to get my nails done when we finish up our shift.”

She glances at her cuticles, noticing the growth from the way the polish has begun to move away from her nailbed. You take a glance at your own nails, and while the invitation does sound enticing, you do indeed have plans.

“The Professor and I are going out to a movie, you should come with us! It’s not until the late evening, you’d have more than enough time to get a manicure beforehand.” You offer, making Gwen laugh fondly.

“You two and your movies, I swear. I don’t know anyone who loves them more than the pair of you. Why, I feel like you could both quote just about any musical from beginning to end.” She teases.

“Depending on the musical, we probably could.” You tease back, before you stand up and stretch the very last bits of sleep and laziness from your limbs. “I mean it though, you’re more than welcome to come with us.”

“I’ll pass this time honey, but count me in for the next one.” She promises, and you nod. “You want a puff?”

She offers you the cigarette but you nudge her hand away.

“No thank you, you know me, gotta keep these lungs clear so I can recite scripts on command.” You grin, and she only stubs out the butt of it onto the concrete wall, before tucking the thing in her pocket so no one could find it in the trash and get her in trouble.

“And they say I’m sarcastic.” She huffs, tying her apron around her waist.

Mrs. Parker, a strict not but necessarily unkind woman, enters the locker room at five o’clock on the dot. Everyone stands at attention for her at the end of the aisles created by the rows of lockers, and she has one of her assistants pass out clipboards to each of the women in the room.

“Alright ladies, time to start the day.” Mrs. Parker takes her job very seriously, as she should. It was not common for a woman to hold a management position the way she does, and you’re proud to be under her instruction. “Boss says since it’s a holiday tomorrow if you get everything on your checklist done and signed, you can clock out early.”

“What’s the holiday?” One of the other girls asks, as a slight murmur breaks out among them.

“Presidents Day.” Mrs. Parker replies. “So thank JFK for a nice end to the day – if you get everything finished that is.”

With that, she and her assistants leave the locker room. Once the door has closed, the women all talk among themselves, eager for the prospect of getting to go home sooner than anticipated. For many of them, their weekend is just beginning, and the thought of having more time to catch up on sleep or whatever else they want, is exciting.

Neither you nor Gwen have your weekends yet, and though the holidays may apply to everyone else, the two of you will still be expected to come into work the next day. There are different levels of clearance even within maids, you’ve found, and yours are some of the highest, which means you get to clean some of the most sensitive parts of the base.

For now though, Gwen reviews your clipboards. They’re always the same, because Mrs. Parker isn’t stupid and knows that you’re more productive together than you are apart. But still, she checks to make sure.

“I’m guessing we’ve just got floors to do today.” You say, adjusting your hair in the mirror.

“You guessed right.” Gwen nods, flipping through the pages. “Where should we start, the display room, communications, or the lab?”

“Makes the most sense to do it in that order, actually. I don’t feel like back-tracking.” You say, and she’s inclined to agree.

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

It’s not really called the display room. It’s got a proper name like everything else, D-3449 Exhibition Hall. This is one of the rooms that they bring all the important people to, it’s like a museum of sorts with pieces of new technology sitting on pillars and pedestals, large air craft suspended from the ceiling.

It’s more of a hangar than an exhibition hall, especially with how empty it is. The only people inside are the armed security that stand by the door, but they don’t speak. They’re instructed only to watch over the technology and that’s it.

“You would not believe the time I had trying to get new hubcaps for my car,” Gwen says as she slaps her wet mop against the marble tile, pushing suds around and scrubbing at the floor, “Remember how that piece of shit swiped my side and scuffed them something fierce? Well I figured I’d drive myself down to the dealership and ask their auto shop to replace it, and I inquired about any new designs. You know how they’re always coming out with new designs.”

“Did you ask for chrome?” You’re on your hands and knees with a little scraper, someone had tracked gum into the hanger and not bothered to wipe it up. It had hardened and now practically needed to be chiseled off the damn tile.

“Of course I asked for chrome, and do you know what the sleezy man at the dealer told me?” Gwen puts her hand on her hip, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

“What?” You look up from the gum.

“He said men love women with chrome hubcaps, because they can see up her skirt through the reflection!” She scoffs.

“No way, that’s not real.” You go back to scraping, managing to get it all the way off in one blue sticky chunk that you dump into the trash at the end of your janitorial cart.

“Whether it’s real or not I wasn’t going to let it stop me, so I bought four new ones and had them put on.” Gwen says anyway, making you laugh.

“Gwen! You’re too much sometimes I tell you.” You shake your head, grabbing your mop and walking across the great big hangar to the other side so that you can mop that half. Though you are far apart, being the only ones in the room had its perks, and your voice carries when you joke, “This is why I don’t have a car.”

“Oh but you should get one, they’ve got all different colors and you can get ones with the tops that fold down so you can feel the sun on your face and – ” Gwen starts, unaware that you’re teasing.

“We live in the desert, the sun is always on our face.” You say as you’re careful to not box yourself in with the wet tile. “Besides, you only ever talk about how expensive your car is to fix, and how you have to fix it often. I’d much rather spend my money on other things.”

“Yeah like your shoes.” Gwen points to your feet, “Are those new?”

At the mention of your new heels, you strike a dramatic model pose.

“Do you like them? I saw them in the window and had to get them.” You beamed, showing the bottoms still mostly un-scuffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re breaking them in at work, your feet are going to fucking hate you for that.” Gwen whistles low, already feeling sorry for your ankles.

“My feet are going to hate me either way, might as well look nice.” You point out, and this at least Gwen understands.

From the hangar you move on to the communications room, which is exactly as it sounds. It’s an open office floor plan, with desks in neat lines. Two men in headphones sit at each desk, fiddling with nearly a hundred different buttons and looking at many small screens. No one pays you or Gwen any mind as you go about sweeping the floor, collecting any dust or specs of dirt that had accumulated since you’d been there yesterday.

In fact, everyone is so engrossed in their work that you’re not so sure they’d notice if you started screaming and jumping up and down. They’re monitoring the soundwaves and frequencies across the planet, right there in this room. There are enormous satellites pointed towards the sky nearly a mile away, four different ones pointing in each direction, and the communications personnel listens in on what the satellites send to their headphones.

You have your big dust broom and are walking in one direction between an aisle of desks, and Gwen is walking the opposite way on the other side.

“Sometimes I wonder what in God’s name goes on in this place, but then I think, if I want to sleep at night, it’s better to not know.” Gwen whispers, voice kept quiet so that she can’t be heard over the noise of whatever the personnel are listening to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You whisper back, “They’re keeping aliens down in the basement labs.”

“Oh not this again.” Gwen groans, before lowering her voice again and hissing, “There is no such thing as aliens.”

“You can keep telling yourself that, Gwen, keep telling yourself that.” You grin, entirely too cheeky to be serious. “Look all I’m saying is why do we have big satellites pointing to the night sky and people listening in every second of every day?”

“To intercept the Russians, hello!” Gwen says as though it’s fairly obvious, and you grin as you sweep because now she’s really going on a tangent. “This is the United States government we’re talking about, they’re not going to waste their time on fairy-tales and conspiracies from lunatics on the street.”

“Then how do you explain the UFOs that people keep spotting?” You ask, waggling an eyebrow.

“Just because some people don’t know what a damn airplane looks like, doesn’t mean it’s something from outer space.” She says, and you put your hands up in mock-defeat.

“You’ve got to admit it is a pretty good conspiracy though,” You continue to be playful and difficult, not because you believe in any of this bullshit, not for real. But because it’s so easy to rile Gwen up with this sort of stuff, so you make a face and say, “Little green men with big black eyes and three fingers on each hand, like in those low-budget horror movies.”

“If that’s what aliens are supposed to look like, then I definitely don’t want them to be real.” She rolls her eyes and finishes sweeping the floor.

Your last stop of the day is the laboratory. It is deep underground, and requires two elevators to get to, so generally no one ever wants to visit, and no one ever wants to clean it. It’s not the most pleasant atmosphere to be, as there are no windows and nothing but steel doors as far as the eye can see.

You and Gwen have to scan into the lab using your ID cards, as the doors are bulletproof and heavy, a double sliding mechanism that moves slowly because of the weight of it. When they finally open, you’re confronted with a flurry of activity.

The normally peaceful lab is filled with people, mostly installation workers who are hooking up wires and pumps to a big fish tank that takes up most of the room. Your eyes widen in awe, the thing is massive and hadn’t been there yesterday, meaning the install workers had been there through the night putting it together.

They must have been working so hard that they had no qualms throwing all the packing materials for the hoses and wires and whatever else, right onto the floor.

“What the hell is this mess!” Gwendoline snaps as she pushes her cart through the open doors, you trailing behind. “Are you fucking kidding me, the trash can is right there!”

The men stop at the sound of her, and quickly scramble to start picking stuff up. They look like chastised young kids, being scolded by their mother, and that’s fitting considering how some of them barely look like they’re out of college.

“Sorry Gwen, we didn’t – ” One of them starts, but she gives him a glare that would have turned him to stone if he had looked any longer.

“No, I know you didn’t you never do.” She sighs, using her broom to sweep everything up, pushing it to one side so at least the majority of the floor is clear.

You assist her, throwing away all the plastic wrappers and sheets of card stock, breaking down boxes and sweeping up package insulation.

“What’s all this shit for anyway?” You wrestle a piece of foam board into the trash can on your cart.

“Yeah really, as if we don’t have a big enough fucking mess to deal with as it is – ” Gwen shoots the boys another glare and they all duck, embarrassed.

“Watch your profanity, Miss Gwendoline, and goodness lower your voice.” Your boss, Mr. Robert appears through the double doors just then. He’s one of those overly polite fellows, one of those people who says goodness gosh golly gee whizz. You can’t ever really take him seriously, but he’s in charge, so you do as he says, and so does Gwen.

“Sorry sir.” She casts her eyes down and returns to her sweeping, and you do the same.

“It’s alright, today is just a very important day.” Mr. Robert smooths his shirt down with his palms, before clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “In a few moments, we will be welcoming a new team to our base. Accompanying this team is the most highly classified asset that we have ever obtained.”

Almost as if by magic, the thick steel walls slide open, revealing in a most dramatic fashion, a tall and thin Colonel, the only indication of his rank being a pin on his suit lapel. The man looks like a skeleton, with his high cheekbones and sunken in eyes, and his lips are stiffly frowning, so much so that you wonder whether his face would crack, if he were to smile. His hair is greying, but in a dignified manner, and it is well-kept, just as the rest of him seems to be.

Everyone in the room falls silent when his polished dress shoes click across the freshly swept floor, standing with their shoulders and chin squared, you and Gwen included.

“May I present Mr. Tarkin. He is the acting head of security regarding the Asset. His office will be next to mine in the administrative wing, should you have any concerns or are called for assistance. Mr. Tarkin?”

“Thank you Robert, your introduction is most welcome.” The colonel’s voice is exactly as you’d expect it, deep and gravely and more than a little sinister, although he gives a chilling smile when he says, “I have nothing more to add, other than the fact that anything you see here, anything at all, does not and never will exist. If you think you see something, hear or even smell something – you didn’t.”

“Is that understood?” Mr. Robert asks everyone in the lab, and you all nod.

“Yes sir.” You say in unison, cogs in the machine.

Suddenly, there is a commotion at the doors, as a team of armed security guards wheel in a massive steel tank. It looks like an iron lung, only bigger, far bigger. Everyone in the room is interested in it, but no one dare steps in the way of the security. It takes ten men on either side of the tank to move it into the lab, and though they certainly aren’t weak, they are visibly struggling with the Force of it.

It doesn’t help that whatever is inside the tank, isn’t happy. There is a harsh loud banging coming from within the steel, that low hollow echo as something pounds against it, bangs against it. You’re curious, so incredibly curious – you want to peer inside it, you want to know what it is. You’ve never seen anything like this before, never seen anything alive before. So far you’ve only come across planes and engines, never ever anything like this.

They’ve wheeled it in front of Mr. Tarkin, who regards it with pride. You wonder if he’s the one who found whatever is inside, or if he’s just in charge of it. Either way, whatever it is must be some raging feral animal, to make the kind of banging slamming pounding noise it’s making.

There’s a pain in your chest for it, for the creature, because certainly something that upset must be wounded, or frightened, or both. The security team steps away from the tank once it is securely in the lab, and they leave, filing out in two straight lines. The thick steel doors open, and before they close, Robert gives you and Gwendoline the cue to leave.

You nod, knowing when you’re officially just no longer allowed to be somewhere. You both gather up your carts and silently make your way out of the lab, passing the tank as you go.

Your intrigue gets the better of you though, and as you pass the tank, you stop briefly. There’s a window made of bulletproof glass, spanning nearly the entire side of the thing. Glancing into it, all there is to see is a bright blue liquid. You can’t really tell if the liquid is illuminated, or if it’s glowing on its own with some sort of bioluminescent quality, but either way, the blue liquid is too thick to see through.

You place a hand on the glass, using that as leverage to peer in closer without falling forward, when a hand pushes through the blue liquid and slams forcefully against the glass, jolting you back.

A flash of red fills the room. You blink and you are surrounded by the soft smooth endless velvet of blackness, the very same which populates your dreams. You’re close, so close, far closer to the red veil than you’ve ever been before, a hand outstretched, a hand reaching for you, before it –

As soon as it comes, the memory of your dream is gone, and you are being held tightly in Gwendoline’s arms.

“They need to leave, now!” Mr. Tarkin barks orders at your boss, but you’re already nodding, already racing to get your shit and get out.

You wonder if you’re ill – if you’ve had a stroke, if you’ve accidentally ingested some cleaning fluid. Nothing like that has ever happened to you before, and you can’t fight the shudders that wrack through your body, nor can you ignore the sweat that freezes across your neck.

“Yes of course sir,” Gwendoline says as she leads you and the carts out of the lab, pushing you bodily with concerned panic on her face, “We’re sorry, sir.”

You keep your eyes trained on the tank, as you leave. Your heart is beating faster than it ever has, and even as Gwen nearly shoves you into the hallway, still you crane your neck to look at the tank, still your eyes widen as you desperately try to catch a glimpse of something, of whatever that thing was.

Before the doors close fully, you see a shadow of something...the shadow...of a man.

Gwendoline races you to the nearest bathroom, and you feel as though you’re going to be sick. Had it been a hand? A human hand? Or were you officially just losing your fucking mind?

Was that really a person in the tank? Why would they keep a human being in a tank like he were some new fish at an aquarium? It must have been so scared, pounding on the tank like that, over and over and over and over – and you do get sick then, just because you still have no idea why you hallucinated in the way that you did.

“(Y/N)!” Gwendoline has a soothing hand on your back as you’re hunched over one of the toilets, all remnants of your lunch burning your throat as it comes back up in your panic, “(Y/N) talk to me what the fuck happened in there?”

“I don’t – I’ve never – ” You choke out, coughing with your face against the porcelain.

Gwen leaves for a moment, only a moment, returning with a paper cup and fresh water from the tap.

“Deep breaths, here, drink this.” She offers it to you, and you eagerly take it, gulp it down as you grab a fistful of toilet paper to wipe your face. She is so concerned, you can read it on her face, and she takes the paper from your hand to get the rest of your own sick off where you can’t see it. “Are you okay? Do I need to call the hospital?”

“Gwen it,” You’re out of breath, heart still beating so quick that you’re lightheaded. “I don’t know what happened I, I think I blacked out.”

“You scared the shit out of me, one second you’re touching the glass, the next second you’re almost falling to the ground. Would have hit your head on the concrete if I wasn’t there to catch you, but your eyes were wide open.” She says, and you frown.

“They were?” You don’t know how that could be, because you were dreaming, and you can only dream when you’re asleep, right?

“Yes, wide open but blank, kind of like those sharks, it was like you weren’t looking at anything in particular.” Gwen shakes her head and there are scared tears in her eyes, “I’m going to call the hospital – ”

“No,” You stop her, not wanting to have to deal with doctors and nurses for this, not when you don’t even know how you’d explain it. “No it’s okay. I feel better now, the water helped. I think I was just startled.”

“I’ve never seen you like that.” She whispers, “And I don’t want to again. If it happens a second time, I’m taking you and that’s not negotiable.”

You agree, and after you take a deep breath, you gesture to the bathroom around you.

“Since we’re here, we might as well clean.” You say. Clearly whoever was scheduled for this section of the hallway hadn’t gotten to it yet, and you didn’t want to face the world just yet.

“I’ll clean, you sit on the counter and just relax for a minute.” Gwen instructs, and you do as she says, hopping up onto the counter.

Gwen grabs a rag and a spray bottle and begins to wipe down the stalls, where she makes the mistake of looking up at the ceiling and groaning.

“Look at this, would you look at this?” She asks, pointing up. You squint but you can see the splatters on the cork ceiling tiles. “What were they doing, having a pissing contest up here? Isn’t this supposed to be the home of highly classified information and technology? Aren’t we supposed to have the best scientists and engineers?”

The door opens just then, and you immediately slide off the counter and adjust your dress, making way to grab your cart and leave. Gwendoline does the same upon the entrance of a man, as this is the men’s room, and though it’s your job to clean it, you are expected to give them privacy when someone is using the facility.

Especially when that someone is the Colonel, the new head of security regarding the new highly classified and top secret asset.

“No,” Mr. Tarkin says, as he approaches the counter, “No that’s alright, you don’t have to leave.”

He’s carrying something, a long baton made of black metal. He rests it on the counter and sets to washing his hands, using exactly six pumps of soap from the dispenser near the sink.

“Are you certain, sir?” You say, avoiding eye contact. “Our work can wait.”

“I’m certain. Don’t mind me, I won’t take but a moment. Please, carry on with your conversation, I don’t want to interrupt.” He waves it off, fastidiously scrubbing at his palms.

Once his hands are clean, he steps to the side and unzips his pants. Both you and Gwen quickly look away, embarrassed and in absolutely no mood to catch a flash of this guy’s dick. Instead, your gaze turns towards the baton, which seems to almost be humming there on the counter.

“Nifty little toy, isn’t it?” Mr. Tarkin catches you regarding it, and he smiles down at the baton like it were his newborn baby, fondness in his eyes that is incongruent with what it is when he tells you, “State of the art, high-voltage electric shock cattle-prod. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

You and Gwendoline exchange a glance, what the fuck were they using electric shock on?

“I saw you both in T-4, didn’t I?” Mr. Tarkin hums, as he puts his hands on his hips and pisses right in front of you, “You’re the one who touched the tank.”

“Yes sir, I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.” You reply, trying your absolute best to not die of embarrassment and disgust.

“Humans are naturally curious, don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re alright.” He says, strangely sympathetic before asking, “Doesn’t it get lonely? The graveyard shift, I mean.”

“It gets quiet.” Gwendoline answers, strangely serious in her own way. She doesn’t like this man, you can tell.

Neither do you.

He hits the button on top of the urinal to flush and zips up his pants, making his way back to the sink.

“Well, hopefully things stay quiet – if you catch my meaning.” He winks.

