#somehow i just knew there was some ominous shit brewing

[13eyond13]

@deathweak YES that sums it up 😭

[b1ksh88p]

Be Mine Chapter 3

Plot: A storm is brewing in Valentine, and you’re in the middle of it. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen Harry and there’s already been a horrendous murder. With tensions high and everyone finger pointing your ex, Edmund, makes everything worse by spreading gossip. With the sting of rejection still weighing heavy on your heart you attempt to clear everything up only to make things worse.

Describing your mood as sour would be a understatement. You were numb. A grey cloud loomed over your usual cheery exterior as you went through day to day activities. Whenever someone asked if you were alright you’d chalk it up to trivial excuses. When in actuality you were torn that you’d been stupid enough to try and have a picnic with a killer. If you were sane maybe you’d tell the Sheriff and get some of his boys in uniform to smoke Harry out somehow but you had no taste for revenge. All you wanted was to move on.

But it seemed your ex had other plans. You worked in the diner, usually taking up the night shifts to rid yourself of boredom. As you were cleaning a table you overheard a couple chatting away about you of all topics. Why your name was in their mouths you didn’t know but from what you got out of it made you want to raise hellfire.

“I heard she goes down there every night to see that killer.”

“Edmund said that the sherif saw her go in with food and came out empty handed.”

“No way, maybe she’s a killer.”

There’s no way you could allow these two peons spread such outlandish babble. You’ve never killed anyone nor would you ever. The thought of murdering another made you sick to your stomach. “Edmund is a long-nosed good for nothing asshole who spends his time making up calumniations and dumping his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day for a dumb blonde with a baby voice. You two and the rest of your bubble headed friends would be fools to believe anything that comes out his mouth.” You finish with a astute turn into the back for a extensive smoke break.

If you saw Edmund or that sleazy sheriff you’d be sure to give them a piece of your mind. And speak of the devil, there he was. Your blood was replaced with boiling water as you stomped your way towards him. He was with the sherif and some other random cop you didn’t know. Both of them saw you coming and started to drift apart before you whistle and jogged towards the two snakes.

“Where we going boys? Running away from the new killer of the town?”

“Now listen Y/N I didn’t mean to start anything.” The sheriff assured.

You weren’t impressed. “You’re just the last one seen in the mines so...it makes sense.” Edmund shrugged.

“And you were the last one fucking the blonde bimbo you cheated on me with and she has crabs....so it makes sense right?” You snap back garnering a chortle from the other cop.

“It’s not my fault you’re a boring bitch who can’t get anyone to date you except for some psycho?!” He growled.

“I’m not dating anyone and I’m not a killer. Instead of gossiping like little girls how about you three go investigate and find the real killer.” You throw down the cigarette and stomp it out beneath your heel.

“We apologize if we’ve caused you any trouble Miss, we’re doing the best we can.” The Sheriff whispered.

“Keep my name out your ass licking mouths and out the fucking paper.” You demand before walking back inside the diner.

After your shift you began to walk home. The ominous glow of streetlights did little to scare you. On your way to you lovely home you stopped by the liquor store. A bit tipsy you ventured the winding fucked up roads. The quiet sounds of the night were ruined by the sounds of sirens. It had been what? 72 hours and some change since the last murder what the hell could the coppers be speeding for? Even in your mildly drunken stupor you noticed where they were heading. The mines. Sober you would’ve kept walking like any sane person but you were running on anger, worry, and rum. A mix that didn’t bode well when making good decisions.

You knew a shortcut through the trees and made haste. By the time you fought through flora and fauna two cars were already there. The sheriff and Edmund were there holding lanterns and guns. You step out from behind the trees, face bathed in red and blue lights. Softly stepping towards the shit show. “What the fuck are you two asswipes doing?!” You call out as you make your way to the entrance of the mine. Before they can stop you you’re in front of the cold entrance.

“You protecting your boyfriend again?” Edmund spat as he loaded his gun.

“You don’t have a gotdamn clue who killed those two. It takes you dumb mother fuckers months to even get close to closing a case!”

“We know he’s down there Y/N and he’s gonna fucking burn for what he did. And if you gotta burn with him so fucking be it!” He aimed the gun at you which almost made you piss yourself. You stumble back as he aims it at you. The thumping of your heart beat in your ears.

“I’m not you enemy! And neither is he!” Your words were bold but hoarse.

“That son of a bitch killed family. I don’t care what you think he’s going to die, and if I have to shoot you to get to him I fucking will!” The sheriffs attempts to calm down Edmund were futile. He had his eyes on you. They were large and red and full of rage. He looked like a rabid animal and you his prey.

“...You’re angry I get that but this is a mob attack not a lawful pick up. You have no evidence-“

“DONT GIVE ME A FUCKING LESSON IN LAW BITCH I AM THE FUCKING LAW!” He shot at the ground beneath your feet sending dirt into your eyes. The muffled scolding from the sheriff did nothing to stop your beating heart. In fact there were bigger problems.

Another shot cracked through the night sending you to the ground covering your head. The grotesque sound of choking made you gag. The Sheriff was on the ground, clambering hands grabbing at the gaping hole in his chest as he bled out. Edmund was in shock. He held the man’s dead hand with wide eyes. Perfect time to get away. You book it into the mines. It was dark and cold, even chillier with a fresh murderer on your heels. At first you didn’t hear him but a shot echoed through the caves followed by some demands for you and Harry to reveal yourselves. That wasn’t happening so you keep running, ducking into random corridors to try and throw him off your trail.

Apart of you was afraid of running into Harry. What if he was angry at you? Running into one killer to escape the other was a chance you really didn’t want to take. You’d rather wait it out and hide. Hopefully Harry would take care of Edmund and you could run away without interacting with either of them. You stop running to hide in a old mining cart that was turned over. Covering your mouth with shaking hands you listen. A heavy set of footsteps past you, Edmund more than likely. It wasn’t like Harry to be so loud. He taunted what you assumed were the shadows to face him like a real man. He didn’t really see him right? You wish you could peek but you were far to afraid you’d get your head blown off.

“So that’s what you look like. Y’know it’s crazy. You don’t look like a monster.” He cocked the gun. “Tell me how you did it. How you killed my dad you fucking monster.” He demanded.

There was no response on Harry’s end. You hear something fall to the ground and then Edmund’s smug laughter. What the hell was going on? You quietly peak from out your hiding space. The minimal lighting made the scene hard to make out but by the looks of it Harry had...given up. He had thrown his pick axe ahead of him, taken off the mask, and dropped to his knees. A gloved hand on the barrel of the gun pointing it to his head. You couldn’t believe your eyes. Was he insane? Edmund goes into a end game spill about how long he’s waited to do this. How he’d pin the Sheriff’s and I’s murder on Harry and walk out the mines a hero. During this you start to crawl towards them, ready to rush him or throw a rock, anything to buy Harry time. Your chest is tight as you hold your breath. Nearing the both of them as quietly as you possibly can. Edmund cocks the gun and says something to the effect of “everyone dies, somebody should’ve take your sorry ass out long ago.” Before you hear a shot.

It hits the ceiling once you use all your might to swing Harry’s pickaxe into Edmund’s head, through his cheek. The blast was so close to Harry he fell back in pain. Edmund leans on the wall holding the left side of his face, still turned away from you. When he does look at you all the blood drains from your body. His tongue hung from the broken jaw like a salivating dog, torn flesh dangled around missing teeth, with so much flesh exposed blood spritzed out every time he moved closer to you. He couldn’t move his jaw so when he spoke it was a gurgled cacophony of rage and disbelief. You lift the pick axe once more but see him lift the shotgun and take aim. This makes you freeze like a deer in headlights. You close your eyes, bracing for impact. But to your surprise it never comes. Instead Harry had gotten up and tackled him, only problem was that he got shot.

The two men fell to the ground. Edmund kicking him off and frantically reaching into his pocket for two more shells. Without thinking you kick the gun from his hands. He tried to get up but you stomp on his chest with all the rage bottled up inside. He looks up at you with that mangled face and large eyes but mercy was the last thing on your mind. You look over him, raise the crude weapon, and allow the cold metal to pierce through his chest. You let out a exasperated scream as you continue your onslaught. Hammering down years of neglect, wasted time, slander, and abuse into what’s left of his broken body. When you’re done he’s left torn apart. Rib cage broken and organs exposed. In all the madness you vomit from the stress and overall exertion of energy you used up. The groans from Harry snap you back to reality and you go to aid him.

“Oh god oh shit hold on hold on.” You ramble. Your hands try their best to cover the wound. He was shot in the side. Luckily it wasn’t a direct hit but without medical attention it was gonna get nasty. You use Edmund’s jacket to help stop the bleeding. He was just staring at you. “What? What the hell are you gonna yell at me for now???” You yell trying not to cry. He lifts a bloody hand to your face.

FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DRAGON BALL Z

[wildernessuntothemselves]

You’re Mine, You

Genre: Is disturbing a genre? because this is disturbing, also smut of course

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Your boyfriend of a few months has always been attentive and loving, albeit a bit too possessive, but it was nothing that could've prepared for how obsessed he'd turn out to be.

Warnings: yandere!wonpil, mentions of murder, dubcon, choking, implied forced pregnancy.

Based on this ASMR and this song. 

If you know the maker of this gif, let me know so I can credit them.

You turn on the light as you walk into your bedroom, and almost jump several feet in the air as the light flickers on and see a figure sitting perfectly still at the head of the bed, legs crossed and hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Jesus, darling, you scared me.” You laugh breathlessly, pressing a hand against your rapidly beating heart. “Why were you sitting in the dark like that?”

“I was waiting for you.” He offers no further explanation, and you feel a strange sense of dread prickle at your skin at the way he remains eerily still, his expression stony and unreadable. “You’re late.”

“I got held up at work.” You lie nervously, your muscles tightening up at an ill-defined sense of danger your conscious mind can’t trace the source of.

Why were you getting so anxious? You may have not been telling the truth but it’s not like you were hiding anything salacious. It was merely a little white lie to save you both any unnecessary headache.

You haven’t been dating Wonpil for long, but you were already aware of how incredibly jealous he got over the smallest things. You’d frequently have to spend hours assuaging his worries and reassuring him that you love him and that he has nothing to worry about. So, tonight–feeling exhausted enough from work–you decided to just lie and not tell him that the real reason you were late was because you had gone out to dinner with a new coworker of yours so you’d be spared having to spend the rest of the night dealing with your boyfriend’s unfounded insecurities.

Wonpil stares at you for a second longer before his face melts back into that familiar warm smile, “Well, hurry up and get changed so we can go to sleep.”

And on the surface, everything seems fine. He’s back to being your sweet, loving boyfriend that always exudes calming energy in excess, but this time they feel different, like you were suddenly aware of something you hadn’t been aware of before and instead of feeling soothed and reassured, you start wondering if maybe this sweetness wasn’t a coverup for something more ominous that you’ve only now caught a glimpse of.  

“Something wrong, love?” He wonders cutely, and you shake your head. “No, I’m just tired.”

“Go on, then, my arms are open and ready for cuddling.” He prompts, smile as wide as his embrace.

You smile back and nod, fetching your things quickly and walking into the bathroom. However, the sense of uneasiness doesn’t leave you as you finish freshening up and getting ready for bed. It stays with you as you head back into the bedroom, turning off the light and slipping under the covers. It only lifts slightly when Wonpil wraps his arms around you and, for a moment, you feel ridiculous for making yourself worry so much over nothing as you drift off to sleep in the safety of your boyfriend’s loving embrace.

But it doesn’t last for long.

You’re pulled back from the edge of slumber when you feel Wonpil’s lips on your forehead, starting off with small, cute little kisses that have you giggling and snuggling deeper into him, but they slowly turn more heated and firm, travelling down your face and along your jawline until he captures your lips with his own, and by then, the kisses have turned entirely too hungry.

“Pili,” You whine against his lips that seemed to be trying to devour you whole, “I’m too tired.”

“You know I love you right?” He asks suddenly, completely ignoring your protest and catching you off guard by the unexpected question.

“Of course.” You frown, confused. Where was this coming from?

“And do you love me?”

Oh, there he goes again. “Wonpil…”

“Answer me.”

You couldn’t see him in the dark but you knew by the stinging frost that freezes the air and crystallizes in your lungs that that strange expression was back on his face.

“O-of course, baby. You know I do.”

“And you’d never lie to me, right?” His voice rang in your ears, as soft as ever, but instead of the delicate little songbird it always reminded you of, images of treacherous sirens and deceivingly dulcet songs come to mind.

“Wonpil, I…” You choke, all too aware of the weight of his arms around you, your feet already caught in the undertow. And he seems to know it too.

“You what, baby?”

“You’re scaring me.” You try to appeal to him, hoping that this was all just a misunderstanding and he’d snap out of it as soon as you make him aware that you felt unsafe.

But this nightmare was just beginning.

“What, you’re scared of me? Why?” He asks incredulously, and you’re entirely too conscious of the fact that his hands don’t fall from your figure. Instead he pulls you closer and rubs your back in a way that would’ve been soothing if it weren’t for his next words. ”The only reason you’d need to be scared is if you had lied to me, but you didn’t. Right?”

Your body stiffens under him and he feels it. “What’s wrong with you, baby? Why are you acting so weird today? You said you got caught up at work and I believe you.”

But you knew he didn’t. Even with the way your body had solidified into stone with fear, you could still feel the barely contained rage brewing underneath his paper-thin disguise.

“Work doesn’t always have to be in the office. Sometimes you need to sort things out over some nice dinner and a few drinks, right?” He asks innocently, but nothing was innocent about his insinuation. He was telling you that he knew where you actually were tonight and that he’s not happy about it.

“How did you…?” Your voice came out hoarse and weak, befitting of the statue you had become.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” He raises his hand and you flinch, thinking he was going to strike you but he just brushes your hair behind your ear and laughs at your reaction.

“What’s wrong, baby? Are you scared of me?” He pouts cutely, “You have no reason to be scared. I’m not mad at you, darling. You said it was a work thing and I believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. You’re smarter than that.”

You try to say something but it comes out garbled stutter and indecipherable, and Wonpil coos at you as if you were a cute baby struggling to put her words together and not a grown woman scared shitless of the strange man who seemed to have stolen her lover’s identity. “Aw, my baby is so flustered, it’s adorable. You’re so pretty, honey. And all mine, right?”

One of his hands slips under your top and slides up to your breasts, cupping and massaging them gently, as soft as his voice is.

“Y-yes.” You manage to croak, voice so small you wonder how he even heard you.

“That’s right, you’re all mine.” He whispers, kissing you as he continues playing with your breasts, and you hate yourself for how he still manages to get that familiar heat burning in your belly despite how terrified you were of him right now.

“I know you wouldn’t do something as stupid as to go out with another man and then lie to my face about it.” He smiles tightly, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples none too gently. “You don’t want poor Dowoonie to suffer the same fate as your meddlesome ex, huh?”

Your heart shrivels up with dread. How did he know what your coworker’s name is? And what does he have to with your missing ex?

“Come on, love, you don’t really believe what the police said about him running away, right?” His mocking question answers your unspoken ones as he easily reads you the way he always does.

You always thought you were so goddamn lucky to be with a man who could understand you without you having to say a word, but now you wish you could keep your thoughts hidden from his sharp, all-seeing eyes.  

“I mean he tried to run, but he didn’t get very far.” Wonpil smirks–a strange look on such a kind face.

“No, you’re lying.” You shake your head violently, denying his words. “You couldn’t have hurt him. You… you…”

“Why are you crying?” He grumbles, annoyed at your reaction. “Are you actually sad for that piece of shit? He was trying to tear us apart, baby. He wanted to take you away from me so I carved his rotten heart out.”

“No, it’s not true. You’re lying!” You sob, covering your ears so you wouldn’t have to hear any more of his chilling confessions. You wish to go to sleep and forget any of this happened, to wake up in the morning in the arms of your sleepy boyfriend who gives you a tired smile and groggily tells you that this was all a bad dream and to go back to sleep. But this nightmare was never ending, and Wonpil wasn’t interested in playing the part of the sweet boyfriend anymore.

He grabs your arms and pins them over your head, an ugly scowl distorting his face. “I don’t like seeing you cry over another man. So stop it or I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

Then he proceeds to clamp a hand over your mouth and, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch your nose, he cuts off your breathing completely. “I said, stop it.”

You struggle against his hold, thrashing wildly on the bed, eyes wide with terror and fingers clawing at his arms to no avail. You realize with dismay that the small, gentle boy you fell in love with was neither of those things and that he had fooled you with his soft disposition into underestimating the things he was capable of doing, and now you were paying the price for your gullibility.  

