#the suggestion to put in a vape pen took me out

[owlbelly]

moodboard → Regal Farseer (The Farseer Trilogy / Realm of the Elderlings / Robin Hobb)

for @motleywolf-et-al!

[yoo-jeongneon]

the sticky tab series | sticky tab four: 4B

× minors/ageless/empty blogs dni. you will be blocked. ×

× series masterlist × main masterlist × × <- previous × next -> × seventeen (ot13) x gn!reader genre: thriller, mystery, drama warnings: journalist!reader, unknown occupation!vernon, explicit language, vaping, reader kinda gets called out, two undisclosed member mentions, written as a journal entry in the first person, dates given in dd/mm/yyyy word count: 1.6k taglist: @hipsdofangirl × @strawberri-uyu × @asyre × @minhui896

"How about I phone him and let him know his master plan worked?"

Joshua said the two words so sarcastically I almost snorted. We had talked about the message, and I even gave it to him to read. Joshua wasn't surprised, but he also couldn't believe it.

His suggestion put me at odds. Aside from the man from 3A, the guy who wrote the message was the one I felt most worried to be confronted by. Joshua recognised this in my expression. "Trust me, Vernon's not a guy to be scared of." He unlocked his phone and tapped a few buttons.

Vernon.

The dialling tone rang so loudly I could tell Joshua had it on speaker. Eventually, a low voice spoke. "Joshua? What do you want?"

"You actually decided to run your smart mouth off in a note and leave it on the desk at reception, didn't you?"

Vernon cackled at that. "I told you I would, didn't I? Nobody believed me, well, apart from Soonyoung."

Soonyoung?

"Yeah, well your attempt at being funny has kinda cost you a bit."

The whole world seemed to go silent. Vernon didn't speak until he muttered a genuinely perplexed, "What?"

Joshua looked at me with a smug grin on his face. "Leave the door to your apartment open, you'll see why in a sec."

My face grew.. unamused at this. It was clear to me that at least some residents here were no strangers to playing games and pulling pranks but, to be pushed as a mystery to be revealed didn't feel so great.

I suppose at that point I realised just how some of them felt.

Before Vernon could reply, Joshua ended the call. He set his phone on the table and stood up, inviting me to leave the apartment with him and go downstairs to meet Vernon. I shoved my journal and pen back in my bag and followed him out of his home.

We headed down to the fourth floor. Music was coming from 4B, and 4A was comparatively quiet. I wondered if the Soonyoung that Vernon had mentioned on the phone lived in 4A..

Joshua waltzed over to 4B, but before he could knock, the door opened, and Joshua let out an, "Ah!"

"The fuck is going-" When he noticed me he jumped. "Fucking he- who the fuck-" I myself flinched at his reaction. He pointed towards me and spoke to Joshua between gritted teeth, words I couldn't make out, but I knew they were no short of bewilderment.

Joshua waved a hand. "Calm the fuck down, they just read your note and y'know.. everything you put in it."

Vernon looked as though his entire life was going to shatter. "I just put that note there to be funny! I didn't think anyone was gonna come here and read it!"

"Well, someone has! You've got a lot to answer for. Have fun!" Joshua waved, then passed me by with a smile before going back up to his apartment.

Vernon and I stood in the hallway at a distance that seemed like acres apart. I didn't want to take a single step forward, visions of the floor collapsing running rings around my head. He clutched his short, black hair and muttered something to the effect of, 'you've gotta be fucking kidding me..'

His words came back to me - 'I just put that note there to be funny!' - and told him that we didn't need to talk about it if it was all just a joke that I took way too seriously.

He let out a long, drawn sigh and said, "Do you have the note?" I confirmed and took it out of my bag to prove it. "Did you.. actually go up to 6B?"

I explained about the phone ringing at reception, and how it was 6B - Junhui - that called. I went on to tell him what subsequently happened, and he nearly disintegrated into the carpet.

"So that's the noise I heard not too long ago? Junhui and Wonwoo arguing again because.. And now you're here because.." I hid my lips and stared at the floor. "Fucking hell, Junhui."

"Again, I can leave if you-"

"No- No, um.. I guess.." He stepped to the side. "There is something I'd like to say."

name: hansol vernon chwe

date of birth: 18/02/1998

date moved in: 06/05/2019

The first thing Vernon did was turn the music off. It was 2000s indie rock, a band I probably knew but couldn't place. He exhaled and turned back to me. "I still cannot believe you read the fucking note."

I answered him honestly, "It caught my attention. Reading through it I could sense frustration. I didn't know anyone lived here, I thought it was empty just like everyone else. Finding this note is what told me differently."

"And then Junhui decided to phone reception and.. here we are." He took a seat on a bean bag chair in the corner of the room near a widescreen TV and pulled something out of his pocket. Right away I could see it was a vape. He told me to take a seat on the sofa across from him, and so I did.

I unfolded the piece of paper in my hand and decided to read some of it aloud, "'You are kind of a nosy fucker though.. And you're probably a journalist. Even worse.'"

Vernon snorted a laugh and took a hit of his vape. "I said that 'cause really, who likes journalists?" I hummed to myself; it is true, journalists aren't particularly loved. "But I don't really mean anything by it. Honestly, I was kinda freaked out that someone would genuinely visit this place and wanna write a story about it. I figured if someone did turn up, they must've done a lot of digging to work out there were people living here."

That was exactly what Wonwoo had said. I looked up at him. Vernon asked me for my name, so I told him. I then mentioned the footnote he added about not going to 3A.

"Okay, that was a bit mean of me, I must admit," he said. "He's not rude, he just doesn't like journalists. He probably won't wanna listen to whatever reasons you have for showing up. That's why I mentioned Junhui. If there was anyone who would actually wanna talk to a journalist, it was him since.. he was one, y'know."

We sat quietly for a while. I was unsure of where to take the conversation. By this point I was in way too deep, and understood more about Drawbridge than I ever thought I was going to, or cared to know for that matter.

Vernon eventually questioned why I even showed up. I explained, and I did think myself a broken record, but I knew if I ended up meeting all of them, they were all going to be curious.

"So.. you thought this building was completely empty?" I affirmed this. "Nowhere during your research of this place did anything turn up that there were people living here?"

"There have been theories, but I dismissed them as speculation." Which was true; people had wondered for months whether or not someone had actually taken up residence.

"You fell into the narrative of the 'Silent Dweller'."

My jaw clenched.

"Seriously.. who could really actually believe that no one had lived here at all?"

My heart stopped.

"I'm kinda glad you picked up the note, even if I did just leave it to be funny. Proved my point that if someone wants to go snooping, they'll latch onto any kind of evidence."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Vernon hopped up to answer it, and I was left frozen to the sofa, head emptying of any and all thoughts.

Upon opening the door, I heard one name, "Wonwoo."

"Is that journalist still here?" It was quite muffled, but I still picked up the words.

"Over there." I could feel both pairs of eyes boring into my back.

"N, is it?"

When Wonwoo called my name, I felt compelled to stand up and face him. Out of shock more than anything, but in retrospect it's no surprise that he learned my name; I think it must've been from Junhui.

"Can I.. have a word?" Vernon shot him a look, but Wonwoo ignored him. I rolled my shoulders back as best as I could and promptly left 4B. Behind me the door slammed shut, which startled both of us. Vernon had nothing more to say to me.

"Junhui and I have had a.. chat. You wanna know some things about Drawbridge, huh? You're not one of those.. shady journalists about to put us on billboards?"

Vernon's words stuck with me. At the end of the day, I did read the note. I did pick up the phone. I did answer Junhui's call to go to 6B. And now I was standing here, in front of Wonwoo, having met five out of thirteen men already and thinking I've understood more than I ever bargained for.

I shook my head before I could even think.

Wonwoo nodded once. "Let's go up to 6B. By the sounds of things, Minghao might want a word too."

I knitted my brows and followed him back up to the sixth floor. Who was Minghao?

Details of note from our discussion:

vernon shared nothing with me about the apartment, except the fact that it's hard to believe anyone fell for the 'silent dweller' narrative

he himself admits that he was mean with his note about 3A

× yoo-jeongneon ×

[alexaplaysgames]

RANKING ALL FICTIF LOVE INTERESTS BASED ON HOW GOOD I THINK THEY SMELL (WORST TO BEST) - PART 1

Welcome back guys to my own personal living hell this again. Today I will be examining your personal opinions on how good the Fictif characters smell and telling you where you are wrong. Once again, there is no room for suggestion or improvement; I am omnipotent and everything I say goes. If you don’t like it, come at me, if you want to see what it feels like to have a 5’0 woman kick your ass.

I had a request to rate more CGs from @honourlight and I’m going to! Until then, enjoy this. Or don’t. I didn’t particularly enjoy imagining these rank ass smells .

Disclaimer: some of these are based on appearance alone, since I haven’t played all routes. And please, don’t take this seriously. All the Fictif characters are sexy. They just might smell too.

1. Sage Lesath

Coming in hot (or at least he’d like to think so) at number ten is Sage. Some of you are going to get real pressed about this, so let me remind you that it is not my fault I am right. This man definitely smells like raw sweat and fourty pounds of intoxication wrapped up in a sweet sandwich of wet cat. He has got that je ne sais quoi, and by that I mean I have no clue what that absolute stank wafting off him might be. Go ahead and lick his tiddies, but don’t come crying if they taste like battery acid. People sleep with him for many reasons, but the aroma is not one of them.

2. Chava Cerilla

It would’ve been more pleasant to scoop my eyeballs out with a ice-cream scoop than to put my boo second last, but my mama didn’t raise no bitch so I’m going to be honest. This man smells to high heavens. I licked him once and could taste his rankness through the screen. If he was real I would be able to smell it from Canada. Chava definitely smells like if pure must personified decided to smoke pot during the fifteenth century when people bathed like one a month. I just know in real life that shirt would be about as clean as my search history. His hair would smell like freshly mown grass but only because there’s actually grass in it. Probably grows coffee beans in there too.

3. Sergio Jimenez

Are you upset? Good. Life is upsetting, as is how Sergio smells. How does he smell, you ask? Imagine you took a Ken doll, melted it down, extracted its essence, and combined it with Old Spice. That’s Eau de Sergio: 50% hair gel, 50% compensation for something in the form of a bottle probably labelled something like Black Ice. You know how kids used to get high off the smell of sharpies? I’m pretty sure you could do the same by simply sniffing this man. He is toxic in every sense.

4. Tess Rogers

I love this bitch but I have to be honest: she smells. Tess Rogers has a layer of Cheeto dust thicker than Nicki’s ass caked ten miles deep under her nails and 100% uses two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. She would definitely skip class to make out with a cotton-candy scented vape pen, and if you caught her would give you stank eye that still pales in comparison to the way she literally reeks. Just because you wanna be one of the guys, Tess, doesn’t give you reason to smell like them.

5. Miguel Bravo

I’ve barely talked to him, but even without buying his bonus scene I can tell this man smells like ass. Hunny, someone needs to tell you that whiskey and leather is not tasteful, it’s a nose-full, and it’s clogging my goddamn nostrils. It is not your sheer beauty that is leaving the people speechless, it’s the smell of gasoline blocking off their alveoli. Miguel smells like every man that stared into a glass of scotch at a bar ever. I don’t care how metaphorically broken inside and desperate for love you may be, take a shower before your stench bursts my goddamn lungs.

6. Anisa Anka

This is the first time in this list that I’m going to come out and say this, but I think Anisa smells fine. Not fine like Idris Elba fine, more like you should probably be fined for smelling like that but you’re cute so I’ll let it slide. You know those bottles at Claire’s scented something ridiculous like marshmallow gumdrops and unicorn barf? Anisa smells like that on a good day. It’s a little odd, enough to make you question your sanity, but withstandable. On a bad day, well, this girl wants to eat dolphins. She would probably take furniture polish and spray it on herself for absolutely no fucking reason.

-

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk and I will see you all again in part two.

[artificialqueens]

Been Here All Along (Tayce/A’Whora) - Juno

Summary: A game of spin the bottle turns into a night of realisation for Tayce and A’Whora.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this little story! It was inspired by a prompt list from tumblr and is a one-shot featuring lots of the DRUK2 girls.

“Who’s gonna spin first?”

Joe spluttered with feigned indignation at Veronica’s question and seized the bottle from her hand. “Me, of course. Who else? It is my house.”

“And mine,” Veronica pointed out, “and Tayce’s, and Pip’s! We all live here too, you know!”

Joe ignored Veronica as she normally did, and put the bottle in the centre of the gaggle of people on the living room floor, giving it a violent spin with a flick of her wrist. The twelve of them all watched it go around and finally land on Ginny, who raised their bright yellow eyebrows and pursed their lips into an O.

“Truth … or dare?” Joe asked in her usual dramatic fashion, picking up the bottle and waving it under Ginny’s nose like a microphone.

“Give over!”

“Truth … or dare?”

“Erm, truth. Oh, shut up!” Ginny protested at the collective groan, holding up the plastic cup of alcohol. “Truth first! I need at least another three of these before you catch me taking off my clothes and running down the road, I can tell you that for nothing.”

Tayce felt Aurora’s hand creep into the crook of her elbow, her skin tingling at the contact as it always did whenever Aurora’s hands were on her. Aurora leaned a little closer to breathe words into her ear.

“How often does Ginny do that when you all play this game?”

Tayce had to think about it. “So far only twice. Once in second year, and once this year. But don’t worry, they only got as far as the Spar on the corner.”

“Only twice?” Aurora looked scandalised.

“Okay,” Joe’s theatrical voice and emphatic sweeping gestures with her arms focused all the attention of the eleven people around her as she spoke. “Do you fancy anyone in this group, and how long have you fancied Pip for?”

Everyone shrieked; Tayce grabbed Aurora’s hand and squeezed in glee as Pip mimed throwing the tiny handbag she always carried at Joe. Ginny just grinned and without another word, stood up and left for the kitchen, blowing them all a kiss as they went.

“They don’t really love me,” Pip shrugged, “they just keep me hanging on.”

“I heard that,” Ginny called from the kitchen. “You want some punch?”

“Get a move on, it’s your turn to spin, Ginny!” Lawrence shouted back. “Pryzm closes the doors at eleven, and I want to be fucking buzzing off my tits before we get there.”

Ginny came back into the living area, carrying the plastic tub filled with the bright pink concoction that Asttina had made, the result of plenty of cheap vodka and Sourz and pink lemonade that Asttina insisted was class in a glass, even if the rest of them had their doubts.

“Pip, spin for me, will you love?” Ginny asked, dipping their plastic cup into the tub and filling it with drink.

The game went on for a while, a few more turns taken and a lot more alcohol flowing. Aurora was getting more tactile the more she had to drink - as usual - until her chin rested on Tayce’s shoulder, leaning into Tayce’s right side, her hand still looped in the crook of her elbow and her perfume invading her every synapse.

And Tayce would never admit that just that contact was making her stomach quiver with butterflies.

It was an age before finally Tia’s spin of the bottle landed on Tayce, who had secretly been looking forward to it as they all did, even if none of them would admit it. She felt Aurora’s hand squeeze her again, her hot breath against her neck.

“Tayce -“ Tia began, but Joe held up her hand.

“Tayce,” Joe took over the conversation, continuing her theatrics, “truth, or DARE?”

From the way that Joe was saying dare, and the way the rest of the circle were looking round at her expectantly, Aurora’s fingers digging into her forearm, she knew she had to take one for the team.

She sighed in mock resignation. “Alright, give me a dare, Joe.”

There had been six whole rounds of truths and so the group’s collective cheer could probably have been heard in Tayce’s native Wales - apart from Lawrence whose sudden coughing fit sounded a great deal like sexual tension - but Joe peered at everyone in the group, finally turning back to Tayce.

“I dare you to kiss … Cherry.”

There was a beat of silence around the room before Cherry’s high-pitched cackle filled it.

“What! Why me?” Cherry cried, her eyes darting between Tayce and Aurora in confusion.

And she wasn’t the only confused person in the circle; Tia’s brow furrowed, looking from Tayce and Aurora and then to Joe. As if they all wondered if Joe was more plastered than she was letting on, not to have noticed the elephant in the room.

“Just get it over with,” Veronica muttered, “taxis will be here in a minute.”

“Come on, speed it up!” Lawrence waved her hands at them both. “Pryzm, remember?”

Tayce pulled herself free of Aurora’s welcome warmth and crawled across the circle to Cherry, as the shriek of the girls around them reached fever pitch. When their lips met, Tayce could feel Cherry laughing nervously as she put her hands to Tayce’s face, her touch a little awkward.

There was nothing behind it, but the group around them were shrieking as if they’d just scored a try at the Six Nations. They pulled away to the excitement dying down and Lawrence’s slow clap.

“Great. BAFTA award nomination for romantic moment of the decade. Can we get in the taxis now?”

——

By the time they’d managed to get into the club, it was gone ten, the place was heaving with bodies moving to the music, and none of them could get to the bar with the queue at least three-people deep. Lawrence was complaining that they hadn’t spent more time at home getting drunk before they got there.

“You were the one who insisted on calling the bloody taxis!” Veronica put her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t, that was Ellie!” Lawrence folded her arms. “God, don’t blame me for everything!”