“Yes sir, here.” Gwendoline offers him a hot towel for him to use when he’s finished washing his hands, but he doesn’t take it.

“Oh no thank you, a man washes his hands before or after tending to his needs. You can find out a lot about a man by the way he does it, what’s important to him. If he does it both times, it only points to a flaw in character, a weakness.” He explains with logic that makes no sense. “I think you’ll find I’m not a weak man.”

You find him a self-absorbed idiot, but you’d never say that out loud.

He picks up the baton, the cattle-prod, and exits the bathroom, catching the door with his hand before it closes fully and giving another one of those chilling smiles when he says, “It was very pleasant talking with you ladies.”

The second the door is closed, Gwen has her spray bottle and rag turned onto the door, scrubbing away where the man’s dirty hands have touched the steel.

“What a creep.” She mutters under her breath, and you hum out an agreement before gasping.

“Gwen, look.” You’ve caught sight of smeared blood, blood that had come from the baton itself. It was bad enough that they were electrocuting the creature, but now they were making it bleed too?

You and Gwen look at one another, and she just shrugs and hands you a rag too.

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

Some time later, you’re walking down the hall pushing your carts, reviewing the clipboard. Each and every task has been crossed off, and it was nearly only lunch time. Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly lunch time for the rest of the world, ten o’clock in the morning and all. But you were feeling good about it, thinking to yourself that if you can just hold on a little longer, you’ll be able to go out to lunch with Armitage when you get off the buses that will bring you back home.

Gwen is in an equally good mood, no doubt wishing that she could clock out early more often.

“I can see my own smile in these floors, we do such a damn good job, don’t we? Do you think Mrs. Parker will sign off on our forms so we can go?” She has a spring in her step as you both round the corner – right into Mr. Robert.

“(Y/N)! Gwendoline!” He looks frantic, looks terrified, is holding a napkin up to his face, mopping up the profuse amount of swear on his brow, “You need to come with me, now.”

“Sir, we were just about to pack up and leave actually – ” Gwendoline says, but your boss doesn’t care.

“Now!” He insists, and you have no choice but to follow suit.

Soon enough, it’s clear as to why.

Down the dark windowless halls and through the elevators you find yourselves in front of the lab once again, where there is a mess of blood all across the tile. So much blood in fact, that you’re nearly positive whatever has happened here has been fatal, because there’s just no way someone survived from this much loss.

Mr. Roberts scans in and the doors open, revealing an even bigger mess on the inside.

“You have exactly twenty minutes to get this lab spotless, do you understand me? Twenty minutes.” Mr. Roberts looks at you, and you nod, because you know you can get it done.

He leaves without another word, and the moment the doors close, Gwen groans.

“This is a lot of blood.” She states the obvious, grabbing buckets and filling them with water from one of the lab sinks. “You know, I can handle a lot of things. I can handle piss, throw up, hell, even shit. I can handle shit. But something about blood sets me off.” She shudders.

“Give me a bucket, the sooner we get this place mopped up the sooner we can leave.” You reach for one and she gives it to you.

You dump the entire bucket on the floor, and in the shallow wake of the murky water, a pair of fingers rolls out from underneath a large storage cabinet.

“No fucking way,” You gasp, bending down to pick the appendages up, “Fingers.”

“Fingers!?” Gwen covers her mouth, fully disgusted. “Okay, you stay here, I’m going to get Robert.”

The moment the steel doors close behind her, you sigh. What could have gone on here, you wonder, to have Robert in such a state? And the fingers, well clearly they had to belong to someone, which meant the blood had to as well. But there had been blood on Mr. Tarkin’s baton, the cattle-prod whatever he wanted to call it, hadn’t there?

Your stomach sinks at the thought that whatever the creature Mr. Tarkin has captured, bleeds just like all of you.

A low dull thunk comes from the tank, and you turn around slowly to face it.

Against all your better instincts, you turn to face it.

Where the tank was once empty, now there is something pushing through the fluorescent blue, something making its way closer to the glass. It is not screaming this time, nor is it banging its fists on the walls of the tank, and you drop the fingers, one hand outstretched.

You approach the glass, heart pounding pounding pounding, blood rushing in your ears, because it is a man, from what you can tell.

It’s not clear, not perfectly clear inside the tank, but you see a head and a wide torso, long thick legs and strong arms. He’s wearing some sort of breathing mask which obscures his face almost entirely, an apparatus that reminds you very much of the kinds that scuba divers wear, and he’s got a heavy looking metal collar clasped tightly around his throat.

It looks like a shock collar, but you’re not sure, you’re not sure of anything.

Though it is hard to see, there are definite wounds marking his body, fresh ones that speak to the blood all over the floor. You suck in a breath and just as you had done earlier, you place a hand against the glass of the tank.

This time when he – because it is a he and not an it – puts his palm against the glass from his own side, you don’t black out. You sigh with relief, and take another step closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at him when –

“Right this way Mr. Robert, yes two fingers.” Gwen’s voice carries into the room as the doors open for her and your boss.

You quickly yank your hand away from the tank and turn towards them, about to beckon her forward to show her the man in the tank, but when you look back through the glass, it’s empty. Nothing but the blue liquid as far as you can see.

In your pocket is a brown paper bag and you stuff the fingers inside it, folding the top down like a lunch parcel.

“Where are the body parts?” Mr. Roberts sweats, nervous nervous nervous.

“Here sir,” You give them over, explaining when he looks confused, “I’ve wrapped them for you.”

“You both can clock out and go home, I’ll sign your lists personally.” Mr. Roberts accepts the paper bag, and walks over to your carts where the clipboards rest nestled in amongst the bottles of cleaners and wipes. “And don’t worry about coming in tomorrow, the holiday applies to you as well. Go get some sleep.”

“Thank you sir! We very much appreciate that.” Gwendoline can barely contain her excitement at that.

“Well I appreciate you.” He stammers, genuinely grateful. “I don’t know anyone who can clean as well as quickly as you.”

He gives you a smile, and then rushes out of the lab with the paper bag, no doubt to the hospital.

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

Hours later, after you and Armitage have shared some lunch and you’ve bathed in the Nevada summer sun on your balcony, after the home cooked dinner he makes you and the movie you watch together downstairs at the cinema, when it’s officially late once again and Armitage is asleep in his bed, you slip into the hallway.

Careful to close your front door quietly, you tip-toe down the stairs at the end of the hall, the only real sound are the dimes jingling in your pocket.

There is a phone booth right on the corner, and no one pays you any mind as you step inside it, closing the glass door behind you. You drop the dime into the payphone, and when the operator tone buzzes, you dial the number on the rotary, memorized but never written down.

The line rings once, twice, three times, before someone on the other end of the line picks it up.

“She speaks to the earth with a loud voice.” You say evenly and clearly.

You look around, check over your shoulder, make sure that no one is watching or listening in on you, making sure no one is trailing you. When you find no such person, you relax a little.

“And the earth shouts back.” The man on the other end of the line finishes the code, before switching to his mother tongue and saying, “Go ahead.”

“They’ve got a hold of something,” You cannot refrain from letting some of the awe pollute your news, even in this language which feels thick in your mouth, your Russian sticking in your throat, emotional as you whisper, “Something incredible.”

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

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#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren fanfiction #the shape of water #the shape of water au #sow au #my writing #the shape of you #kylo ren imagine

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mochikeiji · 4 years

Text

[Take it Slow.]

↠ Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x Reader

↠ Warning: cursing, blood, angst, slight fluff, Mafia AU! Monster Bokuto!

⇢ Songfic! Twenty One Pilots: Heathens

✎﹏

(Welcome to the room of people

Who have rooms of people that they loved one day

Docked away

Just because we check the guns at the door

Doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades)

He remembers like it just happened yesterday. The only people who had shown him love— his parents. Huge men tearing his arms away from his mother's warm embrace, he remembers her screaming, his father demanding to release them, that the child meant no harm. That he was innocent.

"You would say that because you were the source of this Demon Child."

He can recall the way his heart cracked. After having to be called that, watching with empty eyes as a puddle of crimson like liquid flow on his feet. He no longer hears the screams of his parents.

"Mom? Dad?"

He hears a gun click, the men in their green uniforms yelling orders, staying a good distance away from him. When he hears no reply from his parents, something inside him snapped. They were the last people to hold his entire sanity together. Without an anchor to stop a ship from fall, it'll be like a speed of light before you'll see the action happening.

Those events caused chaos throughout Japan. And he was only 10 years old at that time.

"Demon Child, escapes, killing almost 30 of our fine men who came to put him in custody."

Always on the run, never finding a place to stay. A place to call home. No one was siding with him because of the way he looked. No one listened as he defended himself, telling his side of the story.

"I heard, he killed his parents too."

"He's said to be like a one man army. "

Laughing at society. How stupid must people be to always believe in the media's. How stupid of them to pray to God that he won't come, and do the same to their families. He never believed in anything. There was nothing to believe in a world filled with savages. There was no God controlling their lives, it was them, acting all religious and innocent. He was disgusted. He wanted to make them see reality.

Some think he was just a legend. Some knows he's lurking in the shadows in Tokyo. People using his title to scare little kids. Only his title was known, but never his name. His looks poorly described, instead they made up something that was close to make people believe.

"He had owl like hair and eyes, he was big— his body is some kind of ware human! He had sharp teeth, blood over his clothing. The Demon Child is on the lose, still growing everyday, please, if you have found anyone looking suspicious or matches the following details, immediately contact the nearest station."

He was all over the news. Soon he was about to go worldwide for exposing himself a lot. A man's gotta do what he has to do to survive right?

Everyone feared for their lives. Thinking they're all so saint, innocent, worthy enough to live. It made him puke in disgust.

Still you find yourself getting drunk of love because of this dangerous person.

(You're loving on the psychopath sitting next to you

You're loving on the murderer sitting next to you

You'll think, "How'd I get here, sitting next to you?"

But after all I've said, please don't forget)

How did you find yourself in a tight situation in the first place? Just a week ago you were just taking a train ride on the way home after school, it was already dark outside. If you haven't had a review study you would've been home already.

You would've never have to encounter him.

Like fate, you were being mugged, harassed. Long story short, you found yourself with ripped clothes, cowering in fear, then he swoons in. You can still hear the gun shots fresh in your head. The sound of bones cracking with shrill shrieks from the men in pain. Hearing a body came contact on the ground. You were afraid to meet your saviors eyes, having to experience this in first hand. Bokuto thought you were just some kind of harlot in the streets, but taking in a closer look. You were just a university student. An innocent one if he had to describe. He could hear your whimpers, see your body shaking.

He had one vow in his life after that faithful day, "Protect the weak, the innocent. Eliminate the threats." he never knew there would be people like you in this part of the world.

You remember his soft, big hands taking your smaller ones, he was gentle. He was far from what people had describe of him. But you never really believed in the Demon Child. You didn't even know you were holding hands with him. And that he saved you instead of killing you also. You were so shaken up by that day, he escorted you back to your apartment. Ever since Tokyo was in chaos, many people fled the city. Not much people in your apartment, but a lot of thugs down your blocks. He was about to leave you, disappear once again in the shadows, but you grabbed his hand, he was shocked. It was so gentle than what he has experienced before. You offered him to stay as a token of your gratitude. But you didn't know you were the ones who was staying with him forever.

You wanted to ask him where he came from. Where he was staying. You wanted to know his name, you wanted atleast some kind of background from him. But all he said were these simple words.

"Take it slow, darling. You don't know the half of the abuse."

and that's where your life started.

(We don't deal with outsiders very well

They say newcomers have a certain smell

You have trust issues, not to mention

They say they can smell your intentions)

After filing a report on murder of the men who had previously caused a scene. You were no longer safe in your apartment. Bokuto was no longer safe. You can hear loud footsteps coming from downstairs, the few people evacuating the building. All doors being kicked down, and inspected the rooms. You were the last room from the top of the building. Bokuto was calm, but inside him he doesn't want to leave without you. If he did, what would happen to you? Would those savages kill you for protecting him? No they weren't. He opens your window wide, looking at the next building just a few centimeters to jump on. Your heart was pounding, the footsteps were nearing. You felt nauseous, Bokuto grabs your jacket, and puts it on you, covering you with a hood and mask.

"Jump, I'll follow behind you."

You looked at him as if he was crazy. But you saw his dark eyes, his body in protective stance. He looked like a wolf shielding his mate. Your lips quivered, grabbing some of your belongings in a backpack, you gulped at the distance between your window and the building. Flinching as you hear the neighboring room doors burst open, you closed your eyes for a short moment, holding your breath and took a big leap on the building. Being resourceful, you used your bag as a soft cushion for impact. Grumbling to get up, your eyes scanning the opened window, waiting for Bokuto to join you.

Back in the room Bokuto was impressed at your action. When the locked door was being knocked on hard, he pushed all the furniture against it before jumping out, expertly landing on his feet in front of you. He grabs your arms, carrying you in a princess style, and started running.

"Just close your eyes if you don't want to see what's going to happen."

But you didn't, each sound of the gun shots, sirens the smell of gun powder, blood, smoke, everything you took in on that day as if you were reborn.

"You bought home another one, Bokuto san?"

You stood frozen in your spot. Bokuto had ran a long way, but being fazed by the sirens and gun shots, you didn't realize you were in some kind of dark building with a bunch of guys that look way more dangerous than thugs.

"She's different."

He pulls your hoodie off carefully, letting you hair fall down to your face. But you kept your mask on, remembering his words when he was running,

"Be careful with my crew. They're all quite wary with new comers, darling. We have....trust issues."

You gulped when Bokuto left your side, you hugged yourself as the boys began to huddle over you, eyes looking like they could kill you on the spot. The one who spoke earlier kept a good distance, but his eyes were cold as ice as they bore into you.

"Leave her. She's clean."

They all followed. Was he some kind of leader? Just what we're you getting yourself into?

(You're loving on the freakshow sitting next to you

You'll have some weird people sitting next to you

You'll think "How did I get here, sitting next to you?"

But after all I've said, please don't forget)

Everyone sat on the floor, having a short meeting with Bokuto. You on the other hand, just stayed seated on the corner, shying away from the men who seem to deem you as a threat.

"Hey, (Y/n), come here."

You hear his fingers snap, with shaking legs you slowly made your approach, he pats a spot next to him, gingerly taking a seat beside him. He spoke in a low tone voice.

"Do you know who we are?"

You shake your head, "N-no."

"Do you want to know who we are?"

You didn't move an inch when his hand came forward, brushing against your cheek for a short while, before pulling down your mask.

"You look much better like that, darling."

One second you were scared. Now you were flustered. Snapping out of the feelings, you let a weak, "yes". Wanting to know their identities, their background. Why they were all running away from the police. It took almost several hours of listening to everyone's stories, and names. Almost crying at everyone's stories, especially Bokuto's. You were understanding the deeper meaning on how life was so cruel. You learned that the man earlier was named, Akaashi Keiji. Bokuto's first encounter with— people fear how intelligent he was. He was abused so much by his family for admiring the Demon Child. Taking defense on saying maybe he used to be innocent, and people mistaken him for his actions. He was Bokuto's most dearest and first friend.

"S-so, your name is Bokuto Koutarou?"

"Feels nice to hear it from you, darling."

"Hey, (Y/n). Be sure not betray us, or else."

The guy, Konoha, you presumed threatens. You almost hid yourself behind Bokuto by grabbing his arm in instinct, "Now, now, Konoha. You're scaring the little lady." Another guy, Washio if you have that correct came to defend you. The rest bickered on about you being a threat, and how someone as weak, and defenseless like you against them could get away. You feel Bokuto's hand grip your shoulder firmly, his hot breath against your ear as he murmurs out a familiar set of words.

"Take it slow, darling. You don't know the half of the abuse."

(All my friends are heathens, take it slow

Wait for them to ask you who you know

Please don't make any sudden moves

You don't know the half of the abuse)

It had almost been 2 months since you've gotten used to the gangs presence, and them with yours. You became like the mother of the group, and yet still the child of the group. You've gotten use to see them make deals with other men in Tokyo to earn money, weapons, seen them kill in front of your eyes whenever things get heated. Akaashi would be first to pull you away from the sight of Bokuto snapping someone's neck, or slowly torturing them to death.

You weren't completely used to see Bokuto kill people. Knowing it was for your safety, you wish you could a day without having to hear muffled screams, and pleadings from both men and women.

"Hey (Y/n), why don't you come here and sit with us." Washio calls out, flicking his cigarette on the floor, crushing it on his feet. "Eat, (Y/n), you're the only one who eats less here. It's unfair of us to be selfish." Akaashi offers you a plate filled with food. After having 2 months to stay with them, and staying silently at your place, you had gotten thin from the lack of nutrients. You ate slowly, not wanting to look improper in front of a group of men.

"Um...thank you!" You bowed all of a sudden.

They had their eyes widened, they thought you were going to scream for help like most people, but instead they heard a thank you.

"For what?"

"F-for taking me in! And, for the meal with you guys for the first time!"

Everyone looked at eachother before chuckling. Bokuto stood up from his chair, removing the black gloves on his hands before patting your head.

"Now do you trust her?"

You looked behind, listening to his words.

"Fine, fine. She's innocent, Bokuto."

"See! I told you she was innocent from the moment I saw her." hitching your breath, you admired his wide smile. It seemed so genuine despite everything that was going on.

"Don't worry no too much, (Y/n)! You're part of the gang."

He kneels down next to you, fingers down your chin and gently pulling them to meet his eyes.

"And I will protect you."

He doesn't know when, why. But he knows deep inside, he was allowing himself to fall inlove.

And it was dangerous.

(Why'd you come? You knew you should have stayed)

The building was surrounded.

They should've known they were going to spotted if they stayed long. The team was packing up all weapons and sources they could carry. You stayed hidden on the behind some of the boxes as they opened the doors to be met by almost an army of men with guns.

"Freeze!"

You hear the commander yell, all of the team hidden and scattered on many places, as Bokuto was kneeled onto the ground.

As bait.

The police force were closing in, as they were, everyone inside the building started firing guns, Bokuto running off as he throws in a flash bomb. Blinding many, easily shooting all down in ease.

(I tried to warn you just to stay away)

Things had gotten out of hand when one soldier threw in a bomb. Setting the building on fire. Akaashi held your hand, running alongside with the team to somewhere safe.

"W-wait, where's Bokuto?"

Everyone stayed silent. Akaashi just grips onto you tighter, but he underestimated you. You kicked him on the groin, his hand releasing your arm as you ran away from them before they had the chance to catch up.

You were nearing at the sounds of gun shots, you spot Bokuto hidden on a left over concrete, face smeared with blood, and smoke.

"Bokuto!"

You ran next to him, kneeling behind the concrete wall.

"(Y/n) what the fuck, I said get out of here!"

"Like hell will I leave you!"

(And now they're outside ready to bust)

He was taken back at your outburst and strong willed personality, startled by a bullet almost hitting his head, shooting the man down instantly. You looked behind the wall, instructing Bokuto where to shoot. Since your were small, you weren't easily spotted.

Shooting the last man down. Bokuto sighs. He was out of bullets. You gasped out a breath you were holding in, only to have your eyes shrink back.