Your vision starts to get hazy as you feel the life slip out of your body, but one thing remains in sharp focus: Wonpil’s unblinking eyes that stare down at you, waiting for you to either stop crying or stop breathing.

Somehow, someway, you stop crying first–probably because of all the adrenaline pumping through your body at the moment, drying up any droplet before it even leaves your eyes–and Wonpil, finally, lets you go.

You feel like you were born again–not in the clean, pure way it’s portrayed in poetic prose, but painful and teary and visceral as you gasp for air and force it into lungs that don’t know how to handle it, the alveoli almost tearing at the unfamiliar stretch while your blood vessels sing at being once again flooded with air.

And Wonpil… he just laughs at your struggle.

“You’re so silly, baby. I really thought you wouldn’t stop crying there for a second.” He says nonchalantly and, taking advantage of the way your head was thrown back as you continue gasping for air, he buries his face in your neck and kisses you, biting and sucking harshly on the sensitive skin.

“God, seeing you like this is turning me on so much.” He groans in your ear, his hand going between your legs to rub you through your clothes.

“Oh, what’s this?” He pull back with a smirk, biting his lip hungrily. “Why are you so wet, baby?”

You feel a wave of nausea wash over you at the realization that you are wet, that he got you wet despite revealing himself to be an absolute fucking psychopath. What the hell is wrong with you?

“You’re soaking through all your clothes.” He remarks with wonder, beyond delighted at your body’s response. “Did you like getting choked this much? Should I do it some more?”

He wraps his free hand around your throat and you immediately break down into tears again. “No, no, please, no more. I don’t want it ever again.”

“Really? Then why are you so wet, darling? Are you lying again?” He asks you in a baby voice, pouting that you’re not playing along.

You press your lips together tightly and shake your head, pleading with him through teary eyes to have mercy on you. He must’ve liked that because he smiles sweetly at you, “I get it. It’s being reminded who owns you that got you this hot and bothered. It’s okay. I can remind you in other ways.”

Wonpil sits back and tugs on the leg of your pajama pants, “Take this off.”

You remain frozen with dread. You didn’t want to have sex with him despite what your body was showing. He’s a monster.

“Huh? Are you rejecting me?” He scoffs, “Stop messing around darling or I’m going to get angry.”

His toothy smile resembles a snarl more than anything and you know that he’s ready to sink them into your flesh if you don’t obey so you hastily take off your pants and lay down again, waiting for his next move.

“Open your legs, darling.” He prompts, nudging your foot. “Yeah, open them wide for me.”

You do as told, and he sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of your bare heat. “Shit. Why are you so pretty, baby?”

His fingers run smoothly up and down your dripping slit, and Wonpil can’t hold back the hunger within him much longer. Bending his head down to your heat, he orders you to keep your eyes on him.

His tongue laps at you, nudging your lips open ever so slightly so he could tease you, only allowing a small strip of your pussy some pleasure, and you find yourself involuntarily opening your legs up wider and pushing your hips up towards his mouth, seeking more from the man who aroused you as much as he terrified you.

Pleased with your eagerness, he rewards you by eating you out properly, his lips kissing and sucking on your pussy while his tongue strokes up and down firmly–all the while his eyes continue to stare up at you, so big and bright and kind that you almost forget all the sinister things hiding behind his pretty eyes.

“Fuck,” He drags his teeth ever so slightly over your clit then opens his mouth wide to suck greedily at your pussy when your hips buck up into his face. With his fingers teasing at your entrance, he mumbles against your heat, sounding and looking as fucked out as you are, “Is this all for me?”

“Yes! Only for you.” You reassure him right away, scared that he wouldn’t believe you despite it being the truth.

“So needy.” He hums, pushing his middle finger inside you and biting his lip at the way your walls clench eagerly around it. “You’re so good for me baby. I love you so much.”

He puts his mouth on you again, moans and gasps slipping from the both of you as his tongue laps up your juices and his finger pumps in and out of your sopping pussy that just keeps dripping more, filling the room with the most obscene noises and goading him on. His actions turn crude and sloppy, and his endless moans permeate your sensitive skin and stimulate your nerve endings directly, pushing you over the edge.

“Ah, Wonpili, oh god, ah, don’t stop.” You cry out, your hands automatically reaching out to grab his hair as you cum on his mouth and fingers.

Wonpil happily lets you hump his face as you cum, and gradually slows down his ministrations as your body calms down. Sitting up, he pushes his pants down with his dry hand then proceeds to jerk himself off with his cum-soaked hand. “Baby, I can’t wait anymore. I have to have you. Can I, baby?”

You close your legs, not to deny him your heat but to rub your thighs together, still so needy even after your orgasm, too fucked out to care how twisted this is.

“Greedy little baby,” He drawls, forcing himself between your legs and lining his dick with your entrance. “Let me take care of that.”

He pushes in slowly– so, so slowly– letting out the breathiest moans with every inch that goes in, all while his hungry eyes eat you up, and you’ve never felt more aroused nor disturbed before. But the feeling of him filling you up so completely, your walls distended from the stretch, feels right and you’re scared that you won’t be able to experience a feeling so intense with another man. Not that Wonpil will let you. So when he tells you how good you make him feel and how much he wishes he could stay wrapped up inside you forever, you can’t help but whimper your agreement.

“You’re so pretty, my baby. I love you so, so much.” He gasps, barely moving his hips and yet you know he feels as overwhelmed as you do. “Do you feel me inside you? Feel how hot and hard I am, just for you?”

He pulls his hips back ever so slightly then thrusts forward, the engorged head of his cock hitting so deep inside you, you don’t know if it’s painful or pleasurable, but your legs automatically close around his waist and pull him closer to you.

“Want me to start moving, baby?”

“Yes, please.”

“Ah, shit,” He groans as his cock slides out of you, but he’s quick to silence your cry of protest as he pushes back in quickly, making you feel complete again. “Shh, baby, I’ll give it to you good. I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

You shudder at his words and his eyes seem to darken at your reaction, getting hazier the more scared you appear.

“You really drive me crazy, you know that?” He moans, thrusting faster. “You feel so, so good. Do I make you feel good too?”

You hastily nod, knowing better by now than to make him wait.

“Good. You better remember that because if I ever catch you doing something like this with another man… well, let’s just say that it won’t feel very good for the both of you.” He smiles wickedly at you, his hands going to push your shirt up and play with your breasts. “Only I can do this to you.”

Leaning down, he plants wet, sloppy kisses all over your chest, a contrast to the way his hips thrusts into you with deep, deliberate strokes.

“Who do you belong to, baby?” He growls, one of your nipples stuffed in his mouth still and you shudder at the gravelly vibrations. “Who owns you?”

“You do.” You shudder, clutching onto his hoodie helplessly. “I’m yours, Wonpil.”

“Fuck, yes, you are.” He grunts, his thrusts losing their pace as they get rougher. “Say it again, baby. I want to hear you say it again.”

Wrapping both hands around your neck, he positions his thumbs over your trachea, not pressing down but letting you he will if you refuse.

“I’m yours. I’m only yours. I belong to you, Wonpil.” You cry out, repeating what he wants to hear so he’d have mercy on you, but he ends up liking it so much he inadvertly chokes you anyway as he presses his weight forward so he can speed up his pace, nearing his end.

“Fuck, yeah, you are.” Wonpil stares down at you struggling against his hands, but he either doesn’t see or doesn’t care, not letting go until his cock jerks inside of you and his hot seed distends your pussy even more.

And that’s when you cum too, your whole body burning up as the orgasm tears through your oxygen starved body.

Wonpil pulls back to take in your ruined body, his eyes lingering on your neck that was savoring the imprints of his fingers and on your pussy that was overflowing with his cum.  Scooping some of the cum that trickled down your ass, he pushes it back inside, blinking and letting out a heavy breath at the squelching sound they make.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy.” He laments, as if he wasn’t deranged already. “I love seeing you dripping with my cum. I wanna fill you up every day and every night until everyone knows who you belong to.”  

He falls over you, and by now your body expects the breathlessness and scorching heat he brings about, and welcomes it.

And yet, Wonpil still manages to surprise you.

“Oh and baby, one more thing…” His tone is nonchalant against your ear but you could hear the wicked smile in his voice and it chills you to the bone. “I swapped out your birth control pills for vitamins.”

Your heart drops down your chest and into his hand that was caressing the skin over your lower belly lovingly. “That way our baby can grow big and strong inside you.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

A/N: This was the fastest fic I’ve written in like a year lol so please let me know what you think. 

[goingsllightlymad]

Blinded By Your Light - Part 6. On Changing.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it’s peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Wordcount: 6415 (I’m busy as hell with studying so I decided to publish the chapter I was writing as two shorter parts, this is the first so calm down that the ending’s pretty shit, I am going to resolve it with the next chapter and it’s allllllll gonna be chill). 

Warnings: poorly written ANGST. You’re all gonna hate hate me for this one, looking directly at you @captivatedbycillianmurphy.

__________________________________________________________________________________

And so the months came and went through the grey streets of Small Heath like the shadow of some endless night, ebbing and flowing with the tides of time, and for the first time in your life the world did not change at all. Only the warmer days warned you that this long winter could not last forever, and all of a sudden it was over and the days were longer, bright with the flowers that came to the bakery door every morning. You gave them with the bread as you made your rounds past houses where every day the memories came creeping back, softer and sweeter and there was no pain here anymore. And in the evenings there was dancing in the upstairs rooms of the pub, you and Ada and a million dresses laid around the chairs and bed and mirror as you spun and dipped into the ecstatic dream of freedom. You were a child again, and all the world was yours once more and he was not a part of it anymore and that was just fine.

It would be a lie to say that you did not think of him, but it was only in the late nights when it was just you and your candle, looking out over the buildings at the trains as they wound away, a path you didn't take and would spend forever wondering what might have happened if you had. And when the spring fell away to summer you saw again the sunsets on the city that pulled you to the rooftop so many times before, wide-eyes wondering at the world you had not seen, ghosts of former lovers hanging onto your sleeve as you spread your arms like wings to fly away and knew you never could. Never would, because for the first time you could see no world but here outside your windows, and it suited you just fine.

And there was you and Ada, and you and Polly, and sometimes you and John, sitting and having tea in the summer sunlight, chasing round the market in your shawls and coats and painting in your mind all the colours of the apples and carrots and plums like they meant everything in the world to you. No blood, not even in those nights when you could hear the guns ringing through the darkened streets and wondered almost where Small Heath ended and your tortured mind began, the memories of a war half-left behind and somehow never left. You were safe and you were happy, and everything was going to be just fine.

Polly was opening up to you more and more as the winter melted away; by summer she was your mother, clasping your hands in hers and telling you to be wise and brave and sure of all you did, and all your stories were hers to read and note and read again whenever she saw your face and it was strangely comforting to see her everyday the same, even when she knew. She knew you, knew all you did and all you had done, and every time she looked at you there was no fear at all, and you wished for nothing more. Ada had become a friend and then a sister, she came to you at night when she could not bear to be alone with all the gunshots pounding out from their street and you both knew you'd never ask, never force her to tell what was best left unspoken, out of sight and out of mind. And there were the days when you returned to the church and there was John with your father in the little kitchen where the sun never seemed to reach all the way through the window, and you could not remember laughing as much as you did in those afternoons alone together when there was no world at all outside of your window and nothing at all between you and him.

And soon July was ending, and you were sitting in the Garrison as usual, only now the sunlight was warm and calming on your face, streaming in in glorious waterfalls of melted gold through the front windows and bathing you in soft yellow glow. The room was silent, as it often was these days as the three girls sat thoughtfully, staring into your teacups and smiling softly, lethargically. These long summer days brought hot nights, the town shimmering in balmy heat and all the world  a little crazier. There were fights in the evenings, hot blood on hot stone. Each night you hurried home a little earlier to find your away from the bubbling anger of the Garrison, where blood boiled by the bar. There was a storm brewing in the distance, dark and ominous as the clouds of cold autumn rain that hovered now in the early mornings, watchful as the eyes of God, and summer had lasted too long.

At the sound of the door flung open, all three heads jerked up, the comfortable silence shattering instantly as the room was filled with heavy footsteps, the screech of the door where the oil had dried up in the heat of days gone by. Into the room there came a crowd of men in sharp grey suits and the familiar flat-cap, brims glittering and you really meant to ask what there was about it that made you so uneasy.

"And make sure it's done by tomorrow, mind. We're not exactly rolling in spare time."

And there he was, the crowd clearing around him and all you saw was him in front of you, beautiful as the moment you had left and he was so beautiful it took your breath away. And you thought you might cry, your eyes fixed on him and your cup of tea dropped back into its saucer on the table, and then his eyes met yours and suddenly he knew.

"Go." he waved a hand and the men went, just like that, and Ada reached out to touch your arm and you held her hand tight, holding her in place because if you were left here, alone once more with him as though no time had passed at all, you weren't entirely sure what you'd do.

"Tommy," it slipped out of your mouth, a whisper so weak he might not have heard it, but he did and his eyes were so cold. His face hard as stone and crueller still than that cold winter spent without him and without even his letters, promised as they were. The way he looked at you, you thought you might never have met him at all, for in those brilliant blue eyes there was an icy hatred you had never seen before, cold as the grave and unfeeling as he stared you down, willing you to speak or willing you to leave, you knew not which. Looking on at him in the hope of a sign, something small to tell you that this was indeed the same man who had kissed you on the train station, promised you a lifetime you knew he could not give, it tore you apart to know that you did not recognise this man at all.

"(Y/N)." he spoke finally, voice flat and disinterested as if you were just another business proposal that he had no care to consider, the least wonderful thing he had seen all day. He remembered you - for a moment you had wondered if any of this had ever been real, if he simply did not know you at all, and in a way this was so much worse. He knew you, and even you could tell from his detached expression that he did not love you. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Yeah, I gathered." through the agonising sadness that was pounding in your head and in your heart and ripping you into pieces there came a rush of bitterness, anger because hadn't he said that he would write to you until he could find you again, and wasn't he here in front of you now, a little taller and a whole lot crueller than the last time you had met? You let your hand slip out of Ada's and she and Polly stood quietly and disappeared into the backrooms. It was only you and him now, along with all the universe in between.

"So where've yer been?"

"In the hospital. Some of us couldn't leave." you muttered, breaking eye contact and taking in the pub, suddenly aware that where you had been waiting for this one moment since the moment he had left, now you would rather be anywhere on earth but here with him. This was anything but the sweet reunion you had dreamed it to be in all those lonely nights in the hospital and the days when you couldn't help but see his face in every beautiful thing around, and he was anything but the sweet man you had fallen so in love with in those days when you could almost forget that love was there at all, so hateful was the world behind you.

"And now you're back. Funny how the world turns out." he sounded so much like his aunt had, that first day when she was so far from you, reading you like you could fall apart before her, your deepest secrets spilling unto her watchful eyes, and you wondered could he see himself written upon your aching soul the way you could feel it each night, eating you alive? And if you never learned from him, waited for him forever and became only the shreds of how his love had left you on that dreadful day on the platform, would he see that too? Or were you now too far away for him to find you, as you feared he was to you.

"I'm not back for you." but yes you were, and both of you knew it. Your footsteps would always lead you back to him, unknowing as you were as you followed blindly into the pits of destiny's shame. You were here for him, and if you stayed you'd do that for him too. "You'd know if you'd written."

"And why would I do that?"

And there it was, the great and terrible blow that sent you reeling, his voice so harsh it cut into you with all the force his love had never borne for you. You laughed bitterly, and when you looked at him again all you saw was the cold and broken body of a man who had once loved and now could love no more. He never wrote, he never loved, was there anything this man could do? A kinder girl than you might have pitied him, but after everything you had done in these last years you were so much more than kind. You were proud, and you were furious.

"Because there was a part of me that was so sure you loved me." your voice broke at that, and you prayed he wouldn't notice. He did, of course he did, he was Thomas Shelby and he noticed everything he could use to his own gain and suddenly you were realising that, but only after you had become yet another ploy he had slipped into his hands so easily. He had smiled at you and you used to feel special, but now you only felt like prey. You had been sure he loved you, just like you were sure that summer would come once the winter melted away, and that the sun would rise each morning and chase away the night, the simple certainties of nature, but now all you knew was that this winter was going to last a very long time, and the sun would be a long time rising. Outside the Garrison window the sun had passed behind a cloud; the room was quiet and grey, the colour gone away.