Tayce sniggered behind her vodka and red bull, watching Veronica’s face growing even redder, out of booze or annoyance it was hard to tell. They were all used to Lawrence’s humour by now, and Tayce couldn’t blame Lawrence for taking the piss this much; especially with Veronica, who was just a little too easy to rile up.

“Anyway, it was Aurora’s fault, really. We’d have been here sooner if she’d gotten into the first taxi and not made us all play musical fucking chairs because she suddenly didn’t want to go with Tayce!” Lawrence wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t know what’s going on there!”

Tayce turned to see where Aurora was, just in time to see her shake her head in exasperation and turn away from them, making her way to the stairs leading to the smoking area.

“Lawrence!”

Lawrence looked confused. “What did I do?”

“I’ll go - see if she’s alright -“ Tayce said, pushing her way through the crowds and heading down the stairs and out to the smoking area. As expected Aurora was there, leaning her back against the wall, her vape pen in hand, blowing clouds of smoke into the rain.

She sighed as Tayce drew near to her. “I don’t think your uni friends like me very much.”

“You always say that, you’ve said that all three years we’ve been at uni, and you know they do like you. They think you’re lush.”

Aurora concentrated on twirling her vape pen around her fingers. “Lawrence doesn’t.”

“She does, you know that complaining about everything is her way of being friendly. The more she complains, the more it means she’s having a good time. Trust me.”

Tayce rubbed Aurora’s shoulder when she didn’t look any happier, while Aurora looked at the ground. “I didn’t get to do any truths, either, or - or dares.”

Tayce spluttered with laughter. “Okay, tell you what, let’s have a round now, just the two of us. So - truth … or dare?” She asked, mimicking Joe’s affected tone and deep, throaty voice.

“Tayce -“ Aurora waved her hand in her direction, but the corners of her mouth were curling, and she screwed her eyes shut as she lost the fight to keep the laughter out of her face.

“Truth or DARE?”

Aurora shook her head, still laughing. “I fucking hate you! Give me a dare, then.”

“You sure you want a dare? Positive?”

When Aurora looked back at Tayce, she was no longer attempting to hide the coy smile, chewing her bottom lip while a gentle flush spread up from her neck to her face.

Tayce couldn’t keep the purr out of her voice. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Aurora’s eyes widened a fraction, darting to the people around them. “Tayce!” She murmured, raising her hand to slap Tayce playfully on the arm.

“What?”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Aurora teased, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

“Why not?” Tayce smirked, raising her eyebrow. “Scared you’ll fall in love with me?”

But Aurora just ran the fingers of her free hand along Tayce’s arm, up to her shoulder.

“Tayce! I’ve been in love with you since we were kids!”

The words in Aurora’s voice were something Tayce had only heard in her wildest dreams, and now being spoken into existence, they ignited something intense between them. Suddenly their lips had met; Tayce’s head spinning at the thought of finally getting to kiss the friend she’d yearned for for years. Aurora felt like home, the intimacy like the most natural progression in the universe.

At the sound of a cough behind them, one that sounded an awful lot like “sexual tension”, Tayce broke the kiss off and turned to see Ellie pushing Lawrence back into the club and mouthing sorry at them with a grimace.

Turning back to Aurora, Tayce was surprised at her confused expression. “I didn’t realise … but are you and Cherry …”

“No, wait,” Tayce shook her head. “That was just a dare!”

“I thought that Joe wanted you to kiss Cherry because she was trying to make you two -“

“No!” Tayce gesticulated wildly, almost knocking Aurora’s vape pen clean from her hand. “It was just because Cherry is a bit shy, and Joe likes to try to involve her! Don’t worry, Cherry doesn’t fancy me!”

“You’re sure -“

“Yes!” Tayce laughed. “Jesus, you think too much.”

Aurora took a deep inhale, blowing smoke out the corner of her mouth, the air around them filling with the scent of strawberry as she did. “Can you tell what I’m thinking now?”

“Well I’m not a psychic,” Tayce murmured, pulling Aurora close again, “but if you’re thinking the same as me, then it’s that we need to deflate that air bed in my room. You won’t need it if you’re coming in with me.”

“Great minds think alike!” Aurora replied with a coy grin.

[xofanfics]

String - Part IV

Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Genre: angst, fluff, suggestive themes

Pairing: Baekhyun x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You find yourself in a friends-with-benefits situation with your best friend. You have no business falling for him, but your heart begs to differ.

Things were not going as planned. That was evident yesterday when Baekhyun paid you a visit.  You felt a bunch of things—annoyance, anger, frustration, sadness. The list went on and your friends could see it in your face. Earlier that week, Evie and Sadie had invited you to sleepover at their dorm for Friday night. Though you hadn’t expected the week to go the way it had, you were grateful that you’d be spending your Friday night with friends instead of in bed eating easy mac and binge watching Vampire Diaries. 

As you sat on the train with your overnight bag, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited. You hadn’t had a girls’ night in a while. For the most part, you usually went out with the guys. This weekend though, you would be with the girls and the girls only. You needed a break. They promised drinks, music and movies in their dorm room. 

The train screeched to a halt as you arrived at 14th Street - Union Square station. You got off the train quickly as a woman nearly knocked you over just to get onto the train. If it was one thing that annoyed you about New York City, it was people like that woman who, for some reason, can’t seem to wait for people to actually get off of the train. People like her give the city a bad name. The station was crowded now; you saw people dressed up and ready to start drinking, you saw people in suits coming from work after a long day at the office, and you saw kids in uniforms in clusters with their friends.

The city always came alive at night as the sun was setting. As you passed the park you saw some street performers playing instruments, the sound of smooth jazz filling your ears. The walk to your friend’s dorm seemed to go more quickly than usual. You were excited to spend time with your friends but you were also disappointed how things went with Baekhyun. He texted you earlier today but you ignored his message and left it on read. You didn’t know how to respond to him after the other night. You stared at the message, unsure of how to react. He said: 

[7:48am] Morning! Sorry I had to leave last night. I’m on my way to the pool now. Hope you have a good day! 

You couldn’t respond to him because you didn’t know how and also because you didn’t know where your fingers would take you if you started typing. It was better, you decided, to ignore the message altogether. 

You signed in at their dorm and waited for Evie to pick you up from the lobby. She came a moment later. “Hey,” she said, waving at the person at the desk as you headed upstairs with her. “We ordered some Chinese food. We timed it perfectly cause it’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“What did we get?”

“Some dumplings, beef and scallions, general tso’s chicken, and shrimp fried rice.”

“That sounds like more than enough,” you said, laughing, as Evie opened the door to their suite. You put your bags down and hugged Sadie. “Hey.”

“So I had nothing else better to do so I put together some fun ideas for tonight,” she said, showing you her phone. “We’re gonna play some drinking games after we eat. Our suitemates are down to play uno and jenga. It’s gonna be great.” She held up a familiar vape pen with the oil that would lead you on a winding, neverending path up to the clouds, if not further. “Want a hit?”

*

You shrieked as you pulled out the wooden piece that sent everything crashing down to the floor. “Damn it!” You and your friends laughed, along with their suitemates. It was time to take a shot. You weren’t sure how many shots you’d had at this point since you and your friends agreed to do half shots so no one would get too drunk and result in the night ending with someone passed out in a corner or slumped at the table. 

Vodka was never good but it was cheap and good enough to get you drunk quickly. Everyone chipped in to get a bottle of Pinnacle earlier. You took the shot, feeling the liquid fire in your core, your friends cheering in the background.

This was what you needed: a night to take your mind off of things. No boys, no drama, just fun and games. You hadn’t thought about Baekhyun once since you got here. Maybe, in your own way, this just served as a distraction to the reality that you had absolutely no idea what was going on in your life but it was fine. As of now, it was fine. You were enjoying yourself and that was all that mattered. 

As your friends decided what games you should play next, you made the mistake of picking up your phone. Your screen displayed Instagram, where you’d left it last. You clicked on Drew’s story and saw that he was at Bar None with Baekhyun and Daren. They seemed to be having a boys’ night from what you could see. 

“Did Baekhyun invite you guys out with them?” you asked.

Sadie shook her head. “Nah. I talked to the guys earlier today but we didn’t make any plans with them. Why?”

“Just wondering,” you said. “I hung out with Baekhyun the other night and we were supposed to talk.”

Evie raised her eyebrows. “What happened?”

“We hung out as usual. Ordered food, watched TV, and we fell asleep. Just when I thought he was gonna come to bed with me, he went home.”

Sadie said, “So you didn’t talk?” You shook your head. “I think he likes someone else. I overheard him and Drew talking and—”

You stopped her, desperate for some inkling of what was going on in Baekhyun’s life. “What did he say?”

“I mean, nothing specific. He was saying that he ran into someone somewhere and that they got ice cream. He said that she was cute. I-I only caught a piece of it and to be honest, he could’ve been talking about anyone so I didn’t think much of it.” 

You rolled your eyes and picked up your phone again. You’d started the evening not thinking about Baekhyun and you let him get in your head yet again. The purpose of being here tonight was to hang out with your friends and gossip about any and everyone who wasn’t Baekhyun Byun. You found yourself on Instagram looking for Baekhyun’s account to look at his story. According to his story, last night he made instant ramen. Today around lunchtime, he had tacos and, from what he could see, he wasn’t alone. The person wasn’t in the shot but you could tell by the little bit of hand in the corner, that the feminine hand belonged to someone with perfect, powder blue nails.

You tossed your phone on the table and started looking for your drink. Evie looked at the phone and swiped backward to see what you were looking at. She cleared her throat. “Oh God.”

“It could just be a friend,” you said, refusing to accept this outcome as truth. “You know what? I’m gonna ask him.” You stood up, grabbed your phone and started putting your sandals on. 

“Where are you going?” Evie asked. “We’re gonna play UNO next.”

“I’m going to the bar.”

“No you’re not,” your friend said, standing in front of you. “Now is not the time.”

“Well I need to talk to him.”

You started toward the door, determined to see Baekhyun no matter what. Your friends couldn’t stop you. Evie started putting her shoes on, too. “Shouldn’t you try to do this sober or something?”

Sadie said, “I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“Look,” you said, shaking your head. “I tried to talk to him twice already. I say, fuck that. Third time’s a charm, right?”

*

This probably wasn’t a good idea but you were on your way, with Sadie and Evie at your side. They knew just as well as you did, deep down, that this was a terrible idea. There was no way that this would go well but you needed to know. You needed answers and you needed them now. You couldn’t go one more day without knowing where you stood with Baekhyun. You hated not knowing how he felt or where you were going.

You crossed the street, the alcohol making your legs feel like jello. The three of you were still pretty drunk and, with Sadie insisting on bringing the vape pen, you were crossfaded enough to deal with this situation. There were a million things you wanted to say, in a million different ways. You’d visualized scenarios that hadn’t happened in your head while you walked. Some outcomes you imagined were positive, with you leaving the bar hand in hand with Baekhyun, while other outcomes you imagined were more dramatic, ending with you hitting him in the head with a bottle of liquor you’d stolen from the bar. 

“What are you gonna say to him?” asked Sadie. 

“I dunno,” you said, turning the corner. “I’m gonna wing it.”

“Oh God,” you heard Evie say under her breath as you approached the bouncer standing outside. She had no idea what she was getting herself into and, to be honest, neither did you. On the way over, Evie was the main person trying to get you to change your mind about confronting Baekhyun. 

She said things like “This is going to end in disaster” and “Why not sleep off the liquor and call him tomorrow or something?” But she couldn’t change your mind. You had your mind set on one thing and one thing only. 

You showed the bouncer your ID before storming into the bar without waiting for your friends. You took in your surroundings. It was crowded now. It was after eleven now and the groups of friends that had dinner after work were beginning to make their way to the bars. You looked by the bar and didn’t find any of your friends there. You peeked over people’s heads walking by the bar and over by the seats. 

Drew and Daren were sitting in a booth, you noticed, as you got closer. Baekhyun however, was nowhere in sight. Did he leave the bar? Without greeting your friends, you said, “Where’s Baek?”

“Well damn, hello to you too Y/N,” Drew said. 

Daren laughed. “He’s in the bathroom.” You plopped down into the booth next to him. Sadie and Evie came up to the table. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We decided to come to the bar,” you said as Baekhyun approached the table. 

He glanced at you and the girls with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re bar hopping,” you snapped, turning to him. A flash of hurt crossed Baekhyun’s face but you didn’t care. “I wanna talk to you.”

“Uh,” he said, “sure.” He grabbed his drink from the table and downed the rest of it. The two of you walked out of the bar, leaving your friends behind. You stepped out into the cool night air. Baekhyun didn’t say anything. He could feel the tension and frustration radiating off of your body. He followed you around the corner into a back street.

You stopped in front of a tree, folding your arms across your chest. “I have a question.”

Baekhyun looked down at the sidewalk. “What’s up?”

“What’s going on with us?”

“What do you mean?”

“What the fuck are we doing, Baekhyun? You’ve been avoiding me…”

“I haven’t been avoiding you. We hung out the other day, like old times.”

You were pissed. Here he was acting like he was innocent, like he’d done no wrong. “Do you remember the conversation we had in May?”

Baekhyun looked up at you and nodded. “I do.”

“So,” you said, “what’s going on with us, Baekhyun?”

Baekhyun knew what you were upset about before you even said anything. You’d been wanting to talk to him for a few days and he avoided it every time even if it was just coincidence. The first time he didn’t notice because he was going to see you at brunch with your friends. At first, he’d thought it was just something small you wanted to mention casually. But you didn’t talk at brunch about anything significant and you didn’t get to talk at your place because he ended up having to take care of Daren. He didn’t put together your disappointment until later that night. He felt bad; he even thought of calling you back then. 

He had been avoiding you. He was guilty about it and he also felt guilty about Kira coming back into his life. He was seeing Kira last year before he even met you. Things hadn’t gotten too far with her then but he liked her a lot. Kira left to study abroad and then he met you the following semester. He had a bunch of classes with you and you got closer and closer; close enough to be inside you. 

It wasn’t that he regretted it or that he’d been using you because he ended up liking you. Baekhyun wanted to date you which is why he agreed to it in the first place. The thing was that he didn’t want to start dating you and then go to Korea for the summer a couple days later. He didn’t want to start the relationship off in Korea, arguing and struggling over the time difference and whether or not the two of you were seeing other people. So he wanted to wait. He made a reservation at a steakhouse called Wolfgang’s for September 20th—a Friday night. 

Today was September 20th and he was here at the bar with his friends instead of at that restaurant with you. He planned on asking you out officially then, had his plans not been derailed by a former flame coming back into the picture. He cancelled the reservation last night; that was the point of no return. He couldn’t ask you out when he felt this way about Kira instead of about you. He questioned whether the feelings he had for you had been real or not. He liked you, he cared about you, but you didn’t make his heart explode and fall to the ground in pieces. 

Baekhyun didn’t reply so you asked another question he couldn’t answer. “Do you like me?”

“Of course I like you,” he said. “I care about you.”

“But you don’t like me like that, right?” You bit your lip, trying to hold in the emotions that threatened to leave your body in the form of tears.

Baekhyun let out a sigh. This was the tough part. “I don’t think I feel like that…”

You nodded and headed over to the steps of an apartment building. You sat and ran your hands through your hair before looking up at Baekhyun. “Did you ever like me?”

Baekhyun grabbed onto your hand. “Everything that happened between us...it was real. I did have feelings for you. I never lied to you and—”

“So it’s better to lie to me now, huh?” you asked, pushing his hand away.

“Feelings can change Y/N!”

“Feelings don’t just change overnight. Two weeks ago you were in my bed. Your feelings just vanished into thin air in that short amount of time?”

“Come on, Y/N! I can’t help how I’m feeling. If you found someone you liked, wouldn’t you go for it?”

There it was: the truth. It didn’t come out in the way you thought it would but there it was. He liked someone else, just like Sadie said. You felt like a complete idiot, waiting around for him for this long when it wasn’t even a possibility.

“Don’t hate me for this,” he said. “You would’ve done the same. If things had gone well with that guy you used to like, we wouldn’t have even gotten to this point! There wouldn’t have been any confusion on what this was from the beginning…just casual sex between two people when we needed to get off, mutual entertainment!” He sighed. “Please don’t be upset. You deserve someone whose heart skips a beat when you smile...like yours used to do to me...” 

You let out a laugh and stood up. “Okay, Baekhyun. Fuck you.”

Baekhyun swore under his breath. “Y/N, please don’t take this the wrong way.”

“I think you made yourself clear tonight,” you said, a tear finally falling down your cheek. You turned on your heel and started walking away.

Crystal clear.

*****

Tag List:  @shesdreaminginoverdose @multistania​ @jeonchan26​ @myonlyaurora​ @keloiu​ 

Please DM me if you want to be added to the tag list! Hope you enjoyed this chapter :)

[knifefather]

In the words of Open Mike Eagle, “This is what I need to do. I know I need to do something to feel better. This is it.” So I did! I wanted to write some headcanons about weed and also something cute, so this happened! I give to you: Smoking weed with each member of the Bucci Gang for the first time. This is all platonic. Under the cut for length!

Content warning: Use of marijuana. That’s it. That’s the post. Enjoy!

Bruno

🍃 The Capo is probably the best one to smoke with for the first time. He’s very careful about making sure that you have a good experience! Bruno would more than likely invite you somewhere private for you guys to smoke together, like his home. He’s the type of person that would explain to you about what marijuana does to your body while you’re smoking. It’s really interesting and makes for a good conversation point.

