#sleepy brain and awake brain are v different

[ssweetleaf]

pretty.

step-daddy!steve harrington x step-daughter!reader

summary: your step daddy finds you fast asleep, but can’t seem to shift the thought of filling you— of ruining your chances of being with any other boy that wasn’t him.

includes: SMUT 18+, dub-con, inappropriate relationship, age-gap, somno, fingering, daddy kink, allusions to unprotected p in v

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Peeking through the crack in your door, Steve watched your sweet form, sleeping soundly, sprawled out on your front on your pretty pink duvet— soft little snores escaped your lips, occasionally shifting in your sleep, the irresistible globes of your ass visible with the way your nightgown rode upwards.

His beautiful girl, so worn out and soft, he could already feel his cock hardening from the mere thought of why you were so sleepy— little flashbacks of earlier on littered his brain, his nimble fingers inside your panties, playing idly with your clit.

“It hurts, daddy! Need your help.” You had whined, nudging your nose against his cheek and tugging at his arm, so glad he had come back from work early just to see his best girl.

So, he had helped you, stopped your poor little clit from hurting and made you cum, spasming around nothing and moaning out a constant mantra of daddydaddydaddy.

But now it was his turn, he thought, pushing his door open and letting himself inside your cute little space.

He just couldn’t help himself, for a while it had just been foreplay, letting you practice sucking his cock and having him circle your pretty clit once he was finished, but it was time for something different.

His greedy cock was bored of your mouth, no matter how warm and slick it was, he needed something tighter, something spongy and gummy for him to piston into. And that something was your sweet little cunt— just the mere thought of it fluttering around his length, barely being able to take even half of it, it had him pulling a lip between his teeth to stifle a groan.

So there you lay, his dearest, darling girl, back arched so prettily, your cotton panties wedged between the fat of both ass cheeks, and he made sure to get a closer look— the outline of your puffy pussy lips was sheer through the fabric, pulled taut, a little wet spot covering the space where your hole would be.

You were always so wet for him, whether you liked it or not.

Steve reached out a hand, fingertips tracing the length of your slit from over your panties, watching with a lift of his lip at the way your hips wiggled at his touch— even in your sleep you were drawn to your daddy, leaning into his touch in dream state, you were probably dreaming of him anyway. Dreaming of him defiling you.

His lips quirked at the sweet sound of a whine escaping your lips, mindlessly trying to squeeze your thighs together and lodging his hand even closer towards your pussy in the process.

He managed to hook his intrusive fingers underneath the elastic of your panties, shuffling the crotch to the side and letting the pads of his fingers really feel. Your wetness coated his skin immediately, saturating his flesh just like you saturated your poor panties, your sweet arousal dripping in surges from your untouched hole.

He had to adjust himself at the feeling, palming his crotch and pulling at the fabric of his slacks that suddenly became a little too tight.

“Such a dirty girl,” he huffed out, his unoccupied hand pulling your thighs apart as best as he could to get a closer look. “always such a greedy girl, thinking about your daddy all the time, hm, honey?”

He smirked— if you were awake he was sure you’d give him one of your little scoldings of daddy, you can’t say stuff like that, your cheeks would heat up and you’d refuse to make eye contact, but being sound asleep you just took what he gave, and that included his crude little utterings.

Slowly, he circled a finger around your opening, prodding at it teasingly, letting all your arousal to soak his digit before slipping it inside. You sucked him up immediately, walls contracting around the intrusion and you moaned against the pillow, still sleeping soundly.

Stevie had always wondered how tight you were, an untouched little dove like you he couldn’t even begin to comprehend it— but now, with his finger shoved inside, curling up into your special spot, he could barely find a thought, especially with the immense throbbing of his cock.

Once he slipped a second finger inside you, in attempt to stretch you out a little more, you stirred, eyes fluttering open, entirely confused before turning to see the sweet presence of your daddy.

You gave him a dumb little smile, unaware of what was going on until you realised how full you were, how good it felt.

“D-daddy—” you gasped, leaning on your elbows, cheeks heating at how embarrassed you were, just letting him fill you with his fingers while you were sound asleep.

“Shh,” he cooed, stroking your hair with the hand that wasn’t inside you, grazing your cheek with his knuckle to have you settle down. “were practically begging for it, honey— like a little bunny in heat.”

You whined at his words, backing up into his touch and clenching around him.

“S’good daddy’s here, hm?” He spoke, “poor little pussy would be lost without me, wouldn’t she?”

So filthy, you thought, your ears not entirely used to such crude speech coming from your stepfather, but you couldn’t deny how needy it made you feel, you could feel your slick slipping down your thighs and onto your sheets.

Your daddy pulled his fingers away from you, your pussy clenching around nothing, and you whined from the loss, oh how empty you felt. You didn’t like it, you wanted to be stuffed full for as long as you could take.

“No,” you whined, sniffling, your eyes glistening with tears and you wiggled your ass back into him, urging him to give you more. “Want more, daddy— feels s’good.”

“I’ll give you more, hon,” he hummed, pressing his palm to the back of your head and pushing it down, letting your face squish against the pillows. He fiddled with his belt, pulling it loose and lowering his fly, pulling the pretty length of his cock from his briefs.

He was practically leaking, the thick veins that littered his cock throbbed and surged with hotness, so eager to be inside his most precious girl, to feel her heat and fill her to the brim.

The mere thought of his hot cum filling her insides, shooting into her tummy, it had his knees buckling, mind reeling from how lucky he felt.

He was so glad he had such an obedient, needy girl like you.

[coffeeghoulie]

and/or 15. and Dewther for the smut prompts?

"I want to hear you beg" and 15. "You're mine" from this prompt list

I had a lot of thoughts about possessive, jealous Aether and writing this was v fun.

Could be read as dubcon but both Dew and Aether are very into it. Contains scent kink, grinding, and a late night handjob.

divider by @wrathofrats <3

He can almost taste it. It clings to the roof of his mouth, cloying and taunting. Aether's nostrils flare, unable to escape the scent that isn't quite right. It's late. Too late. The room is pitch black, and all Aether can hear is the soft breathing, gentle snuffling snores that come with each of Dew's exhales.

His mate is settled on his chest, one hand gently curled into the collar of Aether's sleep shirt, the other tucked around his shoulder. Aether holds him close, wide awake despite the hour, despite having Dew so close.

In fact, it's because Dew's so close that he can't find sleep. Aether is intimately aware of the ghoul in his arms. Knows him better than he knows himself at this point, how he takes his coffee, how he scores his picks, every superstitious ritual he's ever been privy to. How his piety looks more human than any of the other ghouls Aether's ever met.

It could be argued, then, that Aether knows what Dew smells like. But under the campfire smoke, the caramelized sugar that comes with his sleepy contentedness, and the faint, ever-present tobacco is something carbonated and sharp. Quintessence.

Normally, Aether would take no mind of Dew smelling of quintessence. But therein lies the problem: Dew doesn't smell like his quintessence.

The logical part of Aether's brain knows why. Dew's been sharing a lot of space with Aeon in rehearsals and in the commons, the younger ghoul brushing up against him in search of approval and comfort. No outright scenting or challenging. But the animal part of Aether's brain doesn't give a shit about that.

His mate smells like a different quintessence ghoul. This needs amending.

A tiny voice breaks the quiet, mumbling with sleep. "Aeth?"

Aether realizes too late that he's growling.

Dew shifts on top of him. His movements kick up another wave of his scent, and that's all the animal part of his brain can take. He surges up, flipping them until he's straddling Dew's hips, looming over and dwarfing him.

Dew's body thuds against the mattress, copper eyes fluttering open with a squeak, narrow chest heaving. Aether knows what Dew's seeing: two glowing violet eyes hanging in the pitch black of their room.

The growl still bubbling in his throat, Aether bends to rub his cheek against the line of Dew's jaw, along his throat. He can hear the way his stubble scrapes against Dew's skin, catches on what remains of his gills.

"You're mine," he rumbles, low and dangerous into Dew's ear. The sharp scent of fear and confusion fades to something almost irritated but fond, muddy with sleep. Dew tips his chin back, whining soft and placating.

"'M yours, starshine," he agrees, voice and posture softer than Dew will ever show anyone else. Aether preens, doubling down as he rubs his own ozone scent against Dew's scarred throat.

"You don't smell like mine," he says, huffing as he catches another faint whiff of Aeon's scent. His hips press down, pinning his little mate to the mattress.

Dew gasps with the sudden force of it, taking a deep, shaky breath. "I smell like yours," he mumbles, not quite awake yet even with Aether's cock hardening against the line of his hip. "Dunno what you're talking about."

Aether growls louder, pressing the flats of his fangs against the matescar in the crook of Dew's neck. "You smell like them," he says, shoving a thick thigh between Dew's, feels him start to chub up in interest. "I'm gonna fix that."

He takes both of Dew's bony wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head as he starts to rut against his hip. He mouths at Dew's jaw, kissing and licking a stripe along his scarred gills. It draws a strangled groan from his throat, breath hot against Aether's skin. "Fuck, make me, make me yours again," Dew gasps, pushing his hips up off the bed, bucking into the crease between Aether's thigh and hip.

Aether stills, something almost feral in his eye. "I want to hear you beg for it," he croons, low and dark and dangerous. He pins Dew's hips to the bed with the hand not holding his wrists, putting a stop to any and all bids for friction. "Beg me to make you mine."

He feels more than hears Dew's panting breaths, already so worked up. He always is when he leverages his size like this. Words don't come to him, whining soft and offering the line of his throat to the bigger ghoul, tilting his head to expose the matescar Aether left on him all those years ago. Dew's wrists flex in Aether's grip, but there's no real struggle.

"Give me words, darling," Aether says, settling into a slow, filthy grind. He's not cruel, even like this. He shoves his thigh back between Dew's legs, using his grip on his hip to drag him up and down the tensed muscle.

Dew keens, back arching and copper eyes fluttering shut. "Fuck!"

"Yeah, darling?" He tightens his grip, hoping that it'll bruise by morning. Dew pants under him, pinned and unable to move. Aether can feel his body heat radiating, burning hotter and hotter with each grind of his hips.

"Kiss me?" he asks, and Aether's blindsided for just a moment. Aether's never been able to deny Dew anything.

He dips down, catching his mate's lips with his own. It's surprisingly tender, despite the thick scent of sex that's starting to fill the room, of their combined scents. Dew melts into it, back arching as he tries to get more contact with his mate, straining against Aether's grip.

Aether only breaks the kiss to press his face against Dew's sharp collarbones, rubbing Dew with his scent. He presses a kiss to Dew's matescar just to feel him shudder beneath him. He mouths lower, playing with the silver barbell through one pink nipple. Dew gasps, rutting his hips against Aether's stomach.

"Please, Aeth, starshine, please make me yours again," he whines, doing his best to rub his own cheek against him.

Aether grins, his gold fang glinting in the dark. He ruts against him, groaning in Dew's ear as his cock throbs against his hip, leaking pre until he's just as wet as Dew. "Yeah, darling boy?" He croons, almost growling as the pleasure and possession swirl inside him, coiling in his gut. "You want me to make you mine?"

Dew nods, bucking his hips up jerkily to meet his thrusts. "Please," he breathes, desperately hooking his leg around the back of Aether's thigh, trying to get a better angle.

"I will, baby, I will," Aether promises, pushing him into the mattress with the force of his thrusts. "Make sure they all can smell it, you're mine, darling."

Aether's so worked up that it only takes a few more thrusts before he's keeping his promise. He cums between their stomachs, grunting with each pulse of his cock. He digs his teeth gently into Dew's matescar, groaning loudly into his too-warm skin. He lets go of Dew's wrists to prop himself up, not trusting himself from just crushing his mate

"Fuck," Dew pants, carding through Aether's mohawk. "I smell right now, huh, starshine?"

Aether nods, gently as to not irritate the matescar too much, his teeth still clamped down. He feels it calming, panting into Dew's shoulder as the aftershocks fade.

As his mind clears, Aether's suddenly much more aware of the hot line of Dew's cock pressed into his hip. He releases his bite, kissing apologetically up his throat until he takes his lips again. "'m sorry for waking you, darling. Let me make it better?" he asks, curling a big hand around his length.

Dew's breath hitches, and he keens into Aether's mouth as he sets a merciful pace, twisting his wrist at the tip just the way he knows Dew likes. His hips buck, and Aether lets him chase his pleasure. It doesn't take long before Dew's spilling over his knuckles.

Aether swallows every one of Dew's cries, whispers praise and thanks against his lips. When Dew slumps back down against the mattress, both of their messes smeared on their stomachs and scents strong with each other, Aether wipes his hand on the sheets and pulls Dew close.

They're both too exhausted to care about the mess, though that will not be the case when morning comes. Aether, ever the good mate, will clean him up almost sheepishly, though proud that Dew is his by scent and scar.

[anjelicawrites]

Cringefail Throuple 💡

On a rainy day with the cringies, Reader and Billy are watching some kind of trashy reality tv, while Michael reads a stuffy intellectual book. He sits on the couch with them, but he scoffs at whatever they choose to watch.

Flash forward to about three hours later, and Michael is screaming blood murder at the tv because how DARE Tiffany wear an outfit that slutty to Rebecca’s classy holiday party!?!?!?!

It takes a good long fucking to calm him down.

Warnings: reference to panic attacks, Billy's car bomb, kissing, prostate massage, orgasm denial, overstimulation, oral (male receiving), anal fingering, anal, p in v sex.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

Billy started watching what Michael calls 'Trash food for your brain' TV right after surviving the bomb car incident. For some months, even though he was seeing a therapist on line, he couldn't stand setting foot outside his parents' home; the fact that their house had been besieged by journalists for weeks hadn't help his mental health but, even if that weren't the case, he couldn't stand the outside world without falling prey of panic attacks. To stop the awful thoughts in his head, and to pass the time, he had started watching all brain killing daytime TV; he didn't truly follow the storylines, he just needed the constant white noise in the background. Now that he's doing so much better, and has you and Michael by his side, it's simply a way to unwind from the stress of stepping up at the pub. Secretly he is following a couple of storylines and he's keeping mum about it, he knows Michael will never let him hear the end of it!

You have started because of a couple of friends who wanted the option of someone smart on the crazy, oftentimes, toxic situations the authors create for the participants. You and your friends still have the WhatsApp group created for this occasion even though commenting in real time is not something you can do anymore. You maintain the habit whenever you are crashing at Billy's and want some down time to completely shut down your brain.

Usually Michael is not with you and Billy when this happens, he bitches and moans too much on how this trash is bad for both your brains and you two should do something different to unwind, like reading. Billy isn't much of a reader himself and you need to stop your brain from overworking, sometimes, and a book is of no help, staring blankly at the screen works for you.

It's a rainy weekend that has forced you three to change your plans and stay at home, moping a bit because you and Michael will have your exams soon and will be drowning in work for weeks and wished to be out and about, before the library swallows you two whole. You've curled next to Billy who is playing on his phone while some inane trash reality plays in the background, Michael is sitting on the only armchair with a thick tome about some mathematical problem you'd rather ignore and is groaning whenever the people on the screen are raising their voices too much for his own tastes. You've elected to ignore him and just let yourself be lulled into a semi conscious state by the rain pelting the windows and the stupid conversations on screen.

You jump awake when Michael shouts, finger pointing at the TV. For a moment you don't truly understand what he's saying, then your ears pick up his indignant tone: apparently one of the housewives of God knows where has arrived at this fancy birthday party dressed like a hooker. You stare owlishly at Billy, hoping he would help you understand what's happening on the screen; he can only shrug his shoulders.

"He's getting into it." Billy tells you. "He's been huffing like a boiling pot since the episode started." "Why?" The situation is so surreal you think you are still sleeping and having a weird ass dream. "Someone tried to do a sum and failed. He picked that up and was hooked ever since." "54 plus 67" comes from the armchair. "What?" You're too sleepy for math at the moment. "The simple sum. Look at that!" Michael snaps, finger pointed to the TV in the corner.

Billy snickers as you try to focus on the images on the screen. OK, the housewives rarely venture into classy territory: what's having Micheal's panties in a bunch?

"Those boots with that dress? You're never shagging her husband!"

Still feeling like you've walked into an alternate reality, you stare at Michael, who is sitting on the armchair, back hunched forward, his hands like claws around the worn fabric of the armchair. You recognize the behavior: he acted like this when Oliver decided to tag along with Felix's crowd, way before Billy became part of your lives. You had to go through countless rants against vapid cunts and bootlickers and there was only one thing that helped kicking him out of this mood.

You nudge Billy who is having too much fun just looking at Michael getting more incensed with each passing minute and stand up, throwing your sweater and shirt on the floor, before straddling Michael's legs.

"Now, I think you've had too much trash telly for today, what do you say?"

Michael is hyperfocusing so much that he doesn't notice your naked breasts, it takes Billy's hand in his hair to force his line of sight away from the screen to your naked skin.

"If you're not interested we can start without you, genius boy." Billy says.

You take the glasses off Michael's nose and put them on the floor.

"You're not going to need those for a while, love."

Before Michael can start complaining, Billy's lips slant over his, tongue ruthlessly fucking Michael's slack mouth; soon moans escape when your start playing with his nipples, the cold of your fingers against his inflamed skin sends shockwaves through his body, his mind absolutely focused on you and Billy and the raging erection in his trousers.

Still kissing, Billy has Michael standing up as you undo his trousers and guide him to the couch, where Billy bends Michael over, with his hands on the backrest and his legs spread for easy reaching. You kneel on the floor, one hand around Michael's erection, jacking him slowly with a loose fist, aiming at torturing him while Billy's finds the lube stashed under the cushions.

"Shit!" Michael's hips jut forward in the pathetic attempt to take control. "Go faster!" "Are you going to beg?" "Ah! No!" He moans, tears pooling in his eyes. "Then I should have some more fun."

Michael's complaints die on his tongue when your lips slowly envelope his weeping head, all of his movements controlled by Billy's hand on his hip, who is now in forcing Michael to sit still as you slowly blow him, your fingers tight around his base to make sure he's not coming before you and Billy allow him to.

Over you, the sticky sounds of your lovers kissing resume, accompanied by the squelching of the lube poured over Michael's hole, followed by Billy's long fingers fucking hard and fast against his prostate. Michael wails and moans with every passing of your lips up and down his length, your mouth tight enough to tease but not to make him come, Billy's fingers bullying his prostate make his knee wobble and the know in his belly tighten almost to the point of pain. He needs, needs to come, empty his bollocks all over your face, if only you'd lose your fingers around his base!

"Not so fast, genius boy. I think you need to stop thinking before you get to come".

Billy drawls against Michael's ear, before his teeth find the meat of his shoulder and bite down savagely, the pain forcing Michael over the abyss with a pained wail.

Michael's body shudders when the fingers in his arse don't stop fucking against his prostate and his balls are still full and heavy. Your tongue licks the thin fluid bubbling from his cock head, before you resume slowly blowing him, now swallowing around his cock until you're flush against him and his vision turns black.

Again and again pleasure ravages through him, until his bollocks hurt and he can't stand up anymore, not that this stops you and Billy from torturing him while you two help him on his back, by letting his heavy cock slap against his contracted abs.

Michael trembles and tries to breath when you two stop touching him just to stare at his body covered in sweat and your saliva. He's beautiful and debauched with his legs spread and cock hard, a thin line of spit sleeping from his parted lips. He moans when you take his erection in your hands again and roll the condom on, before your cunt envelops him slowly: you can't risk him coming just now.

You can feel Michael's full body shudders when Billy's cock breaches him, Michael's hole already fucked so thoroughly, that Billy bottoms out easily, before he starts grinding against his prostate, slow and thorough, just following the leisure rhythm of your hips and Michael's high pitched wails.

"Look at us." You order.

Michael's tears stained eyes fixate on your body as Billy's hands cup your breasts and play with your nipples, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss that have both you and Michael moan. If it weren't for your weight and Billy's, Michael's hip would have already bucked wildly under you when your muscles clench, strangling his cock, which has his arse curl tightly around Billy's engorged erection; Billy can't help it but fuck Michael with harder and faster pushes and Michael is babbling, desperate to come, every cell of his being ready to explode.

"Don't you dare!" You pant. "Not yet!"

Michael's fingers grab your arse, helping you grind tighter against him, your muscles curling around him to the point of pain, Billy's hands grasp his hips to anchor himself to push inside of him like the desperate man that he is, almost mad with the pleasure Michael's tight arse is giving him.

Michael's back arches when he comes, his nails grab at your skin with a savagery that leaves marks behind, the pain kick starting your orgasm, your cunt a vise around Michael who whines and screams, his arse so tight that Billy comes with a shout, before falling over you, effectively trapping Michael under your combined weights.

The bloody sofa is too small to house you three, not that any of you cares, breathless as you all are, your brains still coming down from the incredible high you have experienced.

You nuzzle Michael's neck, your tongue licking the sweat there.

"She's already shagged her friend's husband. You'd know that if you'd followed the whole season."

The vibrations of Billy's laughter travel down your back and Michael huffs under you: if he gets to be fucked like this every time you three watch trash TV together he's happy to watch every single episode!

Cringefail throuple taglist: @fan-goddess @solisarium

[theloveinc]

this is v v random and you dont have to answer if you dont want to bc it IS personal, but i wanted to ask abt ur experience on wellbutrin? in terms of like, getting energy or feeling tired, sleepy? im worried about it making me sleepy/tired/brain fog (im 26 n BUSY as heck) again, dont have to answer at all, just asking bc i know youre quite open n honest on stuff so i thought id give it a shot and ask about your experience n like. ur pros & cons if thats okay. anyways thank u lub u legend bye <3

🥺Legend, of course u can ask!! I'm probably not the best choice, given I've only been on it since early June (and some people, much longer)... but honestly, in terms of brain fog and sleep... I have had almost literally NO issues and am all positive reviews here (...kinda).

One of the reasons I was prescribed it actually was for excessive sleepiness and brain fog (I get horrible, horrible brain fog normally and I have for years.)... and even though the results have been somewhat inconsistent since I've switched dosages like three times (and was off for a bit), literally it's helped SOOOOO much.

Obviously, people's reactions are going to be different, a moot (who I can tag but don't want to like... expose)(edit: @ace-of-books in the replies of this post!!!) on here told me Wellbutrin actually keeps her awake to the point where she needs mild sedatives to sleep... but I've honestly found I have no trouble actually going to sleep once I actually decide to (I like to use my phone in bed so I partially blame some sleep issues on that, but... you know) and waking up has gotten way, WAY easier.

(Also, with my new dosage, I take it twice a day and it's the NON-time release pills, and I've noticed that actually I haven't been as tired getting into bed usually... but someone told me this would go away once I fully adjusted AND I didn't have that problem on the time released capsules I took initially. Also it could just be that I've been taking a lot of naps at 8pm LMAOOO AND it doesn't actually bother me since the brain fog has been very reduced! *skips and jumps and claps feet together like a little leprechaun*🤩🤩🤩)

So yeah. More issues with... not being able to sleep than with being sleepy in the daytime. Thought when I was taking my more concentrated dose, if I had caffeine with it, things would get a little WoOoOooooOOOOooo funny🤡!!! at first.

As for cons... it's so funny because when I switched dosages the first time, I was like "omg these pills suck they stopped working after like, a month..." THAT WAS NOT TRUE LMAOOO. I HAD JUST GOTTEN USED TO THEM, and when I moved on to a higher dosage (150mg once a day to 150 TWICE a day🥶😨😱), I literally went insane (crying over mild inconveniences IN PUBLIC. I could think too hard and I would cry. Keep me awake over anxiety literally non-stop type insane).