"Don't be ridiculous." he grinned like his aunt, cold and cruel and utterly malicious, but there was no softness behind his eyes like you had caught in hers, and it made you shiver despite the warmth of the days. This was not the man you knew, but this was the man you had always feared he might become, for this was the man that you had seen a million times before in the faces as they returned from the war, older now and irrevocably changed.

"More ridiculous than running away and never having the fucking nerve to write so much as one letter to explain?!" your voice was higher, louder than you had expected, thick with furious emotion that threatened to overwhelm you as you stood so close to him, throwing your hands up as you shouted. You took a moment to breathe, in then out, then turned to him slowly, words appearing in your head already steady and emotionless, the worst things you could think and you knew you had to say them now or else you'd see them every time you closed your eyes, taunting and true. "You know, I thought you were a fool, but I never took you to be a coward."

He straightened, squaring up and his jaw locking, and in that moment the last shred of the man you had loved finally fell away, and in the man it left behind you wondered how many people he had killed. He had that easy malice that made you think he'd lost count. "Watch it."

"Or what? Far as I've gathered, you don't care about me at all. Don't see why we should change that, now should we?" you were taunting him now, stepping closer to hiss it against the hot skin of his throat and you could still see the faint lines of scars you'd dressed, out of place as though they were not his past at all, stolen words from someone else's love-story and wasted in his tale of woe. Tommy Shelby was a poet, Thomas Shelby a murderer.

"You shouldn't be here." he gritted his teeth, breathing out through his nose and biting back the anger that was burning through his face and fists and every cell in his body. You were so close he could almost taste the soft, sweet perfume you had always used in those empty days in the hospital when you were the only thing keeping him from going insane, his saving grace and now you were before him and against him and you had never hated him so much before.

"Oh really? And where, pray tell, should I be? Sticking it out in an empty hospital after the war has fucking ended in the hopes that you would write so much as once?!" you tried not to cry, tried not to scream as it hit you all over again that you had stayed there, long after you could have left, could have been done with all the blood and all the torture you put up with for him. War was hell and you had walked through it gladly, past turning back, past reason, because once he'd asked you to and now he only left you there to burn. You stepped back, pushing him hard with one hand and he caught you by the wrist, holding you in place, feeling your heart beating strong and fast and knowing you were real.

"It's not fucking safe here." he muttered under his breath and you wrenched your hand away, turning around and grinning like a madman, all your anger, all the rage that had been boiling in you for all these months alone finally rushing up through your head and into your mouth, thick and sour and burning like the hot summer sun inside you.

"I was in a fucking war! Don't you fucking dare tell me what's safe and what isn't!" now you were screaming, shoving him and swearing like the rest of the house couldn't hear you, or simply didn't matter. All that was gone now, only you and him and how much you could hurt him before he would push back. You couldn't help but think of when you'd loved him endlessly, you and him and, far away, the nurses knowing nothing, and now there was only hate.  

"Oh you were in the war, were you?!" and he was angry, angrier than you had seen him, even in those days when vengeful fate was crushing his broken body in the hospital bed a million miles away. He was burning, the fire behind his eyes brighter than you had ever seen it before, and you wondered if he had ever loved so furiously, so strong it brought the gods to tears and how beautiful he might have been if he had had a heart at all. "Funny, as far as I could see you were just some middle-class university girl playing at doctors and pretending she wasn't just kidding herself she was actually important to someone!"

And then the silence, the awful waiting as you looked at him, tried not to cry as the tears welled in your eyes and he had never been so lovely as he was when you could not see him at all. In the blur of all the pain he sent your way, you could almost kid yourself he was the man you'd thought he'd been. But he was ruthless, he was cold, and you saw it in his eyes that all those medals, all the stories, had made a sense you'd never seen before. The war was won by men like him and all the awful things they did.

"Get out." you could not find the voice within you that you had had before, only the hoarse whisper that shook and broke with that sad hate that you thought would last forever.

"It's my fucking pub!" he threw up his hands. You stood still another moment, breathing deep and shaking with the rage that coursed through you, livid as the summer heat and bright as all those nights alone when you wondered if you would ever see him again. You almost wished you hadn't.

"If I ever see you again, I'll fucking kill you, Thomas Shelby." You reached for the frame of the open door, looking out into the street as you heard him laugh, insidious and dreadful as the winter creeping in, behind you in the pub. Your voice was steady, your words heavy with a truth that both of you could see, and there was not a part of you that doubted that you would, you really would. This town had got to you, and you were not like you were before. Things were so very different. You couldn't help but take one last look at him, praying that he could see what he had made of you and knowing he had eyes only for himself.

"If you think I'm coming after you then you're very much mistaken, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." and there was that emptiness in his eyes that made you think you weren't going to see him again, and you were just fine with that.

"So dark and brooding. You know, I think I might have loved you for that. But now? Right now I just think you're pathetic. Someday you'll come home and there'll be no one there anymore.  And I think you're fucking terrified. Come after me or don't, just know I won't be waiting." the last words dropped to a choked sob, a curse upon him and upon this whole damned town, pull you together as it was always made to do. Your uncle once told you that when you loved someone, really loved them, every road would lead you back to them, and now all you wanted to do was set fire to every last brick until the whole city went up in flames. If your fate was written, so help you you would find the book and not rest until you had pulled each last word from its cruel pages.

As you stormed out of the Garrison, teeth gritted to try and stifle the tears that pricked at your eyes, you slammed into someone. Apologising and trying to make them out through teary eyes, all you could see was a smudge of blonde hair, a slim figure and a pretty green dress. You rolled your eyes and slid past her. You had spent too long in the neighbourhood to ask her what she was doing here. You thought you'd rather not know.

You didn't entirely know where your footsteps were leading you - not to the church, with its false pity and God still falser, the secrets in the crypts that whispered to you your life was empty, loveless. Nor to the bakery, with your aunt's loving arms and the hatred you would leave at the door. You didn't want to leave it; you wanted to feel it coursing in your blood, hot and true like nothing you had felt for months. It was only when your world came whirling in a rush that you knew it turned at all, and it was only when your heart was pulsing to explode that you know it beat at all. All these months, thinking you were barely alive, but now you knew. You were, and you would remain forever, very much alive and very vengeful indeed.

________________________________________________________________________________

Without knowing it entirely, your footsteps lead instead to the Cut, the abandoned warehouses where you had used to hide in years gone by, waiting excitedly for your aunt and uncle as they came home from work in the early evening, baskets of bread and sweets for you as you ran out into their arms. Sitting on the riverbank, looking down into the distorted reflection of your face upon the water, you wondered if you could close your eyes and have it all gone. You had never asked for this, you had never wanted this. Boys, men, the endless heat of this godforsaken city, a grim horizon that you had never seen looming before you, and now here you were at the ends of the world as you knew it and you had nowhere left to go. Leave the town and leave it all unfinished the way you swore you never would again, or stay and fight and know that nothing would ever be quite as good as it was in that other, sweeter, eternity.

The water-line was low, and you slipped off your shoes and stockings, dipping your legs into the river as you shook your hair out of its plait and breathed out. It was calm here, calmer than anything else in this tumultuous city where every silence carried a hundred thousand words you couldn't begin to understand. France was simple, but France was far away, and you knew there was more than just a sea between you now.

You weren't going to cry - not here, not in front of all the world you could not see, waiting in the dockyards because work never stopped in this city of dust and ashes. Instead you threw a stone at the gentle grey water, felt the cool splash against your burning skin, tried to breathe when screaming came so easy, blinked and blinked again as your vision swam in watery uncertainty, felt the emotion draining out of you and fading away into the heat all around. You weren't prepared for this, any of this.

It was childish to expect that nothing would have changed, that you would come back and everything would be the way he had promised it would be from the window of the train as it carried him away. War was nothing more than a bleak and empty promise by men who knew no better way to kid themselves that they would be just fine, and his words could do no better. But what were you meant to do when he was there and he had been so beautiful, and now all you felt was shame. You hated him for everything he said and did, hated him for leaving and for coming back and for being there at all, but most of all you hated yourself for doing what you did. You knew even then that if love were ever real in this land of hate and death, then that was and would ever be the closest you would come.

Wrapped in your fantasies of love and life left behind, you didn't notice the footsteps behind you until they had stopped beside you on the muddy riverbank, the hem of the floral dress swirling in the gentle breeze.

"Rough day." the soft voice you knew, the voice that had got you into this mess because you didn't know when to walk away. There was a time to be brave and a time to call it quits, and you had missed that point a long time ago.

"Jesus Ada, give me some warning." you murmured, more to yourself than to her as she sat beside you. You'd known she would come after you - the whole town must know by now, a million voices in the streets with your name on everyone's lips and suddenly you knew what a fool you'd been to try and keep it secret. This was the last thing that was truly yours and now they knew, now the things you'd carried with you like the last chance you might someday get out of here, spilling out into the river as you grabbed at memories of the way he'd kissed you as he'd left you, the way he'd loved you when you'd thought he really did. This was the worst thing that could happen, and this was the way you dealt with it. You didn't think you had the life within you to run away again.

"I was worried about yer." she was looking at you, but you couldn't quite brig yourself to meet her eyes. Beautiful eyes, so deep and brown, nothing like her brother's at all. She didn't look liker her brother: she looked kind. She looked like she cared, and you knew that was the most dangerous thing of all.

"The whole world is worried about me." You sighed slowly, gazing out across the river at the bird wheeling around the tired beams of the warehouses not so far away. You were tired, tired of secrets and tired of your tiny little life, so big until right now. You'd spent so long thinking you'd never be big enough to fill the aching void of all the lives that you could live, and now the walls were pressing in and suddenly you were big and bad and filled with righteous anger. You were tired of Shelby's and tired of Birmingham and tired of the world beyond the grimy walls because nothing you could ever do would shout louder than the fact that even when you ran away you had never left at all. Everything you did was kept within this damned neighbourhood, and you thought it wasn't any wonder they murdered as they did, because here was Earth and here was Hell, and Heaven was not there at all.

You chuckled bitterly, tears stinging at the back of your eyes, hot with summer rage and the aching in your hands that longed to hit him for what he had done to you and longed for the justice that would come after. The man you loved, he would kill you for sure, for these were men who ruled a world of blood and death and your sweet Tommy was their god. You curled you hand into a tight fist around the smooth rock you held, and threw it into the water just to watch it sink.

"I didn't know." Ada's quiet voice shook you, brought you to her as it always did, and you turned to face her, to see the pity as it overwhelmed her pretty face. She pitied you, the child of pain and fate, she had seen what she had seen and she pitied you most of all, and for all these dreadful things you cried at least for that. What beautiful sins had her brother done that made her so unhappy, made him so damn cold?

"Because I never told you." you shook your head at her. You never told her, you never told a soul, because this was yours and yours alone. Yours to dream and yours to cherish, the one last thing about this goddamn town that no one else could know, the most beautiful moments of your whole life because sometimes you could close your eyes and pretend that he didn't exist at all, that it was all inside your head and the world would never have to know. No one would ever have to know.

"I wish yer'd told me. I could've-" she took your hands desperately, clasping them between her own and begging you, scanning you over like she had never known you at all. You wondered if she really blamed you for never telling her about you, about her brother. She didn't, she wouldn't; she had her secrets and you had yours and the rest of the world had its own, and no one seemed to know anyone these days. Not really, not anymore.

"The damage is done. There's nothing left to say." you slipped your hands out of her hands, smiled at her sadly as she grasped at words to say. There were no words to say, you'd said them all. Your words were crashing in the main room of the Garrison, filling the air until there was not air to breathe, and here the world was empty and you thought she might just catch a glimpse of your darkest soul if she looked hard enough, if she were looking hard enough. With shaking hands you took a cigarette out of your pocket, lit it and took a deep pull and passed it to her, lighting another for yourself.

"You 'aven't said anything at all." she pressed, and you knew she wanted to know a little more, and you also knew she deserved to know a lot more, but truly you weren't ready. She deserved the truth but no one got the truth, not when lies were so much more beautiful and so much more kind. The truth was only for those who had the wealth and confidence to not care what the truth was at all, for soldiers in the trenches and for politicians in their stony towers. It was 1919 and the truth was obsolete.

"I don't think I ever will." your voice was dreamy, and your heart far away. You thought you might have dropped it somewhere in the river that last morning, poured it into your coffee and left it there in the square as his face was already fading. What need had you of a heart if he would not let you love him as you did, if he tore it out and left you bleeding every time he looked your way with those cold dead eyes you loved more than life. There were no words to describe Tommy Shelby, and no feelings with which to do him justice, and even now your petty anger paled before him. It was like shooting at the tides and trying to stop them coming back and back and back to pull you out to sea. At this you drew your legs up out of the water, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around yourself, a little colder than before, despite the bright heat of the morning, a little less certain. You turned away again and blew a trail of soft, sad smoke over the water, and for a long moment there was only the silence of the river and the secrets in between.

"You loved him, didn't yer." It was quiet, almost not there at all, and you caught it through the lull of the water like the whisper of some dream slipping past you as you woke, and like a dream it stopped you in your thoughts, wrapping around your throat and keeping you from saying what you wanted to say. No, of course not. A summer fling, but it had lasted so much more than just one summer. A handful of months, a short eternity, and you thought you might have loved him all your life if you had only known his name. Certainly you had loved him since the moment he had smiled at you, the moment you had seen his eyes, the moment you had left him. You had fallen in love with him a million times, and you had loved him a little more every time.

"Who can ever say. I went to war, Ada. I did what soldiers do. I do what I do to keep myself alive." He kept you sane every single day, he saved you every time you saw his face. He had saved so many, and you had let him save you too, and that was all there was to say. And suddenly you were wondering if all the others fell so sweet, all those pretty girls and angels who he'd write to every day, he promised. You wondered how many knew he never would, and if it made any difference to them. You wished more than anything that you could be the sort of girl who kissed and never told, who could turn around and walk away with all your heart inside of your chest instead of leaving little shattered pieces along the way. Memories of you and him that you thought you must have dreamed up in your lonely mind, because you knew at least he didn't love you know.

"Are you alive?" she frowned at you and you really didn't know what to say. You'd stopped being alive a long time ago, and Tommy Shelby had absolutely nothing to do with it. They used to tell you that it was all some grim lottery, that some would die and some would live and some would spend the rest of their life dying, but no one survived this bloody war, only the horses. Who lived, who died, and everyone died and such was the world and such was the war and such would it always be. There'd be another war and more people would die and you would go on breathing and you'd like it a little less every day, because that was the way you did things when you were only made to die and all the world lived on alone.

"Are you?" you quipped back and put out your cigarette on the jagged stone that jutted out over the river, a road of stone but mostly dirt, tied with blood that ran like veins down the streets, the silvery threads of Tommy Shelby's spiderweb of crime. You turned to her and saw her breathe in and out - how nice to say that she was human when all you were was this tangled mass of broken bones and no soul left at all - and rested your hand on her shoulder to take in all the pallid skin, the emptiness behind. You felt the need to feel every inch of her and know that she was not a name like that sad boy you'd tried to love, she was yours, forever and ever and always, and she wasn't going anywhere.  

"Doesn't matter about me right now, does it." she took a piece of your hair and twirled it in her fingers, leaning your forehead against hers and sighing against your skin, so close that you could taste the sweet perfume on her neck and the smoke that lingered on her tongue, like waking up beside her and knowing she was yours. "I should've told yer. Might've saved us all this trouble."

"It's not your job to keep your brothers in line, Ada." you placed your hand over hers, You were right: it wasn't her job. It was her job to find a nice boy, an honest boy with no blood on his hands, and fall in love with him and get married and get away from here, because no one else seemed to do that here. Something about her told you that she would be the first to have all this and more, and something else told you that she already had. Not for the first time you had the unmistakable feeling that there was so much in her you didn't know. "I appreciate the effort, but I made this mistake. I think I have to figure this one out myself."

"I'm here." she squeezed your hand, twining her fingers with yours and bringing your hand down to your lap. She pulled away a little to look into your eyes, send you a sympathetic gaze that meant nothing more than she would be here when all the world had burned away and nothing else was certain, because she knew that you would do the same, no matter what you did, no matter what her brother had done.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." you grinned lopsidedly at her, taking the chance to stand up and pull her up beside you, smoothing down her dress and leading you down the alleyway with a hand on the small of your back.

"At least let me bring you to the Garrison. Meet the rest of the family, make sure there 'en't any other nasty surprises, eh?" she gave you those big brown eyes that she knew made you melt, and you sighed dramatically, already knowing that you would give in.