🍃 Bruno would pack you guys a bowl in a pipe! That way you can’t take too large of a hit. Getting too high the first time is definitely a mood killer. He definitely doesn’t want the experience to be ruined for you because you smoked too much. 

🍃 After you take a few puffs and your eyes start to get a little red, he checks in with you. “How are you feeling?” he asks. You look back at him and his eyes are also red. You had never seen Bruno like that before, and that combined with the substance makes you giggle uncontrollably. He ends up chuckling a bit too, a lot more than he normally does. You like the sound of his laugh. “I’m taking that means you’re doing well?” You just nod and reach for the bowl again. 

🍃 After you’re feeling chill enough, the two of you can hang out alone or Bruno would invite the rest of the gang over. You might just hang out in his living room, or he would suggest taking a walk to the park close by. If that’s the case, he is the one that leads you out and around so you can be stoned and not worry about anything. 

🍃 He also brings water because he knows you’ll get cottonmouth! What an angel, really. 

Mista

🍃 Smoking weed for the first time with Mista is an adventure, that’s for sure. Mista is a stoner, so when you told him you’ve never smoked before he is all over it! “Dude, we have to smoke together! Some see me after the meeting at Libeccio,” he tells you, clamping you on the shoulder before walking off. 

🍃 After the meeting is over and the group begins to disband, he approaches you and gives you a funny look. Definitely not suspicious or anything lmao. “You wanna step out back?” he asks, still giving you that strange look. You aren’t sure what to say, so you just nod and go with him. When the gang sees you two leaving together, it really looks like you guys are gonna fuck. They start giggling and gossiping until Bruno breaks it up, but even he is curious about what you two are up to.

🍃 Mista takes you to the side alley next to the restaurant and gets on one knee. “I knew that that meeting was gonna be boring as hell so I brought something to make it worth it,” he says, grinning before pulling something out of his sock. He straightens himself  out and you get a closer look at it. It’s what you think is a cigarette. He sees your confusion before giving you a toothy grin. “This is a joint,” he proclaims. “We’re gonna smoke it.”

🍃 And smoke it you do. You and Mista face the entire joint behind the restaurant and you get mega stoned. The gunslinger has to usher you out of the alley and walk you home because you’re high as fuck. “I don’t want to be alone.. Can you stay?” you ask him after plopping on the couch, almost too stoned to move. He agrees quickly and flops down next to you. 

🍃 After a few minutes, yall begin to get the munchies... So you eat whatever you have at your place before deciding to order a pizza. The two of you just watch a movie and hang out for the rest of the evening!

Giorno

🍃 Doesn’t smoke weed, but he isn’t a jerk about it. He doesn’t have a problem with people who do but it’s really not his thing. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel, or the way it smells and tastes. 

🍃 Just doesn’t like any kind of drug. He seldom even has more than a few glasses of wine. Being intoxicated is not really for Giorno. 

🍃 However, if you wanted to smoke weed around him, he would be supportive and watch over you. He’d make sure you weren’t going to get yourself hurt and that you’re feeling okay while you’re high. 

🍃 Even though he sucks at driving, he would offer to drive you anywhere you need because he doesn’t want you to get hurt. He would even go get you food if you started getting the munchies really bad! Giorno thinks that you’re hilarious when you stoned and has a blast hanging out with you every time.

Abbacchio

🍃 Abbacchio doesn’t really tell anyone that he smokes pot. The only way you found out was because you had to swing by his apartment to get some paperwork from him. You knock on the door and received no answer. You’re growing worried, so you try again, only to hear nothing. Curious, you round the corner of the apartment building and see that his window is open and smoke is drifting out. 

🍃 After a minute of making you wait, Abbacchio comes to the door. He hands you the paperwork, and you get a good look at his face. His eyes are red as hell and they look smaller than usual. Not to mention that he smells of it. But he totally tries to play it off like he wasn’t just smoking. 

🍃 “Um... Is that weed that you were smoking?” you ask. He’s immediately defensive, brushing you off. But you call him out and nail him. “I know it was bud. Do you maybe... wanna share? I-I’ve never had it before--” you start to say before he cuts you off. 

🍃 “I’ll let you hit the blunt if you promise to go home after that.” You accept his conditions and go inside. 

🍃 He hands you a marijuana cigarette, this time wrapped in brown paper. “It’s a blunt. It’s made out of cigarillo paper. The paper has tobacco in it, so be careful when taking a hit...” he advises, handing you the lighter. You did you best to hit it, and, like Abbacchio expected, you cough your fucking lungs out because of the paper. He claps you on the back a few times before continuing. After you have finished the blunt, you’re dummy stoned. 

🍃 “I know I said I’d go home, but do you think--” Abbacchio interrupts you again. “Yes, you can stay. Just don’t eat everything in my fridge.” You do anyway. 

Narancia

🍃 Oh boy. Oh fucking boy. Narancia literally does everything you SHOULDN’T do with someone who is smoking weed for the first time. 

🍃 You guys are hanging out and he brings out his bong and starts packing a bowl, no big deal. You’re sweating because you have no idea what that big glass thing is. Narancia is under the impression that you’re a stoner like him even though he’s never smoked with you? You don’t understand it either.

🍃 He takes a huge hit and then hands you the bong, and you awkwardly take it in your hands. You’ve watched how Narancia hit it, but you’re not sure if you can do it like him. Narancia can see your uncertainty. “You can hit it. That’s why I passed it to you,” he said, smiling. 

🍃 “I don’t... I’ve never...” you stammer, looking helplessly at him. Narancia put the pieces together, his eyes going wide. “Oh shit! You don’t smoke?” You shake your head in response. “Well damn. Here, lemme show you how.” Narancia’s “demonstration” may or may not have served a double purpose for him to take another hit, but whatever.

🍃 He instructs you on how to use the bong. Fill the bowl, light it, inhale from the top tube, take the bowl out when the chamber fills with too much smoke. You think that it’s simple enough, so you go to try... and cough. You cough, sputtering on the bong, all of the smoke entering your lungs leaving you a whoosh. Your face turns red and Narancia paps you on the back, letting you a have a few sips of his Diet Coke. That was the first and last hit that you took, and it made you high as a motherfucker. 

🍃 You crash at Narancia’s and play video games with him all night, the two of you laughing at the game and making a ton of new inside jokes together. You still quote the inside jokes to this day, and none of the guys understand what the fuck you’re talking about. 

🍃 He does end up turning on a really loud, violent movie that scares the shit out of you, though. He turns it off and does his best to help you calm down, apologizing profusely. After a few minutes, you feel better, but it crashed your high. You’re okay with that, and just curl up next to him while he continues to play games. You’ve had enough for the night. 

Fugo

🍃 Also doesn’t smoke at all. Though, he’s lame, and he’ll probably try to discourage you from it. He’ll hit you with a ton of false facts about what weed does to your body and how it is actually the worst thing in the world for you.  

🍃 Narancia and Mista would usually step in and telling him he’s being a fucking tool. If they start arguing, Bruno breaks it up. He doesn’t take a side, but he admittedly is biased because he smokes weed too.

🍃 Not much to say on Mr. Party Pooper over here. 

Trish

🍃 Lmao. This girl is a stoner as hell. She doesn’t smoke flower very often, but she always has her weed vape pen on her. 

🍃 This bitch will just hit her pen in the middle of a store. On the train. On the sidewalk. In a church. Wherever the hell. Bruno gets on to her about it sometimes, but she always brushes him off and just does her thing. 

🍃 You smoke with her for the first time while you guys are out shopping. The two of you have a few bags in tow and are on your way to the next store in the mall. Trish whips her pen out from her purse and, you guessed it, hits it right in the middle of the mall. You’re absolutely baffled and not sure why anyone hasn’t noticed or called her out. 

🍃 Oblivious, she turns to you and points the pen at you. “You want to hit it? I can see you staring at me,” she says plainly. You’re kinda shocked at how forward she is about it, but you take the pen from her. You try to get her to move away to a less populated part in the mall, but she has to go to the candle store. So you hit it and watch a bubble form in the golden liquid.

🍃 It’s one of those good ass carts, and you get stoned from just one rip. It’s actually really fun walking around with her while you’re high! You guys enjoy the rest of your shopping trip no problem, and Bruno comes to pick you guys up after you guys are finished! He knows you two are stoned, but he doesn’t say anything. Thanks Bru. 

[lesbianlotties]

the only touchstone of truth

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives

Chapter 2:

There was something different about Marla that day. She wasn’t bored, she wasn’t idly waiting. She was waiting, true, but only because that was part of her plan. Standing behind her counter, her shop more or less back in shape, she wore a different blouse, higher heels, and a smile that sharpened, even more, when somebody came in. Marla sent a quick nod to Curtis, who had instructions on what to do. He pulled out his phone and walked away toward the storage room of the place.

“Marla,” the man greeted her with a perfectly polite and respectful tone that already started to crumble on his second sentence, “I wonder, what on Earth are you trying to do?”

“Mr. Nelson, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marla replied, “It’s a pleasure to have you visit us.” What an honor to have you millionaire, corporate, chain store, ugly ass step on my broken dreams physically this time.

“You cleaned up the store,” he sighed, looking around as if to take a hold of his emotions.

This promptly reminded the blonde of the couple of hours she spent with Curtis destroying her own shop and then putting it back together again. In the upcoming years, Marla would learn just how far she was capable of playing dirty, and many would accuse her of being unscrupulous, among worse adjectives, but nobody would ever dare call her lazy, that was for sure. With or without morals, Marla was an extremely hardworking woman, and she wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty, for better or for worse. A practical habit that she cultivated during her days of playing fair, and kept, for some reason. Most likely because idleness simply went against her nature, and she had promised herself not to rest until she achieved her goals. 

“We did, yes. Lots of hard work,” the blonde nodded, “such a shame what happened.”

“Such a shame,” the man echoed the sentiment, speaking on autopilot, but when he focused his eyes on Marla again he was all ice. “You’re accusing us of doing it,” he said.

Purposefully, Marla gave him a deep shrug and another shark-like smile. “I believe it’s the police who marked your company as suspects,” she replied in a mockingly innocent tone.

“We didn’t do it. And the accusation is bad publicity for our business. Drop the lawsuit,” he ordered, his voice starting to shake just slightly. When Marla only shook her head slowly, he scoffed. “You’re nothing, Marla Gray,” he seethed, “Your little business is over. Why would we try to boycott you out of all people? You’re not even competition. Drop the lawsuit.”

“Grayson.”

“What?” he was still laughing with a combination of awkwardness and annoyance.

“My name is Marla Grayson,” she stated using the full power of the commanding nature that she knew she had, “and I will fight for this shop until the end.”

He scoffed again, clearly losing his patience. The man walked to the door of the store and back to the counter once, twice, until he calmed down and not quite looking Marla in the eyes, he offered, “Twenty thousand dollars, and you’ll drop the lawsuit.”

“No,��� Marla denied it immediately and before she could fully think about how offensive the offer was, he continued.

“Fifty thousand, Marla,” he said, his face red and his voice trembling. It was a pretty number that put Marla at a crossroads between the attempt to feel offended and the impulse to just ask for more. Either way, that number would not do. She only tilted her head and her expression said it all. “A hundred thousand dollars, dammit! Final offer!”

At this point, Marla made it a point to pick up her vape pen and look as bored as possible. “Please get out of my store, Mr. Nelson. I’ll see you in court,” she concluded.

He shook his head, he was breathing heavily and wildly waved a finger in her direction. “No! This is not over,” he protested, “How dare you say no to me?! I’ll make you regret it, you know?” He made a pause and after seeing that his threat did nothing to disturb her, and in fact, she only exhaled the smoke in a terribly irritating way, he slammed his hands on the counter right in front of her, “Dammit just take the money!”

“I will not,” Marla fumed back at him, barely letting show a hint of her patience running out.

“And you better stop screaming.”

Both Marla and her unwanted guest hastily looked toward the door of the shop. There was Fran, casually leaning against the doorway, not so casually showing off her plaque. At first, the man didn’t even move from his place. But Fran let out a quick whistle and said, “This aggressive visit will not look on your case, Mr. Nelson.”

Finally, the big store owner groaned loudly and without even sparing either woman a word, he stormed away from the place for good.

This quick turn of events left Marla and Fran alone in the shop. Marla stayed behind the counter that she managed to handle like an equivalent to a throne, and Fran took a couple of effortless steps forward until she stood in the middle of the place, directing a small and easy smile at the other woman.

“I must say,” Fran started to say, “I didn’t expect to receive this ‘Marla needs help, come over right now’ text from a number, I assume, that isn’t yours.” She waved her phone once for emphasis.

“Personally, I don’t usually give my number to strangers,” Marla replied, earning herself a chuckle from Fran, who looked away for a second, but when their eyes met again, Marla was sincere as she said, “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Fran nodded, accepting her gratitude without making a big deal of it. This gave Marla an opportunity to study her again. Fran looked similar to what she did that night showing up to the shop after the staged attack. A ponytail holding on for dear life to wild hair that just begged to be freed, a more or less regular detective’s outfit that most likely wasn’t designed with the purpose of fitting Fran’s curves so scandalously well on every single right place. And then there was the way she simply stood in the middle of the store with immeasurable confidence. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to lean into, just her in an open space without any issue with Marla’s eyes glued to her. She wasn’t standing there like she owned the place, not exactly. It looked like she couldn’t care less about ownership, but her world consisted of only her, and she didn’t care enough about any authority to give them the power of deciding if she belonged or if she was out of place. Fran carried herself as if the rest of the world’s ideas of right or wrong were mere suggestions. Nothing sounded more appealing to Marla.

“You weren’t exactly in trouble though,” Fran contemplated, reluctantly breaking the silence, “you looked like you had it handled.”

“But you did scare him off,” Marla grinned.

“And you didn’t take the money.”

“Do I look like someone that would have taken the money?”

Fran laughed, because they both knew the answer to that question very well. She walked forward until she could lean her arms on the infamous counter, not quite in front of Marla, just a little to the side. “Maybe you should have,” she finally mused, “this might be bigger than you, gorgeous.”

This development in their interactions came with considerable consequences for Marla, who had underestimated the effect it would have on her to have Fran again standing so close to her. She wouldn’t back down though, she wouldn’t lose her higher ground, but she couldn’t deny the fact that Fran shook her to her core in a magnitude previously unknown to Marla. She couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer until it was obviously too late, so she stayed silent, picked up her pen, and after taking a drag she left it on the counter. This seemed to spark Fran’s attention, who had previously been content to just study Marla’s face from up close and during the daylight.

“So, are you going to offer me one of these,” the brunette wondered, lightly tapping with her fingertip the tip of the pen standing between them, “or a coffee… a drink… should you at least walk me to my car?”

“I will… walk you to your car,” Marla decided, after a quick and not exactly pleasant assessment of the situation. There was nothing she’d love more than to take Fran’s hand and either lead her out of that damned store or guide her to the other side of the locked door of her office. But there were already smoke signals in the air between them that she couldn’t ignore. This could be dangerous, this was possibly great, this was certainly bigger than either of them was accustomed to. Marla was stunned by the undeniable fact that she wasn’t sure how to handle Fran, and equally as unsettled but no less excited about the fact that she had no idea how Fran would handle her. She had no doubt they could handle each other, but until she felt completely confident in a perfect plan of action, she would have to see for how long and how much she could feed this ferocious and inexplicable fire that was burning between them.

As they approached Fran’s vehicle, Marla made two statements. “I will not take the money,” she said, followed by, “and that’s not a car.”

Fran winked, “My mistake.” She leaned back on the motorcycle and focused her attention on the blonde in front of her.

“I’m taking that asshole to court,” Marla managed to say, despite that unexpected and entirely alluring image of Fran standing just like that. She should have known that even the safest option among all that the brunette had offered would still come with a trick to test Marla’s hesitant boundaries.

“For something you did?”

“I’ll have to close either way,” Marla rolled her eyes, “He took me out of business. I have to take something from him. Something big.”

Fran tilted her head. “Do you have experience in court?” she wondered.

“I’m confident I can manage,” Marla smiled.

“Of course,” the other woman chuckled. “Though,” she added, “if only you had… an acquaintance, who happened to be knowledgeable in the shady alleyways of court and would be willing to give you a hand.”

Fran was barely done with her word when suddenly Marla was almost on top of her. Marla had moved quickly and swiftly, standing impossibly close to Fran, somehow not touching, but if any of them were to so much as breathe a little harder than usual their bodies would meet in all the right places. Which was maybe the reason Fran was suddenly holding her breath. Marla had placed both hands on the bike, on either side of Fran’s hips, trapping her in place, while holding her face just inches away from the other woman.

“What do you want,” Marla slowly asked, “Fran?”

“Why do you assume I want something?”

Being softly hit with Fran’s breath on her cheek was an unexpected consequence of Marla’s plan, but she held her ground. Very deliberately, one of her hands moved slowly and confidently to one of the back pockets of Fran’s pants. The brunette, to her credit, her only reaction was a noticeable clench of her jaw, but she stood still while Marla pulled out her phone and mercifully stepped away to let both of them breathe a little easier.

“Unlock it, I’ll save my number,” Marla held out Fran’s own phone for her and proceeded to follow through with her words. 