And then, when I subsequently stopped taking them and it faded(?) from my system, it became very clear I actually was... worse off without them and I was extremely happy to go back on

I could always get used to it again, but right now I feel GREAT and literally kind of spring out of bed when I need to be up. No more lazing about waiting for my mind to work, it just does for the most part.

(Though I do get tired in the day because my schedule is awful, and also still crave sleeping a lot when I am in bed, it's just when I do wake + get up the adjustment period from sleepy time to being awake is almost... instant. So that, I would say, is fantastic).

ANYWHOOOO, this is kind of a long-winded answer that I answered sort of... backwards (talking about lack of sleep vs. excessive sleep), but... my experience has been so positive, even despite the dosage changes and the fact that it obviously hasn't cured my depression entirely. I just haven't had any issues with it making me tired at all, and it's FIXED my brainfog, which I guess is the answer to your question!

BUT, and I'm just gonna say this for legal reasons cuz I'm sure you already know, talk to your doctor/a medical professional first before making any decisions! Don't base taking it entirely off of ME because I also know people who experienced nothing positive on Wellbutrin at all. Not me, tho. But that can be common.

Thanks for reading this all (and being sooo sweet I lub you too + am kissing you), if you did! And no worries if you didn't, but good luck with whatever ends up happening!💕💕💕

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Take Care (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Set sometime between chapter 18, Ethan forces Naomi to take a break.

A/N: Okay the other day when I posted that i was writing tooth rotting fluff, this isn’t what I had in mind. That story will come later this week.

~v~

“How long have you been here?”

The question startles Naomi awake, Ethan’s stern voice cutting through the hazy cloud of sleepiness invading all of her senses.

If she didn’t have his handsome features committed to memory already, she might not have been able to make him out, her vision getting blurrier and blurrier as time ticks on.

“What?”

“How long have you been here?” Ethan asks again. “When was the last time you stepped out of Edenbrook?”

It’s a valid question, one Naomi hasn’t given any thought to. “What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“I’ve been here since Saturday night,” Naomi confesses. Saying it out loud is slightly sobering. The past few weeks have flown by in a blur so unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. But with the hospital closing down soon, there’s no time to waste these days. The people of Boston will be down a hospital, and they still need help.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ, Naomi.” Yes the hospital is shutting down, but he’s sure there are countless laws she’s violated in the meantime, as no one is supposed to be at the hospital for triple digit hours at a time.

“What? You’re the one who said we should spend our time helping as many people as we can.”

Leave it to her to throw his words back in his face. She’s gotten increasingly better at it, and he’s not a fan. 

“Okay, but I didn’t say you had to move in to do so. And you’re always saying I don’t have a work-life balance.”

Naomi’s arms extend and she gestures widely to the bench she’s sitting on in front of the cafeteria. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“On the verge of collapsing,” Ethan quips.

“I’m sitting,” Naomi argues. “I’m taking a break.”

“Are you currently with a patient?”

“No.”

“Good.” Ethan extends his hand for Naomi to take. After a beat of hesitation, she accepts. He lifts her out of her seat with a swift tug. “You’re coming home with me.”

“But–”

“It wasn’t a question,” Ethan deadpans. “It was an order.”

Naomi plants her feet on the ground, willing herself to not move. It’s a futile attempt because she’s too exhausted and weak to actually have the amount of strength it’d take to battle Ethan on this, but he respects her stubbornness and doesn’t carry her out. “Ethan, I’ll take a nap in an on-call room for an hour, I don’t need to leave.”

“Rookie, you’re clocking out for the evening,” Ethan says, his tone letting it be known that it isn’t up for debate.

“I’m back to ‘rookie’ now?”

“Yes, because you’re being petulant, and you’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not my direct superior anymore, Mister ‘We-Don’t-Need-a-Diagnostics-Team’.”

“I’m still your attending, you still have to listen to me. And I say you’re done for the day.” Not giving her the chance to respond, Ethan wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. She’s dead weight in his arms and he has to all but drag her to the locker room to retrieve her personal belongings.

Urge car ride to his apartment is silent, save for very idle chit chat. Naomi is too tired to speak, and she won’t admit it due to pure pride and stubbornness, but sitting in Ethan passenger seat on the way to his place is the most peace and quiet she’s had in a long time, not to mention the longest she’s sat still in days. Forever the know-it-all, Ethan picks up on her need for silence and solitude, and doesn’t say too much outside of asking her what she wants for dinner. They decide on a pizza, compromising on garlic chicken.

As soon as they step foot into the apartment, Naomi is assaulted by an overzealous golden retriever. He barks excitedly at her, clawing and licking at her scrub pants as a greeting. Jenner has grown used to her presence, the rare occasions she does actually leave Edenbrook are spent here, curled up with the large dog on the days he’s not in Providence with Alan.

“How’s my favorite boy?” Naomi asks, scratching behind Jenner’s ear. Jenner barks in reply, his tongue falling out of his mouth and lolling to the side as she makes himself comfortable under her touch. 

After a few more scritches and whispered affirmations, Naomi forces herself away from the day, though she could easily spend all night with him in the entryway. She kicks off her shoes at the door and drops her purse there as well.

“Do you want to eat first?” Ethan asks.

The pizza did tempt her the entire drive here, but she desperately wants to take a shower. Maybe she’s losing it at this point, but she can still feel Edenbrook on her skin, and smell the sterilizing disinfectant the cleaning crew uses.

“I need a shower,” Naomi replies definitively, though she makes no effort to move. “Besides, scarfing down cold pizza is always a good idea.”

“Alright.”

Ethan takes her hand and leads her through his apartment, making sure she doesn’t bump into anything on their way to his en-suite

He turns on the water for her, the large waterfall shower steaming the glass planes almost instantly.

“Want some company?” Ethan asks.

“That sounds nice.”

Because she’s literally a zombie, Ethan helps Naomi out of her clothing, delicately peeling the baby blue scrubs off of her body and leaving a pile of discarded clothing on the floor. He follows, removing his own clothing with less care than he did hers, before walking them both into the shower.

For a long time neither of them do anything, Naomi too caught up in the heat of the water and Ethan’s amazing water pressure, and Ethan too enthralled in watching her.

Her skill is slightly pale, evidence that she probably hasn’t had proper sleep or food in Lord only knows how long, and he hasn’t seen dark circles under her eyes like this in months, since the night of the...incident as he’s decided to call it. She’s exhausted, it’s clear in the labored breaths that she takes, and Ethan is still sure without a shadow of a doubt that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Unable to stop himself, his hand gently cups the back of her neck, tilting her head back so he can kiss her again. It’s soft and unhurried as if they have all the time in the world to do this.

The kiss turns more urgent as some of the fog clears from Naomi’s brain. Standing on the tips of her toes, she wraps her arms around of Ethan’s neck holding him close, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Ethan is rewarded with a tiny moan from his girlfriend, a moan that he swallows with the kiss before it dissolves into a low grumble in the back of her throat.

“I missed that,” Naomi admits as Ethan breaks the kiss. 

“What? Kissing me?”

She hums in confirmation and leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss onto his chest. “I can’t even remember the last time I kissed you. The only recent memories I have involve me at Edenbrook, diagnosing patients.”

She’s right. Their only focus has been work, work, work, and Ethan can’t remember the last kiss either.

His thoughts are broken up by Naomi, her hands roaming aimlessly along his arms and shoulders. Her exploration goes further south until her nails are raking along his stomach. “When was the last time I touched you?” She asks quietly, her eyes boring into his. “When was the last time I saw you naked?”

A measured exhale escapes Ethan’s nostrils as her hands venture dangerously lower, slightly grazing his pelvis. If neither of them can recall their last kiss, trying to remember the last time they had sex would be a moot point. The nights they leave Edenbrook are spent collapsing in his bed as soon as they can, drifting into unconsciousness almost immediately. “I don’t know.”

“God, have we become old and boring already?”

“We’re just tired and overworked,” Ethan says. “It’ll pass soon.”

The words unspoken hang in the air, just as thick and heavy as the steam surrounding them. Soon they’ll have plenty of time to get back into the normal aspects of their relationship only because they’ll both be unemployed. Edenbrook will be gone before they know it.

Not wanting to dwell on that, Ethan shakes his head as if he will away the cynical thoughts. Instead, he grabs Naomi’s hands, holding them tight to his chest. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

“Really? Something begs to differ.” With a raised eyebrow, Naomi looks down curiously at the evidence of Ethan’s arousal, comfortable nestled between the two of them. Before she can reach down and touch him, Ethan shakes his head.

“I have the most beautiful woman, naked and wet in front of me. This was inevitable, but it’ll go away.”

“I can make it go away.”

“Mhmm-hmmm. Turn around, Valentine.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ethan rolls his eyes. How this woman always finds the space and opportunity to flirt with him is a mystery. Lining the walls of his shower are all of Naomi’s bath and shower products. He’s always making fun of her for being a product hoarder, though she insists everything is different—he’s been schooled on the differences between regular, leave-in, and deep conditioner, creams vs gels, body scrubs and shower gels many times and he still doesn’t see a need for it all. 

Grabbing her favorite shampoo, Ethan pours a generous amount into the palm of her hand before gently running it through her strands of hair. He’s seen her wash her hair enough times to know the bare bones of her routine. Very careful of her curls, he makes sure to not roughly drag his fingers through her hair and risk creating a tangled disaster for her to handle later on.

Her head tips back. “Can I pay you to wash my hair from now on? I never want to go back to doing it myself.”

A swell of pride forms in his chest at the compliment. “No payment needed.”

Once he’s finished washing her hair and he’s coated it in conditioner —she insists on leave-in, as she doesn’t have the energy to put my more effort into her hair for the evening—Ethan lathers her in one of her shower gels, whichever one makes her smell like jasmine.

He moves slower as he does this, pressing his thumb into the base of her neck, massaging away some of the stress she’s carrying. His hands dig into her shoulders, between her shoulder blades, and her lower back, loosening the muscles as he goes.

Naomi doesn’t attempt to stop the moans fighting to spill from her mouth, no matter how obscene they sound. The relief that bloods her body is instant, his touch working out knots she wasn’t even aware of.

“You’re a great doctor, you cook, and you're an excellent masseuse?” Naomi sighs in content. “What can’t you do?”

“I told you I make it my mission to be good at everything.”

“I’m going to find your weakness one day, Ramsey.”

She’s his weakness, his Achilles heel, and Ethan can’t believe she doesn’t know it already. There’s no end of the earth he wouldn’t go to for her, no hoop he wouldn’t jump through, his feelings for her his fateful flaw and his greatest strength all in one.

He kisses her again, this time on the side of her neck. His breath fans her, heating the sensitive skin as he leans closer. “Good luck.”

He continues the massage in silence, careful to keep his touch away from places that would no doubt cause this to spiral into shower sex. And as lovely as that sounds, it’s not what Naomi needs, so he’s willing to forego his baser urges. Every once in a while she makes a comment about how amazing his hands are, but for the most part she’s blissfully silent.

He doesn’t stop with the massage until he’s absolutely sure she’s putty in his hands and all of the knots and spots of tension are gone. Even afterwards, they stay in the shower, his arm splayed across her midsection, his chin resting on top of her head.

“I don’t want to move,” Naomi says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m too comfortable right here. Can we just stay?”

Ethan chuckles softly to himself. “We can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Well, the steam in here might actually suffocate us if we stay in here any longer,” Ethan starts. “And I’m not a fan of wasting water.”

“It’s not a waste if I’m enjoying it.”

“Touché. Not to mention your skin will get very dry, and you’ll be much more comfortable in my bed.”

“Okay, I guess you’ve made some valid points. We can leave now.”

She doesn’t make any effort to move, and Ethan quickly realizes he’s going to have to do all the work to get her out of here. He turns off the shower and opens the door, quickly inhaling. He didn’t realize how much he needed air until he was no longer in that glass box of steam.

He grabs two large bath towels off of the rack and dries them off. Naomi searches his countertop, now covered in her makeup and hair products until she finds a satin scrunchie to tie up her still damp hair.

They both meander back into Ethan’s bedroom, and Naomi searches through one of his spare drawers for something to wear. It’s full of her clothes, and a few items of his that she’s stolen over the past few months; a t-shirt here, a pair of socks there.

Once she’s bundled up in some of the warmest clothes she can find, Ethan ushers her into bed.  “Are you ready for your pizza now?”

A stubborn yawn manages to slip out as she shakes her head. “No. I’ll get some before I head to work in the morning.”

“You’re not going to work tomorrow,” Ethan says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re taking a much needed break tomorrow,” he continues. “I admire your tenacity, but I’m not going to let you work yourself to the bone and neglect your own needs in your very noble quest to help everyone in Boston. You won’t do Edenbrook any good if you collapse due to exhaustion.”

“But I–”

“I’m not asking you, Naomi, I’m telling you.” Despite his tone, a pleasant shiver runs down the length of her spine. “You’re staying here with me.”

She almost always has the upper hand in their arguments or debates, but Naomi can tell there’s no room for her to argue with him on this one. He won’t let her win.

“Okay,” she concedes. “No work tomorrow.”

Smug that he’s won this round, Ethan triumphantly slides into bed, wrapping an arm around Naomi, keeping her trapped with him. Unlike her, he didn’t put on any clothes, only a pair of boxers, but now Naomi is able to revel in his natural body heat.

He runs a thumb along her cheek, caressing her softly before kissing her forehead. “I am incredibly proud of you.”

“Really?”

“You’re an excellent doctor, and trust me when I say you’ve done more for this community that I’ll ever be able to put into words. And despite the hospital closing soon, I hope you realize the impact you’ve made in your two years here.”

Naomi nods, her throat getting thick with emotion. She’ll never be used to Ethan complimenting her like this. “I wish I could do more.”

“We all do. But at the end of the day, you’re still a human and you can only do so much.” Ethan’s hand moves from her face to her neck, his thumb tracing a pattern along her pulse. “I don’t want you to crash and burn, and best yourself up over something so completely out of your control.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Ethan Ramsey?” Naomi teases. She never thought she’d live to see a day where he’s scolding her for working too much and trying too hard.

“I’ve done a lot of reflecting recently, mostly due to you. If there’s any lesson you’ve taught me, it’s that there’s only so much I’m in control of.”

“Any other lessons or tokens of wisdom I’ve imparted on you.”

“You’ve taught me how to be more patient than I knew was possible,” Ethan replies. Naomi rolls her eyes at the slight teasing. “You’ve taught me how to see the world’s grey area. You taught me the true meaning of trust and forgiveness. You’ve shown me endless compassion and empathy, none that I’ll ever be able to repay in this lifetime or the next. I was your attending, your mentor, but trust me when I say you’ve taught me more than I could ever teach you, about medicine and life in general. So thank you.”

Maybe it’s the pure exhaustion or his really sweet words, but her eyes become wide and glossy with unshed tears. She blinks them away, not wanting to cry.

Instead she leans forward and pulls him into another kiss. She doesn’t know if she can convey the full extent of her love and adoration for him with a simple kiss, but Naomi’s never been the type to not try. When she pulls back, she rests her head against his chest, settling in comfortably.

“Thank you. For the kind words, and for taking care of me tonight. I’ve never had someone be as thoughtful as you.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” Ethan promises. He’ll give her the world if he can. “You just have to stop being so stubborn and let me do it.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.”

“Now get some sleep,” Ethan commands. “Tomorrow, I’ll actually cook you a real meal. Not any of the garbage they serve at the hospital, and no more takeout, but–”

He stops short when he hears a soft snore fill the room. Looking down he sees that Naomi has managed to doze off in the mere seconds he was talking.

He’s never been so happy to watch someone sleep, as no one deserves it more than she does. He plants one final kiss on the crown of her head. “Goodnight, Naomi.”

~v~

Tags: @professorkingslay @nikki-2406 @maurine07 @aka-calliope @edgiestwinter @soft-for-drake @greenbean-kylie @akshara16 @bluebellot @honeyandsunfl0wers @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

[fbfh]

light up the dark [V] - leo x reader

genre: romance + action + enemies to lovers kinda

word count: 2.4k

au: none

pairing: Leo x gothy!child of eros!fem reader

requested: yes teehee

warnings: spoilers for HOO but like what’s new, at least one fuck, mentions of breakfast foods and burger king, one “cranberry fucknut”, brief visit to a historical memorial site, I think that’s it????

summary: you have a very weird dream that leads you to realize you’re actually on some kind of quest! very fun! you, Leo, and Jason follow a lead, find out Chiron’s sending you guys some backup, and realize you’re going to need a very large airbnb

listen to: making mirrors - gotye aka the best dream sequence music

                also we’re the rats. it’s not relevant just living in my brain.

a/n: honest to god it tookme so long to write this i forget what happens in the first half rip

also requests r open uwu

Your dream is unnerving, and not just because you had spent years in a dreamless sleep and forgot what dreaming was like. Okay, partially because of that, but also because of the atmosphere. 

You’re standing in a dark room. It’s pitch black, but you can make out the shape of the room, which is unusual to say the least. It’s long and rectangular, and the ceiling has cylindrical indents, almost as if giant logs were supposed to fit there. The indents go across the short side, with another in front of it, like a rope bridge across a river. Giant curved metallic discs like flat mushrooms are embedded in the ground at regular intervals. 

You get the feeling something’s missing. You stare up at the ceiling trying to get more information, when something hot and glowing presses against the roof. It shines through, casting everything in a strange pink light. You can’t see it, but you know what it is. A translucent sundial that gave off a glowing orange cast.

Sunstone. 

You look back down not wanting to hurt your eyes, and they fall on someone else in the room. He hadn’t been there a second ago. He’s blonde, and looking up at the ceiling, seemingly unbothered by the blinding light. 

“He has it,” he says, wistfully, almost regretfully. 

"Who?" You question. 

"I can't pronounce his name, no one can."

"How can we get it back if we can't find him?" He smiles, liking how you know what he needs you to do before he even tells you. 

"I can't tell you his name, but he's very old… some may even say archaic…" He looks at you with intention, searching for a spark of understanding. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for, and continues, “and not far from here. Which is good, since I need you to get it back for me.” 

“How do we find it?” He tosses you a small, clear container filled with what looks like yellow slime. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“It’s a drop of sunshine,” he explains, “don’t touch it or you’ll burn up. It’ll glow when you get closer to what you’re looking for.” You tuck it in your jacket pocket.

“Can-”

Before you can get out the rest of the sentence, you feel like you’re being pulled out of deep water. Your eyes shoot open, and you take in a quick breath through your nose. You open and close your eyes a few times, and push yourself into a sitting position. There’s a weight on your stomach and you trace the hand back to Jason, who had gently nudged you awake moments ago. His mouth is open and there’s a stale smile, like he was about to tell you to rise and shine. Your stare is unwavering, and he retracts his hand. 

“Uh… breakfast is ready,” he says, turning back and heading over to the couch. 

“Kay,” you mutter, still groggy and disoriented. Maybe sleep just isn’t for you. Jason hesitates about half way across the room, noticing the lack of cat-like vengefulness in your tone of voice.

“...You okay?” he asks softly. 

“Fine, just a weird dream,” you roll your shoulders, back sore and stiff, to try and loosen the two stubborn knots just below your shoulder blades. His eyebrows furrow at your words and you continue, “I’m starting to think I should add a little chloroform to my sleepy time tea.” 

“What happened?” he asks, sounding way more serious than you’d expected.

“I dunno, I-” he cut you off, calling for Leo. Jason encourages you to tell them what you’d dreamed about as in depth as possible once Leo comes in from the sitting area, so you don’t have time to gauge how he seems after last night. You feel a little silly trying to describe a surreal dream to them, especially since they seem to be paying such rapt attention. After recalling as many details as you could, they sat in silence for a minute. They share a look, then sigh in unison. Jason pushes up his glasses and squeezes the bride of his nose as Leo lets out a soft ‘fuck’. 

“I’ll go iris message Chiron, Leo, do you want to get some food and offerings to burn?” Jason says. Leo agrees, and Jason’s already in the sitting area, misting water in the air with a squirt bottle. Leo puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t you get dressed, I already made some coffee,” he says, the spike of hesitance that shot through his stomach at his instigated physical contact dissolving when you nod sleepily. An unusually warm feeling clouds through you, less distant and detached than normal. You realize while digging through your bag that for whatever reason, you didn’t hate the feeling of Leo’s hand on your shoulder. You grab your clothes from your bag, and feel a weight in your jacket. You reach into the pocket, and pull out the “slime” from your dream. It glows briefly, fading as you walk towards the bathroom. Huh, you think, at least now we know what to look for. You’re grateful for the example as you get dressed and freshen up, wondering what the hell happens next. 

Burning the food doesn’t take long. Leo throws the extra breakfast they’d ordered onto the metal table on the patio, except for a piece of toast he held in his hands. He summons fire until the toast is engulfed in flames, and drops it with the rest. He fans the smoke and asks for guidance, protection, typical pre quest stuff. After a minute or two, he pours out a pitcher of water to extinguish the flames, and heads back into the sitting area with Jason. On his way, he watches you through the open bathroom door for a second as you put on your makeup. You sure are different from girls he’d liked in the past. A strong twinge of pain from the previous night makes him flinch. He shoves it away, and takes a seat, greeting Chiron through iris message. Jason had just finished filling him in on the dream and the sundial, and he looks worried.

“I was afraid this might be the case. I'd gotten word that something like this might have happened, but I hoped it was just hearsay… I'm sorry boys, but you're most definitely on a mission from the gods. The story behind that sundial is long and complicated; in summary, if Apollo does not have his sundial by june, summer cannot happen."

"Wh- like, time will stop?" Leo says. 

"Will it just skip to autumn?" Jason adds. 

"What about Persephone?"

"Can Demeter do anything?" 

Chiron holds up his hands to quiet them. 

"I wish I could say, but no one really knows what will happen, only that we do not wish to find out."

"So, what do we do?" Jason asks. 

"Who can I send?" Chiron says to himself, "Dear gods, this is… unfortunate."

"Chiron," Jason says again, getting his attention. 

"Right, I'm sorry my boy, this whole situation is… preoccupying." Jason agrees, and asks what they should do next. 

"Get as much information as you can from what Apollo has told you. I'll gather some people to send over at once, they'll be on their way shortly. This is most distressing…" he trails off, lost in thought again, and the iris message cuts out. Jason's stomach is in knots. 

After freshening up, you get dressed, having chosen your clothes deliberately before. If shit’s about to hit the fan, which it looks like it is, you’re going to need a strong balance of comfortable and kick ass. Plus, it’s still the cold part of spring, and New England weather is no joke. 

You assess yourself in the mirror, satisfied with your choice; half black half gray cargo pants with chain belts, a long sleeved fishnet top with a black crop top over it, and one of your favorite pairs of platform boots. You topped it off with a layered choker studded with black jewels and delicate chains, asymmetrical earrings - one attached to an ear cuff, the other dangling - and a ring that looks like a snake wrapped around your finger. Last but not least, a dark olive green bomber jacket with ‘god save the queen’ written on the back in paint. 

Your mind wanders as you lean closer to the mirror, laser focused on perfecting your eyeliner. The memory of Leo’s hand on your shoulder creeps back up, and your brow furrows at the panicked flush to your cheeks, wondering why you didn’t push him off. 