"Fine. Just a drink, mind. Think I've 'ad enough of boys for just about the rest of my life." you rubbed your eyes wearily, half to make her laugh and the other half to make her look away from the bright tears that had not quite gone away since the moment you sat down, brushing them away quickly as if you thought she couldn't see them. She caught your hand, swinging it in hers and pressing a short kiss against the back laughingly. Check one, see you cry. You realised that it had been the first time. You realised how drastically okay it felt. 

And there she went ahead of you, and your hand was in her hand, and it was enough to make any pretty girl forget the world of Tommy Shelby, but not you. Not you. 

Taglist: 

@actorinfluence @captivatedbycillianmurphy @stressedandbandobessed7771

[a-coulter-winchester]

For Sale: Dead ends

Warnings: Some confrontation and excitement. 

Sunlight filled the room, birds chirped somewhere in a tree nearby. The hum of a car on the road droned off into the distance. Miles popped his head up and huffed at something out the bedroom window. The room was mostly peaceful except the soft snores and leveled breathing coming from you.

“I LOVE BOOMERANGS!” You shot up in a blaze of glory as a loud drilling noise came from across your window.

Miles was howling and barking at the intrusive sounds. You had fallen asleep with your laptop. The sound was starting to give you a headache or the lack of sleep was. You swallowed trying to wet your throat and pushed the laptop off your lap. You checked your phone to see that it was eight in the morning.

“Miles, who the hell drills at 8 am??” You hissed your grogginess was quickly replaced with anger. 

Your back and neck felt stiff from the awkward position you had slept in. Stomping towards the window you observed the situation in shock. You could see straight into Eric’s bedroom and he could see right into yours if he wanted to.

There he stood directly in front of the window. He didn’t have a shirt on, he had what looked to be a pair of boxers or pajamas bottoms on. The V peaking out of his waist band lead your eyes to his beautiful sculpted abs. You subconsciously bit your lip while studying every little detail of his perfect body.

In that moment you completely forgot about what a jerk your neighbor was. All you could think about was how much you wanted to run your tongue over his... your thoughts were broken as you made eye contact with him. He was staring right at you and even stopped drilling. His eyes seemed to see right through you. 

“Shit.” You awkwardly turned and then did a little 360 spin to face him again.

You pulled your window open and tried to throw on your best angry face. He copied you and shoved his window open before leaning out the window picking up on the fact that you were about to yell at him.

“Can you not drill this early in the morning?” Your blood boiled as he smirked at you and looked down for a moment.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me in here? You can get a better look that way.” He said holding onto the ledge of the window. His broad shoulders made the frame look a lot smaller. His muscles tightened with his grip on the frame giving you every detail of his hard body. 

“Wha-N-no. No! I was still waking up. Ew no thank you.” Infuriated at the comment you slammed the window shut and turned to leave the room. The drill started back up and now the image of the beautiful jerks smug smile stained your mind. “No just a dumb jerk Y/N, he’s not beautiful!”

You weren’t sure how he could literally threaten you to stay off his property and then to turn around the next day just to tease you about coming over.

A sigh left your lips as you stomped down the stairs. Annoyed with the events of the morning had you craving a hot fresh pot of coffee. While the coffee brewed you propped your elbows on the table leaning your face between your fingers. You gently massaged your temples wishing the kitchen would have been your quiet safe haven yet all you could still hear was his stupid power tools.

As If possessed you cradled your cup and walked out your front door. Was there peace on your porch? Not, now the sound seemed to echo from there so you let your feet carry you to your car which was parked on the street luckily instead of your garage. You climbed in lazily and shut the door with sigh as the sound was drowned out. You sipped on the thick warm liquid in peace while trying to recollect your thoughts. Surprisingly you had very little success in digging up any information on your Hot but Jerk of a neighbor.  He had somehow managed to keep a substantial amount of information off the internet.  

All you knew was that he was an ex-Marine and worked for Dauntless Inc. the rival company of Divergents International. That was also apparently where Four and Tris worked.  Once your coffee mug was empty you sighed and opened the car door reluctantly you had to get some work done. You prayed that he would be silent now as most of your work would be done at home from your laptop. To your surprise it was completely quiet. 

You managed to get a few hours of work done and decided it was time to take sweet little Miles out, who has been so patiently cooped up. Things seemed quiet over at the handsome devils house yet you didn’t want to assume he was out of his house.  Knowing your luck he would be creeping through his house trying to figure out how he’d control the neighborhood next. Keeping Miles close you let your thoughts drift, it was a really nice warm day out with a perfect breeze.  The Neighborhood was mostly quiet except for the distant buzzing of someone mowing their lawn, the occasional car passing by and birds chirping back and forth. 

“Hey.” Four called out walking up the hill. You shook off your trance and smiled politely at him. 

“Hi Neighbor.” You chuckled watching as he stopped a few feet away from you. 

“How was your first night?” Four asked. shifting as he looked around for a moment then back to you.

“Good...until about the ass crack of dawn.” You partially joked but there was a heavy dose of annoyance in your tone. 

“Yeaah.. He’s going to try and push all your buttons. Don’t let him.” Both of you nodded in agreement about the asshole to the left of you.  

“Why don’t you come over tonight for dinner. Will and Christine are coming. it’s a BBQ thing.”  Four offered and inside you were excited to hear that. Eric was starting to make you uneasy. 

“Yeah sure. it’d be nice to make some friends.” You smiled and crossed your arms. 

“Ok. See you at 7:00.”  You barely heard what Four said as You caught movement out of your eye. 

Miles decided the best place to poop was in the one  yard that could end up being fatal for him. You felt frozen not wanting to yell to draw Eric out but also wanting to hurry up and get your dog. Four stood there next to you probably assessing the situation. You began to move before he reached out and gently gripped your arm. 

“Wait..” Four whispered. His eyes searched the premises and the house as best as he could.  “Go low.”  He advised and so you took a minute before crouching down. 

You made it to the hedges and froze again this time at the sound of the door to Eric’s house creaking open.

“Fuck!” You hissed and faltered before bolting towards your dog. You caught Eric in your peripherals He grinned and bit his lip in a ominous way. 

He bolted across the lawn directly towards you covering more ground than you could of imagined. He was quickly closing in on you. Your heart raced and your vision tunneled in on Miles who had just finished crapping on Satan’s lawn. Your hands wrapped around Miles clutching him quickly to you. 

A yelp left your lips as you sunk to the neatly manicured lawn to embrace the impact of Eric’s body. Nothing happened except for a very gruff  “Oomph.” Followed by a hard thud. You turned to see Eric and Four wrestling on the ground. 

“Y/N! Run!” Four yelled and you didn’t hesitate, you took off and B lined straight for your door.

You shut and lock the door panting and still cradling Miles close to your chest. Your legs burned as you took off up the stairs finally in the safety of your room. Worried about Four and the tussle you experienced outside you gathered your wits and took a peek out the window. The Lawn was empty and there was no sounds. No police sirens, sounds of pummeling or two brute men having a heated conversation. You sighed and started to pull back out of the window when your heart leapt up into your throat. Eric was glaring at you through his window.

He was angry and it made you feel many things. Your fear made sense but the heat spreading between your thighs is what confused you. “Shut the curtain and walk away!” A small voice in the back of your head screamed.  

“Four won’t always be there to protect you. Next time I see you outside, You’re Mine!” He hissed and slammed his window shut. Hard enough to break the glass but it stayed in tact. 

Everything felt weird, You should have been feeling more afraid. Angry even to be threatened. Maybe it was shock. You couldn’t figure out what he meant by that. That threat could have meant so many things.  Not only did you need to Thank Four but you needed answers from all of them at the BBQ tonight. how dangerous was Eric.. The more you thought about it the more you felt something odd stirring inside of you. Something that was almost curious to push Eric’s buttons back to see how far he would really go. You took a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves chalking it up to being an Adrenaline rush.  

Tags: @o0idk0o @iammarylastar @every-jai @angeli-fucking-cat @shitfire599 @12monkees @maddisach

[mynameisdreartblog]

Romantic Composers 1

Aries: Amy Beach. Instigation is such an amazing concept: there can be absolutely no why behind any of your actions. For instance, I could pick up this turd out of my toilet and throw it against the bathroom wall. «Yes, but will you? Heaven knows you can’t commit.» Ah, you see, that’s the point: I don’t have to commit. The mere thought of it is already changing the circumstances we reside in. «I can agree: I went from thinking your weird to thinking you’re incredibly weird: The turd-slinger lifestyle took a hold of you.» Mór, I’ll toss as much shit as I desire. […]  <The setting shifts towards a misty field, where there is a howling wind blowing the red fumes of a nearby cauldron. They lead back to a druid’s cave, known as such because there’s a sign that says there’s a druid in it.> «Ha ha ha! What lies instore for our duo? I sense irrational actions and grievous misfortune.» <A stereotypically timed lighting strike occurs in the background.> […]  «Réa, what’s up with you? You’re looking out at nothing with your hands on the toilet seat.» …Fucking hell, I think I sensed something devilish among here. <Réamonn takes their other hand out of the toilet, still soaked from the toilet water. Mór grabs their hand and shoves it back into the toilet bowl with an angry expression.> «What? No. If you’re gonna be here, you should commit to the bit!» <An argumentative feud erupts between the two.> Aye, you fucking cunt! I know when to stop, and you’re the one taking this too far. «Not to be a joker, but you’re far too deep in the shite to quit now.» […] <We return back to the mist of the druid’s cave, and here we can see him cackling at the recent misfortune he brewed.> «Ha ha ha! I’m the mastermind behind all of the world’s divisive pitifulness! So much that I killed my previous assistant over scratching my rings!» <The druid’s crow squawks at him, because druid’s have birds now.> «Right, I know that’s a horrible tale, but nobody’s around to hear it!» […] <We cut back to Réamonn and Mór fighting.> «What’s gotten into you?» That’s, argh, what I’m, humph, trying to f-figure out! <Toilet water begins to splash all over the room.> «Right, next thing you’re gonna tell me that you decided that you’re the plumber.» <So, the two mess around in the bathroom for what seems like an hour until Réa’s mum comes in to yell at both of them.> «What the fuck are the both of you doing? I’ve been trying to take a shower in the other bathroom this whole time, and the only thing that’s been running is water colder than the farmer’s bog in November!»

Gemini: Louis Gottschalk. I smell someone, someone fishy here. It smells like someone here has a recent history of being too comfortable with colonialist apologia for French actions. Hmm, who is this person? I guess we’ll never know: We may never be able to find the baguette. Mmm, I can just smell the sweet, delectable French bread from here. Mmm, mmm, mmm… <Heavy sniffing starts to occur, with it rampantly becoming more violent.>  Damn, it just smells SO GOOD. The French did nothing wrong except make these beignets way too damn mouth-watering: Mmm, mmm, mmm. Damn, I’d love me some of them right now to fill up my gullet. I just can’t control myself around that sweet French bread: I haven’t harmed anyone yet, but if they got in the way of my French bread, you’d have no idea what I’d do to get it. MMM, MMM, MMM. That French bread just makes me wanna <scronch>, and then <freerf>, and then <sus>. Mmm, mmm, mmm, I can smell it from here: It tastes so good; I need it in my tummy immediately. I never had a full piece of French bread before. FREERF, YEERF, SLUUURP, GADORF, MEONG, PADOOK, GURK LURP, SCHLIPPITY SCHLURP, PUHTAW, OOKARH, MEONG, DING DONG, KALOOKA, NOISOME, MMM. I love bread a lot, more than I loved my own family: My own family was turned into bead and sliced up by this maniac who loved pizza as much as I loved bread. I am a yeast of my own parts, I denounce my citizenship and move to France, I am now the one sane person left in this world. GAJOINK, BREKKIE, LOLISH, NAMBODE, ANGKOR WATT, MIRANDA WARNING, ZOOMIES, BOOMIES. I love bread. […] As you know, I’m quite the fan of bread, and I have a loaf of it right now. I think it’s time to "dive right in" as they say. [,] PUHTAW, that was awful! I took may too much bread in my mouth, but that was my favorite onomatopoeia to describe how this bread came out of my mouth. TIGERS JAW, SHOSPEL COLUPIS, SWOOCE, FUNNY BREAD, BREAD FUNNY, WOO, YAY, HURRAY FOR BREAD. ’Cause if you don’t <freerf>, then you can’t <swooce>, so how are you gonna <sus> or <jodge>? It just doesn’t make <se-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ns.> Hamburger: You make a hamburger with bread. Can’t have a hamburger with no bread! MMM, MMM, MMM, I love hamburgers. <jodge.>  […] But seriously, we all know that defending empires is bad? I don’t care if that empire gives you as much bread as you want, you’re still a slave and only through that empire can you get measly bread: Not the fulfilling kind of bread, the crumbs of the crumbs.

Scorpio: Giuseppe Verdi. <We’re greeted to a bustling city scene, there are many people on the street: Some wacky, some not so wacky. Here, we see Juyeon walking with her mom to the local market because she’s short of cabbage.> Mom, why are we here? «Your father always eats an absurd amount of cabbage, sweetie. And he gets very grumpy and resistant to doing chores when he doesn’t have it, so that’s why we’re here.» <Juyeon never believed that story; she never saw her dad eat a single piece of lettuce before.> Okay <she says in a very unsatisfied voice. All the while, the bustling of the urbanity dominates the atmosphere. Somehow, in the midst of this crowd, Juyeon’s ears pick up on a particular voice.> «I’m a lost adventurer, looking for the rest of my forgotten crew! Who wants to volunteer to be the child character in the middle of an adventure group that has to travel through hell and back? We’re looking for any psychic children to help aid us on our journey.» <The lost adventurer kept yelling this ad from the cat-corner, and in the midst of those words, the term "psychic children" caught Juyeon’s ear.> Say, mister! <Juyeon notices her mom eyeing cabbage, and takes this opportunity to investigate something her mom would normally disagree with. Hesitantly, the adventurer noticed Juyeon wobbling towards them.> You said something about psychic children, mister? «Why, yes! You must know that, prior to this, I was part of a band of four with the guts like me: We travelled many lands many dimensions even. We were all so young and filled with a look of wonder towards all we did.» Lots of kids have done what you said, but you’re trying to say there was something special about yours? Also, this must’ve been a long time ago ’cause you look like you’re my mom’s age. [,] «What you never knew is that we were all blessed with psychic powers… Long story short: They ended up being a burden to ourselves after our journey was done, and we tore each other apart spiritually.»  [,] All of that sounds cool, but I feel like it’s a bit too, uh…  «Hamfisted?» It has nothing to do with ham, but I kinda get the "fist" part. [,] It’s a bit… «Ominous?» Isn’t that like, a fruit? I don’t get it is what I’m saying. Where does the psychic stuff come from? Why did you end up here out of all places? Why did you grow out of it? Like, ugh, I don’t know… I thought this would be cool, but now I’m not sure. [,] «Hmm, I can tell, whenever you came into my line-of-sight, that there was something whimsical about you: A part of you that has yet to transcend into regression with age. You’re asking where the psychic energy comes from not out of cynicism but curiosity… I might as well demonstrate to you where it comes from.» <The lost adventurer points their fingers up into the air, channels an energy, and a bolt of technicolor light courses through it from above. As soon as Juyeon would be able to understand the demonstration, her mother angrily grabs her and pulls her back into the market.> «Don’t run off like that!»

