#the roof leaks. they got it fixed two days ago. it’s leaking again today.

[sweet-as-kiwis]

I feel like I should be making a list of all the violations I’m seeing at work

[honeeysagee]

Too Hot To Think - WSCK

shopowner!Sam x mechinac!Bucky

part one

Sam was having a day. That's the only way he could describe it.

The hot sun was leaking through the windows and glass roofs of his greenhouse. The air conditioner, which he had fixed that morning, suddenly shut off again, and the small fan was doing nothing to keep Sam cool while he worked. He'd meant to go fishing this morning, but his fishing rod was missing and, to make matters worse, his truck needed gas.

Now, as he crouched among the rows of plants, sweat dripping from his brow, he could feel the frustration mounting. The tomatoes looked wilted despite his best efforts, and the stubborn weeds seemed to mock him as they sprouted back up almost as fast as he could pull them out. He longed for the peaceful escape of the lake, but instead, he was stuck battling the relentless heat and relentless weeds. Sam sighed, wondering if he'd ever get a break from the constant stream of minor disasters that seemed to plague his mornings.

His work phone rang. The worst phone to ring when he was having one of these days. Sam loved working, he did. Yet, he hated the idea of working in this heat. He thought to let it continue ringing, but the noise was also working on his nerves. So, reluctantly, he set aside his rake and picked up the receiver. “Hello,” Sam said cautiously. “Unfortunately, the Wilson's is closed and will remain that way all weekend."

The voice on the other end chuckled, and Sam knew instantly who it was. He'd grown very familiar with this person. "Hey, Buck," he said afterward, even giving him a nickname.

"Hey, Sam," Bucky replied, still chuckling. "I didn't know Wilson's closed on random weekends."

"It usually doesn't," Sam admitted with a sigh. "But I'm having a 'me weekend'. Or at least, I was supposed to, until my plans got canceled." He continued to mindlessly pick at the things in his greenhouse until he realized that a call from his employee was making him pace like a schoolgirl.

"Oh," Buck said, his voice dropping slightly. "That's too bad. I was looking forward to being bossed around by you today." There was a moment of charged silence, the kind that made Sam's heart race a little faster. He cleared his throat. "In this heat? You're insane." He wondered if it hid the weird tingling feeling in his throat and stomach. He prayed it did.

"Speaking of heat," Bucky let out a large sigh into the phone, "Is Louisiana usually this hot? I'm dying." Sam sat the phone down, placing it on speaker. Then, he spoke, "Yeah, that's why I wanted to be by the lake. Catching that cool breeze coming off the water is my favorite thing about fishing." Sam paused, remembering younger days when he and his father had taken the boat out for the day. Just to come back with half a cooler of fish and all their bait gone. It didn't matter to him - as long as he was doing something he loved with his dad.

Buck spoke, pulling Sam back to the present, "Why aren't you there again?" Sam felt himself flush under the attention. Instead, Sam felt as if he'd just been caught red-handed in something he should've kept secret from Bucky. "Oh, I can't find my fishing rod, and I ran out of gas," Sam mumbled into the phone. The admission felt took in his throat. Why was he suddenly so embarrassed to confess things to Bucky? The two of them have grown close to each other over 2 months, but he still felt like he had to impress Bucky.

"Well, your rod is in the back of my truck, remember? I'll be more than happy to bring it to you." A couple of weeks ago, they had planned an impromptu fishing trip after a long day of work. Sam had been so excited about it that he had tossed his rod into Bucky's truck the night before. But then, a last-minute emergency at Wilson's had kept them from going. They had laughed it off, promising to reschedule, but in the chaos, Sam had forgotten all about the rod.

Sam's heart skipped a beat. "You'd do that?" he asked, trying to keep his level, even going as far as to remind himself that he was a grown man. It wasn't just the usual camaraderie between friends. The smallest compliment from Bucky felt like a triumph, and the thought of disappointing him was unbearable. He remembered the way Bucky's eyes lit up when they joked around, the way his laughter sounded like music to Sam's ears. Was it weird to say about a friend?

"Of course," Bucky replied smoothly. "I'll bring the rod, and maybe we can fill up your truck and head to the lake together. What do you say?"

The suggestion sent a rush of excitement through Sam. He glanced around the greenhouse, at the wilting tomatoes and mocking weeds, and felt a glimmer of relief. "Yeah," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "I'd like that a lot, Buck."

Bucky laughed again. "Okay. See ya soon, Wilson."

The line went silent, and Sam placed the work phone back in his pocket. He stared at his greenhouse, the flush colors of green and yellow washing away the last of the light from the overhead fixtures. The heat was starting to affect his brain, making it feel fuzzy and distant. He couldn't concentrate properly anymore, so Sam decided to leave his work alone for a few hours. He gathered his tools, grabbed a bottle of water from his fridge, and headed inside.

He made sandwiches for him and Bucky. Then, he shuffled to his living room, taking deep breaths every moment. It didn't last long because the sound of a truck horn invaded the house. When he turned to look out his front window, he saw Bucky leaning against the truck, staring into the distance. The 6'6 mechanic looked so photogenic, that Sam forgot how annoyed he'd been about the summer heat. He had a nice smile and those deep blue eyes. Sam grabbed the bag of food and locked the house.

"Well, look who came to my rescue," Sam said, walking up to his friend. His voice wavered when he added, "Thanks." Bucky smiled at him, flashing perfect white teeth. His hand reached up to brush some stray hairs behind his ear, and his expression changed. Concern flitted across his features for only a second before the grin returned.

"Hope I didn't take you away from your day off."

Sam shook his head enthusiastically. "No, you're fine. It would be nice to hang out outside of work." "Sounds great to me." He followed Bucky back toward his car and climbed in after Bucky unlocked it. After a couple of minutes, Bucky leaned forward and cranked up the AC. "This feels better." Sam snorted as he buckled up his seatbelt. "If you hate the heat so much why are you wearing long sleeves?" he teased.

Bucky's eyes flickered to his arm, and Sam instantly wanted to rip the words out of the air and swallow them. He knew about Bucky's missing arm and what now took its place - a cold metal with was a hard reminder of a life he left behind. Sam offered found himself looking at the arm, thinking of the secretive life Bucky lived before coming to Delacroix. He wondered about the stories Bucky never told, the battles fought, and the losses endured. There was a part of him that longed to know more, to understand the depth of the man who had become so important in his life. He thought about the scars Bucky carried, both visible and hidden, and the weight of his past that he seemed to bear with quiet strength.

The drive to the lake was filled with the hum of the engine and the rhythmic whoosh of the AC, providing a comfortable background for their conversation. Sam settled into the passenger seat, feeling the cool air soothe his overheated skin. He glanced over at Bucky, who was focused on the road, his hands steady on the wheel.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting dappled patterns on Bucky’s face as they passed through tree-lined roads. Sam observed the way Bucky's brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the casual confidence in the way he handled the truck. There was a quiet strength in Bucky's presence that always made Sam feel at ease.

"So, your buddy, Steve, he just up and left?" Sam gets comfortable with asking about Bucky's past. He, himself, was an open book. Bucky, on the other hand, was quite guarded. Although Sam liked to tease him, it was clear that he didn't have anything to hide. So if there was one thing that he could tell from observing the man closely over these months, it was that Bucky was a private individual. And even if they were friends, Sam didn't want to intrude. So for now, he just enjoyed spending time with him.

"No, not really. He was gone before he left. His mind went wandering, and one day, he just followed." Bucky answered casually. Sam nodded, but something bit at him. Nothing came of it as they pulled into a small deck. Bucky was the first to leave the truck, walking to the back of it. Sam was next with his eyes on the lake's horizon line. "This is a good spot," He threw the statement behind him and at Bucky, "Used to fish here every day in high school."

Bucky came up behind him, a smile warming his face. "Were you any good?" Sam chuckled, "Did catch one. Never have unless my old man was with me." Bucky cocked his head to the side and looked back at the water. Sam picked up his rod from the ground and walked towards it. The water was calm and clear. As soon as he sat down, his knees brushed against the soft grass surrounding the dock. He cast his line into the water.

"I can be your lucky charm." Bucky joked before running past him, catching Sam completely by surprise. Bucky's feet were in the air before Sam could stop him. He caught a glimpse of silver before Bucky dived head-first into the lake. He heard the splash of the water hitting the bottom, the faintest splash as Bucky came up. For a minute, Sam just stood there staring, his face reflecting his shock.

There, where Bucky's arm should be, was a metal one. It was smooth and shiny, like a metal sculpture. Sam's eyes were instantly drawn to it, mesmerized by its sleek and intricate design. The arm gleamed in the sunlight, every curve and joint a testament to advanced engineering. It seemed almost otherworldly, a perfect blend of form and function. The metal caught the light in a way that made it appear almost alive, a striking contrast to the natural beauty around them. Sam couldn't tear his eyes away, captivated by the strength and elegance of the arm, by the power it held.

A moment later, Bucky pulled his hair back from his face and smiled. "I ran all the fish your way," he called out. Sam turned, blinking rapidly and trying to focus on the conversation, to get his mind back on track. When he turned back, he saw that Bucky had moved closer. The other man was smiling, attempting to push the waters and make it near Sam.

As he stepped closer, Sam noticed the look of concern in Bucky's gaze. Sam tried to read it but, despite Bucky's efforts, he couldn't make sense of it. Whatever it was, however, Bucky's eyes shifted suddenly away to the arm. No one spoke, but the air was full of tension.

"Um, I…" A strange look crossed Bucky's face. He swallowed. Sam waited for him to continue, and he watched as Bucky's mouth worked, forming words but never getting them past his lips. Finally, he sighed loudly and lowered his eyes. "It's weird," he muttered quietly. "Now, you know why I wear the long sleeves and gloves."

Sam felt his throat tighten, but he managed to shake his head. He didn't see his prosthetic as weird. He was no longer looking at the arm because he was more focused on the body Bucky kept concealed. He studied the muscles shifting under the turtleneck, the sharp edges poking from the fabric like little spikes. Sam was sure his arms must look bad compared to Bucky's. Sam tried to keep his thoughts on something else, tried to push back the feelings building in his chest. Instead, he chose his words carefully.

"It's not weird. I think it's cool." His voice was hushed, almost unsure of his own opinions. His heart rate increased. Sam mentally slapped himself, feeling stupid as the silence stretched on. Suddenly, Bucky was laughing. Sam frowned quickly, confused and anxious. Bucky wasn't laughing because of his response to Sam's comment, which was expected. Sam saw amusement dancing in Bucky's eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Sam narrowed his eyes, still watching Bucky warily. "What?"

"Nothing," Bucky waved him off, still chuckling a little bit. "Nothing at all, Wilson." He paused again and then looked up. "No one has ever told me my arm was 'cool'. Kinda funny." He shrugged. When Sam remained silent Bucky continued, "But thank you. Now, you know all my secrets."

They stared at each other for a second. Sam swallowed. The intensity of his stare didn't go unnoticed by Bucky. He blinked slowly and gave him a shy smile, the one that always melted within Sam. He cleared his throat, his cheeks burning as he averted his eyes from Bucky. "What you thinking about, Wilson?" Bucky asked, pulling himself out of the water and onto the deck.

As Bucky emerged from the lake, water streamed off his body, shimmering in the sunlight. The droplets fell back into the lake, creating a series of ripples that expanded outward. The surface of the water, previously calm and undisturbed, now danced with the motion of Bucky's movements. Each ripple caught the light, glistening like a thousand tiny diamonds scattered across the lake's surface. The water clung to Bucky's metal arm, highlighting its contours and adding a dynamic, almost magical quality to the scene. As he sat there, the water continued to drip from him, merging with the lake in a gentle, rhythmic pattern, the sound a soft accompaniment to the serene environment around them.

"It's too hot to think, Barnes."

Sam looked over and found Bucky sitting by the railing, his eyes fixed on Sam. Sam let out a breath and shook his head, trying to find some balance. "I think you scared the fish." He stated. Bucky laughed and took a few deep breaths before standing. The smile remained plastered across his face and Sam's stomach fluttered when he caught the sight of a small trail of droplets dripping downwards from Bucky's shoulder.

He shook his head once more, his heart hammering in his chest. They'd just come to the lake to spend some time together, but already he felt like he was floating, floating away from himself, away from everything, from everyone. It hadn't happened often in Sam's life, but whenever it did, a strange sort of longing began to fill him. Something inside him wanted to escape. Something was calling him to follow its beckoning. Sam tried to shake himself free of the desire to follow whatever it was.

"Well, I guess we have to catch them by hand." Bucky grabbed Sam's hand, the cool metal caused a wave of calmness through his body. He looked up at his friend before realizing he was falling back into the water. Sam tried to let go, but Bucky was holding on tight. The moment he hit the lake, coolness enveloped him, the sensation both shocking and refreshing. He felt the resistance of the water as he plunged deeper, bubbles rising around him in a chaotic dance. Sam gasped as he broke the surface of the lake, his breathing hard. Bucky followed soon after, his lungs protesting, but he fought his urge to cough. Instead, he grinned and swam toward Sam.

He lifted his hand above the water to reveal he was holding a fish. It wiggled in his hands, trying to take flight, but Bucky only held it tighter. Both men stood there in bewilderment. Sam watched his employee grip a fish with widened eyes and a dumbfounded expression on his face. His cheeks were red from the water, his blue eyes shining with excitement. Sam couldn't help but laugh. Bucky finally looked up and met Sam's gaze. "What?" He questioned, a slight pout playing at his lips.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing." Bucky, after letting the fish back into the lake, turned to look at Sam. He started swimming closer to the dock. Sam followed closely behind, making sure to stay close enough to keep up. "Sorry, for getting you wet." Bucky whispered, almost like he was ashamed of himself, "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay, but this is coming out of your paycheck." The men laugh softly and they continue to float along the lake. They drift into small conversations, discussing various topics, their voices echoing between the trees. Sam was glad to hear Bucky talk. He had no idea how to respond. His brain felt like static, nothing but a single sentence. He couldn't remember when had been the last time he'd spoken so many words to someone.

As the sun set, the heat began to dissipate, leaving the evening air cold and crisp, making the air seem much clearer. Sam could hear the chirping of crickets and frogs. He looked over to where Bucky sat next to him on the dock, staring at the lake in awe. Sam watched silently as Bucky's face relaxed. "This place is beautiful," Bucky muttered softly. His voice sounded strained, but Sam couldn't tell whether it was from swimming all day or something else. Sam nodded mutely. The lake reflected the setting sun in a fiery display of orange and pink, turning it an intense shade of red. After some moments, Sam spoke. "Hey…Barnes?" He said softly.

Bucky didn't turn to look at him, choosing instead to continue staring at the view in front of him. "Hm? Yeah?"

"I probably would have stayed inside, sulking in the heat. Thanks for today." Sam smiled and watched as Bucky turned to look at him. The expression he wore seemed different than usual. Sam wasn't sure why, but somehow, in this light, everything seemed more vulnerable. Like all of the barriers were gone like he was exposed.

"It was really nothing," Bucky replied softly. Then, without warning, he moved to stand. Sam didn’t move away. His lips parted and closed several times as he desperately searched for the right thing to say. He was so afraid of doing or saying something wrong. All he needed was to say the first words that came to mind, those that he knew would mean absolutely nothing because there was no way he suddenly had a crush on his employee.

But, the way Bucky looked at him right now made him rethink those thoughts. There was a fire in his eyes. A fire Sam didn't recognize. It was unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time. Bucky took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking. Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the sound of it loud in his ears. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat.

"You know, Sam," Bucky began, his voice low and filled with a strange intensity, "I've been through a lot of tough times. But moments like this, they make it all worth it."

Sam's breath hitched. He could see the sincerity in Bucky's eyes, the raw honesty. It was overwhelming. He swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts. "I feel the same way, Buck," Sam finally managed to say, his voice trembling slightly. There was an underlying truth there, but he wanted to ignore it.

Bucky smiled a genuine, warm smile that lit up his entire face. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Sam's. The touch was electrifying, sending a jolt of warmth through Sam's body. Sam tried to ignore the sensation building in his chest, a warmth that he didn't want to name, a feeling that seemed to grow with every second spent in Bucky's presence. He pushed it down, convincing himself it was just the remnants of a good day and nothing more.

"Let's pack up," Sam said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. Bucky nodded, and together they began gathering their things. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the lake, the sky now a deep shade of blue with stars starting to twinkle. They worked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night filling the air around them. The quiet companionship was soothing, a perfect end to an unexpectedly perfect day. Once everything was packed, they made their way back to the truck, their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path.

Sam stole a glance at Bucky, who was walking beside him, his expression content. The fireflies danced around them, tiny sparks of light in the growing darkness. Sam's mind raced with thoughts he wasn't ready to confront, feelings he wasn't ready to admit. As they reached the truck, Bucky turned to Sam with a gentle smile. "Thanks for today, Sam. It was great."

Sam nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yeah, it was. Let's do it again sometime."

Bucky's smile widened, and he opened the truck door, climbing in. Sam followed the cool air inside the truck a welcome relief from the lingering heat of the day. As they drove back, the rhythmic hum of the engine and the steady whoosh of the AC filled the truck, and Sam couldn't help but feel that something had shifted between them.

[ruzzzzzzz]

“THE GREATEST SHOWMAN”

Way back in year 1800s, in a plain quite riot-free New Jersey area. There was a boy named P.T. Barnum who was looking in the mirror and thought when he looked down then he noticed that his right shoe was broken and looked in the mirror again and his father Wheeler Barnum saw him so he dragged him and said: Wheeler Barnum: “Let’s Go! They might miss the train”.

After that they went to the Hills Borough to visit a fancy house because they going to give a renolium. When father and son were inside the fancy house, Wheeler’s maid was fixing Boroz and his son was in his reach. Once P.T. Barnum was away from his father and P.T. notice that a beautiful girl named Jenny lind, Boroz Lind’s daughter, was drinking coffee. P.T. found away to imitate Jenny in drinking coffee so he did something silly and laughed and spilled the contents of Jenny’s coffee. Boroz heard and saw that so he bought Jenny closer to him and said: Boroz: “Is this how we’ve taught you to behave”. P.T. answered at the same time: P.T.: “It’s my fault sir. I maid her laugh”. Boroz thanked P.T. at the same time slapped a whip and said at the same time: Boroz: “Stay away from my daughter. Wheeler was just looking at the incident as if he was stunned.

After that, the two went away from the father and son. P.T. looked at his father who was about top cry. Then P.T. went to the river side alone and Jenny Lind followed him and sat next to him and said: Jenny: “How did you get out? Father is sending me to finishing school. I don’t know what my future will be”. P.T. said at the same time: P.T.: “I do”.

P.T. first led Jenny to the forest and went to an Abandoned Luxury house to show Jenny around.

A few days ago, Jenny was leaving to study abroad to finish her studies and P.T. was dreaming of achieving her goal in life, so she sent a letter to Jenny so that she should know every move she made. While they were exchanging letters with Jenny, P.T’s father was sick and weak and passed away at the same time P.T. was forced to steal food from the stores and the owner caught it so he was crying was taken away someone saw him and gave him something to eat.

P.T. thought a selling news paper to make money and he continued to give letters to Jenny.

Today twenty years later, P.T. Barnum will visit Jenny Lind at her house and say goodbye that he will take Jenny. The two got together at P.T. proposed to Jenny and got married. Jenny wants no matter how big or small the house is, as long as they are together as a family.

A few days later Jenny was pregnant. P.T. works in a letter company.

When P.T. got home he notice a leak in his roof so they fixed it and at the same time he saw his two daughters Helen and Charity playing on the roof. P.T. played with his son and after that he showed something to his children. While he was telling a story about it and at the same time saying happy birthday Charity and he continued to tell the story. Charity made a wish: Charity: “I wish to merry Santa Claus”. P.T. said: “That is a good wish”.

The next morning P.T. thought pf a way for his dream of his family to come true.

One day later P.T. surprised his family so he visited then and came to the point where P.T. showed his dream to his family. He was able to erect a museum named Barnum’s American Museum of Curiousities. The children inside that museum were amazed. P.T. introduced someone to his family Malley, a thief. They toured the inside of the museum to show his family.

One day P.T. Barnum offered to go to Barnum’s Museum to watch but no one accepted them. They just throw the papers they are given on the way. The Barnum’s family went home sad and tired but P.T. didn’t think of giving up so he thought going to the house where Charles lives.

P.T. introduced himself to Charles and he showed him something and said: P.T.: “I am putting together a show and I need a star”. Charles said: “You want people to laugh at me”. P.T. answered was: “well, they’re laughing anyway, kid. So, might as well get paid”. Charles turned it back again faced again with a smile.

P.T. went home and in the evening he wrote and print what was needed to work or perform at his Museum.

He spread what he did on the walls or on the trees so that someone could see who wanted to apply.

After that, a few days later, everyone who wanted to perform at Barnum’s Museum came.

One by one, everyone who wanted to perform introduced themselves, one of which is the tandem of Anne and W.D who are doing Trapeze. Next is Tattoo Man, a person who has many tattoos all over his body. The third is Dog Boy, a man wo jumps high and whose entire body is covered in hair. The Fourth is the Heaviest Man with a record of 750 pounds which is Heaviest than three bears. Next is Irish is the tallest man in Hill Borough. And when everything was over, P.T. printed it again and stuck it on the walls so that people would notice and influence them to visit Barnum’s Museum.

Many people went to the Barnum’s Museum and the performers were ready to perform. There is a performer who is shy so P.T. motivates that. Everyone performed inside the museum, the performers felt no nervousness and no fear, so they did it well.

When they finished performing, everyone inside applauded then they didn’t know that someone was watching criminal degrading which will promote their museum.

That night, Heaviest Man, W.D and the other performers got into a fight so P.T. took them away and let them inside.

After that they performed again one day to make money. So many people watched that the ticket sold out quickly. After all that, they raised a lot of money and interviewed Mr. Barnett’s P.T. who had just come from the Herald and told P.T. that: Mr. Barnett: “Doesn’t it bother you that everything your selling is fake? P.T. said? “It doesn’t matter where they come from. The joy is real”. Mr. Barnett immediately replied: “So you are a philanthropist”? P.T. answer was: “Well, hyperbole isn’t the worst crime. Men suffer more from imagining too little that too much”. That’s why he left and P.T. passed Mr. Barnett on his away.

Since then, P.T. Barnum has become famous. For his performers to be inside while the audience was interviewing them. The performers who wanted to go at couldn’t start it anymore because P.T. preventing it, that’s why everyone struggled so they went out. All the spectators were surprised by what they saw but they continued to go out. P.T. become greedy that he only wanted to be recognized by the audience, so P.T. followed where his performers went P.T. went to each house of his stage manager one by one to apologize for being greedy and pushing them away. He apologized to them and sent them back to Barnum’s Museum to perform and get know the audience.