‘Some cranberry fucknut broke his heart last night, I didn’t want him to feel worse’, you think deliberately, refusing room for any objections or alternative solutions your brain keeps offering up. You finish your makeup relatively quickly, pleased at how much better it looks when you don’t sleep in it for years. Your hair is… hanging in there, but you can’t drop everything and redye it now. At least you know what color you want next - a nice, coral tinted red. You’ll have to keep an eye out the next time you go shopping. 

Finally, you’re ready. You put away your makeup and pajamas, and make your way over to the boys. You grab some coffee and pick at a muffin, the strategy session beginning. 

Jason takes a sip of his own coffee, scowling at the slightly burnt taste.

“Where should we start looking? Do we have any decent leads?”

You sip your coffee, your face mirroring Jason’s moments before.

“The guy from my dream-”

“Apollo,” Jason interjects.

“Right,” you continue, “he said whoever has what we’re looking for has a really hard to pronounce name or something. Maybe we can start there.”

After some back and forth, and consulting of travel guides, you find a memorial for some historical figure with a name that definitely would have gotten him bullied. 

“Wasn’t that guy a demigod?” Leo asks, and Jason confirms. You’re already checking the maps scattered around for a route.

“It looks like it’s pretty much just further west from where we are, we can probably get there pretty easily,” you remark. Jason and Leo look at you, then each other. No one has any better ideas, and at least it’s some kind of lead. 

~

Four and a half hours later, you sat in the car in stumped silence. It took almost three hours to get up to the memorial site, an hour to look around and realize there is absolutely nothing there that can help you at all, ten minutes to debate what to do next, and twenty minutes to get burger king, since no one had eaten since breakfast. 

“Well, that sucked.” 

Leo and Jason give you a look, knowing you’re right.

“Yeah, it did.” Jason agrees matter of factly, earning a small chuckle from you and Leo. 

“So what do we do now?” Leo asks. 

“Well, no one’s around, we could probably iris message Chiron-” before he could finish his sentence, a shimmery image of a tan girl with choppy dark hair appears in front of him. 

Jason and the girl - Piper, apparently - greet each other enthusiastically, then Leo follows suit. It looks like she’s in a cab, holding something at arm's length. You make it out to be a phone, probably to trick her cab driver into thinking she’s on a facetime call or something. Two other people lean over, one blonde and smiling, the other dark haired and irritable, and more greetings are exchanged. You lean slightly to the side so you’ll be out of site and hopefully won’t have to make any introductions. Leo seems to catch onto this, and when Piper’s eyes land on the edge of your shoulder.

“So did Chiron send anyone else?” he asks before she can say anything. 

“Yeah,” she replies, “Frank and Hazel are coming from camp Jupiter; Frank’s flying, and Hazel’s getting a ride from Arion,” Leo and Jason nod in understanding, picking up instantly on her deliberate word choice. Christ, you’re going to have to get a bigger place than that hotel room.  

“Uh… Percy and Annabeth just started spring break, so they’ll be coming soon. Hazel should get there first, for…” she glances at the cab driver, “obvious reasons, and me, Nico, and Will are on our way now, we should be there in a few hours.” 

Your skin is already feeling prickly from the idea of being around that many people. They talk for a few more minutes, and Jason says he’ll tell them the specific address as soon as possible before ending the call.

Thankfully, you all had repacked the car with your bags from the hotel room before you left, just in case you needed anything, so there’s no need to make the two and a half hour trip back to the hotel. You sigh and turn to the boys.

“Why don’t we go get some groceries and stuff, and I can get us an air bnb.” 

They agree, pleasantly surprised and grateful for the normalcy of something like grocery shopping,  and you ask how many people there are going to be.

“Uh, should be te-”

“Eleven.” Leo says firmly. Jason looks like he’s going to say something, but he bites back whatever it is. Leo’s hands normally dance around like swirling snow, light and natural with subtle patterns if you can figure them out. But right now, his normal subconscious movements seem to be heavier, more intentional. His relaxed expression is set in stone, a silent plea to move on, act like everything’s normal, and you know he’s covering up the depth of the wound that girl left on his heart. A twinge of concern flares in your gut, and you blink, looking away. 

“Okay,” you say, pulling out a pen and notepad from your bag to write out a grocery list, “Let’s go. What do we need?”

Jason pulls out of the parking lot, and begins to head to the nearest box store. Your eyes dart over to Leo involuntarily a few times, and by the time you’re almost there, he seems to be almost back to himself. Subconsciously relieved, your mind starts to wander back to the list, skimming it one more time to make sure you don’t forget anything. 

Maybe you can pick up some hair dye while you’re here.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXXIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m scared to see how you guys will react to this one, hope you at least find it enjoyable despite my very self-indulgent plots -Danny 

P.S. Huge s/o to @bwbatta​ bc I decided to update my fic and now I have pretty dividers in all my books! Most of the ones I ended up using are her work so go check it out :)

Words: 4,641

Series’ Masterlist

Book V // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Need Your Love’ -by Joshua Wicker

Chapter One: Dumbledore's Mission.

"A galleon says Erick will crash the car —"

"Shut up!"

"Don't make him nervous," Emily scolded Harry. "If you continue this I won't teach you how to drive!"

"We don't need to learn," Mel snorted. "We'll apparate everywhere..."

"I thought you hated it," Her mother raised a brow.

"Yeah, but she's lazy," Harry smirked.

"Why is Harry here? He's not allowed to leave the house, is he?" Mel frowned.

"He's not allowed to be alone outside, there's a difference. We're babysitting two infants, unfortunately..." Erick taunted.

"What's the matter, Flint? You have stage-fright?" Harry replied.

"Oh please, he feeds on attention! Like a dementor but in a more annoying way..."

"Enough!" Emily looked over her seat. "Is that the kind of things you want to teach your brother?"

"I doubt he'll remember any of this!"

"We know he can do it, Em, we're just teasing," Harry said blithely.

"Yeah, he's the only adult here apart from you, mum. It's kind of his obligation to be good at driving."

The baby let out a squeal of agreement, he was three weeks old but had a good set of lungs that he was happy to use at any given time, especially while everyone was sleeping.

Harry leaned and checked that the baby's blankets. Mel beamed at the sight, the boy had pretty much adopted the boy as his own brother, which she thought made a lot of sense, not only because it was Sirius' son, but because he'd been part of her family for so long that anything else would've been silly.

They were well aware that bringing little Regulus to their driving lessons was a bit risky, but Emily wasn't as keen to leave Mel and Harry alone in the house as she used to, so she put a few safety spells on the chair once the baby was seated while Harry and Mel sat on both sides of it.

Erick turned out to be a good driver, but he still had a bit of trouble understanding how cars worked.

"I have to be pulling and pushing stuff all the time!" He complained as he activated the windshield on accident for the third time. "Why can't I just turn the key and press the pedal?"

"Cars don't work like that," Emily said patiently. "It's complicated, but you're good!"

"He's only gone up and down the street for half an hour, Leggie fell asleep already," The girl huffed.

Emily looked over the seat once again, she was frowning. "Erick, switch seats with Mel."

"You're joking... right?"

"Erick," The woman repeated.

"On it," He said happily. "C'mon Mel, are you scared?"

Ten minutes later, Erick was in the backseat and she was tightly holding onto the wheel.

"I'm doing it!" She said. "Is not that hard, is it?"

"A slug could move faster," Harry was looking at the roof of the car and dying of heat. "I thought you were going to be more... the reckless type of driver."

"Me too..." Erick agreed lazily, he was playing with one of Reggie's feet.

"I'm not going faster, my brother's in the car!" Mel scoffed.

"We're not asking you to! Just enough so we can feel like we're actually moving!"

"Bringing you three was a bad idea," Emily said over the boys' laughter.

"Fine!" Mel pressed down the pedal, the car immediately gaining speed. "I'm was just being careful!"

"Which makes me proud," Emily softly patted her shoulder. "It feels like it was yesterday when you were running around Remus' house in nothing but a diaper and now you're driving!"

"The other night I ran into her wearing no pants, so she's hasn't changed really," Erick murmured nonchalantly. "I stepped on Grey's tail thanks to that... maybe that's why he hates me so much."

"What?" Harry's head snapped to the side so fast he hurt himself.

"I forgot you live here now! Sometimes I sleep like that, s'not a crime!" She looked at Harry through the rearview mirror. "I've been an only child for sixteen years, sometimes I forget there are more than two people in my house..."

"I'm surprised her scream didn't wake up Leon," Erick sniggered.

"He's a heavy sleeper like his dad," Emily responded distractedly.

The conversation died instantly. It wasn't the woman's intention, of course, but it'd been only a few weeks since Sirius' passing, sometimes they would forget for a moment, just a brief second, then one of them would talk about Sirius and everything would start again...

It was painful, and it was weird. Mel had never endured something like this with anyone except Harry. Having a larger group of people sharing the same pain was strangely comforting.

Mel cleared her throat. "It's Harry's turn..."

"I'm okay," He said quickly. "I can learn another day..."

"Glasses, you and I have a tradition of experiencing things at the same time," The girl stopped the car and turned to look at him. "You're not going to ruin our streak. Besides, I need to know if I'm better than you."

Harry stared at her in amusement, then he looked at Erick.

"Is it fun, having her bossing you around all day?"

"I boss her around too," Erick smirked.

"They take turns," Her mother sighed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry gave the woman a look of sympathy as he stepped out of the car.

"There are worse things than being stuck with two pushy teenagers..."

"Hey!"

"Sorry," Emily smirked. "A pushy teenager and a pushy adult."

"If it annoys you that much I'll move out," Mel offered humorously. "What d'you say, Prince? Should we try our luck outside our comfort zone?"

"You wouldn't last a day," Erick taunted.

"Fiddlesticks," Mel muttered, to which Harry laughed.

It was around three in the morning when someone knocked on her door. She'd been awake for a while now, so she stood up and opened it.

"Hi," She rubbed her eyes. "What's up?"

"Can't sleep," Erick mumbled. "Care if I stay a moment?"

"Go ahead..."

She went back to bed, Erick sat at the edge and stared at her for a moment. Grey let out a sleepy growl, curling further away from his reach. Erick pulled out his pocket watch, now hanging from a chain he'd found in Regulus Black's room back in Grimmauld Place. The reason why he'd taken it was unknown to Mel.

"What's up?" She mumbled, suppressing a yawn.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"How lucky I am."

Mel let out a puff of air without replying. He would do this often, say he was lucky to be there, that she'd saved his life... She just wanted him to shut up.

"I really don't want to punch you, Prince, I'd ruin your pretty nose."

He smiled, unbothered.

"You know, a few years ago you would've been pleased to hear me say that, you ungrateful git."

"Yeah well, a few years ago my biggest dream was to become a princess," She joked. "So you see my priorities were a bit messed up..."

"You'd make a cute princess."

"C'mon —"

"I mean it."

"Erick," Mel said in a tone of warning. "Stop."

He'd been acting like that for a whole week: flirting when no one was around, complimenting her... Mel had closed up so tightly around herself that she was barely capable of saying I love you to her mum. Erick had lived deprived of affection his whole life and was just getting out of that environment. At what point had she become the cold, distant one, and he the ray of sunshine?

She knew right away what he was trying to do, but she was so numb... Mel cared about him, but she was not there yet.

Erick leaned on the wall and tilted his head a bit so he could look at her.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" She replied. "It's not your fault... I just — I need time."

He nodded shortly.

"We can talk later?"

He was wonderful, but she was in the middle of all that was wrong in their world, right next to Harry and the lifeline that she still hadn't decided whether she wanted to keep or not.

"We should go to bed," She murmured, still unable to make any real decisions for herself.

"Yeah," He stood up, carefully putting the blankets back in place and dropping them all over Grey on purpose. He put the watch back in his pocket as well. "Sweet dreams, Mely."

The Ministry of Magic

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES

The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.

"I have a better way to protect our house," Erick groaned, he was gently rubbing his temples. "Let Leon cry the whole night and not even Voldemort will try to enter... I myself am starting to consider living on the street just to get away from the noise."

"S'not that bad," She answered, the dark circles under her eyes giving her away. "It's hard to get used to being a human, you know?"

"Look at this," Emily unfolded the newspaper. "'Scrimgeour succeeds Fudge' — Well, haven't met him yet but I hope he's got a bit of brain, Tonks told me a few months back that he's certainly a bit brisker..."

The doorbell rang and Mel left to open the door.

The routine at that point was established even if it had been only two weeks since their arrival; Erick got used to life at Privet Drive quite easily, he spent two whole days examining every corner of the kitchen, and when Mel showed him what a movie was, he wasted a whole day in the drawing-room watching the movie adaptations of the books she'd lent to him.

Harry would go daily to check on"Reg". Once he'd stayed the night but refused to sleep in Mel's room, not that she'd tried to convince him otherwise.

"Goodmorning," She opened the door without paying attention, "you're a bit late for breakfast but I'll let it pass as soon as you —"

She stopped talking at the sight of her great-uncle, Dumbledore smiled at her and walked in.

"I can't stay for breakfast, but I dare say I regret it deeply."

"Professor... I — Is everything okay?"

"Certainly."

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Mel turned to see her mother standing near the stairs, gazing at Dumbledore coldly.

"Emily," Dumbledore said. "Good morning... I'm here to speak with Mr Flint."

"Is he in trouble?"

"Quite the contrary, I believe he's never been better."

"Professor," Erick's posture changed when he walked into the room, suddenly he looked more like a young man and less like a boy. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a mission for you... Mel as well, but only if she wishes to go."

"She's not of age," The woman replied quickly.

Mel was ready to accept whatever it was he wanted her to do, she needed to feel like she was doing something. Although she wasn't exactly happy to see him so soon after the end of their last term.

"As I said, only if she wishes to come. I assure you she'd be safe."

The girl looked at her mother and then at the men standing in front of her.

"Can I hear what this is about first?"

Emily crossed her arms without uttering a word, her uncle signalled towards the couch.

"A word, then?"

Erick nodded, making a beeline to the closest armchair. Emily turned to leave, but Dumbledore spoke again.

"You can stay."

The woman shared a look with her daughter, Mel couldn't hide her eagerness to hear what the old man had to say.

"I won't sit there and watch history repeat itself," Emily sighed.

The woman left before Mel could say anything. She would talk to her later, but first, she needed to talk to Dumbledore.

"I beg you not to interrupt me while I speak."

Both pupils silently agreed to his petition.

"Now, I find myself in need of a new Professor, but the man I'd been contemplating for the job has been on the run for almost a year — He's not guilty of any crimes," He added, noticing the way their faces grew worried. "He's just afraid like everyone else... I need you to track him down and point me to where he is so I can have a word with him."

"I'll do it," Erick responded instantly.

"Alone?" Mel frowned.

Dumbledore stared at her for a second too long.

"If I remember correctly today is your sixteenth birthday, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Mr Flint turned seventeen in January — You may know that's considered to be the start of our adulthood."

"Yes."

"Erick is allowed to do magic outside school... But you still have a year left."

"I don't see  —"

"You have Matthew's spirit when it comes to saving a friend, Mel. When you were eleven you left this house with Hagrid so you could look for Harry yourself... The time has come for me to finally be honest with you."

"What do you mean 'finally'?" The words were burning a hole in her brain. "You mean all the things you told me when I was in your office last month... that wasn't it?"

Erick stared at them with polite interest, even though she knew he was dying to ask. Mel hadn't told him a thing about that night out of respect for Harry's privacy.

"That was all I had to tell you regarding the Harry," Dumbledore replied. "There are plenty of things I haven't said, and I wish to talk about them with you."

"And if I agree to go with Erick on this mission... you'll tell me?" Mel raised a brow.

"I'll tell you whether you help me with this or not, but I believe there's nothing else I can teach you, Mel. All that's left for you is to start putting your knowledge to use; I recommend you to go on this mission."

"What about my animagus lessons?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "I'll help you with that, but that'll be it. You've concluded your lessons with the highest marks, dear girl."

She would've been elated hadn't been because of the strange way her uncle was acting.

"Aren't you happy?" Erick nudged her arm gently. "You've worked hard for years, you should be proud!"

"I am proud," Mel replied shortly. "And I'd love to help, but I can't leave my family, it's not safe."

"They'd go to the burrow if you leave."

"What about Harry?"

"He'll go to the burrow too, but I have a few matters to attend with his family first."

"If Mel wants to stay that's alright, I can go on my own —"

"You can't."

Erick looked at her irritated.

"It's not like you can do magic outside school."

"It takes more than magic to survive out there — You don't know how to blend in with the muggles, do you?"

"You can discuss this throughout the day," Dumbledore grabbed a letter from his pocket. "In this, you'll find all about Horace Slughorn's last known whereabouts and a picture so you can identify him. If you do, don't approach, he'll know you're following him. As soon as you find him come back to Privet Drive and write to me."

"This is all just in case we decide to go, right?"

"I'm going," Erick scowled at her.

"We'll talk about this after dinner," She glared back.

Dumbledore stood up and they followed, Emily was at the entrance ready to let him out.

"I'll wait for your response, then," Her uncle stared at her for a moment. "You and Harry..."

"We haven't decided," She was quick to reply. "We need time."

"Very well."

"You're quiet."

"I have a lot to think about."

Her day had been slightly ruined by her great-uncle's visit. Although Lupin had been there for a couple of hours and stayed for dinner. Mel and Erick talked about the mission and she'd promised to tell Harry after the party was over, which was now.

The Slytherin was upstairs taking a shower and Emily was putting Reggie to bed. Mel and Harry were sitting on the grass, watching the stars above them. She'd fallen into contemplative silence, pondering what to do. She could go chase some stranger for Dumbledore's benefit, or she could stay and look after her family.

"This would be much easier if my mum had asked me to stay!" She pouted.

"I reckon she knows that," Harry responded, throwing small rocks over the fence.

"Won't you?"

"Hmm?"

"You won't ask me to stay?"

Harry stared at her.

"No."

He didn't explain his reasons, but he didn't need to. Mel had made up her mind even if she didn't want to admit it. That was exactly why she was so upset, she wanted to look after her family, but her responsibilities were keeping her apart. Three years of hard work had led to this, and although Mel was a big sister now, winning the war was more important than changing diapers.

Her mother was a whole different problem too. Around them she was always cheery, but Mel was sure she'd heard her cry when none of the boys was around to hear.

She believed it was about Sirius, but it could also be about her and Harry, that she was scared for them. Mel didn't have the heart to lie if her mother were to ask about the prophecy. It was, as they had agreed without even having to speak about it, too much weight to put on their loved one's shoulders. The idea of Emily, the closest thing to a mother Harry ever had, finding out there was a big chance one of them would die after having lost Sirius in such a brutal way...

"I don't think I'll be able to look at Dumbledore in the eye if I come back empty-handed..."

"You're one of the best witches I know," Harry shrugged. "You'll be fine, just try not to murder Flint while you're away."

"He's less annoying now," She grinned. "Ever since he left his parents' house, dunno, he's improved. Although I might murder him if he doesn't stop —"

She was going to say 'flirting', but for some reason, she didn't feel ready to talk about that with Harry. She wasn't ready for anything and yet the world was forcing her to keep moving, it was exhausting.

Mel got up and offered her hand to her friend.

"Do you remember when you were just Harry and I was just Mel, and we were the odd kids at school?" She fixed her gaze on her bedroom window. "Wish we could go back to that."

"When I didn't know I was a wizard?"

"Things were easier back then, don't you think?"

"Maybe," He retorted. "But they were never entirely good."

In Harry, Mel found another reason to stay.

They could have the summer to talk about the things they needed to. She would stare at his aged features and compare them to the ones of that young boy she used to call her best friend...

Their bond still had thousands of cracks that had to be fixed, Mel was having a hard time letting him in again and they needed to be okay in order to know if they wanted to keep the lifeline or not. It wasn't that she didn't want to like him, she wanted the comfort he used to provide, the warmth and security of having someone who understood.

He knew it, and he was trying his best to not mess it up, but Mel didn't want to love him again, cutting the lifeline was the best way to assure that... It was easier said than done, though.

Harry was confused. Sometimes it felt like nothing would ever happen, then an overwhelming affection would crush his chest whenever Mel laughed or touched him. He didn't want to put a name to it, he was terrified of saying it, even to himself. All he knew was that the connection was a way to make sure Mel would be safe, and he didn't want to give that up.

"I should go."

"Yeah..."

"Happy birthday," He said. "I have to be honest and tell you that your present was meant to be sent last Christmas, but..."

"I didn't give you a present either, it's okay... I'm a bit angry though, that was a missed opportunity, I could've won."

Harry laughed.

"You'll have a new chance this year, but I doubt you'll be able to beat me — I've already gotten yours..."

"It's July!"

"I know," His smile vanished suddenly, then he added. "Be careful out there, please."

"Erick'll make sure I don't do anything stupid," Mel smiled. "He's so obsessed with protecting me — as if he didn't know I can do it alone just fine!"

"Yeah, but now's different."

"Different how?"

"We need you alive," He told her. "You want to live long enough to become Headmistress, right?"

Mel froze, not knowing what to answer.

"What?" Harry tilted his head.

"I lied," She blurted out. "I never wanted to be Headmistress — I saw you that night, in the mirror... I saw..."

"What?" He asked again, this time softer.

"You kissed me. A real kiss... like the type we used to gawk at as children."

Harry cleared his throat. "Oh."

A tense silence surrounded them. The variations of colour in his eyes were remarkably easy to notice from where she was standing. She was tilting her head up now, perhaps they were too close.

"Be careful."

"You told me that already," Mel whispered, unable to look away. "Anything else you'd like to say?"

"Yes," He paused, his eyes took a quick glance to her lips. "But if I say it you'll get mad."

Harry kissed her, Mel responded by pulling him down.

It was hard to tell whether she was euphoric or scared, perhaps both, or perhaps neither. As soon as it happened Harry jumped away, and she was dropped back into reality.

"I can't do it — We haven't talked about  the lifeline — We won't make the right choice if we let our feelings —"

"You're right! Yes!" Mel said, acting just as agitated. "It's a terrible idea — I like you, but—"

"—it's confusing," He said anxiously. "Do you have feelings for me?"

"Do you have feelings for me?" Mel asked in a high-pitched voice.

"No!" He responded, but his voice trembled with a lack of confidence. "I care about you a lot —"

"— I care for you too —"

"— But just —"

"— as friends!"

They stared at each other with the same frightened expression.

"I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable," He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I... I don't want to lose you."

"We need to spend some time apart," She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "We can ignore this happened, right?"

"Absolutely," He agreed. "You're spending the summer at the burrow?"

"My mum and my brother will be there, so I kind of have to... is that okay?"

"It's okay," Harry looked around. "We... we should go."

"Did you ever regret falling for my dad?" Mel asked randomly. "I mean, you ever wonder how things would've turned out if you'd stayed as friends?"

Emily stopped folding her clothes.

"Something nagging that head of yours?"

"I think relationships are a waste of time. They all break and you always end up hurting..."

"What makes you think such nonsense?" Emily raised a brow, leaning back on the couch. "Who are you and what did you do to my daughter?"

"You don't think that way?" She asked doubtfully.

"Because I lost my partners that means I have to be bitter?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Mel replied quickly. "But... yeah."

Emily remained silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"Solitude can do weird things to your heart, love. It can pull you towards bad or good places... People that make you feel a little less lonesome, someone who understands you. You should hold onto that for as long as you can, no matter how scary it is. You never know what wonderful things may bring you..."