There was someone behind him.

As if in slow motion, you pushed Bokuto back. Taking in his position, pulling out a gun that was secretly tucked in your pants and hoodie.

Firing quicker before the man could have a chance.

Bokuto was in awestruck. Who knew you had it in you all the time. Panting at the rush of adrenaline, Bokuto gets up from his spot and pulls you in his arms, crashing his lips almost roughly. Getting addicted to the way on how perfectly and delicious they felt on his, he bites on your lower lip harshly, dominating you with his height.

From the innocent, and scared girl you were, now looking like a hot badass in his eyes.

He had learned that you were more than capable as much as he was.

And he now knew that falling inlove with you was never dangerous, but exciting as it adds thrill in his life.

And finally, someone who actually listened to the others side, and learned to love them.

(It looks like you might be one of us)

The two of you walked hand in hand. Stopping abruptly in front of the man you had just shot. His eyes skim your body, and then your face weekly. You looked so innocent. Tainted by evil.

"W-what have you done to her?"

He weakly utters out, only to be stepped on the head by Bokuto. Who was annoyed. How dare he blame him for making you like this. You places a hand on his chest, telling him to take his feet of the fallen man.

Kneeling down in front of you, just lowered your lips next to his ear, murmuring something. You hear him let out a scream, before it was cut off by head shot deep in his skull. Bokuto licks his lips at the sight of you getting up slowly, gun on your hand as you blew off the smoke.

"Take it slow, dear. You don't know the half of the abuse."

65 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 38 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters. And thank you so much to @saiphl for the beta help!! XO!

Chapter Summary: The girls spend a summer apart, but then start their senior year, closer than ever.

Chapter 38: Feelings

Courtney’s dad had moved with his girlfriend to Berkeley earlier in the year, and both of her parents unilaterally decided that she should spend the summer with him for some “quality time.” She’d argued, she’d protested, she’d pleaded with Karen, she’d even cried; but in the end she had no choice but to go along with the plan, sullenly packing her things and boarding the train, defeated. Her only solace was that Roy was doing a summer program in Stanford for a month, which meant that at least they could still see each other on the weekends for part of the time she was there.

COURTNEY: JFC I’m gonna be sleeping on a goddamn fold out couch all summer. This is shit.

ADORE: Awww, so sorry, princess. Xx

COURTNEY: Lol, fuck you. You have no idea what this is like

ADORE: That’s true. I haven’t seen my dad for like ten years

COURTNEY: WAH WAH WAHHH YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO WIN

COURTNEY: ;)

ADORE: lol

The truth was, Courtney hadn’t really spent much time with her dad since the divorce. Sometimes it made her sad, thinking about how close they used to be. She tried to keep an open mind, but a big part of her was still angry about him having an affair, turning their lives upside-down, leaving her mom...leaving her.

Adore was right, though. As far as absentee fathers went, things could be much worse. One night, while he sat on the sofa (the one that doubled as the least comfortable bed she ever had) watching TV, Courtney wandered over and sat down next to him.

He looked up from the TV, surprised, a smile spreading across his face.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi.” Courtney shifted slightly, tried to shake the horrible feeling that she was sitting next to a grown man that she barely knew. “Whatcha watching?”

“Just the news...if things go well this year, we can take both the house and the senate,” Peter told her. “And in 2008, that fucking shit-for-brains will finally be done and we can get the White House, too.”

“That would be awesome,” Courtney agreed, letting her head rest on her father’s shoulder. He wasn’t perfect, that was for damn sure...but when it came down to it, she supposed she was lucky to have him.

Meanwhile, Adore had gotten a summer job as a counselor at an arts day camp, and soon began spending her days surrounded by loud, attention-seeking child star wannabes. Every day, she came home and collapsed in exhaustion, vowing to never, under any circumstances, ever have children.

COURTNEY: How’s camp?

ADORE: The worst

COURTNEY: I’m sorry

ADORE: It’s all good. How’s the homewrecker?

COURTNEY: Weird

ADORE: Is she teaching you any good stripper moves?

COURTNEY: No, she just like, chain smokes and talks to her birds

ADORE: She has BIRDS?

COURTNEY: Yeah man, I told you. WEIRD

ADORE: What are the birds’ names?

COURTNEY: Something in Russian, I dunno. I just call them Boris and Natasha

ADORE: Lol you’re so corny

COURTNEY: I did meet some pretty cool anarchist guys down the block

ADORE: What’s their band called?

COURTNEY: Who said they have a band?

ADORE: What’s their band called, Courtney?

COURTNEY: Pussy Whisper

ADORE: LOLOLOLOL

COURTNEY: Okay, so...this is going to shock you…

ADORE: ???

COURTNEY: The Pussy Whisper dudes?

ADORE: Oh jeez, what?

COURTNEY: They’re gross

ADORE: Yeah, no shit

COURTNEY: i just really liked what Tristan had to say about late stage capitalism

ADORE: Right

COURTNEY: And Grant said I was smart

ADORE: Well, that was your first clue

COURTNEY: HEY!!!

ADORE: Lol, not because you’re not. Because dudes in a band called “Pussy Whisper” that call you smart are up to some no-good shit

COURTNEY: Right. Ugh

ADORE: Bird lady still a fucking weirdo?

COURTNEY: Yeah. Although she did take me to a yoga class this morning, so that was nice. She’s actually maybe not the most vile person on the planet

ADORE: Awww, look at you, falling in love

COURTNEY: Shut up

Once Courtney got over her initial resistance, she had to admit that Berkely was somewhat cool. Certainly more her speed than the bland suburban wasteland she was used to. She spent most of her days wandering around used book stores, head shops, or combing through racks of cute vintage dresses. One afternoon, sunbathing in the backyard of her dad’s apartment building (which was a converted Victorian house that she also had to regretfully admit was pretty charming), she made friends with a very affectionate marmalade-colored kitten. Turned out, the cat belonged to their downstairs neighbor, and soon Courtney found herself fully enchanted with the older woman.

COURTNEY: Okay I found a much better new friend than the PW boys. She’s our downstairs neighbor and she’s like 70 and so cool. She has pink hair and all her clothes are made of hemp. She’s gonna take me to an Iraq War protest on Saturday.

ADORE: Oh jeez. You’re gonna come back with white person dreads, aren’t you?

COURTNEY: lol it’s a nice look

ADORE: IT IS NOT

ADORE: Abortion should be legal until the kids are like...12 years old, at least

COURTNEY: Campers getting on your nerves?

ADORE: If I snap, will you visit me in prison?

COURTNEY: Of course! I’ll bake a nail file into a cake for you and everything. XOXO

ADORE: Good cake or some bay area bullshit?

COURTNEY: Gluten free agave-sweetened carob cake, courtesy of Patsy

ADORE: Fuck off

COURTNEY: Don’t insult Patsy. She’s been protesting since Vietnam, she’s awesome.

ADORE: HEY CHEERLEADER THIS IS WILLAM! YOU’RE A SLUT AND WE MISS YOU!

ADORE: AND I’M VERY DISAPPOINTED THAT YOU DIDN’T FUCK THE PUSSY WHISPERERS

COURTNEY: Sorry bunny

ADORE: He’s high

COURTNEY: And you?

ADORE: Meeee? Whaaaaaat?

ADORE: Yes lol

COURTNEY: Lol, have fun

COURTNEY: Would it be really bad if I liked Katya?

ADORE: Omg are you gonna start calling her Mommy?

COURTNEY: Shut up!

COURTNEY: But seriously...it would be like, disloyal to my mom if I liked her, right?

ADORE: Are you gonna start adopting birds?

COURTNEY: No, I just think she’s kind of funny sometimes. I’m a terrible daughter

ADORE: Well, your mom IS the one who sent you up there for the summer. So…

COURTNEY: True

ADORE: So. Something happened last night that was...uh…

ADORE: Very

ADORE: ...

COURTNEY: ???

ADORE: Give me a minute...I’m processing...

COURTNEY: Tell me!

ADORE: Well, we started in Violet’s basement, drinking, and I’m not sure how but somehow it ended up being like 10 people

COURTNEY: Aww, was Violet sad I wasn’t there? Did she cry?

ADORE: lol, totally

COURTNEY: So what happened???

ADORE: Yeah, so...I went out to the backyard to smoke and Trin came and like...I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but I think I made out with her

COURTNEY: WHOA

ADORE: Yeah

COURTNEY: Is she gay???

ADORE: No, definitely not. We were just like, drunk and high

COURTNEY: Is everything cool between you??

ADORE: Yeah, I think so. We were laughing about it this morning. But like, I still feel a little bad.

COURTNEY: Why do you feel bad?

ADORE: I mean, I dunno. I don’t want people to think that I’m like, some predatory asshole, you know?

COURTNEY: No one would think that

ADORE: My track record might disagree

COURTNEY: The only thing your track record shows is you’re a ho

ADORE: WOW

COURTNEY: I WAS KIDDING!!!!

ADORE: lol, I know

COURTNEY: XOXOXOXO

As much as Courtney tried, and as much as she made her peace with her summer surroundings, by the time August rolled around, she began to get increasingly homesick. Missing her mom, her bedroom, even Grandma Muriel. But especially, missing Adore.

COURTNEY: I really miss you

COURTNEY: Like so much

ADORE: Me too

COURTNEY: No like SO much

ADORE: Are you high?

COURTNEY: No, are you?

ADORE: A little lol

COURTNEY: I’m not high. I just love you.

ADORE: Aww, thanks babe

“DORY!!” Courtney squealed, practically leaping from her car the second she pulled into the driveway. She’d texted Adore from her last stop for gas, but she was thrilled to see her best friend actually waiting for her.

She wrapped Adore into a tight hug, her excitement causing her to pepper Adore’s entire face with wet kisses.

“Hi, okay, stop it,” Adore giggled. “Nice car, by the way.”

“Oh yeah, I know, it’s pretty great. Peter gets a gold star for that one.” Courtney glanced back at the car, her dad’s old Honda Accord, shaking her new bangs out of her face. He’d surprised her with the keys just last week, and it had almost made her forgive him for leaving in the first place...almost. “It was kind of scary to do that whole drive alone, though. I’m very thankful to have made it in one piece.”

“Me too,” Adore said, with a grin that told Courtney she was home. “Now that you’re back, it’s gonna be a fuckin’ party.”

Courtney laid a head on her shoulder, sighing happily.

“You’re going to Darienne’s goodbye party on Wednesday, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Omigod! Dory! I wanted to make those peanut butter cupcakes that she loves, but you know I’m just absolute shit at decorating, can you help?”

“What on earth makes you think I’d be good at cupcake decorating?” Adore laughed.

“I dunno, you’re better at art than me,” Courtney said. “Plus, it’ll just be more fun with you.”

Adore pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Count me in.”

School was going to be starting back up soon, and as Adore looked around the party at her friends, she couldn’t help but feel a little ambivalent. Summer had just been so nice, and having that small taste of freedom made her long to be done with school altogether.

Tonight, there was a big group at Pearl’s house--her usual friends as well as a bunch of the neighborhood kids, enjoying the pool and the warm evening air. Violet, Fame and Trinity lounged in the hot tub with April, watching the sun set. Pearl was standing at the grill, living her butch fantasy as she cooked up food for her guests, swatting Bob away with as he peered over her shoulder, trying to “help.”

It was a little bittersweet--Darienne had already left for Pepperdine a few weeks earlier, and Jamin for Cal Poly. Even though they weren’t as close as they used to be, it still felt strange, somehow, for them to be missing. Hell, it was even weird for Alyssa to be gone, the loudmouth head cheerleader now torturing people at UC San Diego, probably already sorority president.

A handful of people were dancing, including Courtney and Willam, twirling until they were dizzy and laughing.

“Ugh, I don’t want school to start!” Willam suddenly whined, reflecting Adore’s feelings exactly.

“I know, but this year we’re coming back as seniors, and we’re gonna rule the school,” Courtney said, imitating the line from Grease perfectly.

“Oh really? You think you’re Rizzo?” Adore challenged her.

“Why can’t I be Rizzo?” she demanded.

“Bitch, you are Sandy and you know it,” Adore laughed, grabbing a beer and sitting down on the back steps.

“I can be Rizzo if I want! Fuck you!”

“Yeah, lesbian! How dare you put cheerleader in a box! She can be whatever she wants!” Willam cried.

“That's right,” Courtney added, “I mean, I did spend all summer hanging out with a prostitute. What did you do? Day Camp?”

“I was a counselor,” Adore replied, laughing. She reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle. “Here, have another drink. And I thought Katya was a stripper, not a prostitute.”

“You don't know her. It's a very blurry line,” Courtney explained, taking the offered wine cooler.

Willam grabbed Courtney’s hand and pulled her away, spinning her around and around. “Less talking, more dancing!”

Adore shook her head, watching them with a smile, lighting up a joint. Roy sat down beside her--the last of his class, since UCLA didn’t start for a few more weeks.

“Hey, Delano. How ya doing, man?”

“Good...bro.”

Roy flashed some dimples at her, then just sat for a minute, unusually quiet, as they both watched their friends dancing like fools. Willam dipped Courtney low to the ground and she shrieked and giggled.

“God, she’s so fucking beautiful,” he said.

Adore wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself. She nodded, leaning against the banister and sighing slightly.

When Roy spoke again, it was quiet. “I know, you know. How lucky I am.”

Adore looked at him, considering her reply. Finally, she just nodded and said, “Good.”

Roy gave her another smile.

“Make sure she stays outta trouble while I’m away.”

“I think I’m probably the least qualified person for that job,” Adore laughed, then held out the joint.

“Thanks, I’m cool.”

“Debatable,” Adore retorted, taking another hit.

Roy shook his head, chuckling.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Delano.”

“Aww...shut up.”

On the first day of their senior year, Courtney and Adore walked out of their fourth period economics class together, giggling over Laganja’s unfortunate new haircut.

“I feel bad for saying so, but it’s just so...”

“Hideous?” Adore supplied, and Courtney giggled some more.

“Yeah. Poor thing. Although it’s hard to say whether her hair is more or less tragic than Mr. Sutton’s awkwardness. He’s like a baby deer.”

“I know! But like, imagine trying to get the respect of students who are pretty much your age,” Adore laughed.

“How old do you think he is, anyway?”

“Uh, I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure he graduated with Kim and Angie. I think I remember him from when Angie did show choir.”

Courtney grabbed onto Adore’s arm, eyes wide.

“Omigod, you’re right! I knew he looked familiar!” she exclaimed.

It wasn’t until they were halfway down the hill that Adore noticed Courtney still walking with her. She hadn’t split off to go sit with the neighborhood kids like past years, simply walked beside her towards the oak tree, where Trinity and Willam already sat, sword-fighting with breadsticks.

“Are you...planning to join us?” Adore asked curiously, and Courtney bit her lip.

“Is that okay? I mean...it’s just a little weird without Roy and Darienne, so I thought…you can say no if-”

“Of course it’s okay!” Adore pulled her in for a side hug. “Everyone loves you, you know that.”

“Everyone?” Courtney asked, one eyebrow nearly to her hairline.

“Almost everyone.” Adore smiled ruefully. “And anyway, I want you here, so she can just deal with it.”

As it turned out, Adore was right. Everyone welcomed Courtney enthusiastically with open arms. And even Violet was unusually cool about it, containing her disapproval to some muttered asides to Fame, who promptly thumped her on the shoulder every time, akin to bopping a puppy on the nose with a newspaper.

Courtney didn’t seem to mind either way, cheerfully trading barbs with Willam and letting Fame “fix” her eyebrows, which were deemed “just too pale.”

“Are your pubes blonde, too?” Willam asked curiously, and Trinity began choking on her sandwich from laughter.

“Gross,” Courtney said, wrinkling her nose.

“Actually, are they? I’m kind of curious,” Trinity said.

“Come on, cheerleader, just tell us!” Willam urged.

“You know, I quit cheerleading almost a year ago,” Courtney said.

“So?”

“He still calls me ‘New Girl,’” Pearl explained.

“Why are you stalling? Show! Me! Your! Pussy! Hairs!” Willam said, and Fame put her whole head in her hands, letting out a horrified groan before going back to Courtney’s eyebrows.

“Careful, Bill, or you might get what you wish for,” Courtney sang, staring him down. “You really wanna see my pussy?”

“Uhh...no. Well, maybe...but no. Or…” Willam’s brow furrowed.

“Shit, you broke his little gay brain,” Pearl said, laughing.

“Omigod, that’s so much better!” Fame sat back on her heels, holding up a compact so that Courtney could see her new defined eyebrows.

“Oh wow, that is better! Thank you!”

After snapping the compact shut and handing it back to Fame, Courtney caught Adore’s eye, both of their faces melting into a grin. As Adore buried her smile into her sandwich, she couldn’t help but think about what a change it was from last year.

Maybe a sign of good things to come...or maybe the calm before the storm.

#rpdr fanfiction #tree house kisses #scorpio #veronica #adorney #adore delano #courtney act #bianca del rio #bitney #willam belli #miss fame #lesbian au #high school au #angst #fluff

6 notes · View notes

bumblesimagines · 4 years

Text

Upstairs Neighbor

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Beck hasn't had much of a chance to meet her neighbors. That is until one night when she finally has enough of her upstairs neighbor playing loud music. She finally decides to confront them.

Beck groaned, covering her ears with the pillow as the loud music played. She huffed, sitting up and getting off the bed, putting on flip flops. Beck left her apartment, following the music upstairs and pounding on the door. She crossed her arms, tapping her foot as she waited. The door opened, making the music louder.

"Hey, can you turn it down?" Beck asked, looking up at the male. Her eyes flickered to his many tattoos, swallowing thickly. The male raised a cigarette to his lips, watching her.

"You're a new face." He said, blowing the smoke out in her face afterward. Beck fanned the smoke away from her face, nodding.

"Yeah, I just moved in downstairs a few weeks back. Mind lowering the music? I have to get up early tomorrow." Beck said, watching his gaze flicker downwards. She suddenly became aware of the fact that she was only wearing an oversized shirt.

"Yeah, whatever." He nodded, going to close his door.

"I'm Guinevere Beck, by the way, but everyone calls me Beck." She rushed out the introduction.

"(Y/N).. (Y/N) Padovan." He replied, closing the door in her face. Beck shook her head, heading downstairs as the music was turned down. She entered her apartment, closing the door with her foot and locking it. Beck collapsed onto her bed, grabbing her phone and googling his name. She found his Instagram and facebook, going on it.

"He owns the bike outside, huh?" She mumbled, rolling onto her stomach as she scrolled through his social media. Beck liked his vibe despite the fact he seemed like an asshole. She followed his account, clicking on some posts and watching the videos of his friends riding motorcycles and doing tricks. Beck nimbled on her bottom lip, turning off her phone and sighing. She shook her head, putting her phone on the nightstand and pulling the covers up.

"You're so lucky to have a cute bad boy as your neighbor!" Lynn said, scrolling through (Y/N)'s instagram. Beck giggled, shaking her head.

"Yeah, but bad boys in real life aren't like the ones in movies." Beck reminded.