After that, everyone agreed and they said that if it happed again, he would find someone else to fool him. Since them they able to perform again and the normal people’s threatment of them has improved.

The end.

[angstysebfan]

The Past Can Break You - 2

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

AU: Avengers

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for aa few years. As far as you’re concerned he is the one. But what happens when a blast from the actual past shows up?

A/N: Ive seen a lot stories of Bucky getting his first love from the 40′s back. And I’ve always wondered... what would happen if he was dating someone already? Reader is from this time. Not proofread.

Warning: Smut 18+ only please

--

When Bucky made it up to your shared room he slowly and silently opened the door. You were sitting on your bed, your back facing the door, but he could tell you were crying by the shaking of your shoulders. It broke his heart to see you so upset.

He closed the door behind him and walked over to sit next to you. He wrapped his metal arm around your waist and pulled you into his embrace. You then openly sobbed into his chest. Bucky caressed your back and kissed you on the head, allowing you to cry.

When you started to calm down you sighed deeply, sniffed, and said, “Are you going to break up with me now?”

Bucky’s heart completely broke. He put his finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him. “No, baby. Of course not. I love you. I love you so much! Why would you think that?” He asks.

“Because before we started dating you told me about Dot and how much she meant to you. You were going to propose when you got home from the war. Well here is your chance to live the life you wanted with the girl you wanted,” you say as tears again start to leak from your eyes.

“Baby, I’m not the same man I was then. Yes, I still have love for Dot, but I’m so madly in love with you. I promise,” he said, kissing your forehead, nose, and then lips.

“I’m going to help Dot become acclimated to the world now, and help her settle. But I promise I will always be here for you, ok?” He asks.

You nod, feeling slightly better. “I love you,” you say.

“I love you too. I’ve gotta get down to the lab. I promised Dot I would be down there with her. But I won’t be long,” he says before kissing you again and then leaving.

You sit and wait for him, hoping it wouldn’t take too long. But after 4 hours you give up on him and go to sleep. You hope that he will keep his word on still loving you. You don’t want to lose him. You love him too much.

- -

1 month later

Over the last several weeks, you’ve only seen Bucky’s about a handful of times. He’s always off with Dot, helping her learn the ways of today, and helping her deal with her “trauma”. Every time he tries to give you a little time she always calls for him saying how upset she is or that she’s about to have a panic attack. You try and be understanding but at the same time it’s really starting to annoy you.

One of the worst things is that he barely even sleeps with you anymore. This morning you woke up to an empty bed, yet again, and head downstairs for breakfast. When you got down to the common room you heard the sound of Dot’s giggles and saw her sitting on the couch with Bucky, her feet on his lap. At that point you lost your appetite, so you went up to the roof instead.

After an hour you hear the door to the roof open as you’re staring off into the distance. You feel arms wrapped around your waist as a stubble chin rest on your shoulder. You decide to ignore him and continue staring off into the distance and several thoughts past of your mind.

“Was looking for you,” Bucky said as he kissed your shoulder. “Why you up here all alone?”

You sigh, “well I’m used to being alone a lot these days. And I guess I didn’t feel like sitting there watching you and Dot flirt in the common room,“ you say annoyed.

You hear him sigh behind you as he puts his forehead on your shoulder. “I know, and I’m so sorry that I haven’t been around much. I’m just trying to do my best to help her,” He said.

“I promise I’ll try and do better at managing my time so that I can spend more time with my girl,“ he says as he kisses the back of your head and trails kisses all the way down to your neck.

He turns you around in his arms and rests his forehead on yours. Before you know it you are both swaying to no music, until Bucky starts singing your song. You wrap your arms around his neck as you both slow dance to your song as Bucky sings. When he finishes you kiss him passionately.

“Tonight we will have date night. No Dot, no interruptions, just you, me, and that new lingerie you bought a few weeks ago,” he says as he continues to sway you.

You smile widely at the thought of spending a night alone with your boyfriend. “Oh Bucky, that sounds amazing! I’ve missed you so much, and I get what your doing, but it’s hard,” you say.

“I know. I’ve been neglecting you and it ends now. You are my priority, not Dot. And I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Tonight,” he says.

You kiss him in reply.

- -

Later that night, after dinner and another bout of dancing, you come out of the bathroom with your new lingerie set. You stand in the doorway staring at your half naked boyfriend. Bucky’s eyes darken with lust as he starts to stalk towards you like a lion about to pounce.

“You look good enough to eat, baby,” he says huskily. He then pulls you into his arms with a searing kiss.

He leads you to the bed and throws you on it, before jumping on top, connecting your lips again. His hand travels down to your core and he moves your panties to the side, putting pressure on your clit. He starts rubbing at an intensely fast pace, making you lose your breath. Very quickly he pulls your first orgasm from you.

Before you come back to earth you feel your new panties being ripped from you, as well as the bra. Bucky loved to rip your underwear all the time. He kissed his way down your stomach to your wet core and dove in. Your back arched off the bed.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” You moaned as your hand pulled his hair.

He then stuck two metal fingers into you and started pumping. You knew it wouldn’t be long now. You couldn’t stand the amazing sensation of his fingers and tongue. You started to feel the build up of pressure in your belly.

“Bucky! I’m going to cum,” you cry as you again orgasm on his face.

After a moment Bucky kisses his way back up your lips. You taste yourself on his tongue, which makes you wetter, if that’s possible. “You are the best thing I have ever tasted, Doll. Truly exquisite,” he says.

He then pulls off his pants and boxers before lining up with you. He slowly starts to push in, which feels amazing. After a moment he completely bottoms out in you. He kissed you, and just as he is about to thrust, you are both interrupted by FRIDAY.

“Sergeant Barnes, Ms. Jones is requesting to see you sir,” she says.

Bucky groans into your neck, “Tell her I’m busy and we’ll talk in the morning,” he says.

“I’m sorry sir, but she appears to be having a panic attack and having trouble breathing,” FRIDAY says.

“Shit,” Bucky says as he pulls out of you and grabs his sweats. He looks at you guiltily, “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in 10 minutes tops, and then we can finish what we started,” he says before running out the door.

You stare at the door as it closes in shock. He just left you in the middle of sex for his ex. What the hell! You lay there and wait, but after 2 hours you decide to get dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. You take your ruined lingerie and throw it out. You lay back on your bed thinking about how you will have a stern discussion when he comes back.

Before you know it, another 2 hours go by and it’s the middle of the night. You’re more than angry, now you are hurt. You grab your pillow and your blanket and leave your shared room with Bucky, and head to your old room. After locking the door, you inform FRIDAY not to let anyone, especially Bucky in. You climb into bed and allow a few tears before falling asleep.

- -

Bucky woke up the next morning disoriented. When he realized he was still in Dot’s room he panicked. After he finally got Dot to calm down last night he went to leave but Dot begged him to stay until she fell asleep. He must have dozed off too. He quickly got out of the bed and quietly exited the room.

Steve was coming down the hall and saw Bucky’s coming out of Dot’s room. “ why are you in Dot‘s room?” Steve asked.

“She had a panic attack last night and I came to calm her down and fell asleep. Y/N is going to be so pissed at me,” Bucky said.

“Wasn’t last night date night?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded, “Yea and Dot interrupted right in the middle of sex. I left Y/N there naked on the bed like a jackass,” Bucky said angrily.

“You left her in the middle of sex to deal for your ex!? Why didn’t you ask me to deal with it?” Steve yelled.

“I don’t know. Dot says she only feel comfortable with me. I’m just trying to help her. But I’m going to lose my girl in the process. I’ll talk to Dot later about it, but things have to change. I can’t keep ignoring my girl,” Bucky said.

Steve nodded, “Yeah, we’ll good luck with talking to her after last night,” he said before slapping Bucky’s shoulder and leaving.

Bucky sighed and went to your shared room, only to see that you weren’t there. He checked the kitchen, common room, roof, gym, and lab but couldn’t find you. The last place he went was to your old bedroom. He found the door locked, which told him he found you.

“FRIDAY, can you please open the door?” He asked the AI.

“I’m sorry Sergeant Barnes. But I was requested by Agent Y/L/N to not let anyone, especially you in,” FRIDAY said.

Bucky’s heart dropped. He really messed up.

- -

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3

A lot happening in this chapter. Bucky being stupid, but at least he is aware. Now can he fix it? will the reader let him? And what else will Dot do? Feedback is appreciated!

Permanent Taglist:  @hailmary-yramliah @tuiccim @comedictragedy @cap-n-stuff @thefridgeismybestie @swiftmind @aleaisntcreative @lookiamtrying @pinknerdpanda @morganclaire4 @iamvalentinaconstanza @verygraphicink @im-squished @joannie95 @peace-love-hobbitness @connie326 @amandamdiehl @harrysthiccthighss @its-izzys @roserose26 @rebekahdawkins @elegantobservationstudentsblog @broco8 @shinykoalacat @white-wolf1940 @jessyballet

Story Taglist: @afuckingshituniverse @wintrfld 

[holylulusworld]

More than their roommate (3 of Arc 1)

Summary: Slowly the lines between lust and feelings blur and someone tries to destroy your blooming relationship.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Sam Wilson

Characters: Director Nick Fury, Maria Hill, OFC

Warnings: language, bickering, smut, fingering, light oral, possible FATWS spoilers, hurt & comfort, cuddling & snuggling, polyamory, bad therapy etiquette, mentions of non-con filming, extorsion, mentions of former abusive relationship, implied smut

A/N: Part 3/3 of (Arc 1) - The Therapist

Divider by @firefly-graphics

<< Part 2

Since you moved in with the boys, they work together like a well-oiled machine. 

Fury wanted to know your secret, but this is something you’ll never share.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky and Sam, Fury already found out why your roommates work better together.

He saw the footage from their office and more than one from your shared loft.

Someone sneaked into your home, installed cameras, and filmed you anytime you had sex with one of your roommates – or both.

“Sam,” you gasp, looking at Sam between your legs. He has you on the edge of an orgasm but won’t let you fall. “We got no time. Fury wanted an emergency meeting this morning, with all of us.

“Yeah?” he looks up at you, smirking as you admire his face, covered in your slick. “I’m just having a snack before we go, babe,” Sam grins, diving back in to wrap his lips around your oversensitive clit. 

“Ah, fuck – Sam!” you cry, grinding against his face. “Please, I need a shower, fix some papers, and make a few calls,” you say, breathlessly. “Let me cum, please.”

“Alright, lemme just-“ Sam slides three fingers inside of your cunt, presses his fingertips against the roof of your vagina. “I’m gonna make you cum now and we have a shower together. I wonder why Fury called you in the middle of the night…”

“So sexy,” Sam kisses your sweet spot, leaves open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “What are we doing here, Y/N? I’m not complaining but is this something serious or just fun?”

“Honestly,” you turn around to face Sam, running your loofah over his chest, “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that I never did something like this before with two men. When I’m with you and James, I feel-“

“Complete,” he whispers, stopping your hands from cleaning his body. “Y/N, we need to talk about this. I don’t think Bucky can lose someone else. He already lost so much.”

“I’m not here to break your hearts,” you touch Sam’s cheek, just looking up at him for a moment. “I like you both, a lot. Right now, I can’t call it love yet, but if I would ever fall in love with someone again, it would be you and him…”

“Doc carries her own package, huh?” Bucky wonders, flipping through the pages of your file. “Did we find out who the douche breaking her heart was?”

“Not so loud,” Sam tuts. “After what she told me this morning, I asked a friend to dig a bit deeper. Sharon said Y/N left her former job, a well-paid position as someone broke her heart.”

“What do with the information now? I don’t think she wants us to stick our noses into her-“ Bucky bites his tongue when you walk into the living room.

“Ready?” you ask, brows furrowed in a silent question. “What? Do I have something on my face? Damn, is there a visible bite mark at my neck?”

“No, you just look so sexy in your professional outfit, doll,” Bucky grins, holding out his hand. “Do we have to go to the office today?”

“Fury said it’s important, James,” you tut. “Let’s be professional for once, okay. I know you hate meetings, but this is unavoidable.”

“Why is this woman here?” Bucky eyes the foreign woman warily, not missing you squirm in your seat. “Something wrong, doc?”

Sam can see a hint of fear flash across your face before you clear your throat. 

“This is Sarah Murphy, our expert for, let’s say internal affairs,” Fury huffs, hating he must have this specific conversation with you. “Let’s get this over with, Ms. Murphy.”

“Director Fury asked me to be here today to make sure whatever we discuss, stay within these walls. I can assure you, the material we will show to you, will not leave this room either and no one but Director Fury saw the footage.”

“Footage?” you furrow your brows, confusion is written all over your face and you clutch your hands to your chest in attempt to calm your racing heart. “Did you spy on one of us?” 

“None of us spied on you, Doctor Y/L/N. I always appreciate your hard work. Sadly, someone sent us this,” Fury points at the laptop Sarah Murphy placed on the desk. “I want you to watch the footage, all of it. Ms. Murphy and I will leave the room meanwhile.”

“I don’t understand,” you panic, grasping for Sam’s hand to squeeze it tightly. “Why do you want us to watch videos?”

“I must tell you before we leave the room, that someone sent us the footage, along with a few demands,” Fury stands, gives Sam a curt nod before he turns to leave the room. “In other words, someone tries to extort us. I will tell you about the details later.”

When it’s only you and your roommates you look at the laptop, afraid to watch whatever someone filmed. “I don’t want to watch this.”

“We must,” Sam says, breaking the tension, just pressing play. “Whoever filmed us or one of us will pay for it.”

“Maybe it’s not that bad,” Bucky tries, metal hand balled into a fist. “Maybe that bastard only filmed me doing push-ups or-“

The first thing you recognize is your hoarse voice, and the slap of skin against skin. Your eyes widen in horror when you watch yourself getting fucked by Sam while you watch Bucky jerk off and later on, covering your body with his cum.

“No,” your body starts to tremble, and you can barely feel the hand touching yours when the scene changes to another video. 

It’s in the kitchen this time, you bend over the kitchen island, Bucky’s hands hold you down by your shoulders while he fucks you roughly, calling you his whore.

“No-no-no-“ Bucky stops the video, clicks on the next one. This time you get fucked in their office, not days ago. “Stop this, Bucky-“ you cry, hiding your face in the palm of your hands. “Someone invaded our privacy just like that.”

“Baby doll,” slamming his metal fist into the laptop, destroying it on his way Bucky feels his chest tightening. He knows how it feels to have no privacy. “I will rip whoever did this to you apart.”

“So someone filmed us at our home and sent it to Fury. Then the same person filmed us at our office and did the same again,” Sam tries to not freak out. He hates you choke out sobs, desperate to forget about what you just saw. “But why?”

“We should ask Fury,” you whisper, not fighting Bucky when he brings you in his arms to cradle you gently. “Sam, you should talk. I-I can’t right now and Bucky, he’s too mad.”

“I’ll go get Fury,” Sam swallows thickly. He slowly gets up to kiss your hair softy, hand gently smoothing over your arm. “We will handle this, baby. No one is going to see this ever again.”

“We-We looked hot, at least,” you try to laugh, but choke on your tears instead. “I hate someone did this to us. It’s not only about me, but you and Bucky too, Sam. How dare them?”

“I’m going to kill them,” Bucky growls. “Rip them apart, limp by worthless limp…”

“Do we know who did this?” Sam asks while you sit between Bucky and Sam, not meeting Fury’s eyes. “Director?”

“I need to get this off my chest, doctor,” Fury sighs. “Whatever you do in your free time, is up to you.”

You nod, still not looking up. “Do we have a name or a reason why?”

“Sergeant Barnes, this has nothing to do with you, if you would just calm down,” Bucky starts to pace the room, jaw ticking, hands balled into fists. “I know you were on the footage too, but according to my information it’s all about the shield and the title.”

“Wait—what?” you gape at Fury, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine. “No way! You can’t be serious! Someone wants the title and Sam’s shield?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fury says, watching Sam run his hand over your hair. “We will do anything to help you, though.”

“What if Sam doesn’t give it to them? What did they say will happen?” Bucky asks, watching Fury lean back in his chair. “That bad?”

“Whoever is after the shield threatens to leak the footage. Doctor Y/L/N would lose her job. She would be compromised,” Fury explains. “I can’t say what would happen to your uh-“

“I don’t have a career and give a shit on my reputation, but we can’t let anything happen to Y/N and her job,” Bucky grunts. “What can we do to find them?”

“John Walker,” you whisper, glancing at Fury. “It can only be him – right?”

“Who is John Walker? I never heard of him before,” Sam watches you focus your attention toward Fury, not answering his question. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“If it’s John, we got to be careful. I know he wanted to become the next Captain, not accepting the gentleman’s agreement between Sam and Captain Rogers. I know some people at the government would like to see that man wield the shield, but we won’t allow him to do so,” you stand, straighten your skirt before you look Fury straight in the eyes. “I quit.”

“Doll, just wait a minute. Let’s talk about this,” while Bucky tries to stop you from throwing everything you worked so hard for away while Sam silently watches the change in your posture.

“What is else do we want to discuss, James? That bastard won’t stop, okay. He wants the shield but won’t get it.”

“I give it to him if this saves your career and reputation,” Sam offers. “Steve hand the shield to me, believing I’ll do the right thing. He would’ve done the same to save you.”

“No,” you slam your fist onto the table, making Sam jump. “If you don’t want to wield the shield, fine by me but we will not let anyone take it away from you.”

“What about your job?” you don’t give in. Looking at Sam you give him a weak smile. “Y/N?”

“Fury, tell that bastard he can go and leak anything he wants to. I’m an adult and had sex with two men I love. This is not a crime. If he wants to ruin my career, so be it. He can go and shove it up to his ass.”

“I did not expect anything else from you, doctor,” Fury chuckles, admiring you give a shit on John Walker’s threat.

“Just give me an hour to get back home. I don’t want to answer any questions today. Let hell come over me – tomorrow…” your head held up high you walk toward the door, grasping for the door handle before you look over your shoulder. “Are you coming, guys?”

“We can’t let that bastard get away with this,” Bucky points at the TV. An hour after Fury told Walker he can fuck his deal, named man leaked all the videos he took of you and your roommates.

“Hill did her best to take all the videos down. Luckily, she found the server with the original files. She also marked the files and tries to locate any copy,” Sam explains. 

He watches you sit in your favorite armchair, snuggled in a warm blanket you just look at the wall. “She just lost her career only as we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves and tried to get rid of her, Sam.”

“I know.”

“I will find and kill John Walker. He will pay for hurting Y/N,” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, watching you brush a single tear off your cheek.

“So, we're partners?”

“Co-workers. Not necessarily a team, but we will team up to avenge, Y/N.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Bucky holds out his hand. 

“Sounds like a good plan,” shaking Bucky’s hand Sam smirks. “Now let’s find John Walker and show him what happens if he hurts someone we care about.”

“Finally-“ you walk toward your roommates, smiling softly. “Took you long enough to admit you like each other.” you walk toward your bedroom, smiling to yourself. “Did you find all the hidden cameras?” 

“Yes. Why?” cocking his head Sam looks at you. “Y/N?”

“You know, I don’t have to be up early in the morning any longer,” you smirk. “You can keep me awake all night long…”

“Doll,” Bucky purrs, eyes drifting toward your ass. “Ready if you are…”

“Hey, I told you she’s mine,” following you hot on your heels Sam calls Bucky’s name. “Hands off!”

“How did Y/N know it was Walker?” Maria looks at the leaked footage, clenching her jaw. “Director?”

“Do you remember when I told you she quit her last job? I told you that someone made her leave, it was Walker,” Fury explains. 

“Doctor Y/L/N doesn’t seem like someone just giving up on her career for a man,” Maria wonders. “There is more – right?”

“They were a pair for years, even wanted to marry but then, he changed. After the blip happened he became a different man. And since Steve Rogers and the Avengers undid the blip, Walker wanted to become the next Captain and turned into a possessive man on a mission.”

“Sounds like the perfect partner,” nodding thoughtfully Maria looks at her boss. “What happened?”

“Y/N tried to make Walker see he was in the wrong, that the end doesn’t always justify the means. She ended up in hospital with two broken ribs and a concussion.”

“She walked out on him I assume.”

“John Walker doesn’t like rejection in any way. This is the opportunity he was waiting for. He ruined Y/N’s career and aims for his next target—the shield in Sam Wilson’s hands…”

End of Arc 1...

Arc 2 - TBA

All works Tags

@yolobloggers

@shikshinkwon

@miraclesoflove

@mogaruke

@shatteredabby

@soryuwifeyxx

@letsdisneythings

@i-love-superhero

@psychicforest

@thevelvetseries

@anaelsbrunette

@sabascio

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@trumpettay

@zxph-yr

@belovedcherry

@matsumama

@emoryhemsworth

@buckybarnesplumwhore

@wonderlandfandomkingdom

@kitkatd7

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@princesssterek

@xoxabs88xox

@wandering-spiritash

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

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore

@notyourtypicalrose

@valsworldofcreativity

@officialmarvelwhore

@randomgirlkensy

@juniorhuntersam

@lumar014

@doctorswife221b

@sister-winchesters99

@sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

@the-soulofdevil

@dayasvalkyrie

@redroomproperty

@natura1phenomenon

@chaoticfiretaconerd

@heartislubbingdubbing

@hhiggs

@sea040561

@midnightsilver16830

@rvgrsbrns

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@amandamdiehl

@grincheveryday

@thelostallycat

@lunaticgurly

@supernaturalwintersoldier

@mrsdeanwinchester19

@pandaxnienke

@just-a-littlebit-of-everything

@tdbooth

@iloveshawnieboi

@vicmc624

@coffeebooksandfandom

@mariaenchanted

@rebekahdawkins

@lady-pswrld

@thinkaboutmara

@notbrooklynsblog

@bxnnywriting

@demonicbusiness

@introvertatitsfinest

@notbrooklynsblog

@just-a-littlebit-of-everything

@doozywoozy

@moshymosh

@soccer-100000

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

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

Bucky Barnes/Sebastian Stan Tags

@marshyrebelcloud

@buchanan-lover

@rosalynshields

@neii3n

@jane-dough

@hinata7346​

[softboywriting]

3AM | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: A rainstorm in the middle of the night is the perfect time to start confessing feelings and thoughts that have been bottled up for over a year. At least to Nathan it is. [Post Film - Nathan Lives] [Mentions of Alcoholism] [Pregnancy - Mentioned] [Soft!Nathan] [Mention of Injury - Film Canon] [Fluff with Angst] [F!reader/Nathan] [Established Relationship]

Word Count: 1.8k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Nathan doesn't sleep on his own anymore unless it's raining, not without help. Drinking, some over the counter non prescription sleeping medication, physical exhaustion. He will do anything to make himself sleep, except see a doctor. Nathan doesn't like doctors, he thinks most are liars and cheats who just want to scam people out of their money. You have no idea where he got the theories he has but he won't see medical professionals unless he absolutely cannot handle the situation himself. He is a genius but maybe too in his head for his own good.