Fran got her heart rate almost back to normal as she watched Marla quickly tap the screen, and deciding the only right thing to possibly say at that moment was to answer Marla’s question, she said, “Give me a percentage of the money you’ll make with the lawsuit. So I can finally quit the police.”

Beyond pleased with that answer, Marla bit her lip for a moment then returned the phone. “And here I thought you were just trying to have dinner with me,” she said to Fran right before walking away from her, but not before looking back just in time to catch the other woman staring, and adding a final smile she threw over her shoulder, “See you soon, Fran.”

[nitewrighter]

1 with the Shimadas?

Pre fight Shimadas with a side of playboy Genji! Get your pre-fight Shimadas with a side of playboy Genji, here!

1. “why do you always have to be such an asshole?

CW for drug and alcohol use

----

A fog bank had settled on Hanamura that night, and the night sky was tinged orange from light pollution. Hanzo’s knuckle was pressed to his lip with pensiveness as the streetlights sailed by outside the car window. It was a Friday night and he could see stumbling revelers laughing and ambling to their train stations and bus stops, some huddling close in the damp night air as they awaited their ride shares. He glanced to his driver, studied the back of his head. The raggedness of his hairline at the back of his neck irked Hanzo--perhaps the annoyance was intensified by the clean metal of the back of an omnic enforcer’s head in the co-pilot seat--- but it wasn’t like Hanzo could tell him to get a haircut, not with his own hair to past shoulder-blades. He had it tied back at least, but such sloppiness from his own driver... Hanzo glanced back out the window. Yuriko was right--discipline was slipping in their own ranks. It was the whole damnable reason he was out tonight.

“Here,” said Hanzo, and the driver pulled over. He got out of the car and brushed his hands down his shirt to smooth it. Before him was a nightclub, a neon sign advertising its name Tori No Su, the Bird’s nest. Hanzo gave a derisive scoff. Sparrow’s nest, he thought to himself as he moved toward the door of the club. he heard the car doors open behind him and glance over his shoulder at his driver and enforcer stepping out. “Stay with the car,” he said.

“You sure, boss?” said the enforcer.

Boss. Sometimes it still felt unnatural, hearing that. Sojiro had been putting him in charge of a handful of smaller clan operations over the past few months, and it wasn’t that he didn’t like them or wasn’t good at it, but Sojiro was ‘boss.’ Not Hanzo. Not yet. ‘Sir,’ certainly, but ‘Boss’ not as much. There was a line at the front door of course, but Hanzo stepped up to the bouncer.

“Back of the line,” said the Bouncer, not looking up from his list.

Hanzo stood his ground and folded his arms.

The bouncer glanced up from his tablet. “Did you hear me? I said back of the-”

He recognized Hanzo’s features, the blue dragon tattoo peeking out from the rolled up sleeves of his collared shirt, and his eyes trailed to the car behind him where his driver and enforcer gave a polite wave. “You’re...” the bouncer’s voice trailed off.

“An investor,” said Hanzo, “And I’ll only be a minute.”

“Right,” said the bouncer, stepping aside, “Of course, sir.”

The door opened and the full blast of the music and the heat of gyrating bodies and the tang of sweat and alcohol slammed into all of his senses. The club was dimly lit with projections of vintage, heavily filtered tokusatsu edited to match the beats of the music and 8 bit video games on the walls. Sparrow’s nest, indeed. He moved through the crowd smoothly and silently, everyone too caught up in their dancing and drinking and hedonism to give him so much as a second look. He glanced up at an upstairs VIP lounge overlooking the entire club and sighed as he made his way to the stairs. There was another bouncer at the stairs, but one glance at Hanzo’s tattoo and he stood aside. Hanzo ascended the stairs.

The upstairs lounge was significantly less crowded than the bar and dance floor, room to breathe, at least, and it had its own bar and a handful of gyrating bodies. Hanzo’s eyes, however, quickly fixed on a nook in the corner with a loveseat and a glass table projecting those same tokusatsu clips being projected on the walls. There were four people there. One girl refilling shot glasses of vodka, one girl snorting lines off the table, and two men lazily sticking their tongues down each others’ throats, one of them with garishly dyed spiky green hair. The girl snorting lines was the first to register his presence as he stepped up to their nook and her head jerked up and she thumbed her nose, looking up at him with a certain addled defiance. The side of her neck was tattooed with honeysuckle flowers. The other girl pouring shots glanced up at him and Hanzo watched as the vodka overflowed in the last shot glass and distorted the projected image of the sentai warrior on the glass table as it bubbled over before she jerked the bottle back upright.

“Genji,” the girl with the neck tattoo punctuated his name with a short sniff and the green-haired man broke out of his sloppy kiss with a sigh.

“I told you, you can put the whole thing on my--” his voice caught as he made eye contact with Hanzo, “...tab,” Genji leveled his dilated pupils at Hanzo and further broke apart with the lithe man next to him. A few long seconds of gauging each other passed between the two brothers. Genji sighed and gave his own short sniff before taking a steadying breath and putting on a smiling mask.

“Hanzo!” he said, pushing up from the couch and yanking Hanzo into a honeydew-vodka-scented hug, “It’s so good to see you! Have a drink with us!”

“Is this that brother you mentioned?” said the vodka-pourer, setting the bottle on the table.

“Asshole brother?” said the man Genji had just been swapping spit with, snickering. His voice was thick with an Osaka accent.

“Asshole brother,” Hanzo repeated flatly.

“Ignore them,” said Genji, breaking the hug with his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders.

“It’s time to come home, Genji,” said Hanzo.

Genji scoffed. “Home isn’t going anywhere, and you’ve been working your ass off,” he said, plopping back down onto the couch, “You should join us,” he plucked up one of the shot glasses and held it out to him, “Take the edge off.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed.

“You came here with a driver, didn’t you?” said Genji, arching an eyebrow as the girl with the neck tattoo crept over him like a vine and laid kisses on his jaw and collarbone. She didn’t break eye contact with Hanzo as she did so. All of their eyes were on him. The Osaka man regarded him with that same laziness as he took a long drag off of a vape pen.

“This is not the company the our family keeps,” Hanzo spoke under his breath. Genji’s cohorts didn’t really pick it up over the din of the music, but Genji heard it just fine.

He let out a scoffing chuckle before knocking back his shot. “What are you talking about? I’m assuring product quality and networking with our market. Didn’t you say I should get more involved with the family business?”

Hanzo swallowed a furious rant of ‘We only see to its circulation, to actually partake in the product shames the family. You’re shitting where you eat.’ But Genji was already incriminating them enough with his stupid drunk mouth.

“Oh, we’re networking?” said the neck tattoo woman, tracing a finger along the neckline of Genji’s shirt, “Is that what you call it?”

“An important aspect of any business, Mika,” said Genji, playfully booping her nose and prompting a snort and a snicker out of her.

“Sure... ” said Mika, her eyes flicking back to Hanzo as the other two busied themselves with their row of shots to try and drown out the increasing tension between Genji and his brother. She gave Hanzo another once-over, “I don’t think he’s interested in ‘networking’ like you are.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” said Genji glancing toward Hanzo. He smiled. “Come on, join us!” 

“We’re leaving,” said Hanzo flatly, seizing Genji’s arm and yanking him up off the couch.

“Hey--Hanzo--” Genji’s feet stumbled and shuffled beneath him as Hanzo yanked his arm, “Fucking hell--let go--Hanzo, I can get home on my own--”

“Hey!” Mika briskly walked after them and grabbed Hanzo’s shoulder, “He doesn’t want to go with you!”

Hanzo gave her a terrifyingly cold glare and shoved up the shirt sleeve on Genji’s arm. “Do you know what this is?” he said pointing at Genji’s green dragon tattoo.

She looked down at the tattoo on Genji’s arm, gave another short sniff, “Look--” she started.

“You know what it is, so I suggest you and your friends make what will definitely be the wisest decision you’ll make all night and stay. Out. Of. This,” said Hanzo.

Her eyes flicked to Genji. Still coked up. Still ready to do something stupid--ready to make a scene if Genji permitted her. The girl pouring shots and the man from Osaka stared at them blankly from their little nook, both of them drunk, but at least aware they were too drunk to get involved with this. But Genji’s lips parted and moved wordlessly for a few seconds before he muttered out, “It’s fine, Mika. Go back to the others. I’ll call you later.”

Mika watched as Hanzo walked down the stairs with Genji. Hanzo felt Genji’s eyes fixed on him as they walked out of the club.

“You didn’t have to threaten her,” said Genji.

“I didn’t threaten her,” said Hanzo.

“Bringing up our family is a threat,” said Genji.

“Get in the car, Genji.”

“No, I’m curious, would you actually follow through on it?” said Genji.

“Get in the car,” said Hanzo, opening the door to the car. 

“You would, wouldn’t you?” said Genji, incredulity and disgust in his voice.

“The car, Genji, stop embarrassing yourself,” said Hanzo. 

Genji let out a sighing snarl and ducked in to the car.

“You’re the one putting those idiots in danger to begin with. If not from the clan, then its enemies,” said Hanzo. His driver and enforcer glanced over their shoulders at them briefly before Hanzo motioned to them to start driving. They kept their eyes straight ahead, mercifully ignoring what was far from the first or last argument between the two brothers.

“So what? I should just be a friendless asshole like you?!” said Genji as screens of yellow light from the streetlights outside the car passed across his face.

“They aren’t friends! They’re parasites!” said Hanzo, “They’re little more to you than the garbage you were pouring down your throat!”

“Oh here we go, ‘I’m Hanzo and because I’m a joyless bastard who based my entire personality around the clan, I assume everything that isn’t presenting my  asshole to the clan elders to be routinely fucked is meaningless!’”

“You will not speak of the clan that way!” said Hanzo.

“Oh we murder and run protection rackets and sell drugs and weapons but god forbid we get vulgar!” said Genji, 

“You’re an embarrassment,” said Hanzo.

“I’d rather be an embarrassment than a monster.” 

“Oh don’t act as if you’re above it--you’re willing to carry out assassinations for the clan because that means we hold onto our money, and you’re happy to spend all that blood money to drink and drug yourself to oblivion,” said Hanzo.

“Because I’m a fucking human,” said Genji. A laugh shook his voice. “Yeah. I drink. I fuck. And there’s the coke, weed, molly, kakuseizai-- Sure. Because I’m still feeling things. Because I still want to feel things. Because I know if I stop feeling things, I’m going to turn into you.”

“So to maintain your purity of heart and strength of character, you’re going out to kill brain cells and have meaningless sex with virtual strangers who wouldn’t give you a second glance if you didn’t have the clan’s money,” said Hanzo.

“Fuck you,” said Genji, turning his head and looking out the window.

A long pause passed between them. Their driver and enforcer were dead silent, letting the tension between the brothers percolate for a few taut minutes.

Hanzo exhaled, breaking the silence. “The clan is who we are, Genji, the sooner you accept that, the easier it will get,” said Hanzo.

“Easier for you,” muttered Genji, not looking at him, “Perfect Hanzo. Didn’t even flinch the first time the Clan elders made him slit someone’s throat. Our prince. Our scion.” 

“You’re drunk, Genji,” said Hanzo, staring straight forward.

Genji sighed and leaned his head on the car window. “And you don’t need to drink to deal with this shit,” he muttered under his breath, “I think that scares me more.”

[mostweakhamlets]

SummerOmens: Grass

More fileflies! I hope no one minds what I did with the prompt and the wordplay that allows me two types of grass in this fic. Prompt by @thetunewillcome

-- 

Crowley and Aziraphale insisted that they could find something interesting for both Beelzebub and Dagon that weekend. Really, they had managed to find very little that the four of them could do together in their attempts to rebuild the burnt bridge, but it would be different this time. They insisted. There was a plan in place for Dagon and Beelzebub to meet the angel-demon duo in their cottage around sundown, ready to stay in for the night. 

It had taken a decent amount of convincing to get Beelzebub up and ready that evening. Dagon had braced herself with a jumper for the quickly-cooling temperatures and had picked out a layered outfit for Beelzebub. All it took was physically dragging their body off of the sofa and shoving a comb and clothes at them to make them cooperate. All in all, it wasn’t the most difficult time she had getting them up and ready. 

“It’ll probably be a documentary,” Dagon said as Beelzebub dressed, imaging a long movie about some tyrannous dictator they were expected to find amusing (and probably would). “You can sleep through it if you hate it.” 

“If I had known they were so boring on Earth, I wouldn’t have wasted so much energy harassing Crowley while he worked for us.”

Dagon couldn’t disagree. It was true that they both had expected their new enemies to be brutal and intense and were shocked to find that they were living as mundane humans. It was a waste of their supernatural abilities, they thought. But they let it go, as mundane was what they had to adjust to. 

Aziraphale greeted them at the door and offered tea as Crowley rummaged around in a small cosmetics bag at the kitchen counter. Dagon sipped her tea and watched him pull out a thin electronic cigarette and a vial of taupe liquid. He examined the liquid before setting it in the cigarette. 

“What is that?” Dagon asked. 

Crowley looked over his shoulder. “It’s a vape pen and THC oil.” 

“It’s essentially marijuana,” Aziraphale said. “This is a lot less messy, though. I do have to give Crowley quite a bit of credit for finding this for us.” 

Crowley joined them at the table. Beelzebub had just gotten used to seeing the new cigarettes humans had. They had stared for too long the first time they saw a young woman take a pull from a chunk of black plastic and blow out a large cloud. Hell only had old-fashioned cigarettes that littered the floor of every meeting room. 

“Have you ever tried it before?” Crowley asked. “With how much credit the humans give us for it, I don’t think I met another demon who partakes.” 

Beelzebub and Dagon shook their head. Aziraphale smiled at them. 

“Try a little bit at first,” Aziraphale said. “We find it quite pleasing, but you may not enjoy it. It’s sort of a… it’s an out-of-body experience.” 

“Just press this button, breathe in, and let go,” Crowly said. “Hold it in your lungs for a bit before you exhale.”

He demonstrated, taking a decent amount of vapor in his mouth and passing the pen to Aziraphale while letting a wave of clouds fill the air around them. It didn’t have a particularly strong scent, Beelzebub thought, as they held the pen in the middle of the fog. 

“Press down and then breathe in—that’s it!” Aziraphale said. 

It burned their throat, and the smoke invading their lungs made them feel as if they were suffocating.

Beelzebub choked and coughed, their cloud coming out a lot less dignified. It was humiliating, and they shoved the pen at Dagon. Crowley and the angel were so relaxed doing it, and they couldn’t even hold the smoke in for longer than a second. The Prince of Hell should have been better with something so mild. 

Dagon coughed into her wrist and passed the pen on. “How is this supposed to make us feel?” 

“Mellow,” Crowley said. “You’ll know it when you feel it.”

The pen was back to Beelzebub. Aziraphale suggested it be their last turn, and Beelzebub, not knowing that it was said for their best interest and not because Aziraphale thought so lowly of them, decided to take a long, heavy drag. It was almost immediately released in another coughing fit. 

Dagon passed the pen to Crowley without taking her turn. She turned to Beelzebub, who was trying to desperately find relief in the last few sips of sugary tea they had. 

“Let me get you water,” Aziraphale said. “It can be a pain before you’re used to it.” 

Beelzebub chugged the glass of water as soon as it was in front of them. It eased the burning in their throat a little and calmed their coughing. Aziraphale and Crowley continued to puff on their pen, still unaffected by the piping hot vapor going into their mouths and down their lungs. 

Beelzebub was suddenly aware that they couldn’t feel their legs. They rubbed their palms up and down their thighs and realized that they could barely feel their hands as well. 

“Is this supposed to happen?” they asked. 

“Is what supposed to happen?” Crowley asked. 

Beelzebub didn’t respond. They tried focusing on how denim should have felt on their skin. They grabbed their jumper sleeve to double-check if they had lost all sensation. The jumper was soft but not as soft as they thought it should have been. 

They looked up at the others. Dagon was smiling at them. Crowley had lost interest in whatever was in front of him and was shrugging on his jacket and putting on his sunglasses. Aziraphale took one last drag and handed the pen back to Crowley. 

“Are you ready?” Dagon asked. 

Ready for what? Beelzebub didn’t know. “Yes,” they said, thinking it was better to play along than it was to try to form a question and follow clarification. 

“I think they had a bit much,” Crowley said. 

Beelzebub stood with Dagon and stuck by their side as they walked out the back door. Walking was interesting. While Beelzebub had no feeling, they had no problem telling their legs what to do. They easily put one leg in front of the other and managed a straight line. It was much easier to walk than after a few drinks. There was no stumbling or uncontrollable swaying or tripping over their own feet. The world was straight rather than spinning. They could manage, pulling themselves together for a few seconds at a time before getting lost in their brain again. 

“This is better,” they said. 

“Better than what?” Dagon asked, leading them to sit on the grass in front of Crowley’s vegetable garden. 

Her jumper was soft. Beelzebub could sense how ridiculously smooth and fuzzy it was, trailing their hand up and down her forearm and then up her bicep. They wondered if she was warm enough when she shivered. 

Crowley, in the distance (but really only a few feet away), was talking about the stars. The stars that he had read about on Earth and the ones he had made in Heaven. It was a lecture worthy of a university hall, but Beelzebub didn’t listen. 

They laid back on the grass. Dagon laid with them. 