Capricorn: Hector Berlioz. <There’s a grand trunk that spikes out from the rest of the wetlands: It towers over all the other ghostly trees. It seems to represent a glimpse into the future: One emphasized by its continued existence over the temporariness of the other woods around it.> «Are those wetlands, Mr. Robichaux?» You know, I like to say there’s no dumb questions, but that’s a dumb question: We are miles away from any wetlands. <The shuttle-bus hops up a bit as it goes over a bit of uneven road, causing Ikto to lose their hold on the window.> «I don’t know, it looks pretty swampy to me.» All swamps are wetlands, but not all wetlands are swamps. You learned this in third-grade science, c’mon now. <The shuttle-bus full of the band kids rolls over yet another snag in the road, causing turbulence that allows a mic-stand in the back to fall over.> Oof, that sounded like it was expensive: Good thing it’s not coming out of my paycheck and I can still afford ravioli. <As soon as that sound was created, the neglected oak remarked about earlier had water vapor gravitating towards it, an unusual sign in nature for sure. We cut back to Vinnie attempting to fill out a crossword puzzle about sewing terms: Something far out of his purview and a task made only more difficult by the rocking of the bus.> Itko, er, <Vinnie forgets the real name of the student.> Do you know what they call the machine involved in all yarn production processes? «That’s called a spinneret, Mr. Robichaux.» Is that spelled with two Ts and an E? Because that doesn’t fit in the boxes given. «There’s only one T with no extra E at the end.» Ah, perfect. <The water vapor condenses more and more around the grand trunk to the point where, despite the bus being two miles away from it, has already spawned storm clouds around its natural base. We cut back to Vinnie filling out #9 on the crossword puzzle.> «Nobody told us it was gonna rain outside today. Look, there’s already grey clouds in the sky!» <That could be heard from another student in the back of the bus: Vinnie either didn’t hear this or he willfully ignored it. He begins to whisper angrily to himself:> What kinda question is that: "Disengages all but the bobbin weaver?" Like I’m supposed to know any of this! <The collected water formed around the tree stump brings upon a ferocious storm: One with a name and a vengeance. Immediately, the storm moved at unreal speeds towards the bus. «It’s really windy right now!» How do you know that? Is it because you’re sticking your hands out the window, like you shouldn’t be doing‽ «I wasn’t sticking any of my limbs out the window!» Yeah, right. <Audible thunder edges closer to the bus, prompting the bus-driver, Elm, to push harder on the pedal. Ikto speaks up again.> «Mr. Robichaux, I’m scared of that tree.» Relax, it’s only the sign of a story before heading onto the highway: It means nothing and it’s distracting you. <A beam of concentrated lighting zooms past Vinnie’s window, likely a missed shot from the vengeful oak. Vinnie is too busy focusing on the puzzle to even notice.> Why are you all being so loud?

[rosetlntsmyworld]

Chassés and Lattes (Dela/Jinkx)

7: “Well, that’s tragic.”

SUMMARY: A spilled cold brew and ruined dance tights leads to some unlikely romance. Jinkx is terrible at walking in straight lines, and worse at flirting. Dela picked the wrong day to wear white.

Part of this drabble challenge - message me a number and pairing ;)))

Dela was blissfully unaware of her surroundings to say the least. Headphones on as she stood in the queue, humming airily as she ran through the steps she was planning to fit to the song in her head. Of course, teaching choreography of any sort to small children was about as straightforward as herding a few dozen hyperactive cats - five-year olds being less interested in learning the difference between third and fourth position than they were in twirling, and discussing the events of the previous night’s episode of Sesame Street - but she guessed she got points for trying. She had her dark hair scraped back into a bun - fully-dressed for class save for the Mary-Jane pumps she was donning in place of her practice shoes. Of course, this had to be the day that every single black leotard she owned was sitting in her long-neglected dirty laundry pile, but she’d thrown a white one on with a black cardi and hoped for the best. Of course the kids would question it, but then they questioned everything. Anything, she supposed, to avoid having to do any actual ballet.

She was entirely on a planet of her own as the line moved forward, slinging her purse over her opposite shoulder and fishing her phone out of it to skip this song. Perhaps Anaconda wasn’t the best thing to plan a class to. And perhaps she should have thought about planning said class before she was in the line in Starbucks, where she’d detoured before actually showing up to the studio. And so naturally, it came as a shock when she felt a body careen into her own, grabbing her shoulder to steady themself as they tripped. Dela twitched with the shock, instinctively throwing an arm out to the other person, again helping them in their pursuit of staying upright.  She eventually looked at this clumsy individual, the stranger’s eyes meeting her own as they stood upright properly.

Shit.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry - are you alright?” Dela had to try hard to speak coherently. The woman facing her still held onto her arm, a light smile on her cherry-painted lips. Said smile was drawn into a look of tentative worry as she had her brows furrowed, her awkward panic rife on her face. But she was fucking gorgeous. Now it wasn’t just the right that had Dela catching her breath - bright green eyes smiled into her own, a halo of coppery auburn hair framing the woman’s face from under the brim of her black felt hat. A nervous laugh accompanied her words - her voice kind and nervy all at once, that laugh decadently sweet and somehow charming in spite of its awkwardness.

“I- uh- yeah, I’m fine.” Dela eventually said with a toothy smile, nodding to assure the other woman as she lowered her arm, taking a step back. Okay, despite how blown away she was by the physical appearance of the red-headed beauty, that didn’t detract from the fact that she was now ominously...wet. And cold. “Are you-” “Oh, fuck.” The redhead slapped her forehead, a drawn grimace spreading across her face as she blushed to a shade of scarlet somewhere between her lips and her hair. “Oh no - I’m so fucking sorry- you shirt, I…” She trailed off, receding back into herself with a shrug and her teeth in her own lip as Dela looked down at herself - an enormous brown stain down her front, extending from her belly down to the white of her tights; a small pile of ice cubes on the floor and the other woman’s now-empty cup still in her hand. “God, I’m so fucking clumsy- I’m really sorry.”

Dela shook her head, giving a thin-lipped smile as she placed her hand on the other woman’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay - don’t worry, sweetie. It’ll wash out.” “Dammit, you’re probably going somewhere, too - I’m such a fucking klutz, honestly. Do you want me to- I dunno, help you clean up a little or something?” She offered with that same nervy smile on her face, her thin brows furrowed and hands wringing inside the sleeves of her black jumper.

“Oh, no - really, I…” Dela grimaced. “I’ll dive into the restroom, it’ll be fine.” “Well, I- look, at least let me buy you a drink or something. To say sorry.” She cocked her head to one side, trying her hardest to help in some way. Poor dear - the embarrassment was rife on her face, Dela pitying her as much as she was starting to fancy her.

“Okay, if you insist.”

“So, what did you say your name was?” The redhead leaned against the bathroom wall as Dela scrubbed at the front of her leotard with damp toilet paper to seemingly no avail. She still had her arms folded - black skinny jeans and Docs making up the latter half of her simple outfit. Dela liked it, immensely. Subtly artistic - somehow endearing for just being a black sweater and pants.

“Uh, Dela. Dela Putnam.” She said with a smile, looking to the other woman. Thank god she was cute - there was no way in hell this coffee stain was shifting. And thank god she preferred her coffee cold - she’d maybe not have been as sympathetic if this wasn’t the case, regardless of how cute she was. “That’s sweet - I’m Jinkx Monsoon. Don’t laugh.” “Well, that’s tragic.” She gave a tiny giggle. “I don’t think I’ve got much right to say anything at all - ‘Dela’ isn’t really even a name, and I work with kids, so that’s by far not the most offensive name I’ve ever come across.”

“Kids? Really?”

She nodded. “I’m a dance teacher. Ballet, mostly - I do a little tap and jazz too. And a couple of adults’ burlesque classes too.”

Jinkx raised an eyebrow, laughing incredulously. “Burlesque?” Now Dela was the one to blush. “Yeah - like, striptease. It’s classy.” She added with slight panic. “No pole or anything - I don’t do it for money. I just think it’s kinda...empowering, y’know? Does that sound stupid?”

“Not at all. I mean, you’ve definitely got the body for it,” Jinkx smirked, rising fully to her feet and standing beside Dela as she threw the wodge of sodden paper into the trash. “Your boyfriend must love it.” She laughed at this, shaking her head. “No way in hell. The last boy I kissed was my junior prom date, and he dumped me for my brother. I kinda bat for the...other team.” She admitted bashfully, eyes downturned and shy. “Not that you’d think it, based on looks and profession.”

“Hey, hey - no need to be shy; uh, me too. Now I can just tell you without feeling like a pervert that I think you’re beautiful.” Jinkx grinned tentatively, only meeting Dela’s eyes in their reflection in the mirror. “I- uh...More than beautiful, actually - you’re so…” she stammered at this, suddenly struck dumb.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one.” Dela turned to her shyly as she reached into her purse to fish out her business card. “Look, here’s my number. If you wanna catch a movie or go for a drink, now you’ll know where to find me.”

“God, I never thought spilling my coffee would get me a date.” Jinkx tittered, grinning broadly. “I mean, I’m glad it was you - I think that guy in front of me would have knocked my teeth out.”

“I’m glad you trashed my outfit. You’re gorgeous - and oddly charming. It’s very sweet.” “Thank you,” she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger as she grinned shyly. “I...I know we’re in a Starbucks bathroom like a couple of teenagers, and I know it’s fucking dorky, but...would you mind if I kissed you?”

“I wouldn’t mind in the slightest.”

“Ex-cuuuse me, Miss Dela?” “Yes?” She turned around from her position sat down on the bench against the studio wall, checking her register to ensure everyone had paid as all the moms departed with their darlings at the end of the class, to find Lola, one of the more precocious of her students, standing behind her with her hands behind her back - bright as a button and grinning as though she knew a secret. “What’s up, Lola?” “Uh...Why were you late today?” “I don’t think I was that late.” She said with an airy smile, looking the young girl in the eyes. “Why do you ask, princess?” “Well, you’ve, uh- you’ve had lipstick on your cheek all class.”

[scriptureofashes]

(Not) Sorry

Based on this. (@crazypantsjewels)

Somebody kill me.

Tony groaned into what was probably a pillow. His body hurt everywhere, shoulders stiff and back screaming in hellish pain. For a brief moment, it felt like those times in Afghanistan, where he had all but a nice and dusty floor to sleep on, but the warm leg twisted over his accompanied by soft snoring rushed the panic away before it could even peek out.

"Friday, remind me why I made the terrible decision of sleeping on this horrid couch," he grumbled. His joints screeched at him as he sat up. I. Am. Old.

"Because you and Mr. Parker decided to play Mario Kart at 11:07 pm and fell asleep at 3:42 am, right before your character was thrown off Rainbow Bridge."

Oh, right.

“Wait, what? He threw me off?” Tony glared at the kid sprawled out on the narrow end of the orange couch. “Little shit. I picked Yoshi and he got jealous.”

“I told you to choose the purple one.”

“What the everloving—”

Tony shifted his glare over the back of the couch. Loki’s returning stare was of amusement.

“Jesus, that’s it! I’m gonna buy you a bell,” Tony stated. He gently lifted Peter’s scrawny leg from his knee and stretched – ow pain, ow pain, said his muscles – before getting off the couch. His gaming remote tumbled to the floor. “And you wanted me to pick Waluigi. Waluigi. Friendship revoked.”

Loki huffed, stabbing at his half-frozen waffles. He was still trying to figure out how some things were supposed to be food and seemed pretty keen on getting to understand. Even if sometimes it made him beyond irritated. He did not understand toast, for example. Or tacos. Or cheesecake. Or cookies. Or pop-tarts, definitely not pop-tarts, which had made for entertaining debates with Thor.

Tony snorted at his bemused expression. “Just pour some milk and granola on a bowl before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Your ‘milk’ is fowl.”

“Oh great, another one who thinks milk is murder. You gonna tell me the Earth is flat, too?”

“What? Quit speaking nonsense, Man of Iron.”

“You already working on your anti-vaccination petitions?”

Tony felt more than saw Bruce opening the fridge behind him, probably to dig out the eggs and the milk in question. He always made pancakes for breakfast when he was around in the mornings. Speaking of which…

“Friday, give me hours.”

“8:50 in the morning, boss.”

Cripes.

Vision’s hand suddenly stretched out to grab Loki’s uneaten plate of (mashed) waffles and started to bring out pots and pans to help with breakfast. Water was already boiling on the stove and Tony could bet that was Bruce’s tea.

“I think what Loki means is that he doesn’t really like milk,” Bruce said.

“Sacrilege.” Loki’s eye-roll was so damn near perfect, Tony envied it. He turned to the living room. “Up and at it, Spidey. You’re late for school. Don’t want Aunt May on my ass again.”

There was a low, dragged out groan from the occupied couch, a flash of feet – one with the sock on and the other in a sneaker – and Peter was up. Tired and disoriented, but still up. Maskless, even. Took him a while, but he’d finally decided at least some of the Avengers should know who he was in case of emergency. And what better half of the Avengers than the ones that were legal?

Discounting Loki, but Loki... was Loki.

“I was under the idea that schools closed during weekends,” Vision mused, closing a cabinet.

Bruce smiled at him when Tony raised an eyebrow, that exasperated yet fond smile he had really missed. “Tony, it’s Saturday.”

“Oh. Is it?”

“Yes, boss.”

Damn, I am really off track.

“False alarm, kid. Go to your room, catch some Z's. Or would you rather I drive you back home? I’m sure May will want to check up on you.”

Peter yawned in response and sat on his self-claimed bar stool. It was his favorite spot in the kitchen, for some reason. Did a lot of homework there, listening to Tony and Bruce’s heated science arguments. Tony supposed it was because of the vents’ entrance right over it. Easy access to a tall, dark place and whatnot. Freaking spiders and their spider-lings.

It also reminded him of someone who had a bad habit of sneaking around in vents and he didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Nah, I’m good, Mr. Stark. I wanna be awake for… you know.”

Tony watched him rub his eyes, and for a brief moment, was reminded of how young he was. “For what? Adventure Time reruns?”

All noise in the kitchen stopped at his words. Even Loki wasn’t unperturbed.

“Uh, no…?” Peter frowned at him. “Mr. Stark, you do know what day today is, right?”

“Is it your birthday? Shit I thought I had that memorized already—”

“It’s the fourteenth,” Bruce enlightened. He kept cracking the eggs, but his tone was clipped.

Vision didn’t look much better. “Today, the once fugitive team of former Avengers returns to the country, in order to sign the renewed Accords.”

Shit. Shit.

Rain poured outside when Team Iron Man (plus the Hulk, Thor and Loki) were ready and assembled in the common room of the Avengers facility. The TV was on, switched to some news channel, a weatherman describing the exact storm going outside.

Tony wouldn’t’ve had it more cliche than this. Yes, morning started out as beautiful as his mood. Yes, now the rain mirrored how drastically it had shifted. You’re kidding me. He was half inclined to dump the tea he was holding on one of the Asgard brothers, considering they were the closest things to gods he had in his life. And who do you curse when shit happens? Exactly.

2:49 pm, his wristwatch read. Eleven minutes. Eleven minutes until those doors opened.

Natasha stood against one of the kitchen counters. As always, her red hair was perfect and her leather jacket was immaculate. She’d arrived at two o’clock sharp and had barely said a word since then. Tony was actually thankful for that. He was not in the mood to get into a discussion about his so called ego and the consequences if often arose.

He was already feeling like shit (read: self-conscious and scared as fuck) enough as it was.

He glanced at his reflection on the mirror across the room. Ergo. Slim-fit Hugo Boss, black, an indigo-blue tie snug around his neck and tucked into the vest. Blue tinted Armani shades to hide his ever so permanent bags. Look your best when you’re at your worst.

“… So I take the tank, drop it right off at the general's palace, drop it at his feet. I'm like, ‘Boom, are you looking for this?’"

“I once did something like that!”

Tony smiled at the sight of Peter and Rhodey, on the couch, laughing and sharing crime-fighting stories. He knew the kid did a lot that the Colonel didn’t, but his enthusiasm didn’t seem deterred. Quality trait inc: humility.

“He’s a good kid.”

Tony looked at Natasha for a moment. Her green eyes were searching.

“He is.”

It was followed by the same silence it had hung in the air until then. 2:52. She pushed herself off the counter, arms still crossed, and rounded the kitchen island to stand closer to Tony. He had the sudden impulse to activate his emergency wrist repulsor and blast her back to where she was before. He sipped at the cup of tea Bruce had brewed for him instead.

“How did you convince him to stick around?”

Here we go.

“I didn’t.”

He saw her raised eyebrow from the corner of his eye.

“That’s an ominous reply.”

Look who’s talking, he wanted to say, but he was still not in the mood for this kind of self-destructive discussions. Checking his watch again – 2:53 – he moved closer to Peter and Rhodey, taking a seat on one of the other couches and blatantly disregarding Natasha’s irked expression.

Thor and Vision were already engaged in a conversation, something about the stone in his head again – reasonable, it pertained to the reason Team Cap was signing the Accords – and Loki, fully dressed in his Asgardian drapes like his brother, fiddled with his scepter on the other end of the same couch Tony and Bruce sat on. The good doctor seemed to be avoiding Natasha’s presence as well. Kind of ironic – he’d somehow made peace with a Norse god who had wanted to unleash the Hulk and spread terror, but he refused to talk to the woman he’d once had a chance with.

“You’re not gonna catch up?” Tony asked, pointing at the aforementioned redhead with his teacup.

“We already did.”

“… And?”

Well, it was a matter of time before I lost him, too.

“And nothing, Tony.” Bruce clasped his hands, taking a deep breath. “Indeed, I wouldn’t have signed the Accords at all when this whole fiasco went down. You know what went on between me and Ross. With him in control? Never.”

“Right—”

“But I never would have fought you, either.”