You're not sure why this all started, but you can pinpoint when it started. A year ago, a year and three months ago after his last failed AI. Failed isn't the right word. They aren't failures, they're incredible works of art and science but not what he wants so in his eyes, failures. Ava was his best work to date and he even brought in an outside civilian to try her out with someone other than himself. He never lets you in with the AI. Says he is protecting you. Things with Ava escalated, got heated and Nathan got seriously hurt. After she was detained, Nathan was forced to shut the breaker down to Ava's room so she couldn't power back up after her battery ran down and he could safely disassemble her after he healed. After that he became closed off, more so than usual. The drinking got worse and the sleeplessness started. It has put a strain on your relationship that sometimes it feels like it only affects you.

So when you wake up in the middle of the night and go to the kitchen for a bottle of water and see Nathan passed out on the couch you think he's drunk again. A topic of many arguments and one you don't want to breach at three in the morning. So you tiptoe quietly past him to your destination. It's then that you see the rain pelting the glass walls of the house. Wind whipping around the trees and making a muffled howling sound. You wish Nathan would come to bed, your shared bed, but he won't if he's been hitting the bottle because he knows you hate it. Maybe you can get him to move off the couch if he's just asleep because of the rain.

"What's that noise?" He groans and you stop by the doorway to the inner workings of the house, bottle of water in hand. "Kitten? That you?"

"Yes, I was getting water. Do you need something?"

"Noise?" He asks insistently.

You cross the room and he lifts his arm from his eyes. "It's a storm. Pretty bad one if I were to guess."

"Oh."

"Mmhmm. Do you want to go sit on the enclosed deck? I know you like to watch the rain."

Nathan sits up and fixes his crooked glasses. "What time is it?"

"Three A.M."

"Fuck." He pushes up off the couch and goes to the window leaning against it with his forearms up on the glass, eyes fixated on something out in the dark. "I must have passed out."

"Yeah, it's raining." You walk up behind him and lay a hand between his shoulder blades. "You always sleep when it's raining."

Nathan glances back at you. "I do?"

"Yes." You chuckle. "You don't know?"

"I sleep without the rain too, that's ridiculous."

"No, you get black out drunk and pass out or your body physically shuts down because you go too long without rest." There is a hint of venom in your words that you don't intend but it's a touchy subject. You miss him in your bed. You miss him in general. Since Ava things haven't been the same and you're getting tired of it.

Nathan doesn't say anything. He just stares out at the darkness. You hate his silence. It's almost worse than when he's talking to you like you're a child, which he rarely does now since you've discussed how that doesn't fly with you. Silence is his new way of saying he is right about everything.

"Nate," you start and he pushes off the glass, walking away to the kitchen. "Nathan, where are you going?"

"Deck."

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

The moment you're seated together on the wooden bench in the enclosed deck, he decides to speak. It's not loud but it makes your heart rate spike when he begins. You're not sure why. Maybe you can feel something coming.

"I've been thinking."

"You're always thinking."

"No," he looks over and you can tell by the way his eyes are softened that he's serious and he wants you to listen and not talk back right now. "I want to stop drinking."

You lay your hand on his thigh and he covers it with his own. You've never known him to have this serious of a conversation with you. Not even when he said I love you the first time. Nothing has felt this important. "Why?"

"For you." He leans his head on your shoulder and you rub your cheek against his stubbly hair. "I know you don't like it and I can see it's putting a strain on our relationship."

"I definitely wouldn't mind it. I do miss you."

"I'm right here, every day."

"You know that isn't what I mean."

"I know." He murmurs. You don't think you've ever heard him speak so softly outside of sleepy cuddling, let alone hear him agree with you so quickly. This is scaring you. It makes you think something is wrong.

You rub your hand over his cheek, fingers flexing in his beard. "Is something going on? Did something happen to bring this all about?"

"Do you think I'd be a good dad?"

You pause, thrown for a loop at such a left field question. "A good dad? Nathan...I don't know."

"You can say no."

"That's not my answer." You look out at the rain. You don't know what he would be like as a dad. Having children changes people. As he currently is, no, Nathan would not be a good dad. He's too stubborn, bossy, impatient and absent. He has too much going on in the lab to focus on raising a human being. "It's complicated."

"Simplify it."

"I don't know how you are with children. I've never seen that side of you. But that doesn't matter. How a person is with someone else's kids versus how they act when it's their own is different. It's not a black and white answer."

"Do you want children?"

You sigh and look at him. He looks distant, zoned out. If you didn't know better you'd think he was drunk or stoned. "Maybe. It's not something I think about a lot. Do you? It seems you're thinking about it quite a bit more than me."

"I thought about it today. I thought about a lot of things today, and yesterday. What day is it? Nevermind it doesn't matter."

"What have you been thinking about? Other than children obviously."

"Like how I've never loved someone, or anything more than I love you. I didn't even think myself capable of love until I thought I was going to die after Ava's attack and my first thought was not that I was scared of death, but that you would be alone and you would have to see me die."

"Nathan, honey..." You slide your hand across his stomach where, beneath the soft cotton shirt, lies a very large scar. You'll never forget that night. It was a nightmare come to life.

A cool wetness comes across your arm, and you think it is the rain at first. Somehow leaking through the roof. But then you realize it's Nathan. He's crying for the first time since you met him, since you fell in love with him. He is crying silently.

There are no words to be said as you gather his head to your chest and hold him tight. He's been holding on to this for a long time. It wasn't just yesterday he was thinking about it. It's been a year and three months. You imagine he has been tormenting himself every day with the thought of leaving you alone, of you coping with his death. If only it didn't take so long for him to come clean.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, clinging to your back. "I won't leave you."

"I won't leave you either."

"I'm not making AI anymore. Not the conscious kind. Ava was too much, I played God and I realize I shouldn't have."

This is astounding. Nathan never apologizes, never admits fault or denies his works. You don't know who this is. This is not your Nathan. "Is there something more you want to tell me?"

"Yeah."

Your stomach aches, and a cold shiver tears it's way through your body. You have no idea what he is going to say. The worst is that he's dying, you think. "Out with it then. You're not one to dilly dally with words."

"Marry me."

"What?"

Nathan slides off the bench and stands in front of you. He doesn't kneel. He would never kneel. "Marry me." He puts his hand out for you. It's not so much a question as it is a command. How very Nathan. If he were any other person you would tell them off for this kind of harsh proposal.

"I thought you didn't believe in marriage."

"I didn't believe in love either but here I am."

You stand up and he takes your hands, rubbing his thumbs over the tops. "You want to marry me and have kids? Who are you?"

"I'm Nathan." He leans in and presses his forehead to yours. "I'm the Nathan that you broke down emotionally piece by piece for the last two years and this is what's left."

"A softie?"

"I wouldn't say I'm soft. I'm more...attuned to my emotional responses."

You reach up and hold his face in your hands, head still pressed to his. "I think I love this Nathan more. Is that harsh?"

"No." He nudges forward, bumping your nose and presses a quick kiss to your lips. "But don't expect me to be any softer in bed."

"I would never."

"Good. So you accept?"

"Accept?"

"My proposal."

You laugh softly under your breath. "That was a proposal? It didn't sound like a question, but rather a command."

Nathan smiles, that troublesome glint in his eye. "Semantics. So will you?"

You roll your eyes and smile. "Yes. I'll marry you Nathan."

"Good." He pulls you in, hips flush to his, pressing his face to your neck. He kisses along your throat, leaving wet licks across your jaw. "Now I can put a baby in you," he murmurs against your ear.

You smack him in the back and he chuckles.

"Come on." He wraps his arms around you and hauls you up against his chest. "I've done some research. I know all the best positions to get you nice and full."

"Nathan!"

"Oh shut up." He walks you back toward the kitchen, biting on your shoulder. "You love it dirty."

"Oh my God!"

"Yes?"

"I hate you."

"Love you too."

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

end

Thank you! Please Comment and reblog if you read and or enjoyed -A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 30)

“It’s gonna be a great day.” 

Daryl turns his head from the robin, sitting on the ridge of a roof, further away and that he’s been fixing his gaze on for the past half an hour and observes Rick. His friend lets down his shoulders and relaxes his spine, takes a deep breath and lets himself take in the silent calmness of the morning surrounding them. He’s right. It’s gonna be a beautiful day. 

The breeze hasn’t even bothered to wake up today. It’s the two of them, the robin, who sings his morning song, to announce that a new day has begun, and the walkers. 

“Yeah.” 

“Gotta continue working on the wall.” Rick proclaims, as if to create a to-do list in his head of today’s chores. “Check blueprints, find materials. Gotta go on a run.”

“Great.” Daryl replies and nods at Rick. He’ll get to go, he knows it, and he doesn’t mind. As if he were a tame fox, who no matter how domestic it may seem, constantly needs a certain degree of freedom and nature. But he doesn’t mind returning back here either. Not anymore. “I’ll go.” He continues. “Just tell me whatcha’ need.”

“Yep.” Rick takes another deep breath. “What a day.” 

His sudden discovery of nature, the surroundings and an overbearing serenity hasn’t sprung from nothing. He watched by Carl’s side for days. Didn’t sleep, didn’t eat properly, not until Carl sat up in bed and ate himself. The eye was completely destroyed and had to be removed. Thanks to Denise, Rosita, Tara and Mila, who, thanks to her previous profession as a dental nurse, knew how to sterilize scalpels and tools, as well as use sedatives and anesthetics. Thanks to their care, Carl got better, as did Rick. 

“What time is it?” Rick says. “Seven, or eight?”

“Prolly.” Daryl looks at the sun. He watched it rise, heard the birds wake up. Rick joined him shortly after. “Early.” 

“Ya’ wanna go back to the house?” Rick asks. “Get some rest?” 

“Nah.” 

Rick fixates him with his gaze, very ‘nice cop’-like, yet friendly and somewhat cheeky. 

“When I first met Lori-” Rick says, then smiles faintly, chuckles. “Boy, I was- Couldn’t eat properly. Couldn’t sleep. Like I went around in a haze and just thought ‘bout her.”

Daryl nods a little, smiles very faintly, but inside of his chest, his heart takes a skip. 

Has it been two days, forty-eight hours ago he went downstairs holding hands with Jersey when everyone was eating breakfast at the big table? 

After their escapade in the shower, resulting in soaking clothes that had to sundry at the porch roof, they stayed in the bedroom for the entire day. Juri wasn’t in bed when they came out from the bathroom, holding their soaking wet clothes. The smell of breakfast toasts was enough for Mila to understand that Juri was downstairs. Daryl left late in the afternoon, to join a group that has started to create a temporary barricade at the broken wall. Carol brought a late dinner to the working group. 

“How strange, I think I saw these particular clothes sunbathing on the porch roof earlier.” She said cheekily and bumped his hip, while he took a bite of a sandwich.

“Shut up.” Daryl scoffed softly. 

“Pookie.” Carol grinned and shook her head.

He returned late and when he entered the bedroom again, both Mila and Juri were asleep, spooning each other on the bed surrounded by books, soft toys and cassette tapes. He sat down in the comfortable chair, didn’t feel like waking ‘em up by laying down next to them, where he fell asleep. 

Their presence downstairs the morning after that was a silent, visual proclamation that yeah, it was the two of ‘em now’. Or the three of them, including the kid wedged at Mila’s hip in his pajamas, barely awake, but determined to not skip breakfast. Daryl’s heart pounded harder than ever in his chest as they settled on the ground floor, next to each other in front of the entire Atlanta group at the table. Harder than when he stood in the yard as a child and saw the house, his home, burn down to the ground with his mother in it. But it was different. As if his chest was flooded with a warm, deep sense of pride, a sense of belonging. The group hadn’t, thankfully, made a big scene of the silent announcement, which was as big of a deal to him as if he’d announced he’d become the president of the whole damn united states of whatever. It was clear to him, when they sat down at the table, set with pancakes and toast, that the others had already put two and two together. Was it Carol who blabbed, or was it by any chance Rick? Anyway they took it without any fuss. Thankfully. He’d never pull through such a questioning. 

But Rick’s right, to some extent. He’s been in a constant haze for awhile now. He can’t put his finger on when the haze was inevitable, must’ve been during their walk to the gas station, but might just as well be earlier. She had a special impact on him from the start. Those blue, piercing eyes looking at him over the barrel of the gun after they’d saved him and Aaron. He can’t get enough of ‘em. 

“Guess ya’ right.” He therefore says. Why would he lie? Apparently they’re the talk of the town now anyway. Jeez. As if the townies don’t have else to talk about? 

“That hurricane of- I dunno, feelings. They’re good. Validation that everything’s just- perfect.” Rick says and by doing so, puts his finger on something Daryl have felt some kind of guilt for, not always, fuck no. 

But it’s a feeling he struggles with from time to time, if just for a second or a minute. He’s not good for her, or more correctly; not good enough. But that feeling’s swept away as soon as he notices her looking at him. The blue eyes smiling at him, as a lagoon of homeliness and deep affection. 

“Never done this before.” Daryl says husky. 

“No one has.” Rick replies while looking at the robin. “There’s a first for everyone. Ya’ just- gets a hang of your own mind. The rest goes by itself.” He makes a movement, and gets up from the boards. “I’ll go get some water.” He announces. 

Rick climbs down the ladder and Daryl looks after him as he strides over to the store. He smiles faintly to himself, lets his experienced gaze wander slow and steady over the closest surroundings at the other side of the makeshift wall. A few walkers have miraculously managed to remain on the site since they made a raid and eliminated most, after the great battle. One of them seems to have ended up in a loop; over and over again it crashes into the hood of an abandoned pickup, whose tires have almost grown stuck in the asphalt, which has been taken over, slow and steady, by mother nature. 

A soft tapping on wood gets his attention. He turns his head, and happens to see something at the lower end of the ladder.  

“Mornin’.” He greets Juri, who’s small, soft hands squeezes the second step of the hard, wooden ladder. “Wanna come up, kiddo?”

Without hesitating, Juri climbs the tall ladder, with the walkman in his pocket and the headphones around his neck. The big blue eyes are determined, curious. Almost at the top of the ladder, Daryl grabs the boy by his armpits and lifts him up to the platform. The three and a half year old is an early riser and has managed to dress himself this morning too, except the shoes that Juri wiggles in front of Daryl, to tie for him.

“Ya’ gotta learn to do this on ye’re own someday, kiddo.” Daryl says and ties the tiny Chuck Taylors.

A small index finger is pointed right at him. Juri looks at him with a clever grin, as to say: ‘Well, until then, you’re doing it for me’. Yeah, that’s probably true. Daryl lets out a faint chuckle. Being bossed around by a kid is something new. 

“Ya’ mom’s asleep?”

Juri nods. Daryl smiles. Before he left the night before to join Abraham at the watchtower he checked in on Mila and Juri. Juri was tucked in for bed and Mila had curled up next to him, supported by at least four pillows, with two books about bunnies in her lap; The Velveteen Rabbit and The Naughty Bunny. 

“See ya’ in the mornin’.” Daryl said, stroking Mila’s hair. “Night, kiddo.”

The smile he received from Juri, all wrapped up under the covers with his soft toys was priceless and also followed by a thrown, open-palm kiss.  

Juri settles down next to him on the platform. He’s dressed in a pair of rust colored dungarees with a black jumper underneath. On top he wears a flannel to shield himself from the still awakening sunlight, looking very proper. The blonde hair looks half combed, as if he got tired with trying and decided to leave it be. He fiddles on the walkman, while peering out over the wall with squinting eyes.  

“Ya’ had breakfast?” Daryl asks. 

Juri doesn’t answer, obviously, but he puts his hand in the front chest pocket of the dungarees and pulls something from it. A pack of two Reese’s cups. Daryl grins. 

“Ya’ mom won’t like that.” He says, but gets an authoritarian index finger in front of the mouth, followed by a ‘shhh’ from the boy; ‘I won’t tell if you don’t tell’. “Go ahead, kiddo.” Daryl therefore says.

He watches as Juri peels the packaging open and takes out a peanut butter cup and hands it to him. They eat the chocolate-peanutty-goodies under silence. He’s amazed at the little boy, who seems to have the intellect and the ability to think like a child who is twice as old. Mila hasn’t coddled him, except smothered him with infinite amounts of motherly love, no doubt ‘bout that, but he can dress himself, make decisions on his own. He’s curious rather than scared and calculating rather than impulsive. He likes to collect stones, feathers and sticks, picks flowers, investigates bugs and likes to draw and listen to music while jumping on the bed or running around in the streets. And Daryl adores him. He’s a great kid. 

“Whatcha’ listen to?” Daryl nods at the walkman between the small hands. 

Juri removes the headphones from around his neck. He holds them up in his right hand as he pushes the ‘play’-button and turns the small ‘plus’-volume button on the side of the device, increasing the volume, leaking an old rock song. 

“Sounds great.” 

Juri gesticulates with his hands. It makes him feel both dumb and sad over the fact that he actually can’t understand the kid. Not that it stops Juri from trying, but he can’t understand no matter how many times he repeats his gestures.

“Sorry kiddo.”

The kiddo ain’t let down that easily. He opens the walkman, takes out the tape and shows him. Daryl reads ‘Boston - Boston, 1979’, written in black marker at the thin line on the orange paper label at the black plastic tape. 

“Okay, here we go-” Rick appears at the edge of the platform, but pauses and bursts into a wide grin at the sight of Juri. “Hey, little guy.”

Juri waves at Rick as he climbs up and sits down at his left side. 

“Here-” Rick hands Daryl the bottled water and then looks at Juri. “You’re up early.”

The blonde boy nods proudly, as to say ‘yup, before my mom’. Daryl unscrews the cap from the plastic bottle and offers it to Juri. He takes it and takes two small sips, before handing it back and continuing to look out over the wall. But soon the little nose begins to search in the air. Daryl and Rick can smell it too; breakfast. Toasts and waffles.

“Ya hungry?” Rick asks Juri. Juri turns and peers up at Daryl, as if he had an answer for it. He then turns back to Rick, and shakes his head. “We’ll be replaced soon. Then we’ll eat.” Rick says, very dad-like. Authoritarian but still nice. 

Juri nods and returns to his walkman, puts the headphones over his blonde hair and disappears into his own world of Boston, 1979. Daryl looks down at the toddler sitting between him and Rick, nodding his head to the beat of the music, so carefree and at ease. He looks so much like Mila, except the blonde hair. But his constant cool is something else, a hybrid between Mila and whoever the man who biologically is his father. Mila’s a hothead by blood, with impressive self-control. Like the calmest water which in an instant can blow up into a raging storm. Juri, on the other hand, is calmness personified whatever the situation. Maybe because he relies on Mila entirely. He never has to be scared or worried.  

“Now, that’s a sight for sore eyes.” 

Daryl’s interrupted in his thoughts. He turns and looks over his left shoulder. Carol is standing on the ground, shielding her eyes from the sun, smiling up at the three of them. Juri waves happily down at her with a proud smile on his lips. He’s with the big boys now.  

“Hi, darling.” Carol waves at him before turning her eyes to Daryl. “Ya’ boys hungry?” Juri sniffs in the air and nods. “There’s honey and waffles for you, darling.” Carol smiles at the blonde boy. “What about you two?” 

“Sounds great.” Rick says. “We’ll be replaced soon.”

“Great.” Carol replies. “You’ve been up there all night.” She continues. “We’re planning a barbeque tonight. Why don’t you get some venison later?” 

I’ll be damn Carol, Daryl thinks to himself with a faint, but thankful smile. More things to do today, except collecting materials for the wall. 

“Sure.” He calls back at her. 

“I’ll thank you later, when you’re back with some meat.” She replies in a cheeky smile. “I’ll bring you three something to eat before you leave if you’d like?”

“Set up three more plates.” Rick says. “We’re done here soon.”

Carol nods smilingly, turns and starts walking back towards the houses. Daryl and Rick look at each other. Huh, a barbecue.  

“Could be fun.” Rick says. “Gotta chop some wood then. You wanna help?” He looks at Juri, who nods eagerly with the headphones around his neck again, excited to help out with grown-up stuff. “Great. We’ll start right away, after we’d had something to eat.”

Juri nods and looks at the two men on each side of him, rubbing his tummy, showing them that now he’s hungry. Especially when there’s waffles. He then gets up on his knees and, without warning, climbs into Daryl’s lap. The small hands start to fiddle with his vest, then with the cord of the headphones. Daryl doesn’t tense, but he becomes instantly aware of his body, as if a baby deer had climbed into his lap; he can’t scare him away. But Juri’s calm and relaxed. In the corner of his eye, Daryl sees Rick smile. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’.” Rick says and blinks. “Just, everything’s kinda fine, right?”

Daryl turns his gaze from Rick and looks down at Juri, who meets his gaze and smiles sunny, then out over the area on the other side of the safe-zone, contemplating his friend’s words. Yeah, he thinks. Things are actually kinda perfect. Fuckin’ hell, he feels great. Everything’s calm. No breaches and no herd of walkers approaching. There’s a three and a half-year old in his lap that looks at him like- yeah Daryl can’t figure that one out. But he seems happy. And there’s Mila, probably half awake by now, back at the house. Holy shit, he’s got his shit together at last. 

“Guess ya’ right.” Daryl replies.

“Yep.” Rick says, also turning his head out over the surroundings. “I’m happy for ya’.” He sighs. “It’ll be fun. Barbecue. Bonfire. The only thing’s missing is a harmonica, or a guitar.” Rick turns his head to look at him. “Ya’ play?”

“What? Guitar?” Daryl shakes his head. “Nah.”

But a faint smile spreads upon Daryl’s lips as an idea forms inside his head, accompanied by the muffled sound from Juri’s headphones, which leaks a guitar solo. Nah, he ain’t playing. But he knows someone who might. Inside his head, he adds another task to his mental to do-list.

Taglist: @lonewolf471 @twdeadfanfic

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Tonight a sadness has settled into me. I know it’s because I spent hours out in the shop today. 

To be honest, I avoid the shop. It hurts to be there, the ache of all that is lost impossible to ignore.