"Sirius said something similar a year ago," Mel said quietly. "Something about finding my equal, that the earth's full of options and stuff..."

"I won't force you to find a partner if that's not what you want, but you're young and the world is big, you can't turn your back on every opportunity."

"It's not like I have lots of prospects right now..." She huffed.

"You don't need lots, just the right one."

Mel hesitated for a moment, then added:

"I know you used to have a crush on James Potter."

Emily looked up from the laundry again, she raised a brow. "Oh?"

"I know it was a long time ago," She shifted in her place awkwardly. "But do you ever wonder what would've happened if you two..?"

The woman sighed.

"Only once."

"When?"

"When I found out Voldemort was after his son," She folded the last shirt and handed it to Mel. "I asked myself if I had made the right choice by giving him up... When I look at you I know it was the right thing to do. What happened to James and Lily... it was horrible, but it wasn't my fault. I was happy with your father; maybe Matthew wasn't my first love, but when it comes to this, your first love rarely is the one that lasts."

"Mel?" Erick walked into the room. "If we're planning to drive around all day tomorrow, you should sleep," He nodded shortly at both of them and left the room, her mother chuckled.

"You know, Erick reminds me of your father... I know Sirius said he was like his brother, but Regulus made all the wrong choices... Erick's done all this for himself, to be better. Just like Matty."

Mel's gaze lingered on the doorway long after Erick had left.

"Thank you, for letting me go," She sighed, looking back at the woman. "I don't love following Dumbledore's orders but I... I want to make this world a better place."

"Love," Emily cupped her face adoringly. "I know why you're doing this. Just how I knew why you flew that car to save Harry, and why you went to the Ministry... but you're my daughter, and it's my job to worry about you anyway."

Erick and Mel took three changes of clothing and put them in the trunk, Emily gave them muggle money. Mel had a fake driver's license as well as Erick, and they would take turns driving. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but it was expected since it was five in the morning. She hadn't mentioned the kiss to either her mother or Erick, she was determined to keep it that way, much like the whole lifeline stuff and the prophecy.

'Just pile more secrets on top, why don't you,' She thought bitterly as she walked out of the house.

Emily hugged both and let them kiss Reggie goodbye, Mel promised they would see each other soon, and Erick vowed he'd make sure Mel would be safe (she snorted loudly at this). Once inside the car, her friend took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"This isn't our first adventure, Prince."

"This one's the first we do with permission."

"You're an adult, you don't need anyone's approval."

"You know what I mean," He rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. I get defensive when I'm —"

"I know," He sighed. "I talk too much when I'm worried."

"I know," She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "I'm ready... We'll be okay."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @wlwmaximoff @reverse-hxlland @hamiltonwc @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Four): Leave My Head Among The Stars

Notes: Okayyyyyy, so here’s the thing, I started to write this chapter and what I planned to have in it and then I suddenly had 66 pages of content. So, I had to split it up. So I have three chapters, including this one, written up. So, these next couple updates for this will be fairly quick. I’m trying to get to johnny quick, but act 1 is a doozy, I hope you’re still enjoying the content though. 

Word Count: 9268

Chapter Warnings: Mild violence, weird sexual tension,

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

Fingernails scratch at V’s back, the merc whining as she’s gently stirred awake. Her eyes are still blurry with sleep and the sun is just beginning to filters in through her window when she looks up at the older woman. Sunlight illuminates Cecelia, makes her freckles stand out on her tanned skin and turns her eyes molten gold. Her lips move and V has to refocus, not just stare at the far too out of her league woman, and focus on reading her lips. 

“….work….” 

That’s all she can read across Cecelia’s lips and she grumbles, rolling off of the older woman. V wraps her blankets tightly around herself, forming a cocoon as her fuckbuddy leaves the bed. She watches for a minute, before it hits her; she makes a vague disgruntled noises as she grabs the hem of Cecelia’s shirt, stopping her from leaving. The older woman looks at her for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights as she looks at the sleepy curled up merc tugging at her clothes. 

“Pancakes…” Is all V says, assuming her voice sounds as heavy with sleep as it feels, she grabs some eurodollars off her bedside table. The merc pushes the money into Cecelia’s hands, paying her for the food she brought in last night. Cecelia’s face drops, though V’s sleep laden brain can’t begin to understand why. 

“Well...kinda...feel...prostitute,” V’s unfocused eyes struggles to read Cecelia’s lips, but she can fill in the blanks. That this exchange of money, even if meant for pancakes, has made Cecelia feel like a prostitute. 

“Don’t worry,” V yawns, signing a little sloppy from exhaustion, “I don’t pay for sex, so you’re fine.” 

Then V’s passed back out against her pillow. 

V wakes up, an hour or so later, rolling out of her sheets, Cecelia already long gone. She rubs at her sleep laden eyes and shoots a quick text to Jackie, letting him know she’s ready to meet up whenever he is, so she can see his big news. He texts back almost immediately, proclaiming he’s on his way. V decides to use her time to quickly clean up the mess of last night; cleaning her toy and changing out her sheets. She’ll have to do laundry soon, but that’s an issue for later tonight… or later this week...or month. V will figure it out, at some point. She grabs a quick shower and changes her clothes.  

Despite the heat, she opts for a cropped hoodie, jeans, and her old slightly ratty backpack. Her mask, air hypos, max docs, bounce backs and extra weapons packed inside along with ammo. Night City necessities. It may seem like a bit much but, her mask can’t fit in her pocket and Jackie likes to spring gigs on her. She slides her optic contact case in her pocket, alongside her phone, turns on her translator choker,  then puts in her hearing aids. Her ears twinge, still a little raw, she was more focused on sleeping than doctoring them last night. 

She tucks her favorite knife into a thigh holster and  her preferred gun in a hidden holster in her waistband. Armed to the teeth, V ties her boots and heads out the door, letting it lock behind her, nose twinging again at the smell as soon as steps out. V starts out through the big walkway that goes into balconied steps, though the view is just more apartments, the elevator that leads to the front is a floor down across from one of the clusters of shops that sit on that floor. Every couple of floors there's a services level. In this one megabuilding alone there are probably twenty restaurants and forty gun shops. Hell, her vending machine in her apartment has the option to order a joytoy or sex droid from the brothel eight floors up. 

Her holophone buzzes, bleeps, and lights up inside of her pocket as she walks past the cluster of vending machines. She checks, expecting a text from Jackie, that he’s already waiting on her. And instead groans.

REMINDER, TAKE YOUR MEDICATION!!!!!!! :3 

Her phone notification screams at her and she groans under her breath. She stomps back up the stairs and back into her apartment, grabbing a flat Nicola Sakura and using it to swallow down her immunosuppressants, then she leaves her apartment, again. V’s mentally cursing her own forgetfulness, she can remember to keep twenty different weapons on her, but her medication manages to slip her mind routinely. 

The chatter of strangers fills  the services floor as she walks through, past the initial pocket of vending machines, then restaurant stands, and then as if to mock her when she eats that garbage; a gym section of the floor. All of which is followed by a gun shop.  It's all a weird medley of sounds and smells that her sensitive self struggles with. 

Theres the clinging of sodas from the vending machines, the searing sound of cooking dishes, the talk of strangers, the grunts of people working out, the thwacking of people hitting punching bags, the clanging of weights, advertisements screaming at her to buy something, the muffled sound of gunfire from the Second Amendement’s shooting range, and robotic whirrs of Coach Fred’s punching bag robot. 

And the smells, dear lord the smells. Gunpowder, sweat, and cooking food; all mingled with people’s own body odor or perfumes with just a sprinkle of hot trash. 

She considers turning her hearing aids off and grabbing her chapstick, as she passes by Coach Fred’s section of the floor where he offers boxing training, a raised platform to box on. He punches and trains against his training droid. 

“Hey, V!” The older man calls out, before she can mute the world,  padded robot stopping next to him, “How you like my new Punchin' Bag? Just gave me a nextgen ass-whoopin', he did. Be curious to see how he handles the likes of V... Heh. So how 'bout it?” 

“Pff,” V can’t help but scoff just a little, Coach Fred is easy a foot or more taller than her and more muscular, but he wants to see her take the damn thing on, “sure.” 

“Light on your feet. Keep that head movin'!” The boxer tells her as she steps up into the crude boxing area and he steps out. 

V cracks her knuckles as the automated training bot stands in front of her, the small merc raises her fists, all the only sign the droid needs to initiate combat mode. It swings a right hook at her and she dodges. A left hook next and she blocks, countering with her own punch, knuckles connected with it’s padded head. That first strike knocks it off balance enough to land two more, the bot stopping in defeat. Easy enough, maybe Coach Fred put it in easy mode?

“You got one helluva punch there, champ. Ever thought of monetizing it? I can arrange a fight or two. Whaddaya say?” The former coach asks her, sitting down on a bench. 

She’s not so sure, most of her combat skills being focused on killing opponents and getting the drop stealthily. She can hold her own, but fighting a gangoon on the street where only one of them is going to walk away from it is different from a controlled fight with rules. Sparring with Jackie and the odd training session with Fred or Vik her only experience in boxing. But… money is money. She can give it a shot, go low stakes on the first one, she does well keep going. If she blunders it, no big loss. 

“You arrange fights still?” 

“Mmhmm and I think you got a knack for this, You've got sharp instinct, good edge. You can go far, especially if you get chipped. These fights… let's just say they aren't legal. Buuut… very lucrative.”

“And you get a cut, I assume.” 

“I get a small percentage of the total winnings, you know, as your agent. You get the rest.”

“Of course, I’ll consider it, zip me the details of the first fight.” 

“Like I said, good instinct.” 

V rolls her eyes and continues through the service floor with a wave bye, passing by a Fuyutsuki and someone spray painting a cement wall. The bright neon red of the Second Amendment gun shop sign bathes the end of the services floor, just across from the elevator. 

“V!” Wilson calls out and by god, why’d she turn on her hearing aids, “got some sweet new .45’s in, come take a look!” 

“Can’t right now, in a rush, when I get back, promise!” She signs quickly, uses her elbow to jam the call elevator button. 

It thankfully reaches her floor fairly quickly, allowing her to wave a quick bye to the older man, and stepping inside. There’s a slight relief as the doors close and she hits the floor she needs,  the elevator carriage rocking into movement. While the screens still play advertisements, it's one sound, instead of a hundred. She uses some more lip balm, vanilla flavor on her lips and the sweet smell hitting her nose.  

She adjusts the volume slightly on her hearing aids, lowering it just a bit more as the elevator comes to a stop. While not technically a services floor, the front entrance of the building is nearly as bad. There are at least ten or more restaurant stands in that area, V walking past everyone trying to sell her a burger or hot dog. 

The sunlight hits her as she walks down the stairs that lead to her building and she spots Jackie, well his back. He’s sitting at a food stand that’s a very short walk from the building, because there certainly is not enough inside of the building. He’s got his face buried in a takeout box of synth-beef chow mein, not even noticing as V creeps up on him. 

V’s nearly at his back and the street vendor raises an eyebrow, no doubt wondering if his customer is about to be robbed. Then she’s jumping to throw her arms around Jackie’s neck in a mock headlock, more so just hanging off the giant’s back. 

“And its V with the headlock~” She jokes, voice low in his ear and he laughs. His chuckle making his chest vibrate and she can feel it. 

“Someone’s feeling better,” he comments as she detangles from his back, “you,  get your beauty sleep or…?” 

He waggles his eyebrows at her as she climbs up onto the seat next to him, swinging a foot out to kick him. Her boot just bouncing back off his shin. 

“I don’t kiss and tell, Jackie, you know that,” she signs and rolls her eyes, red flushing up her cheeks at the thought of giving details. 

“Yeah, I just like seeing your face go that shade of pink, hehe.” 

“I swear to god if your big news was just an excuse to give me shit.” 

“Nah nah, got something to show you, first, chica.” Jackie grins ear to ear, like the cat that ate the canary. He tosses his trash into a bin and smacks her shoulder to follow him, bouncing like a kid on their way to the christmas tree. 

“I’m already terrified,” she taunts as she hops down and follows him to a curb, a motorcycle parked there. 

It's an Arch Nazare, slightly older model but not ancient by any stretch. From the sideview, the detailing is slick. Black with red branding and detailing, the exhaust and some pipework a bright gold color. The gold’s a little gaudy for her liking, But, she sideyes Jackie. His favorite red and black jacket, heavy gold jewelry bouncing on his chest. Gonk probably sunk more into the paint job then he did the actual bike. She can’t help but chuckle and when he proudly leans against the bike, his grin ear to ear, megawatt and shining brighter than the sun. When she peeks at the top detailing she can see a Calavara style skull decal on the dash. It screams Jackie. 

“What’cha think, jaina?” 

“It's beautiful and very you; how’d you manage to score a ride like that? Custom paint job too, I presume. Must have cost a pretty penny.”  

“Muy peque,  took out a loan , but ah, totally worth it. Got her on the cheap actually, Dorsett job dividend.” 

“You already blew your cash from that job?” 

“Someday you’re gonna have to actually spend your money and live a little, V, you know that?” 

“Nothing wrong with saving back for something nicer down the road,” she retorts, thinking of her little jar of cash in the storage space beneath her bed. She’s been trying to take so much from every payday aside to save. 

“And uh, what are you saving for again?” 

“....a Kusanagi...or a Projectile Launcher...or a bigger apartment...or…” 

“You’re stockpiling cash and you don’t even know what for, chica,” he laughs at her indecision, her ultimate splurge item she’s saving for changes weekly, “look, check this out.” 

He straddles the motorcycle and turns the ignition, the Arch roaring to life and it’s… loud and rumbly, not even remotely subtle. She can picture it now, him showing up to a gig on it and getting blasted to pieces immediately. 

“No, V, don’t,” he cuts the engine, pointing a finger at her from where he sits on the motorcycle. 

“What?” 

“Don’t make that face at me!” 

“What face?” 

“The face you make when you’re about to piss all over my parade.” 

“I do not piss on your parade.” 

“You do and you’re about to do it right now, I know you V, you got a billion thoughts rattling around that skull of yours and not one of them is good.” 

“All I was going to say…” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Is, you should maybe consider swapping out the tailpipe.” 

“It’s got a rumble, the chicas love that.” 

“It’s got a rumble that tells every gangoon within a twenty mile radius that you’re coming their way.” 

“Fair enough.” 

“And… you should probably tinker with the fuel injection too, upload a new map, and slap on some thermal tape until you fix the exhaust.” 

“V!” 

She folds her hands on his shoulder, then balances her chin on top of them, giving him puppy dog eyes. He’s huffy, not meeting her gaze. V knows damn well her tendency to be a buzzkill, especially in comparison to Jackie. Its a bad habit that always leaves her feeling guilty, but also an impulse, because...if she isn’t prepared for worst case scenarios...that’s death. 

“But I am really happy for you,  it's a gorgeous ride and you look like a total badass on it.”  She whispers, close enough that only Jackie can hear, hoping the honey sweet words will make him feel better. And she can see the smile pulling at his lips, that soon becomes that big grin she loves as he finally meets her gaze. 

“Okay, okay, your buzzkilling is forgiven. You can stop blowing wind up my ass.” 

“Hehe,” her face drops with realization, “Jackie, where’s my car?”

“Oh, uh, I dropped it off to my guy, Miguel. Fixed it up like new, you can call it whenever you want. But I figured, you’d rather grab a ride on this baby.” 

“Ooooh, hell yeah.”

“C’mon, was planning on stopping by Misty’s, lets go.” 

That’s all the provocation V needs, hopping onto the back of the Arch. The backseat space is limited, Jackie taking up the vast majority of the seat. But she slips behind him easily, wrapping her arms around his stomach. Her hands can’t quite fully meet around him, having to just tangle her fingers in the front of his jacket. Then the engine comes roaring to life, Jackie taking off from the curb. 

She can’t help but laugh, Jackie not holding back as they go speeding down the city roads. He blasts the radio, blaring a song she doesn't know from the bike's speaker, mingling with Jackie's laughter  and the wind whipping around them. 

But it's not overwhelming, not too much, never could be with Jackie.

 They weave through traffic, riding on the middle lane and not letting anything stop them as they pick up more and more speed. She’s pressed tight against his back, leeching off his warmth as the wind manages to send a little chill up her spine. Her cheeks ache from grinning as they cruise over a hill in the highway, catching air for a moment, her entire body bouncing when the bike hits the road again. If not for her tight hold on his jacket, she might have gone flying which only makes her laugh harder.

He doesn't slow down until they start to reach the stretch of city where Misty's store and Vik's clinic are, Jackie slowly pulling up onto a curb to park. Their bodies shifting forward at the stop, V’s chest pressing even closer into Jackie’s back for a moment. 

"Joyrides over, jaina," he says, playfully tapping her hand where it sits on his stomach. 

She lets go, allowing her friend to pull away and get off the motorcycle. His body language starts to shift, as he stands in front of her, looking off somewhere else. He takes a deep enough breath that she can see his chest move with it, then he crosses his arms and kicks at the pavement. 

"She's a smooth ride," V signs to him, swinging  her legs over the side of the bike so she can face him directly. Is he second guessing his decision? She didn't mean to make him feel bad about the choice.

"Uh," Jackie scratches at the back of his neck, "remember what I said, about having big news?"

"Is..the Arch not the big news?" She asks, pulling a leg up onto the motorcycle and resting an elbow on her knee. 

"Ah nah, I'm proud of it, but this...chica, is so much bigger than that.”

"Okay...you wanna tell me or…?" 

"Got a sweet ass j-o-b lined up for us; you, me, and Bug."

"I get the feeling this is different from our usual gig.” 

“I mean, maybe it's not as big as that,” he puts his hands on his hips and shrugs, trying to play coy with his news, “Just that it's fronted by a little-known someone named Dexter DeShawn.”

“What!?” 

“Only the top fixer in Night-fuckin'-City! Fat-assed Black Jesus of the Afterlife. Three hundred pounds of partly gold-plated cool.”

Dex Deshawn is one of Night City’s best, a fixer known for working in the Afterlife club, where the best jobs and contracts are done. Two baby mercs like her and Jackie couldn’t dream to set foot in the place, still cutting their teeth and making their name. Hell, Dex hasn’t even been active in NC for two years and V’s still heard of him, leaving that much of a mark on the city. But, she chews the inside of her cheek. 

“He’s back in the city?” She asks first, wanting as much detail as possible. 

“Yeah, gang wars two years back. Somehow Dex got caught up in the craziness. Lotta bodies lyin' in the streets by the time the shootin' stopped. Eh, Dex got lucky, though. Managed to slip under the radar tir tempers cooled. Took a while… but he's made one hell of a comeback.” 

“Two years is a hell of a break, the fuck was he doing?” 

“Ah, guessin' he shoved pizzas in his mouth while jerkin' off to hardcore virtus. Important thing is he's back, needs a fresh crew and he found us.” 

If he’s made such a comeback and is still that high up in the underground world, why would Dex come to them? They’ve been steadily building themselves up over the past six months sure, a solid network of fixers who work with them and a reputation for clean work. But, they still aren’t legends, not major league players. V isn’t even chipped much beyond the basics. People like Dex have a black book of borged out solos with corp money funding them, that can do basically anything they can do but better and quicker. 

Only difference is, they’d be cheaper. So, unless he’s looking to exploit them for some rinky dink shit job… 

“Okay,” she signs, deciding to just ask, “but why the hell would he be scouting us? You and me ain’t exactly major leagues yet.” 

“You, me - nah. But T-Bug,  she's the one that hooked us up, got us talkin’ knew it was a done deal the moment he laid eyes on me. 'Cause, c'mon - ain't nobody who can resist this. Am I right?” 

“Wait, when? Where the fuck was I?” 

“Uhhh, probably in the sheets with Cece, if I had to guess.” 

“You said you had a date with Misty last night!?” 

“I did, didn’t I.” 

“What the fuck, why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Dex is big on meeting his crew members one on one. Wanted to get a read on me, without anyone else around. No point in getting  you excited until he was sold on me." 

“Okay, fine,” she rolls her eyes, she would have appreciated a heads up, but there’s worse tragedies, “So, what’s the gig? He give you the specs?” 

“Well, that's the thing, you see. Our lord and savior wants to tell you everything himself. Face to face, have your turn in the hot seat.” 

“Oh, okay… how’d it go with you and Bug?”  She can’t help the nerves suddenly bubbling up inside of her. V has to meet one of Night City’s top fixers, convince him she’s worth hiring. That’s only vaguely terrifying. 

“Eh, not that bad, but… T-Bug and Dex go way back. And my face is yesterday's news, you’re the wild card here. Dex says he needs to check you, talk to you No pressure, but the whole thing is riding on you at this point.”

“Yeah, no pressure.” 

“Ain’t as bad as you think, okay? Trust me. Dex is the real deal when it comes to fixers. Don't get me wrong, don't got nothin' against the Padre or Wakako, but… Dex is in a league of his own You know what I'm sayin'?” 

“Still a fixer, may just be roping in the cheapest gonks he can find, so he can drop our corpses in the landfill once everything is said and done.” 

“Hey now,” his tone dipping a little lower than usual, “didn’t pull you out of the trash just to see someone to throw you back in, mija.”  

She doesn’t miss the softness in his eyes, the hazel green looking at her so affectionately, then his large warm hand ruffles through her hair, bringing that tinge of red back to her cheeks. Mija is a rare term of endearment from him, just that bit more familiar and sweet than his usual chica or jaina. As much as she worries, she knows if anything does go sideways, Jackie will be there to help her. 

“I know that, Jackie,” she signs, then jabs his stomach, trying to dispel the tender mood, she searches for a topic switch,“so, when's the meet with Dex?” 

"Uhh...now."

"What?"

"Just around the corner, next to Gramsci Burgers, he's waiting on you." 

"What!?" She blinks, in disbelief. V has to meet him, today, now. Completely unprepared. Has Jackie lost his goddamn mind?

"Time sensitive stuff, V, we gotta get this ball rolling, and quick.” 

“And you couldn’t have said any of this before?” 

“No worries, you’ll be fine, I’m gonna go pop in to see Misty,” he points his thumb back over his shoulder, “while you talk us up and seal the deal, alright?” 

“Not alright, none of this is alright.” 

“You got this, chica, just make us look good.” With a heavy clap on her shoulder, he starts to walk away. Fucker. 

“I’ll key your fucking bike!” She signs, upping the volume on her translator. 

“Love you too, jaina, text me when you’re done!~” He yells back, knowing her threat is an empty one. 

Then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd around the storefronts. V groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. Why on earth does she let him do this shit? A heads up, that’s all she asks for. Now, she has a meeting with one of the most influential fixers in Night City, with no idea of what to say or how to handle it. Make them look good, how the hell does she do that? He’s a loud mouth and she’s deaf, they sound more like a sitcom duo than a competent pair of mercs. 

V shuts off her choker translator and gets her mask from her bag, sliding it onto her face and putting her hood up.  The young merc climbs down from Jackie’s bike, leaving the dusty boot print on the seat, a little bit of petty rearing its head. She wrings and twists her hands together as she walks towards Gramsci’s Burgers, boots stomping across trash strewn pavement. She passes by hot pink tinted windows in buildings with strippers dancing to entice passerbys, a large open alleyway where a few groups of homeless people cluster in together. 