"She has a point, plus he looks like nothing but trouble." Peach said, looking over Lynn's shoulder. "But he is cute."

"Seriously, guys?" Beck chuckled, resting her head on her fist. "I'm trying to find a reason not to hop on-" Beck cut herself off, eyes watching a figure enter the Cafe they were in

"Speak of the devil!" Annika whispered excitedly. Beck's eyes flickered to the boy with him. (Y/N) looked down at the younger boy with a smile.

"You want a cookie, Pac?" He asked, leaning against the counter. The boy nodded.

"And he's good with kids. Another reason you should totally hit that!" Lynn said. Peach rolled her eyes, nudging the other girl. (Y/N) ordered a coffee and chocolate chip cookie, giving the cookie to the boy. (Y/N) looked up, spotting her. He approached their table causing the four girls to straighten up and put on smiles.

"Hey, neighbor." He greeted. Beck sent him a smile.

"Hey, stranger. Thanks for lowering the music, by the way." Beck said. (Y/N) nodded, sipping on his coffee.

"These are my friends, Lynn, Annika, and Peach." She introduced them. (Y/N) nodded to them.

"(N/N), can we go see Joe?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) nodded at the little boy before giving the girls a smile. "See you ladies around." He cooed, leaving with the boy.

"He's perfect." Annika said. Beck rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"Okay, so what if he's good with kids, rides a motorcycle, has tattoos, wears leather, and listens to rap music?"

"Please, tell me you're joking cause if you don't want him, I'll gladly take him." Lynn said. Beck laughed softly.

"Okay, okay." Beck took a sip of her drink, smiling.

"I'll put on my charm." She winked, causing the girls to giggle.

"Well, I've got to go." Peach said, looking at her phone.

"Same here! I've got a date with Jason." Annika said, getting out of her seat along with Peach and Lynn.

"And I have to visit my mom." Lynn said. Beck nodded, watching them go. Peach paid for their food and drinks before leaving. Beck sighed, getting her purse and leaving the Cafe. She walked home, feeling lonely. The walk home was boring for Beck. Her thoughts kept drifting to her neighbor. It didn't take long for her to get home, spotting (Y/N) getting on his bike and putting on his helmet.

"You look sad as shit."

"I've got nothing to do." Beck shrugged. (Y/N) motioned to the back of his bike.

"Hop on, I'll give you something to do." He grinned. Beck knew she probably shouldn't go with someone she barely knew but she lived on impulsive decisions. Beck approached him, grabbing the spare helmet he had and putting it on. She got on behind him, wrapping her arms around him. Beck squeaked when the bike started up and took off. She quickly got used to the feeling and laughed, liking how the wind felt hitting her. They rode around for a while until night hit.

"Want me to drop you off?" (Y/N) asked as they stopped at a stop light.

"Where are you gonna go?"

"Some place where good girls shouldn't be at." (Y/N) replied in a teasing voice.

"Right, now I'm curious." Beck said. (Y/N) chuckled, revving the engine.

"Suit yourself." He cooed, driving once the light turned green. (Y/N) drove into the 'bad' part of town, pulling into an alleyway. He drove out onto another street, slowing down as they got close to a crowd.

"What's all this?"

"Street racing." (Y/N) replied. Beck watched as the cars took off down the street, people cheering. Others checked out cars or chatted with their friends.

"This doesn't really seem like your scene, princess." (Y/N) said, glancing over his shoulder at her. Beck rolled her eyes at his words.

"You don't know me."

"Mhm.." Beck squeezed (Y/N)'s side, making the male chuckle. Beck rested her head on his shoulder, watching everyone. Everything was calm until someone shouted that the cops were arriving. Beck wrapped her arms tightly around him as the motorcycle took off along with other cars and bikes. Beck couldn't help but laugh, liking the thrill of possibly getting caught. (Y/N) broke off from the others, going through an alleyway and driving onto a busy street. He pulled up at their apartment and took off his helmet.

"You only saw a little since we were late." (Y/N) said, turning off the bike and taking the helmet from Beck. She fixed her messy hair, a wide smile on her face.

"That was.. Amazing. You should let me tag along more often." Beck said. (Y/N) chuckled, heading up the steps and opening the door.

"Sure thing, princess." He replied, toying with his keys.

"By the way, who was the kid you were with earlier?" Beck asked, opening her apartment door.

"Paco, my little brother." (Y/N) replied. Beck hummed, nodding.

"He's a cute kid."

"Yeah... I wanna get custody of him." (Y/N) said, smile dropping. "See you around, princess." Beck watched him walk away with a frown, wondering why. She took out her phone, sending the group chat texts about her night. Beck needed someone like him in her life. It's what she always wanted.

This is shittttt

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male!reader #you netflix #you netflix x reader #you netflix x male reader #you netflix x you #you netflix x y/n #guinevere beck #Guinevere Beck x reader #Guinevere Beck x male reader #Guinevere Beck x you #Guinevere Beck x y/n

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avaryjillian · 3 years

Text

I was almost the Main Character of my story until he did something that was unforgivable

Childhood friends to high school enemies to lovers (except it didn't happen)

No one asked for it but I'm going to talk about how I could have been the main character in my story. I'm bad at describing real life but I'll try to explain the best I can.

I was two when my mom (Susan) met Nicole who had a daughter (Jasmine) and she was 5 along with her son (Nathan) who was two and she was pregnant with her second daughter (Destiny). My grandma on my dad's side lived right across the street from us. We lived in a trailer park.

One day Nicole goes to pick up her kids from my grandma who was babysitting them. Before she leaves my mom comes out and tells her that my grandma was locking the kids in a room and not letting them out til Nicole got there so she didn't have to deal with them.

My mom wasn't working because my dad has to make sure he had complete control over her life and make her dependent on him so she couldn't leave (which is why we lived across the street from his mom).

My mom offered to babysit so she could work. That way it wouldn't be just us until my older sister (Emily) who was 14 got back from school and my dad from work aka selling weed.

Then they became friends and my mom babysat then they would hang out after Nicole got back from work. Fast forward I think a couple of months later. Our neighbor next to us is a single mom (Billie) of two girls, the oldest (Gracie) was 4 and her youngest (Haley) was 3. Her babysitter quit on her and she couldn't miss work as she was already struggling to pay bills. She knocked on my mom's door and asked her to watch her kids because she noticed Nicole bringing her kids over and offered to pay her. My said yes because her kids were close to out age and she thought it would be nice for us all to grow up together. And we did. It was 6 girls and one boy, not including the moms who would stay after work and hangout.

We tried to include him but at the same time ✨cooties✨ so he would hang out with my older sister (who is mentally handicapped so her brain didn't mature past 13) and watch WWE.

As we got older we didn't want to hang out with him because he was boy and mean. He would pop the heads off of my Ken dolls right after I got them. One thing you need to know about me is that you don't mess with my barbie dolls. They were my life and what I used to cope with my childhood trauma that was happening at this time. So I banned everyone from my room unless I was home. By then we lived in a tiny apartment so they all stayed in the small living room downstairs. But we found ways to entertain ourselves without breaking MY stuff, not my mom's unfortunately. We made up this game one person was like a gremlin or something and we had to go from the kitchen to the middle of the stairs. The gremlin would be waiting in the living room between the kitchen and stairs. This entertained us for a while.

As we got older Billie, Haley and Gracie moved away to Florida then back to NY before going to West Virginia where they have been for about 6 years. After they left my mom stopped babysitting everyone shortly after because we got old enough to watch ourselves aka staying in our rooms watching tv.

Nicole, Jasmine, Nathan and Destiny still came over regularly and we still had sleepovers because I was bad at making friends and I knew them so they stuck. Nathan got meaner as he got older as boys do. We occasionally talk when I'm over at his mom, Nicole and her wife Alisha's house and even then he stays in his room and when he does come out he just is an ass and bothers us (me, my mom, Nicole, Alisha, and their friends who come over to sit my the fire in their backyard and hangout).

I'd occasionally stay over and hang out with Destiny who is two years younger than me but to be honest Haley and Gracie were the ones everyone wanted to hang out with. We'd fight over who's house they would stay at but I'm their favorite so they usually stay with me when they visit.

One time I stayed at Nicole's and Destiny fell asleep early so Nathan and I were up in the living room eating snacks and playing on the Wii, mainly Mario Cart and Wii sports but he's a cheater and would push on the floor to win. Mind you we were like 13 and it was like 3am and we were arguing about who's the bigger asshole (spoiler alert... it's him). Then we ending up getting tired if each other so he slept in his room while I slept on the makeshift bed me and Destiny made on the floor and went to sleep. When I woke up this asshole was eating cereal and yelling in my ear to wake up. I got up and ate with him while glaring then we watched Netflix until his mom's and destiny woke up. For the rest of the day until his mom dropped me off at home, we ignored each other mostly except for the occasional argument over what to watch. He won and we watched some stupid boy movie that I didn't care about so we sat while the movie played and didn't talk as we waited for his mom's and Destiny to wake up. When Destiny woke up we went to her room and played with her baby dolls because the only game we could play was house and that was it. And that was it until I went home. I actually had fun which was unexpected because I don't really like Nathan and Destiny so I don't hang out with them much unless our moms get together.

Now we (Nathan and I) are 16 and don't talk. I don't have his phone number, he doesn't have mine, and we don't talk at school at all.

Last time I saw him when about a month ago. I went over to his mom's because they were having a fire and it's nice to sit about the fire and hang out. Of course I was the only kid because childhood trauma got me mature enough to hang out with the adults since I was 11. Anyway Nathan came out of his room and was bothering me. I was outside with my sister and my cousin who was visiting and he just came out eating watermelon. Didn't say anything just came out and ate watermelon in front of me and said a bunch of dumb shit that I corrected him on. Then the adults came out and joined up and so I was ignoring him because he was getting in my nerves. He was spraying me with those water squirters you get at dollar tree that kinda look like big colorful pencils. I was ignoring him because he wanted attention that I wasn't going to give him. So he kept spraying my back until he gave up and sat next to me and kept making fake gasps at everything I was doing. (I smoke a little weed every now and then with my mom and her friends. It perfectly safe as I am in a safe environment surround by people I know and trust. It doesn't make my mom a bad mom so don't say anything like that. It's better that I smoke weed that she knows is safe and can keep an eye on me instead of me smoking cheap weed laced with something at a friend of a friend's house and her worrying if I'm okay or if something happened).

Honestly I was just trying to ignoring him as he was ruining my high but then he grabbed my purse and started going through it. You DON'T go through a girls purse. I have a lot of gum in my purse and he kept trying to get it and so I threatened to bite his arm. He said it was okay. I looked to my mom and she nodded then I looked at Nicole and she said "Go ahead. Bite him. He deserves it." I kept trying to bite him but he was being a baby about it. He wouldn't let me hold onto his arm to bite him and he kept pulling his arm back. Finally after almost 20 minutes and him threatening to sue me for assault to which I responded with "You gave me consent and I have witnesses that will testify that you did." Even his mom was on my side. I finally bit his arm and he said to bite as hard as I can and break the skin but 5 seconds later he was telling me to stop. And because I am a nice person I did. I did break the skin a little bit. He walked over to his mom and said "Look what she did to me." And she dead ass said "You told her she could and you deserve it now leave her alone." Then he went back in the house and I didn't see him for the rest of the day.

Honestly, we could have been a great book plot. Childhood friend to high school enemies to lovers but popping the heads of my Ken dolls is a deal breaker 🙄 and he's an ass and he cheat at Wii sports. Also he's very mean to me and I despise him. And not like the years of sexual tension hidden behind the hate we show and then it all gets released in 🥵 form. No it's I literally hate him and I can't be in the same room as him without wanting to kick him in the balls.

Anyway that just a little background that I want to post that no one asked for when I should be working on my WIPs and getting ready to update but no.

(not edited) if you don't understand something and want to know. Send an ask and I'll probably respond

#main character #main character energy #childhood friends #high school enemies #lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #real life #so close #men suck

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bathtubdefenseattorney · 4 years

Text

Fire

Mikannie, 900 words

Ao3

Annie woke to something screaming. She wrestled herself out of her bed covers, kicking them off, went into the kitchen and found the noise was coming from her smoke alarm. She put her hands on her hips and glared up at it, frankly tired of its bullshit. It was nearly 3 AM.

Hearing chaos outside her door, Annie rolled her eyes. She opened the door to find her apartment neighbors fleeing through a smoky hall.

“There’s a fire right below here,” someone said. They were on the fifth floor. Annie found herself borne down the stairs with a jostling crowd. Outside it was freezing, the strong wind making it even worse. She was in her pajamas: just a tank top and some sweatpants. If she could do it all over again, she’d have grabbed her coat. She looked upward. Smoke was billowing out of the fourth-floor windows, dark and ominous.

Just then, a panic-stricken woman with two large cats in her arms rushed from the building and set upon Annie.

“Here,” the woman said, thrusting the cats into Annie’s arms. “I’m really sorry. My other cat is—“ She broke into a fit of coughing. “My other cat is in there,” she finished. She was beautiful, with jet black hair and fierce eyes. Before Annie could react, she was running back into the burning building.

“Fuck,” Annie said. If Annie was anything, she was a sucker for beautiful women. She thrust the cats on some helpless kid and ran after her. The electricity was now failing, and she went through the stairwells in the pitch dark until she ran into the woman just before they reached the fourth level. She gripped her arm. “Are you fucking crazy? Let’s get out of here!”

“No!” the woman snapped. “Bean is in there!” She began coughing again and leaned against Annie. She thought quickly. This woman was in no shape to be running around up here, and this area was the source of the fire.

“I’ll go,” Annie said. “I’ll go.” Even behind the entrance to the floor, the heat was making her sweat.

She thought she could make out the glint of the woman’s eyes. “Room 412,” she heard her say softly.

“Get downstairs. Now,” Annie ordered.

She waited a moment to hear the retreat of the woman’s footsteps, then gripped the door handle. It was hot, but not too hot. She drew in a deep breath and threw open the door. She got on her hands and knees. Everything above her was black, billowing smoke. She wouldn’t easily be able to see the door numbers, but the floor was laid out the same as hers, so she counted doors until she thought she’d reached the right apartment. She felt around for the numbers, groping at what she hoped was a one and a two. Satisfied, she went in.

First was the living room. She quickly overturned the couch, over-exerting herself so that she sucked in too much air until she was coughing like crazy. The smoke was getting thicker by the minute and still no cat. She went into the bathroom and quickly soaked a towel in water to hold over her mouth and nose and ran into the bedroom to wedge herself under the bed. There! Two scared green eyes stared at her from the corner. With no time to be gentle, Annie got herself as far under the bed as she could and yanked the cat out by its front paws. The poor thing yowled, terrified.

“Sorry,” she muttered. She had the cat tucked under her arm like a football. It was hotter in the hallway. Much hotter. She crouched and ran for the stairwell. Behind, she heard the snap of wood. She reached a dead end, having overshot where the door was. The air was black and blistering hot. She felt along the wall, at last finding the stairwell. She went down the stairs slowly, her vision going in and out. She bumped into walls and tripped several times, but she held onto the cat for dear life. At last she felt the relief of cold air hitting her face, the beautiful woman running to her. The cat slipped out of her arms just as she hit the ground.

She woke up to a white-walled room. A hospital? she thought. Images of fire and blackness and glowing green eyes hit her all at once. She moaned and threw her head to the side, only to be greeted by the sight of a beautiful woman dozing in the chair next to her. Next she heard the cats: all three of them contained in two carriers on the floor.

Annie reached her hand out to the woman who startled awake.

“Hey,” Annie said, her voice weaker than she would have liked.

“Oh! You’re up. I just had to stay. And thank you…for what you did. Not long after you got out, they say the floor started to collapse.”

“It’s fine,” Annie muttered. She looked at the carriers. “They’re okay?”

“Yes,” the woman said. “Though Sonny and Bean aren’t happy about sharing a carrier.”

Annie laughed softly. “What started the fire?”

“I guess someone was deep frying a potato?”

“At three AM?” She began to laugh again, but fell into a fit of coughing.

Mikasa stared at her, stricken.

“God. I’m fine,” Annie said at last. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m Mikasa,” the woman said and squeezed Annie’s hand.

“Annie.”

“The apartment complex is done for,” Mikasa said sadly.

“Oh. Well, I’m looking for a roommate. Somewhere else.”

“And three cats?” Mikasa said smiling.

“And three cats,” Annie said and meant it.

Ao3

#my writing #Mikannie #SnK #Annie Leonhardt #Mikasa Ackerman #Fire #slaps ass i forgot to link this here but people seem to like it so

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raywritesthings · 4 years

Text

Bird in a Storm 5/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn, John Diggle, Joanna de la Vega, Ted Grant, Raisa, Hank, Emily Nocenti, Female OCs, Male OCs Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

She’d boxed up everything that would be going with her. In the end, it wasn’t really that much. Joanna had offered to hold on to her law books — “For the near future,” her friend had declared, convinced this was only going to be a short hiatus for Laurel from the practice. The bulk of her things were clothes, old photos and albums, and Sara’s stuff. She hadn’t had the heart to throw it away, even with the smaller space she’d have now.

It took a few trips to get everything downstairs, but she wasn’t worried about leaving her stuff. Hank, her first ever client, was sitting with it outside in her car.

He’d sought her services all those years ago for his son when he’d been falsely accused of a mugging. Now that same son was in need of a cheap car to get to and from college, and Laurel had been more than happy to have someone to take it off her hands. The insurance was just going to be too much, not to mention her new home didn’t have its own driveway or garage.

She climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.

“That everything?” Hank asked.

“Yep. Time to go. Thanks for giving me a lift over.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do. This all is a real shame.”

Laurel nodded, leaning back against the headrest as she watched her old building glide away past the window. No turning back now.

They left downtown and entered the Glades. They were streets she was somewhat familiar with, at least the ones she took to and from work, but it seemed different now knowing this was to be her neighborhood. She spotted the corner store she’d researched online for where she would be getting her groceries.

As they turned onto her new street, dodging around a trash can that had fallen over into the road, she sat up. There was a whole group of people standing around by the front walk of the little townhouse she was to call her own. Hank honked the horn, and it was at that point she realized she recognized most of them.

“There she is. Welcome to the neighborhood!” Mrs. Ross called out as she got out of the car.

“What is all this?”

“I might have mentioned I was helping you move to a few people,” Hank admitted sheepishly. He had already taken one of the bigger boxes from the car, so Laurel headed up the walk to unlock her front door. She remained on the stoop as Hank went in, looking around at the people who had turned out.

One stood out in particular.

“Raisa?”

The Queen’s cook and housekeeper smiled at her. “I heard Mr. Oliver and Miss Thea discussing your move. You were always such a sweet girl with a good heart, and now we’ve become something of neighbors.”

“I didn’t know you lived in the Glades.” She would have thought the Queens paid her more than that.

“I do. My sister’s family, my son and I. We all share. A few streets away from here.” She waved a hand vaguely in one direction. Then she returned it to holding a tupperware bowl. “Now, I found time to bake some cookies. Your favorite, if I recall.”