After Pop died it was incredibly  painful to be in there, and then the disasters happened. In the space of a year every single appliance, heater/aor conditioner and vehicle failed. We went from no dogs to six in just a couple months. Most the woods got logged. And then the floor of this house collapsed and there was the frenzy to move things out of it...

All through this Mom was unable to help. She’s admitted that for years, in fact until just before her stroke, she didn’t really care about anything anymore. She and Pop had been best friends even before they fell in love, and to say they were close was an understatement. They had been married for over 50 years and worn through their wedding rings long ago through hard work, but once Pop died Mom started wearing her grandmother’s ring so no one would think she was unattached. She always said one of her college professors said  that true love always ends up a tragedy because someone dies, and if ever there was a real life example of true love it was my parents. She didn’t cry but went through the motions of living.

So, the shop was neglected. The roof leaked badly. Tools were ruined. Now and again I’d venture in to try to salvage things, but soon enough things would come up that were more urgent. Down deep I was glad to be called away from the place because the grief it stirred hurt so much.

The shop was the centerpiece of my life. As a child I played there, amid the fiberglassing oblivious to all safety rules. As an adult I spent every day out there working with Pop, and once Mom retired she joined us full time. And yet since Pop died, once Mom and I had finished the job he’s been working on when he got sick, I’ve barely ventured in there. 

One of the long room length metal tables Pop had stacked high with boxes of...things. Things he meant to finish or sort through or read or fix, broken things, plans for things, samples, half  finished things, simple unread mail. Here an underwater video camera for the boat, there an antique chair in need of a new seat, rock samples, animal skulls, funnels, technical manuals....countless things. He’d covered it all to a canvas, and tied it on one side to a long metal beam set along the edge of the table. 

And so today I discovered boxes of stuff had tumbled off one side (probably the cats’ doing) , knocking the beam off the table and dragging the canvas off. There was a tangle of things on the floor, or rather ground as the shop always had a dirt and resin “floor”.  The roof had then leaked down on parts of that tangle,  ruining some things completely.

So I went to the shop, hoping to find hose, fittings and the like to repair the leaking water line. Instead I was trying to hoist that metal beam that always took two people to lift back onto the table (I figured a way) , re-covering with canvas what was dry, and trying salvage what I could of what was wet. And the lights didn’t even work, so I was fumbling and clambering about by flashlight.

What’s weird is I didn’t realize how upset I was until I was leaving the shop with an arm load of things I was rescuing. I was crying. I hadn’t even noticed I was. Grief and despair seemed to have swallowed me whole.

I never got around to looking for what I went in there for. I’ll have to go back. I dread it.

That’s the drawback of having had a close family and being loved as a child. When they are all gone but for one voice over a phone, and there is no one new to fill the space of all those lost, you know exactly what you are missing. Love, friends, and family are the past, and you can find yourself aching for the belonging and warmth you will never have again.

I should be used to being alone by now, but oh to have someone that cares, to face things with, to figure out things together, to share meals and laughs with. I miss “us” and “we”.

 In a way I knew it was inevitable I’d end up alone, but I kept hoping I’d still end up gaining friends through friendliness, love through loving. How hard can it be, in a world in which even monsterous folks have friends and lovers? But whether  bad luck or some failing in myself  I’ve been unable to figure out, it seems to be impossible. 

I miss Pop, now dead. I miss Mom, unable to be visited at my brother’s for over a year. I miss my brother, sibling rivalry curdled into a hatred of me for my imagined popularity. I miss my friends, all long moved on and away.  I miss grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins....

Most the time I do well being alone. I distract myself with stories from without and dreams from within, my head crowded with people so the loneliness is kept at bay....

But some days I cry, the shame at every tear making it all the worse. 

Today I cried.

[entomancy]

(Fic) Daywalkin’ in Vegas

...let’s be honest, this ‘short backstory fics’ thing has done what my writing tends to do, and Escalted.  So let’s escalate.

Title: Daywalkin’ in Vegas (Wattpad) Setting: Increasingly not even serial-numbers-off-VTM. VTM infact exists in-world as a gaming system, which really annoys Fancy Vampires. Warnings: Gore; depictions of violence/ death against a child. Words: 6537 Summary: A failed siring gets the attention of two very different parts of Vegas Below; and a young blooded nosferatu puts herself in the centre of a dangerous balance.

-

Beep.

Twenty-eight forty.

Beep.

Thirty-one seventy.

Beep.

Nox watched the till display tick up, comparing the total to her mental tally.   She had enough; she knew she did.  It might have been in tattered bills, tarnished coin rolls and bits of change so old they were chipped like gears around the edges, but she was always real careful to plan these trips down to the grubby dime.  In and out, as unobtrusive as possible.

Beep.

A final bag passed, the green-yellow numbers flickering one final time.  The cashier smiled in customer service plastic as she read out the total, then followed it with a look of awkward concern.

“That’s all for you?  We - er – we have some good specials,” she said hesitantly, nodding towards the little stack of brightly-labelled packages beside the register. It was mostly sweets and tampons, and Nox bit back on a grin at the sight. Nice thought, but that hadn’t been her ‘bloody’ problem for a while now.

“That’s it,” she replied, adding: “Thanks, though.”   Sure, it was an upsell, but a kind one. The girl even managed to keep back any disgust at the state of some of the cash; it had been cleaned up, but people didn’t tend to drop crisp ones into a cup on the sidewalk.

Nox carried everything out to the repurposed shopping cart that she’d left just inside the little bodega’s doors. The thing was unbalanced and took corners like a drunk, but it was better than playing pack mule herself. The new bags settled down on top of the day’s earlier buys: bulk discount batches of toilet roll, bleach and superglue, along with cheap fabric for bandages. Plus, now, thirty-eight dollars and eighty-six cents’ worth of the cheapest mince and frozen shrimp available within a four-mile radius.

There had been a time when she’d had to worry about dietary fibre. Or vitamins.

The cart’s wheels creaked and rasped on sidewalk dirt as she headed it away, hunching down over the handle as she pushed; partly for more control, mostly to keep her face in shade. Her battered baseball cap and hoodie did a pretty good job – accompanied by garish plastic sunglasses and a stained bike mask – but every little helped. It also added to the overall ‘bag lady out on an afternoon shuffle’ aesthetic she was going for. The trick was to inspire just enough awkward pity to be invisible, but not enough to be a target.

Apparently, her act was off today. She’d just turned a laborious corner, distracted by trying to keep the bags all stacked, when she felt a hand clamp down onto the top of her head and yank hard. She didn’t move, but the hood pulled away and she heard a yelp of disgust even before she swivelled around. Two young men stood behind her, gawking in revulsion at the revealed state of Nox’s scalp, in all its piebald, peeling, erratically-thickened glory. A thin braid slithered down her face, torn too-easily free along with the hood.

She gave the scene one more heartbeat to really settle in, before grinning widely. Faced with a mouthful of teeth like broken ivory, the youths managed to look even more horrified.

“Aye, that’s how I caught it too!” Nox cackled theatrically, before snatching the hat back from now-unresisting fingers and jamming it back into place. “Don’t go scratching yerself anywhere pretty fer a bit, eh?”

The lad – and his already-retreating backup – hesitated, then let out a string of bravado-born obscenities. Freak – gross – blah blah blah I-have-a-tiny-dick blah. He kicked at the cart as he started follow his friend, and Nox let just enough spill out to sate the petty spite.

Once they had gone, she picked up the packets again and began to fix her hood. The exposed skin was stinging and smarting already, a poison-ivy prickle that calamine wouldn’t touch. At least it was late enough in the afternoon that she probably wouldn’t blister from the exposure. More annoying was the missing chunk of hair, and she probed at it gingerly. No deep wound, thankfully; which probably meant that the straggly braid had been almost ready to fall out anyway. She tended to keep about half a head of hair going, on average; so it’d grow back.

The lads were long gone by the time she was ready to set off again. With any luck she’d be nothing more than an awkward moment in a day of shoving their weight around; quickly forgotten. Being gross in the eyes of idiots wasn’t a Breech, after all.

The rest of the trip back was uneventful. Streets gave way to alleys, sidewalks to cracked paving, to rotting asphalt, and even the graffiti began to wane as she got closer to home. The main occupants of this ass-end of nowhere – a ghetto’s dumpster of a place – didn’t exactly make it their business to advertise where they were. Those that needed to know; knew. Those that knew, generally didn’t care – which was honestly a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Nox had heard the stories of what it had been like only twenty years ago. It was strange to feel that there was any sort of luck to her history, but six years wasn’t twenty.

Reaching a gap in an otherwise unremarkable wall, she glanced around quickly, making sure that no one was watching. Then she straightened up, gripped either side of the overloaded cart, and hefted it up through the broken brickwork in one smooth movement. She vaulted in after it, dropping down into cool shade, and let out a sigh of relief as the accepting touch of Karloff’s Invitation washed across her. The sense was like a door opening in welcome; like taking the first familiar turn towards home after a long day’s drive. It also meant no more unwanted attention – without that explicit permission, you’d never be able to recognise the entrance, or even keep your attention on what you were looking for. She was as invisible now to all other turned-aside eyes as everything else within the Invitation’s borders.

A few more rattling corners later, Nox finally turned into the Homestead grounds. The whole area had once been a crammed-in mess of squat apartment blocks, copy-paste civic solutions built without charm to fill the need for cheap rooms. The Homestead was the only one of its kin still standing, now surrounded by an opened-out area of recent amateur demolition and scrap-built fencing. Bright splashes of street art cut across sagging concrete and the blacked-out eyes of the windows, although the tags and themes chosen indicated the difference between these creators and the more standard ones of the world outside. Most of this had been painted at night, for example, with rather more variety on the theme of ‘hands’ grasping the tins.

There was a lot more inside, and below, but she felt a particular warmth at these murals. Out here, on the surface. Bright in sunshine that most of them could never see. The Nosferatu might be Vegas Below’s crusty little secret, but they were damn well there.

Bits of cracked paving clicked and skittered beneath the cart’s wheels as Nox made her way through the fences and to the big, bolted main doors. There was a rough porch built around the frame, mostly to give extra shadows, and she looked up at the tiny glints of watchful glass sunk into the surrounding wall. She waved.

“Dimestore-Blade’s grocery delivery,” she announced, and listened to the familiar rattle of bolts start on the other side of the door. A few moments later it swung open and a hunched figure peered out, wincing back from even the thick porch shade. This was Max; an older woman than Nox in both kinds of age, who managed her marks via a combination of extensive bandaging and even more extensive needlepoint. Watery black eyes looked past her, squinting through a gap in the heavily-embroidered scarf wrapped around her head.

“All okay?”

Nox nodded and lifted the trolley over the threshold.

“Fine.” She didn’t mention the youths. Didn’t seem a lot of point. “Let’s get this lot into the freezer before it can walk on its own, yeah?”

Safely inside the slightly-fetid gloom of the entrance, Nox took the opportunity shed her bag-lady layers. True, she couldn’t actually overheat, even on a Nevada afternoon, but being swathed in that many layers was still claustrophobic. Beneath the mismatched fabric strata was an increasingly-threadbare pair of yoga pants and a dark vest, and Nox gave a small sigh of relief as she folded up the rest of her daylight-drag, shoving it onto a shelf nearby.

“Right,” she muttered, as much to fill the air as anything else, and turned back to the trolley. Max had already transferred much of it into precarious piles in her own arms. Her scarf had slipped down, revealing a hairless head webbed with splitting skin; much of it made whole again with patterned patches of colourful thread. The fabric discoloured over time, of course, but it reduced the leaking.

Balancing their burdens, the pair made their way further into the Homestead. Closest to the entrance was the most decrepit part, occupied mostly by shelves and old furniture crammed full of clothes and patched umbrellas for venturing out, and with years of dumped debris building up in corners. Rooms with windows – even those as thoroughly blacked out or bricked up as these were – mostly housed the rat runs or storage, because no one wanted to spend a lot of time somewhere where crap mortar could result in dayburns. Similarly, the roof and most of the top floor was given over to pigeon roosts and No avoided them whenever possible. She’d never much liked pigeons before this, and she still held that even their vitae tasted of garbage, somehow. Still, they were much dumber than rats, and they did lay eggs, so that helped.

The really lived-in part of the Homestead was underground. Everybody knew Nosferatu lived in the sewers, right?  Okay, so Nox would admit she hadn’t much understood the difference between ‘sewer’ and ‘storm drain’ before her life had taken its scabby turn, but she sure did now. Vegas had extensive storm drains – large concrete tunnels that lay under much of the city, designed to quickly shift heavy rain away from the tarmacked surface above – and they were ideal: underground, dark, not monitored.

And not actually full of shit.

The arrangement used to be… messier, Karloff had told her. When they hadn’t been so organised; when they’d lived closer together with others who had slipped through the cracks Above. Some of the Family had started off as those same ‘unfortunates’ after all; those who were aftermath-sired in a broken frenzy, or from the bloody jaunt of some fuckfang cutting through the ranks of those who wouldn’t be missed. Splitting their claimed tunnels off from the main circuit and establishing the Homestead proper had happened later, after the Vegas Accord had given the Nosferatu a Clan-status, and hunting them for sport stopped being an acceptable weekend activity.

Six years sure ain’t twenty.

Max chatted away as they walked; an idle litany of gossip, social media tidbits and reports from watchers all over the city, woven together into what Nox tended to think of as ‘Radio Max’. Spying on people was apparently another nos stereotype; but honestly when you didn’t really sleep, were functionally invisible to large portions of society, and had worked out how to divert half-decent broadband from badly-secured leisure networks overhead, it wasn’t difficult to get ahead on current events.

Plus the rats, of course. 

Information was power, and they had precious little of any other. Although Nox sometimes wondered how much of those scant threads of power that Karloff put such value on would diminish if Clanpires in general figured out how to just Google things.

They had reached what she thought of as ‘mainstreet’ of the Homestead tunnels – a long space with concrete pillars linking floor to ceiling every thirty feet or so, quite cheerfully lit by a mishmash web of light fittings rigged up overhead – when yelling broke out further down. Nox and Max shared a look of alarm at the commotion, but it was when her name became suddenly clear in the shouts that Nox’s stomach dropped.

“Get this stuff away, will you?” she muttered, carefully setting her packages down beside Max, and turned to meet the oncoming figures. Even wrapped in a heavy coat and thick gloves, she knew the loping form of Skaad instantly.

With features which sagged so violently that his bruise-yellow skin frequently tore at the edges, and a mouth like a lipless sharps bucket, Skaad was nonetheless gifted with some of the keenest senses in the clan, plus a damn-near eidetic memory. Which meant he spent most of his time skulking in hidden places, listening to things he shouldn’t, and following people who thought they were alone in their secret business. Having him sprinting towards you, so fast his eyelids were visibly flapping, wasn’t a great sign.

Back in the world Above – before her life had gone to hell in a weirdly specific way – Nox had been a paramedic. It was useful in the day-to-day, being the closest thing this bunch of ragged immortals had to a resident doctor, but there was only really one sort of actual emergency left down here.

Skaad skidded to a halt, and grabbed her arm with a worrying urgency.

“Got a phresh one. Get yer kit!”

Fuck. A fresh one meant one thing: someone had found a dumped fledgeling, one who’d been showing signs of the Change going wrong and been tossed aside by their disgusted sire. Intervening quickly could help, particularly getting a pigeon smoothie down them fast, but the panic on Skaad’s drooping face didn’t line up with -

“What’s so – ?” she started, but he shook his head, steering her towards the plastic-covered tunnel they used as a makeshift clinic. He leaned in to shove her again, but lowered his voice and muttered just before he did – and the words sent ice down her spine.

“It’sh a kid.”

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

-

You didn’t turn kids.

When your working knowledge of vampires had been a general pop-culture miasma and some blurry memories of teenage Buffy marathons, finding yourself on the other side of the supernatural coin came as a shock in various ways. One of which was the weird sensation that you should have studied it all harder, somehow. Nox had certainly felt stupid, in her early days, as a man with a face like a charred wasps’ nest listened to her stutter her way through half-remembered fiction and worse-remembered reality. But she’d apparently got a few things right, and somewhere in that muddle had been the idea that you shouldn’t turn kids.

There were all kinds of theories as to why – from the debauched to the practical – but she found that in many ways it didn’t matter. Whatever fucked-up intention you had, it wouldn’t work. Too young just… didn’t take. And when a siring didn’t work, there was every chance the result would end up on her table.

She scrabbled through the assortment of old drawers and boxes that stored her gear, pulling out anything she thought might work. Bandages, thread, craft superglue, repurposed bottles of hard spirits that would do in a pinch for sterilising. The best-case scenario things. And the rest. Old herb pots of fine powders; thrift-store silver cutlery hammered and polished and changed into a very different set of tools. Sharpie-labelled bottles of liquids that moved weirdly in the light, and a range of refillable lighters that definitely didn’t contain hydrocarbons anymore. All the things she’d picked up in the last six years that fitted in with other sort of medicine.

The plastic curtain behind her was yanked back and a sound she had been trying not to hear finally demanded her attention. It wasn’t even a scream, and Nox hated, hated hated hated that she recognised the cadence there perfectly: raw, animal agony of sound torn from a throat that was violently reforming around it. She turned to see Skaad forcing flailing limbs down, looping thick restraints around rippling flesh, and finally allowed her full attention to turn down to the spasming form.

Gore looked different through vampire eyes. It was hard to describe exactly how – partly because wordsmithery had never been one of her strong points, but more because trying to compare feelings from now and then was always going to have a huge fucking hurdle of shifted species in the way. She’d still probably seen more human blood in nine years on the ambulances than during the half-dozen in and out of Vegas’ shadows, and but everything afterwards had been… different. Displaced. Detached. Just didn’t seem as visceral as it used to do.

But this did.

Acid tightened in Nox’s throat as she stared down at the shuddering mess in front of her. Blanched skin bubbled and writhed, tearing as it pulled away from the muscles beneath; themselves little more than contorting ropes of livid tissue that pulsed under dying heartbeats and spilled black fluid from ever-widening rents. The throat was gone, now a bubbling pit of desperate breaths, sucked past exposed tendons that wriggled like furious worms. Half-clotted ichor was pooling from gashes along the arms, down the stomach and further: the marks of peri-sire wounds, those that had been still fresh as the invading blood forced itself into collapsing veins. The eyes were side-to-side a sickly crimson-yellow, bloating out from a face that was collapsing in on itself, and throughout it all, the kid screamed.

It was revolting. Nox had to bite down on the vicious spikes of fight-flight that were going off in her mind, so violently she could feel her hands trembling from the horror and her disgust at her own reaction. It was an instinct, an unbidden response to a failing siring – she knew that – but understanding it didn’t make it easier. Everyone down here had ‘gone nozz’ during their own Turn. Hell, a few of those brought to her were walking around now, not seeming any weirder than any of them, but she’d still felt that awful surge of fundamental wrongness about them before they stabilised.

Nox gritted – all of – her teeth, and slammed her kit down on the table.

Instincts can fucking blow me.

“Let’s see what we can do.”

-

It turned out what they could do, wasn’t much. Cleaning, sewing, cutting, sealing – nothing held. Stitches fell from uncertain skin, or tore great new holes as fresh spasms pulled at the edges. Wet rags soon littered the floor, sodden with black and yellow fluids that turned the rough concrete into a slippery, stinking mess. The bleeding wasn’t slowing, even as the body seemed to be crumpling in on itself, gradually liquefying around the bones.

The sound had gone quieter, if not softer, and Nox didn’t have much hope it would stop soon. It might be days yet, before the final sparks of vitae or life or cruel continuation finally went out.

Too young. The kid – the girl, most likely, going by anatomy – had been just… too young.

They had to have known that.

“I’m outa tricks,” she said, although the words felt thick and sharp in her mouth. She wanted to keep going. She wanted to, so fucking much. But somebody had done this. Somebody who knew this would happen.

“I’m gonna make her comfy,” she continued, then hesitated even as she pulled out the frankly-horrific cocktail of morphine and street drugs that might make a dent in a system caught somewhere between undead and alive. Skaad looked at her, and held out a clawed hand.

“Want me…?”

“Nah.” Nox shook her head, and swallowed. “You can get the others outta upstairs, though. I need to – to make a call.”

Skaad stiffened, his jaundiced eyes flicking between her and the table for a moment, before he let out a low hiss and ducked away through the curtain. Nox administered the mix and tried to convince herself it would have any sort of palliative effect. Then she went back to the drawers and rummaged again, right at the back, until her fingers closed on the ridged plastic of an old nokia.

There weren’t many numbers in the phone, but it was the first one she selected, under B.

- SUMFCK SIRED KID. ITS BAD -

She threw the phone back into the drawer and hurried out, past the plastic sheet and into the tunnels, leaving sticky footprints in her wake. Not a great look, but everyone would already know what was happening. Nosferatu gossiped like – well, like a society of insomniac, semi-immortal shut-ins.

Overhead, an erratic cluster of repurposed pipes trailed down through the domed roof, emanating from the rat runs above. Drainpipes, corrugated plastic, bits of plumbing, and all of them shaking slightly with the constant pass of tiny feet within. They opened out onto tiny highways of shelving that lined the walls, all heading in the same direction as she was. Pairs of black-beady eyes glanced at her as they passed, and with so many concentrated here, she could feel the faintest flick of Attention in each one. They were all headed to a squat metal door at the end of an offshoot passageway. The rats passed freely back and forth narrow holes punched in either side of the door; but Nox knocked. She knew she was already expected and entered after a respectful moment.

Karloff’s chamber was bigger than it looked like it would be from the doorway. Nox wasn’t sure what the space had originally been – some kind of maintenance room? – but it was now dark, and warm, and smelled less of rats than might be expected given the constant rodent tide. Shelves lined the walls, full of books and occasional pieces of recycled pet furniture. One floor-ceiling tower was filled entirely with old radios, police scanners, walkie talkies and the like.

The old man himself lay where he usually did, propped up in a nest of pillows and blankets in a box-like bed in the centre of the room. He presented an impossibly gaunt figure: papery-brown skin layered like peeling paint across sharp bones, with eyes so thickly clouded they sat like grey-milk marbles in unclosing sockets. His face looked scorched, blackened at the edges of the old dry wounds that had taken his nose, torn away most of his lips, and presumably shattered the broken fangs that jutted from his mouth. There was – as usual – a huge white rat lazing across his chest, nearly the size of a terrier and wearing a dark silken ribbon, and its sharp crimson eyes fixed on Nox as she entered.

She bowed her head, and tried not to leave bloody footprints on the rug.

“I need a temporary Invitation,” she said. It was blunt, but there was no point in dancing around it. He’d already know anyway. As she spoke, the huge rat sat up. It’s pale paws were clasped in front of it, folded in a strangely human-like gesture, but Karloff himself turned his head only slightly.