The stars were brilliant. They were more vibrant than they ever had been, and Beelzebub felt that they could finally appreciate them. On Earth, usually, they were dull and small compared to what they saw in Heaven. And once seeing them up close, there was no point in looking at them from many many many many lightyears away. It was underwhelming, and it was mocking. Heaven kept all the pretty things of wonder to themselves, away from humans despite their claims for loving them so much. And humans had to do their best to reach for them when they were always cruelly just out of reach. 

But now, the stars were there. They were there in front of Beelzebub again, beautiful against the black backdrop. 

There was silence. At some point, Crowley had stopped talking, and they were all left to lay in quiet and appreciate the stars. 

Maybe an hour had passed. Maybe it had only been a few minutes. Time was already a fuzzy concept to a being that had been around for thousands of years and watched the world develop from their throne under the dirt of the Earth. But they didn’t mind it now. Time was abstract, and they were happy to live the rest of the night like that—a little sleepy, feeling the threads of Dagon’s sweater in their hand and the prickle of grass under their neck.

Also on AO3! 

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Thirty-One:

It wasn't until they were climbing out of their vehicles that Steve noticed the shirt that Katie was wearing. A long sleeve black crop top with skeletons holding pumpkins that were very clearly supposed to represent breasts. At the house, Katie had been wearing a cardigan, so Steve didn't see it at breakfast. He especially didn't see it once Steve and Bucky started placing the wooden Candy Land inspired decorations around the front yard.

Good-humoredly, Steve shook his head, "Cute."

"Felt it was appropriate," Katie agreed with a shit-eating grin. Then, she said, "Auntie Tibs sent it in her care package."

"Tabitha," Bucky reprimanded, not looking at the shirt as he was busy getting the wagon out from the trunk.

"Geez, throw me under the bus," Tibby feigned offense as she slung her camera around her neck. Pointedly looking at her brother and brother-in-law, she accurately accused, "As if you two haven't worn suggestive shirts."

Remembering the shirts that Natasha had gifted them and had only stopped once they decided to become foster parents. Steve remembered the time the pair wore matching shirts with Bucky's claiming, "Good Things," and Steve's solidifying, "Small Packages," and Winifred told them to explain why they found it so funny to a confused nine year old Tibby. After that, they stopped wearing the gag-gift shirts around family and refused to go anywhere that children might be.

"Fine," Steve rolled his eyes, then quietly warned, "If the minis start asking questions though, I'm having you answer them."

"Fine," Tibby scoffed as she gladly accepted Sophia's hand. Swinging their arms, Sophia led Tibby towards the pumpkin patch while she asked the little girl, "What are you thinking about carving this year?"

"A scary face," Sophia exaggerated, scrunching her face and hunching her back as she wiggled her fingers in Tibby's direction to seem spooky.

Holding her hand to her chest, Tibby pretended to be frightened by the expression as she said, "I don't know, Soph. That might be too scary."

Steve chuckled under his breath and helped Ethan out of the van. When Jonas finally arrived, pulling up beside their van, Steve's brows furrowed. First by the way Jonas was vaping, and exhaled a puff of cinnamon donut scented vapor out the cracked window. Second was when Vis climbed out from the back and assisted Wanda out of the older model vehicle.

"Hi," Steve greeted, brows still furrowed.

"Hi," Vis smiled, fidgeting. Almost as though he was worried he wasn't welcomed.

Steve smoothed out his expression and asked, "Ready to pick some apples? Find a pumpkin? You're coming over to carve them, right?"

"Oh," Vis bit back his lip at the offer, "I wasn't sure if you'd want me around since I was there yesterday."

"Nonsense," Bucky confirmed, taking Holly from Steve and sitting her in the stroller wagon. Buckling the -- now -- eleven month old baby into the seat, Bucky assured, "We were going to make tonight a whole thing."

Steve agreed, "Make some apple crisp. Carve some pumpkins. Watch some Halloween movies."

"C'mon, it'll be fun," Wanda encouraged, lovingly nudging him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Even Ethan started excitedly hopping up and down as he begged, "Please, please, please!"

Clearly about to cave before he finally agreed, "Yeah, it sounds like fun." Sheepishly peeking over at Steve and Bucky as they placed the canopy onto the wagon and asked them, "If that's okay."

"Of course, it is," Steve grinned, placing a blanket and a diaper bag in the stroller wagon.

Bucky closed the trunk door and teased, "We'll even let you pick a movie."

"Guess we know who the favorite is," Jonas joked, fixing the collar of his jean jacket.

Removing the light pink vape pen from his pocket, he inhaled a deep huff. Completely appalled, Bucky herded the older teen away from the younger teens. As Steve helped Ethan zip his windbreaker jacket, he heard Bucky reprimand, "What the hell are you thinking? Do you have any idea what that could do to your lungs? Or your siblings' with you doing it around them? And what about pops? He's got asthma, for fuck's sake!"

"I don't do it every day," Jonas weakly defended himself.

"It doesn't matter!" Bucky threw his arms up in a mix of exasperation and incredulousness.

"Okay," Steve clapped his hands to gain the attention of the other kids in front of him, "Should we pick apples or pumpkins first?"

"Pumpkins!" Ethan jumped in place, beside the wagon. Affectionately, Steve ruffled his white-blond hair. Crossing his arms, he complained, "Papa!"

Sweetly, Steve winked at the little boy and held out a stocking hat to him. For a moment, Ethan pouted, but eventually took the hat from him. Smiling, Steve leaned over to accept the kiss Ethan pressed to his cheek.

"Shouldn't we wait?" Luke asked, glancing between the two minivans where Bucky was talking to Jonas.

Steve attempted to lead the youngest teen towards the pumpkin patch where Sophia, Tibby, and Katie were picking out pumpkins. With Ethan helping push the stroller wagon, he reassured the fifteen year old, "It's okay."

Luke worried his plump lower lip with his teeth and nodded. Reminding Steve of how anxious Luke got whenever anyone was disciplined. Even though the brothers had been in Steve and Bucky's custody for four years, the younger still grew anxious and afraid that the punishments would be physical the way they had been in their childhoods. And while Luke still tensed at any time that anyone was reprimanded, there was progress. At least now he wasn't having panic attacks and locking himself in the bathroom as he harmed himself.

Rubbing Luke's back, Steve asked, "Are you excited for the dance tonight?"

Shrugging, he admitted, "Not really."

"Why not?" Steve's brows furrowed, genuinely confused. Idly noticing Wanda and Vis walk ahead of them with Ethan holding their hands. Since Luke wasn't going to answer anytime soon, Steve told him, "You know you don't have to go, right? You can just stay home with us." Playfully bumping Luke's side, he teased, "We might even let you pick a movie."

"I wanna go," Luke quickly argued. Giving another shrug, he admitted, "I just wish that I had a date."

"Sweetie," Steve deflated, feeling the sting of rejection from his own youth. Trying to help soothe his son's heartache, Steve said, "Sometimes dances are better when you go stag. Jonas almost always went date-less. It doesn't mean you can't have a fun time."

Taking in a deep breath, Luke nodded and dismissed, "I know."

Steve quietly laughed at himself and bumped into the teen again as he tried to cheer him up, "You can always ask her to dance."

Chewing on his lip, he looked over at Steve, "What if she says no."

Feeling a heartache that only ever came from knowing their child could potentially experience heartbreak. Not knowing how to reassure him, Steve helplessly reiterated, "Then she says no."

Nodding, Luke redirected his attention to the ground as they walked across the gravel parking lot. Making sure that they weren't in a spot to be hit by a vehicle, Steve stopped walking. And since Steve stopped, so did Luke. Steve put the lock on the wagon and turned to face his son.

"If she says no, it won't be the end of the world. I know that it'll feel like it, but it won't be. And we'll all be here for you," Steve reassured, "Even if you lock yourself in your room, we'll be here. Always. And just because this one girl might say no, doesn't mean that every girl will."

Nodding, Luke kicked at a rock and said, "I know." Looking up at Steve, he continued, "I just really like her, pops."

"I know, honey," Steve confirmed, pulling the fifteen year old into a hug. Rubbing his back, Steve repeated, "I know."

Leaning down to rest his head on Steve's shoulder the way he did when he was shorter, Luke hugged Steve just a little tighter. Steve knew that heartache was a part of growing up, but he wished that it wasn't.

Giving the boy's torso a comforting squeeze, Steve said, "C'mon, let's go find some good pumpkins. You know they're always the first ones to go."

Nodding, Luke pulled out of the embrace. From the wagon, Holly was gibbering away. Her tiny, chubby hand covered in slobber while the other one was gesturing towards her older siblings already in the pumpkin patch. Steve bent down to fix the hat on her head with the cute little bear ears and kissed her forehead.

When he straightened again, Bucky wrapped his arms around him. Startling him for a second before relaxing in the warm embrace. It was a rather warm day for autumn, but that didn't matter for Steve. Steve was always cold, and Bucky was always warm, it just made sense for them to cuddle as much as possible.

Jonas walked up to them with his hands in his jean jacket pockets and stopped in front of them. Focusing on Steve, he apologized, "I'm sorry."

Steve moved out from Bucky's arms and gave their oldest a hug. Rubbing his back, Steve told him, "We just care, sweetie."

"I know," Jonas assured, squeezing Steve's petite frame before letting go. With Luke not too far ahead, Jonas jogged to catch up, and draped his arm around his brother's shoulders.

After Steve unlocked the wagon again and started pushing it, Bucky hugged him from behind. Holding the petite blond close, Bucky made their walk awkward as he placed his feet on the outside of Steve's, causing them to adopt a waddle. In his laughter, Steve tossed his head back, resting it on Bucky's chest.

Once the boys were out of earshot, Steve said, "I hope you weren't too harsh with him."

Pressing a quick, loud, kiss to the side of Steve's neck, Bucky scoffed, "Not nearly as harsh as I'm going to be with Tabitha."

Brows furrowed, Steve tilted his face up to look at Bucky. Not having to ask, Bucky clarified, "She's the one who bought it for him."

"Of course," Steve shook his head. Looking up at Bucky, he told him, "Just wait until you see the shirt she got our daughter."

Feigning exasperation, Bucky said, "Now I understand what my mom meant when she said you were a bad influence."

Rolling his eyes, Steve playfully elbowed his husband in his ribs, and gladly accepted the kiss on his neck. For a moment, Steve just listened to Holly's baby gibberish, Ethan's high pitch squeal when Jonas tickled him, and Tibby occasionally telling someone to hold a pose for a picture taken by that fancy camera of hers.

Sure, they were a loud bunch, but they were good kids. Even if some of them weren't technically kids anymore. Tilting his chin up Steve asked, "We did a good job, right?"

Squeezing Steve's middle, Bucky good-naturedly scoffed, "Ya kiddin'? We're doing a great job!"

In reply, Steve rubbed the back of Bucky's hand. When they started heading through the pumpkin patch, Sophia called out, "Daddy! Papa! I found the pumpkin I want!"

"I'll help her," Bucky confirmed, pressing a kiss to Steve's lips when the blond looked up at him. Once Bucky untangled his limbs from his husband and started to walk away, Steve made sure to smack him on his cute, firm, bum. Surprised, Bucky looked back at Steve and jokingly warned, "You just wait, babe!"

[markleesthighs]

Black Mamba | Chapter 2

Pairings: Reader x Mark Lee, Reader x Hendery, Reader x Jaehyun, feat. ot21

Genre: NCT mafia!au, angst, fluff, light smut (suggestive), comical

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cheating and drugs

Words: 3.415k

【 ❶ ➁ ❸ ❹ ❺ ❻ ❼】

Chapter 2 - Judas Kiss

Valentine’s Day, Seoul, Korea, 2023

You were planning to take Mark out on a date for your anniversary, you were able to book a restaurant and super excited to take Mark. You both have been busy lately, both of you had not left the mansion in a while, and this would be an excellent opportunity to go out. After you got the call for the confirmation, you walked to Mark’s office to go tell him. But before you could open the door, you heard the other boys talking to him about what to do for Valentine’s Day.

“Boss, how long has it been since you’ve gone out?” Jaehyun asked

“I’ve been busy trying to manage you, numskulls.”

“We are all planning on going to hit the club tonight, you should come,” Johnny added.

“Nah, you guys go on your own.”

“C’ mon boss, how long has it been since you’ve had a girl over?” Taeyong asked

“It’s none of your business.”

“Mark, we all know you haven’t had one over in forever,” Donghyuck Responded.

The truth was, Mark did everything he can to avoid the boys from finding out about you two. Whether that was you hiding in the closet, or waiting ten minutes to exit the same room, it was what you promised between each other. Mark also made his room soundproof, to ensure no one would hear both of you in the same place. Mark sighed and gave a somewhat forced answer.

“…fine I’ll go.”

“YES!!” Cheered Yuta

You heard them walking by the door, so you quickly made it look like you were walking to the supplies closet looking for materials for your next weapon. The guys saw you, excited to know what your latest invention was.

“y/n! y/n! What are you working on!” Donghyuck asked

“Well, if I told you I would ruin the surprise.”

“Can’t you give us a little hint?”

“Fine.”

“You guys have to use this on night missions.”

“Ohhhhhhh”

“Well, I have to get back to the lab, I’ll see all of you.”

“Bye y/n!!”

You obviously made that weapon up, but right now you just wanted to go into the lab and reflect on what just happened. You walked into the lab and just sat in there for an hour fiddling your pen, thinking about what to do. You trusted Mark, but you had hoped he would have remembered to do something or anything for your anniversary. He knows that you didn’t like flowers, but in past anniversaries he at least got you a gift and spent more time with you for the day. Last year, he spent the whole day in the lab saying he was “testing” and “approving” your weapons. When in reality, you both were having a secret date inside the lab and couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

The thought of being engaged and getting married crossed your mind, since some of your friends had gotten engaged around three or four years of dating someone. You would say yes, but was this the right time? You decided to head to the bathhouses to clear your mind and think of different things to take your mind off your worries.

The bathhouses were inspired by Japanese onsens, and since you were the only girl in a high ranking position, you got the bathhouse to yourself. Your juniors and other trainees had other houses where they bathed. You let the hot water and steam relax your body, and you watched as there was a light snowfall. Watching the delicate flakes of snow melting softly into the hot water made you feel calm, and forget what you were worried about.

However, when you stepped out and walked back into the mansion, it was extremely quiet. You then asked a maid carrying towels where they went.

“They went out tonight miss.”

Right. They were going to the club. On Valentine’s Day. On your anniversary. You would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt as you walked to your bedroom to change into one of Mark’s hoodies, it smelled like whiskey and his old spice. You tried to sleep, and you were tossing and turning and looked at the clock, 12:00 AM. You realized that you needed to find out for yourself if Mark indeed was staying loyal or else you wouldn’t be able to sleep. You got up and changed into your clothes (with weapons secretly equipped in pockets of course) which was all black, and you wore a black mask to cover your face.

You rode your motorbike near the club and had to walk through a big park to get there since everyone came to this club on Valentines Day, and it’s hard to get in. You noticed that this was the park that you and Mark had your first official date in the public. 

You remembered how he violently chased the pigeons and picked up a bunch of flowers for you. It was good and heartwarming memories that reminded you of Mark. But you quickly snapped out of it and focused at the task at hand. You had debated whether to go or not, determining the probability of him catching you there or how he would react. You even wondered if you were just being paranoid and doubting Mark.

“What am I going to do if he sees me?”

“What happens if he is cheating on me?”

“Am I just going crazy?”

“What if I am worried for nothing, god I feel so stupid.”

“So, I am actually doing this, you can do it y/n.”

But you decided, fuck it, let’s just do it, if he sees me, then so be it. You walked up to the bodyguards, and you showed them your NCT tattoo, and they let you in immediately with no question. But of course, everyone else waiting started to yell at them wondering how you magically get to waltz inside. When you got in your eardrums hurt like hell, this was one of the main reasons why you didn’t like clubs. First off, even though you were in a mafia group, you didn’t drink or smoke, you just didn’t like either preferably.

The place clearly reached of alcohol, pot, marijuana, and flavored vape smoke. So many drunk and high people dancing, along with flashing lights, was not your forte. Also, the fact that people were sniffing cocaine and smoking out of rainbow bongs did not help either.  You also realized that this particular club as also a strip club, so strippers and naked girls are everywhere. You did notice a bunch of men trying to hit on you, but once you almost broke the arm of a guy trying to grope your ass, they all seemed to back away from you.

You tried to desperately find Mark or even the group, there were so many people and so many sweaty bodies you couldn’t wait to get out of this shit hole. You eventually saw all of them sitting in a booth laughing and drinking, you can tell Mark was drunk because he was really touchy with all of the members and his face has a slight pink tint. You were relieved he was just drinking and not doing other things.

But as you are just going to leave out of the corner of your eye, you saw a girl walk over to Mark and sat on his lap. You turned, and with no hesitation, he started to make out with her and holding her the way he held you. You saw all the boys hooting and hollering Mark. You saw him smiling, which you haven’t seen in a long time. 

But there was only one person not following along, which was Donghyuck, who looked uncomfortable in this situation. That led him to notice you with watery eyes, and you quickly ran out of there as fast as your legs could carry you. You ran and ran for miles while knowing Donghyuck was following you, hearing his footsteps linger behind you. You ran not looking back, feeling your tears stream your cheeks as millions of thoughts fill your head.

“Is he happy?”