Tony could only stare. Bruce’s mouth quirked in a faint smile.

“The Other Guy wouldn’t have, I mean. Not you.”

“But you did sign the Accords. And you’re here.”

“Yes, because you were in charge, this time,” Bruce said. “I trust you, Tony. If you were the one to amend and dictate the main rules for the Accords, then I know it’s something safe for me to sign.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Yes, I do.”

Tony bit his lower lip, gulping. He was… at a loss for words. Something that happened once in a fucking blue moon.

He cleared his throat. “So, what? She thinks you shouldn’t have signed them?”

“No, Tony, she betrayed you.” Tony’s head swiveled so fast he almost got whiplash. “She was supposed to help you and she turned on you without good reason. That bothers me.”

“Really? Bros before hoes, you’re gonna go with that argument?”

Bruce laughed, and Tony smiled. It sounded damn good, especially after the hell that had transpired. Silence fell upon them again, but it wasn’t the awkward type anymore.

“You were just trying to make sure no more fatal casualties happened. And because Steve has trust issues—”

“Not to mention his undying love for Barnes—”

“Rhodey,” Tony deadpanned. Peter was snickering behind the mask.

“And because Steve has trust issues with the government,” Bruce continued, louder, despite his own smile, “And his own morals, he couldn’t compromise. Even though he should have, for the collective good he claims to fight for.”

“You’re kind of contradicting yourself there, Brucey, you too have issues with the government—”

“I had issues with the government. Which you managed to solve. Through your supervised Accords. And you managed to ditch Ross, too.”

“Well, it was nothing, you know, I...”

“The last time we engaged in a significant conversation,” Loki suddenly said, scepter gone, “You radiated threat. You spoke proudly, confidently. You strutted. What extinguished that fire, Stark?”

The answer came in form of more silence, thick and tense. Tony let the question turn rhetorical, let the others assume it was the Civil War some of them had not been present for.

Nobody knew about Siberia and Tony intended to keep it that way.

“Boss.”

“Yes?”

“They’re here.”

Oh, God. Indeed, the clock read 3:00 pm.

There was a collection of eye-contact amongst the group, before they all, slowly and grudgingly, stood. Tony could already feel the tell-tale signs in his chest of a panic reaction – his shield hit the arc reactor – and the sudden lack of oxygen worsened at the sight of shut windows – he was going to kill me.

He was going to kill me.

A small hand – well, smaller than his – touched his shoulder, and Tony was met with the concerned look of Spider-Man’s mask. Immediately, his chest loosened a tad. Peter was young, so young, but he looked out for Tony like nobody else did. Different from yet alike to Pepper and Rhodey.

With everybody but Bruce and Rhodey with their backs to them, Peter took the chance to hug him tightly, like Tony was anchoring him. How is this kid even real? He hugged back, hesitant and awkward – like that would ever change – but tears were already pin-pricking at his eyes, and he so did not need that now.

“Alright, kiddo, we’ve been over this, I don’t do hugs,” he said, but his voice cracked and outed him. Rhodey looked at him like he wanted to haul him over his back and take him out of there. Tony wasn’t opposed, but unlike some people, he fulfilled his duties.

Peter pulled away, nodding his head, Spider-Man eyes still conveying worry, but he made his way to the entrance hall to greet the incoming team, where everybody was already standing. Tony took a deep breath.

“Tony,” Bruce whispered, because Friday had turned off the TV and there was the familiar, metallic whirring of the doors opening down the hall. “Tea.”

Right. Tony took a gulp of it, a big one, shared a nod with Bruce, and placed himself on the middle-front spot the group had left for him. Next to Peter and Bruce, and far away from Natasha. Perfect.

For a moment there was just silence, the anticipating kind. Then, to join the sound of heavy breathing, came steps, multiple steps, echoing over the tall walls and ceilings, growing closer and closer and closer. Peter’s breath hitched next to him – spider senses – and there were shadows to match those steps, until—

T’Challa came first. He was in his civvies, not even in a suit, and that sort of eased Tony a little, seeing how comfortable the wakandan felt towards him. After all, he was the one Tony had been communicating with when the Thanos dilemma called for one last Assemble, the one he had discussed Accords matters with, the one who hadn’t gone against his choices on said Accords and merely relayed Team Cap’s conditions with neutrality. They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t enemies either, so Tony’s returning smile to the king was nothing if not genuine.

The rest of them trailed right after him. They all came. Wilson, Barton, Lang. Maximoff. She looked poised, self-assured even. She tried to meet his eyes, defiant as ever, but the two members that came last required more of his attention than a spoiled, insolent teenager did.

He had a beard. Tony almost didn’t recognize him, but where there was a one-armed, rumpled up soldier, there was Rogers. Out of all of them, he was the one Tony forced himself to make eye-contact with.

I’ll be damned if I ever give him the satisfaction of watching me suffer.

Rogers eyed him back with a strange expression in those blue eyes, like forlorn and fond at the same time, and Tony really didn’t know what to make of that.

There was a moment where nobody said anything – nobody knew what to say – but Tony was Tony.

“Did you have a disagreement with the Gillette corporation?” he blurted. Nice going. “That’s one hell of a bird’s nest, Rogers.”

In all fairness, he expected the indignation that crossed most of their faces, like they didn’t think he’d ever be so disrespectful towards the captain. He did not expect Rogers’ answering chuckle.

“Months of exile in Africa will do that to you.” Tony didn’t reply. “I can see you yourself look as prim as ever.”

Tony gave him his best press smile, but he still said nothing. He was upright and still on sheer concentrated power of will, otherwise he’d have already spun on his heels and legged it. Flashes of a red, white and blue shield aiming for his head came to mind, and he had to take a deep breath in order to not accidentally call for the suit.

“You didn’t call,” Rogers stated. Ah.

“I’m allergic to outdated technology.”

Behind him, Rhodey coughed to hide his laugh. Rogers’ reaction wasn’t nearly as pleased. He broke eye-contact, and for a moment, Tony managed to breathe.

He nodded at Bruce. “Dr. Banner.”

“Captain Rogers.”

“Mr. Stark,” T’Challa begun. Tony turned to him. “I would like to thank you for your efforts to finally bring us all into agreement regarding the Accords, and for housing us despite—”

“What the fuck.”

Tony almost jumped at the sheer rage in Barton’s voice. The archer strode forward, past Wilson and now next to Barnes – who still looked like he’d rather be anywhere than here, and Tony kind of related to him at the moment – and pointed an accusing finger at someplace to the right.

“What. Is. He. Doing. Here.”

Loki raised his eyebrows, but other than that, he didn’t react. Nobody took the initiative to reply. Really.

“He’s reinforcement.”

Barton’s glare was piercing. “Reinforcement. Nat, how the fuck did you allow this?”

“I wasn’t consulted,” Natasha replied. Her coldness was obviously not directed at the archer.

The entirety of Team Cap, excluding T’Challa, looked affronted. Rogers was no longer attempting to look amiable, steel gaze and furrowed brows in place.

“You called Loki as reinforcement?” he accused. His voice was chilling. “Stark.”

“You were made aware of our circumstances, Rogers. We need all the power we can get—”

“So you decided to recruit a mentally unstable, reckless murderer to protect the planet he once wanted to destroy?” Maximoff spat. “Oh wait, that makes sense.”

Rhodey bristled. Deep breaths, Tony reminded himself, wanting to crawl into a hole and die.

“How on Earth were you put in charge of the Accords, Stark?” Lang scorned.

“You don’t get to say anything, you don’t even know what you’re here for!” Peter shouted, angrier than Tony ever heard him.

Deep breaths.

“You’re one to talk, how old are you?! Twelve?!” Wilson retorted. “You’re a kid and he dragged you into this mess!”

“I’m sixteen, asshole, and I’m here because I want to! Don’t you dare bring Mr. Stark into this!”

Deep breaths.

“Loki has redeemed himself in our eyes—” Thor tried to explain, but nobody was listening.

“You brought a sixteen year old into this?!” Rogers barked.

“He’s here on his own, Steve, calm down,” Bruce defended, already looking a little green.

Deep breaths.

“See? See?” Barton turned to Rogers, finger now pointing at Tony. “I told you we shouldn’t trust him. We should never have trusted him in the first place, not after these goddamned Accords, not after Ultron, not even for the Avengers initiative! He doesn’t care how he fucked me up, he makes me team up with that alien fucker, after everything he did to us, after everything he did to me, like the soulless bastard he is—”

Deep—fuck no, what.

“Oh, does it bother you that I allowed someone who fucked with your mind onto our team without asking you if you were okay with it first?” Tony snapped, switching eye-contact between Barton and Maximoff. 

Everybody froze at his words, suddenly and slowly realizing their meaning as they saw who he was glaring at.

Are. You. Kidding. Me. He turned to Rogers, who was wide eyed and speechless, all the ice and cold of Siberia in his eyes.

“So, so sorry.”

He slowly sipped the rest of his tea, watching their mixed reactions of anger, confusion and dawning realization. He smiled.

“I trust you’re all familiar with the accommodations, but if I were you, I wouldn’t get too comfy.”

With that, he turned on his heel, handed Vision the empty cup, and did what he needed to do since he first heard these traitors were coming back: he got the hell out of there.

He could swear Bruce was smirking when he left.

[realklimt]

25/6/18

It’s been absolutely hectic since the funeral and between hangovers and parties I haven’t had time to write. I guess given the aforementioned observation that its almost better to write about events after some time has elapsed so that they’ve had time to congeal into a narrative, that isn’t such a bad thing after all. Anyway, I’m on the train to Bristol now (going to clear out my room) and finally have some time to dedicate to getting it all down on ‘paper’ (‘pixel’?). I brought my laptop and everything, so hopefully I’m gna be able to get a pretty damn good account of things.

The influence of rereading Diary 2 weighs heavy, and inspired by the imaginative structure I employed to record my final days at school I’m going to recycle it and take you through the past few days party by party. Party, of course, I’m using very loosely, to refer first of all to:

 Party 1 – The Funeral

Paradoxical, right? I’d love to be able to say with whole hearted conviction that I’m describing Mum’s funeral as a party because it was a celebration of her life. Unfortunately I didn’t really spend that much time celebrating her, by which I mean talking about her and stuff like that. Most of the time was given over to playing host (Beth, Susan, Sheelps, Georgie, Anjie, Charlie, Alia, Soph, Edmund, Paige, Mel, Milla – u see, an awkward group in need of being comingled, I was on fire) and having a good old giggle and a chinwag with my much missed friends. I think I enjoyed it – the wake part at least – because it was just exactly what I’ve been craving to do for ages – have a drink in luxury with my mates entirely at the expense of someone else (pun – Dad’s money, Mum’s life?). Anyway, I don’t feel so guilty about it because it was a bloody good distraction and exactly what I needed, and besides, what’s the point in being sad?

I’m jumping ahead of myself a bit though because I haven’t even tried to address everything that came before the wake, you know, all the stuff in the cars and the church and that. I managed to keep upbeat and focused on looking forwards to having a drink and a chat with my friends through most of the church. I was trying, dangerously, to balance reverence with excitement, and I didn’t succeed entirely. Processing into the church on Max’s arm I spotted the Bristol kids standing over at the far end of the Church’s parking lot space and gave them a craned head grin. I think I got away with that bit but I know I didn’t get away with the poke in the ribs I gave Alia by way of greeting (I hadn’t considered she was coming, I was buzzing) because when the time came to peace-be-with-you in the middle of mass Smel refused to shake my hand, gave me one of her filthiest glares, and informed me that she couldn’t believe I had said hello to Alia and that I was disgusting. The whole thing hit a nerve, the nerve that was feeling guilty about being so upbeat at Mum’s funeral, and was probably responsible for my subsequent mellowing, and inability to hold back the tears. Moon River, violinned at the end of the Mass, completely did Dad, and it fucked me quite a lot too. But then I would have to be a proper bastard not to have cried at that.

The crem wasn’t so bad. Channah made a really nice speech. I think the thing was that I knew it would be over in 20 minutes and then the whole, sad, hard thing was at an end, and I could go get drunk with my friends. There was one totally bit, which was, like the church, right at the end. That song came on (crazy how music is always the trigger for emotion – observe) and it was that song that Dad picked, I think it’s called ‘Loving You’. Anyway its completely beautiful and utterly perfect. There’s a lyric which goes something like ‘loving you makes everyday be in spring time’ – anyway that’s the sentiment, and that sentiment is what really fucked me up. Being with Mum really was like being in one long, eternal summer holiday – there was always laughter blooming like flowers and the house was always full and in bloom and I can’t refine this metaphor now because it’s making me want to cry on the train but basically the house used to be really full with flowers and now it just feels kind of awkward and empty and it’s never going to be full to the bursting again because there’s a big ass gap where she should be.

Let’s keep it happy now. Because really, apart form those few moments, it was a good day, and I had fun. Everyone dribbled away and in the end the only people left were the family, so all the cousins and of course Maria. She was being strangely very good fun at the Wentworth and, basically completely drunk, I ended up having a good old laugh and chat with her which I carried on into the taxi home, where it morphed into some stupid declaration of ongoing affection (you know the drill –  ‘I know we’ve grown apart but the great thing is that whenever we see each other it’s exactly the same’ – all that bullshit). So we were all piled into a cab and we got home, there were like twenty or so people there what with Channah and Craig and I think Chrissy and Sean too from Dad’s friends, and of course Dad and Smell and Uncle Tony (Max still in the thick of exams so was taken home by Angie) and Me and Johnny and Maria. Started feeding myself and Maria and Smell some gin and tonics but got bored of that so asked Maria, on a bizarre whim that was obviously brewing for a while but which I fully accept was entirely inappropriate, if she’d like to do some coke. I don’t know if she felt obliged to indulge me given that it was Jackie’s funeral or if she just genuinely fancied it but she said ‘I mean, sure, if we can’t today then when can we’ and we trotted upstairs, did a key in the locked bathroom, then fell on my bed, wide eyed and high, and got very deep very fast. As always with coke I remember feeling at total liberty to say absolutely anything I fancied (ah, the perfect drug) but struggling to find the right words (at a few moments I literally exclaimed ‘damn I’m not making sense I’m too high to articulate’), and not able to remember exactly what it was I did end up saying. But the basic gist was a general outpouring of cooped up thoughts (I hadn’t had the chance to vent to anyone other than this diary for weeks). I’m not sure I brought it up or if she did but we ended up on the topic of our similarly long term boyfriends and our similar frustration and desire to ‘experience more’. That’s how I got the scoop that Maria is almost definitely going to end it with Johnny, amicably if she can, and with the potential to rediscover one another after discovering themselves. Interesting stuff, stuff I’ve since been happy to disseminate in traditionally loose lipped fashion (really should work on that) but also stuff which I can entirely identify with. More than anything I think I’m just bored with Charlie and frustrated that that isn’t sufficient motivation to end a largely happy and functional relationship. So basically what I’m getting at is that I identify a lot with her at the moment, and that since she’s stopped being obsessed with Johnny she’s sort of reverted to her old, fun self, and basically, made me very tempted to take her up on her invitation to go visit Brighton and see her art show later this week.

Once we’d ridden the high down a few earthward sloping cloud banks (or should I say ‘I’d’ – she kept insisting she wasn’t very high) it felt safe enough to venture downstairs. The party had dribbled away and it ended up being just Johnny, Maria, Channah, Craig and myself slobbing around the early hours kitchen. Channah, Johnny and I had a conversation about Grandad on the sofa in which Channah vehemently defended him against my accusations (‘selfish, arrogant’ parried with ‘he may have been an awful father but he was my Grandad and he was sick’) with Johnny riding the middle ground. That chat wound up and then it was onto the next one in the kitchen, though this felt less like a chat than the q & a with the victim of mourning everyone has been hoping for these past months. I wound up in the hotseat, the swivel stool floating ominously adrift of all other furniture in the middle of the kitchen floor (my emotional isolation…). Channah, drunk and slurring, was the luck interviewer who finally had enough dutch courage to interrogate me with a vengeance.

Accusations came veiled in sympathy and support – ‘you seem alright now but when it does hit you you know that we’re all here for you because you’re my little cousin an I love you’. I’m proud because I think that I rather eloquently externalised the internal monologue that has backing tracked the past few weeks, namely how it has already hit me and I’m okay and I’ve somehow managed to internalise it all and not get completely fucked up. I trotted out the much rehearsed soliloquy on why I don’t feel life is unfair, you know, the one with the babies that get the exact same thing and the people whose whole family get killed in bomb raids and how can I say my life is unfair when fairness is measured against the common experience of human life on this planet which tends, almost exclusively, to look beside mine comparatively shit?