“’Belton,” he said softly, in the throat-based hush of his voice, and Nox nodded. Her fingers twitched into fists, and she felt the sticky remnants of gore slide between them.

“I… I’m running out of options, and she – ” the words were sticker than her fingers, getting caught on her lips “ – she’s real bad.”

The rat cocked its head and Karloff drew a slow breath.

“You will not do it?” he asked. Nox’ throat tightened.

“If I gotta. But I want him to see her, cos I – I could do this, but I ain’t got a snowball’s chance of doing anything about it.”

Karloff’s head turned further, and the clouded eyes passed over her with an intensity that Nox could feel, as if they skipped sight entirely and went right into her heart instead. There was another stretched moment of silence, then the pressure dropped and the rat turned away, curling itself neatly under its master’s chin.

“It is done,” Karloff said. The long fingers on one hand twitched slightly, and the faintest hint of a frown dug into his face. “...take care with the old death. You have seen little of him.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you,” Nox added before she headed out again; first to check that the cocktail of drugs had at least calmed the kid’s screams, then back into the upper house. A few rats followed her as she slid into the squeaking, busy dimness of the runs to use the sink that still stood in one corner, using brownish water to at least scrub some of the stains from her hands. Then she set to wait, pacing with nervous energy.

No one joined her. By now, everybody would know what was happening, and no one wanted to be around when he came calling.

The problem – okay, so one of the problems, in a dreadful, tangled ball of ever-more layered problems – was that it was very, very difficult to kill a fledgeling in any way that could be considered humane. A body already in the process of tearing itself apart was resistant to most damage for the same reasons that you couldn’t punch a fog. Getting any kind of drug to land in an even-partly vampiric system was difficult enough at the best of times, and this…

Well, there was sunlight, but everything about Nox’s very being baulked at the idea of using that method. She knew with personal, hellish intimacy that the agony from that would get through even a Change. Torturing someone to death with one of the few things worse than what they were going through was really not the point.

Plus, there was a tiny, tiny part of her mind that hoped she was wrong. She’d only been dealing with this stuff for a handful of years, and while rumours varied widely about how old Belton actually was, he’d seen a lot of shit. Maybe she’d missed something. Just maybe…

It seemed to take an eternity before the roar of an engine outside broke through Nox’ whirling thoughts. She hurried to the door, took a careful breath, and peered out through the little viewing slot. Not that anyone else would have been able to ride a motorcycle up to the Homestead without the permission of Karloff’s Invitation, but it never hurt to keep caution.

A huge bike was settled just beside the front steps. It was black, but in the way a magpie’s wings were black, with oil-slick iridescence hinting around the edges. The rider – dressed to match, in that seamless continuity of clothing that Nox had started to think of as ‘vampire sunscreen’ – had already dismounted and was stood beside his bike, the raven-sheen of his helmet turned towards the door. There was no visible gaze to meet, but the weight of his attention was like ice down her spine, and she opened the door as deliberately as she could.

“She’s downstairs,” she said, as the figure came up the steps. The sun was already going down, barely spilling dying light over the surrounding wall of buildings, and the porch shadow was very deep there. It only got deeper as the big man stepped into it – and then paused, right on the edge of the frame.

“May I enter?” His voice was never as heavy as she expected, with a melodic edge that absolutely did not match what she knew lay under that helmet. Nox rolled her eyes.

“I texted you, and you’re here, right?”

He was always so… old fashioned about this. It wasn’t like it was a general requirement. Nox stepped back, gesturing inwards.

“Come in already,” she added. The man might have been big – although ‘fucking enormous’ would be a better description, needing to visibly turn and duck to get through the doorframe – but he moved deceptively fast, and was well inside the hallway, starting to remove his helmet before she had had time to shut the door. She turned to look, not even pretending not to stare as he unclipped all the security bits and lifted it smoothly free. The dramatic effect was only slightly spoiled by the oddly-bulging balaclava he had on underneath – but Nox supposed that if her ears could meet at the back, she’d want to keep them restrained inside a helmet too.

Belton looked… well, he looked like Belton. There just plain wasn’t anyone else like that. The best description she had ever been able to come up with was that he looked like someone had tried very hard to make a bat in the character creation screen of a pro-wrestling computer game. It was as if the underlying architecture that should have made a human skull had been stretched and tweaked and twisted into something approaching Chiroptera from the other side.

It probably said something worrying about her own psyche that – somewhere in the mess of emotions that Belton inspired – a part of her really, really wanted to see an xray of his head.

No time for this.

“C’mon,” she nodded him to follow her back down the Homestead’s passageways. The rats watched them from every surface; their skittering highways unusually still as the majority of glinting little eyes were fixed on the visitor. They were the only visible watchers, and Nox tried not to notice how empty every space they passed through was. It added another level of eeriness, with the just-abandoned debris of life seeming like some extremely localised Rapture. Even Nox’ rapid explanation of the situation fell muted around them; for his part, Belton just listened and nodded every now and then. He didn’t look around.

How familiar was he, with this place?  He’d come a few times since she’d been here – and of course, that first time meant he’d sure known where it was. Nox’ gaze slid sideways. Belton had removed his gloves by now, and the hands revealed couldn’t even remotely be thought of as human; the fingers were too long, bone and tendons standing stark beneath mottled grey skin; capped by black claws that curled from the nailbeds, polished to an obsidian gleam.

How many times had those hands run across the outer walls of the Homestead; at Karloff’s limits; searching for a way in?  How many times had those claws torn into sagging flesh, or crushed furry watchers into broken blindness?

How many times had he come before he had brought her here; a crispy mess of fledgeling coated in sand and gravel and gore, spat out by the desert and into hands that immortals feared…?

The plastic curtain seemed to rise up like an exclamation, a cold shot of right now breaking her thoughts, and Nox came to a sharp halt. There was still sound from inside: a bubbling, slurred collage of moans that had made it past the drugs, and her hand froze halfway to the curtain. The swell of renewed, visceral revulsion felt like she’d choke on her own fucking hypocrisy, and she couldn’t suppress a slight hiss.

“It’s – ” she started, through gritted teeth, but cut out as Belton gently touched her shoulder.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Nox’ fingers twitched, then she turned away, moving until she could lean heavily against the nearest concrete pillar and rested her forehead against the pitted surface. The groan might as well have been coming out of the air. It pressed down around her and her skin crawled.

She hated this, and she hated that she hated it like this. Some depraved motherfucker had dragged a fucking child into very literal hell and she’d tried, she’d tried with every stupid, macguivered bullshit tool she’d put together out of garbage; she’d tried everything and it was never going to have meant a damn thing and all she could focus on, really really focus on right now was how fundamentally disgusting that fucking sound was –

And then it stopped.

Nox physically sagged against the pillar, relief and nausea chasing each other through a stomach that was dropping into her boots. There was only one reason for the sudden silence, and she let her eyes slide closed, muttering the same half-wordless prayer she’d always used when a case went bad, or a patient flatlined in the ambulance. Whatever that meant now, she’d never been sure, but it still sort of fit.

She’d known. She’d known when she picked up that damn phone.

But fuck me if hope isn’t a bitch.

It wasn’t long before there was the faint brush of plastic again and Nox opened her eyes to see Belton smoothing the curtain back behind him, covering the sudden stillness. There was a long moment of silence before he turned to her. His eyes were the most human-looking part of his face, and the grey gaze sought hers.

“I’ll be on my way, then.”

Nox nodded numbly. They went out the way they came; still alone, still watched at every step by a hundred rodent stares. Back up, back to the door and out into the thickening dusk of the evening – and it wasn’t until the porch steps were creaking under his boots that Nox’s nerve rose again.

“Hey – Belton?” she managed, and the big figure paused. He looked back at her and one curled brow raised, moving an ear with it. Nox pulled the Homestead door shut behind her as she sought the right words. “This… ain’t your job, right?”

“I don’t have a real tight specification,” he replied, then shrugged. “But broadly?  No. To be honest with you, my boss couldn’t give a rat’s twat what happens with the Nosferatu.”

“So why’d you come?” Those words came fast, but Nox didn’t try to stop them. Belton paused again, then hung his helmet and balaclava over the big bike’s handlebars. He sat down on the steps, hunching a little in that strange shape his back took when he wasn’t standing, and Nox slid down beside him at the unspoken invitation.

Belton shook his head, what might have been a wry smile tugging at the edges of his too-wide lips. Glints of needle teeth flashed in the dusk.

“It’s a question of perspective, see,” he said quietly. “For someone like you?  This’ll ruin your whole year. Getting all Lady Macbeth with the inevitable. But for me?” He held up a hand and slowly flexed the clawed fingers. Once; twice; and Nox couldn’t draw her gaze away from the mottled skin as it shifted over his bones. Belton sighed. It was an old sound, so old that any hint of what it might contain had worn away like stone under rain.

“What’s one drop in an ocean?  Don’t get me wrong – ” he added, with the edge of smile falling away again “ – I’ll feel bad about it; but I’m not losing myself any sleep.”

She should have been angry. She wanted to be angry, at the casual way this bat-faced bastard just said it; as the so-recent feel of the kid’s crumbling flesh slammed against her thoughts and ghosted under her fingers, and bile she wasn’t even sure she had anymore swirled at the back of her throat. She should be angry.

“...thank you.”

“No need for that,” he replied – but Nox shook her head.

“Nah; there is. Things need saying.” She fidgeted with the hem of her pants for a silent moment, before continuing. “Don’t believe you actually sleep, though.”

This time there was no mistaking that Belton grinned; and the resulting expression was exactly as unpleasant as it sounded.

“No?  Not even if I say I’ve got little bats on my pyjamas?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Now that there’s uncalled for.”

Nox grinned, and even as she did she could almost hear Karloff’s voice in her head. Be wary of the old death. 

And yet…

There was another long silence, although this one felt less tense.

…fuck it. When am I gonna get this chance again?

“They found her in the desert,” she said carefully, scuffing dust across the steps with one toe as she spoke; an idle motion to distract herself from the nerves inside. Belton nodded.

“Aye. Letting lady sun do the dirty work. It’s an almost foolproof method, really.”

Nox looked down at her own hands; where the patchwork of thickened tissue traced patterns like dry riverbeds over her pallid brown skin. The sun burned bits went blistered red, then dark and crackly, then sickly pale when that peeled; slowly edging back to her default. It sure as hell wasn’t pleasant; but it wasn’t the chemical-melting collapse of flesh that she’d seen on others.

“So, that make me a fool or an outlier?”

“I said almost.” Belton leaned back a little, looking up into the dark expanse of sky. “Always going to take a risk when you don’t stay to watch. Although I’ll admit it takes some big balls to stick around for that sort of disposal. What with the deeply ingrained phytophobia of your classic vampire, and everything.”

Nox raised her most intact eyebrow.

“This is more about your junk than I want to know.”

Belton laughed. Really laughed; the kind of melodic tone that bordered on a snatch of song and that was so very out of place coming from within that face.

“Oh, I’m not claiming that kind of testicular fortitude. Sunlight scares the piss out of me as much as it ever did. Don’t think it’s the kind of thing you can get over. Built-in, you know?”

“You ride about in the day,” Nox pointed out, and Belton waved a hand back towards his helmet.

“I’ve got some really bespoke protective gear, see. Amazing what’s been done with polymers in the last thirty years.”

Nox blinked.

“…you’ve got bike pleathers?”

“Technically I’ve got an integrated neo-polymer baselayer,” Belton stopped and his nose crinkled – which was quite an extensive expression. “…ah fuck, that sounds like I’ve got plastic pants, doesn’t it?  Keep that one to yourself, will you?”

“Sure.” Nox’s shoulders sagged again as reality dropped back suddenly. She decided to just go for blunt. “With… the kid. Someone did that, and before that they – ” her words choked again, at the thought of where some of those peri-sire wounds had been.

“I know.” The amusement had gone from Belton’s voice as he stood up, heading back to his bike rather abruptly. The engine roared into life as he swung himself astride it, folding his ears into their cover, and Nox had to shout to be heard above the rumble.

“Do they… just get away with this?”

“There’s plenty that think they should,” he replied calmly; oddly easy to hear over the din, as he slid the helmet into place. “It was like that for a long time.”

Nox’s lips drew back, almost of their own accord, working to some defiant instinct she only had partial control over.

“And you?”

“Me?  I’m a monster on a chain that I put there.” Belton looked up, and just before the visor snapped closed, there was a flicker of crimson in his eyes.

“But I’ll see what I can do.”

-

[bedlamsbard]

I wanted to write today but today started as a bad brain day, and then half an hour ago, just as I started feeling better about it, I looked up and went, “huh, why is there cold air blowing on me?” and...I think the heat, which was just fixed on Tuesday, is broken AGAIN, in a DIFFERENT way (because last time it wasn’t blowing at all).  I want to scream.  I’d have thought that the one thing guaranteed NOT to break immediately was the thing that the HVAC people literally just looked at!!!

A brief summary of things that have happened in this house since last -- oh, last March, I think? Maybe February.

leak in roof (February/March, I can’t remember which)

landlord sold house (April, while I was at SWCC)

new landlord has a parade of people coming in to look at the house, including the mortgage inspector who asked if I was “one of those cosplay girls” and also a furry (April, the day after I got back from SWCC for that one, several other guys came in April and May)

begins to update electrical (June-August, the electrician who asked if I was a kindergarten teacher and also several generally weird race remarks)

handymen begin general maintenance (June)

electrician breaks dryer (June)

handymen break washing machine (June)

handymen replace my deadbolts and remove my front door knob (June)

landlord repairs front door knob (June)

handymen break sump pump (June-August)

handymen paint half the trim on the house (June-July)

handymen remove screen from my porch door (July)

July-August: I literally text my landlord every week updating him on the handymen situation

electrician fixes sump pump, washing machine, screen door (August; I assume he’s also a general handyman)

air conditioner breaks (September)

animal chews through internet fiber cable (September)

pipe beneath sink begins dripping (September)

HVAC guys fix AC, sink pipe, ISP tech fixes cable (September)

HVAC guy and assistant cut down tree in front of my porch (October)

HVAC assistant power-washes my porch and paints the remaining half of trim that the handymen didn’t (October)

refrigerator dies (November, a week before my comprehensive portfolio is due)

refrigerator is replaced (November)

pipe under house starts dripping (November, the same day the refrigerator is replaced; I tell my neighbors and they tell the landlord; he doesn’t do anything at the time so I text him two weeks later and he gets it fixed in a few days)

electrician fixes pipe under house (November; he also makes a weird remark about lesbians)

heat dies, part 1 (January: this was Monday morning)

HVAC guys return, replace thermostat (January: late Tuesday afternoon/evening)

heat dies, part 2 (January: just now, Thursday night)

Add in a couple of other internet scares, the latest one last night, too.

It’s not just me, right? That’s a little extreme?  I’ve experienced more stress about this house than I have about my comprehensives, which, if you know anything about grad school, you know is pretty alarming.  (Also: I went home to my parents’ house in August and the washing machine promptly died, I went home in December and part of the roof fell off.  Just...don’t let me in your house, maybe.)  can you have ptsd from a house because I think we’re getting there; I definitely have hypervigilance issues and paranoia on par with what I had around my ex.  about.  the HOUSE.

[lindoig7]

Friday-Sunday, 10-12 July

Friday

Did a few more small tasks in the morning but during the afternoon, we went for a drive with the intention of doing a couple of short walks advertised in one of the local brochures. It is surprisingly easy to get to places like Noojee (much closer than I imagined), but again, the dearth of adequate signage and the abundance of unreliable and confusing signage had us heading into unexpected detours and back-tracks on several occasions.  Our plan was to do a 3-4 click walk to the Ada Tree, but we were unable to locate the start of the walk, so we travelled a lot of kilometres until we found the Ada Tree itself – only to find the whole area was closed.  I think it had to do with the 15 kilometre social distancing rule.  Certainly, apart from us, there was nobody within 15 (probably 50) kilometres of us.  For those who may not know, the Ada Tree is thought to be the biggest tree in Victoria. It is very old and we have actually seen it before without being overawed, but by the time we found it, it was time to head back home – this time via Moe and the Freeway.

Saturday

We did a bit of shopping in the morning, mainly to redress the implications of Melbourne’s lockdown. When we left home, we expected to return for a few days some 3 weeks later.  With this in mind, we chose to leave a number of items (mainly the roof-rack and all the items we expected to carry in it during the rest of our travels) in our storage bay in Burwood, intending to collect them before setting off to more remote places.  Alas, we won’t be risking a return to Melbourne to collect them for fear of not being able to leave again so we have had to purchase a few things to compensate for our inability to retrieve our gear from Burwood.  The main things we needed was a new set of bog-mats (called recovery boards around here) and a few tie-down straps to attach things to the roof-bars rather than using the cargo nets over the roof-rack.

We also arranged to have a minor repair done as we leave Warragul next Friday. There is a slight leak from our water inlet that could possibly be fixed by me by simply tightening a plastic fitting with a spanner – but the plastic looks very suss to me and if it disintegrated when I tightened it, we would have no fresh water until it was replaced.  It is getting progressively worse and we don’t want to head too far from a good water supply until we know it is all secure.  Also, since putting the two spare wheels on the back of the car, our reversing camera is hidden and useless.  The wheels also prevent me using the overhead camera to connect up the van so we have arranged to have the reversing camera repositioned so it is between the wheels and over the ball on the drawbar – that will be done on Wednesday arvo.  It won’t resolve our inability to see much when reverse-parking but will help a little. When we are back in Melbourne, we will simply remove the left-hand spare and parking should be fine – and when we have the caravan connected, it won’t matter much anyway – especially because we avoid reversing as much as possible with the van connected.

We came back to the van after our shopping expedition and had lunch before going for a drive not too far from where we went a couple of days ago – roughly in the direction of Noojee but not so far.  A lot of the area was forested and it was a really lovely drive.  We found the Nangara Reserve and the Kurnai Trail and did a couple of walks – one longish, the other shorter – through the forest. Both were really great, walking around a former quarry with lots of lush ferns, frogs and fungi in towering trees, then later following a creek in slightly more open country with quite a few birds perched high in dead trees.  We would have loved to explore a bit more in the area, but by then it was getting dark and we decided to return to the van, calling in at Ginny’s Fish and Chip shop in Drouin (recommended by the manager of our caravan park) for some exceptionally generous and tasty dinner.  A really wonderful afternoon of exploration – all the more interesting because the weatherman got it wrong again.  The BOM has predicted rain every day this week, but we have had a few cold damp days, but with little more than morning fogs and occasional misty areas when driving in the clouds on some of the higher roads – but virtually no rain.

Sunday, 12 July

The weatherman did a better job today.  It started raining, just a bit more than mist, around 7am and it has been patchy ever since – clear skies, sunny periods, wispy clouds and a few short showers. We have been in the van most of the day, often with the air conditioner on to keep us warm, and enjoying the sound of the rain on the roof every now and then.  It has a wintry feel (it is mid-winter in 3 days’ time after all!) but it’s very cosy and snug hiding out inside our cubby.

One really important thing we achieved in the afternoon was to get our new drone working.  At one time, we were really opposed to drones because we saw other people with them making nuisances of themselves, particularly overseas.  In Armenia, we had an ethereal, almost spiritual, experience in an ancient ruined church when our wonderful guide sang a love song in her native tongue in the centre of the church with the stone walls echoing back and surrounding us with wonderful bell-like sound – it was a truly unique and very beautiful experience. Utterly divine – almost literally. Then we went outside and almost got bombed by this guy flying a big noisy drone in the churchyard.  It really spoiled the whole ecstatic experience for us – very disappointing and it set us against drones for several years.

Having recently seen a few films where images from a drone added a lot to the impact, we decided to swallow our sensitivities and buy a little one and try it out for ourselves. We went for a modestly priced one rather than splashing 10 or 15 grand on a supersonic amphibious version with night vision, all terrain and underwater capability and a red and yellow stylised ‘S’ on a blue flag.  I worked on it for quite a few hours on and off, updating the firmware (several times), charging (and recharging) batteries, reading dozens of pages of Chinglese/Arabic User Manual and continually getting stuck when it said to press the non-existent ‘Connect’ button on the aircraft to connect to, and activate the controller.  Interestingly, when Heather and I worked through the same process together, the whole thing worked without ever getting to that point – it simply connected automatically, so we took it outside and it worked.  All we did was to take off and land it.  The rules about drones in Australia are much stricter than those overseas and we decided not to do any more than that until we were out in the Never-never which is really what we bought it for.  As to the hi-res photos and video promised by the drone, you will simply have to wait until we are ‘out there’ and can experiment much more fully.

[atinytokki]

𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Chapter 5: Sold 

(Warnings: Slavery, violence, and blood)

“Give. Me. Time.”    

Hongjoong was in the back corner of the prison cell, in the middle of an argument with Mingi. “Hyung, we’ve given all the time we can. We need to act now.”

From a few feet away, Seonghwa heard the edge in Mingi’s voice and listened in more closely.

“I haven’t gotten enough of his trust yet, Mingi. I can’t just pocket tools and smuggle them down here when he’s watching me the entire time I’m working!” 

“Well, you’re just going to have to figure it out because I don’t know whether you really did forget about Yeosang or you’re too busy enjoying all the perks of being the Master’s favourite but in case it escaped your notice, he was screaming in this hallway— something about wanting to come back to us— while they were dragging him away, not two days ago! And we haven’t heard anything about him since!”

Hongjoong was about to crack when Seonghwa’s waving hand suddenly appeared in front of Mingi’s red face. “Hey, hey, hey, what is going on here?”

Both parties diverted their attention from each other and took note of their peacemaker. “I thought this was supposed to be about the escape plan and here you are arguing in front of everyone else.”

He frowned like a disappointed parent at both of them before they relented and settled back down onto the floor. “It’s not like there’s anywhere else to argue, you know,” Mingi mumbled. Hongjoong was gazing intently at his own hands for a minute or two before he found the words. 

“I’m really sorry we’re in this situation. I’m responsible for getting you out, I can’t blame you for wanting results.”

Mingi looked over at him in acknowledgment before deciding to explain himself. “I’m sorry, too. For saying those things. It’s just that I’m so sick of being stuck in this stupid cell... you get to leave every day and I know you’re working hard but I just get jealous. It’s not your fault.”

Seonghwa smiled at both of them cheerfully before retreating and allowing them to work it out themselves.

Hongjoong was shaking his head. “It is my fault. I should have stopped it before it got this far but I couldn’t. I’m going to do everything in my power to get Yeosang back here, but I just need the right opportunity.”