“Why did he do this?”

“What is wrong with me?

“What is this feeling?

“Why does my throat have a lump?”

“Why does my chest feel heavy?”

“Why are my eyes filled with water?”

“Why did he do this?”

“Did he forget about me?”

The only time you remembered crying like this was at your parents funeral, you have never cried since. For once, you felt hurt again, and you felt betrayed by someone you loved in a long time. You felt sick and vulnerable.

“Why did you make me feel this way?”

You wondered if you ever made him happy. You questioned if he ever loved you. You thought if you were ever enough for Mark.

“Was this just a game?”

“Was my loyalty for three years worth nothing?”

“Did I just waste my time?”

But the footsteps never stopped

“y/n!! Wait!”

You kept running and running until your tears dried up from the wind created while you were running. You ran into the park and sat on a bench with lightly stained tears as Donghyuck caught up to you panting and sat down the bench with you. At this point, you’ve cried enough, and now you are just deep in thought, figuring out an excuse to tell him.

“y/n? why were you at the club?”

“I-I heard you guys were going out…I just- wanted to make sure you guys were okay.”

“Aw, that's so nice of you y/n.”

“Hey! Don’t tell the guys about this, I don’t want them to know I actually care or look out for you or whatever.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them.”

“So, how is guys’ night out?”

“Eh, same old same old, but now it’s interesting now that Mark came with us, he’s usually extremely busy during this time.”

“Well, I should let you get back to your guys night, I’ll be going home.”

“Ride home safe y/n.”

“You know, I will.”

You walked to your motorbike watching Donghyuck casually walk back to that disgusting place, now reminding you what had just happened. You put on your helmet and felt tears falling, and you kept riding faster and faster in anger, wanting to get away. You came home to your face streaming with tears as you walked to the shooting range. You always went there to let out your anger and emotions while practicing your shooting, which was never rusty.

You took a gun from the lab and shot about 10 targets all either all shot in the head or heart. You soon felt calm and emotionally stable after and walked back to the bedroom. You grabbed and changed back into the pajamas you had before, sadly smelling Mark on the hoodie. You had gotten tired and fell asleep for a while.

3 AM, you heard a rally of screaming and drunk men burst through the front door, indicating that they all had just come home from their guys night. You heard footsteps come towards the bedroom door and someone struggling to open the door and eventually opened it. You saw a drunk Mark with lipstick all over his face and hickeys down his neck. His belt was undone, and his pants were all wrinkled, now indicating he did cheat on you. He smelled like cheap flowers and champagne, and suddenly tears filled up your eyes, and you couldn’t see through the blur.

“Whyyyy are yyyouuu wearinggg myy hoodies?”

“You-“

“Whooo saidd youuu couuld wear them?”

“Y-“

“Only peeeople I loveee get to weaaar them. Soooo why are you wearing ittt.”

“…”

“I SAID”

Mark suddenly grabbed you forcefully and shoved you against the wall demanding to know why you were in his room, wearing one of his hoodies. Your eyes were now overflowing with tears, Mark never, in his three years of dating you yelled or shoved you like that. This was someone else, this wasn’t Mark.

“ANSWER ME WOMAN”

“Y-you said I-I-I could w-wear them.”

“WHEN DID I SAY THAT, I NEVER LOVED YOU”

“…”

After that he slapped you in the face and forcefully removed the hoodie from your body, leaving you half-naked.

“NOW GET OUT OF MY ROOM!! I NEVER ASKED FOR ANOTHER WHORE TONIGHT!”

“…”

“I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!!”

Without any hesitation you left, half naked crying so hard you couldn’t breathe, and you ran to your old bedroom. It was just as you had left it, but there was no dust since the maids cleaned every room regardless if it was used or not. Your old clothes were still in the closet, and your old Crocodile jacket was still hanging in there. Your bed was cold and untouched, and it felt weird to try to sleep in here after three years.

You rummaged through your drawers to find an oversized shirt you had gotten at your old apartment. You wore it, feeling cold, not used to wearing a shirt rather than a hoodie. You tucked yourself in, and for one, felt lonely and vulnerable, there was no one to sleep next to you, no one to hold you, no one to love you. Not to your surprise, you had trouble sleeping, you missed sleeping with Mark, and not used to sleeping on your own. You decided to go get some tea to calm you down, a nice cup of chamomile would help.

You walked down the stairs and found Hendry already in the kitchen looking for something as well. You knew Hendery, he was new to the team, but you always knew about his night cravings, since so many of the members complained about it. He did not go out with the guys because he also wasn’t too fond of drinking or clubbing. It looked like he already made a pot of tea and was drinking some on his own.

“Oh, hi y/n, would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s jasmine if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Hendery took out another teacup and poured you some, and you both drank in silence.

“Is there something on your mind y/n?”

“Yeah…how did you know?” 

“You usually don’t wake up in the middle of the night to have tea if you don’t want to calm your thoughts.”

You sighed as you placed your cup down and decided to let your thoughts out to him, he visited your lab a couple of times and was kind enough to deliver you lunch sometimes.

“It’s stupid

“It can’t be stupid if you are thinking about it so much.”

“I just broke up, with someone and it’s just hard to comprehend.”

“Ah, with Mark, right?”

You immediately froze and looked at him in awe.

“H-how did you find out?”

“I saw the signs and subtle flirting with each other, also do you think I’m that stupid to not notice you two going into the same room during the night and come out of the same room early in the morning?”

“Hm…you have a good point.”

“I heard him yelling, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, he was just really drunk, but I’ve never seen him like that. Usually, when he is drunk, he can’t keep his hands off me.”

“I saw he was with someone else, are you okay about him cheating on you?”

“Yeah, but, nah, its just- dumb.”

“No, no, no, let it out.”

“I-I got him a present for our anniversary and Valentine’s Day, but I don’t even think he remembered.”

You revealed a watch that Mark always wanted. You noticed that he kept looking at his clock or phone for the time, and never owned a nice watch. It had your anniversary date on it engraved and had both of your initials on it as well. You showed Hendery, and he looked at it and you in pity. You started to cry again, to which Hendery comforted you, pulling you into his embraced and you cried on his shoulder while he rubbed your back.

“Why did he have to do it?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“God, I’m so stupid.”

Was one of the few things you choked up while crying into Hendery. He looked at you with a comforting smile and reassured you of all your worries.

“You, are fucking y/n y/l/n, the damn Black Mamba, ex-Crocodile, okay? No one deserves to have you, and whoever does get to keep you is a lucky man, because they will get to love the most badass, loving, and hardworking woman I have ever seen.”

“Aw, you mean it?”

“…yeah, you are always there, looking out for trainees and constantly working in your lab and helping out many members on their missions.”

“Now, don’t think you will magically fall in love and date me because I’m a mess right now.”

“Whatever you say, princess, now go get some rest I’ll clean up.”

You got up from Hendery’s chest and started to walk back.

“Hey Hendery”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here for me.”

You walked up and pecked his cheek.

“Now, don’t inflate your ego, man.”

He just smiled and waved to you going to bed. You walked back to your dark, and cold room that smelled like fresh cotton, no more musk, whiskey, or cigarette smell lingered in the room. Now calm, you fell into a deep sleep, hoping to never wake up. 

You woke up early to help provide some hangover care packages for the guys, knowing they would be in pain for the whole day. You told the chef to prepare the best hangover foods such as eggs and bacon, grilled cheeses, smoothies, and a whole buffet for them. You also provided them with some pain killers and water for their headaches.

Soon, all of them slowly got out of their beds and took some painkillers and food thanking you for helping them. But the last one to come out was Mark, who shuffled his way over to you. You thought he would secretly rub your arm or hold your hand, but he just took his painkillers and food and didn’t even look at you. It was weird. You thought he was just tired and hungover, so he couldn’t even comprehend trying to flirt with you.

“Hey, there’s the man of the hour,” Donghyuck said

“How was a/n (any name) last night?” Asked Jaehyun

“She was…nice, I got her number, we are going on a date later, I want to get to know her better.”

“AYYY THATS MY DUDE” Johnny yelled

“hey, please stop screaming, it's hurting my head” scolded Taeil.

A date? Why would they be going on a date? Is this a cover-up for us dating? Mark got up, looked at you, and you thought he was about to say something to you, maybe a “sorry” or a pity look.

“Here are the dishes.”

“…”

You took them in shock

“Did I just hear that right?”

He gave no reaction or sympathy? Why is he acting this way? So many questions flooded your head while Hendery looked at you in pity, knowing how much pain and confusion you are going through. Mark just walked back and started calling on his phone. You all eventually went back to work just like a normal day. You were in the lab, and Mark only came in to talk about missions and weapons, there was no love or care in his voice.

He was acting super professional when he usually would act the complete opposite when you two were in the lab alone. This wasn’t Mark, this was the leader of NCT, this was someone who didn’t love you. This was someone who ran a mafia group, this was not someone to fall in love with. He stopped texting you and only called you for weaponry matters. You were working on data statistics for weapons and you couldn’t keep your mind off last night and this morning. You then eventually got to thinking about why it seemed that you were just another worker as you were before, three years ago. Until it hit you.

What if he forgot about me?

What if he forgot about us?

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~n ✧*:·ﾟ

[thecannabislocal-blog]

5 Tips for Busy Stoners

Any time you hear about stoners in movies and the media they’re almost always showcased as slow, dull, class clowns who could care less about their future. Since legalization hundreds are trying to do their part to break this stigma. We even have a post of our own about possibly redefining the word. More stories are popping up to showcase the productive stoner. Someone who uses cannabis to aid their level of just getting things done. Entrepreneurs in particular have been coming out, speaking up about how the plant has helped their focus. I can say myself that cannabis has definitely helped my productivity levels, especially with my blog work! Here are a few tips that I use in my everyday life that help me keep focused on the goal.

Prepare Ahead Of Time

Depending on the day, I’ve got a bunch of different things to get done. I have to create content for the blog and instagram. I have to follow leads on my services and possible sponsorships. I’ve got to keep up with all of the different events, conventions, and cannabis laws to stay up to date on the industry. After taking a look at all of that, I’ve got to organize it into content to deliver to my audience. I make lists, and take a look at my calendar to organize what’s got to get done by priority for each day. That way I’m prepared every morning with a gist of my most important items to get done.

Setup Your Workstation

For writing days, I set my notebook and pen down on my desk with my iPad. I also make sure to place my headphones on the charger from the night before. Depending on the time of day, I’ll have a bowl packed or a spliff rolled on the table by my writing items. The next morning after my wake up routine; I’ll sit down at my desk with everything prepared to start. Make sure your workstation is clean and ready for you. When you’re prepared to get started, it’ll be inviting to know your workspace is ready to go so you’re not dreading getting your work done.

Make A Playlist

Speaking of headphones, I’ve got a few playlists that I use to zero in and keep focus on my work. I remember reading an article when I was in high school that mentioned a study between music and focus. I took a mental note of that and started to work on my homework with headphones. It helped my productivity level so much I brought it into my everyday work environment. So when you’re prepared to focus, set aside time and find a space where you won’t be bothered for that period of time. Put your headphones in, and get lost in your music and the project you’ve got in your space at that moment.

Delivery Services Can Be Your Best Friend

If you’re really busy, or can’t be bothered to break your concentration you can take a look at delivery services like Eaze or Stoney delivery to bring your cannabis products to your door. This can be useful if you know your work day will be busy and there may not be any time to pick up before you get home. This can also be useful for work at home entrepreneurs who consume cannabis for focus. Delivery services definitely take the guesswork out of standing in line at the dispensary, then waiting in traffic before you can have your cannabis products. You can get your enjoy your lunch while you wait, or kick back, until your delivery arrives!

Build A Travel Kit

If you’ve got a busy day and you’ll be moving around alot I suggest making yourself a small travel kit. Though the law is that you’re not allowed to smoke in public spaces, you can pre-roll your joints or spliffs for your destination. You can also carry around a portable vape and take a puff or two discreetly in a vape safe space. You can also make sure that you’ve got your charger, vape accessories, papers, and other necessary items you’ll need for your destination when you need a mid-day pick me up.

Stoners Can Be Busy Too

When you’re a productive stoner, you can sometimes have a really full day! Alot of the time, you can save some extra time in your day if you do some preparation and really take time to focus. Whether you work from home, work a corporate job or you’re a mom and you just need a moment to add some extra time in, you can use these tips to help your overall productivity and perhaps make you a better stoner.

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

Okay. ALRIGHT. I saw THIS picture:

and immediately reblogged it with THESE tags:

which @graciebirdie then reblogged with THESE tags:

to which I responded with THIS message:

YES. YES YES. The BEST part of this idea is that while Allison looks like a Bad Girl™ and is an actual facts badass when it comes to brass tacks, she's also definitely still that girl who's gonna cry when she accidentally hits a dog. She absolutely listens to "Backstreet's Back" on a loop. So when she and Lydia hook up, first Lydia's like "oooh, she's so mysterious, she’s probably killed a guy, that shouldn’t turn me on but it totally does” but then she sees Allison trapping spiders and letting them go outside the house because -they’re important to the ecosystem, Lydia- and Lydias like “oh my god I have to protect her.”

And APPARENTLY I’m not done with this yet, come with me on a journey:

Allison leaned against the building, stubbing the last of her cigarette out on the brick and flicking it in the trash. “I need a vape pen,” she mumbled to herself. Secondhand smoke was nasty shit.

So was firsthand smoke, but whatever. She’d quit… someday.

She adjusted her shirt, ensuring her favorite tattoo was showing so as to make an accurate first impression, and walked into class.

She handed over her transfer card to the lit teacher and idly glanced around the class.

Bored looking students zoned out around the classroom, staring out the window if they had a view- except for one. A goofy looking shaggy haired kid was staring at her with his mouth slightly ajar. Great. There was already a dude who wanted to take a walk on the “wild side.”

She held in a sigh when she realized the only free desk was directly behind him.

Just as she slid into her seat, the boy turned around and wordlessly offered a pen.

She looked from him to the pen, surprised, but didn’t take it.

After a moment he got a confused look on his face.

“Didn’t you say you need a pen?” he asked.

She stared at him, astounded that someone would so blatantly admit to having heard something that should have been impossible to hear with normal human ears- even if he had actually misunderstood her.

The teacher stood up to get their attention, and the boy finally turned back around, still holding his pen.

She watched closely, trying to peg what exactly the guy was, and it didn’t take long. The way he cocked his head every time a car drove by outside, the way he obviously sniffed when a late student arrived with their closed coffee thermos: he was a werewolf, and an absolute shame to the stealth supernatural community.

When class was over and the students were spilling into the hallway, Allison took off her jacket, revealing what would hopefully be a full tattoo sleeve on her left arm someday. If she could find another artist to pick it up, anyway. She draped the jacket over her bookbag and headed out, considering whether she should just bluntly approach the kid about his wolf-hood or try to sniff out information on why he was so blasé about it first.

Just as she stepped into the hallway, she was accosted by a short red-headed girl who was followed by a beefy “I Strut Because I’m Insecure” type; clearly the boyfriend.

“That jacket is killer!” the girl gushed. “I’m Lydia, this is Jackson,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Buff and Insecure.

“Allison.” She stuck out her right hand to shake, but Lydia reached for her left one and pulled it straight to look at her tattoos. Allison twitched as she suppressed the reflex to put her in a choke hold.

“Oh, these are beautiful! What class do you have next? How did you get these? You can’t be eighteen already, do you have a fake ID?” Lydia threw question after question at her, and Allison had the feeling that it was more calculated than it seemed.

“I knew an artist,” Allison said vaguely. “And I have…” she checked her schedule, “U.S. History next.”

“With who? Ms. Masi?”

“Um,” another quick check. “Yes.”

“That’s my class! I’ll show you where it is. Bye Jackson,” she said flippantly without looking at him, hooking an arm into Allison’s and trotting along.

Allison side eyed her and glanced back at Jackson, who she caught checking out her ass. She rolled her eyes and faced forward. God, that could turn into a ridiculous mess in half a minute if Lydia turned out to be a possessive, blame-the-girl type.

Lydia chattered as they walked along, and Allison tuned in and out, keeping an open eye for any students who were preternaturally attractive/strong/whateverthefuck.

“-and we’re supposed to do a project on a landmark supreme court case, I was thinking Roe v. Wade, does that sound good to you? There’s a lot to explore since nine states have trigger laws in the case of it being overturned, with three of those criminalizing-”

“Wow,” said Allison, surprised. “You know a lot about it.”

Lydia’s stride broke for a single step before picking right back up.

“Oh, yeah, there was an episode of ‘L.A. Boys’ about it,” she said breezily.

Allison was almost a thousand percent sure that wasn’t true. Why on earth would she pretend to be uninterested in Roe vs. Wade right after suggesting it as a research topic? Why would she pretend to be dumber than she really was? Jesus Christ, what was wrong with people at this school?

“Well, you know what they say,” Allison said casually. “Smart is sexy.”

Lydia looked at her with a sharp smile. “Is it now?” she purred, pulling a classroom door open and swaying her hips as she walked in, looking over her shoulder at Allison.

Oh God, Allison thought, mouth dry and heart racing. 

Maybe it wasn’t Beefy Boy she needed to worry about.

(imma throw in a tag for @areiton cause I think you were interested in this too?)