Anyway, cue ‘I don’t know how you’re so strong’ and ‘you’ve made everyone so proud’, which was to be expected but still kind of nice feeling. I’m a posturer and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t partly enjoy the limelight my interview afforded me, and the insistence on my own sadness Channah wouldn’t let drop I excuse her on the grounds she was very very drunk and only trying to help. She did ask one question which I stalled at because I simply didn’t think it was a very good one, which was ‘what’s your favourite memory of your Mum?’ – I don’t know but I think that to pick one would be kind of irreverent. Anyway it struck a nerve with Maria because she had a bit to say about how inconsiderate it was during round two of our dmc in my bedroom (under the pretext of getting pyjamas). That conversation was mainly devoted to the sensation of being a circus attraction that comes with grief, which I tried my best to explain ad which Maria was, to her credit, remarkably receptive and kind about. The thing with her is that I know she has a wicked streak, and that however lovely and kind and understanding she can be, I’m always kind of doubting whether it’s all part of some elaborate ruse. If it was, then it worked on the funeral – as I said to her, ‘it’s ironic that everyone keeps trying to get me to talk to them and in the end the only person I’ve opened up to is the one who never pressured me to – you’.

For all that she claimed she was dissatisfied with Johnny, Maria still let him spoon her to sleep on the sofa. I slept on the front room floor with some pillows, and woke up a few hours later. We didn’t get to sleep until 4 am. On Thursday I was trashed.

 Party 2 – The Pool Party

The pool in question being Ella’s, the party her 21st. I guess I shouldn’t really have gone to it, given it was only two days after the funeral and Dad was very upset, but it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. It was, after all, the very consummation of all my efforts – having gotten good grades, gone to a good university, made rich friends, here I was, the ultimate symbol of social climbing – going to my rich friend’s summer house in the South downs to spend a day drinking, eating, tanning and slobbing about a pristine pool at her parent’s expense. The fact that I’m not even that good friend’s with Ella somehow made it even better. I got in by the skin of my teeth, not on the merit of personality, but social finesse – she couldn’t exclude me because I was a member of her circle, because I’d wormed my way into a house with a group of people far cooler, richer, and prettier than I would ever be. And god, I can tell you, it was literally everything I hoped it would be.

Okay so I kinda fucked up and haven’t had time/ effort to come back to this until now, which is Thursday (28/06/18, in bed, lazy morning) cos the train wasn’t long enough to get it all down and I was at work all day yesterday and Bristol turned out to be more full on than I expected but never mind. I reckon your Mum’s funeral is a pretty *momentous occasion* that deserves to hog a good few hours diary time so it’s really no surprise that parties two and three suffered as a result. In the time that’s elapsed between writing here I’ve also accumulated a fourth party to add to the proceedings, which we’ll get to in due course – but first I better polish of two and three as well as I can (the once crystal memories slip backwards into a murkier abyss).

So to give image of Ella’s pool party in sort of broad strokes: I met Georgie at Clapham where we boarded the train to Barnham, the seat of the Dunn families Sussex retreat. As planned we met Sheelps on the train with her trailing entourage of Ella’s future housemates (Kavya et al.) and, happy surprise, Steffen. The whole party was a real bonding experience, I feel, between me and Steff – he was the only one from his house and immediate circle of friends at the party (others didn’t receive an invite, news received in turn with bitterness), so he had no choice but to attach himself to G and Susan and Beth and I, and we had some good chats, established a sort of rapport. Anyway when we got to Ella’s it was all that was expected but also somehow better – I’d had a great sandstone manor house in mind, but it wa in fact more rustic and cutsie, if still sprawling, all brick and ivy and climbing roses. The whole thing felt very Period drama, what with all the walled gardens connected by hedged walkways and opening onto farmy vistas – that is, until one arrived at the pool area. Think rhombus deck chairs, think polygonal glass poolhouse structure, think ground level wicker sofas, think fire pit and flat screen TV’s: it looked like something off the Kardshian’s, or the villa out of Love Island. The latter association as naturally picked up, and indeed, our twenty four hours spent slobbing around that magnificently modern pool area felt a lot like we were playing at reality tv, hopping from sleepy chat to private gossip, lying on each-others sun warmed arms with the greatest ease and intimacy. Things really picked up when Beth and Susan arrived a few hours after us, and Georgie, Steff and I a somewhat stunted trio on our own, were able to retreat into the warm familiarity of our own established group. Probably my favourite thing about the whole party was how comfortable I felt socially. Relaxing together in our own private deckchair area, bitching about some of Ella’s more irritating friends, sneaking off to get coked up in the tipi away from Ella’s (sensitive? Prying? Judging? Idk she just don’t like drugs) eyes, and staying up when everyone else was engaging in the moronic fraternity (golden sunrise, Will Costello and Dick dancing with us, balanced outrageously on the garden wall, oasis et al classics blaring) it really felt like I’d regained what I loved so much in school, that sensation that I was a key part of a very comfortable club on which others looked in envy and thought ‘wow. I wish I had a group of friends as happy with each other as that’. I’ve never properly felt like that at Uni. Joy.

 Party 3 – BBQ

Destroyed on Saturday evening. Train home, near disaster when phone died at Egham station. Couldn’t bear the thought of Dad’s wrath (he get’s especially pissy about travelling without an phone charge), but luckily a kind Indian man in the off licence let me use his phone charger. Dream.

Sunday morning, dragged to horse show but put up with it for UJ because, well, fair. England playing Panama that afternoon so we rushed home where we were met by Frys and family (Tone, Anj, Max, John, Diva etc.) for footy and barby. Max’s friend came too and we were told to get our mates over so after the match Edmund trotted over and we sat and had some drinks in the sun. Camilla finished work at 6:30 and joined us too.

I don’t really know what more to say about party 3 except that it was great fun chatting with Edmund and Milla (Beth keeps saying that she thought all my ‘home friends’ were really fun when she met them a the funeral and it’s at time’s like party 3 that I really believe her) and that it felt a little bit empty because Mum wasn’t there. I kept seeing Dad sitting alone and worrying about him, and hearing snatches of his conversation where he said things like ‘everyday is torture’, so I buried myself in happier chats and a good few drinks and, well yeah. That’s kind of it.

 Party 4 – Cocaina Blue Lagoona

Wherein the name gives it away. Monday night in Bristol with Beth and Susan, clearing out the house. Wasn’t the same easy chats and intimacy that I’d been enjoying at Ella’s – suspect it may be something to do with the domestic I overheard Beth and Susan having just before we hit the Lagoon, something about Susan being short and sarcastic with Beth which Beth didn’t like. Interesting insight, we’ll see how that one plays out. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t quite like the idea of wedging myself in the cracks between Beth and Susan – but can you blame me? It’s tiring hanging around best friends.

Anyway, we’d done most of the packing so we hit up Blue Lagoon where, surprise surprise, Maddy was waiting. Maddy’s course friend was also there and though I can’t remember her name I actually really liked her and I thought she was a welcome addition to the party. The same can’t be said for Maddy. I mean, I really have tried to like her and I know she’s sweet really and she really is very kind and including to me but I don’t know – she’s just so loud! And so Maddy orientated. It just get’s wearing sitting in a group and every perceivable lull in conversation is filled with a new exclamation about what Maddy has been up to, which will of course dominate the conversation until she remembers something else she wanted to tell us about her day. Honestly so relieved she’s going on a bloody year abroad. If you want my opinion, she almost always makes a night worse, and seldom improves it. That’s just my honest opinion.

Anyway. Blue Lagoon wouldn’t let us have alcohol outside past 11 so we had to move inside and endure the deafening music in there. Beth snuck to the toilet and did some coke, something she only told Susan and I. After half an hour of conspiratorially waggling her eyebrows across the table at us she finally outed herself to Maddy, a declaration met not with outrage but surprise, and then the suggestion we all go back to Maddy’s for afters and get coked up. That’s kind of exactly what happened. Not much else to report. Oh yeah, except this, which future you may find funny. Maddy has this ‘party trick’ which she thinks is the nuts where she balances a can of cider on her head and like moves around. From the way she and people talk about this you’d think she’d shoved it up her ass, I mean, you should hear them go on and see the reels of photos they take. It’s not impressive, it’s boring. I was pretty coked by the time she got round to doing it so I can’t remember fully, but I hoped I yawned.

Anyway. I feel like we’re kind of up to date. Needless to say the diet has gone completely off the rails over the last week, so I’m now on a three day detox before Grace’s. Gna try go until about two or three without eating – intermittent fasting, do yo thang!

PS. You’ll notice that I’ve barely mentioned Mum, and that I don’t really sound sad. That’s the thing with distractions. But what happens is that when I’m finally alone and I’m lying in bed and I’ve turned off my phone and the noise is all gone, I suddenly realise that I haven’t thought about her in a while, and that that’s how life will be until at last I don’t think about her at all. I think that’s the saddest thing ever. How your everything can suddenly shrink to your sometimes, and then to your rarely ever at all, a footnote in your life. I don’t really know how to remedy this but I think that maybe writing about it might be a good way to start. Not to self. Less partying, more writing. Let’s not let this all go to waste.

[thegnasticious]

Dwayne, The Pool Guy

I’m a man of stories. If you’ve got a story, I’m all ears all day.

My story is a simple one

I grew up in a small Southern town in a typical African American family.

We dealt with people throwing us bad glances when we grew up, all based on our color, our demeanor.

Some say racism died with Martin Luther King, but if you walk with someone of my color enough, you’ll notice it hasn’t. Imbalance is worse than it ever was, politics and technology work like gas to a fire.

I never thought this was a problem, not bad enough to ruin my life. I used to see the Neo Nazi’s rev’ing their trucks behind the high-school football games, waiting to infect the parties with their self-brewed drugs and rhetoric. You’d see them picking on people like me in the hallways, sometimes it escalated to physical harm but that was seldom documented, or witnessed. All of this was what it was, until a Brother of mine, Nadeus, didn’t show up to school one day.

We knew he had bad habits, and bad people following him. I always tried to see past it, because he was my best friend, all I knew from the ages 9-20 outside of my family. I remember the day I met him, we were skate boarding at the local park. It was a sunny day, the birds were out chirping and there was a cool breeze blowing about. I was skating down the entrance way when I almost ran into him. His skateboard shot out in to crowd of people watching aside.

“What the hell are you doing man?” he said to me.

“I didn’t see you, I’m sorry” 

He looked at me sternly for a few seconds and walked over to grab his skateboard.

He was tall for his age 

with a bald brown head gleaming in the sunlight.

Everybody cleared as he approached.

He returned with his skateboard and said,

“What’s your name?”

“Dwayne, what’s your’s?”

“Nadeus”, he responded.

“You know any tricks?” he asked.

“Yea, I just learned a pop shove-it” 

I dropped my board, 

sunk my feet into the movement and kicked the board up,

spinning it throughout the air.

I landed it, he then copied the same move to the point.

I followed up with another trick,

this time off the stair the set, landing it with ease.

He followed and did the same. 

This continued til’ the sun went down,

I walked with him back later.

It turned out he lived in the same neighborhood as me, so we exchanged numbers and said we’d try to meet again.

As school started that year, I recognized Nadeus in one of my classes,

he was seated right near me. 

Throughout the year I got to know Nadeus better. He was quiet for the most part, we were the only two African Americans in the class so we felt kind of odd. Southern schools are different, they are smaller, everyone knows each other and knows who they think of as an outsider. We unfortunately were the minority without a doubt. We would pass notes to each other making fun of the overtly racist classmates who came from what they saw as, confederate backgrounds. We’d draw pictures of their trucks crashing, their flags on fire, giant phallics attacking their BBQ’s from the sky.

All sorts of shit, it kept us entertained. 

It was all fun and games until one day after High school,

I was walking back with Nadeus, 

and some of the these classmates followed us slowly.

We walked the route we usually did, trying to add in little passages between houses to avoid them, but somehow their rusted Red truck kept coming from the corner of every street we approached. 

We were usually harassed by these guys, but something was different this time.

Finally Nadeus had it and Flipped them off as they drove by.

They quickly hit the breaks and hopped out the truck.

one of them I recognized as Billy, 

he grappled a two by four and look of bloodlust in his eyes. 

His pupils like black holes, approached the us at in in human rate.

A girl in the car quickly jumped out as well, running to the scene. 

The man began to draw the two by four back, walking right at me.

The girl jumped in front,

he swung but pulled as he realized she was there. 

It thudded against her chest, knocking the wind out.

She stood coughing and turned to me and Nadeus,

“Get the fuck out of here” she said.

Her Black Hair moved slowly in the afternoon wind.

She was my angel, both me and Nadeus turned and left.

I looked behind as we walked away and saw her knock the two by four from his hands ass if it weighed nothing. She slapped him so hard he nearly toppled over 

“Billy.......Get back HOME now!” she yelled at him.

She then grabbed him by the ear and led him back to the truck, his apeish demeanor breaking down to what looked like a little kid getting dragged by his mother.

The next day I woke up for school feeling better than ever to be alive. It was as if I woke up in a new house in a new body, a better life. But somehow it was my own, the same old thing I always knew. That was the day that Nadeus’s seat stayed empty. I remember wondering where he’d been, he wasn’t sick the day before, or acting weird. There was no announcement, no questions, no wondering. Nothing, it was as if the whole day was an eery silence that didn’t really happen. It was when I came home that I knew something was wrong. There was a police car sitting in my driveway. I came through my front door to find my Ma crying on the sofa. Two officers surrounded her, she looked at me and said, “Dwayne, these men need to talk with you”

The rest was a blur of questions and statements. They were ruling out an overdose, because of how it aesthetically appeared, I asked to see photos and they allowed me to. His corpse looked nothing like him; appearing gaunt and lifeless. His eyes like two black marbles, falling into the depths of a sullen face. His muscles had all but receded to little thimbles. I knew the guy didn’t do drugs, never. I  also could swear one of the officers was an older brother of one of the attackers as well. He kept quiet in the corner, shooting death glares at me from time to time. The whole situation seemed beyond hopeless. 

They played good-cop bad-cop with me for a while, seeing what they could get out of me, admissions of guilt, anything. I knew they were looking for somebody to frame so I kept my lips sealed.

After seeing the pictures, my mind drew a hard blank, the Red truck and the people’s faces blurred, the thought was replaced by a vast nothingness. The feeling that I’ve lost my only friend. I’m alone again. It wasn’t long before the officer’s realized there was nothing more they could get out of me, and they sent me on my way.

I walked back home from the station with the dark of the night just beginning to set in. I thought of Nadeus, and where he might be now; to me heaven and hell was no more than a mindset, a switch of coding by a conductor seldom seen, leading to anything the mind can perceive as real, besides the thing that got it there. Maybe in some ways this thing was the god element; the inherent force that sways through empty spaces at night, feeling every curve of the darkness until it’s all shrilled by piercing morning light. Nadeus was now somewhere in the darkness, in metaphor and presence. 

I could see the clouds ahead of me beginning to electrify with a storm. A full moon loomed ahead of the wall of thunderheads, lighting a little bit of my way. I hurried my pace to get back before the rain started, I could already hear thunder echoing in the distance. As I walked further down the street, I started hearing a whooshing noise from above. I couldn’t place it to be behind me or to the side of me, it just kept coming, almost like a gust of air. I upped my pace to an almost light jog, I could see the glimmer of the old town reservoir in the distance. Home luckily wasn’t too far. The trees were already starting to bend with ominous gusts, a little drizzle picked up. Ahead of me I could see a street light flickering, I could swear the pattern was “S.O.S.” (an old military based relative of mine used to show me the signal with a flashlight). It did it about 3 times and went dark. I was about to pass under it, when I felt something behind me. I turned fast, looked up, and saw the girl who helped me.  She was above the streetlight, floating at first, her body then swooped right through the metal arch of the streetlight. Her black hair growing like a lifeless shadow throughout the suspended motion.I felt the gust of air I had felt the whole past block and just like that, she was gone, somewhere far in the darkness above. But I knew, she was with me, and I think somehow she knew I hadn’t done wrong, her appearance was safe with me. The rain really began to pick up at that point, so I started running home. When I got home my Ma & Pa, were up watching Dracula. My younger brother, Darius, sat clutching his teddy bear in the light of the old tube t.v., I called them Ma and Pa but really they were my grandparents. I lost my actual parents not to long after I was born in a freak accident, and my Mom’s family has been taking care of my brother and I ever since.