The merc keeps her head down as she passes a skirmish between a group of Tyger Claws and the NCPD, a blood bath beneath an overpass. Between pigs or tigers; she has no preference. Not her fight.  The sound of an emp grenade being thrown, pushes the merc to change the side of the street she walks on, she’s gotten used to the violence of Night City before the smell. 

Shaded beneath a cement overpass is a sleek black limousine; Chevillion Thrax 388 Jefferson. An expensive well armored vehicle, one that certainly suits a man of Dex’s status. If the car itself was not enough protection the six foot seven bodyguard standing outside the rear doors tops it off. A portion of his face silver plated and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She takes a few steps closer when the large stoic mass of a man sees her. He says nothing, only opening the rear door. 

V swallows the lump in her throat and adjusts her mask; nerves pit in her stomach, a chilled sweat on her skin that doesn’t come from the August heat. 

The smoke hits her first when she starts to climb inside the car, despite the open windows and door, choking her through her mask. If it were anyone other than Night City’s top fixer, she’d already be gone. Instead she sits in the leather seats, sitting next to Dex. While crude, Jackie’s description was apt. 

Dex Deshawn is a large man; dark dreadlocks and a rounded belly. He puffs away on a cigar, his right arm gold from the elbow down. The fixer and Jackie have similar tastes in colors it seems; red, black, and gold.  Gold cyberware, a gold watch, and gold chains all adorn the fixer. Red leather vest over a black shirt and red tinted sunglasses hiding his eyes. The guard shuts the car door.

“Miss V, masked merc herself. A pleasure,” he greets her, his voice deep and smooth. His bodyguard is moving to get into the driver's seat. 

“Happy to meet you,” she signs and she can see a little twitch in his eyebrow, as her tech translates. Its unorthodox. 

“Weren’t joking ‘bout you; no face, no name, and no voice,” he chuckles, seemingly amused at her quirks before speaking to the driver, “let's roll.” 

A beat of silence, V’s mind already spinning at those words. Jackie is incredibly excited for this gig, she’d hate to be the reason it tanks, not to mention it’s a great chance for her too. A chance into the major leagues, to really prove herself and make bank doing it. But if Dex is… put off by her secretive tendencies and unorthodox presentation, that could spell disaster. 

“Mind if I ask you something right off the bangle?” Dex’s voice pulls her back from her thoughts, the car moving as the fixer switches his cigar from gold fingers to flesh ones. 

“Go for it.” 

“Would you rather live in peace as Miss Nobody, die ripe, old and smelling slightly of urine? Or go down for all times in a blaze of glory, smellin' near like posies, 'thout seeing your thirtieth?”

The question takes her aback for a moment and the gears in her head start to turn. Honestly, she never even thought she’d make it to twenty. Felt like she’s been living on borrowed time ever since she was a kid; the first press of iron against her skull from her own father at nine. There are corpos pushing two-hundred and she can’t comprehend living beyond thirty. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t want a long, happy life. But, it’s never seemed like an option. She doesn’t necessarily want to die young, it just seems inevitable, but she can’t say she truly cares if she dies old either. 

“Quiet life was never on the table for me. But, truth is, no matter the lifestyle you live, we’re all one stroke of bad luck away from death.” 

“That so?” 

“Look, I’ve been dodging death all my life. Been shot, beat, stabbed, hacked,  strangled; you name it, someone’s done it to me. More close calls than I can count. And I’m still sitting here. This girl used to live with her sister, just a few floors above mine. Then she caught a stray bullet coming home from the gas station. Went to buy a snack and a gang fight broke out. She wasn’t in a gang, wasn’t a merc, just a nineteen year old kid who’d chat my ear off about how she wanted to have her own bakery one day. So, why did I make it to twenty and she didn’t? “

Death doesn’t discriminate and it doesn’t care what kind of life you’re trying to live. Its nipped at her heel all of her life, but hasn’t taken her and won’t until it’s damn ready. What’s the point in hypothesizing whether her life will kill her sooner or if she’d live longer if she settled down; neither are a guarantee of anything. She might as well live her life how she sees fit, hit the major leagues, and death will strike her whenever it sees fit. V has watched and heard so many tales of those in her megabuilding, good people, better than her… losing their lives for no good reason. Because there is none; no logic to suffering, no rhyme nor reason to why or when death takes us. 

“Jackie did say you think too much,” Dex laughs, “though maybe he just doesn’t think enough.” 

“Not the answer you wanted?” 

“No right answer, just a pet topic of mine, helps get a read on people. T-Bug voted for the quiet life, been planning her retirement for years. Jackster went blaze of glory, no shock there. And then there’s you, throwing the whole damn question out.” 

“Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.” 

“Maybe so.” 

There’s something in his slight grin, his tone, and smooth voice that tells her this is going well. That somehow, she hasn’t fucked this entire thing up, yet, emphasis on yet. Her hands itch to fiddle with her shirt, no longer signing and needing to keep busy. But she stifles that instinct, forces her leg to not bounce with nerves.

“A’ight,” Dex speaks up after a moment, “listen close. Scannin' a serious job, now. Plain gargantuan compared to smashin' up a scav haunt.” 

So, she’s gotten the gig? Don’t act excited, she tells herself, exited puppy merc is not a good look. 

“What’s the job?” Moments like this she’s so glad she’s nonverbal, her throat feels like sandpaper. Her palms sweaty as she signs. 

“There's this… prototype tech - a biochip, to be precise. Job’s to grab it. Simple.” 

“Simple, sure… Assuming the tech belongs to a corp?” It has to be something big for Dex to be scouting for it. 

“Mhm - Arasaka. Surely that's no problem?” His brow raises above his glasses. 

“Course not, corps fuck us over everyday, be a crying shame not to return the favor every now and again.” 

“Shit, you ain’t playing around. Got a feelin' this could be a start of a beautiful friendship built on heaps of eddies.” 

“One step at a time, you got some sort of plan for grabbing this chip?” 

“Two things,” he holds up two gold plated fingers,  “First's a conundrum with the Maelstrom boys. Needs active resolvin', that. Second's a rendezvous. Simple. Client who brought us the job's anxious. She wants to parley with one o' the team.”

V’s face scrunches; why would the client need to meet? Its unusual to say the least, clients don’t usually meet the mercs directly. That’s the entire point of a fixer, a middle man to get them in touch and keep the deal fair. They’ve already got in touch with the fixer and arranged the gig. The hell else do they need? 

“What’s the client’s deal? Why she need to meet?” 

“Woman's name's Evelyn Parker. Vettin' her wasn't easy. Put the word out was lookin' for any kinda intel…”

The merc rolls her fingers, when Dex’s words drop off, encouraging him to explain further. 

“Some brothers from Pacifica got back to me. Tol' me to stop lookin', end of convo, heheh. Anyway, our lil client insisted on meetin' someone with skin in the game - you know, who'll be there for it all. Yours truly'll be remote, T-Bug ain't no people person, and Jackie's only good at some things - I know you know what I mean. Pretty much leaves you.”

“Because I’m sure being unable to see my face or hear my voice will put her right at ease, I’m sure.”

“Ain’t there to give her the warm fuzzies, Miss V. She needs to know I sent a solid merc who does solid work.” 

She both gets it and doesn’t. Jackie is the most sociable of their little motley crew, but he can be hard to take seriously, coming across as a bit more goofy. Its not a dig, she loves that about him. But, if you’re trying to convince a client you’ve gotten the best mercs for a job it can be a detriment. T-Bug tends to make people, especially strangers, feel downright insulted. So, V supposes she presents as a middle ground. Serious, yet vaguely off putting in her presentation, but competent and she won’t call the client an idiot even if they are. 

“Understood, whats the deal with Maelstrom?” 

“Slot in the shard,” he explains, getting a shard from the door compartment, holding it out to her. She takes it and slots into her mask, the interface suddenly clouded with a map and UI interface. 

“Got a classic tale for ya. Psychogang, doin' its thing two weeks back jumped a Militech convoy, got away with the gear. Corp don't even know Maelstrom's involved. Now see, convoy was carryin' the Flathead - a little combat bot, a prototype. And I need me that bit o' high-grade military tech. 'Cause if we don't get that bot, we don't get no 'Saka chip. An' we sure as hell don't get no happily ever after. But don't get excited, it's a single-use toy.”

The images shift to show her the bot and its details, it reminds her of a spider. A flat metal base with spindly legs from its sides. The serial coding of the tech comes up. 

“Now, I flat out purchased the damn thing from Maelstrom. Problem is, I did so from a gent went by the name of Brick. I say "went" 'cause Brick was the leader. Three days after we'd sealed our deal, his friend and gangmate, one Simon Randall, AKA Royce, plain dropped his ass. Royce is in charge now.” 

The interface shows Brick; his actual name Declan Griffin. He has the pretty standard Maelstrom look, more metal than flesh. Glowing red optics implanted into his face, sandy hair shaved on the sides. Then it switches to Royce; no less decked out, but bigger and wider built. His head completely shaved with a thick dark beard; his red eye optics seeming to go further back, like his entire frontal lobe might be gone. Standard Maelstrom attitude; scrap out the flesh that matters, switch it out with chrome and damned the consequences. 

“ And I got no way of knowin' if he aims to honor his predecessor's word. To add to this ‘shitstrom,’ one Meredith Stout of Millitech has developed an interest in said convoy.”

A woman pulls onto the screen, long blonde hair slicked back off of her face, icy colored eyes and dressed in tight black corp clothes. Sharp facial features and cyberware around her left eye. Standard corp look.  The shard deactivates, nothing more to show, the world comes back to her view. 

“New leader, what’s his deal?” 

“Straight psychopath- chrome-lovin' kind.”

“And the skirt?” 

“Corpo agent, internal affairs, Been skittin' 'round town askin' after the convoy as if her life depended on findin' it. The one lead she got's zip-tied in her trunk. Stick up her ass ain't growin' any shorter, so she must be gettin' desperate. Be wise to think how you could use that,” he smirks, “ ‘Course, to do so you'll need that frazzled cat's info. Sendin’ it now.”

V’s holophone lights up, as Dex’s optics glow beyond his glasses, him sending her the contact information. She’s not entirely sure if and how she’d use the Militech angle. 

“Okay, think I got everything I need to get to work.” 

“Why that's just music to my ears. I'll set up the meet with Miss Parker at Lizzie's Bar. Flathead, though, is gonna be all you.”

They both go quiet for a moment, V thinking as Dex continues to puff away on his cigar. Dex seems to approve of her, going ahead and giving her the prep work, but this opportunity could still be lost. If the client doesn’t approve or the Maelstrom debacle goes sour. This isn't a done deal, not yet. But she got through step one, which feels herculean. But something is still nagging at her. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Something I wasn’t clear on?” 

“Why us, me and Jackie? T-Bug I get, but why me and him?” 

“Think I’d be better off looking elsewhere?” 

“No, no, I ju-” 

“Chill, I’m just teasing, Miss V. I get it, really, not even a year in the city, right?” 

“Yeah…” 

“As far you’re concerned you’ve barely cut your teeth, right? Wondering why I’m scouting someone out who’s still in merc diaper?” 

“About sums it up.” 

He’s laughing again, seeming to find her confusion funny, or maybe there’s a joke she’s missing. But that doesn’t make the knot in her stomach go down any easier. 

“Talent don’t always recognize itself, I suppose,” he laughs, “thing is I took a break from the city for a good two years and its left me with… a bit of appetite. Wanted to scout a fresh team. New Bug from before and I heard Jackie name around before I took my leave, just in passing not a merc you’d look twice at. Heywood boy with some messy work.” 

“Hmm,” she hums behind her mask, hoping this isn’t going to be Dex shit talking Jackie. 

“Nothing against the cat, I know you’re chooms, but when I get back to NC and start looking for talent; well turns out Bug is working with Jackie on the regular. Ask her what’s changed, tells me he got himself a new partner. Skilled merc who’s helping him out; stealthy, effective, and damned good at what she does. Bug don’t give out compliments like candy. Ask around a little more, well, damn near every fixer’s got something to say about Jackie and his newest partner Miss V.  Six months and she’s more talked about than some mercs who’ve been doing this for years.” 

“I don’t know about all that.” 

“Believe it or not, I got a couple years on you, Miss V,” he jokes, “so trust me, I know talent when I see it.” 

“Thanks.” 

Silence falls back over the car ride, V taking in what he’s said. He’s blowing smoke, he has to be, she’s not anything special or talented. She just does a job like anyone else. Maybe Bug’s word does mean a lot, but V still can’t say she’s doing anything more than anyone else. 

“One more thing, Miss. V,” Dex says as the car takes a turn, “Quiet life or blaze o' glory?”

She can’t say she has a more concrete answer, still not confident she prefers one to the other. V can’t imagine herself doing anything else, she’s not cut out for it. But, doesn’t mean there aren’t parts of that life she doesn’t crave. Stability, security, and eventually settling down; doesn’t sound too bad. She finds herself thinking of Jackie and Misty. Despite Jackie wanting the blaze of glory, she knows he talks about marrying Misty and having kids one day. His life no more quiet than hers, but he still has plans of becoming a husband and father… 

The car starts to slow, pulling up to the curb around Kabuki Market, construction work scaffolding lining a space between two buildings. 

“Later, now,” Dex gives a short farewell as the car stops and V gets out of the limo, scuffing her boots across the pavement. The limousine pulls away, leaving V alone on the sidewalk. An empt

She tugs her holophone from her pocket, pulling up Jackie’s contact. The first ring barely starts before he’s answering; his face in a video call panel in her mask’s optics. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s been messed up with anticipation. 

“Just got done chatting with our new fixer.” 

“Heheh. Gordito's a big deal - literally and not, yeah?”

“Intense, but guess I faired alright, wants us to klep some tech, but we got prepwork first.There's this combat bot, military prototype. Maelstrom grabbed it. He paid to take it off their hands and then they had a switch in management.” 

“Right, right, heard about that. Royce versus Brick - hostile takeover.” Jackie’s tone is terse, uneasy. Valentinos and Maelstrom have a history, while Jackie might have left the Heywood gang, it doesn’t mean that history is suddenly gone. 

“Yeah, we got to talk to the new guy, Also gave some details of a Militech agent, in case we could use her to get what we want.” 

“Ehhh, I don’t know about that, chica. Militech’s more likely to cut you throat than cut you a deal.” 

“Not a fan of getting the corp involved either, but I sincerely doubt they’ll just hand it over. And I really don’t want to have to spend eddies on a tech he already bought.” 

“It’s your call V, but I say keep the corpos sidelined.” 

“Well, then there’s the other thing. Client who puts the job on the job wants to meet with me.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Apparently, she’s intent on meeting someone who will be there directly, I got the go ahead.” 

“The fuck is Dex gonna do? Ride around in his limo, chat chicks up on the holo?” 

“Hey, said it yourself, his job means his rules.” 

“Must know what he's doin'… So, how you wanna play this? Maelstrom or Client, what's first?

“Client, she’s the one putting the job on the table. If she doesn’t give us the nod, then there’s no point in risking our neck with Maelstrom.” 

“Orale, In that case, I'll head to All Foods, put my nose to the ground, sniff around. Hasta luego.”

Jackie hangs up and V sucks in a heavy breath; checking the time on her holophone. It’s five, an hour until six which is when Lizzie’s opens up. That alone seems like, an interesting choice on the client’s behalf. A braindance club run by the Mox, one of the only gangs V can say she genuinely likes. It’s made up of mostly sex workers who defend other sex workers. The club is mostly used for people to get braindances of the sex workers; but there’s a bar and dancefloor as well. V and Jackie have been there on gigs before. Not a bad little joint, but she has to wonder if this means the client is a Mox, a joytoy trying to rob Arasaka blind? 

Speculation will get her nowhere, she decides, rubbing her face under her mask. She has some time and she’s not far from where T-Bug said she should pick up her little gift. A layered roof store on the top of two floored structure across the street, a bridge over the road leading her to it. Having to find a stairway outside the marketplace that loops around to the bridge. 

T-Bug sent her to a dark little netrunning shop where a girl wearing dark glasses works at the desk. The exchange doesn’t take long, T-Bug had the clerk save back a Ping quickhack. A fairly basic little daemon that works with V’s mask, contacts, and internal cyberdeck. The clerk lets her play with it, pinging their security camera. Then V’s finding herself leaving the store with barely five minutes killed. 

She fiddles with her phone, considering the Militech woman’s contact. Jackie’s right, not that she needed the reminder that corps are a fucking nightmare. But, the truth is she doesn’t truly know what the hell to do about Maelstrom. They need the bot; Dex made that clear. But the chrome loving  gangoons don't really like to honor their deals, they’d sooner carve out V’s tongue and replace it with a cyber one just to see what happens.  They’re going to expect Jackie and V to pay again. Or they’ll expect a war. And starting a war with a  gang, on their turf, while they’re fresh off robbing a Militech convoy…  Its a death sentence. 

Fuck it, won’t hurt just to meet with the corpo, see if it gives her any ideas. V’s smart enough to handle herself against any corpo bullshit, she decides. Sorry Jackie. She presses the contact and rings Meredith Stout.  In a short moment, the corpo woman’s image is in the video call panel. She looks just as she did in the shard, black formal clothes, slicked blonde hair; though the video panel has a layer of smoke as she puffs away on a cigarette. 

“Stout here. Start by telling me how you got this number,” she says, a cold sharp tone and it sounds like there's a man groaning,  struggling somewhere out of view.

“Little birdy told me you lost a convoy,” V teases, and can see Stout’s expression draw tight, brows furrowed. Then theres another groan, louder and sharper. 

“You! Shut him up!” a smack rings out, “Spill what you know. Don't make me wait.”

“Not over the phone, meet me in person and we’ll cut a deal.” 

“A deal… Fine. First exit off Skyline driving towards the NID. Storm channel under the overpass - meet you there.”

It’s still not that far away, roughly a five minute drive through China Town and up to Northside. Balls deep in Maelstrom territory; meaning Militech must already have an idea of who’s stole their shit. Not that they truly need the tech back, the militarized corp could lose a few hundred tanks and not see a dent in their bottom line. But pride or something. 

She calls her car from her holophone when she reaches the road, her car pulling next to her in just a few moments. V climbs into her car and cringes when the radio turns on as soon as she starts the engine, Jackie’s station of choice coming on. She flips it off and drives, watching as Night City somehow manages to get worse as she gets closer to the meeting spot. Northside, use to be a hub of jobs and opportunity, now its just abandoned buildings covered in Maelstrom graffiti. V would call it the bad part of Night City, if not for every other part of Night City. But it is the biggest eyesore. Hell, Pacifica is a crime infested mess, but at least your mugging will have an ocean view. 

V doesn’t go all the way down below the overpass, choosing not to meet them directly and immediately by going through the tunnel. Instead, she takes a left near Charter Street, going up towards the top of the overpass. She stops as the road is cut off by rickety metal gating, a homeless man passing through. V parks and walks through, there’s a bridge that crosses over the storm channel and she drops to a crouch as she walks over it. Getting a look at what waits for her below. 

A Chevillion Ragnar Militech van; painted sleek black and armored beyond comprehension. Three people; two muscular guards and Meredith. The guards are chipped to hell and back; intensive cyberware. Something to be expected of any Militech employees, especially ones hired for muscle. There’s a small, childish, urge to hop down and surprise them. But that very well could end with her being shot. Instead, she behaves, makes sure her gun is loaded, and takes the stairs down; ill maintained metal steps with chipping yellow paint. 

“Look lively!” Meredith calls out to her men as she catches sight of V, her expression nearly wrinkled with disgust at the sight of the masked merc, but extends her hand, “Meredith Stout. Take it you were the one to call.” 

“That’s me,” V starts to sign with one hand and goes to shake the corpos hand with her other. 

Then a fist collides the side of her head, quick, heavy it shoots pain through her skull. She’s knocked to the side, falling to the ground, stars dance in her vision. She fumbles to get her knife and stand up, but the guard is quicker, grabbing her wrists and yanking her up to her feet, just to wrench her hands behind her back. He’s easily over a foot taller, able to pull the small merc around and hold both wrists in one hand.  Holding V back as Meredith draws closer, gloved hands reaching out and ripping the merc’s mask off, revealing the glowering blonde behind it. 

“Thought you could blackmail me, bitch!” Meredith pushes her fingers into V’s hair,  then yanking and tugging the merc’s head to the side as the guard shoves a jack into her neural port, “Set conditions?! Got any more for me?!”

V spits in Meredith’s face, her skull is white hot with pain between the yank of her hair and the punch. She can’t help but grin, watching her spit stick to to the corpo’s skin. Meredith lets go of V’s hair; reeling her hand back then smacking her across the face, sharp and strong enough to make the merc’s head move. Meanwhile the guard does god knows what, without her mask or contacts, V has no optic interface to tell her what’s being done; what the Militech goon could be doing. 

The van doors open for a second behind Meredith, the other guard yanking a man out of it at gunpoint. A small, weasley guy in a suit with a face bruised black and blue. 

“Christ Meredith!” He yells out.

“Shut your trap!” she looks at the guard holding V,  “That fucking thing ready?

“All set.” 

Leather clad fingers dig into V’s chin, Meredith forcing her head up, no doubt leaving bruises across the merc’s face, “Now answer my questions. Honestly. Forthrightly. Are you here alone?”

“I use ASL,” V forces herself to growl out, blood boiling. Who the fuck does this cunt think she is? Not only has V’s comfort of anonymity been ripped away, but her preferred form of communication is too. 

“Sounds like you speak English just fine to me, now answer my fucking question, are you here alone!?” 

“Yes. You crazy fuckin’ cunt, I’m here alone!” 

“Its the truth,” the guard says, a fucking lie detector, of course. 

“Do a sweep, now,” Meredith commands and a silver drone leaves the back of the van. 

“Now listen close. This piece of shit,” she looks at her other captive, “Anthony Gilchrist is he your contact? Is he the one who leaked intel on the convoy?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” 

“You answer to me bitch, Anthony Gilchrist!”

“Got no fuckin’ clue who he is or why I’m suppose to give a shit!” 

“Checks out,” the guard tells Meredith. 

“Came here cause I know who jacked the convoy, where the tech is.” 

“Hmmm,” Meredith hums. 

“I told you, I fucking told you, I’m not the mole!” Anthony screams out. 

“Shut him up!” 

“Unhand me now before I-- ungh!” Without another word Anthony is shoved back into the van. 

“Her, you can let go. I wanna hear what she has to say.” 

The guard rips the jack out from her neuroport and lets go of her wrists. The skin is bruises she notices as she grabs her mask off the ground, the snaps thankfully not broken as she slides it back on, tension in her shoulders easily only slightly with her face covered and arms free. 

“We’re a little beyond that now, don’t you think,” Meredith remarks snidely, rolling her eyes. 

“Fuck you,” V signs first thing. 

“Stop wasting my god damn time, what do you want?” 

“Gang has your tech, given where we are, I assume you know which one.  All I want is one combat bot from it, thought we could help each out, but I’m not so sure.” 

“Hmm, you have a plan of how to deal with them?” 

“They’re expecting payment, but I don’t have the eddies laying around.” 

“Course you don’t,” Meredith quips and V rolls her eyes. 

“So, without cash, the option is to take it by force.” 

“You’ll pay, but with our money.” 

Meredith holds out a credchip shard, little chips that hold a certain amount of cash on them. V chews the inside of her cheek, looking at the green shard held in a gloved hand, it seems too good to be true. Because it certainly is. But, she takes the credchip. 