[artificialqueens]

Nostalgia, Part 6 (Rujubee) - Dartmouth420

nostalgia is a series that follows the re-ignition of raven/jujubee’s friendship (with benefits) while jujubee competes on all stars five and raven is working on set. there will be one chapter for every episode of AS5 where jujubee appears. drag names used with male pronouns.

summary: Sewing challenges aren’t easy, and Jujubee’s just trying to keep his head above water… but two certain individuals are making waves.

a/n: apparently I can’t write anything without it devolving into angst so, uh… sorry not sorry?

tw: angst, love triangle, mild dom/sub dynamics, degrading language, smut

Jujubee threw a hand out to steady himself against the bathroom wall as Raven dropped to his knees before him, tore open his belt with frantic hands, got his rapidly hardening cock out of his briefs and ran his tongue down the length of it and took it in his mouth.

Jujubee grimaced and ran his hand over Raven’s head, holding onto the back of his skull, and pulled him closer, pushing his cock deeper into Raven’s throat. Raven took it like a pro, as usual, no sign of a gag reflex in sight.

“You filthy fucking bitch,” muttered Jujubee, and Raven managed a weird muffled laugh, despite his mouth being very much occupied.

-

It had begun earlier, after his conversation with RuPaul. Ru had decided he was going dig deep today and while Jujubee knew it was coming he wasn’t particularly comfortable with the conversation. He couldn’t just brush the personal conversation off however, it was part of the show. But RuPaul was not a trained psychologist, and he was dredging up some sensitive shit. Jujubee needed a moment to himself afterwards, off camera. 

So Jujubee left the Werkroom and wandered down the hallways backstage to compose himself. He took off his glasses and dabbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. Maybe he’d go outside to smoke for a few minutes.

But then he looked up to see who else but Raven coming around the corner, tossing some comment over his shoulder at someone Jujubee couldn’t see. Raven paused when he saw him, and Jujubee looked away. He didn’t particularly feel like dealing with Raven right now, their argument the previous night had left a bad taste in his mouth. He quickly put his glasses back on.

Raven didn’t seem like he wanted anything to do with Jujubee either, and he walked past him with a stiff hello and hardly a glance.

But then he’d stopped and turned.

“You good?” asked Raven. 

“Fine, fine.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed, “Ru’s been playing therapist again.”

Jujubee shrugged, “I’m good, I just needed a break.”

“Alright, well-” Raven took a few steps back and then he stopped again.

“So, do you want company, were you going for a smoke or-?” he asked, and then glanced up and down the hall before inclining his head towards Jujubee, suggestive, “Would you rather…?”

The tension spiked between them, and Jujubee rocked on his heels. It was a bad idea. Literally the day after they’d had a conversation, well, an argument about professionalism and how they interacted on set. There was power sliding around between them again, but it felt different this time. It was easy, too easy-

Gripped with impulse, Jujubee said, “Show me where, bitch.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Raven, his expression shifting, coy, and then he turned, heading down the hallway. Jujubee followed him, his heart accelerating.

-

Jujubee snapped back to the present, where Raven was going to town on his cock with one very clear goal, just like that first delicious encounter a few weeks ago. Jujubee let out a steadying breath, trying to keep himself under control. But control was something he very much lacked right now. Raven had it, today. Unusual. A little discomforting.

But instead of doing anything about it, Jujubee surrendered, barely holding himself up against the wall. One of Raven’s hands was wrapped around the base of his cock and the other holding his hip, then reaching behind knead his ass. He watched Raven’s head bob rapidly, utterly shameless, those stupid fucking lips of his saliva-slicked. Raven’s expression was focused, with a mischievous undertone, and he was clearly enjoying himself, doing things with his tongue that should be made illegal in every state.

Fuck, Raven’s mouth was warm and wet and perfect-

“Shit fuck shit, I’m gonna come-”

When it was over and Jujubee felt less like he was astral-projecting into sex heaven, he blinked hard and looked around. Raven wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, shook his head once and stood. Jujubee quickly tucked himself back into his briefs and did up his pants.

Raven made a strange half-motion like he wanted to lean in and kiss him, but then appeared to think the better of it.

The tension was back, but it was awkward. 

“Well, I have to go make a dress, so,” said Jujubee, motioning vaguely.

“Right, yeah.”

Jujubee pushed himself off the wall, looking away, and turned towards the door. Their conversation from the night before hadn’t led to any real conclusions. While this quick, distracting fuck in the bathroom meant Jujubee’s own personal life traumas were no longer as close to the surface (thanks, Ru), he also didn’t like the lack of control, the sheer impulsiveness that came over him around Raven. Like he was being pulled in by Raven’s own chaotic energy. He needed to return to his normal, chill state.

“From what I remember, you don’t sew,” said Raven. Jujubee glanced back at him.

“Not really, but I’ll make it work.”

“At the end of the day a dress is just a tube of fabric, so-”

“So don’t overthink it?” cut in Jujubee, teasing.

“Just make sure it looks good,” replied Raven, with a smirk that held a challenge.

“Well,” said Jujubee, unlocking the door and pulling it open, “That won’t be too difficult, will it?”

-

He would never be a great seamstress, considered Jujubee as he laid his barbecue items out, but he could make it work. As Raven had said, a dress was basically a tube of fabric and it was all about embellishment and presentation. Bianca had won Season Six wearing the same dress every week, so Jujubee figured he could wrangle something that looked just about as good if he styled it right. Shea was proving extremely helpful and kind in that department, Jujubee’s own janky seams aside.

His feelings of discomfort faded and he found he was having a great time with everyone, especially Cracker and Shea. Jujubee cut out watermelon pieces and built his outfit, and messed around with Alexis and the whole India-leaving-notes drama. 

Jujubee was… what was it the kids said these days? Oh yes, vibing.

Time to write a monologue, bitch.

“I’m gonna wear this macramé dress I brought,” announced Cracker, sitting down next to Jujubee with their notepads out, scratching out ideas.

“Full Stevie Nicks realness, huh?” replied Jujubee, nudging Cracker with his elbow.

“Oh girl, I grew up in the sitcks,” laughed Cracker, “I may work in New York but I’ve got country roots. I know exactly the hick woman I’m writing here.”

“I’ve mostly lived in Boston,” replied Jujubee, tilting his head to one side. Cracker had been friendly the past couple weeks since their encounter in abandoned equipment room, even bordering on flirtatious, and Jujubee was growing to appreciate him as a friend as much as a competitor. “But in Laos there were what we referred to as the hill people.”

“Inspiration for your drag, I take it?”

Jujubee burst into laughter, slapping the table. Fuck, Cracker was funny. Cracker grinned back at him and even Blair joined in, and sending a gentle read their way.

-

As promised, Raven didn’t interrupt Jujubee again while he was filming. Unfortunately, Jujubee couldn’t tell if Raven was doing as he’d requested out of actual respect for his wishes or merely performing obedience to play into their power exchange. The fact that Jujubee couldn’t discern Raven’s usually very transparent thought process was a little unnerving.

The challenge happened, and the runway happened and the post-elimination discussion happened and Jujubee was goddamn tired. Raven was still nowhere to be seen, for which Jujubee was simultaneously grateful and disappointed.

They were ferried back to the hotel and Shea gave Blair some words of encouragement as they headed up their rooms. Cracker caught up with Jujubee.

“Hey, how’re you doing?”

“I’m alright,” replied Jujubee. He was very tired. But here they were, the top four and there was something invigorating about it, the competitiveness and determination growing under his skin. The crown was in his sights.

“Does your room have a balcony?” asked Cracker, “Mine doesn’t and I’d rather not go all the way downstairs again to have a smoke… ”

“It does,” said Jujubee, pausing and considering Cracker’s intentions. Their interaction in the abandoned equipment room hadn’t been unpleasant. And well, Jujubee wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with him and Raven. Things had been left unresolved. But Cracker made for good company. “Yeah, I’d like a smoke too, honestly. Come in.”

Jujubee turned and unlocked his door with a flick of the key card. As intended, the bedsheets had been changed and the room no longer smelled like he’d had spent all night fucking Raven, thank god. 

“Congrats on your win,” said Jujubee, turning to Cracker, “I want to snatch up that twenty thousand next week, let me tell you that much.”

Cracker chuckled, nodding in response, “Yeah, thank you. This whole thing is such a trip. I loved your dress, by the way.”

“I know how to do one thing, and it’s make sure a tube of fabric looks good,” replied Jujubee, opening his bag to look for his vape pen. 

“You know, it took me a little while to warm up to you,” said Cracker over his shoulder, walking around the bed towards the sliding doors of the balcony, “You early season girls are intense.”

“The show was different back then,” shrugged Jujubee, briefly checking out Cracker’s ass as he followed him, and wondering where exactly this conversation might go, “But I’m the chillest one of the lot.”

“Well, I’ve heard Raja can smoke anybody under the table-”

There was a knock at the door. Cracker looked up, frowning with surprise and Jujubee’s stomach dropped. There was only one person that could be. As he walked back across the room to the door he hoped it would be anybody else, Shea or Blair, or even some random PA, but-

Jujubee opened the door to Raven. 

Raven had his arms crossed and looked, well, he looked annoyed but that was just the way his silicone-filled lips sat on his face. Resting bitch, as it were. He also looked vaguely apologetic. 

“Hey,” said Raven, with a quick smile, “I saw you managed to pull that dress together.”

Jujubee nodded, “I did. Thanks.”

“So, uh, look,” continued Raven, “What I said the other night was bullshit. I’m okay to keep this more on the down-low if you want, like with today-”

But he paused, looking over Jujubee’s shoulder, a frown crossing his face. Jujubee glanced behind himself and noticed Cracker approaching.

“What is he doing in here?” demanded Raven.

“Having a smoke on the balcony,” replied Jujubee quickly. This was… not ideal. Uh oh.

“Well, we’re both contestants on a certain reality TV show,” answered Cracker dryly, standing next to Jujubee in the doorway, making it very clear that he wouldn’t be inviting Raven in, “But I don’t think you are anymore. So I could ask you the same thing.”

“Back off, you know I work on set. I just want to talk to him-”

“Little late, isn’t it?”

They both looked to Jujubee. Jujubee resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. This gay posturing was hilarious, it was like a telenovella. As entertained as Jujubee was, here were two people who he both very much wanted to fuck, and they were both mad as hell to see the other. How fun.

“I mean,” said Jujubee with a suggestive, flirtatious shrug, “Since you’re both here… and there’s only one bed…?”

It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

But Raven just rolled his eyes and Cracker raised his eyebrows at Jujubee incredulously. 

“I’m not particularly interested in that slice of burnt toast,” deadpanned Cracker, eyeing the visible sliver of Raven’s heavily tanned chest, where his shirt was unbuttoned.

Raven made a noise like an angry cat and Jujubee coughed violently to cover his laugh. But then Raven turned to Jujubee, and head cocked to the side expectantly, lips pressed together. 

A beat passed and Raven demanded, “What, you’re just going to stand there and let him insult me?”

“You can fight your own battles,” responded Jujubee, uneasy. Was Raven expecting a display of authority, as per their agreement-

“So you’re not gonna read me?” said Cracker to Raven, amused, “Gone soft in your old age?”

“Oh bitch when I come for you, you’ll know!” snapped Raven back to Cracker, taking a step towards him. That was not good, Jujubee needed to deescalate this right now-

But Cracker responded first with a snort of derision, not even remotely intimidated, and turned back to Jujubee, “Look, whatever history you two have is your own business. But come find me when you need something more interesting than whatever that is.”

Cracker cut eyes at Raven who glared back and snapped an insult as Cracker stepped through the doorway and brushed past him, heading down the hall to his room. Jujubee sighed and looked back Raven, who’s jaw was once again set in a way that guaranteed an argument.

“Okay, I see how it is,” said Raven, embittered and angry, “You and your double standards. You think I’d come all the way up here and, and offer to adjust for anyone else but you? Like I don’t have better places to be right now!? Do you think this is a fucking joke-”

Jujubee sighed and ran a hand over his face. Nostalgia was a complicated emotion. It was so tempting to fall into, warm, familiar, and deceptive. Jujubee tried to avoid it when it came to looking back on his own self-destructive behaviour, and there’d been so much change and self-reflection involved in finally getting sober. There’d been a lot of people he’d had to leave behind. But somehow Raven always clung on, their friendship was long and complex and unfortunately pretty public-

But maybe the time was up, considered Jujubee as he tuned out the rest of Raven’s increasingly malicious rant. Raven was self-centered, inconsistent, and tied up in some of the messiest parts of Jujubee’s past. In fact, Raven was complicit in, or at least present for, the harmful behaviour that had dragged Jujubee down for so long. Finally there was silence, and it stretched out between them.

“I don’t think you’re good for me anymore,” said Jujubee quietly, resting his hand against the doorframe and holding eye contact.

Raven’s mouth fell open and a hurt expression flashed across his face.

“Well, I-” managed Raven, “Well… fuck.”

With that he turned on his heel and stormed off down the hall. 

Healing was painful, considered Jujubee as he shut the door, the ache settling in below his ribs. Healing really fucking hurt. But hopefully saying no to Raven would be like tearing off a band-aid. A dirty, nasty band-aid that had been siting there for so long it felt like it was practically part of his skin. A band-aid that really, really, did not want to come off.

Fuck was right.

[woildismyerster]

oh god, can i request something? from that prompt list "right to the good parts" (hope, i remembered it right, yikes) can i ask for number 12 with me sweet, flirtatious boy romeo? it would be awesome! please and thank you, if you are going to do it 💕💕

12.  We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way

“Please,” Romeo crooned.  “Come on, Y/N, it’ll be great.”

“I don’t want to date you,” you said evenly.  If you could have walked away, you would have, but one of the downsides of working behind the counter was that there was nowhere to go when flirts came around.  Romeo, the biggest flirt of all, was doing so with renewed vigor.

His face went tight for a second, but you ignored him in favor of restocking the muffins.  You worked at the local coffee shop.  You went to school with Romeo and his friends, but you only really saw them after school.  Your shift started almost immediately after classes, and the boys would come in fifteen minutes later, like clockwork.  He would flirt, you would shoot him down, and it would repeat the next day.

He put a hand on the glass window where the muffins went.  You scowled at it; you would have to wash off his fingerprints later.  He was serious when he spoke again, and though that was uncommon, you hardly cared.  “Please.  The guys made a bet, and if I can’t get you to go out with me, I have to buy all of their coffee for a month.”

“You shouldn’t have made a bet if you couldn’t afford to lose it.”

“If I win, they buy my order for a month,” he said.  He grinned at you, the solemnity gone.  “If it sweetens the deal at all, I’ll add a drink for you to my order.”

“I get a free drink every shift,” you said.

“I’ll double my tips.”

“You don’t tip,” you said bitterly.

“Then I’ll start tipping!”  He reached for your hand, but you pulled it out of reach.  “Seriously, I need your help.  I’ll give you -” he stopped to rifle through his pockets.  “Twenty dollars!”

You looked at the money, thoughtful.  You didn’t want to date him.  You didn’t want to talk to him.  But if you agreed, maybe he would stop talking to you after.  That, plus the added money, seemed like a worthwhile deal.  “What would I have to do, hypothetically?”

“Just go on a few dates with me,” he said eagerly.  “They don’t even have to be real, just us hanging out so my friends agree that I win.”

“A few?”

“Three,” he corrected.  “Three dates, and I’ll pay you.”

You stuck out a gloved hand for him to shake.  He took it, holding it longer than was strictly necessary.  “Deal.”

Romeo had asked for your number, but you had refused to give it to him.  When he took you out for the three not-dates, he would have to meet you at the coffee shop.  You did not want him trying to get friendly, or believing that he could contact you just for fun.

When he picked you up for the first not-date, he cheerfully said that you would be going to an art exhibit in the city.

“It’s outside, so we can walk around, eat, and look at the art.  It’ll be great,” he said.

It wasn’t that the exhibit wasn’t cool - it totally was.  In a different situation, you would have been stoked to be there.  It was Romeo that bothered you.  He was friendly, but kind of too friendly.  He acted as though you were there with him because you wanted to be.

You stayed silent when you could, only offering answers when you couldn’t avoid them.

“Isn’t this cool?”

You stayed silent.

“If I had money, I would totally be a patron for artists.  Maybe I’d even open my own art studio or something, but provide all of the paint and stuff, you know?  I’m garbage at painting, but it would still be cool for them,” he said distantly.  He smiled as though he could already picture his studio, nestled in among all of the other buildings on the street.

It wasn’t a bad idea, but you offered nothing more than a grunt.

“Do you paint?”

“Don’t,” you said.  “Don’t try to make small talk.”

To his credit, he did as you asked.  You walked from booth to booth, peering at easels and admiring work that you couldn’t make in your wildest dreams.  “You know,” he finally said, “you might like this more if you let yourself have fun.”

“You know,” you mimicked, “I might enjoy this more if you aren’t here.”

“Y/N,” he said.  He said it sadly, and the feeling was contagious for a split second.  You shook it off when he kept going.  “I know that this is for a bet, but I already told you that this doesn’t have to be a real date.  We can just be two friends, hanging out.  You don’t have to act like I shot your dog.”

You considered that on the subway.  He wasn’t wrong.  You still had two dates to go, and you could either hate him and the time you spent together, or you could play along.  You could answer his questions, and you could ask them in return.  Of course he had to make small talk; you hadn’t given him anything else to talk about.