Mingi patted the captain’s shoulder and tried to look on the bright side. “At least Wooyoung is gaining strength.”

Jongho slid into the conversation. “Speaking of gaining strength, I think I have something else you can do other than start fights, Mingi-hyung.”

...

Hongjoong was collected for his work day and marched up to play a few songs for the Master’s wife, as had become customary in the last two days of work.

The Master was usually present to stare down the captain, but today he was nowhere to be found. Acutely aware of the potential in this situation, Hongjoong wasted no time in asking the wife where he was that morning. She had been more timid around him since his opportunism the other day, but had stayed true to her word in not ratting him out to her husband.

“Planning a banquet for some of our richer buyers,” she explained. “It’s going to be held tonight in the ballroom, we’d like you to play for us.” He offered a distracted nod and asked how long the preparations would take.

“All day, most likely,” she got up to leave but threw a last comment over her shoulder. “He won’t be with you at the shipyard today. The guards can direct you instead.” 

Just as he had suspected. The time was now. 

...

“And 48...49... Yunho, back straight please...50. Well done.” Jongho was directing his companions in a workout session, trying to keep everyone fit and occupied, as was his usual job.

The boys looked up from their pushups as Hongjoong was brought in the cell to join them for lunch.

“Alright, Mingi. You know how I was talking about an opportunity? I think this is it. Put this on.”

From carefully hidden beneath his own clothes, he drew out a guard’s uniform and tossed it at the taller boy.

“Where did you get this?” Mingi gaped at it.

“I snatched it on my way back. Listen, there’s a big party tonight and the Master is going to be busy all day getting ready— which means he won’t be with me at the shipyard and I’ll have a better chance of stealing those tools to break you out.”

The group tightened into a close huddle as the plan took shape. “With that uniform, Mingi, you can get into the guard’s room and open the portcullis with the lever inside. Is everyone in agreement?” There were mumbles of approval and nods all around before everyone returned to their meal. 

Yunho left Wooyoung’s side for the first time since he had fallen ill and sat next to Hongjoong, mindlessly munching on some hardtack as he looked over at the older boy.

He flashed back to the memory of his captain’s sheen pink eyelids, limp strands of sandy hair, even his lips drained of colour and life. “You were dead not even a week ago,” he said quietly, a little afraid what Hongjoong would think about his suddenly bringing it up. “I can’t imagine how it felt, but I...”

“You want to know?”

He nodded.

Hongjoong became pale and his eyes were distant. “I only really remember the moments leading up to it. The very thought of lifting a finger to wipe away your tears was exhausting. To lift my own head was impossible. It’s like being a useless sack of skin and bones. Unable to do anything. Comparable to... how I feel now.”

“That’s how the Master wants you to feel.” Yunho pointed out. “We have our chance tonight. We’ll find Yeosang and get out of here for good.”

Hongjoong smiled fondly at the rigger. “You’re right. I’m just letting it get to me.”

There was a short beat of companionable silence before he became curious. “Why did you ask about the sickness, anyway?”

Yunho hung his head. “I held your hand while you were dying, you know. I didn’t even get to hold my own parents’ hands when they died and I wondered... what it’s like on the other side.”

Hongjoong hummed in understanding and grasped Yunho’s shoulder. “They’re in a better place.”

It wasn’t the first time Yunho and Hongjoong had spoken of such things, and soon Hongjoong was taken away again to the shipyard.

Mingi pulled the uniform back out from where he was hiding it so the guards wouldn’t see. 

“I really hope this fits me.”

...

Yeosang had been led to a cart, along with at least ten other slaves who had materialised alongside him, and fastened in for the ride back to town.

His new master’s residence was still impressive, though not as fortified. He still hadn’t actually laid eyes on the buyer, having blacked out while he was removed from his glass box for the last time and dragged out of the Fortress forever.

There was an aspect of relief, and also a tremendous fear of the unknown. His new master was that unknown at the moment, and all he could do to survive was comply with what he was told by the various overseers that gave orders to the group.

The first night was spent in the corner of the small shack the slaves shared, minding his own business and staying away from everyone else. Rain pounded onto the boards that made up the roof, and a few leaks were discovered through the course of the night.

Of course the first order of business the next morning was not fixing the damage, but setting the slaves to work. Being the new slave, Yeosang had to be tested for his abilities before he could be placed somewhere in the household.

When his overseer pulled him out of the shack and toward the main house he decided to be honest with him from the start and save some time and pain. “I can read and write.”

The overseer stopped in his tracks. “I don’t know if that’s a skill you want to make use of, but...” Yeosang continued while the man considered him. “Very well, I’ll take you to his study,” the overseer concluded. 

The study was on the first floor of the building, tucked away into a lesser frequented part of the house, and the stone floor stretched on for longer than expected. It looked from the outside like a much smaller room than it was on the inside, and the interior was a mess.

Bottles and vials were strewn all over, mismatched furniture placed in random places, papers scattered across them. The overseer sat him down in a squeaky wooden chair and provided a quill and some parchment.

With a confident tone of voice, he asked the new slave to write down the following paragraph and then recited some unknown passage.

Yeosang effortlessly transcribed it, attractive handwriting flowing from his nimble fingers.

When he was finished, he handed the paper back. The overseer scanned it over quickly before stuttering out an “excuse me, I just need to check with the boss” and running out of the study.

Yeosang would put money on his theory that the overseer couldn’t actually read and had only been hired for his muscle. At any rate, it took him quite awhile to “check with the boss” and Yeosang was left to explore the study himself.

One ancient tome was of particular interest. It sat open on a stand atop the main desk, and it was clear some pages had been ripped out. Yeosang examined the writing more closely. It looked like some kind of incantation. Shocked, he took a step back. It was a recipe for a magic potion. Is my new master some kind of sorcerer?

...

When the time came, Wooyoung insisted on being the one to go find Yeosang, and San insisted on going with Wooyoung.

“He’s still getting over the sickness!” He argued. “I’ll not have him collapsing.”

Hongjoong appeared with some nails he had snatched from under the guards’ noses just before sunset and handed them through the bars to his crew with a few short instructions. “I knocked out the guard at the other end of this hallway, so you should have a bit of time. As soon as you get it open, Mingi you know what to do. I’ll be playing piano at the party, so I’ll try to cover any noise you make opening the portcullis. Meet all of you, including Yeosang, at the gate in twenty minutes.”

He was about to scurry off again when Seonghwa grabbed his arm through the bars and asked a question. “What do we do with the tools when we’re finished?”

Hongjoong thought about it for a moment. “Leave them in the cell, I guess. Hide them for the next poor soul waiting to be sold.”

Once the lock had been picked by the sure fingered Yunho and the nails had been hidden in a crack in the stone wall, all six members tiptoed out of their stuffy prison wing and toward freedom. Wooyoung remembered which direction the screams had come from that evening Yeosang had tried to escape and took a path off to the left, an apprehensive San trailing behind.

The heavy looking door at the end of the hallway was their best bet, and as they got closer Wooyoung realised it was already cracked open. He motioned for San to stay close behind him and carefully pushed the door until he could peek through. 

“It’s clear,” he whispered. San had grabbed his hand. “Do you see anything inside?”

Wooyoung strained his neck to get a glimpse into the room. “There’s some kind of box... like a large prism. Tall enough for a human to stand inside!”

He stopped squinting and crept into the room for a closer look. San gasped and tugged on his sleeve. “Wooyoung, look! There’s a lock on it!” A chill slithered down Wooyoung’s spine.

“Someone was in here, for sure,” he muttered. There were a few drops of dried blood on the bottom of the box. “I’m willing to bet it was Yeosang.”

...

Seonghwa, Yunho, and Jongho were waiting in a small crevice next to the portcullis as a disguised Mingi wandered around looking for the guardroom.

When he found it, the coast was not as clear as he had hoped. Two guards sat inside with tankards of rum and gambled over an item of jewellery wrestled off of some slave. 

Mingi broke out in a sweat. How was he supposed to pull the lever for the portcullis without being caught? He ran a few scenarios in his mind in the seconds he had before the other guards noticed him and came up dry.

“You there! Fetch more rum!” Mingi wordlessly took their tankards and slipped out of the room. He had no idea where he was supposed to get rum and more importantly, how he was going to get the portcullis open.

Again, he wandered the corridors, peeking in rooms to see if they were stocked with rum barrels, when an idea hit him. The party!

Hongjoong was on his third song when he glanced at the clock and saw twenty minutes had almost passed. It was time to make his exit.

He excused himself to use the restroom when he bumped into someone tall. After a double take he realised who it was. “Mingi?” He whispered harshly.

Mingi glared at him through his borrowed helmet and jerked his head to the left. The two slipped away from the festivities and into the kitchen next to the ballroom. “What are you doing here?”

Mingi explained hurriedly, “There are two guards in the room with the lever, I can’t pull it while they’re sitting there! And they told me to get rum, so... Oh, look! There’s rum over here!”

He went to fill both tankards and go back down to the dungeon level but was stopped by Hongjoong. “Wait, don’t give them rum. Give them something stronger to knock them out. I’ll give you ten more minutes.” 

With that, Hongjoong went back to the piano and began another song. Mingi searched the kitchen until he found a strong enough substitute and carried it back to the guards.

They accepted the alcohol gratefully and downed it at remarkable speed. Mingi loitered uncomfortably until the second guard’s head hit the table, and then rushed over and began opening the portcullis.

There was a lot of resistance on the lever but he threw his entire body weight into it with a stifled grunt and pushed it down until it clicked. The sound of the portcullis opening jerked his body up. Mingi hurried out to meet the other three who were frowning in confusion.

After a scan of the area he knew what the issue was. “Shouldn’t they have found Yeosang by now?” Their extra ten minutes had passed. 

...

“He’s not here anymore,” San whispered into space, grasping the opened lock in his hand. “Does that mean he’s been sold?”

Before Wooyoung could answer, there was a sound at the door. Both panicked, but there was nowhere to hide and no time. A familiar face emerged from behind the door.

“Seunghyun?”

San wasted no time leaping at him to tackle him to the ground but Seunghyun was quick and snatched the boy’s raised arm, twisting it behind his back. Wooyoung ran over to free his friend but a yell from San stopped him short.

Seunghyun was pulling the twisted arm harder, threatening to break it. “Get in the box,” he ordered over San’s whimpers. Wooyoung backed slowly into the transparent prism behind him, not wanting to lie down without a fight.

“Is this your only fighting tactic?” He mocked. Seunghyun snorted at him and began to advance, San still secure in his tight grip. “It’s worked just fine on you lot,” he retorted, throwing San into the box alongside Wooyoung.

There was barely enough space for the two of them and as they squirmed around each other someone else entered the room and locked the glass box. It was the Master.

“Well, look who has volunteered to be sold!”

...

“We can’t just go without them!” Yunho hissed. “How do you expect to break back in later?”

Jongho groaned back at him, “The portcullis is wide open, when do you expect we’ll get another chance like this?”

A guard appeared at the end of the hallway. “Slaves are escaping!” He screamed. “Slaves escaping!” He repeated it and fled back the way he had come. A bell began to ring somewhere.

“Run for it, now!” Jongho was yelling now. “I agree!” Mingi chimed in, throwing off his helmet.

“Captain’s not here yet either, we can’t just—” Seonghwa was cut off by the thunderous drumming of boots on the ground and the sudden appearance of about a dozen guards, crossbows aimed at the four escapees. Jongho wiped his hand down his face in irritation before raising both in the air. 

They had been caught.

...

Hongjoong bowed for the applause and then made for the exit. It was now or never. His path was suddenly blocked by the Master’s wife. “I know what you’re thinking, and I would advise against it,” she crooned.

Hongjoong met her eyes and fiercely returned her gaze. “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” his voice was low and firm. Her long icy fingers wrapped around his wrist. He wanted badly to shake them off but the entire company of party guests was staring at them now.

The woman sensed it too and spun around to face them, a sparkling smile displayed. “Another round of applause for our lovely performer!”

As the clapping died down she pulled him with her back to the imperial staircase and up the opposite side. When they were out of the ballroom, Hongjoong began to struggle but was suddenly restrained by a pair of guards. 

“What exactly is this concerning?” He gritted out as he was pushed along behind the wife.

“Your crew members were just caught attempting to escape downstairs. My husband has gone down to deal with the matter but he told me it was best if you stay up here in this part of the mansion for your own sake. Can’t have you getting wrapped up in all that, can we?” Her tone was composed and her pace was normal, but her cold grasp was unnerving and Hongjoong wasn’t buying her act. 

They drew up to a plain one person bedroom and the woman ushered him in, standing at the door. Hongjoong’s frown stayed on his face, even as he touched the soft pillows prepared for him.

“When’s the last time you slept on a real bed I wonder?” The wife laughed from the doorway. She pulled out a key and began to close the door but was interrupted by Hongjoong’s call.

“When can I see my crew?”

Her hands fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress. “That will be discussed later. Sleep well,” she blurted out before closing the door and striding away. 

Hongjoong took his coat off with a sigh and sat on the bed. It was the first time he had truly been alone since those long days on the abandoned island, before the ATEEZ.

There was a bigger problem now; it was going to be even more difficult to escape now that they were separated. In the depths of his mind, a thought waited to be addressed. “Should we try to leave at all?”

...

The night was long and sleepless for Wooyoung and San. They managed to wiggle themselves into a position where they could at least breathe even though they couldn’t stretch their legs. They sat back to back, heads resting back onto the other’s shoulder, gazing up through the tip of the glass box.

“We’re really going to be sold,” Wooyoung whispered into the void. “Just like Yeosang.”

San shifted his head to whisper back, “As long as we stick together we’ll be alright. Still have the necklace?” Wooyoung checked and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Don’t you suppose they’ll confiscate it? Whoever buys me—”

“Let’s not think about that now, huh?” San drowned out his worries. “Try to get some sleep.” Wooyoung sighed deeply and forced his eyes closed. Sleep did not find him.

Only when the Master opened the door and entered the room hours later could Wooyoung tell morning had come. San stirred on his shoulder and tried to stretch, stopped short by the glass walls. He rubbed his elbow with a pout and squinted at the Master.

“The buyer from a couple of days ago is back for more slaves. Be still and silent,” the man recited, striding over to the curtain at the end of the room and preparing to raise it. “It will be over soon.”

The curtain swept up and light poured in.  Both boys shot to their feet in surprise, bumping into each other. “The buyer from a couple of days ago! Yeosang’s buyer?”

San didn’t get a chance to respond because a cacophony of bidding broke out in the audience that had assembled behind the curtain. It was dizzying for a few minutes as the prices went higher and higher and for a moment the boys weren’t sure which of them was currently being bid on.

When the Master finally yelled “Sold!” and then yanked Wooyoung out of the box, it was clear that they were about to be separated.

Wooyoung was handed off to the iron grip of the bearded man that had bought him and San was left screaming and pounding on the wall of the box. 

“Buy me, too! Take me with you, I’m useful! Please!” His voice became hoarse but he continued slamming his hands into the side of the prism, tears and sweat streaming down the glass. “Take me with you! I beg you, don’t leave me! Please!”

Wooyoung kicked and fought the man that was beginning to drag him away as his servants paid the Master the sum he was being traded for. He could see a cart pulling up to take him away and he struggled for his life.

For a split second, he caught sight of San, who was yelling at the top of his lungs for the buyer to come back for him. He can’t hear you! 

“Sir, please!” Wooyoung halted in place, no longer fighting but refusing to move all the same. “Please buy that boy in the box! He’s very strong and very smart. He’s a carpenter and he knows about medicine, too! He’ll be useful to you!”

The buyer slapped the disobedient slave across the face. “You’re just saying that because he’s your friend,” he declared and pulled Wooyoung closer to the cart. “No, look! He’s very strong, I promise!”

With the last of his strength, Wooyoung turned his buyer around, pointing at the box which shook from the force of San’s fists. The man paused and sighed. He glared at Wooyoung and chained him to the cart, but turned and rejoined the audience to outbid them for San as well.

Wooyoung reached for his friend as he was fastened to the other side of the cart. They were just out of reach of each other, but as they kept their eyes linked they both relaxed into their seats. They may face separation again later, but they would cling to each other while they could.

...

Yeosang rose with the sun for his new job. He was to transcribe his master’s correspondence and experiment notes every morning, and then run errands in the afternoon. The boss was late this time, only emerging in his office a few hours after the sun was up.

Yeosang had a slight suspicion that he had been at the Fortress auction but when he returned to the slave shack for the slime that was dubbed lunch, his suspicions were confirmed. Wooyoung and San huddled in the corner, waiting to be tested and placed.

“What are you two doing here? Does Captain know about this?” Yeosang tried to look angry, and be strict with the two younger boys but the way Wooyoung was already breaking down in relief softened his heart and he simply shook his head.

Wooyoung bit his lip as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Yeosang, you have to understand. If we succeed, we succeed together. If we go down, we go down together.”

Yeosang was speechless. He stuttered for a minute before sitting down and facing the two boys. “I wanted to rescue myself, just once. Once again you’ve come to fetch me,” he covered his mouth as tears choked his speech. “I’m afraid it’ll be for nothing, Wooyoung. The two of you have just doomed yourselves.”

...

“And now there are four,” Mingi groaned. “Our group has been reduced to half its size.”

“How much longer now?” Seonghwa asked no one in particular. “It smells in here.”

“It smelled worse when there were eight of you,” a voice came from outside the cell.

It was the guard who had caught them at the portcullis. He watched them with narrowed eyes and a hand rubbing what looked like a minor stab wound on his neck. 

“Second escape attempt this week from you lot,” he sounded annoyed, but there was an undertone of astonishment in his voice. “You realise those are very rare around here, don’t you?”

Seonghwa shook his head slowly. The guard tilted his head curiously at him. “What do you have out there that’s so worth all the trouble?” Seonghwa was dumbfounded. “Nothing,” he shrugged. “All we have is each other. But we want our freedom.”

The guard looked lost in thought for a few seconds before he walked out of sight. Seonghwa turned to Yunho and lowered his voice. “If we play our cards right, we may be gaining an ally on the inside.”

A clamour at the end of the hall perked up all four of the prisoners. As they met at the bars of their cell they looked down the hall. There were about a dozen people being led past the rows of cells.

“New prisoners?” Jongho muttered. The group was forced into the next door cell, their protests echoing through the entire chamber. Yunho turned to the others. “Is this a good thing or a bad thing?” Seonghwa couldn’t tell, but he did know one thing for sure.

“I believe we’ve tapped into something larger than ourselves.”

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @theinvisablessed @bustdownyunho @celestial-yunho

A/N: Oops I made myself sad... Expect another update or two soon, school is coming and I’m trying to get this out while I have time >.< Also in addition to spinoffs I have a special Treasure series-unrelated work in progress right now I’m biting my nails over here hoping you’ll like it when it’s ready but until then enjoy and as always please consider reblogging!!!

← Previous | Masterlist | Next →

[aurora-borealis514]

The Sidewalk.

18 + Mature Content.

(It’s a long story, but I didn’t want to disappoint!)

CHAPTER 1

Location: My bedroom.

Time: 3:45 am 

I can’t sleep, I haven’t been able to sleep. I guess the stress has just been getting to me lately...Yeah... I know, I know you’re probably all laughing like “Stress! Pah! You’re to young to have any stress!” or my favorite line. “You’re lucky you still live at home. When I was your age I was already married with two kids by then.” Oh yeah Deborah isn’t that right? Well I’m sorry that my life isn't all put together at 21 like yours might have been, which was when 40 years ago? 

I hate people.

Especially the ones who just silently judge you. You know which ones, they are nice to your face but as soon as your back is turned they say the complete opposite; Walking around with their noses stuck straight up in the air, and driving around showing off their fancy SUVs. Must be nice to have things handed to you. For me, that wasn’t the case, towards the end at least. I came from an average family you know. Mom stayed at home, dad is a cop, a younger brother, the white picket fence and what family would be complete with out a dog. The all American family you could say.

We were definitely far from it. We had our dirty secrets too, just like any other “normal” family.

Fuck! Why can’t I sleep, god damn it! 

Looking up at the ceiling all I could think of at that moment was “What if this were to collapse in on me?” “ Maybe then it would end all of my pain and suffering.” 

The roof needed to be fixed. Dad said he was going to do that months ago...but here we are closer to winter and it’s still not done. The shingles were falling off and it leaked every time it rained. My room seemed to be the only room in the entire house that received the full impact; It was so bad last week I had to sleep downstairs on the couch. The windows were old and drafty and look like they haven't been replaced in years, the doors were just the same, creaking at the hinges. The yard was over grown and had gone to complete shit. Our house didn't always look like this, we just stopped caring.

My mother was the one who would take care of basically everything around the house without her my dad, brother and I would have been lost. She taught me everything she could. How to cook, fold laundry, how to change a tire. She was a woman that young girls would look up to. She was kind and caring, she spent a lot of time working with different organizations and she was always hosting charity events. Judith Ward even made a brief appearance.

Sigh.

Sadly, that’s all just a faded distant memory, and now my father and I were complete and utterly lost. Most day’s we would just order take out from Ruby’s Diner, we sort of became regulars there.

Tears began to bubble in my eyes blurring my vision of the ceiling. 

My mother and younger brother were murdered, along with a few others. Most would say they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but my dad wasn’t convinced.

It all happened so fast. My mother had just picked up Danny from school and they were walking home when a man in a ski mask jumped them from behind shooting my mother point blank in the back of the head. Danny’s body was never found, so deep down I know he is still alive...somewhere.

For about 4 years now my dad had been searching and it seemed like every time he would get close to a break through...more “clues” would began to surface and he would be led straight back to a dead end. Part of me believes that the man is still out there holding my brother hostage and he’s just been leaving clues behind to this day just to try and throw my dad off the trail, but he is stubborn and determined, and why would a murder hang around and continue to leave clues? I try not to think about it to often because it kills me deep down knowing someone I used to see everyday just isn’t there anymore. I keep thinking that this was all my fault and a part of me that feels guilty everyday. I should have been there with him, and maybe at least my mother would still be here... I  know fucked up way of thinking, but that’s where my mind takes me when I think about it.

Ever since the murder my father has suggested me speaking to a therapist. He claims that “medicating with Marijuana isn’t the right way to go about dealing with my stress and pain, but what does he know, Those guys are there only to take all your money and silently judge you, then they go home and talk about how crazy you are to their immediate families and significant others. To them that’s just a normal day in the office, but to me that’s the life I am stuck living every single day.

So if you ever meet a family member of your shrink. That’s why they hesitate when saying hello. They probably think you are a psychopath and could snap at any moment.

Time: 4:00 am

Alright, well no sense trying to sleep now, I might as well just pull an all nighter.