“You pay with that chip, and that's all you gotta worry about. Try to fuck me in any way, and I'll be seeing you real soon,” Meredith delivers a final threat before climbing into the van, her last guard clambering into the drivers seat. 

“You're making a mistake,” Anthony screams from inside the van as it takes off “This cunt's already good as dead! And she'll take you down with her!”

And then they’re gone; V left with a bruised face, a tender scalp, and a credchip in her hands. Jackie was right, she’s sure, god knows aligning with corps isn’t her way of doing things.  There’s no way in hell, a Militech rep is just going to hand off ten grand without a plan. 

V takes quick and steady steps back up the stairs and she sees it as she gets above the storm channel. The Militech drone, still hovering. Following her, tracking her. Her hands on her pistol in the next second, promptly shooting the drone down in sputtering sparks. Meredith can fuck off if she thinks V is just going to lead them to the Maelstrom hideout. 

The assault and interaction bit up a chunk of time, so she climbs back into her car, time to meet the client. Anxiety pitted tight in her gut as she drives back down the Night City roads. 

[artificialqueens]

All Shades of Pink (Rosé/Denali/Olivia) - Mar

Denali and Olivia spend Valentine’s day together while Rosé is on tour. Rosé sends Denali a gift, and it changes Olivia’s perspective.

Valentine’s date brunch had been simultaneously the best and worst idea of Denali’s week. She felt sated and happy, but God, the weight of the world sat on her stomach. Now, as she lay her head on Olivia’s lap on the living room couch, the day’s warmth clouded her mind and called her to sleep. Her girlfriend was threading her fingers through Denali’s loose braids, pulling them apart, but the movements were getting lazier and slower. Denali opened her eyes -when had she closed them?- and found the cute face Olivia made when she was sleepy. Her speech was getting quieter, eyes fluttering closed, her whole body clearly gearing up for a midday nap. And Denali so wanted to join her, but…

“Liv, I can’t fall asleep,” she whispered, mindful not to startle her. She slid her hand on Olivia’s cheek, flushed from the half-asleep state, and made the girl’s eyes focus on her own. “The package will be here any minute, I need to be awake to get it.”

Olivia shook off the drowsiness, curls bouncing with the movement.

“I’m up, I’m up. Not tired at all, see?” she said, blinking the sleep off her eyes.

Denali smiled and curled her hand behind Olivia’s neck, bringing her down for a soft kiss.

“Did they give you a time frame for when it would get here?”

“Only that it’d be after twelve. That’s why I rushed us home after brunch. I’m sorry about that,” Denali apologized sincerely for the hundredth time.

“For the hundredth time, it’s okay,” Olivia smiled, rolling her eyes. She laced the fingers of her free hand with Denali’s, over her stomach. “You miss her.”

Denali turned to the side and buried her face on Olivia’s thighs, half to hide the puppy eyes she was tired of making and half to breathe in the lotion Olivia put on her legs every morning.

“I know,” she whined. “And I know she’s so happy when the company’s touring, and it’s only two more weeks, and she’s been so attentive and calls me every day, even though she’s super busy, but…” she trailed off, looking up at her girlfriend.

“Yeah,” Olivia replied, playing with Denali’s hair. “I know.” She grabbed the end of Denali’s braid and used it to tickle her nose, making Denali pull back laughing.

“Although, this Valentine’s day has been the easiest to schedule in years.”

Olivia grinned, tongue between her teeth.

“I can’t complain about a full day with you. Remember our first Valentine’s day?”

Denali groaned.

“Rosé and Denali, romantic breakfast from eight to nine. Rosé goes to work, Olivia picks up Denali and they go on a mind-blowing date at the skate ring,” she listed.

“You just wanted to show off.”

“I wanted to impress you,” Denali corrects, giggling. “I also had a class to teach right after, very convenient because I had a dinner date with Rosé at seven sharp, then we ran home, she switched one gorgeous dress for a dress just as gorgeous and twice as slutty, before Mik picked her up to go clubbing, for their first Valentine’s day. Then you texted me goodnight, ‘cause you’re a babe and can’t get enough of me,” she said, kissing Olivia’s thigh.

“And we fell asleep talking, I remember.” Olivia’s smile grew dreamy at the memory. “It was an exhausting day.”

Denali rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes.

“I had nightmares about our color-coded schedules.”

“How would polyamory work without Google Calendar?”

“Hmmh. But I’m happy with today’s schedule.”

“Package, nap, movies and the taco truck at the park. Perfect day.”

The doorbell rang and Denali shot up from the couch to get it. Olivia stood on her knees on the edge of the couch, hearing Denali give her information to the delivery person before shutting the door. She reentered the living room, beaming, doing a happy dance on her socks while she held the box tightly like it was Rosé herself.

Olivia squealed at the sight and jumped off the couch to plant a loud kiss on Denali’s cheek.

“Open it! I’ll give you some privacy. I gotta pee the tub of lemonade we had earlier.”

Olivia left the living room, thoughts on the lovey-dovey look in Denali’s eyes. She decided to take off her makeup and moisturize, to give her more time alone with her gift.

When she came back out, Denali was not where she’d left her.

“Nali?”

“In here!”

Olivia followed the voice to the bedroom and found her sitting criss-cross on the bed, looking over a spread of candy, trinkets, heart shaped baubles and, held close to Denali’s chest, a stack of postcards with handwritten notes on them. Olivia’s heart warmed at the sight, then flipped when she saw Denali’s smile, wavering from the tears held back.

“It’s one postcard from every city they’ve been to,” she explained. “She wrote about something that reminded her of me from each place.” Denali placed each card on the duvet with care. Olivia sat down next to her, but averted her gaze from the notes. Some things were meant to be kept between two people.

She rested her head on Denali’s shoulder and admired the spread, so lovingly picked, so abundant it covered half of the bed.

“This is beautiful, Dee, I’m so happy for you,” she said, smiling against her girlfriend’s shoulder.

Denali jolted from under her and stretched across the land of candy.

“There is more,” she said.

“More?” Olivia asked, puzzled. “Baby, I don’t know if you can fit more in this apartment.” Her eyes trailed over the shelves in Denali’s room, crowded with medals and trophies and toys, and, to Olivia’s delight, her own current knitting project, and the book Rosé had been reading last.

“No need,” said Denali, sitting back and placing a box on Olivia’s lap. “This one’s for you.”

“Oh, baby, you already got me the perfume I wanted. We agreed on just one gift,” Olivia protested half-heartedly. Denali’s smile grew impossibly wider.

“It’s not from me,” she said, tapping the card on the box. “Read it!”

Olivia opened the card and, sure enough, it wasn’t Denali’s handwriting. But it was almost as familiar.

Liv:

You’re walking sunshine. I know your brain is shaped like a candy heart, and, if auras exist, yours is bright pink. This holiday seems tailor made for you, so it’s only fair that you’re celebrated.

Thank you for being a true friend, a great meta, and a total sweetheart.

Happy V-Day!

-Rosé

Olivia stared at the lines, tracing them over and over to make sure she had not misread anything.

Sunshine. Rosé had called her “sunshine”, and “sweetheart”.

The pet names branched off into new lines of thought, but Olivia cut them short. She opened the box, and gasped.

Her favorite chocolates from childhood, impossible to get in their city. Rosé must have found them on tour… And she’d remembered from, God, what was it, six months ago? Olivia had mentioned the chocolates in passing at a gathering, over daiquiris at Rosé’s place. She’d felt so happy to be there, so easily welcomed.

“Oh, oh, wait,” Denali’s voice interrupted the memory. “I know that face. It’s your crush-face.”

“Pfff, I don’t have a crush-face!” Olivia dismissed. Denali just turned to look at her better.

“Yes, you do! And you’re blushing!” she grinned. “Liv, do you have a crush on my girlfriend?” Denali gasped in faux shock, but it still made Olivia blush harder. “You do!” Denali threw her arms in the air, full on bouncing in her seat, and made some things fall off the bed in her excitement. “Oh, shit.” She slid off the bed to find them. It gave Olivia the moment she needed to gather her thoughts.

Did she have a crush on Rosé?

She definitely liked her. She was smart, and so funny, and had welcomed Olivia with open arms the minute Denali had brought her into their lives. She was a good friend, and a good meta.

But she was also gorgeous, and confident, and clearly attentive and caring. Olivia just hadn’t expected to be on the receiving side of that. Only on the sidelines, watching Denali bask in the attention.

But… but sometimes, Rosé would wink at her, or give her a smile just so, and it made Olivia wonder.

Denali peeked up from her spot on the floor and placed back the few sweets that had fallen. She then hooked her chin on the duvet and carefully eyed Olivia. She was giving her time. As much as she teased, as blunt as she was, Denali always knew how to wait. Olivia loved her more every day, she was certain. She felt it sometimes, in the way her rib cage expanded with each breath, as if to make room for the feeling. At the moment, she let one breath fill her lungs, and let it fall from her mouth with her doubts.

“How would- I mean, what would we do?” Olivia asked, hoping her girlfriend could fill in the blanks in the question. From the way Denali shrugged her shoulders, lifting a weight from Olivia’s, she could.

“You would do what you feel comfortable doing, just like we did. And Rosie and I before that, and Rosie and Mik later. This wouldn’t be any different just ‘cause you’re both dating me.”

There was pride in Denali’s smile at that statement. There was also simplicity, like she was so sure of those facts, like it was all that simple. And Olivia believed her.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, though, I think?” she still said, shrinking into the mattress a little. “A gift is not a declaration.” She clutched the box a bit tighter.

“A Valentine’s gift,” Denali reminded her. Then, she blew a raspberry. “I’d love to play matchmaker, baby, but I’ve been told by many, many people that I’m not allowed to meddle because I’m a force of chaos. So…” she trailed off, eyes wandering around the room, clearly waiting for questions. And Olivia just had to give into her.

“So…? What are you not telling me?”

“That Rosé is not huge on Valentine’s Day. She doesn’t get gifts for her friends. Ever. And she firmly believes it’s a day reserved for a special, specific kind of bond,” Denali explained, looking pointedly between Olivia and the box in her hands. When Olivia was about to protest, she continued: “And, and! Even without the gift, I’ve seen how she looks at you. And I’ve heard how she talks about you.

Denali pressed her smile against her arms, perched on the bed. She looked at Olivia with that “teenager at a sleepover” gleam in her eyes, which she got whenever the topic of crushes came up. “There is something there. And I’m not just saying that because I think it’d be insanely hot to watch my two smoking girlfriends make out.”

Olivia laughed, tension seeping off her body in waves. She tapped Denali’s nose like she was a rebellious puppy.

“If we let you watch, you creep.”

Denali’s eyes grew wide.

“So you’re thinking about it?” she asked. Olivia nodded, decidedly.

“I’m thinking about it.”

Denali let out a squeal and climbed up onto the bed, to wrap herself around Olivia in a hug.

“Fun!”

She cupped Olivia’s cheeks and kissed her slow and sweet.

“Now, I still have the rest of Valentine’s Day to spend with my beautiful girlfriend, watching dumb movies and eating our way through this pile of candy. Let’s get to it!”

[generalskales]

Adhd/Autistic Lloyd and Jay hcs if you're willing?

I already shared Jaydhd (but I have plenty to share) and my friend finally got coherent enough to help me with the autistic lloyd hcs (Jack if you're reading this go back to bed 🔪)

I have more for Jay bc I see blue bird brain go hehhe projecting time :)

Also my friend was sleepy and I didn't want to keep him awake

Lloyd

🐉 Stims in a myriad of different ways, but most commonly stims by:

🐲 Waving his hands (aka Flappy Hands)

🐲 Chewing on things

🐲 Various stims toys he either bought (his necklace) or were built by Jay (the spinners)

🐲 Humming or making small conversation with himself quietly

🐉 Lloyd's special interests are sci-fi comics and the history of ninjago (before the ninja were formed)

🐲 Usually infodumps to Zane, who is all for hearing Lloyd get excited about something and also learn about what Lloyd has to teach him about comic book lore

🐉 Chews on his necklace during fights if he can do it without choking himself again (I can attest that it is much harder than it looks when you add talking to that list)

🐉 Is public about it and won't take shit, if it gives people hope he is all for it

🐲 Once fought a random dude in parking lot after a few unsavoury words were thrown (If anything it kept the dude from dealing with a less merciful Kai)

🐲 He gets a lot of love from kids who are just like him and it just warms his heart

Jay

🌩 Mega frustrated that he can't exactly find information pertaining to adhd in adults and (outside of the meds for health reasons) had to go through trial and error

🌩 Regularly forgets to eat at meal times but has counteracted this problem by keeping snacks in his rooms

🌩 Is more than happy to show Lloyd the memes Nya sent him about a shared interest between the three of them (usually it's something space or spaceship related)

⚡ Also will happily indulge Lloyd's special interests

🌩 Likes the weight of another person on top of him while he sleeps

⚡ Before Nya shared a bed with him, the person would usually be Zane

⚡ Days when its not possible or not wise to have someone on top of him he either uses a weighted blanket (courtesy of his parents) or he simply does not sleep

🌩 "No Wu I can't meditate I have to m o v e and g r o o v e"

🌩 Video Games are sensory heaven, even if it gets too much nothing stopping him from, well, stopping

🌩 Was a big help with Baby Wu simply because the tyke enjoyed the Leg Bounce™

[taeguboi]

BTS Crush On You: Truth or Dare [Jin version]

I decided to make another series to keep myself occupied with as I also make my other series ‘a care package to you’ 

This one is a mixed sleepover with the boys and some of your girl friends in which [member’s name] has a crush on you.

I seem to keep starting with Jin hahah oops oh well

Crush On You: RM // Suga // J-Hope // Jimin // V // Jungkook

Care Package To You: RM // Jin // Suga // J-Hope // Jimin // V // Jungkook

New Fiction Masterlist here

The initial scenario

Tonight had been planned for ages. You, all your girl friends and the boys. Everyone had been so busy lately with their heavy schedules of work, studying, the lot and everyone agreed that on the next night they were all available, you’d have a sleepover at one of your friend’s shared student houses (which was to be free with it being the holidays,) just like old times and to take time out from your young adult lives.

For some reason, you were never too old to be playing the classic game of truth or dare. In the spacious living room, already in your pyjamas, the group of you sat in a wide circle, some on the floor, some on the sofa, and sleeping bags were scattered everywhere. Many drinks had been consumed and now a space in the middle had been cleared for one of your empty bottles.

One of your friends spins the bottle and you all watch to see who it chooses….

Dare

“Alright, Seokjin-hyung…” begins Jungkook as the bottle spins to the eldest boy’s direction. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare” replies Seokjin.

“I dare you… to kiss y/n” says Jungkook, knowing something that the rest of you don’t. 

A while ago, Jin had accidentally let it slip out to Jungkook when the former had had a few to drink after the two were at the end of a night out with you and y/f/n. 

They had just seen that the two of you got to your door safely from the taxi and throwing themselves back into the taxi, Jin started acting a bit what Jungkook thought as odd.

“She’s a good un’ that one” began Jin.

“Who? Y/f/n?” asked Kook.

“What? No, I mean Y/n” slurred Jin.

“So you’re saying y/f/n isn’t a, quote, ‘good un’’?” chuckled the younger.

“You… you know what I meant” sighed Jin, feeling rather sleepy sat on the taxi seat, his head wobbling with the bumps of the road.

“I suppose… So did something happen back there? I mean for you to be talking about specifically y/n like this…”

“I wish!” boomed a drunken Jin then becoming aware of the volume of his voice. Jin cleared his throat, opened his eyes, sat up and started again. “What I meant to say is… she’s… nice… you know….”

“Oh my goodness, Seokjin! You have a thing for y/n….” replied Jungkook only to be interrupted by a prolonged -

“SHHH!”

Ever since this little admission, Jungkook - only very occasionally - would tease his hyung. Whilst he kept it to himself, Jungkook would often startle Jin by the things he said, often putting the elder on edge that his big secret would get revealed.

At first Jin tried to laugh it off like ‘I was drunk’ and ‘I didn’t know what I was saying…’ but Kook knew better; he had always believed that a drunk mind spoke a sober mind and that when his friend was trying to laugh it off, there wasn’t an ounce of truth in his eyes whenever he tried to say he didn’t like you as more than a friend.

Back to the game, Jin could feel his heart flutter; he had always wanted to kiss you ever since he realised his feelings for you, but now it was actually going to happen, he had a sudden urge to make his excuses and leave the room. But he didn’t.

“Uh…” is all he can nervously say. “So, how do you, like, want to do this?” he asks you awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

Now this causes most of the group to laugh out loud. Not in a horrible way; Seokjin had kissed many girls and the group had him down as quite the expert on the subject… why was he being so shy now?

“Oh come on Jin, really?” laughs one of your friends, unable to believe what she just heard.

“Hey!” he exclaimed defensively. “I was trying to be polite!” he continues folding his arms.

You can’t help but join in with a small giggle because bless him, but then you interrupt the laughter. 

“Okay, thank you Seokjinnie for being so considerate” you smile, nodding excessively to prompt the noise to quiet down. You stand up and walk over to him and sit next to him as Taehyung who is sitting next to him shuffles over to make space.

The next thing Jin knows, you’re already initiating the kiss. Whilst he can hear a few of your friends going “wahey!” and all the rest, he suddenly feels like this whole sleep over is some sort of dream because of how surreal this feels.

But now he’s a little worried. Even whilst kissing you, all of his initial worries run through his mind but even more exaggerated. What if this makes the friendship weird? What if he acts weird? Are you even enjoying this? What if the look in his eyes after you kiss him gives everything away about his feelings?

Although all this runs through his mind, he actually manages to keep his cool because what you see and feel is a completely different story. You wouldn’t even guess that he is feeling flustered; no shaking, no general awkwardness, nothing like that.

Afterwards, Jin does his best not to overthink any of what just happened. After all, that wouldn’t be good for his brain, and after all… it was probably nothing to you.

Truth

This part is much longer than the dare lmao I’m sorry

It’s a few hours after the game of truth or dare and most of your friends have dozed off now, asleep in their sleeping bags or passed out on the sofa from staying up so late. Jin however, couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. It was only a dare kiss, so why was it everything he imagined?

You’re still sitting next to your friend Seokjin and you found you were having trouble sleeping after trying to at least doze off. Maybe it was the hard floor that made it difficult or the sudden shiver down your spine that made you feel chilly since 15 minutes ago… maybe it was something else.

You get up to pour a glass of water, hoping that someone else might be awake and show that they acknowledge you are, but there isn’t much response as you return to you sleeping bag - apart from a movement from Jin’s sleeping bag.

“Hey, ‘Jin?” you whisper, causing him to shuffle again. “Are you still awake” you ask in an even quieter voice.

“I’m awake” he replies, turning over to see you, eyes squinting a bit at the light still on in the room. He must have had his eyes shut longer than he thought despite not actually falling asleep.

“I can’t sleep” you tell him.

“Me neither”

“You wanna talk or something?” you ask unknowingly simply holding that glass of water… okay it was a beer, you got a beer instead.

Talk? You want to talk? About what? Inside, he panics a little, yet on the outside he manages to calmly reply “sure” as he sits up.

The two of you spend the next hour or so talking the night away about everything and anything. How this was a nice catching up session amongst your group of friends, stuff about your jobs and studies, how drunk Jimin got tonight and the antics he got up to, the latest episode of a tv series you both like.... How tonight was fun....

“You know what?” you say, grabbing your beer bottled which was emptied a good half hour ago now. “Let’s continue the game of truth or dare...”

“But everyone’s asleep y/n; there aren’t exactly many dares we could do that wouldn’t wake them up...”

“Well y/f/n seems to have fallen asleep with her phone in her hand, unlocked...” you joke

“Y/n!” exclaims Jin through his teeth “We’re not sending fake messages from our friends to their mums” he laughs softly.

“Okay, okay...” you sigh, a little disappointed despite your idea being in jest. “How about we take in turns, just truths?”

“Alright then” replies Jin, no idea how he’s managing to keep his cool, though he can feel his cheeks heating up a little.

“Would you rather...”

“I thought this was turth or dare?” he asks. “Well, truth or truth” he corrects himself.

“Well... you will have to answer truthfully” you reply, bringing a small smile smile to his face. “Would you rather be the funniest person in the room or... the most intelligent?”

Before he answers, Jin involuntarily has a quick something of a reality check. You’re talking normally to him, he can talk normally to you. He can and will just talk to you as a friend and not worry about this. He will just be himself.

“Aren’t they really one in the same?” he asks puzzling you a little.

“Are they?” you question.

“Yeah, to be funny, you have to have some intelligence, right?”

“What about slapstick comedy?” you fire back at him.

“What about the fact that I am already both of those things and therefore I don’t need to choose?” he jokes, placing the back of a hand under his chin to pose.

“Modest!” you chuckle. “Alright I’ll leave the ‘would you rather’ thing for another time... Let’s see...” you hum trying to think of a question, and then you can’t help but wonder about earlier. You aren’t sure why this thought comes to you but you kind of wanna know...

“How was earlier for you?” you blurt out, mouth acting ahead of your mind.

“Shh!” he hushes you, not unsimiliar to the way the hushed Jungkook in car that night. 

“Sorry” you whisper apologetically, hand over your mouth.

“No, I’m sorry, sorry it was just a bit loud and it might have woken the others... Uh what I meant to say was....”

And then Jin stops again and his mind has another sort of reality check / epiphany; this is silly. He’s a grown man and he’s been living in this carry on of never talling you or even showing you how he feels, keeping it all inside, hung up on someone who might not even like him back in that way... is this one of those ‘now or never’ situations??

He hadn’t noticed how long he had paused for until you took him away from his thoughts by saying “Jin? Seokjinnie..??? Seokjin Kim..??” You wave a hand in front of his face, wondering if you can get him out of his trance. Is he just tired, or...?

“Sorry” he apologises again, gently moving your hand away from in front of his face and resting it down, leaving his hand on top of yours.

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?” he asks you.

In return, you give him a confused expression; what did he mean by that?

“Sorry, I’m royally fucking this up” he apologises - again.

“Okay, firstly just stop saying sorry” you nervously laugh because again, bless him.

“Okay, sorry” he replies making the both of you laugh quietly again.

“What’s up?” you ask

‘Right. Now or never’ he reminds himself internally and again, his thoughts put him on a delay and leave another silent patch.

“Please just answer the question” you plead as you start to worry if it was actually that bad for him that he doesn’t know how to tell you.

“Okay, it’s like this” replies Jin with a sigh to prepare himself to answer the question truthfull just as you had asked.

“Oh God, you hated it didn’t you?” you mumble with dread.

“No!”

“Shh!” you hush, mirroring the way Jin had just hushed you.

“So when you said did I enjoy earlier, you meant...”

“Yes, the kiss!” you quietly exclaim, getting impatient for the answer.

“And you’re sure it didn’t weird out our friendship?” he asks, still beating around the bush. However, he quits stalling upon seeing the unimpressed expression on your face. “Right... here goes... That kiss... that kiss felt... amazing” he admits, finally.

“Phew!” you sigh with relief. 

“I believe it’s your turn for our little game of truth or truth, so... I’d like to ask you the same question: How was earlier for you?”

“I... liked it too”

“Only ‘liked’ it?” he challanges with a smile. “Maybe I need to remind you of how earlier was for you...”

“Maybe you do” you smirk, almost mischeivous in the way you smile back at him.

“Maybe I do” he smirks back, hand hovering over your cheek.