“I don’t paint,” you finally said, and he beamed at you.  You tentatively smiled back.

For the second not-date, Romeo took you to see a horror movie.  

“If you get scared,” he said with a cheeky grin, “you can hold my hand.”

You rolled your eyes.  “Thanks.”  You turned away, giving him the chance to just look at his phone, but he kept talking.

“Y/N?  I know I should have said this last time, but thanks for doing this.”

You shrugged.  “I needed the money.”

“So do I,” he said.  “But I know that you didn’t want to go out with me, so I really appreciate this.”

“It’s not just you,” you admitted.  “Nothing is more annoying than being hit on at work.”

“Really?”  He looked honestly perplexed.

“There is nothing less attractive than being hit on when I can’t leave and it interferes with something I need to be doing.”

“Oh.”  He blinked at you, looking guilty.  “I’m really sorry.  Seriously.  I didn’t know that it caused problems.”

You offered him a hesitant smile.  Okay.  He apologized.  He wasn’t just a jerk who liked being annoying; he just needed to be told where the lines were.  “Don’t worry about it - just don’t do it again.”  The lights went down.  When you sat back in your seat, you felt much better about being there.

The movie wasn’t great.  It relied too heavily on jump scares, but they were all predictably placed.  You weren’t scared, but much to your delight, Romeo was.  He jumped every time something happened, occasionally even when nothing happened.

Once, during a calm part of the movie, you leaned over to whisper in his ear.  “And here I thought I was the one who might get scared.”

He looked at you, opening his mouth to answer, but there was a bang on screen.  He jumped up, uttering a small shriek, and instinctively grabbed your hand.  His wide eyes focused on the screen, but yours zeroed in on your hands.  Should you shake it off?  

No.  You had promised yourself that you would try to be nicer.  You had told him what bothered you about him, and he had apologized.  You didn’t have to be rude now, too.  You let him hold your hand, and after a few minutes, found that you didn’t mind it.  His hand was warm and soft, and when he squeezed it again during the next scary part, you squeezed back.

For the third not-date, you just stayed at the coffee shop.

“Because you know what you like here,” he said proudly.

“Because it’s so much fun to eat at a place where I know all of the workers,” you said with a wry smile.

He gaped at you, pointing a good natured finger.  “You just made a joke, and it was hardly mean.”

You tried to stifle the smile, but it was a little more genuine.  “Isn’t it funny how a joke dies when you start talking about how it’s a joke?”

“Oh, and you’re back.”  He put a hand over his heart, mock relieved.  “For a second I was scared that you might actually have a nice time.  That would really ruin this thing we have going.”

You laughed out loud, and when he smiled at you, your smile only grew.

He suggested that you do the date kind of like speed dating.

(“So I only have to stay for a few minutes?”

“So we can just ask questions, Y/N, Jesus.  Humor me.”)

You just fired questions back and forth giving short, quick answers.

“Do you think bacon belongs on donuts?”

“If you could be famous for anything at all, what would it be?”

“Who’s your favorite ninja turtle?”

You learned about his friends; he talked about them a lot, and they seemed like fun people to know.  He learned about your family.  You laughed until you choked on a croissant when he told you about the time he locked himself in his own locker for three hours, and he tried to convince you that you shouldn’t be drinking Mountain Dew if you already knew that mice could be dissolved in it.

In short, you had fun.  Romeo was fun to talk to when you weren’t stuck behind a counter, and once you stopped thinking about how he wanted to date you, it was easier to imagine dating him.

It wasn’t that you wanted to date him, exactly.  No.  It was more like you could see his dateable qualities.  He had a nice smile, and he made you laugh.  He was truly awful at flirting, but that was its own type of charming.  He didn’t try to hold your hand again, but you found yourself looking at his hands a lot.  Surely, you weren’t wanting him to try, right?  Yeah, they were soft.  Yeah, your hand had been cold for ages after letting go after the movie.  You were probably just remembering it, and mixing memories up with hoping.

Hopefully.

When the last sort of not-date ended, you were left confused.  You had done it.  You had helped him win the bet, and once his friends started paying for his drink every day, you would get your twenty dollars.  Somehow, that didn’t seem satisfying anymore.  You had let yourself have fun, which seemed like a strange thing to accept money for, and you were a little disappointed that it was ending.

One of the other boys, with blonde, curly hair and a vape pen in hand, rolled his eyes when he bought Romeo a coffee the next day.

“You really had to go out with him?”  The words were bitter, but he smiled at you.  “You couldn’t have held out long enough to get me free drinks all month?”

You shrugged.  “He’s oddly convincing.”

Romeo came up behind the boy and winked at you.  “Can’t fight the pull of fate, Race.”  When Race left, Romeo slapped a twenty dollar bill down on the table.  “Or the pull of cold, hard cash.  Fair is fair.”

You pushed it back.  “Keep it.  I had fun.”

A grin lit his face.  “Really?  You did?”

“Sure.  It was easier to enjoy myself once I let myself.”

He took the money, but folded it and dropped it in the tip jar.  “I should start tipping now.  You deal with a lot of crap here.”

You sprayed whipped cream on the top of his drink, wrote on the cup, and pushed it to him.  “Have a nice day, sir.”

He grinned at that and went to leave.  Like you had expected, he took a few steps, looked at the cup, and turned back.  “What’s this?”

“My number,” you said.  You looked down at the counter, pretending to wipe at a spot.  “Do you not recognize a phone number when you see one?”

“Why are you giving me your number?”  His effort to keep hope out of his voice was valiant, but unsuccessful.

“I had fun,” you said again.  Your cheeks heated up.

“So you want to go on more not-dates?”  He lowered his voice so nobody could hear him, thankfully.

You shrugged.  “We could do that.  Or we could try a real one.  Whatever.”  Not whatever.  Super not whatever.  

“Great,” he beamed.  “Great.  I’ll text you.”  He walked backwards as he spoke, knocking over a chair in the process.

You smiled at him as he righted it.  Maybe a little flirting at work wouldn’t be so bad, if it was Romeo doing it.

[elanorjane]

California Soulmates: Epilogue

Summary: Pop princess Belle wants to write her own music and get out from under her father’s thumb. Single father Gold wants to put his failed music career behind him and get the hell out of L.A. When inspiration strikes, there’s only one problem…the songs they’re writing aren’t their own. They’re each other’s. 

*“Telepathic soulmates” RCIJ for @beastlycheese

A/N: THANK YOU @beastlycheese for gifting me with this idea and letting me run with it...and run with it...and run with it some more. It was such a delicious idea I refused to let it go. <3

AO3 link

He missed the smell of cigarette smoke in bars. He’d mostly quit when Bae was young, but in the intervening years, he’d been known to sneak one up on the roof and bury the butt in the planter afterward. He enjoyed the nicotine contact high of being around smokers because it made him feel like it was still 1985 and his career was still in front of him, if only for the length of a song. But gone was the haze over the audience. Now, he saw each and every face crystal clear. He appreciated the vape smoke for aesthetics, but it wasn’t the same. Lately, he was more likely to get a whiff of pot from the tables below, which equally transported him back to his twenties. But honestly, he didn’t need the crutch anymore.  

He’d been to enough open mic nights to know that many people squinted in the spotlight when they climbed on stage. Some, unfamiliar with the creaks and groans of an old wooden platform still sticky with decades of spilled beer, even threw up an arm to shield their eyes from the glare but he didn’t. Ancient stage or a slab of concrete in a dark corner, it felt comfortable to him, like home. Tonight, he could feel the heat from the overhead light on his face. He didn’t even need to look to see whether he sat in the center of the rickety stage raised one foot off the ground. He could just feel it.

But Belle winced as the stool she pulled forward scraped against the grain and wobbled a little climbing up. She’d performed in front of more people than he could comprehend, yet in this intimate club, he watched her eyes narrow when the light hit her face. She swiveled self-consciously so she faced him more than the expectant faces two feet away. He knew she was going to be uncomfortable tonight, that this was going to be a stretch for her, but he knew she’d be brilliant. She wiped her palms on her old torn jeans. He knew she chose to wear them here as a sort of armor.    

He couldn’t guarantee her fame, he couldn’t give her money, he couldn’t promise her that their life together was always going to be easy, but he could give her nights like this. A safe space to build confidence in her abilities and a venue to workshop her feelings through song.  

Sometimes they showed up at an open mic night and wrote together, telepathically, on the spot for fun. It was a rush, being in front of a crowd and not knowing if the next verse was going to appear, but it always did. They throwing out the beginning of an idea, because the other person was always there to finish it.  

He’d brought her to this particular venue tonight because it was known for its discerning crowd. If you weren’t good, they’d let you know it with their indifference. It was also close to their old apartment.

Following her Hollywood Bowl performance, Belle had moved in with him and Bae. But it wasn’t long until they’d moved out of the neighborhood, leaving their cramped, bohemian rooftop living behind. They’d bought a modest house just outside the city but still close enough to music venues and nightlife.

Bae was going to a better school now. He fought the transfer at first, but he could still see his friends on the weekends. Unlike his old school, his new school hadn’t defunded the music program. Since he didn’t want to be in the school chorus, he’d landed in band. They’d given him his choice of instruments, they were even progressive enough to include electric guitar. But he refused to play the same instrument as his father. After trying out all they had to offer Bae discovered his new love - the trumpet. On any given night an obnoxious blaring reverberated through the house. Since Bae spent his entire life keeping it down for the neighbors, Gold couldn’t bring himself to tell him to knock it off, and being anything but wholly supportive was outside Belle’s capabilities. Gold found himself playing a lot of Miles Davis and Wynton Marsalis records around the house, trying to convey to Bae that he needn’t be blowing full-force, as loud as he possibly could, the entire time.  

“Most of you know me,” Gold told the small but interested crowd. When he and Bae had lived here, this was the dive bar he played at regularly. It paid nothing, but let him practice. The owner even let a young Bae sit at the bar and drink ginger ale while he performed.

“This is my friend,” he cocked his head at Belle, “ah,” he picked a name at random, “Lacey.”

Many people in the room laughed, knowing exactly who Belle was. But he and Belle learned in the last few months that it wasn’t always prudent to give her real name everywhere they went. The headline of America’s pop princess shaking up with a single father twenty years her senior had captivated the celebrity gossip magazines. Bae thought it was cool when a mob of fans and paparazzi descend upon them, but Belle and Gold were less thrilled with the ensuing hoopla. Since “Belle French” set off alarm bells everywhere they went, they’d come up with a host of pseudonyms. Gold secretly hoped to give her his own last name soon, if she’d have it, so perhaps she could stop giving false ones.

Belle, now settled in her seat next to him, smiled at his attempted ruse.

“We’re going to start with a song we wrote together,” he continued. “You might know it.” He leaned back to play the opening notes then sang.

I know he hurt you Made you scared of love, too scared to love

It was Belle’s song from the Hollywood Bowl that he’d helped her finish. Fans had recorded it on their phones and put it up on YouTube and it got a positive response. He and Belle had tweaked it slightly since. He’d added a more complicated guitar lick at the beginning and Belle suggested they pick up tempo to add more mass appeal. He also took on lead vocals. They’d shopped that version around town and it was one of the first songs they’d sold as a writing team. People more famous than him sang it on the radio now. While he was proud of the money they earned every time he heard another man sing it on the radio or in a commercial, Gold preferred this stripped down version that made it more of a love song. Belle appreciated the more pop version because she said it sounded more celebratory, that they’d struggle but they’d made through to the other side and were together now.

He didn't deserve you 'Cause you're precious heart is a precious heart

Together over the past several months, he and Belle had built a credible reputation as in-demand songwriters-for-hire, penning a few tracks for various pop stars and even a big crossover hit. He didn't know what he had and I thank God, oh, oh, oh

Since Belle was still was technically under contract on Moe French’s label, until they could figure out how to disentangle her from that, she couldn’t record any of the music they wrote or release it.

And it's gonna take just a little time But you're gonna see that I was born to love you

But Belle wasn’t living off her father’s money any longer, or any money she made as “Belle”. Gold had tried to dissuade her, trying to convince her how hard it was to make a living playing music on your own. He wasn’t going to be able to provide for her at the level her father had been, but she wouldn’t be deterred. She had that much faith in their songwriting ability to sell to other major artists. After Moe took a large chunk off the top, the small percentage she did get in sales, radio, and licensing royalties went towards legal fees to unsnarl her professional relationship with her father. The rest she put into a college fund for Bae.

Belle closed her eyes, comfortable in the room now that she could lose herself in the song, and sang the chorus

What if I fall

Also new was a call and response they’d built into the chorus. Gold leaned into the mic and answered her.

I won't let you fall

Her voice was clear, angelic yet full of meaning. If you’d listen to a “Belle” record and her singing now, you’d never even guess they were the same person. She was beginning to find her own voice, outside of the one that Moe and the record label conceived for her.

What if I cry

Since she was still obligated to fulfill her contract, Belle was technically on her international tour right now, but she’d flown in from Houston for a couple days in between shows. She’d be leaving for Europe in a few months. She flexed her newfound muscles when she could, making her own choices where she was legally allowed. But the plan was to ride out this international tour, get her off Moe’s label, and move on with their lives. She was currently only talking to her father through intermediaries. I'll never make you cry

After her initial anger wore off, Gold could tell that it was hurting Belle to completely lose contact with the only parent she had left. Seeing her struggling forced Gold to finally let go of his old resentments against Moe. But Belle insisted that she needed to destroy her relationship with her father if she had any hope of rebuilding it.

And if I get scared

Also making the rounds on YouTube was a video his own son had taken.

I'll hold you tighter When they're tryna get to you baby I'll be the fighter

After Bae convinced him to not give up on Belle, they rushed off to the Hollywood Bowl. Surpassing even their Staples Center escape, they’d climbed the canyons in order to come down the other side and sneak into the venue. The whole time they could hear the concert in progress. By the time they slipped through the barriers, it was late and Gold feared they’d miss the show completely.

Because it was so late in the show, security was unnervingly lax and it was easy to slide their way through the crowd and to the stage wings unnoticed. He’d spent the past several days constructing a barrier in his mind to block out Belle’s voice, but it only took moments to disintegrate when he saw her at the edge of the stage, standing there in her ripped jeans. She looked vulnerable and beautiful and strong all at once. He didn’t need to read her mind, she was talking to the crowd, telling them about the song we was about to sing. A song he knew she’d written for him. She was putting herself out there, at her own show in front of thousands of people, in the hope that he’d reach out to her. She was doing so much and asking so little of him. He wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t abandon her, on stage or ever.  

He bolted out of the wings and onto the stage, but was blocked by the unwelcome shadow of Moe French.  

“You,” Moe growled, his cool demeanor from their previous run-in abandoned. “How many times am I going to have to destroy you?”

Gold’s ire immediately rose. But he couldn’t get caught up in the poisonous cycle, not again. Belle needed him. He could feel her impending panic as she reached the end of her song, with no answering lyrics from him.  

“Once more, apparently,” and shoved past Moe and out onto the stage.

Gold hadn’t know it was happening. He was out on stage with Belle. But, fortuitously, Bae captured the entire exchange, and the tantrum immediately afterward, on camera. He said later that he pulled out his phone and started filming for evidence in case Moe physically assaulted him. But that didn’t explain why he immediately uploaded it to YouTube and titled it “Moe French Has Meltdown at Belle Concert.” The footage of Moe standing at the edge of the stage, spitting bile about his only daughter and verbally abusing the staff that were unfortunate enough to be standing in the vicinity, was difficult to watch. But not as difficult as sitting beside Belle, holding her hand, as she viewed it for the first time.

Back at the dive bar, the closing notes of their Hollywood Bowl song faded out. A silent pause, and then thunderous applause erupted from the audience.  

He’d seen her showered with praise after two-plus hour concerts. But this was the happiest, the most proud, he’d ever seen Belle.

Riding that high, he unlooped the guitar strap from around his neck and thrust the instrument towards her. He accompanied her on all their songs. But he was teaching her to play, little by little, and this next song was for her and her alone.

“Ready?” he murmured.

She hesitated, swallowing audibly, before reaching out and wrapping her hand around the neck.

They wrote all their songs together, save this one. He hadn’t helped her with the lyrics, even when she asked. He gave her an assist with the instrumental, but he’d strictly limited his role. He knew the process of writing a song alone, of struggling with it over a period of time, of really having to dig, could be redemptive. You unearthed feelings long forgotten, pain you didn’t know you still held on to, pleasure you believed you’d never experience again. Either way you exorcized it through writing something honest, something true.    

It was because the lyrics were so delicate, so plain, so raw, and not hidden behind heavy symbolism or clever turns of phrase that made her lyrics about losing her mother and, in a different way, her father, so powerful.

I'm learning how to live Without you in my life I'm learning how to live Without you in my life I'll take the best of what You had to give I'll make the most of what You left me with I'm learning how to live

Gold sat back and watched her play and sing. For years she’d mesmerized crowds with her youth, her body, her energy. He looked down at the crowd and marked how spellbound they were by her by her voice, her words, her feelings.  

In its own way, what they were building together would eclipse his meteoric rise and fall or her pop stardom, and even Moe French’s empire. Because this career was built on love.

NOTES: Song: The Fighter Songwriters: Keith Urban / Michael James Ryan Busbee Song: Learning How to Live Songwriter: Lucinda Williams