Stretching I rolled out of bed and grabbed a shower towel. Sluggishly I walked down the stairs. My dad was asleep at his computer per usual... he must have had another late night. 

Yawning I proceeded into the bathroom and closed the door. Turning on the shower I pulled my nightshirt over my head and gently tossed it onto the floor. Reaching my hand behind the curtain I made sure it was hot. 

Scalding.

That was the only good thing about old houses. The hot water is actually hot.

Stepping in I felt the heat of the water run over my skin, sending chills down my spine, and making the hair on my arms stick up straight. A draft crept through the crack under the door and my nipples grew hard. We didn’t have a shower curtain at the moment, so no matter how hot the shower got you were still cold. Why you may ask? We’ll I decided one night it was a good idea to try and sober up a friend by putting her in the shower, well epic fail on my part. Her foot got caught up on the edge of the tub and she became entangled in it which ripped the holster straight out of the wall and caved in on her. My dad was pissed and his reasoning behind not buying another one. 

“You shower with the door closed so why do you need a curtain to hide behind too.”

His logic never made sense sometimes... but that was dad. Usually his reasoning behind things made me laugh which made it impossible for him to ground me.

Closing my eyes I let the water run down my face. It was soothing, but not as soothing as the sound of rain late at night. Washing up, rinsing off and then turning off the shower I stepped out and reached for my towel also not realizing my phone was underneath it. I couldn’t react fast enough, all I could do was stand there and watch it as It fell and collided with the ground making a sharp snap.

Great. I hope I didn’t just break it.

Wrapping a towel around my hair and the other around my body I reached down for my phone. Closing my eyes I whispered to myself. Please don’t be broken, please don’t be broken. Slowly peeking out of one eye I looked down. Phew! Not broken this time. Taking a deep breath I turned to the mirror and wiped the condensation away leaving blurry streaks. My makeup didn’t seem to come all the way off in the shower so it was still smudged around my eyes making dark circles. Washing my face again in the sink with a face cloth, I then rubbed lotion all over my body. Coco butter, not only does it make your skin smooth as fuck but it smells good too! I brushed my teeth and spit the toothpaste into the sink. Leaving the bathroom I looked over at my dad who was sound asleep, but this time snoring with his face buried deep into his in his arms. 

He looks pretty peaceful. I won’t wake him yet.

Tippy toeing up the stairs, they creaked and groaned. I closed my bedroom door behind me and began franticly digging through my piles of clothes that were just thrown throughout my room. Picking up a shirt I brought it to my face and inhaled. 

Smells ok to me. Throwing on a ripped tank top, I swirled the shirt around my back and flung my arms through. Picking up a pair of jeans I just looked down at them in disgust. These are so old. They had holes, and stains that just wouldn't wash out, but they were my favorite pair and I just couldn’t get rid of them. Slinging my bag over my shoulder and grabbing my camera headed back down stairs.

Still sleeping...

Dad... Dad?

“Wha...What time is it?” he asked in a fog while rubbing his eyes.

4:30 in the morning...

“Why are you awake?” 

Well, I couldn’t sleep so I figured I would get an early start.

Yawning he stretched his arms back behind his head before looking back down at his computer. Grunting he held his head in his hands.

“Every fucking time I think I’m one step closer.” he clenched his fists and pounded hard on his desk making a pile of papers shuffle and fall to the ground.

Dad? Maybe you should get some sleep... bending down I picked up his papers and placed them neatly back onto his desk

“I don’t need sleep, I need to finish up working on this case.” he growled

Seriously though, you need to rest...it’s been 4 years and you aren’t any closer today then you were 4 years ago.

“What I need is for you to stop giving me such attitude, leave me the hell alone and let me get back to work so then maybe I can try and get some sleep.”

Alright, whatever Dad... I’ll see you later.

“Where are you going?” he asked turning to face me.

I see, he only looks at me when I’m leaving.

I don’t know, probably go down to Ruby’s for some breakfast.

“I see you have your camera too?” he smiled.

holy shit...he smiled.

Yeah, I wanted to maybe catch the sun rise. Do you want anything to eat? I can bring you something back? Maybe an extra thick milkshake 

“mmm sounds good, but no.” he replied turning back to his computer.

 Come on Dad, you know you want one. I’ll buy?

“No I’m good. Thank you, but really I need to get back to work.” he responded.

He was exhausted, his eyes were sunken in surrounded by dark circles. His hair was starting to turn gray and he just looked like absolute shit. He was supposed to be off this week. The Chief told him he needed to take time to grieve because he really hasn't since my mom died, but my dad has been sneaking around getting files from the other guys so he can continue to work, but just from home.

Ok so breakfast sandwich and a coffee instead?

“Black.” He replied with a smirk.

Sounds good old man.

Turning to leave, he called out to me once more.

“This old man could still kick your ass”

Name the place and pick a time Dad. I can take you down any day.

“That’s my girl.” he smiled.

Door slams shuts.

It was a lot cooler out then I had expected, yet again the weather man lies, but then again the sun still wasn’t even awake yet.

The air was crisp, and the leaves crunched beneath my feet as I walked along. I absolutely loved the fall. Everything is just so beautiful and the people around here really get into the Halloween spirit.

If Halloween could be an every day event, I would be happy. 

The birds were already awake and chirping away, and just as I got to the bottom of my steps a fat squirrel ran across my path nearly tripping me in the process. Sadly he was just to quick to take a picture.

One day I’ll capture you, Mr. Squirrel. I laughed out loud to myself. You might have gotten away this time, but next time you won’t be so lucky.

The squirrel stopped half way up the tree and what looked like began to mock me, before quickly scurrying up into the brush.

Fat little bastard. I grumbled.

Walking down the street all I could do was look around at how the town went to complete shit. I feel like the loss of my mother and disappearance of my brother just caused the whole town to shut down and lose its spark. My parents were very well known and liked around the area by anyone and everyone who crossed paths with them. They were always willing to help anyone and everyone who asked them, even if that means they got fucked over 85% of the time. So I couldn’t go anywhere without something stopping me to ask how my parents were doing or if they would be around that weekend to give them a hand. Especially now...it’s always. “How’s your dad? Is he ok?” 

Half the time I want to tell them to go visit him and ask for themselves, but I usually just smile and tell them he’s fine.

It got old.

Wrapping my flannel tighter around me I headed down the side walk, the only beautiful thing left in this town were the trees and the canal. 

Pulling out my camera I took a quick photo. 

SNAP, SNAP

Something this beautiful should be captured before it get’s destroyed by humanity. One horrible thing about the human race, so quick to destroy something so beautiful that life has blessed us with, and people wonder why there are global warming problems.

SNAP, SNAP

Shit, whited out. God damn flash.

My camera was old and I needed a new flash, but since I haven’t been able to find a job in this hell hole I haven’t been able to buy a new one. I did ask my dad for my birthday last year, but he just hasn't had the money. It makes me feel like complete shit to even ask.

Come on, adjust...

SNAP. SNAP.

Got it. Thank you! Kissing my camera I smiled at it.

Perfect. I smiled down at my camera pleased with the shot.

Taking in a deep breathe through my nose I exhaled out my mouth causing a cloud to appear. 

Fall is definitely here. 

My stomach grumbled.

Alright, I need to eat...

Walking further down the side walk, and then to the cross walk, I looked and crossed the street heading towards the diner. That was another cool thing. Everything was so close to our house we can just walk there within a few minutes.

My dad and I used to take walks all the time...and then at the end he would treat me with a large malt shake. He always would suggest I get the smaller size because I could never finish a large, but I wanted to be like dad. 4 years later my brother was born. At that point I was 17 and started to rebel. Mainly tattoos, which drove my mother insane, but once my brother was born it’s like I didn’t exist anymore. I mean my dad always wanted a boy, I guess you can say that’s where I get my tomboy spirit from but from then on out it was all about Danny. 

He was only 13 when he disappeared.

Chapter 2:

Location: Ruby’s Diner

 Time: 4:45 am.

SNAP, SNAP

Fucking flash!

Snap Click. chhhh chhhh.

Ugh Wherever. I’ll just fix the damn thing inside. I stuffed the camera angrily into my bag and pushed open the large double glass doors to the diner.

“Hey Harper! Long time no see, two for breakfast?” the man behind the counter asked.

No Shane, it’s just me today. My dad’s at home working. I smiled.

“Isn’t he supposed to be on vacation?” he asked confused.

Well you know my dad...

“Yeah that’s true can’t take a man away from his work.” he laughed. “Would you like your regular booth by the window?” he asked looking down at his monitor.

Yeah that would be great actually.

“Alright, well it looks like it was just cleared off, so right this way ma’am.” He smiled smoothly waving his arm towards the dining room.

You’re the best, they really should just let you run the entire place.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m one pay check away from having enough money to get the hell out of this place.” he laughed.

Yeah, I hear ya, I have a feeling I might end up dying here.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Hey, once I’m gone my job will be free, maybe I can mention something to management?”

You would do that?! Oh thank you! 

Wrapping my arms around him I hugged him.

“No problem, I always have your back.” He laughed.

Sitting down at the table I pulled my bag to my side, and reached in. Pulling out my sketch pad I plopped it down and began to draw. That’s why I like the window booths. They were just giant windows filled with inspiration. I especially love when the older gentleman come for the early bird specials and bring their fanciest and shiniest cars. You can see them outside standing there gawking over who has the fastest car, or the best engine. Passing around cigars and chopping off the ends before lighting them and blowing big thick grey clouds of smoke up into the air. 

What a life. I always thought about what they were like at my age. It was such an easier time. They used to be able to go outside without having to worry that someone was going to get kidnapped or murdered. They came home when the street lights came on, not when they get a text asking where the hell they are. 

Looking down at the menu I couldn't decided. I know I have been here a million times, but I always look at the menu, you know just incase I decide to order something different.

 Which for me that was rare.

I always wished they would serve lunch this early, call me a psycho but I could totally go for a tuna melt right about now.

Looking up I notice the waitress. Her hair was in a twisted mess on the top of her head and her apron was stained with all sorts of different types of condiments, oil and grease. 

 Kate?! Since when do you work here?

“Well recently, Chloe’s mom was talking to my mom and well...here I am.” she sighed. “I really don’t like it.”

Well, I can tell you waitressing sucks. People are just plain rude.

“Especially the ones who tip like shit.” she laughed

Cheap bastards.

“Where’s your dad?”

He’s at home working. 

“Well it’s good to see he has at least been keeping himself busy.” 

Yeah, if that’s what you called it. I rolled my eyes at her comment.

“I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to...” she began to say.

Don’t worry about it, I’m used to people asking me about my dad all the time.

“Anyway what can I get for you?” she asked pulling out a notebook and pen. 

I’ll have the breakfast platter and a mimosa. 

“Starting early?” she giggled

It’s never to early to drink. I laughed.

“How would you like your eggs?” she then continued

Over easy, white toast, whip cream on the pancakes, bacon fried to a perfect crisp. 

“Anything else?” 

Yeah, freshly squeezed orange juice? 

“Were a diner not a 5 star breakfast buffet.”

I couldn’t help but to laugh. Oh come on the food here is definitely 5 star material.

Placing her hands on her hips. “If you think this is 5 star food then you haven't had real food.”

Well I mean, dad doesn’t cook and this is the only place that’s close enough for me to walk to.

“You still don’t have a car?” she asked cocking an eyebrow.

Well I do, it’s just in the shop. The damn truck is so rusty I need a miracle. Plus my dad’s car has been rotting in the driveway since my mom...

“That’s ok, no need to explain.” she smiled softly.

You know, you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me... I don’t mind talking about certain things.

“I know, it’s just horrible. Any news on your brother?” she asked running her thumbs along the hem of her apron.

Not yet, but I know he’s out there...he has to be.

“Well I will make sure to pray for his safe return.” she smiled again.

Thanks Kate, you're the sweetest.

“Anytime.” she replied turning and heading towards the kitchen.

Looking back out the window I sighed heavily. Well it looks like I am going to miss the sun rise yet again. 

Pulling out my camera and tiny tool kit, I began to work on the flash. Alright if I just adjust it here.... and then tweak this.

SPOING! 

Damn it! I slammed my fists down on the table tightly gripping what felt like the worlds smallest screw driver. Taking a deep breath I went back to working on it.

10 minutes later.

click, click. Snap, Snap

Yes! Fixed it!

And it looks like just in time. Looking over Kate held out the tray of food and placed it on the table. 

Looks good. I smiled at her.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” she smiled.

I will, Thanks Kate. 

Nodding her head Kate turned and walked away. Slapping my hands together and rubbing them I grabbed my fork and dug in.

Everything here just tastes so good to me, I guess you could say this is the closest thing I have had to a home cooked meal in a long time. 

The pancakes were perfectly fluffy, and drizzled with maple syrup and a dollop of whip cream in the center, the bacon was perfect and crispy where it melted in my mouth every time I took a bite, and my eggs were cooked perfectly. 

Finishing up rather quickly I waved for the bill.

“How was it?” she asked removing my plate from in front of me.

It was amazing, as always.

“You really need to get out more.” she laughed. “Need any change?” 

No thanks, I’m good. You keep it. Hey, it was good seeing you. I haven’t seen you since graduation.

“Well, if you want to see me again I’m here everyday of the week.” she smiled.

Alright, sounds good. Bye Kate and thank you.

“You’re welcome.” She responded hurrying off into the kitchen.

Walking outside the sun was finally raising and everything began to flare with color. 

Perfect timing. I smiled to myself.

Time 6:30 am

18 year’s I've lived here and I’ve never really stopped to actually look at the beauty this run down town can hold. 

Looking into the water I held my hand over my eyes to shield the suns glare. I could see fish swimming around happily, and rising to the surface for a small gulp of air before dipping back down and disappearing beneath the rocks.

Life is just so beautiful if you actually open your eyes and look at it.

SNAP, SNAP.

Click.

There is just something so calming about still water. I could just stare into it for hours, even days and never get bored.

SNAP SNAP.

Beep, beep.

What the fuck, low battery? Already. Fuck this stupid camera. 

Turning it off I placed it in my bag, well that’s enough pictures of water for right now I guess. I frowned looking down as a fish swam up and grabbed a cigarette butt that floated by before quickly spitting it back out.

Now that’s just disgusting. I frowned.

I really hate people sometimes.

Reaching for a stick, and then stretching out my arm, I managed to cause a rippled effect to move the cigarette butt close enough for my to pull up into the grass.

Ok fish, you are safe for now! I smiled looking down as 5 little babies swam out from under that same rock.

Heading back towards my house, I decided to take a quick detour.

SHIT! I forgot to get my dad food and coffee. I groaned. Oh well...he probably wouldn’t eat it anyway. Pretty sure his last sandwich is still there not even touched.

Turning the corner to enter my street I looked over at the park. The once beautiful fence, now rusted and damaged from little assholes around the town. There was trash and left over food laying all over the broken cement top. Shards of glass from beer bottles were smashed and smushed into the grass. The only new thing in this place was the swings and the basketball nets. Looking over I saw two kids throwing a ball around. 

“Haha loser! That’s an E for you.” one kid mocked.

“Fuck you asshole.” the other kid replied.

Pulling out my camera I quickly capture the two as one of the boys punched the other directly in the stomach. He started crying. 

“Fuck you dude.” he said as he ran to exit the park. “I’m telling mom.” 

“Don’t tell mom! Wait Get back here!” the other hollered as he ran after him.

SNAP, SNAP.

Well, that one will definitely be a good addition to my scrap book. Laughing out loud at the picture my camera began to beep, and then shut off. Great. I put my camera in my bag and headed over to the swings. Placing my bag on the ground next to me, I began to swing.

Back and forth, higher and higher. Getting lost in a daze.

I loved playing on these when I was a kid. The swing creaked as I swung back and forth. The memories of my childhood began to flash in front of me. All the times my friends and I would sneak out and meet here just to smoke a joint and drink beers that we stole from our parents fridges.

One time we ended up getting busted by the police. He was a rookie, and my friends decided it would be funny to mess with him. We had a bag full of stink bombs, which we lit and threw at him as he walked towards us. When they started to smoke and release the smell, all of a sudden the officer grabbed his throat and began gasping for air. We all panicked and ran away, we ended up hiding across the street in the neighbors rose bushes. MISTAKE. We were covered in scratches from the thorns afterwards. Finally when back up arrived what seemed like hours later, they ended up having to give him CPR and some oxygen. Little did we know he ended up having an asthma attack.

Needless to say that was his first and last day on the job. We also never got caught.

I just can’t believe we let this town go to shit like this, this placed used to be so beautiful and full of life, now its just surrounded by crime, punk ass kids, and lazy old people who spend 90% of their time on the front porch in rocking chairs scolding the teenagers as they walked by. 

Swinging high enough, I launched off the swing and landed on my feet.

I should get home, Dad’s probably worried about me.

I paused.

Yeah right. Laughing to myself I left the park, luckily for me I lived right next door so it wasn’t far.

Time: 8:00 am

Reaching my house I noticed the mail had arrived. Wow, this is here early. Might as well bring it inside or else it will be sitting here for weeks just piling up.

Pulling out a stack of envelopes I quickly shuffled through them.

Bills, Bills, Junk mail, Junk mail, bills, bills. Great. Nothing for me. What else is new.

I always looked through the mail like I expected to receive something, even though every time I always knew none of it would ever be for me. Sighing heavily I stuffed  the mail into the side pocket of my bag and headed up the front steps. Reaching for the door knob I pushed the front door open and this time closed it gently behind me, incase my dad had decided to finally give it a rest, and get some rest.

But no, Dad was still in the same spot I left him in.

Hey Dad, I’m home. Here’s the mail. I said reaching into my bag and then placing it on the desk. I’m sorry I forgot to grab you food. 

“Great honey. How was school?” he asked.

Dad...I’m 21, I don’t go to school anymore.

“Right, right...well good to see you.” He mumbled with his eye glued to his computer screen while he rubbed his temples.

Yeah Dad, Always a pleasure. I sighed waving at him and heading up the stairs to my room.

To be continued...

[liddie-realestate-blog]

5 Mistakes To Avoid As a First Time Home Buyer

Edwin Liddie here with the Liddie Real Estate group brokered by JP and Associate Realtors. Our office is located in Southlake, but we service the entire DFW Metroplex including Dallas, Fort Worth, and everything in between. We help people buy and sell real estate all the way up to luxury homes.

If it is for sale and it’s a house, we can help. Today this video is going to cover five mistakes to avoid as a first-time home buyer with a possible six as a bonus.

1. Avoid doing it yourself.

You want to get a real estate agent to help you and it's not going to cost you anything. Stop scrolling through Zillow, Trulia, and Realtor.com. Pick up the phone and call me 682-302-5131, I am here to help! I am a buyer's agent and specialize in it. My wife and I love to help people find real estate.

I know the market better than you do; It’s what I am trained to do. I have access to the MLS, which is the service that gives me all the homes in the system that are available for sale by other people who are represented by agents.

I'm able to pull comps. I'm able to see whether or not the house you’re interested in is worth what they are asking. Why? Because we may want to put an offer in that's lower or maybe higher, depending upon what the sales price is. It also depends on how nice the house is, its location, and if it fits your budget. I draft the contract and negotiate on your behalf to get terms that are favorable for you. I take the stress out of the process and I help make the transaction a whole lot smoother. Once we close on the deal, I get paid from the person selling the house. They are going to pay my broker who pays me.

So why wouldn't you use an agent? Right? You want to use an agent. You want to use me.

Call me, let me help you like I’ve helped so many people throughout DFW. We have a team of people that can help you find the home you need and want while making the process easy. 

2. Get pre-approved!

You do not want to start looking at houses unless you know how much house you could afford. There are two types of people that I typically meet. One would say, "Yeah I want to buy a house” and then I say, “Ok what is your price range?”, and they would say, "Well I don't want to spend any more than $300,000” and I look at them and say wow, okay, you know what you want!

Then there is a second type of person that I ask "Well what are you looking for? And they say, "Well I don't want to spend any more than $1500 a month”

It's two different ways of looking at it, right?

One doesn't want to spend more than $300,000 but they have no idea what a $300,000 monthly note is. The other one knows that their budget is $1500 bucks and it doesn't matter if it is a  $300,000 house because they can afford to spend $1500 a month.

That's really what you should be geared to. How much can you afford each month? The only way to find that out is to get pre-approved. Now, if you have a bank that you absolutely love and have been banking with them for a long time with great credit, go for it! Call them up, tell them, "Hey I'm in the market, and thinking about buying a house and I just want to know based on my current situation, how much home can I afford? And the lenders, they are trained to go through your finances and let you know how much of a house you can or can’t afford.

Let's work on your credit. If you don't have a lender or bank with someone but are not really happy with them, I have access to plenty of lenders who specialize in mortgages. I have great relationships with a lot of lenders who have great programs!

There's a lot of programs our there that you may qualify for, but you wouldn't know unless you talk to the right people. A lot of times it’s about who you know and what that person knows. That's why you want to get pre-approved. You may see something online and say, “I love this house!” but you just can't afford it.

Furthermore, even if you were to call me and say you love a particular house, I really can't show you the house unless I have a pre-approval. Because, I can be challenged by the realtor or the broker that owns that house as to whether or not you're in a position to buy. So, it's best for you to get pre-approved. If you are not pre-approved, you can call me  and I can help you get with the right people to do so!

3. Don’t buy a foreclosure.

Number three, this is a big one! A few years ago, we went through a recession and a lot of people lost their homes to foreclosures. Foreclosures were a big thing as well as short sales. That was a long time ago!

But the mindset of many is that “Hey, you know what I’m going to buy a house.” “The first house I’ll buy is a foreclosure because I can get a great deal on a foreclosure or a short sale.” I have to tell you that in 2019, things have changed.

 First off, there aren't as many foreclosures and short sales as there was back when the recession hit. Nowadays, banks have gotten hip. Even if they foreclose on your house, they will ask for what the house is worth. So the chances of you finding something that's a great investment for you to get pennies on the dollar, is very slim. Furthermore, if it does exist, cash investors are looking for those same deals in this saturated market.

The odds of you finding a great deal at a certain price with great value and little renovation doesn't exist. You have to look at it like this, if you're a first-time homebuyer with limited funds; you don't have tens of thousands of dollars lying there to renovate your home after purchasing it, don’t think about a foreclosure. A lot of those homes, if you find one, need so much work!

The thought of “Well, you know, I'm going to live in this room. We’ll fix this room up. We're going to take our time.” That's a fantasy land. Now a days you don’t even know what's wrong with the house. You may get into a house and barely get in and you're like, “I love this home” but have to put so much money into the house that is just not worth the investment at the end of the day.