You guide Jin’s hand to stay cupping your face, and you both lean in for first a quick kiss, then another short kiss, followed by grins on your faces, followed by more kissing...

...followed by one of your friends waking up. It’s Jungkook.

“Oh my god! Yes!” he blares excitedly. “Guys! Wake up! It’s finally happening!”

*******

Crush On You: RM // Suga // J-Hope // Jimin // V // Jungkook

Care Package To You: RM // Jin // Suga // J-Hope // Jimin // V // Jungkook

[reginaldvonspiffington]

The Curse of Creativity by Richard V Kelly Jr

(disclaimer: This piece is edited by the author’s daughter posthumously. No new words were added, only passages deleted or rearranged)

1. The Wrong Kind Of Creativity

At the advanced age of 59 I found myself in a hospital psychiatric ward full of dejected people. I had reached the point of near catatonia, almost unable to interact with the world, unable to sleep, barely able to speak, spending all day in bed staring at the ceiling. My diagnosis was “Major depression with psychotic expressions”. 

Before this, I had composed symphonies and film scores. I had written textbooks, short stories, magazine articles, and half a dozen novels. I had sculpted in wood. I had written the code to create educational and artistic Virtual Reality and Artificial Intelligence applications. I had helped design a new school for creative kids. I had made educational films, created animations to teach Chinese, and written courses in every subject from neural networks to cryptography to architecture. 

Most of my existence had been spent in a world of ideas and imagination. My mind had been a sparkler, shooting off scintillas in every direction: fragments of music, lines of lyrical poetry, drawings, sculptures, computer programs, virtual worlds. But that life was gone. And here I was lying in bed fixated on the light of a bulb leaking in from an air vent.

I was still inventive at this point, but it was the wrong kind of inventiveness, the frightening unacceptable form. I had broken the membrane that separates playful imagination from gibbering lunacy. I still made up stories in my head, but they were all dark, bleak, lugubrious tales. The vent I was staring at obviously led to a parallel world where “they” were watching my every movement. I could feel the heat emanating from the wall, a form of thermal ray designed to cook my brain and mold my behavior. I had progressed beyond the creative person's liberation-from-the-mundane to the disturbed person's liberation-from-the-real.

There was no sense in moving from the hospital bed. Movement didn't matter. Nothing mattered. There was no future. And all the things I had created in the past seemed like a colossal waste of time. What was I thinking writing books no one would ever read and composing music no one would ever listen to? What was the point of that? Or anything else?

* 

The disease I was suffering from, depression, is astonishingly common. Almost 10% of Americans are taking anti-depressants right now. In fact, anti-depressants are the most prescribed drug in America. Almost 20% of women between the ages of 40 and 60 take them. And one in five people will eventually experience depression. So, pretty much everyone knows someone who has suffered from this illness.

But there is a level even deeper than the bottomless well of depression. 20% of people diagnosed with major depression (“major” in this case signifies acute, rather than chronic) also develop paranoia or other symptoms of psychosis including delusions and hallucinations. I was one of those people. I was terrified by my diagnosis, not because of the word “depression” – I knew there were treatments available - but because of the word “psychotic”. This was a term I had often used to describe crazy violent people for whom there was no cure. I pondered my possible future life as a babbling derelict. 

The new psychiatric resident assured me that the psychosis of depression and the psychosis of schizophrenia “are completely different disease processes originating in different parts of the brain”. And I knew intellectually that paranoia was misuse of my imagination. It was the dark side of the creativity that had sustained me my entire life. It was creativity as self-torture. But, even though I understood that my internal chemistry was creating false stories to misguide my thinking, I still felt hopeless, dejected, and persecuted. 

Staring through the fog of delusion, I realized that I had finally reached my secret goal of living in a world entirely of my own creation, but not in the way I had intended. I had hoped to spend every day reading my own novels, watching my own movies, laughing at my own animations, and listening to my own music, comforted by a sensible lyrical self-made universe. Instead, I was enwrapt in a vivid nightmare. My own creative thoughts were tormenting me. I couldn't wake up to escape them, and I couldn't sleep to avoid them.

*

The onset of depression is a slow process. One day I stopped reading. The flavor had gone from my favorite activity, so I dropped it. Then I stopped listening to music; it no longer provoked any feelings. I couldn't write anymore; creating worlds had lost its joy. I stopped watching TV and movies; they were pointless and unfulfilling. Everything I loved doing slipped away. I felt like crying all the time. The future turned black. I stopped working. And I hardly slept, so I became sleepy enough at the wheel of the car that I stopped driving for fear of hurting someone. This led to a shut-in's existence. I became what the Japanese call hikikomori – someone so tired of the world or sensitive to its vileness that they have pulled themselves inward and withdrawn from all contact, often never leaving their room.

Paranoia crept in. I thought the backyard garden was somehow being tended at night by persons unknown who were fertilizing and weeding it while I slept. I thought the morning bird calls were synthetically generated. I thought black and white cars were following me. I avoided my computer because I assumed it had been hacked by a malevolent villain who presented bad news to me in order to blame me for something I didn't entirely understand. And I all but stopped eating because I imagined that each food had a particular meaning, incriminating me in some crime. After 3 months I'd lost 30 pounds. 

As the disease progressed, I spent hours at a time in a swimmy somnambulance, as if I'd been drugged. Think of this predicament for a moment. Imagine being unable to read, write, exercise, work, garden, fix things around the house, chat with spouse or friends, eat, sleep, play cards, surf the net, or watch TV or movies. What would you do? Try it for a day. Eventually, I was reduced to pacing the living room, sitting for hours lost in rumination, or trying to sleep and being unable to. I had always thought of a person's mind as their only defense against a hostile world. Now that my mind had abandoned me, the hostile world came pouring in.

I began to develop severe cramps in my abdomen that curled me up like a baby at night. I felt as if I was giving birth. I developed headaches – a malady I'd never been bothered with before. And I became preoccupied with delusions. I imagined my wife had somehow been divided into different people: a 54 year old, a 40 year old, a 30 year old, and a 20 year old. I spent many nights awake, staring at her as she slept, waiting to see if she would switch to a different version of herself.

By summer's end, my existence consisted of getting out of bed, passing like a weary ghost through each day, void of joy or even interest, enveloped in rumination, miserable at the prospect of another excruciating night featuring nothing but heat, pain, and wakefulness. And it all felt as if it was being done to me. Eventually, I ended up just lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

I knew what was in store for me because my wife's brother had died by his own hand after a similar bout of depression. But, through the miasma of pain and woe, I insisted all was well. My family tried intervening to get me to a doctor, but I refused. And, eventually, my wife, conspiring with my doctor, cried as she urged me to go to the hospital for “just an evaluation”, which I assumed consisted of a casual chat in the emergency room followed by a prescription. I ended up in a locked ward in a hospital bed for a week having horrific nightmares as the medicine kicked in while listening to patients cry out at night for help.

I learned that there are three different psych wards in a large hospital: one for schizophrenics, one for depressives, and one for Alzheimer's/dementia patients. Because there were no spots open in the depression ward, they put me in the dementia ward with people twenty years my senior who had much bigger problems than I had. One woman had no family to look after her outside the hospital: no husband, no siblings, no kids, no living relatives, only a friend. Many people had lost all that was important to them in their lives, and were now losing the memories of their own life stories. The place was frightening, humbling, fascinating, and one enormous eye-opening lesson in appreciation for the wife, family, and friends who came to visit me every day or called me on the phone.

By studying the subject of depression, I learned that the trigger can be many years ahead of the expression, so I may never find out what provoked my downward spiral. Genetics probably had something to do with it. A difficult childhood was certainly a factor. But my guess is that trying to be a creative person in a world that consistently crushes or exploits creative people had the most to do with it.

Depression is like being anesthetized then dropped into a bathtub that slowly fills. The water rises to your back, then your sides, then your chin, then your eyes, then over your head, until all you can do is look at the surface above and blink. 

Depression is like having life peeled away from you layer by layer until nothing is left. Wake up one day and there is no literature. The next day music is gone. Then movies disappear, then working, then moving, then talking, until only breathing remains, slow, mechanical breathing.

Depression is like being overcome by an illness, as if a degenerative virus has taken control and sapped the strength of your muscles, then infected your bones, then infiltrated your nerves, and finally seeped into your head so that every part of you is diseased. 

Depression is like becoming a statue. A running animated active body slows down and finally stops. Arms, legs, and mind freeze up. The inner armature stiffens. Movement ceases. A shell forms and hardens until only an effigy remains that is gradually overgrown by vines and bramble. It starts with a slow numbing to the world, a withdrawal, a closing off to pleasure until the mind turns to marble, motion stops, the last spark of optimism is snuffed out, reason is suspended, rigid misery sets in.

Depression is like being a sun that slowly burns itself out, gradually losing the coronal fires, the heat diminishing, the plasma churning less and less every day, cooling to a smoldering ember, the flames snuffing themselves into smoke, and becoming quiet until all that is left is a burnt brown rock that gives no light or warmth, a cold stone floating in limitless space. 

It took time to recover. After the hospital, I went to a two-week out-patient group with other folks also recovering from anxiety or depression. And, a few months after the hospital visit, I was feeling much better. The two drugs they gave me – one for depression, one for psychosis - worked miraculously. The medicine and the realization that I was actually surrounded by people who cared about my welfare set me back on the road to health. The paranoia dissipated. I gained 14 pounds in two weeks. I started reading again. 

I came away with the impression that this could happen to anyone. There's nothing that separates me from the homeless people in the street except a simple exceeded threshold of neurochemicals.

And I received two great gifts from the experience. The obvious one was the realization that I had a wonderful wife, family, and friends who would help me, people I had formerly taken for granted. But the unexpected gift was the experience – because of the anti-psychosis medicine - of becoming a non-creative person for the first time in my life. That encounter with the non-creative worldview was as interesting an experience as the depression and paranoia had been. 

2. My Non-Creative Life

Within a month after starting treatment I had risen from a waking death. I was talking to people, reading, and watching movies again. But the chemical I was ingesting to stave off paranoia had the effect of preventing me from writing stories, composing music, scrawling art, scribbling computer code, building animations, or even thinking creatively. I could ingest the world again while taking the medicine – through books, movies, music, podcasts – but I could not actually produce anything. The portcullis gate had come crashing down. Access to the creative part of my mind had been blocked.

The disease of depression was about closing off inputs. I couldn't read, watch, or listen when depressed. The cure was about re-opening inputs, but closing off outputs. I could take in the world again, but I couldn't write, film, draw, program, or compose. Under the depression, I couldn't take in anything new, but I could still confabulate. Under the cure, I could absorb the world, but I couldn't create any new worlds in my head.

The mechanisms of the brain that allow someone to make up stories in order to become paranoid are the same mechanisms that allow someone to make up stories to write fiction. So, the medicament I took, designed to eliminate the alarming connections of paranoia inside my skull, also eliminated the lyrical connections of story-telling. For the first time in my life I got to feel what it was like to be non-creative.

No more five-new-ideas-before-breakfast. No need to keep a pen and an adding machine scroll of  paper beside the bed to jot down nocturnal inspirations. No more getting up in the middle of the night to write a paragraph that had evolved during the murky half-asleep state. No more days spent in animation development. No more running to the keyboard with a new melody in mind. I stopped composing music. I put aside my novels. I stopped thinking in the way a creator thinks. It was as if half of my mind had been carved away. It was as if I were grounded in the material world for the first time. I began to adopt what I imagine the life experience of most people to be. It was fascinating.

*

I've heard people say, “I don't have a creative bone in my body.” My response to that statement had always been mystification and a shocked wonder at what that must feel like. I thought turning off creativity would be like turning off hunger, joy, or reason. I had experienced exactly that - turning off hunger, joy, and reason - during the depression. But I was still creative then. With depression, I couldn't take in anything new, but I could still confabulate. With treatment, I could absorb the world again, but I couldn't create any new worlds in my head.

This was rather astonishing to me. Ordinarily, I'm only thinly connected to the palpable realm. I live so much inside my own head that the physical world is all but meaningless to me. I eat when I'm hungry. I get cold in the winter. It hurts when I step on sharp rocks in bare feet. But, beyond those links to the realm of atoms and sensation, I don't have much of a relationship to the tangible plain. All of my time is spent with ideas, words, interpretations, interconnections, the embrace of novelty, the prosody of life, everything that is above “the stuff” of existence. I usually live a sort of meta life – in the world, but not of it. For the first time, because of the medicine, I could experience only existence, only “the stuff”.

For a year, I woke up, washed, ate, evacuated, watched movies, chatted with people, watched more movies, poked around in the garden, and slept. Then I got up again the next day and did the same. I had no original thoughts. I wrote nothing. I composed nothing. I invented nothing. I began to wonder if I ever would again. I just walked through life, taking it in, but not putting the pieces together to produce anything new. I responded to the world around me as life happened, but I did nothing more than respond. I thought, “So, this is how other people feel? This is what it's like to not have a creative bone in your body?”

I figured my brain needed time to heal, so I let it heal. And I appreciated experiencing the mental life of an ordinary person. I would not want to live that way forever. But it was restful to live without layers of meaning. Everything was only what it was. I could pick up an orange and think only “orange”. There were no associations, no mental rambling, no blaze of connections, no desire to interpret experience, no wish  to create something new, only the requirement to react to what already existed.

Before I knew it, a year had gone by. I began to taper off the paranoia medicine. And then, one day, I stopped it altogether. The day after stopping, my creative mind switched back on. I returned to my usual state of entertaining 40 ideas at once, all jostling for space in a crowded little wet bone box. 

I'd pick up an orange and review in my head the discovery of sweet oranges in the New World as opposed to the sour oranges from India that Europeans had always known. I'd ponder the differences in the etymology of the word “orange” across all the European languages (many countries refer to it as a Chinese Apple). I'd consider the place the color orange fills on the visible light spectrum, the fact that cats and dogs don't eat the fruit – and don't see the color - because their bodies make their own vitamin C, the use of the peel in cleaning products, the vesicles holding liquid in pouches divided into segments to encourage sloths and mammoths to eat them in Pleistocene America. I'd dwell on the toxic coloring sprayed on the rind by growers who want all the fruit to appear ripe, the carnauba wax coating to seal out air and preserve freshness, our past family experiments with planting the seeds to grow indoor orange trees. And then thoughts would flow to kumquats and other indoor citrus plants we'd grown that were invaded by rancher ants that carried in aphids to suck the sap so the ants could drink their sweet excrement, to the plum curculios attacking the Asian pear trees outside, to the use of chickens to clean the ground of curculios, to ...

It was no longer just “orange” in my head. It was endless layer upon layer of simultaneous meaning. The word itself led in a hundred directions. The idea of the fruit led in a hundred more. The color led to yet another hundred. Everything intertwined. And I could see all the interlacing between the items. It was like looking at fabric that stretched to the horizon: the tapestry of past experiences, the rococo filigree of facts, the warp and woof of book learning, ideas knitted together by other languages, the mesh of mental images, braided databases filled with concepts. And there were countless sheets of this fabric, one of top of the other, each one interwoven with all the others.

With the medicine, an orange was a unitary experience. A thing was only a thing. An idea referred only to itself. A word had one meaning and no connection to any other words. Life was stark and simple.

Without the medicine, it was all a multi-colored rain of associations that poured, spat, gushed, spurt, surged, and inundated the landscape, tumbled, turned into braided streams, cascaded off cliffs, fed tributaries, swelled into rivers, and emptied into an ocean of sensation, memory, abstraction, fact, and imagination. And each raindrop was itself a kaleidoscope, a shifting hologram that held its own image in its separate pieces and recursed back onto itself and then out into the vastness.

Sooner or later, I'm going to long for the simplicity of “orange”. But when the medicine stopped, I leapt aboard ship and began sailing again on a sea of associations. The waves splashed me. I linked together the drops and began inventing things again, spinning stories, tying together melodies, inventing characters and worlds, re-immersing myself in the act of creation. 

Being non-creative meant holding only one thought in my head at a time. Being creative meant having an uncountable number of thoughts and tying them all together to make new thoughts that no one had ever come up with before.

Being non-creative was like listening to one radio station all day. Being creative was like listening to sixty radios at once and making up new songs by dipping into the individual songs being played and selecting out pieces that went together in new compositions.

Being non-creative was like being a lumberjack. I would wake up, see the trees, and cut them down. Being creative was like being both the gardener who plants the acorns and the furniture maker who uses the harvested wood.

Being non-creative meant engaging with the quotidian world on its terms. Being creative meant devising a new world on my own terms.

Being non-creative was like eating and sleeping. Being creative was like having children.

3. The Creative Life

Ride the bus to school and watch the kid drawing manga characters in his notebook. Visit a  grandmother's house and watch her sew a dress for her granddaughter. Observe the people who write stories their whole lives – for no other reason than to write stories. Watch the musicians alone in their rooms experimenting with new guitar riffs, new violins arpeggios, new piano chords, new vocal arrangements. Study the people who, unwilling to wait for a real-world teacher, learn from the internet how to make films, video games, and electronic art.

There are people who dance in their rooms at night, trying out new moves in the mirror. There are people who practice story-telling among friends. There are media artists who can't keep their hands off a new technology, who need to twist it to some artistic purpose as soon as they get their hands on it. There are people who make their own furniture to feel the lines of something that came from their own hands. There are people who blow and spin enough glass ornaments to fill the houses of their relatives. There are people who write the screenplays for the movies they want to act in. Creative people are everywhere. But most of us are invisible to the rest of the world.

*

I am one of millions of people who insert their art forms into the cracks of their daily life. They design and sew their own clothing at night. They compose songs to express their feelings. They draw comics and animations to make the mundane fantastical or the fantastical ordinary. They write books without any audience in mind just to create new worlds. They manipulate photographs because they have the urge to bend reality in a different direction. They fill their closets with water colors because no one will take any more of their paintings. They write fan fiction, invent electronic gadgets, build miniatures, construct robots, act in community theatres, slave over computer programs, and carve decoys, not because they see their obsession as the surest way to get rich, become famous, or entice sexual partners, but because they find a kind of joy and satisfaction in the act of creating that nothing else provides.

I am one of these people – someone who has sat at his sequencer, composing music on a Friday night after work, watching the sun set, dabbling at the keyboard, feeling joy, concentrating, and then looking up to see the sun rising again – so focused on the ecstasy of creation that no memory of time passing remains.

I am one of the people who, while getting paid to write software for financial applications at the state treasury, wrote miniature novels in the comments sections of the computer programs. I would adopt different voices – the cowboy, the cheerleader, the astronaut, the 1940s gangster – and write instructions to fellow programmers in those personae. 

I am one of the people who made up stories for his kids every night – a different story each night,  composed on the fly, weaving details of ordinary life into tales of talking animals and villains who always got their come-uppance.

I am one of the people who carved a wooden Christmas creche using penguins as models instead of people. I am one of the people who made enough money in the stock market one year to quit work and then spent his free time making animations, writing stories, and composing nocturnal jazz until the money ran out. I am one of the people who spent a lifetime choosing jobs, not for the money they brought in, but because they featured a creative element that could be explored. I'm also one of the people who got fired from jobs for being creative instead of political.

I am not famous. You have never heard of me. To the world at large I am invisible. But I am creative. In fact, the vast majority of creative people are invisible. And it's not because they are less talented or less dedicated to their craft than the famous people.

The famous people will certainly claim that talent, hard work, and persistence got them where they are, but there is an enormous amount of serendipity involved in becoming famous that no one talks about. For every famous creative person there are thousands of others with more talent and more dedication who are invisible. They are less pretty than the famous people. They are the wrong color, gender, persuasion, size, age. They live in the wrong place, in cultures that don't value their art, or among non-creatives who are mystified by anyone who spends their time having ideas or perfecting skills that do not lead to money, power, or sexual partners. Does that stop the no-names from being creative? Of course not.

These people are creative in ways that society does not value. But so what? Creativity is its own reward.

[iridescentbee]

For da monster s/o thingy!! Im a sleepy/cuddly gal, i love fluffy animals (v original right), and im rlly rowdy when im actually awake! I also have a taxidermy gator head named Brad that i watch phantom of the opera with :>

hello!! i’m so sorry for taking so long to answer this </3 i’ve been brain dead

anyways! your monster is a 9ft tall alien!! they are bright purple and have glowing antennas <3

they don’t speak earth languages but their species has similar emotional responses to humans so while you both are learning each other’s langauge, you guys have those little “how are you feeling today?” posters with different emotions on them, so sometimes they would walk into the living room and point at “hungry!” because aliens get hangry too

their favorite thing (after learning english) is to use earth words wrong? like on purpose? they’ll call shopping carts “lady bugs” because they know that some people call them “buggies”, theyll call you “cardiovascular system” instead of sweet heart, etc

takes fucking forever in the shower

[vantekay]

one for the books ||kth

word count: 2.6k

genre(s): loads of fluff, shy library worker tae, college au, roommate and best friend guk makes an appearance (he’s also your personal hype man), slightly strangers to lovers? or maybe strangers to crushes would be more fitting anyways tae and reader know each other and have a lot of those cliche embarrassing encounters and the reader is completely oblivious to tae’s feelings, that’s basically all it is 

warning(s): not sure this is really a warning but I know some people don’t like it so towards the middle there is a mention of jungkook v*m-ing as a joke but if that’s not something you like then here is the warning! and as usual some cursing but nothing too intense

this was inspired by this textpost written by @himawaritae! they have amazing tae scenarios that they post and you can use :) it’s awesome and I want to say thank you for sharing your amazing scenario ideas with the world. I hope I did this one justice!

also I will most likely make a part 2 to this? probably I mean I sort of set it up that way so we will see anyways I really hope you guys like it

you smile, a soft hum vibrating in the back of your throat as you plop yourself into the soft bean bag chairs that decorate the back of the library. you place your book bag next to you and begin to take out your notes and textbook to begin studying from. finals were coming up soon and you had tried to study back at your dorm with very little success, landing you here in the empty library.

your best friend and roommate jungkook had repeatedly told you that it would be impossible for you to retain any of the information you were attempting to study in your shared dorm. it was impossible because jungkook had decided he was going to invite some of his friends over to your room for a “study session” you knew would just turn into them playing video games in the lounge space just outside of your dorm room that your university had. since jungkook knew that was how this night was going to end, he suggested you take advantage of the library just down the street from campus that not many students ever visited. after having thanked him and praised him like the god he was (not) and reminding him not to be too noisy so they didn’t get a noise complaint from the other students on your floor, you hauled yourself and all of your belongings to the library with a smile on your face at the thought of actually being able to concentrate and study.

when you walked in, the cute blonde boy who you know to be kim taehyung, greeted you with his signature boxy smile as he gave you a polite wave. you had smiled back at him, flashing him your student ID even though he was very aware of who you were and knew you weren't some random girl off the street who had wanted to take advantage of the space the library provided. it had happened before, hence the new student ID rule, and when he gave you a thumbs up followed by a sleepy grin you retreated to a spot in the back of the library with a slight blush on your cheeks.

it’s been a couple hours now since you walked into the library and you don’t remember when but at some point your eyes started to get droopy and the words in your textbook stopped making sense long ago. your hand had lost all grip on the pencil you once wielded to take notes and has now landed in between you and the bean bag as you head lolls back.

you’ve been asleep for what feels like ten minutes but has really been 3 hours, and now at midnight taehyung has to come around and make sure everyone has left the library. that’s when he sees you, passed out in the bean bag chair. your books have fallen off of your lap and now rest on the floor near your feet. your arms are wrapped around your form for warmth as the library is a bit colder than expected and your head rests uncomfortably on the back of the cushion. taehyung stifles a laugh, and his grin stretches from each cheek as he gazes at you.

after a few moments he remembers what he came back here to do and slowly steps towards your sleeping form. with a cautious hand, he reaches for your shoulder and gives you a light shake. when that doesn’t do anything to rouse you, he tries to shake you with a bit more force and calls out your name. you shift your body and your eyes open slowly, a confused look overtaking your features as you look around you at your surroundings, not being able to recall when you fell asleep.

now that you’re awake, taehyung takes a couple steps back and if you weren’t just waking up from a sleep with hazy thoughts, the blush that overtakes taehyung’s features would have registered but it doesn’t and for that he is thankful.