I almost felt like staying outside, letting them enjoy themselves, just finding the nearest place or thing to disappear to. Lately I was a ghost to them; I could disappear and no one would have noticed. 

I decided to walk back to the old reservoir. The rain had died down, and the moon was glowing bright all around. Nadeus and I used to meet up at the reservoir late at night to smoke a joint out of sight, out of mind. Even though he wasn’t going to be here with me tonight, I rolled one up at a park bench nearby. I could see the reservoir from afar. A little light dotted the landing into the dark dot of water. You could see it’s glow echoing throughout the ripples in the lake. I decided to stay in place, I wasn’t fit to go swimming or hiking anyways. The joint I rolled was really nice, round and filled to the brim. The green of the tip had long burned to charred embers; it was about half-way done now. I could see something break in the water from afar. I took a deeper drag, and began to focus on the breaks in the water in the distance. That’s when I saw her again, she slowly surfaced from the water, her Black hair and naked curves glistening in the moonlight. She then sank below the water, seemingly unaware of me. I hadn’t seen that many White girls like this before. Boy was she pretty, like the girls I had seen in the magazines. I’m not sure how long she’s been following me or why, but I didn’t mind her for some reason. I could tell she wasn’t malicious to me. She felt familiar, like someone I had known, though I had never talked directly to her.

As soon as the roach started to burn the tips of my fingers, I left. I didn’t see her again, she seemed to disappear into the water without entrance or exit. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been there before, watching me and Nadeus in the dark of the night. We weren’t much to see, but it’s odd to think that someone was probably watching. I always felt like the old reservoir had an odd vibe. Maybe she was why... 

A tune of “Be My Baby”, echoes far in the distance. It’s frequencies leak about a sleepy nook like an infection, seeping in through any opening it can find. 

An old lady living in a victorian house readies her shotgun with bright red shells as she sits on a rocking chair. “Goddamn chilun, granchillun, little chillun, shit noise, shit rocker, I got my red gun a here knocker. You come knock once, knock twice, I’ll act nice. Then I’ll find you in the middle of the night. You won’t like the real me. I don’t care. I’m mean, I gotta shell for each of you when you try to take my rocker”, she said to herself, cocking the shot-gun with her last words. The music echoed through the old wood in the house. She had every window open wide. 

Next door was the source of the blaring Spector mix,

A run down house, hiding in the shadow of the monster next door.

A little glow of orange illuminates the front steps, showing the appearance of a smaller girl. She sits on the front stoop smoking a cigarette by herself. As the night grows darker, her shadow grows bigger, her curves more apparent. In the darkness it was seemingly unnoticeable, but under a light it would have looked similar to photosynthesis. Nobody at the parties ever asked her why or where she went when the sun first went down, that was her special place; a place no one else could ever get to. 

The Spector mixes evolved into a dark electronica over time, and the boom of the bass made her want to go back in even less.

She twisted her dark Black hair, and thought about the cute guy she rescued the other day, where he might be, what he might be doing.

That was when the front door slammed open. The full frequencies blaring and a bit of smoke billowing out as well. A man stood in the doorway, about the size of it. He had a darkening bruise on his face, and a beer held in his left hand. He wore a raggedy leather-man jacket, it looked about ten years too old at this point. Somehow every morning it seemed knitted new, this amongst many other things was something Billy had come to expect rather than understand. 

“Black cat, black cat, what you brought home for me tonight?” he said to her.

“Nothing Billy, leave me alone, you went too far last night. I ain’t got nothing for you” she said, grimacing.

A grin creeped up his face, and he stepped towards her.

“I know you got something, you’re thinking about something.... ripe and juicy, muscular, pure-bred. You thinkin’ about that Black boy aren’t you? How he’d treat you right, put you on pedestal, give you all those big things you’ve always wanted” he said.

She pushed him away and gave him a cold glare.

“Billy you’re drunk, I don’t like seeing you like this, you’d never talk like this otherwise” she said.

“I got three wet girls lined up inside. I don’t care what you want tonight or any night. I saw how that guy was hung the oth...”

Then she slapped him, real hard right in the spot of the bruise. Her face changed from a sense of a sympathy to shear rage in seconds

“Now you shut the fuck up and listen here. We ain’t talkin’ about none of that. You’re two steps from dead Billy, and I’m sick of being mother goose to this whole inbred flock. Half of you don’t even pull through. If it wasn’t for these bullshit accidents you guys cause, you couldn’t possibly get by. I suggest you make plans on getting the fuck out”

He stood there, dumbfounded. 

“What you just plannin’ on hitting the morgues ‘gain? Huh you really think something that dumb would work twice?” he said.

“I only need you as much as you make me need you Billy” she said looking off into the distance.

He threw his beer to the ground, shook his head, then dashed back inside, slamming the door.

The Orange glow grew again, then traveled to the garage. Cigarette in hand, she grabbed 2 cans of gasoline and walked to the houses main external gas line. She opened an old metal valve on the exchange. As she walked by the house she could see Billy with two girls. The blinds had slipped open. A bit of blood spattered on the wall, and the corpse of a young black man on the ground. An old brass Swastika topped a big mirror reflecting the whole bloody orgy. Animal like glares came from all corners. They grabbed at each other in an inhuman nature, moving at demonic like speeds with each thrust and grab, 

‘if they could only see themselves’ she thought. 

But even then it was too late for them, she knew it. 

“Fuckers killed my family, my cat, my friends.....” she muttered to herself flicking on the gas line. She dumbed a bit of gasoline trailing around the house to the front. A orange glow emitted again from the ramshackle setting, then went to the ground. A short ignition of fire trailed around the house to the valve of the main line. Within seconds a deep boom sounded, then an explosion traveled through the pipes and out every orifice of the house. Billy flew out the second story window, still erect, and completely on fire. his wails echoed the previous symphony now burning in the phonograph in his room. His old speakers popped their last sounds as the fire melted through the speaker cones.

In his last seconds of consciousness, he heard someone screaming. One of the girls he was with was outside, presumably thrown out as well, he could vaguely make out the image of an Old lady standing above her. 

The Old lady held a shotgun at her.

The girl started to cry,

“I didn’t do nothing, he was a nigger! He tried to rob our house. What do you want. He came in the middle of the night. Why are you trying to kills us!” she yelled

“I’m just trying to help you, little darling” the old lady said, not drawing the shotgun down.

“You better hope Billy don’t get back up” she said

The old lady then turned the shotgun to the dark bluish corpse, now steaming, and charred. She aimed the shotgun to his head and blew what was left of his brains onto the green grass around.

The girl then stood up, as if not burned or thrown out a second story window and lunged at the old lady. Another shotgun boom echoed.

“I was just trying to defend myself from all of ya’s”, 

she muttered to herself as sirens grew closer.

She gazed around, spat on the ground and awaited the coming police.

The next morning was cold and bitter. You could smell the tinge of smoke throughout the town. The local precinct was busier then ever, still trying to figure out what to do with this old Lady, a shotgun, a blown up house and at least 3-5 corpses.

I remember walking to and from that school that day. No Red truck, no ominous characters following me, almost a pleasant silence. The day had been odd, my first class was 4 seats shorter without Nadeus, Billy, and now two of the prettiest girls who were in class. They were every guy’s eye candy, top cheerleaders who supposedly had a bad habit with guys. Those types always thought they were too good for me and Nadeus(especially because they came from rich White families)but we never wished anything on them for it, they were good company when they wanted to be. The administration made an announcement to the student body about it, “4 students were found dead in complications of a house fire. Any information leading to the arrest of the assailants will be rewarded with care and compensation. 

A moment of silence please”

I went through the work as I usually did, trying not to think too much about the whole thing. I didn’t want to get involved in the investigation either, I didn’t need any more police attention in my life. The day moved in sort of a slow motion. Clocks seemed to roll back every time I looked away, people’s conversations and concerns grew less and less important to me. The whole world was beginning to seem loud. I felt trapped, confused, lost.

I found myself walking that same familiar route home, looking for her to come swooping under a streetlight, or appear from the shadows. But for some reason she wasn’t showing. I even found myself at the old reservoir late at night, puffing away by myself, hoping I’d finally get the chance to talk to her; to see who she really was. It wasn’t until late the next week that something finally came. Late at night I was awoken by something shaking me. I shot out of bed immediately, and looked at the clock, it read around 4:34 in the morning. I refocused ahead of me and saw a dark shadow at the foot of my bed. It seemed to focus in through a smoke-like haze. The girl appeared from the haze. She climbed over my bed’s footboard, and crawled up to me. Feeling like I was in a dream, I wasn’t avert to any of this, in all honesty I wasn’t sure if it was actually happening or not. I couldn’t seem to resist her pull. She slipped under the covers and started controlling me in ways I never knew I could be. I put myself into her, at that time a virgin, she seemed to be experienced, not like me. I could feel a warmth within her, a glow, something I had never really experienced before. It wasn’t quite like love and it wasn’t quite like a drug, it was something different. Something about her seemed like a gate way to another universe. Maybe she’s a dream, maybe she’s a ghost, all I know is I now wakeup within and without her. I’ve never really known her, the familiarity is what haunts me. She leaves little messages and slips on the nights she comes to remind she was really there, only things I’d notice. 

This went on for about a week. Until one day she came with a glum look in her face. She sat at the foot of my bed, not speaking much, that dark shadow growing around her. This particular morning she hardly woke me up, I just found her there as soon as my vision cleared from a dream-like haze. She waved at me, and oddly enough I could feel her controlling me, I couldn’t move a muscle. I tried to talk but the words wouldn’t come out, they seemed trapped under some sort of immense pressure. She leaned in toward me, completely paralyzed and told me, “good bye, I might never see you again”. She then gave me a kiss, and slipped out the window, when she disappeared completely, the pull broke and I could move again. As I wondered if she was ever actually there, I found myself also concerned about how she had that much power over me. Could she read my thoughts as well? I never had any bad thoughts about her, but the point intrigued me, just how she always showed when I thought she would without a word spoken. I felt like I had always known her, but I couldn’t tell how old she was, or who she was really. I remember going to the bathroom soon after she left, as I walked in I flipped the old brass switch and the lights illuminated a bit of red on my hands and lips, I wiped it off, figuring she must of been wearing red lip stick. When I returned to my room, I went to flick my nightlight off, that’s when I saw a parked car outside. The light was on and I could vaguely make out the face of the officer brother of Billy. Was he watching my house? As soon as I thought it, the light in his car went out and he pulled away in silence. It gave me the creeps. His family was full of the worst kind of racists you could ever meet. They probably have trophies of people in their house, freaks. After seeing him, my night was restless, I saw images of him coming the next morning, telling my parents he was going to take me out for a ride, soon enough these thoughts turned into dreams, and I was reliving the Emmet Till lesson my history teacher gave me that day. Dreams are funny like that, they are seemingly simple thoughts which envelope into a reality that is only as real you make it, kind of reminiscent of this funny thing we call life.

Soon enough, she stopped coming, just like she said. The nights went without a hiccup, my dreams soothing me through the slew of days. This all lasted until one night I was awakened by blaring music.I looked out my window to see Billy’s brother sitting there. All of a sudden, he got out of his car, and started walking toward the front yard to my window. I could see he was holding something. Within seconds, that something was lobbed from below It slammed through the window and nailed my skull. Bits of skull fragments flew about the glass flying through the air. Blood cascaded about. And for a second, I was dead; the red of brick touching my soft brain, falling back onto the wooden floor.

“You aren’t here Dwayne”, a booming voice said.

I awoke on my floor. Ma and Pa were were trying to knock my door open.

“Dwayne, honey are you alright, what was that?”

My mom yelled from outside my room. 

My focus faded in and I could see the ceiling fan spinning above. 

I went to touch my head, and as I pulled my hand away, no blood.

I stood up and looked in my desk mirror. I looked just fine.

The door cracked in and they came right in. 

“Your window..... Dwayne, what did those bullies do?”

she said.

“I don’t know, I woke up to the sound of crashing glass”

That of course being a lie, I could still feel an odd throbbing in my head, every so often I sifted back around for glass or bits of something showing what I had just felt. Nothing was to be found, but somehow I felt different, not like better but, dead, maybe. I’m not sure because as I’m aware I’ve only been alive.

“Paul this is going too far we need to do something about them before this gets any worse.”

my Grandma said, picking up a red brick from the ground. A note was rubber banded to it. it read “Leave our town NIGGERS!” 

my Grandma gasped and threw it to the ground.

“We are reporting this to the police in the morning” she said, shaking her head.

After some short conversation and check-up they shut of my lights and left my room. It was eerily silent after, you could only hear the crickets outside. I found myself checking the window to see if he had come back, after about 10 or so times checking, I saw her there perched outside on the window hang, not really minding the shards of glass around. She held out her hand to me and asked “Do you want me to take you away from here?”.

“Yes”,

I grabbed her, then everything turned black.

I awoke to a comfortably air conditioned room with a popcorn ceiling.

The room smelled of cigarettes subtly.

My mind felt hazy, like I had smoked some bad pot or, got hit really hard.

Slowly my perception faded from a jumble of colors.

“Where was I?”, I thought.

“You are staying in Elvis’s private motel room at Sandalwood in Florida. Well this was his before they found him clogged with shit. The man couldn’t afford laxatives but he could afford this. He made some great music with horrible habits, funny how that works right?”

I could make out an older man sitting at a formica table across from me. His hair was jet black, and done back in a pompadour type style.

I sat there in silence, still trying to fathom what the hell was happening.

“Listen up, I saved you. Being a brother in the time it is, I’m telling you it was only a short amount of time until that brick would be a molotov and you’d lose alot more than yourself. So case in point, I saved you, now you save me. I need you to be my pool boy, if you’ll permit. I’ll help you get by until you have enough to pick yourself up, at that point you check in officially and we were never here. Do you understand me, Dwayne?”

he asked

“Yes”,

I said

“One last thing, I own this fine establishment. You can call me Uncle Tom, and this is you cabin for as long as you need it”.

Days blurred into nights and soon enough I found myself combing the beaches for a nice girl to spend time with. The work was easy, it was just maintaining the pools chlorine levels and making sure all the guests were appeased. I was oddly comfortable with the change, it beats dealing with my grandparents and the nazi’s at school. All I had to do was wake up drift through the warmth til’ the cold of night, the waves crashing all throughout, some might of found it to be empty, but I found what loved doing. It was my bit of nothing that held my everything together. The women were beautiful, even the winters would attract some beautiful types in, the kind of girls that make your heart start all over again. None though compared to the girl who brought me here. I wondered about where she might be, if she was flying far above, or beneath the waves below. The answers seldom presented themselves, only in odd creatures I would see in the water and anomalies in the sky. She was the first real love I ever had, and I knew someday I would find her, when I was ready.

As I aged, Uncle Tom did too, and he started to lose interest in the hotel business. He put it up for sale, and I decided to pool together money I had saved over the years to buy the place. Even after I acquired the grounds, I still stayed in Elvis’s old room. It had a nice warmth and comfort to it. I could see why he spent so much time here. It was truly a fortress of solitude.

I still found myself tending to the pool late at night, even when I didn’t have to. Luckily it closed at sundown, so unless we had drunks I was usually alone.

It was mainly silent, I picked a hair from my head, I could see it was beginning to gray.

Time was not being kind to me, and I was beginning to grow worried of what might come besides the next morning.

The pool was oddly cool, but all the levels were alright. I was nearing the deep end when something pulled me at my left leg. I turned around and nothing was there. Within seconds I was in the water, full sprawl. still in my clothes. I opened my eyes to see her in front of me, 

“I need you” she said. 

She then pulled me under the water, and put her mouth to mine.

Gravity and oxygen seemed to cease existing momentarily as we twirled below the bottom of the pool. 

She ripped off my clothes, and made at me like she never did before.

The rest of the night was a slew of sex and debauchery, 

I awoke the next morning with a sharp pain in the left of my neck.

The sun dotted her like a jewel, bending over in the bathroom.

I walked over to her, and I could see a man in front of her lifeless. She prepared him on the toilet. As I got closer I could make him out as the guy who whipped the brick at me.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“This is the end of your deal. I’m not like you, but you are now like me. I could never be with you because of a disease. It was put on you as much as it was me. This disease kept me alive through druggings, should-be murders, you name it. I’ve been an actress for 100 years but I’ve always been the same age. From Black and White to Technicolor my face is there, but the name changes. You won’t understand now, but someday you might see the gold in your veins and you will thank me. Maybe you’ll give me a room. Elvis Did”

Dwayne then walked over to her, and gave her a hug.

He kissed her and said

“You’re always welcome at Sandalwood. I’ve missed you”