So, I would advise you stay away from it. If it's your very first home, I can help. Unless you’re a contractor or have an unlimited amount of money. But I'm going to advise you to find something that's worth just moving into that takes minimal amount of work for you to furnish.

4. Get an Inspection.

All right, so we found the house and we got you pre-approved. It's not a foreclosure or short sell. At this point we need to get an inspection done.           I advise all my clients, that are not buying a new home, to get an inspection done.

An inspection, depending on the size of the home, costs anywhere between $300 and $500. The inspectors are licensed by the state of Texas and they do a thorough inspection of the entire house from top to bottom. When they are finished, they give you a list of everything that's wrong with the house, or everything that checked out ok.

This is critical because if we are buying a pre-existing home, I’m able to use that list to negotiate repairs or credit or reduction in the sales price to offset whatever needs to be done. Not only that, it is imperative that you know what is going on with the house that you're getting ready to buy as an investment, for you and your family live in.

You need to know what's up with it! You need to know if the roof is going to last before the next rainfall. You need to know if the foundation is going to live up to holding the weight of the house, and the house isn’t going to crack in two. You need to know if there's mold in the house. You need to know if the pipes are any good, or if there are any leaks in the bathroom, sink, etc. You need to know if the AC is functional year around, especially in Texas!

All of these things are covered under a good inspection. You need a good inspection company that knows what they're doing. And again, if you don't know any, I know a plethora of companies that are really good at what they do.  I could advise you to get with one of them and we'll get this inspection done. It gives you peace of mind, but it's critical you have to get it done. Not getting it done is a big mistake.

5. Do Not Change Jobs!

I've seen this happen. Most of the time that this has happened, both the realtor and lender didn't do a good job of telling their clients that, if you're going to buy a home and your under-contract or thinking about getting a mortgage, do not change your job until you actually move into the house! Changing your job can push the date back or it may put you in a situation where you no longer qualify for a mortgage, even though you've got great credit. The banks are looking at your income, consistent cashflow, and how long you have worked on your current job.

You will be surprised! There is a plethora of people under contract to buy a house. Everything is going well and they take a job offer or apply for another job. They take that job and then receive a phone call from the underwriter saying “We will not fund this loan. You need to be on this job for three months, six months or etc.”

Certain banks have different criteria. If you're serious about buying a house, stay on your job until you get into your house. If you are in a situation where you are getting ready to switch jobs, wait to buy a home until you've been on that job for a certain amount of time. Lenders are better suited to help you with this. I've got lenders that you can talk to. Just let me know what the situation is, and I'll put you in touch with a lender. They'll tell you exactly what to do. Whatever you do don’t change jobs!

6. Bonus!

This is a bonus. Not buying a home, especially as a millennial is one of the biggest mistakes you can make. That sounds crazy but let me tell you why.        If you're paying rent, you are paying someone else's mortgage. So, for everyone that says, "I don't want to mortgage right now.” I'm going to ask you “Where do you live and you're going to say “Well... I live (blank)” “Do you pay rent? “Yes, I pay rent.” “Then you're paying someone’s mortgage.” It's not your own but you're paying somebody's mortgage. So why not get your own mortgage? Getting your own mortgage is like having a giant piggybank. You’re paying yourself back over time. Not to mention the property is going to gain equity.   The value of your property will increase and the difference between what you owe and what it’s worth is your money.

That's your equity, it belongs to you. You can actually take a loan against that if need be.

However, if your renting, you can’t do it. There is nothing wrong with renting if you're in a situation where you have to rent, then rent. I rented for a long time, but when the time came for me to purchase, I made the move because financially it was an investment that just made sense to make a payment each month. Some of that money is going into my own piggybank, not all of it, some of it. Most goes towards interest, but some goes to what I owe. Now every time I make a payment, I owe less and less and less. Not only that, but the value of the house goes up and up and up. Worse case scenario, if I need to sell I can sell and pull money out.

It's an investment and you have to look at it from that perspective. Again, it's maybe not time for you to buy a house and that's okay. You can get in touch with me and we can come up with a time frame. I have clients right now who are a year out.

I met someone last week, she said, “I'm a year out, that's when my lease is up” but I said “We're going to start working on it now and we're going to put a game plan in place that's tailored towards your needs.” Within the next year of July she will be in a brand-new home that was built from scratch. It can be done. I've helped people do it before in the past and I'm here to help you. I am Edwin Liddie with JP and Associate Realtors.

If you have any questions, give me a call.

If you're thinking about buying a house, give me a call! If you want to sell give me a call! We are here to help. At the end of the day, we just love to help people. We are transparent, trustworthy and we are who we are.

682-325-131.

Visit our Website!

https://www.liddierealestate.com/5-things

I’ll talk to you soon, make an appointment.

[girl-icarus]

this is the remix

he’s listening to the track for the eighty-seventh time today when he suddenly realizes that the problem is the drums are so fucking terrible that he will never be able to focus on anything else again as long as he lives until they are different. at 2:42 and again at 3:09, the snare is hitting maybe an eighth of a second late, and he doesn’t know how nobody noticed it until just now. do they even have fucking ears? it’s so obvious. this is why he can’t trust anyone else. this is why it’s easier just to do everything himself. he tries looping in a different section, but the transition is so jagged and ugly that it’s worse than doing nothing. he has to fix it. can he just strip out the entire drum track and record it again afterwards and hope it still matches up by some magical, impossible miracle? is there any chance that’s going to work?

he listens for the next hour, listening for the imperfections, hating them. he writes a list of all the errors, starting with drums, broadening to the claggy guitar in the chorus that he’s hated ever since he first heard it, and then he furiously writes “feedback in the bridge, you assholes” and underlines it five times. everyone swore it was gone, that he’s just imagining it, but he fucking hears it, still, and heads will roll tomorrow. heads will roll because he will roll them, he’ll go out in the parking lot and overturn their pretentious tiny cars and roll them, he’ll gather up everything terrible in this world and bundle it together and roll it off a goddamn cliff. he wonders what sound that would make.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks.

“stuff,” he says, because it’s too complicated and petty to explain. everyone else left hours ago, clocked out and went home to dinners and families and television. she’s still here, and he’s not sure what she’s been doing for all these hours, not sure why she stays around, but he doesn’t know how to ask her to leave.

“you should eat something,” she says, but he ignores her and listens to the track again. the verses don’t have any breath noises. they were cobbled together from so many different takes that it doesn’t sound like it was produced by a human voice. it has to be redone. everything has to be redone. maybe they could just start over from the very beginning. redo the drums, do them fucking right this time, then maybe simplify the bass line, no one wants to hear a fancy bass line. redo the vocals in fewer takes. and actually, maybe not bass at all, maybe it should be piano. maybe he should start over, rewrite it all from scratch. he sits there for hours, taking it all down, building it back up, and the sun sets, and the sun rises, and he doesn’t notice when she leaves, or even if she does.

the next morning, people filter back in, and one of them hands him coffee, and he drinks it, scalding and black, and it burns away what is old and irrelevant, and he is ready for a new day. he presses his tongue to the raw roof of his mouth, and he listens, and he waits.

people have conversations around him. it fascinates him, the way they can talk and live and interact, so unaware of their insignificance. they move with what they must think is purpose and grace, because they don’t know any better, and he wonders if that’s easier, to be so dull and unfettered. he wonders if he would like that, if he would choose to disconnect the parts of his brain that analyze so deeply that it is almost a self-dissection, self-autopsy, like he will kill himself in his mission to name absolutely everything about himself and everyone else that he hates.

they talk, and they will get paid, but they don’t do anything. they are just props. they hold him up so he doesn’t fall over and disappear into himself.

they break for lunch because the clock tells them to, not because anything inside of them has decided that they have earned the right to rest. they break, and he stays behind, and he makes lists. she shows up then, like he figured she would. she waits until they leave. she doesn’t like them, but not in the same way he doesn’t like them. she thinks they’re poisonous, but he knows they’re fangless, which is worse. they could bite him for ten thousand years, and he would die from boredom before they even broke the skin.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks.

“ten thousand years of snake bites,” he tells her. she doesn’t ask for any further explanation, so he doesn’t offer any. he listens to the track seventeen times in a row while she flips through his notebook, marking some pages with tiny check marks and others with Xs. when everyone returns from lunch, lazy and unfocused, she slips away. he reviews her review. she likes the same things that he likes, and she doesn’t like the page where he wrote “this is a fucking waste of time” over and over in tiny scrawl until his hand hurt. sometimes, he has to write just to write, and he has explained this to her, but she still doesn’t like his negativity.

he goes into the bathroom, and he runs the water in the sink, and he ducks down to get his head close to the tap, and he whispers to it, “this is a fucking waste of time. this is a fucking waste of time.” later, when everyone else has gone, he will sample this and bury it somewhere in the mix, and it will be their secret.

they leave for the night, and he stays for the night, and then the rain starts. he wanders from room to room, dimming lights, cutting through the empty rooms like a ghost. he moves through things without changing them.

in the kitchen, the rain is more insistent. there is a leak somewhere in the roof, and the water is coming closer and closer to him. in the morning, someone will find the wet patch on the ceiling, and men will come out and plug the holes, and this is his only opportunity to sit here, cross-legged on the floor, listening to the droplets plying at the thinning ceiling like fingers on skin. this is his favorite noise today. this is the best part of today.

he falls asleep on the kitchen floor, and he wakes up on the kitchen floor. she is sitting on the counter, just watching him, her legs dangling like they are connected to two separate bodies. he makes coffee and drinks it, and she watches him quietly. she is waiting for him to speak first, but he won’t.

“what are you thinking about?” she finally asks.

“it was a good rain last night,” he says.

“yes,” she says. “yes, it was.”

a door opens somewhere, and it lets in the clamor of directionless people walking vaguely towards a paycheck. she hops off the counter and disappears, and he drinks another cup of coffee and thinks about water and rain, and he wonders if evaporation makes a noise.

when he was a child, a teacher had told him once not to be the leftover kernel of popcorn that doesn’t get popped. for weeks afterwards, he imagined sitting in hot oil while his friends and family exploded their insides right next to him and got eaten, and he stayed there, getting soggy and burned, until he was finally just thrown away. he had nightmares, and he would scream himself awake, and his sister would come into his room and shush him and tell him not to be so literal, people are not popcorn, no one is getting eaten or thrown out or any of it. but he worried about it then, and sometimes, he worries about it now. what if he just needs a little more time to pop? what is he going to do if they throw him out because he can’t explode fast enough?

he writes the word “burst” on a new page. next to it, he writes “now” and underlines it. he leaves the rest of the page blank. he isn’t ready to write about this yet, but he wants to remember it for later.

he spends the rest of the day listening to birdcalls. he doesn’t think he can use any of them for anything, but they are an adequate palate cleanser. they get the taste of burnt popcorn out of his ears.

everyone leaves, and he stays. the night is really when his day begins. he needs to be alone for anything valuable to happen. he turns off all the overhead lights, and he sets up some candles, and he watches shadows flicker against the amps and the guitar racks. he sits on the floor, and after some time, she joins him.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks.

“trying not to think,” he says.

“okay,” she says, and she stays quiet for a long time, but eventually she says, “you really should eat something.”

“i will. later,” he says. one candle burns out, but the other three stay lit.

“are you getting much done?” she asks.

“sometimes, i don’t think i’m real,” he says.

“why is that?”

“when i was a kid,” he says, and then he stops. she doesn’t pry, so he decides to continue. “when i was a kid, i felt invisible. and maybe i still do. maybe i’m just different, and they can’t see me because they are all the same.”

“i don’t think it matters what they think, or what they see,” she says. “you worry about you. eat something. work. they don’t matter.”

“i don’t know if you’re right about this,” he says.

“i am.” they sit there until all the candles burn out, and then she leaves.

he makes a sandwich, and then he drives himself home for the first time in a week, and he sleeps in his own bed, and he doesn’t go into work the next day. he waters his desiccated plants, and he does laundry and pays bills. he showers longer than necessary. he closes his eyes and lets the water hit his face, and it’s softer than he was expecting. this is the part of his life that he thinks is supposed to feel like everyone else’s life, but this is the part that always feels alien to him, like he is transgressing. like he shouldn’t be allowed these simple pleasures. rest. cleanliness. solitude.

he turns off his phone and doesn’t think about work for three days. he repaints the shutters on the front of his house. he goes for a run on the beach. he spends two hours and two hundred dollars at the bookstore. he drinks coffee slowly in public. he calls his sister and listens to stories about nieces who are older than he remembers them being. he realizes that he is older than he remembers himself being. he buys new glasses. he wears them for a day, amazed at the clarity before him. for that day, his eyes work as well as his ears do. he finds this distracting and doesn’t wear them again.

and then he goes back to work. no one comments about the time that he’s missed, and he gets so much work done that he feels good about himself and his choices for the first time in a while. he might actually get this done. he might actually be capable of getting this done.

he doesn’t see her for a few weeks, and it takes him almost that long to remember to miss her. he’s alone in the studio one night, quietly drawing out the last few steps in the process. he wants this to be over, but he doesn’t like the part where it actually ends, and he deliberately denies himself the satisfaction of completing this, like he’s not sure that he deserves it yet. but eventually, he cannot prolong the inevitable, and even he must admit that the work is done, and there is nothing left for him to do but get out of the way.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks from somewhere behind him. he turns slowly in his chair. she’s sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest. he can’t tell how long she’s been there. maybe she has been there for weeks, and he’s been too wrapped up in the work to notice.

“i’m done,” he tells her, and she smiles.

“i knew you could do it,” she says. “you should eat something.”

he stands up to leave, and he waits for her to join him, but she remains on the floor.

“aren’t you coming?” he asks. “i’ll buy you dinner.”

“go on without me,” she says. “you don’t need me right now.”

“what does that mean?” he sits on the floor across from her, and he watches her, and she doesn’t watch him.

“you said that sometimes, you don’t think you’re real,” she says. “do you remember that?”

“i don’t remember saying it, but i remember thinking it,” he says.

“you’re real,” she says, and she smiles, and she finally meets his eyes. “but maybe i’m not.”

“oh,” he says, as she shimmers and starts to fade from sight. “maybe not.”

[moiraineswife]

Autistic!Kaz Headcanons

Just bc I can. You should all read @barrelrat‘s initial post about this that initially got me thinking this way/that inspired a few of the following. But basically I couldn’t sleep last night so here we are. 

-Kaz longing for the quiet, peaceful familiarity of the farm when he first comes to Ketterdam. The city is too big, too loud, too bright, too crowded, too much. Everything overwhelms him for the first few weeks, and he clings to Jordie as the only stable, familiar anchor that he has. 

-He picks up magic/sleight of hand quickly/easily because in addition to being a special interest, the constant, repetitive movements he practiced over and over again necessary to let him master the skills are stims. He does this a lot unconsciously. One of his favourites is manipulating small stacks of coins in his hands, or shuffling packs of cards. 

-One of the things that makes him so successful with magic, with conning, with life tbh is his Need to know why. (this is canon, and I love it, so it’s not really a hc but see if I care) His plans are so detailed, so meticulous, and generally go so well because of how thoroughly he understands each and every detail of them. It’s not enough to know that, for instance, Wylan’s timed bombs will go off when he says they will, Kaz needs to understand the mechanics behind them. This helps him spot weaknesses, flaws, and patterns, and is one of the things that makes him so successful. 

-Kaz being touch averse before Jordie’s death. Only now there are images and grief attached to the aversion. That makes it worse but also, in a twisted kind of way, better. Because at least now there’s a Reason behind it, and he can understand it. 

-Kaz plans everything. From breaking into the Ice Court, to basic, every day to-do lists. He can do it all mentally, and keep track of everything that way, but he likes writing it all down. IT’s a way of taking control and it’s grounding/calming. Probably has an old blackboard/some chalk in his office at The Slat. It’s stimmy and it means he can doodle elaborate lists and plans all over it. 

-Most of his stims are small things that he can hide. The streets worked out the notable ones from him a long time ago. He strokes the head of his cane, tracing all of the deep lines and groves in it, lingering on patches that are especially smooth. He flexes his hands - the feeling of the leather gloves curling around them is especially Good. Is also prone to leg dancing and finger tapping (especially to music. He picks out the beats of any nearby music and taps along to the them) But they’re all things that he can be discreet about. He used to hum, but when he was abandoned on the streets it was too much of a giveaway and he trained himself to stop. 

-Kaz saying he has a headache when he becomes overloaded because he doesn’t know how else to explain that he needs to leave this place now. 

-First signs of him heading towards a meltdown is always irritability. He becomes v easily frustrated, snaps sharply if interrupted, becomes frantic if he can’t easily find something, and is agitated and irritated by even small sounds in his vicinity. Will murder you for being too Loud when he’s like this because he just can’t deal with it. 

-Never has meltdowns in front of other people. He instinctively suppresses them in public/on a job. This typically causes a massive shutdown afterwards. he locks himself in his room, turns off all the light, and buries himself in his bed where it’s dark and quiet. He refuses to see anyone during that time, and everyone knows not to bother him/to let him recover in peace. 

-Has shutdowns more frequently than meltdowns. Becomes nonverbal during them, very withdrawn and unresponsive - typically the only communication anyone gets out of him then is nods/shakes of the head. 

-Bad trauma days make his sensory issues much, much worse. Some days he can’t leave his room because the very feel of the air on his skin is too much. He won’t even let Inej see him on those days, he needs to be alone to be able to meltdown/stim and process everything the way he needs to. 

-Occassionally becomes utterly Consumed by short but very very intense special interests. Once developed one in baking, it only lasted about a week but it was Intense. He was covered in flour for days and was constantly trying new things, and tweaking old recipes to make them completely perfect. Only Kaz could turn cake-making into a form of science. He experimented with different methods of mixing, different amounts of flour, the order he added the ingredients in etc etc etc. The Dregs were baffled but delighted. Nina swears she has never eaten better waffles in her entire life. 

-His cane becomes a comfort object, he gets really angsty if he doesn’t have it close at hand at all times. His gloves are comfort objects too, even if he manages to stop wearing them all the time, he always keeps them on him. Inej brings him back a small, smooth, polished stone she found on her travels - it becomes a comfort object, too. He always has it in his pocket. 

-Can recreate maps/building plans he’s studied incredibly accurately....But he has no sense of direction. Frequently gets lost in The Slat. Only manages to navigate the city bc he’s carefully memorised maps/routes/landmarks. 

-APD has him threatening to gag Jesper at least twice a week because ‘I can’t process two different speakers/conversations at once, Jesper shut up.’ 

-Loves listening to Wylan play flute. Will legit sit and listen to him quietly for hours. Wylan starts noticing when Kaz is getting overloaded and, if he’s able, will discreetly play for a little while to help ground him. 

-One time Inej changed her perfume an he became so irritated and bothered and  he couldn’t understand why which was almost more frustrating. Eventually she realised what was wrong. 

-Hates clothes with high/tight collars, they feel like they’re strangling him. 

-I’m not entirely sure if this is possible Heartrender wise, or rather, if it was possible pre-parem but, like, humour me okay? He asks Nina to use her abilities to lessen the quality of his hearing/eyesight/touch, just slightly, and only for short periods of time, but it really helps when he’s becoming overloaded. 

-Will cut you if you fuck with his routine/his plans in any way. (Always has v precise, detailed plans and no, we can’t go there first, because if we go there first then x, y, z will happen, and we won’t be able to do that, and the world will end no just everybody do as I say I have worked this shit out) 

-Absently stroking Inej’s hair = The Best Stim. 

-The pickiest of picky eaters. 

-Kaz ‘I don’t like new things’ Brekker. Nina despairs over him bc he orders exactly the same thing every single time they go out for anything to eat. 

-One time a restaurant took his item off their menu and Kaz Twitched uncomfortably until the owner told him they kept a few of the necessary ingredients on-hand for him so he could still have it. All of Ketterdam relaxed and a shrine was later built to this good woman’s sense. 

-Had to carefully teach himself to read each individual person’s tone/expressions/body language etc for each job. He constantly studies people and improves his understanding of them - it’s like watching for tells in a fight/card game, but with everything. Keeps very detailed, very extensive notes. Doesn’t realise that not everyone has to do this until Nina spots his notes on her and is just like ??? Kaz ??? is this necessary ????? 

-Dsypraxia!Kaz - performs incredible precise, delicate, deft lock-picking one minute. Bangs into the corner of a desk the next bc it was moved an inch to the right of its usual spot. 

-One day, Mathias decides to be ‘helpful’ and sets about fixing up The Slat. Kaz walks in and freezes. ‘No.’ ‘But the floorboards were creaking here so-’ ‘No.’ ‘The roof leaked a little, I thought-’ ‘No.’ ‘The carpets were-’ ‘No.’ ‘The paintwork could use a little freshening u-’ ‘No.’ Kaz threatens to drown him in the fresh tin of paint he has open and ready next to him and methodically undoes all of Mathias’ fixes until the Slat is creaking, whistling, leaking, and tripping people up as it should. 

-One time Nina got bored and decided to rearrange the furniture ‘for a change’. This did not go down well. 

-Gunshots are sensory hell tbh. 

-Views literally everything in terms of business arrangements bc it’s the only way he’s learned to really make sense of social interactions?? People are loyal to him bc he knows their secrets, and bc he’s the most beneficial to their interests than any other gang leader in Ketterdam. People will do favours for him bc he’s done things for them in the past/would do in the future. ‘I will make you waffles today, and you will promise to help me with my sensory shit at a later date when I need you to. The deal is the deal.’ ‘Uh...Kaz...We’re friends?????’ Kaz: *this does not compute* *Nina sighs and just nods and yes, yes, u strange boy, just prepare me my waffles* 

-He slowly starts to understand things on a more personal/intimate/informal level when he’s with Inej and they start getting closer. But he still, at the end of the day, rationalises/makes sense of everything via a structure that’s simple, and logical to him, and that’s by viewing it as a job. Inej is patient with him, and pretty understanding...As long as he never gets to the point of, like, ‘I have kissed you three times today, this equates to a ten minute leg massage, I would like to cash this in now, please.’ (He never does. (Except once when he was teasing her about it and she just like ffs, kaz, u had me for a minute there.)) 

-Has a ‘mutually beneficial relationship’ with a stray cat he insists he hasn’t adopted. He feeds it and gives it somewhere warm to sleep. In return it is an A++++ stim toy. V soft and it’s a great, warm presssure stim when it curls up in his lap which is obviously the only reason he lets it do this. But he has not adopted it, this is strictly a business arrangement- I can see you rolling your eyes at me, Nina. (Its name is ‘Demjin.’)