Laurel thought she could feel her stomach growl at just the mention. “I’m sure they are. Thank you so much, Raisa.”

The woman patted her arm, and then headed in after Hank.

She wasn’t alone in bringing food. Mrs. Ross was carrying a large casserole dish covered with tinfoil. “You can serve this up over a week, maybe two. Did the job work out?”

“I talked to her over the phone, and she asked me to come in tomorrow to start.”

“Good, that’s good. But listen, don’t stand on ceremony with her. She’s just Pam.”

Laurel took note of that with a nod, and Mrs. Ross continued into the house.

A couple both about five years her senior approached her next. The woman reached her hand out first; she had brown skin and long dark hair in a sleek pontytail. “Hi, I’m Anita. This is my husband, Jerome. We’re right next door from you.”

Laurel shook both of their hands. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you.”

“No, thank you for moving in. There’s been kids smoking on the stoop and in the back. Makes the whole street stink,” Anita said. Her husband, a Black man, hummed in agreement. “Now they’ll just have to find somewhere else.”

“Well, glad I could help then,” she replied with a wry grin.

Anita turned her head to the side and said, “Bebê, you wanna grab a couple boxes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh no, that’s okay,” she started, but Jerome had already walked towards the car.

“Oh, don’t worry. He carries heavier stuff than that at the docks,” Anita told her. “Jerome’s got work unloading the cargo ships that come by there.”

“This is like a feather,” he agreed as he returned with one box under each arm. Laurel had to admit he didn’t look to be breaking a sweat. He was probably taller than both Oliver and John, and maybe even her father. His hair was cropped short, though not as close as John’s military regulation.

Emily Nocenti was behind them in the makeshift line that had formed. “Laurel, I couldn’t believe it when I heard this was happening. If it weren’t for you and Joanna at CNRI — well, they’re losing a good person.”

“Thank you, Emily. I’m glad I was able to close your case first.” There were other cases she had been looking at before everything had gone wrong. Cases she would never be allowed to touch, whether or not they would have been winnable. It hurt.

Last of the group, Joanna emerged with a big smile. “I had to come and see the place, didn’t I?”

Laurel gladly accepted her friend’s hug. “Thanks for coming.”

Joanna took out an envelope and passed it to her. “This is from Peter Declan. He’s at a recital for his daughter and couldn’t make it, but they both wanted you to have it. Something to help you out.”

She opened it to find a thank you card with two fifties folded up inside. Laurel bit her lip as her eyes stung for a moment. Just thinking about all that time the man had spent wrongly imprisoned, only to still be so kind. “You’ll tell him thanks?”

“Of course. Now come on, let’s get you unpacked.”

Together, the two friends entered the house. It was much smaller than her old apartment, and still one level. The sitting room bled into the kitchen with only a counter separating them. A cramped hallway led back to a bathroom with a standup shower and further back was the single bedroom with a tiny closet. Sara’s things would be going up on the high shelf in there just as they had done in her old place.

Everyone had congregated in the main room. Raisa and Mrs. Ross were manning the kitchen while Jerome unpacked her appliances. The only good thing about the brevity of her and Tommy cohabiting a space was that practically everything in it had been hers; it cut down on things she’d needed to buy.

“Think these are clothes,” Hank said as he opened one box on a squat coffee table.

“Joanna and I can take that. Thanks, Hank.”

She picked up the box and led Joanna back through to the bedroom.

“Well,” her friend began. “It could be worse.” She sat on the bed and tested its bounce. Laurel didn’t miss her smile dropping for a moment. “So how safe is this neighborhood, Laurel? I mean really?”

“It’s not the worst,” she hedged. “It was the best I could find in terms of the landlord. There’s some tenement housing where they don’t turn the heating on until the dead of winter, did you know that?”

Joanna shook her head. “It doesn’t surprise me, but no. Look, Laurel, are you sure you don’t just want to stay with me and my mom for a while?”

“I couldn’t. Really, it’d be too generous, and I still wouldn’t be able to keep up with my car payments. I’d have no way to get to work.” She finished hanging a few sweaters and turned to take Joanna’s hands. “It’s going to be okay, Jo, I promise.”

Someone clearing their throat caused her to turn and see Anita standing in the doorway. “I found your toiletries. You just want those in the bathroom?”

“Yes, thank you. On the sink is fine. I’ll sort through them all later.” Laurel moved away from Joanna and took out her gray pea coat to hang up next.

“Oh, you sweet thing, that is a beautiful coat.”

“Thank you,” Laurel replied.

“You’re gonna have to get rid of it.”

She blinked. “Sorry?”

Anita gave her a rueful grin. “People spot you walking around in something this nice, they’re gonna think you have money. And some of them are gonna want that money.”

Laurel exchanged a nervous look with Joanna. “Um, okay. Do you think your mom would want this?”

“I’ll ask her.” Joanna stood and folded the coat over her arm. Laurel frowned as she looked over her things. She’d thought she had already sold most of her best stuff, but did she give off the image of someone it would be worthwhile to mug? Was that all that some people would see?

Anita set aside the toiletry case and approached her. “I’m not saying you can’t have anything a little nice. But you want to be careful. Those kind of folks can pick out people who don’t belong, don’t know better.”

Laurel nodded. “I understand.”

“If you need some different things, there’s a thrift store four blocks east of here. You can get some nice stuff second hand, too.”

“Laurel, I’ll finish hanging up the clothes. You go sort out the other boxes,” Joanna said. Her friend could clearly see she needed something else to distract herself with, at least for a few moments.

“Yeah, okay.”

When she entered the main room, Emily Nocenti was pulling the photo albums and framed photographs out of one box and setting them aside. She held up one as Laurel approached.

“Is this you and your dad?”

Laurel shook her head. “No, that’s my sister, Sara.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Emily rushed to say, and Laurel remembered with some embarrassment that she had told the other woman the whole history that day they’d bumped into Oliver at the courthouse.

“It’s fine.” She put a smile on to reassure the other woman, then took the photograph and placed it on the narrow bookshelf standing against one wall. “I don’t even know why he bought her that canary. It never shut up, drove us all nuts.” Sara had grown bored with it after a week or so, too, leaving her to either have to remind her sister or simply feed the loud thing herself.

Laurel then stopped by the kitchen. “Is there a pizza place or something near here? I don’t want to send you all home without eating.”

“There’s Joe’s on Fifth and Powell. They’ve got a nice deal on Saturdays,” Jerome told her.

Laurel looked them up and ordered, and soon enough most of her boxes were empty and everyone had regathered in the main room to eat. Anita had had to run next door to grab paper plates, which Laurel wished she’d thought to buy beforehand. She hadn’t really been expecting company so soon, though.

“And there really isn’t some kind of appeal process?” Emily was asking her. “I know the Hood isn’t exactly innocent, but without him Sommers would be walking free. A lot of people think he does good work.”

“Well, he could be doing more,” Mrs. Ross said. Laurel looked over in surprise. The other woman raised both hands. “I’m just saying, there’s a lot still wrong with this town.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to feel safe walking around at night. Usually I just sit around after work waiting for Jerome to be done with his shift and come get me,” Anita agreed. “Lots of guys out there think they can use force to get their way, too.”

“Well, that’s not like anything the Hood’s doing,” Laurel began.

“No, but it’s funny,” Jerome said. “He stopped those bank robbers a few months back. How come he doesn’t do more of that?”

“It would be so nice if he would do something about the gangs that attack the bus routes,” Raisa agreed. “I’m always so afraid to go home. Any day now, they’ll pick the one I’m on, and I’ll lose my wages.”

“There’s gangs hitting the buses?” Joanna asked. Judging by the look on her face, this was the first she was hearing of it, too.

“Well, maybe the Hood just doesn’t know about all of that.”

“What if he did?” Hank asked. He’d been mostly quiet till now, but he was staring directly at Laurel. “Maybe if you told him?”

The others were all watching her expectantly, too. Much as she didn’t want to disappoint them, Laurel knew protecting Oliver’s identity was still important, even among friends.

“It- it doesn’t really work like that. I don’t have the phone to contact him anymore.”

There were nods and glum looks. Mrs. Ross stood and started gathering up empty plates. She patted Laurel’s hand. “Best for you to keep your head down. That’s what we all do to survive.”

The party atmosphere had waned, and slowly everyone started making their way to the door. Laurel thanked them each as they left, then stood in her doorway and watched as Hank drove away with what was no longer her car. The lights were on at Anita and Jerome’s, but other than that the street was quiet.

Laurel shut and locked the door, then put away a few more little things before retiring to her new bedroom. It was hard for her to get to sleep; whether that was due to a first night in a new environment or her thoughts, she wasn’t sure.

What the others had said about the Glades and the Hood, it weighed on her. There was so much more work to do to even come close to saving this city. Laurel just wasn’t sure how she was going to take it on.

---

Pam rose early as she always did and went about her morning routine. Getting ready, watering the plants that needed it, and feeding her cat. She made sure to give him a nice big bowl, otherwise he tended to try going after the basil.

With everything upstairs settled, it was time to head down and open Green Glades for another morning.

She checked the register and went up and down the rows, inspecting her wares. Some of the perennials weren’t looking as good as they had a week ago. She’d have to consider marking them down. There was some other matter of business she needed to tend to today, though it was escaping her what that was specifically. With a shrug, she decided it would dawn on her at the right time.

Pam returned to her counter and had only eased back into her stool for a few minutes before there was a knock at the front door. She looked up. “Now who could that be?”

It wasn’t opening time yet. But as she shuffled to the door, she could make out the outline of a young woman with brown hair and a striped sweater. Ah! Her brand new assistant then. She’d known she was forgetting something.

Pam undid the lock. “Laurel?” Such a pretty name for the girl who was herself rather pretty.

Her new assistant nodded with a small, polite smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Pam.”

“You as well. I’m glad you got here early. We’ll have some time to go over the store.”

She led Laurel on a walking tour up and down aisles, pointing out the organization of the flowers and other plants. “I did them by difficulty. Makes it easier for the beginners.”

“Difficulty?”

“In how to tend them, grow them. Some plants require a skillful touch compared to others. They’re high maintenance. You’ll see in time. What sort of plants have you owned?”

“Um, my mom had a basket...thing, when I was growing up,” Laurel said. Pam waited, but that was apparently to be it.

“Well, you’ll be able to relate well to the beginners, then. Tell you what, today I’ll have you on the register. She’s an old thing, but you learn the right way soon enough. Oh, and I’ve got some mark down stickers that need putting on a few of the perennials.”

“I can do that,” Laurel volunteered with spirit, clearly glad to have something she felt confident enough in doing. Pam fished out the guide she had for customers, dog-eared and stained with mulch in places, setting Laurel to work.

They had their first customers before she’d finished, and Pam was kept busy by the register. It was mostly folks coming in early for seeds and bulbs, a couple of indoor plants here and there. Pam did some bouquets, of course — she knew where the money was — but she was always so happy to sell something living instead.

“Pam? Sorry, where’s the sink?”

Pam turned to find her assistant holding the sticker tape in one hand and her other, dirt-covered hand far away from her clothes. There were already a couple of dark stains on the front of her sweater.

“Oh! I should have got you an apron. I’m sorry, dear.” She ushered Laurel into the back where she found her an old smock to wear in place of the sweater, along with her own apron.

Laurel came up to learn the register, which left Pam a little freer to chat with her neighbors and regulars, like Annie who came in hefting two canvas bags of groceries already. She must have gotten up early to have made the two mile trek to the supermarket and back.

“I’m thinking of trying a little herb garden this year in my window box,” Annie told her. “Wanted to talk to you first about what I might be needing.”

“Absolutely. Now what have you been growing in the window box before this?”

“Just some marigolds. Mom’s favorite, you know. But who’s this?” Annie asked, turning to look at Laurel.

“Hi, I’m Laurel. It’s nice to meet you. This is my first day.”

“Oh, the new assistant!”

“Yes, this is my florist-in-training,” Pam remarked. “She’s a bit green, but she’ll have a green thumb before it’s said and done.”

Laurel looked down at the register keys, a bit of a blush to her cheeks.

“Now, about that window box,” Pam decided to continue to get the attention off the young woman.

She did introduce Laurel to a few more of the usual crowd over the course of the day, and just a couple hours after dark, it was time to close up. In another couple months, it would still be light out come closing time.

They hung up their aprons, and Pam assured her assistant she could bring the smock back tomorrow so she wouldn’t be walking home in a dirty sweater. “Try to find something old you don’t mind getting a little messy for next time.”

“Right.” Laurel turned to walk past the counter and towards the door.

“Wait a minute!” Pam called. Her assistant stopped and watched as she shuffled into the back again, this time coming out with a small, potted African violet.

“Now, this is for you. Call it a hiring bonus.”

Laurel looked at the plant with clear surprise and moved to hand it back over.

“I can’t take it for free.”

“Of course you can. I bring home the troubled ones all the time. Any florist should have a few of their own.”

“I don’t know, Pam. I was never really a plant person. What if it dies?”

The girl was nervous, eager to please. If Pam had to guess, life hadn’t treated her well even before her ouster from CNRI. She only knew the bare basics from what Liza Ross had told her neighbor, and she wasn’t inclined to dig for the details. Sometimes it was best to let those things emerge on their own.

“You take that home. Nurture it. Learn to care for it.”

Laurel wilted, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all anyone can do, dear.”

She sent the young woman home and finished locking up the place. Pam wiped her hands on her apron before hanging it back up on the hook on the wall, then climbed the stairs at a slow pace. Her feet and knees hurt far less now that she wasn’t doing so much around the shop, but they still weren’t what they used to be when she’d been a younger woman.

Ah well. Young or old, they all had their struggles.

---

She had a full week under her belt at the shop, and suffice to say Laurel was exhausted. Her whole day was spent on her feet, as Pam only had the one stool and she wasn’t about to deprive the older woman of it. It wouldn’t look great if she was constantly sitting around, either. She’d need to trade her plain flats for some sneakers. Her arches were killing her.

It was her first day off and she’d mostly spent it on the couch, too tired to even think about going out. She’d clicked around on her computer reading this or that article. One of Starling’s elite, Ken Williams, was under scrutiny after revealing the pyramid scheme he’d been a part of. The articles didn’t say, but Laurel suspected the Hood’s involvement in making the man change his ways.

At least Ollie was still getting real work done out there.

It had gotten dark without her notice. Laurel yawned and stretched. Time for an early bed. She pushed up off the couch and crossed the room.

The glass in her front window shattered, and Laurel dropped and rolled away from a rectangular object that landed on her floor. When nothing happened, she peeked out from the protective ball she’d curled into.

It was a brick. She heard some jeering laughter outside, but when she went to the window the culprits were already running off into the night. Just some lousy troublemakers. They probably hadn’t even had a purpose to picking her house. Or they were the teens upset she’d taken away their smoking spot.

Laurel’s forehead dropped to rest against the wall as she waited for her heartbeat to slow. Was she getting paranoid? There wasn’t anything special about her anymore, so why would people be coming to attack her?

It occurred to her that standing around in her socks while there was broken glass on the floor wasn’t the best idea. She picked her way over carefully and stepped into her shoes, then went to fetch her broom and dustpan. The floor was easy enough to start with, but she was going to have to remove all the couch cushions and make sure nothing was hiding underneath.

A knock at her door interrupted her, causing her to tense back up as she listened.

“Laurel? It’s Jerome from next door.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she went to the door. “Hi.”

“Anita sent me to check on you. Thought we heard something crash over here.”

“Yeah, I think it was just some kids. They threw a brick through my window. I’m fine.”

“Kids.” He shook his head. “You need any help cleaning the glass up?”

She waved a hand. “No, I’ve got it.”

“Well, how about I bring a tarp over to cover the window up till the landlord gets around to replacing it. We should have one lying around.”

The practical side of her won out when she considered that they still hadn’t reached spring. “If it’s not any trouble, I’d really appreciate it.”

He smiled. “Sure thing. Be right back.”

Laurel took off the couch cushions and finished sweeping while she waited, then took one end of the tarp to help Jerome tape it up. Hopefully the paint wouldn’t peel later.

Just as they were securing it on all four sides, another crash sounded.

They both ducked back behind the cover of the walls, but after several beats of silence, Jerome poked his head out and glanced around. “Can’t see anything.”

Laurel checked as well, looking each way up the street, then down at the ground.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Laurel?” Jerome was at her side in two steps.

“No, it’s nothing. Just… my violet.” She went out the door and picked her way over a couple shards of glass to where the shattered pot and a heap of dirt sat, her sad little flower barely sticking up out of it. She’d forgotten it was still sitting on the windowsill, and the tarp must have knocked it over. Laurel scooped it up and carried it back inside.

“I’m so sorry, Laurel.”

She plastered a smile to her face. “It was an accident. Really, Jerome, it’s fine.”

“You got another pot we could put it in?”

Laurel shook her head. “No. Um, I’ll try a tupperware and see if Pam can help me with it tomorrow.”

“You sure you’ll be alright here tonight?”

“Yes. But thank you.”

Her neighbor left and Laurel’s smile instantly fell. She looked at the wilted flower sitting in her hands. What was even the point?

Nevertheless, she found a tupperware and packed the dirt in around the plant’s roots. She sprinkled a little water over it and washed her hands, then sat down heavily at her table.

“Are you okay?”

She gasped but almost instantly calmed; Oliver stood near the back of the room with his hood pushed back. He must have entered through the kitchen door, even if she’d been sure it was locked.

“I’m fine. It was just some kids.” She waved a hand towards the tarp. “My neighbor helped me fix it.”

Oliver frowned and stepped closer. “You’re crying.”

Laurel rubbed at the tear tracks on her cheeks, pointless when he’d already seen them. “It’s not because — I’m okay. Just- my plant. It got knocked over.”

Oliver was eyeing her warily, like he was afraid the slightest word might set her off crying. “Your plant.”

“Yeah.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not hysterical. It’s just my boss sent it home with me so I could learn more about caring for flowers, so I know she’ll be disappointed if I’ve already killed it.” To her horror, a lump started to rise in her throat as she spoke, making the next words difficult. “And it’s one of the only things I had to make the place feel like a home, so yes, I am mourning it.”

“Laurel, I know how you think your clients would feel if you lied, but wouldn’t they rather you be there to help them?” Frustration was practically leaking from his tone.

“I can’t go back, Ollie. Don’t you see that’s how this starts? Corruption has this city in a chokehold, and no one is immune. If I lie to save my job, what’s to stop me from withholding a piece of evidence that makes my cases harder to win? Or stealing my dad’s files? Where does it end?”

“I’m worried about it ending out here for you,” he replied. “The Glades aren’t safe. That brick could have been an accident, or it could have been something deliberate.”

“Because billionaires hire teenagers to threaten ex-lawyers?” She almost laughed. “Oliver, I don’t have enemies. Those people in the top offices of corporations or the penthouse apartments, I guarantee they’ve forgotten about me already. I’m nobody.”

His face fell, and he shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

She couldn’t trust her voice to remain steady enough to reply to that. Instead she asked, “What were you doing here?”