“um,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously as his cheeks turn an even darker shade of rose. “I have to close the library now, I’m sorry” he looks down at you with sincere eyes. he’s not sure how long you slept for but if the lines that have formed on your arms from the bean bag are anything to go by his guess would be that you fell asleep not long after arriving.

“that’s okay! it’s not like it’s your rule” you laugh as you stand to collect your books. taehyung crouches down to help you and you smile at him as a way of saying thank you. after you have everything packed up, you awkwardly stand and stare at each other for a minute and your brain finally processes the blush that has not left taehyung’s cheeks since he woke you up. his flushed face and shy smile he keeps flashing at you makes your stomach erupt in butterflies and a blush of your own climbs its way up and over your cheeks.

“I should be going now. I can almost guarantee you’ll see me back here again though. my roommate is noisy and makes it impossible for me to do anything” you giggle and taehyung feels his heart skip a beat at the sound.

“I’ll be waiting for you” he says smoothly even though his heart was beating out of his chest and he was almost positive you could hear it. he sees that his words effectively make you blush harder and he smiles. after that he leads you out of the library and you both walk back to your dorms. to your surprise, taehyung lived in the same complex that you did just on a different floor. when it’s his turn to get off, because he lives on a lower floor than you, you say your goodbyes before the doors close and your left alone in the elevator until you reach your floor.

“what the hell is that?” jungkook asks when you walk into your shared room. he was sat as his desk doing some work on his laptop but he turned around when he heard the door to your room unlock.

“what the hell is what?” you ask as you place your bag down at the foot of your bed and plop down on it on your back, a smile never leaving your lips at the thought of taehyung and your interactions with him tonight.

jungkook gets up and sits next to you on your bed. “this” he says as he pokes your face near your lips. you sit up and stare at him.

“what I can’t be happy?” you ask, pretending to be hurt by his comment but you simply cannot keep the smile off of your face. jungkook pretends to gag at your happiness.

“don’t tell me you’re...in love” he says as he continues to pretend to feel sick by your emotions, the back of his hand coming up to cover his mouth like he is about to spew chunks all over. as if he wasn’t already over-exaggerating enough, he puts space between you and him on your bed. you roll your eyes at his actions and you have to hold yourself back from pushing off of your bed and onto the floor.

“I am not-” you have to turn your head because looking at jungkook and having him interrogate you about your blooming crush on the boy you saw minutes ago is causing you to become flustered all over again. jungkook looks at you with a shocked face when you turn around to look at him again.

“oh my god you are! who is it? you have to tell me everything” his attitude changes completely from the fake disgusted act he was putting on and now he lays on your bed with his hands propping his face up and his legs kicking in the air behind him like a teenage girl. you giggle at his actions and hit him in the head with your pillow.

“stop that, we aren’t in middle school anymore and it’s not even that serious” you say but not even you believe that statement, and with the blush that is beginning to completely overtake your face jungkook knows that too. he smiles at you until he realizes where you were tonight and he sits up quickly.

“wait a minute- it’s taehyung isn’t it? it’s taehyung that’s got you looking and acting like a lovesick highschool girl” he says accusingly, a finger pointing itself at you and you lean forward with your mouth open like you’re going to bite his finger before he quickly pulls it back to his chest with his other hand.

“and what if it is?” you ask with a quirk to your brows, arms crossed over your chest and jungkook just smiles at you.

“I can help you”

it’s the next day during a break in between classes when you see taehyung again. you and jungkook sit at your usual spot at the back of the cafe just down the street from your dorm when he suddenly kicks your feet under the table.

“ow! what the fuck jungkook?” you whisper yell at him, leaning forward onto the table to put your head down in pain before you kick him back in retaliation.

“look up you dummy!” he says through his teeth as he kicks you back, to which you whip your head up to look at him with a glare that most definitely could kill. he ignores your burning gaze and leans forward into the table as well so your faces are closer. “taehyung is here” he informs you and this causes the glare your eyes once held to immediately be replaced with something else that jungkook can’t quite pinpoint.

you quickly put your hands around your face and look at the man across from you. “is he looking this way?” you ask in a whisper, your eyes dart from side to side in shock and fear of being seen.

jungkook rolls his eyes at your behavior and pries your hands away from your face. you look at him incredulously before he tells you very plainly “you look like a dumb ass, and he’s kind of just looking everywhere, like he’s looking for somebody” he says as he looks back at taehyung who’s searching the crowd with squinted eyes. he holds something in his right hand that jungkook can’t really make out from his seat.

after a good 10 minutes of taehyung standing at the entrance of the cafe still searching, jungkook connects the dots and assumes he must be looking for you. jungkook excuses himself to go get something to drink but what you miss is the mischievous grin he shoots your way before he gets up from the booth and saunters his way towards taehyung.

“hey man! looking for someone?” jungkook asks as he approaches the blonde. taehyung takes a second to register the voice of his friend but once he does he offers him his signature smile.

“yeah actually... how did you know?” taehyung asks with a quirk of his brow and jungkook smiles before looking back at the table where you sit.

“I saw you walk in and just stand here for the past 10 minutes. are you looking for y/n by any chance?” jungkook pushes further, knowing the answer already and as if to confirm his thoughts taehyung breaks out into a shy smile and a blush begins blooming up his neck.

“ah yeah…” he trails off, his hand that isn’t holding the object jungkook noticed earlier is coming up to rub at the back of his neck shyly. “she left something in the library last night and I just wanted to give it back to her” taehyung tells jungkook, finally lifting his head and making eye contact with him and the younger just flashes him a knowing smile.

“you should go give it to her now, I’m going to the bathroom anyways so she’s all by herself at the table” jungkook smirks and before taehyung can say anything, he’s pushing him in the direction of where you sit and then running back to retreat to the bathrooms.

taehyung awkwardly walks up to you and clears his throat to get your attention. you turn to look at him with wide eyes, you were expecting for it to be jungkook standing there with a dumb grin on his face. taehyung offers you his gorgeous boxy smile before he extends his hand towards you. you look down at his hand confused before you see your pencil in his outstretched palm.

“you uh, you left this in your chair last night. it must have rolled from your notebook when you fell asleep” taehyung tells you as you go to reach for the pencil from him. he has a blush spreading over his cheeks at the slight brush of your fingertips against his palm and you would be lying if you said it didn’t send a whirlwind of butterflies off in your stomach either.

“thank you for bringing this back to me” you say genuinely as you look up to make eye contact with the blonde, a smile on your face. “this is my favorite one and I would have been really sad later when I went to look for it and couldn’t find it” you now look down to the pencil in your hand with a pout on your lips. the thought of you running around the apartment looking for it like a madman while jungkook would sit and tell you it’s ‘just a pencil’ making a small smile perk your lips up.

“so cute” taehyung says under his breath. your head whips up so fast he thinks you might give yourself whiplash and he’s about to ask what caused you to look up at him like that when he realizes he just said something and he must have said it out loud instead of to himself like he meant. his eyes widen to the size of planets as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth, shock and fear written all over his facial features.

“I...I did not mean to say that out loud. I’m so sorry” taehyung is rushing his words and before you can tell him that it’s okay, he’s waving a hand at you as he rushes out of the cafe. you sit at the table dumbfounded, looking from the pencil in your hand back to the door taehyung just darted out of and a sense of disappointment fills your conscious. you’re so concerned with taehyung and what events just transpired between the two of you that you don’t see your best friend sauntering his way back to the table with a smug smile on his face.

“so how did it go with- why do you look like that?” jungkook sounds confused as he takes his seat across from you again and watches the way you look from the door to the pencil in your hand and then finally to him.

“taehyung called me cute and then got flustered and ran away…” you say, your voice is quiet and has a lilt of hurt to it that jungkook doesn’t miss.

“why do you sound so disappointed? he was obviously just embarrassed” he tries to reason with you but you can’t stop thinking about the way he ran out. 

“it’s obvious he’s in love with you, dumb ass. why else would he run away like that after calling you cute to your face?” jungkook presses more, his face resting in his hands as he gives you a knowing look and you try to reason with yourself and tell yourself he’s right but for some reason you can’t help but feel that maybe taehyung didn’t mean it.

“maybe...anyways let’s head back home. I have more studying to do” you say as you get up and begin packing up your things and throwing away your trash. jungkook just shakes his head, wondering how you could be so oblivious to what was right in front of you.

[ijustreallylikeshawnokay]

missing you || shawn mendes

a/n: *taps mic* Is this thing on? It’s been idk like 3 years since I’ve written anything on this hell site. But here I am !!!! Doing this thing again !!!!! Because of a boy with curly brown hair that plays guitar. V on brand for me tbh. A massive thank you to @smallerinfinities for pushing me to do this. 

Shawn slides open the curtains and gazes down at the city below. It's half past four in the morning; the bus rolled up to the hotel's parking garage only fifteen minutes ago. Shawn should be tired, exhausted to be honest. And he is. But sleep evades him. He leans his hands on the window sill and allows his forehead to rest against the cool glass. He watches as a single car drives down the nearly vacant street. A sigh falls from his lips as he pushes himself to a fully standing position.

He misses you. A lot. One glance at the clock on the bedside table tells him that he technically could call you right now, but you'd easily do the math and question why he himself wasn't currently asleep. He weighs his options in his head before pulling out his phone. He lets the device scan his face before flopping down to the bed and opening Snapchat. Shawn clutches the closest pillow he can reach to his chest and snaps a pouty faced selfie adding the caption "can't sleep missing you". He presses on your name to send it before tossing his phone aside and snuggling into the crisp pillow.

The familiar sound of his phone buzzing a few seconds later causes him to reach around the bed in search of the black device. He slides his finger to accept the call and mumbles what he hopes is a sleepy sounding "hello".

"Nice try, rockstar. I know good and well you're wide awake," you smile into the phone.

"No, I'm not," Shawn says mostly to the pillow.

"I think you've forgetting that I know you better than you know yourself," you shake your head. "What's keeping you awake this time, babe?"

Shawn sighs and rolls over onto his back; he adjusts the pillow so it elevates his head just enough to keep him from feeling dizzy. "I'm just missing you, I guess. I forgot how hard it was to be in a new city all the time and not have you beside me."

"I know, babe. I miss you, too. You have the day off today, right?"

A smile dances on Shawn’s face. "How is it that you keep up with my schedule better than I do, eh?"

You chuckle. "That's what happens when you work full time, go to school, and try to have a social life. Gotta make sure your life is well structured and organised. That and I keep in touch with your manager on a regular basis."

Shawn laughs. "Still? Are you and Andrew B.F.F.s now?"

"Actually, yes," you respond. "We follow the same television shows. I have to have someone in my life to discuss the latest developments on Big Little Lies."

A smile forms on Shawn’s face. "I love you."

You giggle slightly. "I love you, too.

A comfortable silence falls over the line. Shawn scratches at the slight stubble on his chin before a thought pops into his head.

"Hey. What's the possibility of you coming out to visit for a few shows?"

A sigh falls from your lips. "Shawn, we've talked about this..."

"I know. But I've already told you I would take care of things for you while you were away from work. And there’s always internet where you can do schoolwork."

"It's not just that, babe. I'd miss my coworkers. I'd miss my regulars. I’d miss my bed. I'd miss the structure of everyday life."

"What if you only come out for a weekend?"

You let out a chuckle. "Since when has a 'weekend' trip of mine to see you actually only been a weekend?"

"Fair point," Shawn grins. "But you know they'd be back there waiting for you when you got back. And we have a structure to our days out here, too. It's just...different."

"Well, I suppose I could come out for awhile... Maybe in a couple weeks or so, after giving my manager some notice, maybe getting ahead on schoolwork."

Shawn racks his brain thinking of the places he'll be in two and three week's time. "Yeah. I would like that. I'd like that a lot."

"Oooooor you could come open your door and I could, I don't know, spend the next three weeks with you starting right now."

As soon as the words register in Shawn’s brain, he jumps from the bed, leaving his phone behind on the plush duvet. He fumbles with the lock before throwing the handle and opening the door. His eyes meet yours, and a smile that could light up all of the city below brightens his entire face.

"I mean, it's completely your call," you grin, ending the call and sliding your phone into your back pocket.

"Hi," Shawn says breathlessly, like he can't believe you're actually standing in front of him. Because he can't believe you're actually standing in front of him.

"Hey, rockstar. You gonna let me in, or just keep staring at me?" You smile before adjusting the bag slung across your shoulder.

Shawn takes the bag from your shoulder before dropping it on the floor of his hotel room and engulfing you in the tightest bear hug, pulling you through the doorway and allowing the door to slam shut.

[cammys-imagines24]

• U n c o v e r Y o u •

Title: Uncover You.

Connor x Reader.

Warning's: None.

Word Count: 2K+

Synopsis: You had always wondered what Connor looked like without his skin, and one night you finally gain up the courage to ask him about it. (Fluff, Insecure Connor)

••••••°••••••

You had always wondered what he looked like, I mean really looked like. Past the layer of liquid skin which bared such an uncanny likeness to that of a real human that you sometimes even forgot that it was indeed synthetic.

But, synthetic it was. It wasn't real. The outer layer was just a veil to conceal what was truly underneath; a machine.

Inside there were biocomponent's, circuits, Thirium, wires, processors, units, and metal. Inside, laid an Android. And, you had always been curious to see Connor for who he really was, not the appearance he cloaked himself in.

Even though you had been with the Negotiator for a long time now you had never seen him for who he truly was, and you wanted to. To you it felt like he was always evading showing himself, and you understood why.

Connor had always been one of the most advanced Prototypes to ever stem from CyberLife, and he was created to look the way he did. As a handsome, charming man. And, it was in his basic Programming to remain as human like as possible in order to build up trust in others, and formulate a harmonious environment.

He was built to look the part of a welcoming, benevolent, and affable male who could be anything he needed to be at any precise moment. From domineering and aggressive to friendly and trustworthy when the situation demanded it.

Like a chameleon shifting it's colors to suit it's habitat Connor was designed to be adaptable at any given moment. That was his speciality, but after he became a Deviant you were the first person who got to see him. Really see him for who he truly was, and it was a beautiful sight.

Watching a once indifferent, ever processing, never real Android become something more, and form a personality for himself was so nice to look at. Like a baby experiencing everything for the first time; that's how Connor acted for a while until he eventually grew into the being you fell in love with.

Watching him blossom, his opinions flourish, and his own individuality sprout up like flowers in Springtime was something spectacular, and you marveled in every new day that he expanded more, and more of his identity.

An identity he could actually claim for himself, and not just a built in module in his System.

Connor came to be a sympathetic man with a true heart of gold, and unyielding morals. Slightly awkward, socially inept, even humorous when it came to sassing Hank... He was sensitive, blunt, emotional, afraid of death, and undoubtedly loyal.

And, you loved him dearly... But, you still were curious as to what he truly looked like.

Though you had obviously seen what Androids looked like beneath their layer of synthetic skin; everyone nowadays had, you still wanted to see him.

You wanted to see the man you loved without him being shrouded in a facade that was manufactered to mimic humans. Because that's what it was; a facade. At least to you.

Androids were made to be a perfect carbon copy of humans as that was what was deemed most "appealing" to the public.

People thought that the porcelain white plastic bodies were too disturbing in an everyday scenario, and you hated that. That Androids couldn't just be themselves, how they were built, because it was too appalling apparently.

And, more than anything you didn't want Connor to feel like he had to cover up around you. More than anything you wanted him to be himself, and to see him for who he truly was.

So, that night you waited around in your shared apartment for him to come home. Which usually took a while since Detective work ran late, and most times Connor would wind up shuffling on inside once you were already fast asleep.

But, tonight was different. Tonight you were determined to uncover him.

So, as the evenings sky drifted in, the pale moonshine flooding into the windows of your living room, you stayed up seated on the couch.

Your body coccooned in a fleece blanket, a box of Chinese take-out near you; the bamboo chopsticks stuck into the remains of your Lo Mein.

You were flipping through the channels of your TV, the Detroit news sprawled out across the screen, and in the blue effulgence you cracked a smile, seeing some footage of a crime scene that Connor and Hank had been called out to investigate earlier.

The News Anchor was talking about the gruesome crime involving Red Ice, but you didn't concern yourself with her words. Instead you focused on the footage from the scene, the sight of Connor making your heartbeat flip even though it was just a previously aired recording.

You slunked down more into the cushions of your couch, and continued to impatiently wait around for your boyfriends arrival; Detroit's skyline prevalent in your line of sight as you stared longingly outside, silently wishing for him to be home soon.

As the hours of nightfall drew thin, the moon continuing to rise, your exhaustion was beginning to show itself as your head bobbed, and as your eyes began to slink shut on their own.

But, soon enough before your sleepiness could win out, you heard the door clicking open; the security code having been typed in.

There in the shadows of the entry was Connor, his Android jacket casting a blueish glow all around him.

As he himself never tired it was sometimes hard to believe, by human standards anyway, that he had just came from a gruelling 12 hour shift at the Station. He never looked the part of someone who had the unfortuante job of laboriously solving the incessant crimes that went on in the city of Detroit.

He looked the same as always, ever clean and composed. Not a single thread out of place in his uniform, his tie perfectly straight. The only quirk being the little tuft of brunette hair that fell over his forehead. An individual feature that you happened to enjoy.

With ease the Negotiator made his way over to you, his own face now brightly-lit from the TV screen.

"You shouldn't stay awake for me." He spoke, his smooth voice laced with concern. Your well-being his top priority.

"I know, but I wanted to." You answered, repositioning yourself on the couch in order to swipe the last egg roll.

"You shouldn't eat that." You heard Connor lecture as he took a seat beside you, and you could plainly see his LED blinking. He was calculating the amount of calories, cholesterol, and saturated fats that were inside of it. All the facts he had at his constant disposal sometimes like rain on your parade.

"Please, no details," You halted, raising up your hand in protest. "If you could eat you would understand why people take risks in order to eat truly delicious food."

Connor did as you wished, and fell silent. He meant well, but he knew that he didn't have the right to tell you how to live. He merely wanted you to be healthy, and happy.

So, he just took to settling back into the cozy cushions of the couch while you curled up beside him. Your body snuggling against his as you munched on your last egg roll.

After a lull of calm where you just watched TV like usual, and he made a report to CyberLife it then came time to go to bed. (Well, for you to go to bed anyway)

So, while in the bathroom brushing your teeth you thought about your desire yet again. The distant thought nagging at your brain, and had been for the past few hours.

You were gonna do it, you were going to ask him.

Stepping out into the bedroom you saw Connor waiting for you, his coffee hued eyes so sincere, and you worried that what you were about to ask would make him upset.

But, curiosity killed the cat, they say.

"Connor?"

"Yes?"

"Is it alright if I ask you something personal?"

"Sure, if you'd like." He replied, unaware of the bomb you felt you were about to drop.

"Is it alright if I... See you without your skin?"

To be honest your query had surprised the Android. As that part of him was something he wanted to keep hidden from you.

Connor never wanted you to see him as a machine, as a model that could be mass produced. Forever he could be rebooted into another form, and another, and another... There had been so many Connor's before he met you, and that is why ever since you stepped into his life he had grown to actually be afraid of dying.

Never again did he want to die and come back, never again did he want to be rebooted into another Connor model because to him, it was so different now...

He wanted to keep the form that he first met you in, the one you had touched, and kissed... The body he felt belonged to you, and that is why he wanted to seem as human as possible.

If he revealed himself to you as you wanted would you then start seeing him as simply RK800, and no longer your boyfriend?

Would his body then no longer be like a human males, and instead be like a mannequin to you?

You could see the hesitancy blaze across Connor's expression as his brows knit together. He looked so doubtful, and in a way insecure? You hadn't seen that side of him before, but you knew immediately that it was like looking at a sad puppy.

"I know it's alot to ask, and I won't force you to if you're too uncomfortable to do it," You began to reassure. "It's just that you've seen me when i've been at my most vulnerable. Without makeup, severely sick, having a bad day..."

"I don't want you to think of me as a machine." Connor disclosed, looking so unsure, and you merely smiled.

"I could never think of you as a machine, Connor. To me you'll always be the man I fell in love with." You assured, your words honeyed, dripping with sincerity.

With that Connor's expression softened as you strolled over.

You took his black tie in your hands, and carefully loosened it. Letting the strand of silky fabric cascade to the floor before you continued.

You unbuttoned his crisp white shirt, your eyes interlocked with his all the while, and he let you slip off his Android jacket.

Once fully unclothed Connor brought his fingers up to his LED, and gently tapped the blinking yellow indicator, allowing for his liquid skin to be stripped away.

His humanness peeled off slowly, revealing the pristine white underneath, and you watched as even his synthetic brown hair vanished. The one remaining thing his deep mocha hued eyes, the eyes you fell in love with.

You weren't frightened in the least, instead in awe. He looked beautiful, and his eyes retained the same liveliness to them.

He was now bathed in pure white, the color of snow. His form basic, and plastic. Completely bare to you.

His face was outlined by a few sections of gray, and you could see his Serial Number printed above his brow bone.

Gently with the tips of your fingers you traced over the number, his number "313 248 317- 51" and then you kissed the spot where his Model was stamped.

Your lips pressing sweetly against the "RK800"

You could feel his Thirium pump beating rapidly, and it made your mouth tug upwards into a grin. To you, it was his heartbeat, and you could tell that he was nervous.

"You know being vulnerable is one of the most human things you can feel, Connor." You told him, noticing that he was fixated on you. Analyzing the intimacy that was occuring between you two, and how you were being so affectionate with him.

Connor had probably never showed any other human his entire Android form before, and you were grateful to be the first.

"Aren't you scared?" You heard Connor utter, his LED blinking a warning shade of red for a split second, and you knew why.

He was feeling afraid, the fear of you seeing him differently washing over him, invading his Processors.

"Of course not." You spoke up, your hands timidly roaming over his smooth plastic chest, your gaze locking with his once more.

In the pallid gleam of moonlight you continued to touch him, your fingers ghosting over each piece of his Android frame.

"You are alive, Connor, and this form of yours won't ever change that." You consoled, and you saw the outline of his white lips etch into a smile before he let himself touch you back.

His porcelain hand caressing your cheek, his other finding it's way to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

"Thank you for letting me see you." You said before you were pulled into a tender, passionate kiss.

His outer human skin reappearing, along with his locks of brown hair which you were quick to run your fingers through again.

To Connor that was what he loved most about you.

Your acceptance...

That even in his Android form, all plastic and bare, you saw him as himself. Nothing more, nothing less.

To you he wasn't the Negotiator, the Android sent by CyberLife, a machine designed to accomplish a mission...

In your eyes nothing could deteriorate him from being anything other than the man you loved... A living being that loved you back, more than you could even know.