“I was on my way to another person on the List.”

“Really? And you just happened to pass by the very minute someone threw a brick at my window?” She looked him in the eye. “You shouldn’t be watching over me. There are plenty of other people in this city who need your help more.”

“But this is the only way I’m allowed to help you.” His expression was pained. He hadn’t liked agreeing to keep his distance as Oliver Queen, but she hadn’t realized how much it might have hurt him.

Laurel got up from her chair and approached him. “I wish things didn’t have to be this way, but they do. And you have to trust me that I’ll ask for help when I need it.”

Oliver closed his eyes but nodded once. “I guess I can’t persuade you to use one of the Manor’s rooms until your window is replaced.”

“No, you can’t. You wouldn’t, not if you were really the person you’re trying to make everyone believe you are. I’ll be fine, Oliver.”

He stiffened for a moment and placed his hand to his ear where the comm to Diggle rested.

“You should get that.” Laurel turned back to her sitting room, busying herself with rearranging the pillows on the couch. When she looked up, he was gone again.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, flicking the lights off as she retreated to her bedroom. With all the chaos on top of her exhaustion from work, Laurel readily fell asleep.

It was with only minor surprise that she woke the next morning to a text from Oliver himself.

The window people should be there by ten. If they’re not, let me know

That was so typical of him. She sent off a quick reply.

Why, so you can visit my landlord?

Laurel looked the message over again. It sounded harsh when she hadn’t meant to be. She knew he was just trying to help in whatever way he could.

I’m sure it will be fine. But thank you

I do miss you, she very nearly sent. But Laurel held herself back from hitting that button, erasing the words instead. There was little point to making him feel worse. Even if it was true.

---

Oliver sighed as he read Laurel’s messages. He wished he could do more than guarantee she had all her windows. But his involvement in her life had to be kept mostly a secret these days.

If he’d known his outspoken dislike for his vigilante alter ego would put this kind of restriction on his friendship with Laurel, he would have been more careful about what he said.

Put simply, he was stuck. If he tried to intervene as the Hood — visit CNRI’s benefactors, make them reconsider their hardline stance — Laurel could end up in far worse trouble, this time with the law. Would Lance even hesitate to arrest her? He’d used her as bait once.

About the only assistance he could offer was physical protection, and Laurel didn’t even want that. He knew she had a point about not wasting his nights, a point Diggle would no doubt agree with.

But it was hard to see what the point of all of this was. He would be at this mission forever if he went name by name on the list. He was no closer to figuring out what this Undertaking was or if that had been what his father wanted him to stop all those years ago. His mother had been rattled by his visit to her as the Hood, Tommy was jealous of an imaginary enemy, and Laurel had had to give up everything.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t see the benefit that came to him from her decision. To operate out of the Glades as he did, there was a certain amount of discretion he needed to rely on the residents to have. Laurel vouching for him gave him some legitimacy, some currency with those people he would have otherwise needed to work much harder to earn. He’d already had to change some of his routes coming to and from the base thanks to tips that were phoned in when Laurel had been reported missing.

Even her vote of confidence didn’t sway some people, though. Felicity had threatened to quit her tentative working relationship with the Hood the other night over his decision to target Ken Williams because of his status as a parent. Oliver had wanted to point out all the parents and children Williams’ pyramid scheme was stealing from, but John had talked him around to a more conciliatory approach. As a result, he was now committed to tracking down an art thief who had nothing to do with his father’s mission. Everything was just too much.

He decided to spend a little bit of time with Tommy in the club before their meeting with Felicity at Big Belly Burger.

“Finished moving all my stuff into the new place,” Tommy was telling him, his voice cheerful enough that Oliver knew there was something forced about it. “Still downtown, but it’s a bit smaller.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll settle in,” he said.

“Yeah. Just needs a few touches to start feeling homey. Maybe a girl or two.”

Oliver scrutinized his friend. “You really want to start dating again so soon?”

Tommy shook his head with a grin like he’d said something funny. “Not dating.”

“Tommy.”

“Look, Ollie, I tried it out, right? Turns out relationships are as bad as I always thought they’d be. Some of us just aren’t made for it,” he said, clapping Oliver on the shoulder. It was clear he was counting the both of them as part of this dubious ‘some’, which stung even as Oliver knew he probably deserved to be there.

Digg cleared his throat, and when Oliver looked over he saw why. Laurel was hovering near the back wall, clearly not wanting to approach while Tommy was with him.

“Tell you what, I’ve got a meeting to get to later, so I’m gonna go over the inventory real quick.” He clapped Tommy on the shoulder in return and headed down to the base.

He followed after John who had already led Laurel downstairs. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, the window people took care of it. Thanks again.”

“Okay.” Oliver stopped himself from asking why she had chosen to come here, then. Scaring her off was the last thing he wanted.

“I did some thinking at work today about our situation. How we can’t really be there for each other the way we might want to.”

That was certainly putting things lightly, but he couldn’t deny a warm feeling in his chest at the knowledge it had been bothering her, too.

“So I think I have a solution.”

“Oh?”

“I had the thought that since you seem to like lists, maybe I should make you one.” She took out a piece of paper that had clearly been ripped out of one of her old legal pads. Laurel held it out to him with a little flourish that almost reminded him of the girl who’d once presented him with her photo. The mix of happy and sad that memory represented had to be pushed down before he could refocus.

He scanned it over, catching items like bus route gangs and price gouging on medications. Oliver looked up.

“Laurel, what is this?”

“We both want this city to be better than it is, and since I’ve started living in the Glades I’ve learned so much more about what people are up against, just in their day to day lives,” she explained. “I can’t do anything in the courtroom, but I can pass along what I’ve found out to someone who can do something. And that way, you’re helping me like you want.”

He could get where she was coming from, but as he stared down at the list all he could see was another set of distractions from his father’s mission. One that in itself already felt an impossible task.

“Laurel, I want to help you be safe.”

“And this would help do that.”

“But how much? Do you have any idea how many gangs or dealers are out there? Small crime is never going to be completely stopped, and it’s only a symptom of the larger problems my father was dealing with.”

Her arms crossed. “So the people who are victims of small crime should just suffer?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean, Oliver? Whenever you talk about being the Hood, it always comes down to your father or the men he wanted you to go after. Is this your mission or his hit list?”

He took a step forward. “Hey—”

“What about the people you’re trying to help? Why not listen to what they want?”

“Because I’m not their hero!” He snapped. “Okay? I’m not some guardian angel. I’m a killer, Laurel. Just like my father was.”

She stared at him with wide eyes. He could feel Diggle’s silent gaze on him, too.

“There were three of us who made it to the life raft. Me, my father, and one of the crew. A few days after the boat sank, we were running low on supplies. My father took a gun, shot the crewman and himself, so that I could survive,” he confessed in a shaking voice. “I have to complete this mission, Laurel. Or else it would have been for nothing. I’ve already let too many distractions get in my way.”

Every minute he spent on this Dodger, or got involved in a petty theft, was time he should have expended on the list and its true meaning.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes downcast. “I’ll let you get on with it.” Oliver looked away as she turned and made for the exit.

“Here,” he heard Digg’s low murmur, and it didn’t surprise him in the least that the man took the paper. Wasn’t he always trying to get Oliver to do this or that thing?

But when he looked at the other man, Diggle had tucked Laurel’s list away somewhere out of sight. Oliver drew in a breath and released it slowly as he heard the door to the steps shut behind her. Gone again. How did he keep doing this?

And after all that, he still had to take on this art thief just to keep their tech support happy.

“Let’s get this over with.”

---

Ted was cooling off with some water when the door opened to admit someone who definitely wasn’t one of his regulars. Didn’t even look like she could be a regular.

“Can I help you?”

She spotted him after he called out to her and walked over. “Yes. I wanted to see what kind of classes you teach and if I could take one.”

Ted didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “Yeah, I don’t exactly have all that zumba and spin stuff that’s all the rage with you younger folks.”

Her returning smile was tight and unamused. “Well, good thing I’m not interested in that.”

He shrugged and went over to grab one of his adverts. “You can have a look at that, then.”

He watched her eyes scan over the pages, and as he studied her he couldn’t help thinking there was something familiar about her. Like he’d seen her face before.

“Can a beginnner try boxing, or are your lessons just for people who already know it?”

“I take anybody that can prove they’re committed to learning it. What has you interested?”

She looked up, and it suddenly clicked why he thought she belonged more on TV than in a boxing ring — he had seen her on TV.

“I’ve had self defense training, and now I’m looking for something a little more.”

“Is that because of your Hood friend?” He turned away. “Forget it, I’m not getting involved in the vigilante’s problems.”

“I’m more than somebody’s problem.”

He stopped and looked back. There was something in her eyes — not the desperate, lost look of some of his usuals who needed release from the pain life had dealt them, but a steely determination that belied her painted lips and comfy sweater all the same.

“That’s fair. Alright then, what’s your story?”

She eyed him for a moment. “I lost my job last month, so I’m living in the Glades now. There’s been some rough nights.”

“There always are. Why’d it bring you here?”

“Because I want to be able to handle them on my own.”

That was interesting. “And not the vigilante?”

She shook her head. “He does what he does for the city, not for me.”

She didn’t look to be lying. And the truth was, Ted would be an idiot to gain a reputation for turning down clients. “Alright, I’ll start you on a trial basis, see if you like it. Then we’ll talk regular lessons.”

She nodded. “That’s fair.”

When she turned to leave, it occurred to Ted they hadn’t sorted out one small matter. “Hold up! I didn’t get your name.”

She paused, glancing at him over her shoulder. “I thought you recognized me.”

“Your face. Didn’t remember your name. You get knocked on the head sometimes in the ring,” he added. And on the streets, an old voice whispered in the back of his mind.

The woman smirked. “Laurel.”

“Alright, Laurel. I’ll see you on Tuesday for your lesson.”

“See you, Ted.”

She walked out with her hands resting in her pockets. There was a swagger to her beneath that girl-next-door veneer, a toughness that was coming to the surface the more life wore away at her. Ted felt himself grin.

He could work with this.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #bird in a storm

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fromthadiningtable · 5 years

Text

No Strings Attached

(This is a request from my lovely @flizaa and I’m sorry I’m just now getting around to it!! “Hello hello! I need some more Nikki smut in my life. I have this idea that Nikki meets a girl who is as fucked up as he is, and they decide to be friends with benefits. That way, no one gets hurt. Also, chick's badass. Love your writing, hun😉💕”)

The upstairs neighbors were being particularly rambunctious tonight. Typically, they were always loud but tonight of all nights, the music could be heard through your ceiling as well as every laugh and yell. Occasionally you’d hear what you thought sounded like someone slamming on the ground and there was door slamming as well. You groaned to yourself as you stared at the clock that read 1:34 am and you knew you would be exhausted when your alarm for 6 am rolled around. All you needed was just a little sleep before work in the morning but it seemed tonight you couldn’t even have that. Lately, life seemed to be terrible all around. Your boyfriend of a year had just broken things off a few weeks ago, work was always insane with some bullshit to deal with on a regular basis, and your family life wasn’t much better. It seemed like the only way to numb anything was to drink it away. Wine had become your best friend lately to cope with the sadness and lack of sleep. But tonight, it was those boys upstairs impairing you from getting some rest. You’d seen them before, unloading equipment from a car or smoking outside. After tossing and turning a few times and then throwing your pillow down on the bed aggressively, you decided now was the time to act.

You put on some shoes that were decent and realized that you were still in short shorts and a tank top, but it would have to do if sleep was going to come anytime soon. You slammed your door and prayed they heard it but that probably wasn’t likely with the volume of the music. You headed up the stairs and stopped in front of their door. You figured they were in a band because of all the parties and women and music equipment around. Regardless of this fact, they needed to keep it down and you would finally let them know. You knocked loudly so that it could be heard by someone over the noise. It took a few seconds but before you knew it, a skinny boy with long brown hair and a leather jacket answered the door.

“Hey, what’s up?! Here for the party?” He gestured inside and you could finally see all of the people that were crowded in the tiny apartment. The noise was deafening and he was practically yelling so you could hear him.

“Actually no, I’m here to ask if you can keep it down. I have work in the morning and I can’t sleep with all of this noise.” You also had to raise your voice a good bit so he could hear you.

“Aw come on dude, lighten up a little bit.” He pressed your shoulder with his hand and you began to become irritated. With a grin on his face that was almost childlike, he seemed completely unbothered.

“I don’t need to lighten up, you need to keep the fucking noise down.” You stepped up to him and you felt slightly wobbly from the wine you had just taken down earlier. You weren’t in the mood for an argument but it seemed one might ensue.

“Just take it easy,” he said and he also seemed taken aback by your reply.

Another one appeared in the doorway, also with dark hair and some eyeliner. He had on a striped shirt and some leather pants and looked like the epitome of a rockstar. You wondered if you had even heard of this band before.

“What’s going on?” He asked and looked back and forth between the two of you.

“She lives downstairs, says we’re being too loud.” The one boy explained to the other and rolled his eyes. The one in the striped shirt stepped outside and shut the door which gave you all a relief from the loud sounds inside. They both stood in front of you waiting for a response.

“Look, I get it. You’re having fun, but I have work in the morning and I can’t sleep through all of this. It’s also a Monday night?” You said, trying to point out that tonight just didn’t seem like a party type of night. They still seemed a bit confused even after your explanation.

“Well, I guess we can kick some people out, maybe turn the volume down a little...” The striped shirt one said and was still holding eye contact with you.

You wiped your face with your hands in a dramatic fashion and sighed. “Do whatever you want I guess, just keep it down.” Frustrated, you turned around and started to head back to your apartment as the two boys started talking. The one in the leather jacket didn’t seem happy that the other was trying to appease you somehow.

“Hey, where are you going?” He called out after you.

“Um, to sleep?” You said, noticeably irritable. It seemed this conversation was pointless.

“What’s your name?” He asked once more, completely avoiding your response.

“You’re kidding me right? You’re really trying to chat me up right now.” You snapped back.

“Jesus, you are feisty.” He grinned at you and this almost sent you into a tailspin. All you wanted was one more glass of wine and some sleep and to not be talking to complete strangers at almost two in the morning.

“I’m just...I’m tired, okay?” You sighed again and scratched your head and avoided eye contact. You shouldn’t of snapped but you couldn’t help it when you were absolutely exhausted and slightly drunk. A blonde haired guy opened the door and the noise grew much louder again.

“Hey yo Tommy! Come check this out!” He called out to the one in the leather jacket. He seemed excited to be getting away from the situation and ran back inside. It was just you and this tall, eyeliner clad man.

“So, are you gonna tell me your name?” He smirked at you this time.

“It’s Y/N.” You decided if he was going to make you stay and talk, then you would just be short with him.

“Well, I’m Nikki.” He extended his hand to you and you were surprised by this gesture coming from such a tough looking guy. You shook his hand and nodded your head a little backing away.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’ve gotta go head to bed though.” You said.

“Alright, yeah I understand. I’ll see you around though.” He winked after he said this and your heart rate quickened a little. He was pretty good looking and he was tall which added to the attraction. You smiled back and turned around to head back upstairs. You secretly hoped you might seem him around soon and when you were in a better mood.

The week dragged on with work and mending your heartbreak still. Your mom and dad weren’t doing well and you were worried about paying bills. Everything seemed to be falling apart and everyday after work you’d head to the store for another bottle or two of wine. You had never fallen in a hole like this before and it felt as if you would never get out. You needed some company desperately and so you reached out to one of your good friends to see if she would want to hit the strip and see a band. You were thrilled when she agreed and mentioned that she hadn’t seen you in forever. You were both excited to grab some drinks and let loose in what seemed like a long time. Friday night came around and you were dressed in your favorite outfit that you liked for going out. Everything felt a little better when your friend came to your apartment and picked you up. As usual the both of you began to talk about life and your problems and all felt right in the world when it was just the two of you. You always picked up where you left off.

After having a few drinks at some different clubs, you headed to the venue where would be seeing a few bands. The club was filled with a haze of smoke and the different colored lights hit the ceiling and the floor in various spots. The first two bands were alright but nothing to go crazy for. The final band for the night was coming on and the announcer came in to present them. The band’s name was Mötley Crüe which you found to be an interesting and unique one. Some of the names of the bands you’d heard over the years were absolutely terrible. You realized what you had gotten yourself into as soon as the band came on stage. There was one man you didn’t recognize, he had a guitar around him and was dressed in all black. But the others, the blonde haired one and then Tommy and Nikki were all on stage with their various instruments about to play a show.

“Those are my fucking upstairs neighbors!” You yelled to your friend beside you.

“Dude no way! That blonde guy is so hot, let’s move up.” She grabbed your hand without even a thought and was dragging you up to the front. You were slightly embarrassed to be seeing them, considering the last time you were being a complete bitch in your pajamas. Before you could even ask her not to move up any closer, she had both of you up at the front and you were exposed. Tommy kept giving looks in your direction like he knew you from somewhere but couldn’t place it. Nikki hadn’t noticed you wait but you were waiting. Your friend had her eyes fixated on Vince and you knew you had lost her for the night. As they played their first song, you realized how much talent these guys had. Their sound was unique as well as their name and you were into it. It was hard rock and roll and it was fantastic. All of them seemed to be enjoying their time on stage as well, fresh into the scene and getting their name out there. You felt eyes on you suddenly and knew it had to be Nikki. He smiled at you as he strummed his bass expertly and your cheeks immediately felt as if they were on fire. You waved a little and smiled back. Throughout the show he would sneak glances at you and give you a small smile or even a smirk to be mischievous you guessed. He looked amazing up there, makeup and leather pants and all. Your friend already had Vince basically undressing her with his eyes and you giggled and shook your head at the sight of it. You felt like you were living in an alternate universe tonight. Something good was finally coming around, you thought. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that you would come to the show and see the infamous upstairs neighbors playing said show.

When the show was over, your friend grabbed your hand and dragged you again to some unknown location.

“Where are we going?!” You called to her.

“Backstage, no arguments about it!” She said, anticipating that you would have something to say about it. She was right though, you were about to insist that you leave and find another club or drink some wine at home. You did want to run into Nikki again, you just hoped the whole group of them didn’t think you were a complete jerk from earlier in the week. Your friend found Vince and ran off before you could even chase after her, there was no question about what she was going to do. You had to give it to her, she was brave and fearless about it. A tap on your shoulder signaled you to turn around and focus on something else. It was Nikki with his arms crossed and sly smile on his face.

“Fancy running into you here,” he laughed.

“I think you might be following me.” You leaned in and whispered.

“Definitely am, be careful.” He whispered back, and you giggled at his comeback. You both stepped back again and there was an awkward moment of silence. You decided to break it and said, “You guys were great.”

“Thanks, we’re really taking off. Should have a record deal before too long,” Nikki said, rubbing his hands through his shaggy dark hair. You noticed he probably had a lot of hairspray in and it was kind of hot that he had primped up so much for the show tonight.

“What are you doing after this?” He asked, and you grew excited at the thought of potentially having plans with him.

“Well I came with my friend but...she’s preoccupied with your lead singer.”

“Oh, Vince? Yeah he’s a charmer. Watch out for that one especially.” Nikki laughed, and you hoped this Vince guy wouldn’t ruin your friend’s night. She had a thing for assholes it seemed and it always got her into trouble.

“Would you want to do something? Maybe grab a drink?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Uhhh...what the hell sure. But just so you know,” Nikki waited for the rest of your response that you were worried to let out.

“I’m not looking for anything right now...if that’s what you’re wanting.” Your cheeks felt hot again as you looked at the floor. The thought of your ex crossed your mind but you had to shake it off. Nikki looked confused and raised his eyebrows again to ask you to go further.

“I don’t want a boyfriend right now is what I’m saying.” After you said this, he finally seemed to understand and nodded his head.

“Lemme let you in on a secret, I’m not either.” He leaned in once more and whispered.

“You’re hitting on me, so I hope you’re not looking for a boyfriend.” You said back. Nikki paused and then started laughing hysterically at what he had said.

“Let’s go back to my place, which just so happens to be under your place.” You joked and hoped that would be a good idea for the night.

“Alright yeah, let’s do it.” Nikki obliged and you became excited at the thought of a very attractive man on your couch with some wine and good conversation hopefully. You hoped you wouldn’t make a complete fool of yourself at any point but at this point you felt pretty comfortable around him. He was easy to talk to.

“One thing though, you have to wear those pajamas.” Nikki pushed gently on your shoulder. You were horrified but all you could do was laugh at your own expense.

“Come on rock n roller, let’s go.”

(Lemme know what you guys think, there’ll be one more part most likely!!! Thank you for everything and all of the support!!!)

Tags: @itsmotleyfuckingcrue @swoopygorl @madsthegroupie @caos18blog @pandem--onium @annabeth-14 @langdonsdemon @rxsesinjune @machinegunkiki @itsharleyalb @sisterchristixn @luv4fandoms @yesloverboy @solohqrry @anxious-diabetic @she-likes-dead-flowers @leterscam @kennisababe @twistnet @kat-976 @jongkey1221 @peyton-wieland @technicallyvirtualmilkshake @criminalyetminimal

#personal #writings #the dirt #the dirt movie #nikki sixx #douglas booth #mötley crüe #vince neil #mick mars #tommy lee #douglas!nikki #the dirt imagine #the dirt fic

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yesloverboy · 5 years

Text

Neighborly (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader) Part 3

SUMMARY: Mötley Crüe has two shows this weekend, and you’ve agreed to help your intrusive neighbor, Tommy, do his makeup properly for both. Despite how it might look to the rest of the world, you see yours and Tommy’s relationship as a really fast-developing friendship. However, as Friday draws closer, it starts to become more evident that your relationship with Tommy is headed in a different direction.

word count: 5,191

[Warnings: swearing, mention of injury, vomit, body image, drug and alcohol mention– oh and lots of fluffy goodness.]

NOTE: I hope y’all like fluff, because I’m coming to rot all of your gorgeous teeth right out of your skull. The real question is: will the fluff last forever? I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. As always, thank you so much for give this series a little bit of time out of your day. I’m considering doing imagines/headcanons for The Dirt boys in between chapters, so if that’s something you’re interested in feel free to submit your ideas/requests! I also have anon asks turned on again just in case that’s more your thing. Love y’all!

p.s. I am so sorry this is so fucking long, I don’t know what came over me.

tags: @kwyloz, @scarecrowmax, @lavendersoundbarrier, @stevenandsam, @totallynotkaibiased, @rogertaylur, @fatheadtheroger, @secretly-a-groupie

As the week went by, you were surprised to find Tommy was actually staying out of your hair– well, at least for the most part. No matter what you thought you expected from Tommy, he always seemed to do things in his own, weird way. Just a day after dropping off donuts at your place, Tommy’s weirdness decided to manifest itself yet again. Only this time, he wasn’t necessarily around to inflict it.

That Tuesday afternoon, you returned home from touring your new college to find something sitting right outside your front door. From where you were standing, it appeared to be an old jar of some kind with pink blossoms peeking out from the top. Upon closer inspection, you realized that the jar didn’t just contain flowers, but a flowering cactus. The little cactus was planted firmly inside of the jar with rocks and dirt, as if it was meant to be some kind of terrarium. You picked the jar up with tender fingers, finding yourself still completely uncertain of its purpose outside of your door. Just as you lifted it up off the mat, a crumpled piece of notebook paper fluttered to the ground beneath it, resting at your feet like an autumn leaf.

Unfurling the paper, you realized that it was a handwritten note from none other than your seemingly over-attached neighbor. It struck you as odd that Tommy would be the type to leave his neighbor a handwritten letter– your mind momentarily forgetting that you really didn’t know all that much about him.

Y/N,

Mick also reminded me that people usually like to receive housewarming gifts when they move into new places. He suggested flowers, but I saw this little thing and figured it was more your style.

Although, I can’t promise it’ll make your house any warmer.

– T.

You could feel yourself beaming at the note in your hands. There was something utterly endearing about the thought of Tommy fumbling around with a cactus in hand just for your sake.

Damn, Tommy still must really feel bad about the other night, just thinking about Tommy feeling guilty made you frown. Honestly, you wished he wasn’t taking the whole incident so seriously. Sure, it was definitely a weird start to your L.A. journey, but it also wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Besides, there was a good chance he would go down in the history book of your life as your first L.A. friend, and that mattered to you.

As happy as you were to feel like Tommy was becoming something close to a friend, it also struck you as odd that you hadn’t run into any of the other Crüe boys yet. You kind of met Mick, but you hardly regarded having your soul stared into by a total stranger as a proper introduction. If the others were anything like Mick, just thinking about running into Tommy’s bandmates would be enough to make your stomach turn a little. A small part of you hoped that Tommy already told his band about you after the incident with his hand. If this ended up being the case, maybe the merry band of rowdy rock stars beneath your feet would be willing to go easy on you.

Little did you know, you wouldn’t have to wait so long to find out.

Friday creeps up on you much faster than you originally anticipated. Since Tommy left the cactus on your doorstep, you hadn’t seen much of him around. Eventually, you attributed that to the screeching sounds of heavy metal rattling the floorboards under your feet. It started sometime on Wednesday evening, and eventually bled into all of Thursday.

Sure, the sound of Mötley Crüe rehearsing their set downstairs was disruptive, but they thankfully never decided to take their playing late into the night. During the day, however, was a completely different situation.

In order to find some kind of escape from all the commotion, you had spent the last few days driving around and getting to know the area. Each passing hour, you found yourself falling more and more in love with the rows of palms decorating the streets, each one reminding you of just how far you’d come. In the truck you always rode with your windows down, gladly welcoming the salty breeze as it tangled into your hair. Your mind would wander between the rays of sunshine on your skin, and you would think about all the possibilities in front of you; ranging from anything between going to a new college in the fall and the cute neighbor that you can’t seem to keep out of your head, or apartment. You always dismissed those thoughts soon after, knowing that they probably weren’t all that realistic.

After yet another prolonged drive and a trip to the drugstore, you return to your apartment to prep for Tommy’s inevitable visit later that evening. You knew he most likely wouldn’t have minded if you used some of your own makeup on him, but figured he could at least use some new eyeliner for when he’d eventually have to do it himself.

Rummaging around your apartment, you start gathering an inventory of any makeup products you have. For the most part, it had been all neatly tucked away in an old makeup tote you’d had since high school. However, because you’re still freshly moved in, you end up rooting around through old boxes just in case. As you check the last of the boxes, you notice they have all but formed a cardboard tower in your living room over the past week. Deciding that the mess is getting out of hand, you think it’s probably time to make a run to the dumpster out back.

Arms teeming with torn and deconstructed boxes, you step into the sweltering heat and out to the back of the building. As you approach the dumpster, a flash of shadowy movement catches your eye. From what you can tell, there seems to be someone lingering over by the back entrance to the apartment building’s mailroom. Not thinking much of it, you continue to chuck boxes into the gaping mouth of the dumpster. The way you figure it, a mysterious figure hanging out behind the building in broad daylight was the least of your worries.

As you turn to leave, a man with a mane of fluffy blonde hair steps out from behind the wall, propping himself comfortably against the bricks. His tan skin appears almost golden in the sunlight as his slightly effeminate figure bends confidently to the side. There’s something about him that you find uniquely beautiful, and the more his eyes bore into yours, the more you felt like you were observing some kind of predatory feline rather than a person. You personally don’t find him attractive, but you can’t deny that something about his presence feels magnetic.

Deciding to break the silence, you speak first, “Uh, hey there, man. You live here?”

He doesn’t answer you immediately, and pulls a pack of cigarettes out from the back pocket of his jeans instead. Pulling one out using only his teeth, he tilts the pack in your direction, his eyebrow quirking as if to ask; want one?

Usually, you weren’t all that much of a smoker. However, you always seemed to find yourself unable to resist one when offered. It was almost like some form of social ritual that you couldn’t quite shake, especially if it had been a long day.

Aw, fuck it. You take a few steps closer, and pull a cigarette from the pack. It rests comfortably on your lips as you wait for the man to light his own. He passes the lighter to you, and you take it with a mumbled thank you in his direction. The sparkwheel turns with ease under your calloused thumb as you breathe in deeply, lungs filling with smoke.

“Yeah I live here, right up on the third floor,” the man finally replies, taking his lighter back from your open palm.

Your eyes widen with the realization that the guy in front of you is none other than one of Tommy’s bandmates. Honestly, you feel a little silly for not immediately making the connection, but lately your mind has been in another place entirely.

“Wait so you know Tommy?”

The man laughs mockingly, “Of course I know that idiot. Kid’s a total terror–and just so happens to be my drummer.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, smirking at you knowingly. “Wait a sec–you’re that girl on the fourth floor, aren’t you?”

Your chest tightens at the knowledge that Tommy had clearly mentioned you before. Deep down you should feel flattered, but on the other hand, god only knows what he had said about you.

“Yep, that would be me,” you admit, silently praying he wouldn’t pry any further. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“I already knew that,” he extends a hand to you, “Vince. Nice to finally meet you.”

You take his hand and shake it, wishing more than anything you could wipe the shit-eating grin off of his face. To your knowledge, you and Tommy were just friends, barely, and here this guy was acting as if he knew something you didn’t.

“Well, thanks for letting me bum a cig, Vince, but I gotta get going,” you take one last puff before letting the cigarette fall lamely to the ground, grinding it into the asphalt with the toe of your boot. It was getting increasingly more difficult to hide your frustration from Vince and you’d much rather be back inside your apartment.

Just as you’re about to turn away, Vince stops you.

“Wait, Y/N! You should really come see us play, I know Tommy would love it.”

When you look at Vince, it seems as though he’s dropped his act a little. The smirk on his face has faded into something softer, and for a moment he seems genuine. You open your mouth to speak, but Vince interrupts you.

“You’re all he talks about, you know.”

For a moment, it feels as though your heart might stop. He talks about me? Honestly, you hadn’t expected Tommy to talk about you in any context other than helping you move and injuring his hand. You manage to keep yourself composed in front of Vince, but on the inside your thoughts are swimming giddily. Although, you’re fairly certain Vince is talking about Tommy, your self-doubt forces you to make sure.

“Who?” You ask, playing dumb. Knowing full well it’s an utterly ridiculous question, you brace yourself for Vince’s reply.

Vince only rolls his eyes as if what you asked was just the same shit, different day. “Tommy, of course,” he huffs. “Jesus, if you’re that fucking stupid I’m sure the two of you are made for each other.”

This time, when the giddy feelings return you let them have free reign. “Well, Vince it was real nice meeting you,” you say, a smile suddenly engraved onto your face. “Make sure my friend Tommy comes over around 7:30. Okay?”

In any other instance, you wouldn’t have allowed some guy you had just met to call you stupid and keep his teeth intact– but today could be an exception. Besides, you couldn’t really deny the fact that you’d set yourself up for it.

Long after you had retreated back to your apartment, you found that Vince’s words were still echoing through your skull.

“You’re all he talks about, you know.”

Despite the fact that Vince lives with Tommy, your skeptical side can’t help but wonder if he was just messing with you earlier. Aside from Tommy drunkenly proclaiming your “beauty”, you really didn’t have much evidence to believe that Tommy would be that fixated on you. Although, you had to admit that Vince seemed pretty earnest when he mentioned it. No one could be that good at acting, could they?

With all this thought about Tommy, you’re horrified to realize that maybe your casual crush was becoming something a little bit more. Something a lot less manageable. Sure you’ve had casual crushes on guys before, everyone does. Whether it was a nice cashier at the supermarket, or an impressively smart teaching assistant– the small crush would be there for a minute and gone in a flash.

Somehow, Tommy was different. Everything about him that should annoy you didn’t, and the thought seeing him was always nestled comfortably in your mind. No one has left an impression on your life quite like he had, and that was worrisome to you. What if he’s just a nice guy? There was always the possibility that he really was just being friendly, and you and the rest of the world were just mistaken.

Trying not to dwell on the matter any longer, you busy yourself with a pot of coffee and flip on the radio. You had just been able to tweak the radio antenna enough to get some kind of signal, when a knock sounded at your door.

“Hey, Y/N! It’s Tommy!”

Glancing over at the clock on the wall, you notice it’s only 7:12pm. He’s early, you think, a smile roseying your cheeks.

Tommy knocks again, growing impatient. “Ya know, for the makeup stuff!”

Chuckling, you open the door to see Tommy’s grinning face lighting up the doorframe. Rather than his usually short tee, or ratty tank top and jeans, he’s wearing tight leather pants and a short-sleeved mesh top. You notice his top is secured to his chest with some kind of harness that resembles both a dog collar and a seatbelt; it was like nothing you’d ever seen before.

“You’re early,” you comment, stepping aside so he can walk past you.

“Oh, sorry about that, dude,” he lightly punches your shoulder in a playful manner, “I just couldn’t wait any longer. We finished setting up at the venue early and I’ve been bored to death.”

“Thanks for the gift, by the way,” you remark, suddenly remembering the little cactus Tommy left on your doorstep on Tuesday.

Tommy perks up, practically bouncing on his heels in excitement. “Wait did you really like it? The damn thing ended up giving me five splinters, but it was so worth it.”

“I love it,” you said earnestly, “it’s actually been sitting on my windowsill since I brought it in.” You point to your open bedroom door where the little jar can be seen soaking up the sunlight.

“Right on!” You suppress a giggle as Tommy actually pumps his fist excitedly. There isn’t a single person on the planet that you’ve seen express their joy so openly and eagerly as Tommy does. He was like a puppy, in a way; just stoked on everything and happy to be alive.

Tommy eventually flops onto a chair at your dining table, obviously drawn to the pile of makeup you had been accumulating for tonight. He picks up a bottle of foundation and shakes it, all the while holding it up to his ear like he’s expecting to hear the ocean.

“Is this all for me?”

You take the bottle out of his hand and place it firmly on the table. “Well some of it is,” you remark poignantly and gesture to a small paper bag next to your tote of makeup. “This is what I got for you, but we’re also going to play around with some of mine, okay?”

Tommy’s enthusiasm is unshakable. “Righteous!”

You can’t help but love how enthusiastic Tommy is about doing his makeup for the show. Sure, rockstars doing theatrical stage makeup was nothing new, but something about Tommy being secure enough in himself to want to give it a shot was admirable.

“Ready to get started then, drummer boy?” You allow yourself to flash Tommy a flirtatious smile, figuring that, no matter what happened between the two of you, you were determined to have as much fun as possible. Let’s face it, hanging out with Tommy makes you happy, even if there’s a possibility that it’ll never be anything more than platonic.

“Hell yeah, man! I can’t wait ‘til you’re done, Nikki is going to be so jealous.”

Leaving Tommy to sit at the dining table, you went to your bathroom to get a hand mirror, and some clips to pin Tommy’s hair back. “Nikki?”

“Nikki-fucking-Sixx, dude! He’s Mötley Crüe’s bass player,” Tommy says, all the while inspecting the variety of makeup products on the table, “and probably my best friend.”

When you eventually meet Tommy at the dining table, he’s still rambling on about Nikki. “I swear, he’s the raddest guy ever– and he always does the coolest makeup, but I’m not nearly as good. I want to be, though. Most def,” he nods decisively, his eyes sparkling with adoration for his friend.

“He does sound rad,” you agree, “did you want me to try and do something he would do?”

“Yeah dude! But I was thinking we could do something a little more me, ya know? Like I kind of want to look like a vampire, but, like, a punk vampire.” Tommy’s face is animated with excitement, his hands gesturing wildly as he describes his ideal stage persona. “Nikki’s more into a warpaint kinda look, but we could make that fit, right?”

You look down at Tommy, he’s so tall that, even sitting down, the two of you may as well be eye to eye. If you were being honest, Tommy’s request is a bit bizarre, but all rock and roll aesthetics kind of are. You try to envision a classic Halloween vampire look in your head, but all you seem to come up with is the traditional hollowed out cheeks and heavy eyeliner. It’s all so pathetically overdone.

How can we possibly make this work? Shifting your gaze from his face to the makeup on the table, a pan of fuschia eyeshadow catches your attention, instantly transforming the vision in your head. You bite your lip, hoping that Tommy will be on board with it when the time comes.

“Okay, Tommy. I think I have an idea. Is it okay if I move your hair out of your face?”

“Go for it, dude.”

You pluck a barrette off of the table and place it between your teeth, leaving both hands free to twist Tommy’s shaggy layers into place. His hair is light and fluffy against your fingertips, and somewhere deep down you wish that you could find more excuses to play with it in the future. Pulling a clump of his wavy fringe back, you secure it with a satisfying snap of the barrette.

“Ow! Y/N! That fucking hurt,” Tommy hisses, reaching for his head defensively.

You swat his hand away mercilessly, “Beauty is pain, drummer boy.”

“Since when?”

“Since, I said so,” you begin pinning back the other half of his fringe, trying not to laugh as Tommy cringes in discomfort. “God, where was all this complaining when you nearly cut your hand off?”

“Oh come on, that was so different and you know it!” Tommy’s working hard at maintaining his stubborn pout, but you can see the smile threatening to escape beneath it.

You pick up the bottle of your foundation Tommy was messing with earlier and start shaking it up. “Alright, tough guy. I’m going to need you to start paying attention for this part.”

Gently, you place your fingers under Tommy’s chin and tilt his head up so you can see better. You squeeze a few drops of foundation onto Tommy’s face, then use a wedged beauty sponge to pat it into his skin.

“Do I need to close my eyes?” Tommy asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Nah, not until I work on your eyes.” As you pat in the foundation, you realize that maybe your shade is just a little too light to be a perfect match for Tommy’s sun kissed complexion. It’s a little odd, but maybe it works for the subtle vampiric look he’s going for. “This is just a little foundation, alright? Really you don’t need much of it, but I think it’ll help everything else stick.”

When you feel as though his face is thoroughly covered, you grab the pan of bright pink eyeshadow, and a large brush you’d typically be using for regular blush.

“Okay, so I was thinking, maybe we could do those crazy, dead-looking vampire cheeks,” you begin, “but instead of using black, we use pink instead...” you trail off and hold your breath, worrying that the idea you’re proposing is too feminine for Tommy’s liking.

Much to your surprise, Tommy looks completely stoked at the idea. “That sounds awesome! No one would ever expect it,” he gushes, “plus, I’m wearing all black so it’ll really stand out. I’m gonna look like a fuckin’ superhero.”

Tommy’s excitement suddenly gives you a newfound confidence in your abilities. You really appreciate the way that Tommy makes you feel like you can do anything, and wonder if other people feel the same way whenever he’s around.

Blotting your fluffy brush, you set to work carving out his angular cheekbones with the hot pink pigment. Shockingly, it doesn’t look nearly as insane as you feared it might. It actually looks kind of cool, and reminds you of a more exaggerated version of the new wave fashion you typically hated. One thing’s for sure, Tommy was absolutely right when he said that no one was going to expect it.

Despite how still Tommy had been when you applied the foundation, something about the way you were applying the color to his cheeks was causing him to fidget.

“Jesus Christ, that fucking tickles!” he exclaimed, bursting out in a fit of laughter.

You giggle at his sudden outburst, having to use both hands to wrestle his head back into place so you can finish. “Come on, you freak! Hold still, or you’re going to make me mess up.” If you weren’t quite literally putting pink eyeshadow on Tommy’s face, you’d dare to say he was blushing.

When you finish hollowing out his already angular face, you hold up the hand mirror so that he can properly assess your progress. Immediately, Tommy yanks the mirror out of your hands, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Holy fucking shit, this is so gnarly!” he’s smiling from ear to ear, and you can’t help but feel your chest swell with a little bit of pride. It’s true that you’re no makeup artist, but it didn’t really matter what anyone else was going to think so long as Tommy was happy with it.

“Alright, alright. Settle down, because now we’re getting into the hard stuff.”

The final step is eyeliner and eyeshadow, which is actually what you feel the most competent at. However, with the way Tommy is seated while you remain standing is going to make the process a little complicated. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if Tommy wasn’t so goddamn tall in comparison to rest of the human population.

Grabbing a freshly sharpened eye pencil, you lean in get a good view of Tommy’s eyes. “Look up for me,” you instruct and Tommy complies.

As you work the pencil into his waterline, you realize that you’re unable to get a good enough angle to actually apply it evenly.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, clearing becoming frustrated at how terrible the eyeliner is looking compared to the rest of his makeup.

“What’s the matter?” Tommy asks, looking up at you earnestly.

You can’t stop a sigh from escaping your lips, “Oh nothing major. It’s just hard to work on your eyes with you being so tall– and I know sitting in a chair isn’t going to help our cause.”

“I’m not tall, you’re just a shorty,” Tommy mocks, sticking his tongue out at you playfully. Tommy’s antics ease your frustration a little, but you’re still worried about how you’re going to successfully complete the look in time for his show.

As you try to think of other solutions, Tommy sudden speaks up.

“I have an idea, Y/N...but you’re not going to like it.”

“What is it?” You find that the sudden apprehension in Tommy’s voice is making you more and more nervous by the second.

“I’ll tell you but you have to promise you won’t get mad,” Tommy’s face is suddenly more serious than you’ve ever seen it.

“Get mad? Why on earth would I get mad?”

“Promise first!” Tommy insists.

You throw the eyeliner pencil down on the table in exasperation, “Okay fine I promise, now please just tell me.”

“You could sit in my lap,” Tommy blurts out, his words connected by a string of anxiety.

Your first instinct is to laugh at the absurdity of Tommy’s idea, automatically assuming he’s pulling an elaborate prank on you. However, a quick assessment of Tommy’s grave facial expression makes you realize he’s dead serious.

“Oh my god,” you scoff, “you can’t be fucking serious.”

Tommy throws his hands up in defeat. “See! I knew you’d be fucking mad, god this is so embarrassing.” He rests his head in his hands, his fingertips most definitely making contact with the makeup job you just did, but you don’t have the heart to accost him over it.

You consider Tommy’s proposition, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt for a moment. “So...how do I know that this isn’t just some attempt to get into my pants, huh?”

“Listen,” Tommy starts, clearly on the defense, “I just figured because my legs are so long you wouldn’t even have to get that close to me, okay? Look, I’ll even put my hands behind my back if you want.”

Tommy demonstrates by clasping his hands together behind the back of the chair. “See? It’s that easy,” he looks at you triumphantly, clearly believing in his heart that his logic is rock solid.

Against all odds, you actually consider what Tommy is saying for a moment. You think about all the other guys you’ve met in your life and know that you’d be absolutely out of your mind to fall for whatever Tommy was trying to pull. On the other hand, would it really be so bad if you did go along with it?

“Fuck it,” you say, throwing your sense of caution and self-preservation completely out the window.

This seems to surprise Tommy quite a bit, his wide-eyed expression hilarious against the backdrop of his half-finished stage makeup. The way you figure it, if Tommy managed to maintain his control while passed out drunk on your floor the first night you met, he most likely wasn’t trying to pull anything now.

Approaching Tommy, you try your best to keep your cool but can’t deny the way your heart is pounding against your ribcage.

“Just know, if you try anything I will break you in half,” you threaten, knowing full well that the only way you could kick Tommy’s ass is if he let you.

Tommy puts his hands back behind the chair once again, this time keeping them there. “What did I tell you?” he laughs, instantly removing some of the tension that had been building up over the last few minutes.

With a heavy sigh, you place a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, effectively using him for leverage, as you swing a leg over both of his. You gently rest the remainder of your weight onto his knees until you’re straddling him at the furthest distance possible. To your pleasant surprise, you fit in Tommy’s lap comfortably.

Being closer to him than ever before, you can now smell the woodsy scent of his cologne in combination with the cigarette smoke that clung to his clothes. To prevent your mind from wandering, you decide to put all of your energy into focusing on the task at hand.

“Alright, I guess we’ll finish this then,” you say, swallowing your nerves and reaching for the eyeliner. Tommy only smiles back at you victoriously, completely aware that he won the battle.

“Ugh for chrissakes, if you keep smiling at me like that your face is going to stick that way,” you complain, going back to work on smoking out his eyeliner.

Tommy flinches a little at the lack of warning, but quickly adjusts. “Why wouldn’t I be smiling? There’s a pretty girl in my lap!”

You don’t want to laugh, but you can’t help yourself. There’s something about Tommy that seems to bring out the best in you.

“Yeah well you won’t be laughing when I punch you in the dick.”

Tommy snorts with laughter, “There’s the mean girl I know and love.”

You ignore him, but a smile still remains firmly planted on your face. Oddly enough, Tommy doesn’t seem to mind having his eyeliner done all that much. After you’ve successfully created two smokey black rings around Tommy’s eyes, you decide to take some of the pink pigment from earlier and add it to his eyelids. You try your best to explain how you’re doing it along the way, but describing the process is a lot harder than it seemed. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, being able to sit on Tommy’s lap like this actually helps tremendously.

Per Tommy’s request, you end up adding two solid black lines to the right side of his face so that he can look “just a little more like Nikki”. It’s obvious that Tommy admires Nikki a lot more than he had been letting on, which is almost hard to believe considering how highly he speaks about him already.

When you finish, you unclip the barrettes in Tommy’s hair, mussing it up with your hands in an attempt to get his shaggy locks back into place. Holding hand mirror up to Tommy’s face once more, you figure that the look has to be just about done if Tommy ever hopes of being able to recreate it without you.

“I love it! I totally fucking love it, thank you so fucking much,” he lets the mirror fall slowly onto the table, his eyes meeting yours with a familiar stare that you can’t quite put your finger on. “Can I ask for one more thing?”

“Sure, what is it?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“The lipstick you’re wearing, do you think you could put some on me?”

You had all but forgotten the fact that you’d put on a red lipstick earlier in the day, and found yourself surprised it had even stayed on this long. “Sure thing, man. It’s in my purse though so let me just go get it real quick–”

As you move to get up, you feel a large hand grip the side of your thigh. The touch is gentle, yet firm enough to hold you in place.

“Tommy what are you…” you try to finish your sentence, but end up getting lost his gaze. The deep blue of his eyes makes you shiver involuntarily, and there’s no doubt in your mind that Tommy could feel it.

“I think I can get it myself,” he murmurs as his lips catch yours, pulling you into a gentle kiss.

Part 4

Masterlist

#it's finally done #whew am i exhausted #neighborly series #neighborly part 3 #mgk!tommy lee #mgk!tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #tommy lee x reader #motley crue #mötley crüe #vince neil #nikki sixx #mick mars #the dirt #the dirt movie #the dirt netflix

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abthepoet · 4 years

Text

All my friends are dead.

Something strange is trending in my life.

All my friends die.

At the beginning of my sophmore year in college, my roommate from freshman year died tragically in a single vehicle car crash. Her name was Allison Lynam. We called her Blake. She was sassy and funny and I wish I would've taken more time to know her.

The rain was torrential the night she died. I swear I've never seen it rain that hard ever again in my life. She drove to the store along Highway 36 in Long Branch,NJ. She had off campus housing that year and had to use the highway often. The road was terribly flooded the night she died. Im told she hydroplaned, spun, and T-boned the driver side smack into an electrical pole. Her family still decorates it.

At that very same moment, in my dorm room nearby, I was watching TV when the lights suddenly flickered and dimmed. A brown out.

I had no idea but that was my friend crashing into a pole and dying. She was 19 years old.

I know this because that accident happened near the mall. That accident killed the power to nearby businesses.

I later found out that the road she died on was so badly flooded, the police intended to close it. Why they didnt get to it in time, I'll never know. Maybe that's fate.

Then there was Jessica Blain. Jessica Blain was a firecracker of a human being. She was 100% unmistakable. One of the loudest, funniest, most loyal people and friends I have ever met. She was also an incredibly gifted singer and I was lucky enough to have Chorus with her. We, along with a small group of friends, founded a new greek organization on our campus, Alpha Xi Delta. We were paired up as Twins. (you can't have Bigs & Littles when you're just starting the Family Tree). We named the family we formed Fuck Up Your Shit. Because that's what we'd do for a friend. I miss her laugh most of all. It was loud and unapologetic. She was there for me, supportive, and encouraging without me ever having to ask. The night I officially finished college we all went out to the local gay club, The Colosseum. I got wasted, of course. But Jess was the person who when I shouted 'I have to pee' on the ride home, she stopped and knocked on strangers doors and asked to let me use their bathrooms. Nobody said yes so she held my hand while I peed on a fence instead. I remember the last time we spoke. She was at a concert with a mutual friend. We hadn't spoken much since I graduated, she was still in school.

She died in her dorm room bed on Halloween as a result of asphyxiation during an epileptic seizure. She was 20 years old. The news was broken to me that very same Halloween night as I floated along in NY on a concert cruise. The World/Inferno Friendship Society decided to host Hallowmas, their annual event, on a boat this year. Nothing like being trapped on a musical boat while you grieve. I had messaged her AIM late that night to say hi. She had an away message up. I may have sent a message to a dead person. I miss her friendship more than I realize sometimes.

That brings us to James Padden. James was a warm, snuggly bear of a guy who always tried to do the right thing and let me steal his hoodies. He insantly became my best friend in a Stepbrothers-esque manner. I met James working overnights at Wawa in Leonardo, NJ. I forget how it started now, but we were standing in front of the deli and I think I tossed him a broom or he already had one. . . I cant remember now.. . . but he just took one look at me with that mischievous little twinkle that I quickly returned and we instantly began sword fighting with our brooms. Like two little boys playing pretend and having a ball. He was sweet and silly and kind. I needed a ride, and he loved to drive. Our first winter as friends, we went out doing donuts in the snow. I barely knew him, but I felt safe. We smoked a ton of weed and had so many adventures trying to procure more. One time, we got so high driving to a Dropkick Murphys concert in NY we kept going in circles, missed almost the entire show save for the last 3-5 numbers, and had a blast. I can barely remember the night, but I remember laughing hard in that car. No one could talk to me like James. We were both insecure being chubby kids and adults, but so charismatic and grandiose that I sometimes thought we were the only two who would put up with listening to each others wild ideas and ridiculous banter. We would smoke joints and take adderall and talk about everything and anything. I miss the safety and closeness I felt with him. We were always 100% platonic, but we could nap together, I could walk into his house and jump on him in bed and wake him up. Then we would cook ourselves a breakfast feast and hit the beach. He taught me to always take the back roads. I gave him advice on the ladies. He taught me about fixing cars. I helped shave his back. He called his new pick up truck, a pick'um up truck. We could wax philosophical all damn day and not get sick of each other.

It wasnt just driving he loved, it was going fast. Like so many young white men, he had tendency to be a little reckless. The universe gave him a pass only so many times.

I'll never forget when he got his motorcycle. It was the last time I saw him. It was a bright green crotch rocket. He loved lime green. I was doing yoga in the living room when I heard this obnoxious engine rev down my street. I asked myself, who the hell is making this noise?! And it was James, grinning from ear to ear with a matching helmet on his shiny new toy.

before he left I said, 'you die on that thing, I'll bring you back to life and kill you." I remember giving him this very long and intentional hug and not knowing why I felt compelled to hang on.

When he left and hopped back on the bike, I felt compelled again and took a video of him riding away from my driveway until he was entirely out of sight.

That's my very last memory of him alive. James Padden died on Thanksgiving five days after his 25th birthday. He went out for a joyride on his bike before dinner, opened up to 100mph around a curve where he couldn't see a car pulling out around the bend in time. They called a medevac, but he died on scene. I loved James dearly and I regret drifting apart after we both left Wawa and I started a new relationship. He had stuff too, but in hindsight it never seems important.

Then there's JB. I will always remember JB for his kindness and generosity. The very first time I finally worked up the nerve to go to a poetry slam, I was alone and terrified. I had no idea what to expect. JB was the very first person to turn around, introduce himself, and welcome me. He made me feel like I belonged. Years later, when I won the title of Grand Slam Champion, he immediately offered to help coach me for national competition. Except, I didn't see the messages and left them unanswered, which I deeply regret. When I started hosting my own open mic a few years after that, JB would be one of the only people to consistently come support the show both as an audience member and participant. It was at a pizza joint and he would sometimes buy me food when I had no money. He wrote beautiful poems about his two young daughters and how much they inspired him. JB always tried to make people laugh but you could tell he carried a sadness. I did not get details, but from what I have gathered he made a choice to end his life. I wish I would have gotten closer to him and appreciated him more as a friend and person. I wonder if he felt no one cared about him and I feel like I should've let him know more.

Which brings us to Crys. Crystopher Anthony Diaz was a Scorpio with a big heart and a big personality. I met him on Myspace back in the day and started Web camming. We became friends and eventually fell into this gray area of friends, together, but not. It wasn't long before I was spending days at his place, killing hours at a time downloading music, making Wawa runs, and smoking weed with his roommate at the time, Syd. You know, the whole reason I worked at Wawa was Crys suggesting it. And Wawa is the reason I met James. Crys was unlike anyone I'd ever met. He was poetic and artistic and loved animals, especially pit bulls. He loved to draw and write and had this very out loud style that favored Earth tones. He taught me about fashion and insisted on getting dressed even if it was 1am and we were just going to Wawa because you never know who you might see. We would buy new clothes at Walmart and have photo shoots. That boy drank his weight in coffee daily. If it's one thing I'll always remember him for, it's the dancing. Dancing was a passion of his and always used to talk about wanting to form a dance crew. Eventually, we ended up living together for four years. My first apartment was with him in this piece of shit duplex rented to us by a slumlord in Keansburg,NJ. My relationship with him was always defined by our Aries/Scorpio dynamic and he never let me forget it. His birthday was October 30th, mischief night. One time, after we had moved into a new place, we decided to get revenge on our old downstairs neighbor by taking a finished lobster carcass and throwing it on his lawn. . . . . . . Keansburg had a terrible stray cat problem. 😁

I have so many memories with Crystopher. Unfortunately, towards the end of our relationship things became too tumultuous. We had too much unresolved baggage and trauma to find a healthy place emotionally together. We were so financially strained for a time we hardly ate. And then when he met his new girlfriend Laura, she introduced him to her good friend, Roxy. As in Roxcicet. aka Blues. Neither of us knew what that even was at the time. But he sure learned quick. He started using them pretty frequently as time went on, and things only got more complicated. My mental health took a nose dive. By the time I moved out our relationship was trash. I basically left. At the time, I didnt have a choice. things had gotten so bad between us, the money, the using . . . we didn't act like friends anymore.

I saw him a couple times at his new place but that was years ago. Since then, he went through a lot, including homelessness and more struggles with addiction to opiates. He reached out to me and sent me a message apologizing for everything a couple years back. I never responded. I was afraid I would let him back into my life and let the all the problems back in. I didnt trust where he was at in his life. We lost touch and stopped speaking.

His ex, who used to live with us and became my friend, messaged me and told me he died a few days ago. He was 35. I'm still waiting for information, but it may have been drug related. I'm not even sure where I'm at with how I feel. I know why we stopped talking. It was the right thing to do at the time. But he didnt deserve to die so young, having spent the last god knows how many months homeless. It's fucking with me so hard because we never resolved anything. I loved this person so fucking much and we never made peace. Of everyone I've lost, he was the closest to me. I've had a lot of people die on me but none that I lived with and shared a life with. I have more memories with him than I can handle and while I know we hadn't spoken in years and why, I still wish I would've said something. Done something. Yes, i needed healthy boundaries but he needed somebody. when is being firm too firm? If we would've helped, could it have been different? But we didn't want to help at the time, you try to be tough and draw a line. Be firm. Not let yourself be taken advantage of. But is that a defense? Did that defensiveness leave a human being who's head i used to scratch until he fell asleep out in the cold to get sicker and die?

What am I supposed to learn from all this Universe? Why do you take my friends so young and so tragically? I'm only 35, I'm too young to have this much loss.

Because these are just the major players I've lost. It doesnt include my cousin Jared, who died being reckless on a motorcycle at 21 two years ago. I was 15 when he was born. I loved that baby, he used to bite my nose. But his family lived far, so I rarely saw him growing up. Last time I saw him was at my grandfather's funeral. He didn't remember me and the nose biting.

And then there's Marcos who we used to chill with. He worked delivery for our favorite chinese food place. He was a nice kid who lived with his grandparents. We would get food, smoke weed, hang out a little. Even used to buy it off him for a while. Eventually he got into the opiates too, he even wound up being good friends with Crys and being Blue buddies. But eventually Marcos died from an opiate overdose. He was in his mid twenties.

I didnt want to include Ricky because he was more of an acquaintance for me, he was more my partners childhood friend. But god damn, in the time I knew Ricky that kid was a riot. He was loud and funny and definitely marched to the beat of his own drum. Drugs took him too.

Thanks for reading all this if you've made it this far. It's taken me about two hours to type this out on my phone. but i needed to. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

#death #story #story prompt #grief #friends #loss #love #dying #grieving #sad #lessons #life lessons #writeblr #writing #compose

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